Chapter Twenty-Four
I finally did what I should have done months ago.
I confessed.
We were all gathered in the dark, dank sheriff’s office. Me. Dad. Monica. Adam. Violet. Agent Reed. Before we could start talking about what to do next, I told them that I had something to say. And that was when I laid it all out. I told them exactly what had happened on Halloween night during Ursulina Days. How Keith and I went back to his place together. How we talked. How we drank. How we had sex in the old barn with his wife asleep in the main house a quarter-mile away.
The face I didn’t want to see as I confessed was my father’s, but I had to look at him anyway. He had this sad, sad expression that was like a knife in my heart. I knew he was disappointed in me for what I’d done. The affair with a married man. And worse, concealing it when I knew things that might have changed the direction of a murder investigation. Keith Whalen’s marriage hadn’t been fine, no matter what he’d told us back then. He’d cheated with me only two weeks before her death. If Colleen knew, if she’d found out, if he’d told her, then he had a motive to kill her.
The next step in the investigation was to question Keith. Not just about Colleen, but about Jeremiah, too. If I was right that Jeremiah had seen Colleen Whalen being killed—if that was what had terrified him the night of November 14—then Jeremiah was a witness to murder, and witnesses were always at risk. The question was what the boy had actually seen. Anna didn’t know. Jeremiah hadn’t told her who the Ursulina was. But Keith was the obvious suspect.
I wasn’t going to play a role in the interrogation. I knew that. My father was the natural person to question Keith, but Violet suggested in her usual pointed way that Dad’s relationship with me had poisoned his involvement in the case. He didn’t argue with her. I assumed Agent Reed would take over, but Reed thought a local cop should take the lead.
So that meant Adam would question Keith.
Adam jumped at the chance. He was hungry for an opportunity to prove himself after his drunken voicemail the previous night. Strangely, when I looked at him, I realized that he didn’t look like a kid anymore. He wasn’t James Dean on his motorcycle. The last couple of days had sobered and matured him. I felt the same way about myself. Maybe that’s what happens when you have to confront your mistakes.
We drove to Keith’s land, which was located down a dead-end road from the main highway. As the crow flies, we weren’t even a mile from where the Sloans lived. It was an easy hike through the forest for a ten-year-old boy. Keith wasn’t in the main house, but his car was outside the garage, so I guessed where he was. I led the parade over a shallow hill to Keith’s renovated barn.
It was midafternoon under bright sun, a beautiful day and humid enough to make me sweat and make my uniform stick to my skin. I stayed outside alone and listened to the raucous blackbirds while Adam and Agent Reed went inside. I didn’t think they would be there long. Once Keith realized that he was a suspect, I assumed he would ask for a lawyer and shut up. That was the smart thing to do.
But Keith was impulsive and had other ideas. I had only been waiting there for a couple of minutes when Reed returned and waved me toward the barn.
“I thought we agreed I shouldn’t be part of this,” I said.
“We did, but Whalen doesn’t want a lawyer. He wants you. He says he’ll talk to us but only if you’re there.”
I didn’t want to do it, but I went inside.
The barn assaulted me with memories, mostly bad ones. I remembered the jazz music playing, although it was silent now and every footstep echoed from the wood floor to the high ceiling. I could hear my guitar and feel the strings under my fingertips as I sang the Ursulina song. I could smell the mustiness of the barn and the peat of the whiskey we drank. I remembered the crackle and ash of the roaring fireplace and the smoke that burned my eyes. There, in front of the fire, was the white sheepskin rug where I’d made my foolish mistake.
Keith sat in a leather recliner, watching me. His eyes said that he knew what I was remembering, and he was remembering the same things. The rest of us took up chairs around him, and Adam sat in the middle like judge and jury. Adam removed his deputy’s hat with both hands and carefully placed it next to his chair. He smoothed the sleeves of his uniform and kept his black boots flat on the floor.
“Okay, Shelby’s here. Are you willing to talk to us?”
“Why not?” Keith replied. “I don’t have anything to hide. I didn’t kill my wife. I didn’t have anything to do with Jeremiah’s disappearance. I’ll save you the trouble and repeat what I told you eight months ago. I was at the lake all day. I came home late. It was nearly midnight. I found Colleen dead outside our house. She’d been shot. I called the police. That’s all I know.”
“Except you told us back then that there were no problems between you and Colleen. And now Shelby tells us that you and she slept together only two weeks before your wife was killed. That’s a pretty important detail to omit.”
Keith didn’t look surprised that I’d exposed our relationship. I wanted to sink down through the floor of the barn as I watched his face. I’d done the right thing, but I’d also betrayed him.
“Yes, Shelby and I slept together. That was a mistake. My mistake. It was a huge error of judgment on my part, and I take full responsibility for it. It happened one time and never again, but I shouldn’t have concealed it from you.”
“Was that the only time during your marriage that you were unfaithful?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Did you feel guilty about it?”
“Of course, I did.”
“Did you tell Colleen what you did?”
I watched Keith hesitate. “No.”
“You kept the affair from your wife?”
“Yes.”
“Did she suspect?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Do you think other people in town suspected something between you and Shelby?”
“I don’t know. I don’t see how they could.”
“Was there chemistry between the two of you? Were you attracted to her?”
Keith’s mouth was tight. “Yes. Obviously.”
“Was your wife there for the Halloween show?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think she could see the attraction?”
“I have no idea.”
“Were you acting strangely after the affair?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Don’t you think your wife knew that something was wrong?”
“I don’t know!” Keith retorted again.
He lost control for only a moment, but his outburst was like the ding in a windshield that begins to grow into a crack. Adam knew it, too. He was wearing Keith down with his questions.
“Let’s talk about Jeremiah. You told Shelby on Friday that you saw Jeremiah Sloan on your property several times this year. He would come up to the house and the barn.”
“That’s true.”
“Why did he do that?”
“I have no idea.”
“But you knew the boy.”
“Of course.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“Sometimes.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Nothing of consequence. He said he was out exploring. I didn’t think anything of it.”
“Did he mention anything about the Ursulina?”
“The Ursulina?” Keith shot me a puzzled look. “No.”
“Did he say anything about being near your house on the night your wife was killed?”
Keith’s eyes widened with concern. “No.”
“And yet Shelby says you were afraid you would become a suspect in Jeremiah’s disappearance.”
“Yes, I did say that.”
“Why would you be afraid of that if yo
u did nothing wrong?”
“Well, here we are, Adam. Does that answer your question?”
“We’re getting a warrant to search your property. What are we going to find when we do that?”
“Nothing.”
“Are we going to find Jeremiah?”
“No, that’s crazy.”
“If the boy’s here, it would be better to tell us now.”
“I don’t know what happened to Jeremiah. I had nothing to do with his disappearance. You can look all you want.”
Adam stared down at a folder in his lap. “I reviewed the notes from when we talked after Colleen’s murder last fall. Do you still take psychotropic medications in conjunction with PTSD from your military service?”
“Yes.”
“Did you take any of those medications on the day your wife was killed?”
“I’m sure I did. I take them every day. I told you that.”
“Do you still suffer from night terrors?”
“Yes.”
“The leg you lost. Does it hurt? Your back, your neck?”
“Yes.”
“In fact, you’re in almost constant pain, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Does that take an emotional toll on you, too?”
“Yes.”
I felt as if I were watching the drip-drip-drip of a water torture. Keith was calm, but each question chipped away at his psyche, which wasn’t all that strong to begin with. He needed this interview to end. I could see him glance at me in frustration as if I could rescue him from this, but I couldn’t.
This would only end with him telling us what he’d done. When I looked into his eyes, I knew he was hiding things. That was the problem I’d had from the beginning. I knew him too well.
Adam shook his head in sympathy. He was Keith’s friend now. He scooted his chair closer and leaned forward.
“Look, Keith, I know the burden you’re carrying. You went through hell overseas, physically and emotionally. I get it. I respect it. Like you say, you’re in pain every day. All kinds of pain, the kind that the rest of us can’t appreciate. Colleen couldn’t appreciate it, could she? She didn’t understand. She wanted to, but she didn’t. And you wanted to be the husband she needed, but you couldn’t do that either, could you?”
Keith didn’t take his eyes off me. Adam was talking, but Keith was looking at me. Like he needed me to offer him some kind of absolution. I found it hard to stare back at him, but I did. I knew I was the one who could break him, and I had no choice.
I mouthed: Tell them.
Then again: Tell them.
And he did.
“Okay,” Keith murmured, opening up the floodgate. The water came crashing through. “You’re right. I couldn’t be the husband that Colleen needed. I never could. She was never happy.”
“Because of you.”
“Yes.”
“You had a bad marriage, and it was your fault.”
“Yes, it was.”
“You blamed yourself for putting your wife through hell, and then you went and cheated on her.”
Keith blinked over and over. “Yes, I did.”
“That made you feel guilty.”
“Of course.”
“Did you lose sleep over it? Did you lay awake thinking about it?”
“Yes.”
“It was like a constant weight in your gut making you sick.”
“Yes, it was.”
“So what did you do?”
Keith said nothing. His breathing came faster and faster.
“Did you tell her?” Adam asked.
I saw sweat on Keith’s face. He still said nothing, but his emotions began to come apart.
“I think you told her,” Adam went on. “Come on, Keith. November fourteenth. You told Colleen what you did. You told her about the affair. You couldn’t stand the burden anymore. You couldn’t keep the secret. So you told her. Right?”
Keith inhaled and held his breath. The seconds ticked by, and he didn’t breathe.
Then he finally spoke.
“Yes, I told her.”
I looked away in disgust. With him. With myself. Of course he’d told her. Of course he’d lied about it to me. He’d lied about everything.
“You admit you told her about the affair,” Adam went on coldly.
“Yes.”
“Was it that day? November fourteenth?”
“Yes.”
“The two of you argued.”
“Yes.”
“She was hurt. Devastated.”
“Yes, she was.”
“She went to Stanton. You were apart all day.”
“That’s right.”
“And when she came home, you kept arguing, and you lost control, and you shot your wife.”
“No, I didn’t do that.”
“You took the gun—your gun—and you killed her.”
“No.”
“Did you see Jeremiah? Did you know he was watching?”
“I didn’t see him, because I wasn’t there.”
“When did you find out that he knew what you’d done?”
“I never found out anything like that. That’s not the way it happened.”
“Keith, you’ve told us the truth about everything else. Why lie to us now?”
“I didn’t kill Colleen!” Keith’s voice rose as he denied it again. I couldn’t resist staring at him. I had to see his face. “Look, I know you don’t believe me. Yes, I had a bad marriage, it was my fault, I cheated on my wife. She was going to leave me and divorce me. All of that’s true. But I didn’t kill her. It wasn’t me. I came home from the lake and found her dead.”
Adam shook his head, as if Keith were a child making up a lie. “A burglar shot her? Really? You’re sticking with that?”
“It’s the truth,” he told us, and his eyes begged me to believe him.
But I didn’t.
I didn’t believe him.
All those months later, I finally accepted what had been in front of me from the beginning.
I’d slept with a man who killed his wife.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The next day, we searched under a sky blanketed with clouds. We searched for Jeremiah.
The FBI canvassed Keith’s house, barn, and land. Dozens of agents hunted for DNA, blood, hair, fiber, and fingerprints that would tell us whether Jeremiah had been there. They looked for freshly turned earth and the ash of fires that could be sifted for bones. Dogs traveled the land with their noses to the ground, sniffing for the smell of a body buried underground.
Keith limped back and forth throughout the search, wearing a path in the damp grass. Every now and then, he looked at me, and I looked back at him. Whatever feelings we’d had for each other were gone.
We’d cordoned off the road to Keith’s house. Beyond the police tape, dozens of people spied on the search. There had been no official announcement, but news of what was going on spread faster than a virus here. The whole town had gotten the word that Keith Whalen was a person of interest in the murder of Colleen Whalen and in the disappearance of Jeremiah Sloan. Ellen and Dennis were among the crowd outside, holding a vigil for their son.
I was still an outcast. I wondered if I’d still have my job soon. My father could only protect me so far. At first, I stayed near the barricade on the dirt road to keep the search area secure, but it was obvious that rumors had spread about me, too, and I heard an undercurrent of nasty gossip with my name on it. Ellen Sloan’s stare was icy, as if the loss of her son was my fault. I was upset to think she might not be entirely wrong. If I’d said something earlier, if I’d admitted the affair when we first began investigating Colleen’s murder, then maybe things would have turned out differently.
Eventually, I asked one of the other de
puties to take my place, and I simply waited on the high fringe of Keith’s property to watch the evidence being gathered. The morning passed slowly, and so did half the afternoon. A spitting drizzle made the day miserable. My hair, my face, my uniform were all wet.
Still the FBI swept the land and carried out bags of material to be analyzed in their lab. I wasn’t sure if I was more concerned that they would find something or that they would find nothing at all.
Late in the day, my father came and found me on the hill. We hadn’t talked since my revelations the day before. I felt sick to my stomach about what he would say. He stood next to me as we observed the search going on below us, and I waited out his silence with desperate impatience.
“Am I fired?” I asked when I couldn’t take the tension anymore.
Dad tugged at his mustache. “What do you think? Should I fire you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to be fired?”
“No.”
“Well, take it easy. You’re not fired. I’ll have to reprimand you. A formal letter will go in your file. And I think a suspension of some kind is in order. You made a very serious mistake, Shelby. You concealed important information about a suspect in a murder investigation.”
“I know.”
“I expect better from you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“More to the point, you should expect better from yourself.”
I didn’t reply. I didn’t have to. He knew I felt the sting of his words. And he wasn’t done with me.
“I’m not going to be sheriff forever, Shelby. We both know that. The next election is in November, and Violet has already suggested that I should step down gracefully. That’s what I’m inclined to do. You know I was hoping to be here long enough that you could run to succeed me, but obviously you’re not ready for that.”
The truth hurt.
“Obviously.”
“I love you, Shelby. I’m sorry.”
“I love you, too, Dad. Don’t be sorry. This was my screwup.”
My father walked away down the sloping grass. I watched him go, and I knew I would always remember how he looked at that moment, still in control of his world for a little while.
The Deep, Deep Snow Page 15
