“My valley,” he said. His voice sounded strange.
His priority, just hours ago, had been escape. He’d need some money to do it, but if he could pull that off, he was going to get the hell out of Dodge. Now, hanging here above the stormy landscape, he didn’t much want to leave. This was home. This was his.
But that didn’t mean he intended to let go of the money. Lucas G. Bradford’s money, a man who bore Josiah’s name and had some tie to old Campbell himself. Could be Campbell had left this valley and made himself a dollar or two, then left it to Lucas G.; could be Lucas G. had made it for himself. Josiah figured it was the former. He was feeling a strange sense of loyalty to Campbell, the great-grandfather he’d never seen. Poor old bastard had become a figure of infamy in this valley over the years, but time was when he ran it, too. He’d been a big man here once, and people liked to forget that. Would be nice to offer a reminder.
The rain was gusting into his face, no trees shielding him from the west wind now, but he was enjoying the water. Felt good to be in it. Funny, because most times he hated to get caught out in the rain.
No, he wasn’t feeling like himself at all.
There were five messages on Eric’s phone. One from Detective Roger Brewer, who said he was wondering when they might be able to finish their talk. The edge in his voice wasn’t anything as casual as his words. Three from Claire, each with a sense of growing urgency. One from Kellen. “Heard from the police,” he said. “This is no good, is it? I’d like to hear what you think.”
Was there suspicion in his voice? Couldn’t fault him if there was. Eric called Claire first, and the relief-fueled anger he heard in her voice when she answered warmed him in an odd way.
“Where are you? I’ve called that hotel fifteen times. They’re probably going to throw you out of there if I call again.”
“I was talking to the police,” he said. “And then I, uh, I had a rough spell.”
Her voice dropped, softened. “Rough spell?”
“Yeah.” He gave her the update.
“You left the police station? Walked out in the middle of an interview?”
“Wasn’t much else I could do, Claire. You don’t have any idea what these spells are like. I barely made it to the door.”
“You could have tried to explain—”
“That I’m having drug reactions to mineral water? That I’m seeing dead men? I should explain these things to a cop who’s questioning me about a murder?”
It was a terrible moment of déjà vu, a return to so many instances over the past few years, him shouting at her for her inability to understand, for just not getting it, and her responding with silence.
A few seconds passed, and when she spoke again, it was with the careful, measured tone that he’d always found infuriating because it made him feel so small. Damn her composure, her constant control.
“I understand that might be a little difficult,” she said. “But I’m worried that if you didn’t offer some explanation, you’re going to create problems for yourself.”
“I’m not short on problems, Claire. Let’s add more to the pile, what the hell.”
“All right,” she said. “That’s one approach.”
He rubbed his temples again, but this time there was no headache. Why was he snapping at her? Why did he always resort to this, no matter the situation?
“Where are you?” he said.
“With my parents.”
Oh, how he wished she’d said a hotel. Now Paulie could step in and protect her, clean up yet another of Eric’s messes. He was probably enjoying the hell out of it.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good place. If anybody’s looking for you, that will be near the top of the list.”
“They have good security here.”
Indeed they did. They were twenty-six floors up in a restricted-access, luxury condo building overlooking Lake Michigan. Was going to take a damn long grappling hook to get up there.
“Dad’s been making calls,” she said.
“What? Why in the hell is he making calls?”
“To find out about the man who was murdered. Gavin Murray.”
“Damn it, Claire, the last thing I need is your father stirring up more trouble.”
“Really? Because it seems to me what you need is some help, Eric. It seems to me you need some answers. Who hired this guy, and why?”
Grudging silence. She was certainly right on the need for answers, and Paul was well connected in the Chicago legal community. He just might be able to get some.
“Tell him to start with the Bradford family,” he said finally. “Start with Alyssa, and then see who surrounds her. She shut me down today, and it wasn’t her decision. She was following instructions. Her only advice for me was to leave. Real insight, huh? Oh, and she said the old man is dead. Campbell. Or some version or impersonation of Campbell. Whatever the hell he was, he’s dead.”
“What? How?”
“Died today in the hospital, I think. She hung up without offering details.”
“Wonderful. One more person who can’t verify what you’ve told the police.”
“He couldn’t talk anyhow,” Eric said, thinking, except to me. He could talk to me, no problem at all. But let’s not share that with the police just yet.
“Have you heard back on the water test?” she said.
“Not yet. I need to call Kellen back. Then the police.”
“I don’t think you should do that. My father said you shouldn’t.”
“I can’t just blow them off, Claire, you just said that yourself.”
“I didn’t say blow them off. But Dad said that under the circumstances you absolutely should not talk to them again without a lawyer in the room.”
“But I’m just a witness.”
“You’ve told them what you know, right?”
“But he said he had more questions and I—”
“Here are some of his questions, Eric—he wants to know if you have a history of drug or alcohol abuse or violent episodes.”
“What?”
“Those were high on the list of questions when he called me, which was what I was going to explain before, but you cut me off. He seemed disappointed when I told him we were still on good terms. In other words, never say I can’t lie for you.”
Nice shot.
“I can’t believe he called you,” Eric said.
“Well, he did. And when I told my dad what was said, his response was that you need to get a lawyer. Your background isn’t relevant unless they consider you a suspect.”
“He doesn’t think I should talk to them at all?” Eric said, hating to give any credence to Paul Porter’s advice, but recognizing that the man had been a criminal attorney for many years.
“Not if you’ve already given a statement. He said he’ll get a lawyer if you—”
“I can find a lawyer.”
“All right. Great. You need to do that, and then you need to come home. You can’t stay down there anymore. You can’t.”
His response came without any thought: “But the water’s here.”
“The water? Well, take the bottle you have and come home and go to see a doctor! That’s what you need to be doing.”
“I don’t know,” he said, still taken aback by his own strange response. The water’s here? It had left his mouth as if of its own accord.
“What’s not to know? Have you even heard yourself tell me what’s been happening? You’re sick. That water is making you very, very sick.”
The idea was logical enough, sure, but it felt wrong. Leaving felt wrong.
“Anne’s water is different,” he said. “When I drink that, Campbell stays in the past. Stays where he belongs. As long as I don’t drink any more of the original bottle—and I don’t even have that one right now—I’ll be fine.”
“Listen,” Claire said, “either you come back here, or I go down there.”
“That’s probably not a good idea.”
“It’s a
hell of a lot better idea than you staying down there alone, Eric. You really want to do that? With everything that’s happening to your body and to your mind, you want to be down there alone?”
No, he didn’t. And the idea of seeing her… that was an idea he’d been trying to keep out of his head for weeks. Stop wanting her, he’d told himself, stop needing her.
“I’m coming down,” she said, firm with conviction now. “I’m going to drive down in the morning, and we’re coming back together.”
He was thinking of the weeks of silence, the way he always waited her out, lasted until she called him so he wouldn’t have to show need or desire. Now here she came again, ready to get in the car and come after him while the incomplete divorce paperwork he had requested floated between them. Why, he wanted to ask, why are you still willing to do this? Why do you want to?
“I don’t know if you should be here,” he said. “Until we understand—”
“I’m going to leave in the morning,” she said. “And I don’t give a shit what we understand until then.”
That actually made him smile. She rarely swore, only when she got fired up about something, and he’d always made fun of her for both that restraint and the periods when she cast it aside. The Super Bowl when the Bears had lost to the Colts, for example.
“I’ll call you when I get close,” she said. “And until I do, can you please just stay around the hotel? Please?”
“All right,” he said, and he was fascinated and ashamed by the way their separation did not cast even a shadow over the conversations they’d had today, by the way she’d slipped so easily and completely back into the role of his wife. There when he needed her. Why?
“Good,” she said. “Stay there, and stay safe.”
40
HE TOOK CLAIRE’S ADVICE and ignored Brewer’s messages, called Kellen instead.
“You in town?” he asked.
“Yeah. Think you could come fill me in on this? I’ve had cops calling me.”
“I’m hanging tight to this hotel,” Eric said. “Preferably with witnesses present.”
It was supposed to be a joke, but Kellen’s silence confirmed that it was a bad one.
“Why don’t you come down here and meet me at the bar,” Eric said.
He agreed to that, and twenty minutes later Eric was sitting in the dark, contained side of the hotel bar when Kellen stepped through the door.
“My brother’s game is on now,” he said when he got to the table, “and I don’t miss those games. But this is a unique circumstance.”
“Sorry. If it helps, they got it on the TVs here. You heard anything on the water?”
Kellen shook his head, sliding into the chair across from Eric, then rotating it so he could see a TV. It was late in the first quarter and Minnesota was down six. Darnell Cage had gone to the bench. Eric hadn’t seen him hit a shot yet.
“So the cop wanted to know about you and that guy who stopped us in the parking lot,” Kellen said. “You can imagine my surprise when they told me he was dead.”
“You can imagine mine,” Eric said.
Kellen nodded, his eyes on Eric’s, and then said, “Did you kill him?”
“No. You don’t know me well, don’t have any reason to believe that, but I assure you, the answer is no.”
“I don’t think you did.”
“I did see a murder today, though.”
Kellen raised his eyebrows.
“Campbell Bradford committed it,” Eric said. “He killed the boy’s uncle. The boy with the violin. His uncle was a moonshiner, and Campbell murdered him.”
“You’ve gathered all this through your visions.”
“I know it sounds crazy, but you’ve seen that bottle, you’ve been around for everything’s that happened and—”
“Whoa,” Kellen said. “Slow down, man. Slow down. All I did was ask a question. Didn’t make a single accusation that I can recall.”
“All right,” Eric said. “Sorry. I just hear how it sounds when it leaves my mouth, and I know what you must think.”
“A lot of what I’d usually think has changed in the last day or two, hanging around your weird ass. So while I’m not dismissing one crazy word that comes out of your mouth, I’d also like to hear you tell me what the hell’s been happening down here.”
It took them almost an hour, Eric explaining what he knew and Kellen offering the same, arriving at a total that was just as empty as its parts. Kellen said Brewer had told him that while Josiah Bradford was “historically fond of trouble, but not the murdering sort of trouble,” detectives were indeed looking for him. Eric knew he should care more about that, but it was hard to right now. Ever since the latest vision, it was hard to keep his mind on the present, in fact. Strange.
“I’ve got a question for you,” Eric said.
“Shoot.”
“You’re the student of the area, you’re the one who knows so much about the history of this place. Do you believe that the moments I’ve seen after drinking Anne’s water have been real? Those scenes with Campbell and the boy?”
Kellen thought on it for a long time, and then he nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I do. Obviously, I can’t speak to the details you’re seeing. But in general terms, they fit with history. Could be you’re making the whole thing up, of course. I can’t imagine a reason you’d do that, though, and after seeing you collapse in the dining room the other day, I’m pretty damn convinced that whatever is happening to you is real.”
“Okay,” Eric said. “That’s what I think, too. That the moments I’ve seen are real. And I’ve started to think about ways to utilize it.”
“Utilize it?”
“Think about it, Kellen—I’m seeing an untold story, but a true one. If I can keep seeing it… if I can get a sense of the whole, then we can try to document it, right? Document it and tell it.”
“Right,” Kellen said slowly.
“You’re thinking that the average person would write it off as crazy,” Eric said. “People love this sort of shit, though. If I could make a film out of this? Oh, man. We could be on every talk show there is, telling this story.”
Kellen gave a slow nod, no response showing, and Eric had to swallow his annoyance. Get excited, he wanted to shout, don’t you see what this could do? It could bring me back, Kellen. It could give me my career back.
There was no need to push that idea yet, though. He could take it slow. There was plenty of water.
“Anyhow,” he said, “I’m just thinking out loud, sorry. I really would like to try to find that spring, though. The one they used for the alcohol. If the boy’s uncle was really murdered, there must be some record of it, right? Some way to put a name with him, to identify him.”
“Probably. I’ve been wondering about that spring, though. You said Campbell claimed it was different from the rest, and that’s the same thing Edgar told us about Campbell’s liquor. Remember? He said it made a man feel like he could take on the world.”
“You’re thinking that’s what is in my bottle?” Eric said.
“Could be.”
“And there might be a whole spring of that shit somewhere out in the woods around here?” Eric laughed. “Who knows what would happen if I tasted that one.”
“Yeah,” Kellen said. “Who knows.”
The rain returned about an hour after Eric Shaw left Anne’s house, but it was gentler and without the theatrics. Hardly any wind at all, but she remembered that fading thunder that had reminded her of a retreating dog and she knew that it would be back. Probably these were lines of storms coming in from the plains, a prelude to a cold front. It wasn’t an unpleasant prelude to her, though. This was what she watched for. What she did, now that there was no job and no children to raise, no husband to care for. She watched over the valley instead. They didn’t know she was there, maybe, didn’t pay her any mind as she sat up here with an eye to the skies, but still she watched for them.
She had a card taped to the refrigerator with a few
handwritten excerpts from the National Weather Service’s advanced spotter’s field guide.
As a trained spotter, you perform an invaluable service for the NWS. Your real-time observations of tornadoes, hail, wind, and significant cloud formations provide a truly reliable information base for severe weather detection and verification. By providing observations, you are assisting NWS staff members in their warning decisions and enabling the NWS to fulfill its mission of protecting life and property. You are helping to provide the citizens of your community with potentially life-saving information.
And below that, written larger and underlined:
The most important tool for observing thunderstorms is the trained eye of the storm spotter.
This claim made in an era of Doppler radars and high-tech satellites. They were the experts, too. So if they said it, she figured it was true. Besides, that statement was the sort of thing that had always made sense to her. It gave science its due while warning that humans hadn’t yet developed a science that could understand, encompass, or predict all the tricks of this wild world. Nor, she knew, would they ever.
She turned the television on and saw they still had a thunderstorm warning active for Orange County. Well, they could pull that down. The storm was gone now and wouldn’t be back for a bit. They might want to keep the flash flood warnings handy, though, because if this rain fell all night, the creeks would be high come tomorrow, when the thunderstorms returned.
There was nothing on TV worth watching. A basketball game, but while she’d been raised on basketball, she didn’t care for the pro game. Still followed the Hoosiers, of course, and went to the high school sectional, but that had never been the same since they broke the legendary tournament into classes. Thank heaven Harold had been gone before that happened.
The phone rang just as she was making dinner, startled her, and she went to it, wondering if it was Eric Shaw, fearful he was having trouble again. Instead it was Molly Thurman, a young woman—well, forty—from church who was calling to tell Anne she’d been right about the weather again. Anne had guaranteed a storm after the service this morning, and it was nice to see somebody had remembered and thought to call. Molly had two boys, five and seven, and it wasn’t but a minute after she called that she had to hang up to tend to some crisis with them.
So Cold the River Page 25
