“We put the fear of God in him,” I said. With that, I turned and walked toward Crawford, Max following beside me. As soon as I got close enough, I shouted, “What the hell were you thinking?”
“That I could—”
“We had a deal! You were to stand down,” I said. “Tell the chief deputy here how you agreed not to interfere, after I was kind and let you look at the files. Go ahead. Tell him!”
“Chief Jefferies, I was simply attempting to assist local law enforcement—”
“Damn it, Crawford, you aren’t law enforcement.” Max’s face flushed angry, and he looked spitting mad. “We’re not under any obligation to work with you. To include you in anything. Get that through your damn head.”
“Why, I—”
“This is over,” I said. “Done. You’re out.”
“That’s not…” Crawford looked like he’d swallowed a rotten egg and it was about to come back up. “I can be of service in the case, and I—”
“Why the hell are you here?” I demanded. “What is it about you and this case? Tell us the truth.”
Crawford glared at me and turned away. He stalked toward his pickup’s door, but I didn’t stop shouting at him. “You better keep out of this, Crawford. Any more interference, and I’ll charge you with impersonating law enforcement. You told those people you were a cop. Let me remind you. You aren’t. Not anymore.”
At that, Crawford took a deep breath, and I figured he was trying hard to hold his anger. He said nothing, just scrambled into his pickup, and a moment later he had taken off down the road.
Max and I said goodbye and headed out ourselves. He still had the subpoenas for the companies selling Pitocin to check on, and I had plans of my own. My distrust of Ash Crawford renewed, I’d decided to do what I should have done early on. I was going to do all I could to check up on the man, find out who he was and try to figure out why he was so invested in our case.
But the phone rang. An unidentified number. I almost didn’t pick up. Then I remembered that I’d been expecting the phone call.
“Chief Clara Jefferies?” The woman sounded aged, her voice wavering.
“Yes, who’s this?”
“My name is Dolores. I believe we have a mutual friend, Hannah Jessop.”
“Yes, we do. I’m glad you called. When can you see me?”
Twenty-Seven
“Would you like a cup of tea?”
The dining room had a long oak table covered by a white lace cloth. In the center was a crystal punch bowl that looked like one Mother had when I was a girl. I momentarily wondered where it was, where all the beautiful things my family had owned before my father’s death were. Sold, I assumed, to support the family. Thinking of father’s passing, I regretted yet again that I would never be able to confront him. I’d grown up idolizing him, but he’d turned his back on me to follow his prophet’s orders. It felt like unfinished business, and it weighed on me, as did my shattered relationships with the rest of my family. I’d called Sariah on my way to the meeting to find out about my mother. All Sariah had heard was that Mother was showing signs of waking soon.
I considered visiting later that afternoon, but then recalled Doc’s warning that Mother shouldn’t be upset. It was better if I stayed away.
Dolores lived in one of the big mansions in town, a rambling structure that faced the main street with a large bay window. The furnishings were as old or older than she was, I guessed. Around the yard there were small cottages where her sister-wives lived. In our brief conversation before we turned our attention to why I was there, she explained that she’d been the first of eight wives married to one of the church elders, a former stake president who ruled over all of Alber’s wards. He’d died nearly a decade ago and left her in control of the family funds. As such, she had a great deal of power over the family.
She poured our tea into the thinnest of bone china cups. She added three sugar cubes to hers, took a sip and appeared pleased. A tiny woman, frail-looking, she had to be in her eighties. Her features fine, her eyes clouded over but still remarkably blue, her pale skin had the look of parchment stained by age.
“So tell me about Lynlee and Danny Benson,” I asked. “You helped them leave?”
Despite so many living in the house, all eight wives and a handful of their children, most adults, we were alone. I suspected Dolores had sent the others off when she knew I would be visiting. As she’d instructed, I’d parked my car three blocks away, then approached through an alley to get to the house. I couldn’t guarantee no one had seen me, but I’d done my best not to arouse gossip.
“That episode with Lynlee and Danny was a long time ago. Fifteen years or more,” she said. “What I need to know is why you’re asking, before I decide if I’ll help you.”
I explained the situation, that I’d found the old report in the Tombs.
Dolores shook her head, her mouth twisted in disgust. “I’d heard they had secret files at the police department. I believed it, but hearing that it’s true, and that they buried child abuse, I imagine domestic violence, sexual assaults?”
“Yes,” I verified. “All those crimes and more. Most of them I can’t pursue, because the statutes of limitations have lapsed. My hands are tied.”
“Such a disgrace. And this from men who claimed to represent the Almighty.” I nodded in agreement, and she inquired, “But you can go ahead with Danny’s?”
“Perhaps. I need to talk to him, to determine if the elements of the case are right.”
“All these years later?” she asked, sounding surprised.
“Based on some questions I’d like to ask Danny, there is that possibility. But I need to talk to him in person to find out what he wants to do and whether or not the case qualifies.”
That didn’t appear to sit well with Dolores. She sat back, said nothing, and tapped the table with the long unpainted nails of her bony fingers. She seemed in deep thought.
“Would you be able to reach Danny for me?”
She didn’t answer, just kept quiet, and I fell silent, too. Then, she peered over a pair of wire-rimmed glasses at me and said, “I’m not sure this is something I should do.”
“Well, I think he should be the one to decide if he wants to talk to me. I know it’s been a long time, but he may want to proceed, if that’s a possibility.”
“Hmm.” Again, silence. I didn’t try to rush her, and before long she said, “I’ll think about this. I’ll pray on it. And I’ll let you know.”
“But Dolores, consider the circumstances here. Clyde may be abusing other children. If Danny wants to, and we can go forward with this, it could be a way to stop Clyde. You have an obligation to help, don’t you think?”
While she’d been welcoming, hospitable, at that her mood soured. “You’re asking me to upend the boy’s life. To remind him of the horror of living in that house with that man, everything that happened to him. I won’t be rushed. Before I agree to do that, I am going to give it serious thought.”
“You’ll let me know?”
“I’ll sleep on it. If I think it’s best to call Danny, I will. And I’ll let you know if I have and what he’s decided.”
As she walked me to the door, she looked up at me. I towered over her by more than a foot. “We were worried about you, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“All those years ago when Hannah told me about you, explained what was happening… especially with who you were married to, a man with that kind of power… we thought something very bad could happen to you.”
“You knew?”
“The church had total control over Alber back then, but a small group of us monitored such things. We knew who the men to watch were. The ones who had a reputation for such things. When someone appeared to be in trouble, we reached out to them, as Hannah did to you.”
I remembered that day after I left Doc’s office. I had my long sleeves on my prairie dress pulled down, covering the splint and bandage. I’d walked out, and H
annah had appeared. It was as if she just happened to be there, that fate had crossed our paths. I’d never suspected anything more.
“It wasn’t happenstance that Hannah was outside the doctor’s office door that day?”
Dolores said nothing more, but she wrapped her arms around me. She felt reed-thin, but I sensed there was a strength there, a determination.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
On the drive back to the station, I passed the house I’d grown up in. An eighteen-wheeler was parked out front and boxes were piled up on the front porch. It appeared the homeowners were moving out. I gathered that they hadn’t waited to sell the place. The sign remained in the front yard and it didn’t have a “SOLD” placard on the top. I slowed down in the SUV, then I pulled over and parked. I sat there for a little while, staring at the house. I thought of the Christmas tree Mother decorated every year, the stockings she hung like washing on a line from a string she pulled across the archway into the dining room. Father in the backyard pointing up at Samuel’s Peak and the humps that formed the camel, telling us about the three wise men. Easter egg hunts. I’d been so angry for so long, and I’d thought little about my childhood before my life had been turned upside down. I pictured Mother in the hospital bed and I wondered if Sariah or Naomi, my brother Aaron or any of my many siblings would be there when she opened her eyes.
The day had evaporated, and when I walked into the police station the evening shift was starting to come in. Conroy was again seated across from Kellie in the reception area. The usual drill; as I walked in the door, Kellie handed me a few message slips. I flipped through them, found nothing except a note from Doc asking me to call.
When I reached him, Doc sounded tired. “I wanted to give you a heads-up about your mother.” His voice flat, I knew the news wouldn’t be good.
“What is it, Doc?”
“Clara, Ardeth is going to need care. She… how best to put this…”
I didn’t rush him. He was struggling. Seconds passed, and I said, “Doc, just tell me.”
I heard a long, sad sigh. “The stroke has weakened her right side.”
“How weak?”
“She should be able to care for herself, Clara, but she’ll need help. She’ll be able to walk, but at least in the beginning she’ll need a wheelchair, in a little while a walker. Perhaps for the rest of her life she’ll walk with a limp, but if she’s lucky maybe eventually with a cane.”
“And her hands?”
“The right hand is paralyzed.”
I took in a deep breath, struggling to remain calm. “Anything else?”
“So far,” Doc said, his voice rough with emotion, “it appears that Ardeth is incapable of speech.”
After I hung up, I sat at my desk for a long time. Occasionally, I heard someone walk past my door, but no one knocked, my phone didn’t ring, the office had fallen quiet, as if the powers that be understood that at that moment, I couldn’t take any more bad news. I thought of Mother’s pride, her stern bearing before these past years when time weighed so heavy on her. This would be a bitter pill. I considered my family’s home, the dilapidated double-wide in the trailer park that rimmed the mountains. Only recently had water been connected to the kitchen. They still used the old outhouse in the backyard. Mother would have difficulties living there, especially with so many people in such a small place.
I wondered again if I’d had anything to do with the stress that led to her stroke, if any of the guilt was mine for running away, then returning and not leaving as she’d asked me to.
Father would have known what to do, I realized. We had issues, my father and I. He’d raised me to believe I was exceptional and that I would always be cared for and loved, and then he turned me over at the prophet’s direction to a man who didn’t deserve me. A man who would never love or cherish me. A man who would always see me as a possession, who’d blame me for his own shortcomings.
Still, Father loved Mother. He loved all three of my mothers. And he would have cared for them. He loved his children, too, although sometimes I wondered if maybe not enough. But he was dead, gone, and we were alone.
I picked up the phone and called the sawmill. “Aaron Jefferies, please.”
“Who’s calling?” a woman asked.
“His sister Clara.”
Silence. Then the woman said, “I’ll ask if he’ll take the call.”
My brother and I had only briefly spoken since my return, and it hadn’t been particularly friendly. I considered that he might simply hang up, but I waited, then waited longer, and finally I heard his voice. “You’ve heard about Mother?”
“Yes,” I said. “That’s why I’ve called.”
Our conversation was short; we didn’t bring up the past, only talked of the future and what our mother would need. Aaron and I agreed we’d pay the hospital bill and for her rehabilitation. I had some money not because I’d been frugal, but because I had no life outside of work, nowhere to spend what I made. “Clara, I know the family hasn’t welcomed you back with open arms.” Aaron sounded, if not repentant, as if he thought he should explain. “I’m sorry, with you being an apostate, it’s just…”
“Difficult,” I said, and he didn’t contradict me.
Outside, the sun was going down. After I hung up, I brought up files on the computer and made notes on the two cases I was working. We were waiting on DNA on the bones found on the mountainside. Max had the subpoenas out to the internet companies that sold Pitocin. I noted on the second file that I expected to hear from a source in the morning about whether or not she’d help me reach out to Lynlee and Danny Benson.
The evening stretched ahead. I wanted to call Max, to make arrangements to meet, maybe at the river where we could again sleep under the stars. I thought about waking up this past morning and the first thing I saw being him, watching me. I’d put my hand up and traced the curve of his smile, and he’d kissed me long and hard. I wanted to curl against him, feel his warmth, and have him hold me while I told him of the sad turn my mother’s life had taken and all my family had lost.
I gathered my bag and packed up my laptop. Kellie had gone for the evening, and Gladys manned the dispatch desk. “I’m off. Be back in the morning.”
She was on a call and waved at me, and I was gone.
I drove through the darkness. Instead of pulling into the lot at the shelter, I continued on until I saw the house again, the one where I’d grown up. The moving van was still out front, the lights were on inside and it glowed. For more than an hour, I sat in the Suburban and watched the movers, children running in and out and their parents calling to them to stay out of the way.
Finally, the truck pulled away, and I started the engine and drove back to the shelter. In my room, I lay on my bed. I picked up my phone, intending to call Max, but instead I texted him.
Mother will need rehab. Not good news. I’m going to bed early so not calling.
He texted back:
I can meet you. I’ll call Alice to watch Brooke. You shouldn’t be alone.
It was a kind offer, a desired one. But I wouldn’t take Max away from Brooke for another night. He was hers more than he was mine. She needed him as much as I did.
Thanks but not necessary. We’ll talk in the morning. Good night.
After I sent off that last text, I hung up my uniform and pulled a big T-shirt over my head. I lay back down thinking I wouldn’t be able to sleep. But I soon drifted off.
In my dreams, I floated over my body in the bed. As I hovered, Mother appeared at my bedside. My eyes closed, I looked as unreachable as she had in the hospital. As I had with her, she sat with me and held my hand. I felt at peace. Calm. I knew what I had to do.
Over and over Mother whispered: “Clara, you are my daughter, and I do love you.”
The night passed and morning approached. In the moments before my eyes opened, I stood outside a house I didn’t recognize, where a woman I didn’t know pummeled a faded rug that hung across a clothesline with an old
black metal rug beater. Over and over she pulled it back and swung. Each time, clouds of dust rose around her. The air filled, until it appeared that she stood in a foggy haze. When she finished, she turned as if to walk toward the house, but instead she confronted me. Her eyes held mine.
“Stop them,” she pleaded. “You have to find the girls, before it’s too late.”
Twenty-Eight
I woke up thinking of Carrie Sue Carter, Eden Young, and the other missing girls whose photos I’d copied off the internet. I hit the office early, before six, and turned on my computer. The dream had left me with a disquieted feeling. Anxiety. I skipped breakfast, and my whole body felt unsettled. I was missing something. What?
Before seven, I was on the phone with Doc, who had no news about the DNA. When I complained that Ash Crawford had promised to speed up results, Doc told me to calm down. “Crawford has done what he can. DNA takes time. And these types of cases, found remains, are marathons not sprints. You know that, Clara. You need to bide your time. We’ll have it soon.”
It was all true, but, for some reason, I couldn’t just wait. I pulled out the folders on Carrie Sue and Eden. I went over my notes and Max’s, hoping to find another avenue to investigate. Nothing popped up. Instead, I returned to what I’d set aside when I’d gotten the bad news about mother the evening before: finding out everything I could about Ash Crawford to try to figure out what was behind his obsession with our case.
First thing: I looked Crawford up on NCIC. Cop addresses aren’t always available, but I found an old one in Salt Lake, then a recent move to a ranch north of Alber, in the shadow of the mountains. I wrote the latest address down, looked it up on Google Earth and snipped a photo of an old farmhouse surrounded by fields bordered by a split rail fence. I saved it to my phone and copied it to the case files on the computer.
Then I began an internet search. Pages of articles popped up, starting with the most recent. The first was an announcement of his retirement. It had a link to a letter issued by the US Marshal Service’s Washington DC-area headquarters, thanking him for his many years of service. In articles announcing his departure, his colleagues and others in law enforcement throughout the US praised Crawford. They called him dedicated, determined and fair. All were good traits when it came to law enforcement. Two years earlier, he’d investigated the disappearance of a convicted killer who’d escaped from a prison in northern Utah. The guy had been on the lam for a couple of decades. He’d disappeared into the background, lived as a model citizen and hadn’t raised an eyebrow in years. But Ash Crawford tracked him down, found him living in a Provo suburb with a new wife. They had children and grandchildren, and the neighbors thought he was “just the nicest guy.”
The Blessed Bones Page 18
