by R. D. Brady
“So, Declan, what can I do for you?” Dee asked.
“I wanted to talk to you about the Granger case. About the evidence that went missing.”
Dee raised her eyebrows. “Why on earth do you want to ask about that now?”
“The night the clothes went missing, you were on the desk. And there was only one deputy on duty.”
Dee kept her eyes focused on her tea. “Yes. That’s right.”
“Did anyone else stop by the station that night? Anyone have access to the evidence room?”
Dee shifted her eyes away to the window. “It’s all in the report.”
Declan clenched his hands around his mug and studied her. “Dee, a kid went to prison. If someone took those clothes, we need to know.”
Dee shook her head, but she wouldn’t meet Declan’s gaze. “Why would someone take evidence? And even if they had, how would that help anyone now? Steve’s out. It’s over. Just let it go.”
“Dee, those clothes were supposed to have been sent out for DNA testing the next day. They might have proven Steve didn’t do it.”
“You can’t know that.”
“No—I can’t. And neither can you, or anyone else, because someone took that evidence. Someone stole our best chance of either proving or disproving Steve’s innocence. So I’m asking you again: Did anyone else visit the station that night?”
Dee looked away. Declan didn’t say anything, letting the quiet and Dee’s conscience put the pressure on her to respond.
Finally Dee spoke. Her voice was quiet. “You have to understand—Bud had just gotten hurt. The mill refused Bud’s workman’s comp claim. They said it was his fault. I was the only source of income and the one with the insurance. I needed to keep my job.”
A tingle of excitement ran across Declan’s skin. He knew there was more. He struggled to keep his tone even. “I understand.”
Dee nodded. “He never threatened me or my job directly. But the next morning, when the chief announced the evidence was gone, he had this hard look in his eyes. I swear he stared right through me. And I knew the threat was there.”
Declan stilled. “Dee, what are you saying? Who else was at the station that night?”
Dee looked up, her eyes filled with guilt. “Keith. Keith was there.”
DAY 5
“Well, it’s over, folks. The meteorologists have officially declared the storm done. But now we’ve got the cleanup. The towns closer to Lake Ontario got the worst of it, but pretty much every town north of Poughkeepsie has been hit hard. Flooding is rampant. So for those of you stuck, I hope you have the board games and puzzles ready, because it’s going to be a long haul.
And if you’re wondering what’s happening over in Millners Kill, well, so are the rest of us. With the cell towers down and many of the landlines, there’s been no information coming out of there. So let’s just hope they’re all keeping safe and that the authorities can get over there sooner rather than later.”
CHAPTER 61
The storm had finally passed. It was drizzling, but at least the torrential downpour had ended. Trees were down all over the place, and Bess’s house had lost power sometime during the night. Without the bridge to the mainland, Steve wasn’t sure when the repair guys would get the power up and running again, but he had stocked up enough wood to keep the stove going, and that would keep the house warm at least for a few days.
Luckily, Steve’s grandmother still had a landline. It was an old rotary phone that had been in the house as long as he could remember, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Although, seeing as how everyone now relied almost entirely on digital phones and cell phones, Steve wasn’t sure there was anyone they could call.
He grabbed his jacket after breakfast and headed for the back door.
“Where are you going, honey?” his grandmother asked.
He kissed her cheek. “Just going to see if the storm did any damage.”
He let himself out the back. A few more branches were down, and a tree had come down across part of the driveway. It had just missed his brother’s car. But all in all, it could have been far worse. He made his way around the side of the house, his spirits lifting. Looks like we escaped the worst of it.
But when he turned the corner at the front of the house, he went still. Oh my God. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
He forced himself to walk up the front steps, his emotions warring between anger and fear. He let himself in the front door just as his brother was coming down the stairs. Jack had stayed the night and was planning on staying until the power was restored.
“Hey, is that bacon I smell?” Jack called out.
“You know it is,” Bess called back from the kitchen.
Jack smiled and looked at Steve. “That woman is trying to make me fat.”
“Yeah. You seem to really resent the cooking,” Steve said, trying to keep his tone light.
Jack rubbed his stomach. “Hey, I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”
Keeping his voice down, Steve said, “Before you eat… I want to show you something outside.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “Now?”
Steve nodded, and something in his expression must have gotten through to Jack.
“Gran, keep that breakfast warm,” Jack called. “I’ll be right in.” He grabbed his jacket and followed Steve out the front door.
"What’s going on?” he asked.
“Turn around,” Steve said, his voice heavy.
Jack did—and went still. “Jesus.”
The word “MURDERER” had been sprayed across the boarded up windows in black paint.
Steve turned to Jack. “Help me take these boards down before Gran sees them?”
It only took about ten minutes to get the boards off and into the garage. But even then, Steve couldn’t get them out of his mind. His chest tightened at the thought of someone being out here while they’d all slept. Was it the same person who’d thrown the brick the other day? What if they came back when his grandmother was home alone? He couldn’t let that happen.
He grabbed Jack’s arm before they went in through the back door. “We don’t tell her, right?”
Jack nodded, his face grim. “Right.”
Taking a breath, Steve opened the door.
Their grandmother looked up from the kitchen table. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah. Just a few trees came down. But we’ll take care of it,” Jack said.
“It’s going to be one hell of a cleanup,” Steve added quickly, not giving his grandmother a chance to ask more questions. “Any idea when they’ll get the bridge up and running?”
Jack grabbed his covered plate off the stove and took a seat across from their grandmother. “I managed to get through to the state last night,” he said. “They think a couple of days at least, and more likely two weeks. But they’ll be able to air drop necessary supplies in. And there’s a medevac available, although it’s busy running rescue missions all over the county. We’re not the only ones hit hard. People are missing, and there’ve been reports of mudslides. It’s a disaster pretty much everywhere.”
“How about Millners?” Steve asked.
Jack shook his head. “Nothing that bad—besides the bridge of course. The flooding was bad, but nothing we can’t handle. Keith is going to hold a meeting at noon today at the elementary school. In fact, I need to get moving. I want to touch base with some people beforehand.”
Their grandmother stood up, picking up her plate. Steve took it from her. She looked a little pale this morning. Steve worried for a moment that she’d seen the graffiti, but he discarded that thought as soon as he had it. If she’d seen it, she would have tried to remove the boards to keep him from seeing it.
“Why don’t you go relax?” Steve said. “You still have that scarf to finish for Jack.”
Gran smiled, but her eyes looked tired. “Maybe I will. Thank you, honey.” She walked slowly out of the room.
Steve took the plate to the sink and wash
ed it. He glanced out the window above the sink before taking a seat at the table.
“You looking for something in particular out there?”
“Just making sure no one’s looking at us.”
Jack frowned. “It’ll blow over.”
Steve gave a bitter laugh. “Someone vandalized our home last night. And two people have been murdered. Most people are going to think it’s me.”
“But you’re alibied for both killings. And the abduction.”
“Don’t think too many people are going to be looking closely at the details. Besides, everyone still thinks I killed Simone.”
“So I take it you’re not going to be coming to the town meeting?”
“Well, I’m guessing one goal of the meeting is to calm the town down, so… no, I don’t think my presence is going to help with that.”
Jack clapped Steve on the shoulder on his way out of the room. “You’re probably right. But when all this craziness is past us, we’ll make sure that changes.”
“Seriously, you are way too much of an optimist to be a politician.” Steve called out to him. “Hey, Jack.”
Jack glanced over his shoulder.
“Be careful when you go into town.”
Jack grinned. “You got it, little brother.”
CHAPTER 62
Declan woke up on the couch in the principal’s office around nine. He hadn’t gotten to sleep until nearly four. It had taken a while to get back here from Dee’s last night, and then he’d spent time looking over the files again, this time with the knowledge that Keith had been the one who had taken the evidence that most damned Steve. He just couldn’t figure out why Keith would do that.
He sat up and yawned, his back protesting his uncomfortable sleeping position. He had a few hours before the town meeting. He wanted to look at everything they had on the recent murders. There had to be a connection. There just had to be.
He stood up, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door. He was hoping maybe Dee had remembered something else that might help. His mind turned over what Dee had told him over and over again, trying to make some sense of it. It made no more sense now than it had last night.
Unless, of course, Keith was afraid the DNA evidence would come back and clear Steve. If Steve was proven innocent, then Keith wouldn’t be the cop who had solved the biggest crime in Millners Kill’s history; he’d be the cop who’d botched the investigation.
That last thought kept rolling through Declan’s mind as he made his way to the police station. Was Keith small-minded enough to railroad a kid for his own political gain? Declan didn’t have an answer for that questions. But he intended to get one.
When Declan jogged up the stairs of the station and pulled open the door, he was surprised to see Dee wasn’t at her desk. He couldn’t ever remember walking in and not seeing her. It was jarring. He looked around just as Russ came out from the back.
“Morning, Russ.”
“Hey, Declan. I was just running out for coffee. Want some?”
“That would be great.” He nodded toward Dee’s empty desk. “Where’s Dee?”
Russ shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her yet. I called her house but didn’t get any answer. Power is out all over the island. I was going to run out there and check on her, but the chief wants coffee.”
Declan nodded, but a twinge of concern was beginning to build. After their conversation last night, Dee had seemed fine. In fact, she’d seemed relieved to finally have unburdened herself. She’d even agreed to write out a statement. Declan had it carefully tucked away in the trunk of his car. He glanced at the desk. Had she felt too guilty or worried to come in?
“You know,” Declan said, “I’ve got some time now. Why don’t I run over and check on her?”
Russ’s relief was palpable. “That’d be great. You know where she lives?”
Declan pictured the little house. “Yeah.” He turned and followed Russ out. “You guys getting a lot of calls?”
“I’ve been running around all night. A couple more people drove into water, not realizing how deep it was. We had two house fires, one heart attack, but no fatalities. I even had to disarm a group of guys over at Mel’s last night.”
“What?”
“They got it in their heads that vigilante justice was the way to go.”
“They were going after Steve?”
Russ put up his hands. “Don’t worry. I talked them down and got their weapons.”
“How’d you do that?”
“I told them they had a choice—hand over their weapons, or go to jail and then hand over their weapons.”
Declan smiled. “Nice job.”
Russ shrugged. “But it’s getting ugly out there. People are scared. And some of that fear has turned to anger.”
Declan sighed. “Yeah, I know.”
“I got to tell you—I can’t wait for that bridge to be back. I feel like we’re stranded here.”
“Well, that’s because we are.”
Russ gave a laugh. “Guess so. And it’s really beginning to work people up. I better get back out there. See you later.” With a wave, Russ headed across the parking lot.
Declan keyed open his car. As he climbed in, he wondered about Dee. She’s fine. The roads around her house are probably flooded. That’s all.
“Declan!” Russ’s yell came through the car window loud and clear—as did the urgency in his voice.
Declan jumped out of his car. Russ was at the other end of the lot, standing next to an old white Toyota Corolla. Declan’s heart began to pound. He knew that car. He’d seen it in Dee’ s carport last night.
And there was someone sitting behind the wheel.
Declan ran across the parking lot as Russ opened the door. Dee fell from the car, and Russ reached out to catch her before she hit the pavement.
But it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d hit. From the blood soaking her shirt and the deep slash across her neck, it was apparent that Dee was well beyond caring about a little fall.
CHAPTER 63
Steve spent most of the morning clearing the yard of debris, and he grew more tense with every car that passed. Thankfully his grandmother was still blissfully ignorant of their late-night visitors.
Steve had cleared the small branches out of the yard, but now he needed to tackle the big job: the tree that had toppled over, roots and all, into the driveway. He’d have to break out the old chainsaw to take care of that.
He picked up the chainsaw and headed for the tree. He chuckled. If the phones were working, the whole block would probably soon be calling the police station with the news that a murderer was wielding a chainsaw in the suburbs.
He glanced over at Micah’s house. I’ll check there when I finish up here.
His grandma stuck her head out the door. “Steve, honey, could you clear the Griffiths’ next door? Their kids are out of town.”
“Okay. After I finish this up.”
She smiled and ducked back in the house.
The Griffiths were a little older than his grandmother, and he’d known them most of his life. He’d also seen them turn their back on his grandmother when he was arrested. But good Christian woman that she was, his grandmother had never turned her back on them.
It took Steve another hour before he had cut down the tree and stacked the wood next to the back door. He leaned against the stack and took a swig of water as he looked over at the Griffiths’ yard. He could tell it had been neglected even before the storm had come along. Now tree branches were strewn across it, and they, too, had had a tree come down. It looked like it had missed their garage by only a few inches.
Putting the cap back on his bottle, Steve grabbed his gloves and headed over to the Griffiths’. He started in the front yard, because there weren’t as many branches down there. He piled them all at the curb, although who knew how long it would be before the town picked them up.
Then he headed down the driveway toward the back yard. He hadn’t seen any movement i
nside the house. Maybe the Griffiths were out of town. He put them out of his mind as he started piling up the debris from the back yard.
But on his fifth trip from the back yard to the curb, Steve heard the unmistakable sound of a round entering a shotgun. He went still.
“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Steve looked over his shoulder. Mr. Griffith stood there in his bathrobe. His white hair sprang out from his head. His hands shook, and Steve worried the shaking might set off the gun. He knew it wasn’t all from fear. His grandmother had told him that Mr. Griffith had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s a few years back.
“Mr. Griffith, it’s me. It’s Steve.”
Mr. Griffith held the gun higher. “I know who you are. I asked what you’re doing in my yard.”
“My grandmother asked me to clear the yard of debris. See?” He gestured with his head toward the end of the drive. “I’ve already cleared your front yard.”
“We don’t need no help from the likes of you.”
“Harold, put that gun down this instant!”
Mrs. Griffith came barreling down the back stairs. Where Mr. Griffith was skinny as a pole, Mrs. Griffith was large as a bus. Steve and Jack had often joked when they were kids that she must be eating all of his food.
“This murderer’s—”
“I know, Harold.” She reached her husband’s side, placed a hand on the barrel, and slowly lowered it until it pointed at the ground. “It’s all right. I’ll take care of it.”
“It’s not right what he—”
“No, but we talked about this. Now you go on inside. I made some snickerdoodles.”
“Fine.” He gave Steve a hard look. “But you remember I have this.” He held the gun by the barrel.
