A Circle of Crows

by Kelsey Kingsley

  It was pointless to really talk to him now. His doctors repeatedly told me so, but the stubborn part of my brain that dwelled in denial refused to accept that I couldn’t tell my father about the ongoings in my life. So, I said, “The case we’re workin’ on. A body was found in Coille Feannag, and now, I’ve gotta figure out who put it there.”

  Put it there. Put it there. Why did I say it like that?

  My brain began to chug along, as my father nodded. “Aye. People have been turnin’ up dead in those woods since I was a wee bairn, yer grandmother told me. All of those cliffs, they’re made for accidents.”

  I nodded absentmindedly. “This one is a young woman and American.”

  “Do they know why she was here?”

  “Only just found her. Those details havenae been worked out yet,” I muttered, as I continued to mull over my earlier thought.

  Put it there … I rubbed at my bristled chin. Was the body moved from somewhere else? I know she hadn’t fallen, that much is obvious, but was she killed there, on that stone, or was she murdered and then placed?

  “They need to ken why she was here. That’s good detective work. Ye find out why she was here and what she was doin’ and ye’ll set yerself on the right path to findin’ how she died and who killed her.”

  “I’m assumin’ she’s on holiday,” I muttered.

  “With someone? A husband, perhaps?”

  I shrugged, as the wheels in my head began to turn. “Dunno yet. I’m sure we’ll figure it out soon enough.”

  “Well, once they find that out, they’ll know where to go from there. If she had a boyfriend or husband here, there ye go. Number one suspect.”

  “Aye,” I replied, nodding. “I’m sure we’re on it, Dad.”

  “Good,” he replied, then dug back into his bowl of now cold stew. “Now, eat. Ye have a long day at school tomorrow. I dinnae want ye goin’ to bed on an empty stomach.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ROSIE

  “What a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Collin, my neighbor, commented, calling from over the fence that separated our yards.

  “Hm,” I replied with a short nod, before bringing the steaming cup of coffee to my lips.

  His gaze swept over my sunlit yard and the sprouting weeds highlighted within the golden rays. I followed his eyes, knowing I should care more that my yard was on the brink of looking unkempt. Especially considering the position I held within the town. As the Mayor’s legislative aide, I was expected to uphold a certain level of conduct when it came to appearances within the town. But I really didn’t have the space in my head to care. Not when my focus was entirely on my sister and her whereabouts.

  “Ryan and Paddy are comin’ by later to do some yard work,” he mentioned casually. “Would ya like me to send them over to do yours as well? I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

  “No, it’s okay.” I shook my head. “I’ll have TJ pull the weeds when he gets out of school.”

  “Are ya sure? I’d hate for the Mayor to drive by and give ya a hard time for—”

  “I really don’t give a crap what the freakin’ Mayor thinks of my yard right now,” I snapped, immediately regretting the harsh bite in my tone. Ashamed, I laid a hand over my face and shook my head. “God, I’m sorry, Collin.”

  “Oh, don’t ya worry about that, darlin’. What’s goin’ on?” He wandered around his fence and into my yard, approaching with concern crowding the kindness in his eyes. “Is it your boy?”

  I shook my head and dropped my hand into my lap. “No. I mean, he’s a royal pain in my ass, always. But that’s not what’s wrong. It’s …” I shook my head, blowing out a heavy breath at the realization that I was about to say it out loud. “It’s my sister. I think … I think she’s, um … I think she’s … missing.”

  His red brows crumpled with worry as he came closer. “Grace? Didn’t she go to Scotland?”

  I nodded, swallowing at the growing lump in my throat. “She’s been gone for two weeks now, and she was supposed to come home four days ago, but she never got on the plane. I got a text from her a couple nights ago but …” The persistent gnaw in my stomach bit down hard and I fought the urge to vomit. “I, I haven’t heard anything from her since.”

  “Rosie,” he said quietly, the faintest hint of alarm staining his melodic Irish accent. “I don’t mean to frighten ya—”

  “Oh, believe me,” I laughed without humor. “I’m already terrified.”

  “Have ya phoned the Scottish police?”

  I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. I had already found the number for the Fort Crow Police Station, and it was waiting in a note on my phone. But I hadn’t gone through with it yet, while holding onto the foolish assumption that calling them would make this all that much more real. As if dialing the number would solidify her permanent absence from my life.

  I shook my head. “Not yet.”

  “Ya should,” he said firmly, and with a stuttering bob of my head, I replied, “I know.”

  But later, as I sat in my ex-husband’s kitchen with his wife and our son, the three of them seemed to remain in state of denial. With the phone in my hand, ready to dial, they told me to wait, insisting that Gracie was just having fun, for the first time in her methodical, careful life. But careful, I told them, should never involve ignoring your worried family for days, and especially not when you’re by yourself, in a foreign country.

  “So, call, then,” Tom said. “You’ll see she’s fine, and if that’s what it takes to make you feel better, then go ahead.”

  Alison, his wife, nodded in agreement. “It’ll put your mind at ease, at least.”

  TJ rolled his eyes. “God, this is so stupid. GiGi is fine, and you know it.”

  “No, I don’t know that,” I pressed forcefully. “And neither do you.”

  “So, then call! Jesus Christ, you’re not gonna shut the fuck up until you do it, anyway, so go ahead!”

  “Don’t you dare talk to your mother like that,” Tom fired back angrily. “Apologize to her right now!”

  “No! She’s been doing nothing but stressing out over this for no fucking reason and I’m sick of hearing about it!”

  I pressed the edge of my phone to my forehead, squeezing my eyes shut as I said, “Please, let’s all just calm—”

  The phone rang, vibrating through the rings on my fingers, and I quickly looked at the screen to see that it was my father. Without a moments’ hesitation, I answered with shaking hands, nearly dropping the thing on my way to say hello.

  “Rosie,” Dad said, but he didn’t sound like Dad. He sounded like a man who’d just returned, beaten and broken down, from the war of his life. Unsure of how he was supposed to continue, and my heart began to drown in the fear of what I knew was to come.

  “Dad. What’s up? Have you heard—”

  “We just got a call from Officer Kinney,” he said, his tone stiff and unwavering. He was a man void of emotion, too afraid to feel and too scared of what he might find beneath the stone of his exterior. “He got a call from the Fort Crow police.”

  “O-okay,” I stammered, swallowing. “And what—”

  “Th-they found Grace.”

  “Found her? You mean, she’s okay?”

  “Rosie—”

  “Where was she? Is she coming home? Should I go to the airport?” The questions left my mouth one by one in a hurry, all to stop the truth from coming out.

  “Rosalynn, Grace is …” He stopped himself, hiccupping on a breath, and then continued, “Grace is gone, Rosie. She, she’s dead.”

  Two sets of identical eyes watched as my world halted in movement. Time froze, as my lungs forgot to breath and my eyes refused to blink. The heart I once knew to be mine lost the ability to beat, as it died in anguish from the words my father spoke, knowing all along that they were true. But I didn’t cry. I couldn’t find the strength to form the tears, as I slowly began to shake my head.

  “How?” I asked, amazed that I could f
ind the capability to speak at all.

  “They said it was a hiking accident,” he answered gruffly. “She … God, she fell from a cliff while hiking in the woods.”

  “Hiking?” I shouted, shaking my head. “Grace doesn’t fucking hike!”

  “Rosie … don’t do this … please …”

  “When the hell has she ever gone hiking? Are they sure it’s even her?”

  Tom approached, standing closer to my side, as he demanded to know what was going on. But I hardly heard his concerned questions, as I stood up and grabbed my jacket from the back of the kitchen chair.

  “Yeah,” Dad replied quietly. “They’re sure.”

  I headed for the door, with TJ and Tom on my heels, as I told my father, “I’m coming,” and hung up the phone in a rush as I pushed through the door and ran to my car. Tom shouted at me, telling me to stop and demanding that I tell them what happened. Spinning on my heel, I clenched my fists and threw my damn phone to the driveway, where it shattered and sprinkled glittering glass over the black asphalt.

  “I told you she was dead!” I screamed, shaken by the unfamiliar sound of my own voice. “I fucking told you both, and you wouldn’t believe me!”

  Tom’s face crumpled with guilt and sadness, as he stretched his arms out, readying himself to catch me when I fell. “Oh, Rosie. Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” he said, speaking softly and gently.

  “Oh, my … oh, my God,” I hiccupped on a violent sob. “She’s dead. Oh, God. Oh, God, Gracie.”

  Then, I screamed like an injured animal, grasping and clawing at my face and flesh. Desperate to feel the pain of my nails dragging over my skin, desperate to feel anything other than the agony of having a piece of my soul torn away. I collapsed to my knees, falling against Tom and into the arms of a man who was once my lover, as I cried in loud, violent gulps.

  During my breakdown in his driveway, all I could think was, what did she go through, in her final moments? When had it happened, and had I somehow known, in the way sisters sometimes do? Had she thought of me, and was it in sadness or anger that I had been the one to convince her to go?

  And then, with crushing and startling clarity, my eyes widened as I stared at my empty hands, covered in her blood, and said, “Oh, God, I killed her. I fucking killed her,” before howling in pain to a grey Connecticut sky.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ALEC

  It was the first murder to hit Fort Crow in over twenty years, and I had fully expected the office to be buzzing with anxiety, determination, and a morbid sense of excitement when I walked into work the next morning. But instead, what I found was the usual humdrum atmosphere, and as I made my way to my desk, I grew increasingly curious and annoyed.

  Finley was already at his desk, chewing the end of his pen, while lazily browsing the internet on his computer. I drummed my fingers against the desktop before rounding to sit in my chair.

  “Where are we with the Woman in the Woods case?” I asked, hanging my satchel from the back of my chair.

  “Huh?” Finley looked across his desk at me, as he registered the words I had spoken, and then, he replied, “Oh! Right. There is no case, lad. It was ruled an accident.”

  I was stopped in my tracks and dropped a stack of paperwork in my hands. “Wha-what? Are ye s-serious?”

  “Don’t be so surprised,” Finley chuckled, turning his attention back on his computer screen. “There was nothin’ to make us think otherwise.”

  “Th-th-that woman was killed,” I hissed, leaning forward in my chair and bracing my arms against the desk.

  Finley’s eyes lit with cruel amusement. “Calm yerself, man. Dinnae wanna let these bawbags hear ye do that shite. They’d never quit takin’ the piss outta ye.”

  Breathing deeply, I forced myself back into my usual state of practiced calm and sent my irritating stutter back where it belonged. Once I felt my heart settle, I shook my head and addressed my partner again.

  “That poor woman was murdered,” I said, speaking quietly. “Who the hell ruled it a fuckin’ accident?”

  “Forensics,” he answered, shrugging. “They took it to the Chief Inspector, and he made the call.”

  Standing abruptly, I headed straight for the door to Chief Inspector Frasier’s office and banged my fist against it until he shouted for me to enter.

  “What the hell is the matter with ye, Brodie?” he growled, as I entered and slammed the door shut behind me.

  “What the hell is the matter with you for droppin’ that case?!”

  He sighed, shaking his head and folding his hands upon his desk. “I dunno what ye want me to tell ye. There is no case. The autopsy came back clean. She fell, man; simple as that. I ken ye want there to be somethin’ more to it than that, but there just wasnae anythin’ there.”

  Planting my hands at the edge of his desk, I leveled him with a stony glare. “Did ye even look at her?”

  “The body?”

  “Christ,” I groaned, tipping my head back to stare incredulously at the ceiling. “Yes, the body. Did ye look at it?”

  “No,” he answered pointedly. “And why should I? We have an excellent forensics team, and if they ruled it an accident, then that’s exactly what it was.”

  Turning to face the door, I grasped the ends of my hair between my clenched fists. “I cannae fuckin’ believe this,” I muttered beneath my breath.

  “Lad,” Frasier said from behind me. “Look, I can understand how ye might feel desperate. Ye’re back from the big city, where there’s gotta be murders happenin’ regularly. Ye’re bored of the same shite, and I don’t blame ye. But the fact of the matter here is, ye cannae make it a murder just because you want it to be one for the sake of yer sanity. If yer that desperate, maybe ye should go back, when ye’re able.”

  I knew he meant when my father is no longer in the picture, and I dropped my fists to clench them at my sides. There was no reasoning with him. He had made a decision, and he wasn’t going to change his mind, unless I could offer more proof and convince him to take a look at the corpse and see the things I had seen.

  So, I left his office in an angry rush of determination. I headed down the hallway to find Maggie Wallace in the evidence department, clicking around the screen of her computer. She looked up at the sight of me and offered a welcoming smile.

  “Good day to ye, Inspector,” she said, flashing me a smile. “Is there somethin’ ye need?”

  Nodding, I replied, “I need to take a look at the evidence ye collected from the scene yesterday.”

  “The woman in the woods?”

  “Aye. That would be the one.”

  She shrugged apologetically. “I’m verra sorry, Brodie. There wasnae any evidence to collect.”

  “No … evidence?” I asked, as if my brain couldn’t quite compute with her statement. “What do ye mean?”

  “It was ruled an accident on the spot,” she explained, grimacing. “Any evidence we thought might’ve been collected has been set aside to send to the family in America.”

  I was fighting what felt like a losing battle, one that seemed to me shouldn’t have been a battle at all. But then, I began to question what I had seen the day before in the woods. Had I really seen finger-like bruises around her throat? It was possible I had just wanted this to be a murder so badly, I’d fabricated the drama, but who could really know for sure?

  Disheartened, I made my way back to my desk, to find that Finley had gone to the shops and my phone was ringing. With resignation to carry on with my day in typical Fort Crow fashion, I sat down at the desk and answered the phone.

  “Inspector Brodie,” I muttered with a sigh, finding it hard to not think of the woman and those marks on her neck.

  “Um … hi, this is … this is Rosalynn Allan,” the woman on the other line said, timid and unsure. And American.

  Immediately alert, I went out on a limb and asked, “Miss Allan, are ye by any chance related to Grace?”

  “Y-yes. You spoke to an officer here, Officer Patrick Kinney
, to let him know about,” she hesitated, taking a deep breath before continuing, “a-about my sister and what happened.”

  “Who called him? Do ye know?” I found myself asking in a low voice, as if this woman and I were in on a secret together.

  “Uh, I think the Constable’s name was Abernathy?”

  Abernathy. The Constable who had answered the call from Angus.

  Quickly, I pulled a notepad from my desk and jotted down the note. “Verra helpful, thank ye so much.”

  “Sure,” she muttered slowly. “Anyway, um, I wanted to arrange to come pick up her, her … remains, to bring her home.”

  “Of course,” I said. “But ye should know, this case isn’t quite closed—”

  “What do you mean? The Constable told Officer Kinney that it was an accident. Why would the case still be open?”

  It wasn’t wise to alarm the woman, I realized. I didn’t know what she’d been told, or who she was talking to, and with that thought, I immediately realized how little I trusted the people in my department. While I couldn’t be sure of exactly what was going on, what I did know was, something was happening. Incompetence, corruption, laziness—who could say for sure at this point? But whatever it was, I needed to be careful and keep my head down, starting with this woman on the phone.

  “Right,” I responded with a nod. “Just tryna be thorough. So, when were ye plannin’ to come?”

  “I just booked a flight for tomorrow, for my son and me,” she said with too much suspicion for my liking. I wasn’t the one she should be suspicious of.

  “Okay, Miss Allan. When ye arrive, can ye do me a favor?”

  “Um, sure.”

  “Give me a ring before ye come to the office,” I said quietly. “Don’t talk to anyone else. Just me. Can ye do that?”

  “Why?”

  Squeezing the back of my neck, I replied, “Oh, no reason for alarm. I just wanna ask ye a few questions before—”