“If he didn’t do anything wrong, he doesn’t have anything to worry about.”
“I just want to know if you’ve looked at missing persons for the last, say, five years.”
Tuck raised an eyebrow and considered her. “In the first place, while I will certainly take a look at any and all potential suspects if this does turn out to have happened in the last decade or two, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t start with those with the most to gain—or lose. And second—are you seriously telling me how to do my job?”
“No, I’m—”
“Because I’m really grateful for the attention you’ve shown my daughter. More than you could know, to be honest. But there’s a firm line I draw whenever I put on my badge, and I’m not going to cross it just because you’ve done me a few favors. Look, I know Lawrence Crosby used to have his own way of running the show around here. I know a lot of folks were fond of him. But the days of good ol’ boy justice are over. We’re well into the twenty-first century, and it’s time for the Trumbull police department to begin acting like it.”
Gin bristled. Her mother had dedicated the last two decades of her life to improving the town—failing downtown and shuttered factories and vanished economy and all. “What Trumbull’s had to deal with is the collapse of an industry and the problems that come along with poverty and lack of opportunity,” she said. “That doesn’t make its citizens incompetent.”
“Oh, I’m not suggesting that they are. Believe me. And that’s a goddamn good reason to clean up the way we operate around here. We can’t expect the county to take our budget requests seriously if we can’t prove we’ve got our own house in order. You know why I’m out here tonight?”
Gin stared into his flinty green eyes. “Because you care,” she said flatly. “Because you’re going to make a difference. At least, that’s probably what you said during your interviews. But also because, somewhere along the line, you screwed up badly enough to get yourself banished. You lost your temper or got caught up in an Internal Affairs investigation or slept with the wrong person—or didn’t sleep with the right one—and got yourself sent here as a punishment.”
The corner of Baxter’s mouth twitched—whether in anger or amusement, Gin couldn’t tell.
“That’s a little beyond the scope of what I was asking,” he said. “I’m here tonight because I’ve put my whole department on notice. I told them to expect me on their ass anytime, anywhere. That I might show up at any call, and I expect departmental procedures to be followed to a t. There’s no room for sloppiness or shortcuts or half measures in my shop—just solid police work. So yeah, I heard the call go out, and I talked to Brandon Hart and made sure the girls got home okay, and then I came straight over to make sure that everything was done right. Now you’re asking me if I’ve considered that a body buried in my patch might be someone who was reported missing, like it never occurred to me? Like we’re just a bunch of Keystone Kops?”
“Look.” Gin took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice steady. “I apologize if I insulted you. I’m sure you’re a very good cop. I’m sure you’ve already got a list of everyone gone missing in the area. I’m just asking . . . if there’s any way, while following those policies you’ve been talking about, that you could expedite releasing the site. Jake could really, really stand to get back to work.”
She stared at the ground, her heart thudding. Don’t make me beg, she thought.
“I’d . . . be really grateful.”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. The ambulance began making a slow turn, the driver giving them a wave. The tow truck operator was loading the mangled motorcycle onto the lift.
“I’m not promising anything,” Tuck finally said. “But I guess I may owe you. I’ve seen how you go above and beyond with the girls. Cherie can’t stop talking about how much she loves practice. So . . . I’m going to tell you something that I have no business making known. It’s true that I resent being sent here, but I resent even more being excluded from a case that’s happening right under my nose. So I’m not sitting on the sidelines. The county boys don’t need to know all the details, but I’m looking into a few things. And that’s all I have to say.”
“Thank you,” Gin said quietly.
“Oh, I’m not doing it for you. I’m probably doing it for my own stupid pride, which is a lesson I evidently have yet to learn.”
Gin thought of her earlier conversation with Brandon, about Jake’s pride and the gulf it had created between them.
“Isn’t pride the thing that comes before a fall?” she asked.
“So they say,” Baxter said. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see. Now, I need to talk to the tow guy, so if you don’t mind doing just one small thing I’ve asked you tonight, please pretend to be a reasonable woman and let Sanders drive you home.”
13
By the time Officer Sanders dropped her off in front of the house, lights burned in every window. She glanced at the dashboard clock and was astonished to see that nearly two hours had passed since she left the school. She should have asked to borrow a phone to let Jake know she’d be late.
He came out of the front door, his face set in fear that gave way to relief. “What the hell happened to you?” he thundered as Gin walked slowly to the door. Her body was starting to ache now, her various injuries throbbing. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said, giving him a weak smile. She turned and waved at the retreating cruiser. “I, um, got a ride home.”
Jake folded his arms over his chest and glared at her. “You’re fine? You don’t come home for two hours in what they’re saying is going to be a severe winter storm, and you don’t bother to call or let me know you’re all right—and then the police drop you off, and you’ve got a huge bandage on your face, and you’re fine?”
“You’re angry,” Gin said. “I understand. I’m sorry. It was thoughtless of me.”
“It was—” Abruptly, Jake bit back his words and shook his head. When he spoke again, he’d managed to reel in his fury. “No, Gin, it wasn’t thoughtless. It was terrifying. In the last year, I lost my father and I almost lost you, not to mention my own life. So you’ll forgive me if it’s just a little more important to me to know that you’re all right.”
“I’ll try to do better,” Gin said quietly. “Can we please go inside? It’s cold out here.”
Jake took her arm without comment, his touch much gentler than his voice. Gin leaned into him as they made their way inside. He helped her remove her boots, coat, and hat and guided her over to the sofa. Then he went to the fire and gave it a stir.
“All right. I owe you an apology,” he said quietly. “You were right; I overreacted. Can we start over now?”
Gin nodded. “You’re forgiven. It’s actually . . . kind of nice to have someone worry about me.”
“Okay. You were in an accident?” His was standing over her, his arms crossed over his chest, and Gin still felt like she was being interrogated.
“Yes. I was leaving practice after all the girls got picked up. I wasn’t paying attention, not like I should have been, given the weather. A motorcycle pulled up beside me, much too close. I swerved and ran through the construction barriers, but I was able to get out of the car.” She avoided his gaze, knowing she wasn’t telling the whole story.
“And I assume your car was damaged.”
Gin swallowed. “You could say that. It’s sitting at the bottom of Kitts Creek.”
Jake blanched. “Back up and tell me the rest.”
She sighed, realizing there was no way to get out of it. So she described the incident, keeping her description as brief as possible and focusing on Rosa’s arrival and the paramedics’ examination, deemphasizing the fear she’d felt.
“Wait just a goddamn minute,” Jake said.
“Could you at least sit down if you’re going to yell at me?” Gin asked.
“I’m not—I don’t mean to . . . Christ, Gin, are you absolutely sure?”
&nbs
p; “Am I sure about what? That he ran me off the road? Or that he did it on purpose?” Gin was suddenly exhausted. “Look, I can tell it to you as many times as you want, but it’s not going to change the basic facts. I don’t know who, and I don’t know why, but I do know that someone wanted to hurt or frighten me.”
“And Baxter didn’t even order a search!”
“No, that’s not true. There were other officers there at the scene. At least one of them was in the woods, but the tracks were already obscured. They’re taking the motorcycle in as evidence.” Something else occurred to her. “Do you remember a girl named Rosa Escamilla from middle school?”
Jake’s forehead creased with concentration. “Barely . . . quiet kid, kind of pretty, had an older brother who was a year ahead of me?”
“I didn’t know her brother. I don’t really know much about her at all, except her name’s Rosa Barnes now. Anyway, she was the one who stopped and helped.”
“No kidding. That’s a coincidence. Although I’m surprised she’s back here.”
“Surprised why?”
“Don’t you remember? The reason they moved was that her father was in prison, so they went to stay with their mother’s family.”
“Oh. I guess I never knew that.” Gin remembered the neat braids Rosa used to wear to school, the too-small clothes, the battered and worn khaki backpack that must have been a hand-me-down from her brother.
“Look, Gin, are you hungry?”
“I . . . think so?” Gin tried to remember the last time she’d eaten. “Yes, actually.”
“Stay right here,” Jake said gruffly. “I’ll be back with some grub. You can eat it on the couch, and I won’t even mind the crumbs.”
He caressed her cheek gently with his fingertips before going into the kitchen.
They were both trying so hard, both searching for the right thing to say. Too late, Gin remembered her plan to talk to him about what she’d learned from Brandon. But that could wait; tonight she longed to simply fall asleep in Jake’s arms.
* * *
The next morning, Gin woke early, well before dawn. The aches of the night before had subsided, and she felt refreshed. She grabbed her phone off the nightstand and burrowed deeper under the covers so the screen’s glow wouldn’t wake Jake. He was lying exactly as he’d gone to bed the night before, one forearm slung over his face, turned slightly away from her.
She checked her e-mail. There were messages from an old colleague from Chicago, just checking in, and a link to an article from her mother.
And one from Rosa Barnes.
“How are you?” was the subject line. Gin stared at it for a few moments, thinking of the woman who’d come to her rescue yesterday. Her emotions wavered between gratitude for Rosa’s kindness and shame over the way she’d treated her when they were children. She’d barely acknowledged the shy girl at school, never even had a single conversation that she could remember. Gin hadn’t realized then that the advantages of wealth and attentive parents had made her path easy, nor had it occurred to her that she might try to reach out to those who had far less.
She tapped the message and scanned it quickly. It was short and to the point, but warmth showed through the words.
Dear Gin,
I hope you’re not feeling too bad after yesterday! That must have really shaken you up. I was wondering if you would like to come to dinner. Nothing fancy, pretty much any day this week, tonight is good because I have the afternoon off and Mom and I are making tamales.
She added her address; it was on a street in the part of town that featured as many boarded-up shops as active businesses, on the edge where Gin’s mother’s redevelopment efforts had yet to reach.
Gin wavered, glancing over at Jake’s sleeping form. Last night, just before turning out the light, he’d yawned and said he was going to see his lawyer in Pittsburgh today and that he’d probably have dinner with an old friend and stay in the city overnight. Gin hadn’t even known he had a lawyer; when he’d been under investigation for Lily’s death the first time, his father couldn’t afford one, and the second time, he had never mentioned consulting one.
Of course, Jake must have a lawyer for his business, someone who helped him with the financial side of things, like setting up the company and helping him with real estate transactions.
He didn’t offer any further explanation. She had offered to go with him, and he’d turned her down so fast it had stung.
“There’s no need,” he’d said shortly, taking off his reading glasses and setting them on the nightstand. “It’ll be boring, and I’m sure there’s nothing he can do, anyway.”
And then he’d turned over and said nothing more, while Gin lay awake, brooding.
Again she wondered if that wasn’t the point of a relationship, in part—to ease the dull and the difficult, to stand by someone when life’s hard moments weighed them down.
Gin hit reply and tapped out a message before she could change her mind.
“I’d love to come,” she wrote. “I’ll bring beer.”
* * *
After she showered and carefully applied concealer to disguise the bruising on her face, she called her father. “Hi, Dad . . . Any chance you could spare the Land Rover for a few days?”
Her parents had bought a used Land Rover a decade earlier for taking up to the Catskills, where they often rented a cabin for ski vacations. For most of the year, it sat in the unused garage stall, collecting dust. It was a rusted, cumbersome vehicle, but it ran well enough to get them reliably to the mountains.
“Why on earth would you want to borrow that old thing? It’s got almost two hundred thousand miles on it.”
She explained briefly that she had been in a fender bender, not wanting to worry him with the truth. “I’ve been thinking of getting a new car anyway,” she said. “I’ll see what the dealer will give me in trade once mine’s fixed.”
“Well, if you’re sure. I’ll come pick you up, and you can bring me home.”
He arrived half an hour later. The Land Rover looked even more decrepit than Gin remembered, but the inside was clean and smelled pleasantly of leather and motor oil and her father’s cologne.
“I had it tuned up in September,” her father said after moving to the passenger seat. “It should be okay for a few days. Hey,” he added, “did you do something to your face?”
Gin tried to smile, keeping her eyes on the road as she eased the old hulk out of the driveway. “Just a little collision with the medicine cabinet. I’m fine.”
“All right. Listen, honey . . . your mother tells me that Jake’s taking the fire pretty hard. And that nonsense about a body being found on the property—I hope this doesn’t make me sound insensitive, but I would think this whole family deserves a break from that sort of thing.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more, Dad.”
“Still, Mom says the new chief is pretty good. He’s got some big shoes to fill, I guess, but he ought to keep the county detectives in line and let Jake focus on getting back to work.”
“I’ll tell him you said so, Dad.” She told Richard about the chief’s daughter playing on the team.
“I hope you’ll save first-row seats for your parents,” Richard said. “I’m counting on this being a good year for basketball. But listen, honey, back to Jake for a minute.”
They were almost all the way back to her parents’ house, and Gin wished she’d driven just a little faster. She didn’t relish the thought of discussing her love life with her father.
“Yes . . .”
“I’ve just been wondering . . . see, your mom and I, well, we worry about you kids.”
“Dad! Jake and I are in our thirties. We aren’t kids.”
“Well . . .” he laughed awkwardly. “To your parents, you still are. It’s just, we hate to see you struggle.”
For a moment, Gin worried he had somehow intuited the strife between them, and then she realized that her father was talking about money.
“We�
�re not struggling,” she said. “I’ve got tons of savings.”
“But you haven’t found a new job yet, and—”
“Dad, I’m not working for the ME for free, you know. I have some income coming in. And this thing with Jake’s job is just temporary.” She tried to sound more confident than she felt. “He’ll be able to sell those other two houses while he rebuilds the first one.”
“Well, honey, I certainly hope that’s true. But—now don’t get mad—your mom and I talked about this project when he first started it. We both felt like he’d bitten off more than he could chew.”
“Dad!” Gin felt fourteen again, trying to sneak out the door in shorts that her father deemed too short. “It’s really none of your business. And Jake is doing fine.”
The lie tripped awkwardly off her tongue, but it was galling to have her father opining on matters that were none of his business. Perhaps the earlier retirement he’d taken had been a poor idea if it left him time to meddle like this.
Richard was silent until they pulled up in the circular drive in front of the house. “Look, honey, Jake is a fine craftsman. Really, an artist, I would think we would both agree. But he isn’t a businessman. And your mother and I—well, just me, I suppose—aren’t willing to see our dreams for you just . . . just jeopardized like this when there are simple means to give you and Jake both some security.”
“So wait just one minute. What are these dreams you have for me, anyway?”
“Your mother was able to be home with you when you and your sister were young,” Richard continued doggedly. “If you and Jake have children, wouldn’t you want that?”
Gin goggled at her father. “My mother is the mayor of one of the best-managed cities in the county,” she said. “Maybe in the state. I’m pretty sure she isn’t on board with your plan to get me in an apron in front of the stove. I do have a job, Dad, and while I’m not working full time at the moment, I’m sure I will again. And even if I don’t, those decisions are mine—and Jake’s—alone.”
All the Secret Places Page 13