by Midge Bubany
She sat across from me holding her cup of coffee, her eyelids fluttering rapidly as she waited for me to begin. Her eyeliner was smeared beneath her eyes . . . or was it dark circles? She lit a cigarette and blew out the match. She got up to grab an ashtray from the counter.
I turned on the department iPad and did the preliminaries.
“Laurel, I just have a few questions for you about Silver.”
“Uh huh,” she said.
“I checked through Silver’s school records. You both were absent on the same days. I’ve got to think you ditched school together.”
“Well, it wasn’t for fun.”
“Explain.”
“Well, she made me go to the doctor, which was a big mistake.”
“Why?”
“Because they put me in the hospital and Jonah got arrested for domestic abuse. He was in prison for six months ’cause of it.”
“Where he belonged if he hurt you. You were pregnant then?”
“Yeah, but it was tough going, being only sixteen and alone.”
She stabbed out her cigarette.
“What about the other absences?”
“Jonah was in prison when Hannah was born. Silver took me to the hospital and stayed with me. Then she took care of Hannah twice while I went to visit Jonah ’cause my ma couldn’t.”
“Okay. Tell me, did Jonah know it was Silver who took you to the hospital?”
“No, I dint tell him. He probably thinks it was my ma.”
“Jonah lose his temper with you or your kids?”
“The kids only when they deserve it, but he’s never laid a hand on them or me again.”
She took a drag of her cigarette and slowly blew the smoke out the side of her mouth rather than in my face. So considerate.
“Laurel, who were the people who came with you out to Emmaline?”
“Just some friends from the park.”
“Have you been back out at the house since you tied the ribbons to the trees?”
She laughed with a rasp. “No, sir. If somebody did something like that again, it wasn’t me. Oh, you don’t think it was me that started that fire, do ya?”
“But you brought flowers out to her grave?”
She screwed up her face. “I dint know she was buried.”
“I mean at Emmaline. Before her remains were found.”
“How would I know where she was?”
“Where was Jonah the night Silver disappeared?”
“At home watching TV with me. You don’t think he hurt her, do you?”
“What if he knew about her taking you to the hospital?”
“Well, he dint know. I’m sure a that!”
“If your husband hit you tonight, would you call 911?”
“Yes, I would. I told him that I won’t take no abuse. Honest, he’s been real nice to me and a good daddy to my kids.”
Just then a girl—a chubby teen—came through the door. She wore a multi-layered red-and-white skirt and a black sequined top, not at all becoming a girl her size. Laurel quickly stubbed out her smoke.
“Hi, baby,” Laurel said. “How was shoppin’?”
“Didn’t find anything I liked. Who’s he?” She lifted half a lip in a snarl.
“Hannah, this is Deputy Sheehan.”
“What’s he doing here?” she said.
“He’s investigatin’ the death of my dear friend, Silver Rae.”
“Oh, the one that disappeared when you were a kid?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s to eat?” she said.
“Change clothes first.”
“You find my iPod yet?”
“Nope.”
The girl put her hands on her hips, rolled her eyes, grabbed a bag of chips out of the cupboard, and sashayed to the back of the trailer.
“You got kids?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Stepsons.”
“Well, they’re all different. Gotta love ’em for who they are. I wasn’t gonna raise my kids like I was raised. I was on my own too much. That’s why Jonah and I work opposite hours, so one of us is always home with the kids. ”
Laurel lit another cigarette. I think I aged five years breathing in her smoke.
“Well, I’ll let you tend to your children. Thanks for your time,” I said. “If you think of anything . . .”
“I know . . . call you.”
As I drove home, I thought about Laurel. She seemed like a good mother. But I wasn’t convinced her husband didn’t physically or emotionally abuse her or the kids. Abusers get smarter about when and where they hit their victims. But if she hid it, there wasn’t much we could do.
Even though cutting school to help Laurel was misguided, I admired Silver for doing it. I could understand why Laurel wanted to tie ribbons in honor of her friend—and see where she’d been buried—and I didn’t think she placed the flowers. But how good was her word? Did Jonah really not know who took Laurel to the hospital? Was he really home with her the night Silver disappeared?
Then my thoughts shifted to how mad my wife was. I felt sick inside.
Shannon’s car wasn’t in the garage and all was quiet when I walked into the house. There was a note on the counter: “Cal, Mom and Dad took Brittany and the boys to a water park in the Dells for a couple days. I’m out with the girls.”
Great.
I ordered a pizza and guzzled beers while I flipped between ultimate fighting and car auction shows. I fell asleep on the couch with Bullet like old times, woke up at eleven, took him out to pee, then went to bed. My wife wasn’t home yet.
Chapter 31
August 27
When I woke up, I was alone. It was a shitty feeling. I needed to fix this. I drove by Shannon’s parents’ house on the chance she’d spent the night there. Her car was in the driveway, but she didn’t answer the door. I went to the department gym and beat the hell out of the equipment. Then I ran into the other happy woman in my life—Patrice Clinton.
“Come to my office.”
She sat and I stood before her with my arms folded, waiting to get ripped apart.
“Have you heard from Austin yet?” she asked.
“No. Obviously you haven’t, either.”
“I would like to wrap up one investigation, anyway. Where are we on the Dawson case? You said we were close. Who’s our main suspect?”
“Sawyer Gage, Parker Gage, Wesley Stillman, Jonah Wolfson.”
“Four? Are you serious? You haven’t even narrowed it down?”
“All of them have family members giving them alibis and we have absolutely no real proof any of them did it.”
“So, you have nothing?”
“That’s about right.”
“Well, you fucking better get something.”
She threw the Birch County Register on her desk. The headline read: The New Sheriff In Town Comes Up Short. “It’s about my leadership skills. How we aren’t solving the case because I’m not up to the task. Me! Not my investigators.”
“Sorry.”
“Just get out and find the goddamn killer!”
God, I miss Ralph.
I went up to the conference room and looked at all our evidence sprawled on the whiteboard. I added the new information about Silver skipping school to help Laurel Wolfson. I looked at my four suspects. I circled Jonah’s name. It was Silver’s doing that Laurel went to the hospital, which landed Jonah in jail. Motive. But my eyes always diverted to Sawyer Gage.
I called the Gage home number and Aubrey answered. Sawyer was still there, and fifteen minutes later, he was once again sitting before me in an interview room.
“Thanks for coming in again.”
“I’m starting to think you have a t
hing for me,” he said, smiling.
“Ha.” I pointed at him, “Funny man. I’m surprised you’re still in town.”
“My mom had complications after her surgery and ended up back in the hospital. Infection—it’s pretty serious. She’s getting better, but we thought we might lose her there for a couple days.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
He nodded and leaned back in his chair, his hands folded in his lap. “And here we are again—you and me. With that headline in today’s paper, my family made bets on who would be called in first.”
“And?”
“We were sure it was going to be Parker.”
I nodded. “So why do you think it’s you I want to speak to?”
“I’m supposing it’s because you think I killed Silver Rae to cover up a sexual encounter.”
I lifted my brows. “So you admit you had sexual relations with her?”
He stared at me with an oh, shit expression on his face, then did a Jesse Ventura head wiggle. “It was consensual.”
“With Rohypnol in her system? A drug you gave her.”
He didn’t respond.
“Does Parker know about this?”
“No.”
“It was probably your child Silver miscarried.”
“How do you figure that?”
“It’s all in the timing. But you did know about the miscarriage, didn’t you?”
Again the head wiggles. “Okay, I did overhear my folks tell Parker to stay away from her because she was promiscuous—proof was, she’d had a miscarriage. Parker said she’d told him the rape story. They, of course, said she was lying.”
“And you didn’t set them straight. So why continue to lie about it now?”
“Because I didn’t think it was important.”
“Come on.”
“All right, because you would jump to conclusions—like you are now.”
“You drugged and had sex with an impaired young virgin. You impregnated her. What kind of asshole thinks that’s not important?”
“Never said I wasn’t an asshole in those days. I admit it was wrong. But what I meant was, I didn’t think it was relevant to solving her murder. That’s no reason to kill anybody. Besides, if she did know it was me, she would never have told anyone because of Parker.”
“She remembered. Didn’t she?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Time to come clean, Sawyer. Ease your conscience.”
He sat back and grinned. “Sorry, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Should I have brought in another family member? Your brother or sister, or one of your parents?”
“No, man. We think it’s the milkman. What’s his name? Stillwell?”
“Thanks for the tip,” I said.
After hammering him for several more minutes, I showed the asshole out to the lobby.
Lucky and Troy were walking in at the same time. Lucky was as red-faced as Troy was pale. Lucky and Sawyer stopped to shake hands and exchange greetings.
“Heard your Mom was back in the hospital,” Lucky said. “How’s she doing?”
“Better. Thanks for asking.”
“So what brings you in here?” Lucky asked.
“Ah, just talking to the good deputy here. See you in February, eh, amigo?”
“You bet.”
Troy and I exchanged glances.
Sawyer gave me a salute and said, “Always a pleasure, Deputy . . . Lucky.”
After he left, Troy asked Lucky, “Why are you seeing him in February?”
“He has a couple charter fishing boats in South Padre Island. One goes out on the bay and one on the gulf. I’ve been going down for a week every year.”
“Huh. I didn’t realize you two were buddies. How’s the arson investigation going?” I asked.
Lucky shrugged. “It’s going.”
“Anything on Victoria’s whereabouts?” Troy asked.
“Not yet.”
“Do you trust Spanky to handle her? She’ll probably go down on him and he’ll run off with her.”
Lucky laughed.
“He’ll be fine,” I said. “I’m going to cut out. I have another suspect to drill.”
When I knocked on the front door of the Wolfson’s doublewide, Laurel opened the door only a crack. I could see only a small sliver of her face.
“Not working today?” I asked.
“I’m not feeling well,” she said.
“Jonah around?” I asked.
“No.”
“May I come in and check?”
“Nah, I’m really sick.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Migraine.”
“Sorry to hear that. But I really need to speak with Jonah. Where can I find him?”
“He’s at work. Been doing double shifts to get the school ready to start next week.”
“Laurel, do I need a search warrant?”
She stepped back and I took that as agreement to come in. I pushed the door open and saw the right side of her jaw was swollen, red, and crooked.
“I’m taking you to the hospital,” I said.
“No,” she said, and started to weep.
“Yep. It’s out of your hands.”
I put her in the front seat of my Explorer and drove her to the Birch County emergency room. Then I put out a call to pick up Jonah for domestic abuse.
“You’ll need to file charges.”
“No, you’ve got it wrong.”
“I don’t think so. What about your kids? Do you want them to think it’s okay for their father to do this to their mother?”
She wouldn’t make eye contact with me while I took photos of her face.
I stuck around while Laurel was examined. She was going to have surgery and was being admitted.
Before they wheeled her away, I said, “Just tell me now it was Jonah who did this to you.”
She looked away.
“Trust me, he’ll never do this to you again.”
I asked the ER doc to document her injuries and send a report to me.
Dispatch said Greg Woods took the call to pick up Jonah at the high school. When I got hold of Woods, he said Jonah had called in saying he was going to be late because he had to help his father with some emergency.
“What’s the father’s name?”
“Goes by Buck, has a farm out near Birch Lake. Want me to go out there?”
“I’ll follow you. Call for another back-up unit.”
Unfortunately, my angry, pregnant wife answered the call. This was the first time I regretted hearing her respond. She barely looked at me as the three of us spoke before caravanning out to Buck Wolfson’s farm.
When we arrived, the place seemed quiet. A 1990s Impala and an even older faded blue Ford pick-up truck sat in the open garage. A rusty black 1996 Suburban was parked near the house. I ran the plates on the Suburban. It belonged to Jonah.
“Who all lives here?” Shannon asked.
“Don’t know. But this is Jonah’s truck.”
“He told his coworkers he had to help with an emergency,” Woods said.
“Let’s check the house out first,” I said.
I took the front door, Woods took the rear, and Shannon went to the old-fashioned lift cellar door.
I knocked on the front door. “Sheriff’s Department.”
No one answered.
“Sheriff’s Department. Open the door.”
No answer. While the front door was locked, the back door wasn’t, so the three of us entered cautiously. The television was blaring in the living room. After going room to room in the small house, we determined it was clear.
�
�We better check the outbuildings,” I said.
I told Shannon to keep watch on the house in case someone came back—that Greg and I would handle the search. She gave me a defiant look that said she didn’t need my protection. I wasn’t about to argue with my wife in front of another deputy. Maybe this is why married couples shouldn’t work together.
“Okay, Shannon and I’ll take the buildings to the west, you take the east and we’ll work our way toward the main barn,” I amended.
As Woods moved out, Shannon followed him. So this was how it was going to be. I moved on to a large metal building—a machine shed filled with a newer model John Deere tractor and several implements. A gunshot blast sounded. A rush of adrenaline spread through my body.
I heard Shannon yell, “Freeze! Put your firearm down.” She was behind the main barn.
I sprinted forward, my heart thumping in my chest, my breath quickening.
Woods was across the yard. We approached the barn from opposite sides. With firearms drawn, we rounded the corner simultaneously. Jonah and an older man stood ten feet from my wife. Jonah had a rifle in his hand, pointed to the ground. Shannon was aiming her Smith & Wesson at him.
Our firearms drawn, Greg and I moved in, both yelling, “Drop the gun! Get down on the ground!”
All of us stood in a shooting stance aimed at Jonah. The two men’s heads swiveled between Greg, Shannon, and myself. Jonah gingerly laid the rifle at his feet. When my wife walked up to the two men, I stopped breathing. She leaned over, picked up the rifle, and backed up.
We moved in as we repeated our command. “Get down on the ground now!” Woods’s voice in a one-second delay.
Jonah knelt, then lay on his belly. Woods frisked and cuffed him.
The old man didn’t move. “What the hell is this?” he said.
I walked over and pushed him down hard and cuffed him, then checked him for firearms.
“What the hell? I got bad knees,” he said.
“You should have complied,” I said.
The old man said, “Jesus H. Christ. Can’t a man shoot his sick old dog without the cops getting involved?”
