However Many More

by Bo Thunboe

  But at least then, the disaster wouldn’t have been Jake’s fault.

  Not directly, anyway. Like it was now.

  The double wake for Henry and April had been a tough six hours. April’s friends had kept to themselves, but he’d been approached by a steady stream of old friends and townies of every type. Many of them talked like Jake was a hero for taking Trane out. But nothing about it felt heroic. Not with April dead.

  He crested the rise and powered down the steeper side of the hill, picking up speed as gravity helped him along, close to losing control. He lifted his gaze into the darkness under the Ogden Avenue overpass and clomped to an awkward stop.

  The rain-swelled river had flooded the path. He bent over, hands on his knees, breathing in big slugs of air. He could climb the concrete-block retaining wall to road level and wait for a break in traffic to get across Ogden, but he’d only have to do it again on the way back. He did a couple leg lifts to keep his hamstrings stretched, then decided to go back to the house.

  On the run back he fought to keep his head clear of the kitchen and Henry’s killer and the day ahead of him. But it was a struggle, and resulted in ragged breathing and a stuttering pace.

  As he skirted the base of the bluff he spotted a pair of uniformed officers yelling at a treasure hunter wedged in a crevice halfway up the bluff. An investigative reporter had found her way to the story of the silver hoard hidden on the old Bristol land. From her article the story had spread with amazing ferocity, luring in every kind of fortune hunter, from the weekend hobbyist with a discount-store metal detector to the full-time professional. Fortunately the cold rain had kept most of them inside scouring the Weston Historical Society archives for clues. A few—like this guy—skipped the research and hoped dumb luck would lead him to the treasure.

  Jake didn’t need dumb luck. He had Henry’s laptop, which held his friend’s draft manuscript for his next outhouse excavation book. Henry had written down every detail about the silver.

  How and where he’d found it.

  Where he’d re-hidden it.

  And that he’d planned to turn it over to its rightful owner.

  Jake cut away from the river and down the narrow parking lot along the Riverwalk west of Centennial Beach.

  Larry’s journal had described hiding the big bars in a beer-cooling cave under the Bristol property. A vertical fissure in the limestone bluff led to the cave system, where an early Weston brewery had once cooled its beer. The fissure had been filled in, but a hundred years of weather had washed enough of the fill away that Larry found it. And Henry knew where to find the fissure because he’d read a historical novel for children on Weston settlers that pinpointed it on a map. That’s where he’d dug that second time, over near the church.

  That’s where he’d found the silver that would lead to his death.

  * * *

  Showered and dressed in his black suit, Jack sat down at the card table. The service at the funeral home was starting in an hour, but he wouldn’t be attending. Lynn had passed word through Coogan that she didn’t want him there.

  Still, he would go to the graveside service.

  He flipped open his laptop and signed into the department’s system. All the investigative reports he’d been waiting for were there; everyone was scrambling to get the case closed. He started with Duke Fanning’s five forensic reports: Henry’s house after his murder, the murder weapon found at Bowen’s house, Henry’s house after Cole’s murder, Lynn’s kitchen, and a brief report on the big bar April had under her bed.

  Then Jake read the transcripts of Callie’s interviews with Jim Bowen, Conner Bowen, and Lynn.

  When he finished, he leaned back in the hard little folding chair, closed his eyes, and worked through the new information and what it meant.

  Means. Motive. Opportunity.

  Check, check, and check.

  The truth was easy. Justice—and his duty to Henry—demanded more.

  Time passed, and the square of sunlight from the kitchen window edged across the plywood floor as he worked through it all. It was simple, really. He bent the facts—old and new—into a story he was willing to tell, then revised his narrative summary and hit “publish.”

  The case was closed.

  But he’d kept the truth for himself.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Jake dodged a minivan as he ran across Hillside. The sun was higher now and the clear sky and still air let the fall sun generate some real warmth. It felt good after the long days of cold rain. He entered the cemetery grounds at the side gate across the street from his house.

  In this old section of the cemetery, the trees were tall and the deep shade still held the early morning chill. Henry and April were to be buried in a new section to the west.

  He broke out from under the trees and spotted the white tent, the folding chairs, and the expanse of Astro Turf pegged to the ground around the graves.

  He was the first one there.

  He’d planned to stand in a back corner of the tent out of Lynn’s sight, but found the shade under the tent too cold. So he stepped back into the sun and circled the large hole. He had to bite back an involuntary laugh at an unexpected moment of humor. Henry—the outhouse king—might call this double burial a two-holer.

  He found a place to stand: fifty feet east on the brick patio surrounding the veterans’ memorial. The sun was so bright he regretted not wearing sunglasses.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. Coogan. He’d been tied up negotiating with the city for a finder’s fee for the silver.

  “How’s it going? Jake asked.

  “Once the city attorney got in his usual thousand words of bluster, we were able to cut a deal. It was inevitable. We have the silver and proof of who owns it.”

  Lawrence Bristol’s journal proved that the silver had been a gift to Lucy Bristol before the Bunker brothers gave anyone a lien—which meant she owned it free and clear. And Lucy’s contract with the city for Lawrence’s care had transferred the silver to the city, along with the property where the Bristol Yard now stood. It had been right there all along, in a clause everyone had misunderstood.

  My estate, including my real property at the west end of Jackson Street, including but not limited to everything found on or under the surface, whether in a man-made or natural structure or cavity, and of any kind whether natural or man-made or elemental (Ag) including buildings and timber and other natural resources.

  Until now, everyone who had read the paragraph had interpreted the “Ag” to be a typo for “e.g.”—which meant “for example.” But it was no typo. “Ag” was the chemical symbol for silver.

  “What’s the deal?” Jake asked.

  “They’ve agreed to pay Henry’s estate five percent.”

  “Once it’s all papered up, tell them which storage unit it’s in and we’re done,” Jake said.

  Wendy at the storage facility had told him that Henry was in and out of there all the time and that he bought the contents of abandoned storage units. Two different things. One call to her dad, and Jake had learned that Henry had rented a unit right at the time when he started digging that second hole on the bluff. He must have spent days sneaking those bars away, a few at a time, from the Yard to the storage facility.

  “Will do,” Coogan said.

  “Thanks, Coog.”

  They hung up, and Jake closed his eyes and tilted his head back to catch the sun. A peaceful calm descended over him, his muscles relaxing. With the silver hoard accounted for, the nutcases and treasure seekers would leave, and life could go back to normal. Except for those people suffering the losses of Henry and April. Their new normal, and Jake’s, would be a long time coming.

  A sudden flapping of fabric. A hearse emerged from the trees, yellow funeral flags attached to the hoods flailing. Then a second hearse, and a long line of cars snaking behind it, the su
n reflecting off their windows.

  * * *

  Lynn peered through the front windshield at the back of April’s hearse. Henry’s hearse had led the way. That one decision—which car should go first—had about killed her. Thank God for Judy.

  “Are you ready?” Judy asked.

  “No,” Lynn said. She heard the anger in her own voice and wanted to apologize, but Judy didn’t need it. She’d turned out to be a better friend than Lynn remembered. Her only real friend. She couldn’t quite figure out when that happened, or why. She was even staying in the Coogans’ guest bedroom. The house where April was taken from her could burn to the ground for all Lynn cared. She would never step inside it again.

  A stream of people started to walk past the car. The back of April’s hearse opened and a cluster of men gathered behind it to remove the coffin. Judy had arranged the pallbearers. All men from their high school class. And every one of them had asked where Jake was when he didn’t show at the funeral home.

  “We need to go,” Judy said, her voice soft.

  Lynn pushed open the door with her good shoulder. The doctor said that with all the tendons, nerves, and arteries in a shoulder, she’d been lucky the knife had only damaged muscle. She didn’t feel lucky. Two weeks ago she’d had a daughter and the world’s best ex-husband. Now she had nothing. Except his money.

  She’d always told herself that money would solve all her problems.

  It didn’t.

  As she stepped out of the car, she spotted Jake standing off by himself, looking over the crowd. She tensed.

  Judy put a hand on her arm. “They were friends their whole lives. And he was April’s godfather.”

  “I know,” Lynn said. Detective Diggs had told her of Jake’s plan to wait in the hall for Trane to run another loop around the house so he could put himself between the nut and the women. When she screamed, she had foiled that plan. But weren’t cops trained for exactly that? To think on their feet as situations changed? Shouldn’t he have had a back-up plan? What if Trane had never gone on another loop around the house? What was Jake’s plan for that?

  “Let’s go,” Judy said. She hooked her arm through Lynn’s and started them toward the tent.

  Lynn shot a glance at Jake and found him watching her. He gave one of his little nods.

  She didn’t return it.

  * * *

  “Conner! Wait up!”

  Conner looked back and saw Detective Diggs getting out of a big car parked along the curb. She wore Aviator sunglasses and a black suit like the one she’d worn to search his house. Conner didn’t want to talk to her, but figured he didn’t have a choice.

  She jogged over and they walked together.

  “I wanted you to know Detective Houser closed the case this morning and both your parents are now officially in the clear.”

  “It wasn’t closed when the guy from Texas killed April?”

  “Now it’s official,” she said. “And I left what we found in your backpack out of the reports.”

  “Really? Thanks.” He wouldn’t lose his scholarship after all. He could go back to school, and away from here.

  Alone.

  “I’m sorry you overheard the conversation I had with your parents about their false alibis. Especially your dad’s.”

  Conner’s stomach churned and his mouth went dry. “My parents are splitting up. Finally. I think… I think that will be better for everyone.”

  “I’m sure it will.”

  They stepped through the gate onto the cemetery grounds. A large white tent stood in the sun, a long chain of cars strung along the road beside it. A tight cluster of men walked awkwardly together between the two. Conner realized they were carrying a coffin.

  He squeezed his hands into fists.

  He wasn’t going to cry.

  The cop patted him on the back, then cut away as he approached the tent. He ducked under the low edge of it and found a chair in the back row. He didn’t need people staring at him the whole time. The coffins were on either side of the grave, but with the lids closed he couldn’t tell which one was April’s.

  His chest ached with longing for her. Their old high school friends had crowded around him at the wake and flooded him with idiotic advice that time heals all wounds and to get back on the horse. Bullshit. Time wasn’t going to change anything. They had been perfect together. They had told each other everything.

  At least that’s what he’d thought until Detective Diggs told him about the giant silver bar April had under her bed. He wished he could ask her why she’d kept it a secret. Maybe she’d wanted to surprise him when she finally transferred to Northwestern.

  He pulled his eyes off the coffins to look for April’s mom. He spotted her walking toward the tent, arms linked with another woman. Mrs. Fox wore all black and giant sunglasses and had her right arm in a sling.

  He fought down a sudden wish that she’d died instead of April.

  Mrs. Fox sat down in the front row, but the other lady went to talk to the guy from the funeral home who was standing next to the coffins. Conner stood, threaded his way through the chairs, and slipped into the empty one next to Mrs. Fox.

  “Mrs. Fox?”

  She turned his way, then reached across with her free hand and squeezed his arm. “How are you, Conner?”

  “I’m… I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about April.”

  “Thank you, Conner. You and I… Well. Only the two of us know how special she was.”

  “I know.” He suddenly lost his words and fought to find them. “And I wanted to apologize about my dad. Maybe if he had told the complete truth right away the cops would have figured it all out sooner.”

  She pulled off her sunglasses and stared hard at him. “That silver twisted up more than just your dad.”

  Conner met her gaze but didn’t understand what she wanted him to see there. “Well, that’s all I wanted to say.”

  “Thank you.” She patted his arm.

  He took a last look at the coffins, then left the tent and cemetery. He didn’t know if there was a heaven, or if April was in it, but she wasn’t in that box.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Jake was surprised to see Callie. It wasn’t uncommon for a detective to go to a victim’s funeral, but she wasn’t the sentimental type. He realized the skinny man walking next to her was the Bowen kid. She patted him on the back, then split off from him and joined Jake on the bricks.

  “Jake,” she said.

  He nodded, hoping his silence would keep her quiet. But Callie wasn’t the silent type. She also didn’t do small talk.

  “Saw you closed the case.”

  “You read my interview with the Bowen boy? She never told him she had the big bar. I guess their so-called ‘perfect love’ turned out to be one-sided. The girl took after her momma and wanted that silver for herself, to hell with the boy.”

  “Looks that way,” he said, agreeing with her to avoid any back-and-forth.

  The graveside service started, Drake Lambert’s voice smooth and even, and they fell silent. Jake relaxed, his mind floating.

  “So that’s that,” Callie said.

  Her words pulled Jake out of his stupor. The crowd clustered around the graves was breaking apart, people heading for their cars.

  “You want some company? Talk about what… happened?”

  Jake smiled. “I’m going to stay here for a bit.”

  She frowned, the dark circles of her sunglasses staring at him. “Call me if you change your mind.” She spun on a heel and left.

  Jake pulled his eyes off her departing form and waited for an opportunity to talk to Lynn. Cars started and the hearses rolled away. Lynn’s limo pulled off the pavement and onto the grass to let the string of cars behind it go by, the flags now gone. Life back to normal. A few last lingerers talked to Lynn, then left.<
br />
  Judy hugged Lynn, then walked to the limo and stood beside it in the sun. Now was his chance.

  Jake crossed the sunlit grass and passed into the cold shadow under the tent.

  “Lynn,” he said.

  She pulled off her sunglasses and twisted in her seat—looking for help, maybe. Judy waved to her from where she stood next to the limo. Lynn turned back, scowling. The bruising and sutures from Trane’s attacks were hidden under makeup. Her right arm was in a sling.

  “I don’t want to talk to you,” she said.

  Her anger shook his prepared words out of his mind. He blurted, “I wanted to tell you I closed the case with Trane as Henry’s killer.”

  “That’s what the papers and the TV have been saying.”

  “But you and I know it’s not true.”

  Her eyes bored into his, but she said nothing.

  “You told Detective Diggs that Trane admitted to killing Henry,” Jake said. “That he said, ‘I killed him, so what.’”

  “That’s right. He killed Henry, and the other Texan, and then my April.”

  “But I was there, remember?”

  “I’ll never forget you were there, Jake. April died because you were there.”

  The words cut, but she’d said them for effect. He could read it in the jitter of her eyes. She wanted to shut him down and get rid of him. That wouldn’t work.

  Jake held her gaze. “I heard what Trane actually said.”

  “He must have confessed before you came inside.” She shifted in her seat and rubbed her jaw, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips. Deception.

  “He said to April, ‘How can I trust you when you think I killed your daddy?’ If he had already admitted to killing Henry, he would have just said he couldn’t trust her because he killed Henry.”

  She chewed her lip, her eyes darkening.

  “The lab found Henry’s blood on the big silver bar under April’s bed, even though it wasn’t the murder weapon.”

  He paused, waiting. But she stayed silent. April had been a gymnast all the way through high school. She was strong enough to carry that bar home from Henry’s, and plenty strong enough to swing the much smaller bar over her head. Means.