Fractured Truth

by Susan Furlong

  The VA docs didn’t get it. Pusser didn’t get it. No one got it. I avoided his accusations, looked him straight on. “I have info for you,” I said. A lead. A way to redeem myself. “Winnie gave up the whole story.” I sat and relayed what she’d said about Hatch and Maura making out. How she took off and met up with the Fisher kid. Everything.

  “Good work.” His tone was flat.

  “You’re going to question Hatch about it, right? He lied before, he was with her that night. The night she disappeared. We need to know if the Meath kid actually showed up. My guess is that the mayor’s kid—”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “And Jacob Fisher?”

  “I’ll put Parks on the Fisher kid. See what he knows. Maybe he’ll confirm some of what the Joyce girl told you. Or maybe she’s an unreliable witness.”

  I bristled. “Because she’s a Pavee.”

  “No. Because she’s already lied once.”

  I shifted in my chair. “If it’s all the same, I’d like to question the Fisher kid.”

  “No. Parks will do it. I want you to take the afternoon off. Go visit your grandmother.”

  “My cousin is with her. I don’t need the afternoon off.”

  “Take it, anyway.” He shuffled a few papers. “And you’re going to see a shrink. I’m going to get an evaluation set up.”

  “An evaluation?”

  “Yeah. See if you’re fit for duty.”

  A decorated combat veteran, body maimed and brain fried from service to my country, and I get this kind of crap thrown at me? Cool it, Brynn. “Hey, it was just a little booze. I’d tossed a few back before bed. My grandmother just had a stroke. We’re in the middle of a gruesome killing of young women. Who wouldn’t have a drink? And the call came in early. That’s all that was. I’m a good cop. You know that.”

  He didn’t bother looking up from his papers. “Go home, Callahan.”

  CHAPTER 17

  I called the hospital to check on Gran. The nurse told me she’d been discharged, so I headed home. Meg met me in the front room. I made no mention of my work problems. I could picture her shooting me one of those vindicated looks and launching into another lecture about the booze and pills. I’d just got that from Pusser. I couldn’t take much more. Especially not from Meg. I kept things on neutral ground. “They discharged Gran early?”

  “Her tests came back okay. The doctor thinks she’d recover better at home. She’s sleeping now. And don’t you dare go wake her. It took me most of an hour to get her settled down.” The lines around her eyes were more pronounced than usual.

  “You look exhausted.” Wilco pranced at my feet, wanting food. I brushed him aside with my foot.

  “I am. You didn’t check in today. Weren’t you worried about her?”

  “Of course I was. I just got tied up with work stuff. And I knew you were with her.” My eyes darted toward the back room. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Meg backed down a little. “No, she’s better. Physically.”

  “Physically? What’s that mean?”

  “She’s upset.”

  “I understand. This whole thing must be upsetting to her. And she’ll have to make some changes: diet, exercise—”

  “That’s not what I mean. She’s upset about you.”

  Not this again. I rolled my eyes and pushed past her to the kitchen, where I scooped a cupful of kibble for Wilco. He pranced around his bowl, eager to eat.

  Meg pursued me. “Don’t you want to know why?”

  “Let me guess. I drink too much.” How much more of this did I have to put up with today? I threw it in her face by retrieving my usual bottle of Jack from the cupboard. I skipped the ice and poured. Hell, if I’m admitting I’m a drunk, I might as well have a drink on it.

  Meg watched me with a look I’d seen a lot of lately, smug and judgmental. She’d always been my antithesis: pretty and delicate to my strong features and dark looks, dutiful to my rebellious nature, sober to my drunkenness . . . It went on and on. I threw back my drink, let the heat of the amber liquid follow down its all-too-familiar path.

  She shook her head in disgust.

  I chuckled, poured another, and carried it to the front window, sipping while I took in the neighborhood. A new couple had recently moved into the trailer across from us. Older, childless. She was nice enough, but he was a crotchety old bastard. They never drew their curtains, or maybe they didn’t like curtains. Whatever. I could see the old man in his recliner. His hand tucked inside his waistband, his head bobbing with sleep. There was a rhythm to his head bobs, a sort of swaying roll punctuated by a chin bounce against his chest. I watched and sipped, the Jack’s warm balm spreading to my limbs, softening the tension. I was tired, too. It’d been a long day. I simply wanted to drink, go to bed . . .

  Meg was relentless. “Gran’s upset about what you’re doing to the Meaths.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut for a second. Oh, that.

  “Everyone’s talking, Brynn. They say you’re betraying us. Your own people.”

  There must have been a noise next door. The old man startled, sat forward, looked around. He wiped at his nose, then dug in knuckle deep, extracting his finger and studying it curiously, before wiping it along the side of his jeans, sitting back and nodding back off.

  The things people do when they think no one is watching.

  “Are you listening?”

  “Yeah. I heard you. Nevan is a suspect. I’m just doing my job.”

  “That’s the problem. Your job.”

  “I’m a cop. It’s what I do. It’s what I did before, back in the Marines. Nobody cared then.”

  “That was different.”

  “How’s that?” I didn’t need this conversation. I needed to sleep.

  “You weren’t going after Pavees then.”

  “Nevan Meath isn’t the only one we’re looking at.”

  “Still, you said it yourself, he’s a suspect. How could you even think one of your own could do something so evil?”

  I turned and glared. “Have you forgotten what happened last year, Meg?”

  She flinched. Two murders, and she was almost the third, and a Pavee with the victims’ blood on his hands.

  “Don’t be stupid, Meg. Evil permeates every facet of society. Even ours. Especially ours.” I’d experienced it firsthand. So had she, but she chose to deny it. She’d erected a wall in her own head, a barrier against the ugliness of reality. I understood. I’d spent a lifetime trying to build walls in my mind.

  They always crumbled under the weight of truth.

  I took another sip of whiskey. Forget blocking the pain. It’s much easier to drown it.

  She continued speaking. “It’s your choice, Brynn. Call it what you want. Your duty, justice . . . whatever. Just know that Gran is paying for your decisions.”

  I stared down at my glass. My drink was already gone. I wanted another. “You think I did this to her? Caused her illness?” Go ahead, Meg. Say it. Guilt ate at my gut enough already, considering our conversation when she’d collapsed: her murder of Dublin, Doogan’s help to cover up for her. The gun . . . Oh yeah . . . the gun. And now they were looking for that, and—

  “She didn’t get invited to Violet Ferrin’s baby shower.”

  I laughed. “The Ferrins have always been snobs.”

  “And nobody called on her at the hospital. Her own best friend won’t even talk to her. These people are all she has.”

  “She has us. We’re her family.” The words half caught in my throat. I hadn’t called in on Gran today. Too busy waking up sloshed, screwing up a crime scene, breaking the friggin’ mayor’s son’s nose, and getting called on the carpet by my boss. Maybe she was right: Gran could count on her community better than on me. And now I’d screwed that up for her as well.

  “She feels like an outcast.”

  “What do you want me to do? Go back to working at the Sleep Easy?” After my colossal screwup, that’s what I might end up
doing, anyway.

  “She was lucky. This could have been so much worse. It might be a full stroke next time.”

  I gripped my glass tighter. “Don’t you think I know that?” I turned away, set my glass down on the coffee table. “I’m going out for a while. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

  She followed me into the kitchen, where I roused Wilco from his full-stomach, deep sleep. “Where are you going?”

  “Out.”

  “To the bar, no doubt. Go ahead, Brynn. Go lose yourself in a bottle. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of things here.” She crossed her arms snug against her model-perfect figure, her red curls jostled on her shoulder, and that pathetic look of self-righteousness on that pretty face of hers. God knows I wanted to hate her.

  I grabbed my grubby parka and my dog and headed out the door.

  CHAPTER 18

  I pulled out the photo taken at the church and turned it over in my hand. I’d looked at it a half-dozen times since I’d found it. Each time, my eyes were drawn to the woman in the photo—long hair, even features, porcelain skin—my fingers traced the crumpled skin on my own neck and my cheeks burned with embarrassment and a hot flush of anger. That night, the time Doogan and I had shared together, I thought . . . I wanted to believe . . . but no, it hadn’t meant anything to him.

  Wilco whined and climbed from the back seat to sit next to me. He panted and stared at me, his ears spiked like two black horns and his warm doggy breath filling the car. Meg was wrong. I wasn’t heading to the pub. Not yet, anyway. I was heading up to Stoners’ Draw, the last place where Maura had been seen alive.

  Get over yourself, Brynn. Separate your emotions. That’s what they’d taught us in the Marines. And that’s what I’d do now. Forget what could have been and focus on the case. Protect my grandmother. Save my job. Simple.

  I smoothed the photo over my dash. I’d realized earlier that I recognized the church. I’d been there several times for weddings and baptisms of distant cousins who lived in the North Augusta area. There was a huge Pavee settlement there. More than likely, Doogan’s wife was part of that clan. She could lead me to Doogan, and eventually to the gun. I needed her address, but I couldn’t use anyone in the department to help me get it. Too risky. But maybe Colm could help me. I snapped a photo and sent it his way.

  I parked my vehicle at the end of Stoners’ Draw and let Wilco out. He took a quick pee and followed me the rest of the way uphill to where the old fire tower loomed on the horizon. It was originally erected in the early 1900s when most of this area was designated Cherokee National Forest land. Some twenty years ago, the land transferred to private ownership. After that, the tower was abandoned and neglected. The harsh elements had beaten it down to a mere ghostly skeleton of its original structure. Now this area was nothing more than a party spot for local teens.

  I moved quickly. There was only about an hour and a half of sunlight left, which meant that if Pusser was going to send someone out to investigate the scene today, they’d be here soon. Not that he’d be able to tell much. Probably a dozen or more kids had been up here partying since the night Maura disappeared. Any evidence would be compromised. But Pusser was thorough. And as soon as he read the report of my interview with Winnie, he’d send someone out to secure the area until he could conduct a search at daybreak.

  He’d be ticked if he knew I was here. Not that it mattered at this point. He was already mad at me. Besides, this was my case and Maura Keene was one of my own. Telling me to stand down was like a slap in the face. Pusser always relied on me to run interference between the Travellers and settled law. Tensions had never been higher. The sooner this case was resolved, the better.

  I had a theory. I didn’t want to be right, but I needed to know for sure. Unfortunately, I found it. A large oil spot on the edge of the clearing near the head of a trail. A black smudge on the frozen tundra of garbage and waste: beer cans, broken bottles, fast-food packaging, spent condoms. According to the perp from the cockfight, Nevan’s truck leaked oil. I crouched down and took a closer look. The oil could’ve come from any car, but my instinct told me that Nevan was here that night. This oil was from his truck.

  Wilco brushed against my thigh and started nosing around the spot. I pushed him away and stood. I had what I came for; what I hadn’t wanted to find, and I needed to get out of here. I bent to tap my dog on the head, then stopped. He’d moved on toward a large stone cropping up ahead, happily scooping up benign scents as he went: dog urine here and there, a whiff of snowshoe hare, maybe, and animal scat. Who knew what smells his powerhouse of a nose detected? He drew closer and closer to the outlook rock. Several footpaths ran down the mountainside from there, like veins from an artery. It was easy to underestimate the severity of these trails, but I’d hiked this area as a kid. They started off as a gentle slope, but farther down the mountain, the trail morphed into steep rock faces, narrow ledges, and loose rocks that made for a difficult trek under the best conditions. Add snow and ice, and the trails became treacherous. One slip could be fatal. And Wilco’s nose was leading him in that direction.

  Snow crunched beneath my feet like dry crackers as I hurried toward him. Wilco’s fawn-colored body snaked away from me, his black-masked face hovering centimeters above the frozen ground. I quickened my pace and caught up to him just as he reached the rocky shelf that hung about a hundred feet above the canyon below. I attached his lead and crouched down next to him, delivering whispers on deaf ears. “Good boy, good boy. You need to be more careful.”

  I stood and looked out over the valley. The sky was big and blue and clear up here. Sunlight poured down and transformed the white landscape into a blanket of thousands of sparkly diamonds. A glimpse of “Heaven on Earth.” And for a second, I became caught up in the beauty, and the constant tension that hummed through me dissipated. I felt peaceful and whole and clean. But then a cold wind whipped around me and the day rushed back over me: Gran’s illness, the mayor’s allegations, the look on Pusser’s face when he sent me home. Home. Where Meg and Gran judged my every move. Questioned my loyalty and judged my choices.

  I pulled my parka tighter against my body, closed my eyes, and squeezed out the beauty around me. I remembered who I was, where I’d been, what I’d seen, and what I’d done . . . and not just in war, because the things I’d seen and done in those foreign lands were commissioned, ordered, expected.... It was the other things I’d experienced since then. Ugliness seeped into the recesses of my mind: rotting flesh, bloodied bodies . . . death and more death. It continuously swooped into my life like a rider on a pale horse, stealing my sanity, and robbing me of any hope for peace....

  No one understood. As a young Pavee, I’d lost my innocence; as a Marine, I’d lost my mind. The only peace I’d found since then was at the bottom of a bottle. And now, they were trying to take that away from me, too.

  I opened my eyes. I was standing too close to the edge. A chill of danger fingered my spine even as I laughed and my voice echoed back at me. It sounded weird, tired, too thin.

  Back away, Brynn. This isn’t safe.

  But I didnt. I found the edge alluring. Fascinating. I always have.

  A couple more steps. That’s all it’ll take.

  Several of my Marine sisters had already taken the final leap. At times, I envied them. I’d tried eating my gun, slitting my wrist, swallowing it all away with . . . but I’d always backed out.

  Coward! Well, here’s another chance.

  The sparkling snow below beckoned. So beautiful. So peaceful. Why not embrace that peace? Because Gran needed me? Or did she? All the stress I caused her, the worry, the tension . . . no wonder she’d had a stroke. And she had Meg, anyway, a good Pavee girl, to stay by her side.

  She’d be better off without me. Everyone would.

  I closed my eyes again and raised my hands out to my sides like wings.

  One more step, Brynn. One more step.

  I lifted my arms a bit higher, leaned, and something brushed my leg. Wilco’s
lead.

  I startled and opened my eyes. My dog had circled in front of me, his lead draped across my feet and his lone back leg now positioned precariously on the rock’s ledge. He started to slip, whining and scampering forward, clawing with his front legs.

  Wilco! Wilco!

  I thrust out my hand, sank my fingers into his flesh, and yanked him back. We fell against the cold rock and I pulled him close, clenching him to my body. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I breathed into his ears. How could I have been so selfish that I hadn’t even thought about the lead, about what would have . . .

  “What are you doing, Callahan?”

  It was Harris. I let go of my dog and stood. How long had he been there? How much had he seen? I busied myself with brushing off my pants as I swallowed hard, tried to get it together. “Pusser gave me the afternoon off. I decided to come up here and admire the scenery. Maybe go for a short hike.”

  “Like hell. Pusser told you to go home. And stay there.”

  “What do you know about it, Harris?”

  “I just talked to him. Saw your vehicle parked up there, so I called him on the radio and told him you were here.”

  “Couldn’t wait to rat me out, could you?”

  He came down to where I was and looked around. “Like it matters. Frickin’ waste of time coming out here. We ain’t going to find nothing. Too much goes on out here. Probably a couple dozen kids been up this way since last week. Just a couple days ago, I busted a couple having sex. They were so into it, they didn’t even see me coming.”

  Sicko. “Probably the closest you’ve been to getting any. Did it make you feel all tingly?”

  “At least I don’t sleep with my cousins.” He was in my face, a smug grin.