Brandy didn’t look well suddenly. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I need to.”
She swallowed, then said quietly. “What was in the Jeep?”
“There was some blood on the backseat. The medallion was there, too. The Jeep was covered in black mud, tires thick with it. There’s no mud like that anywhere near the pit. The gas tank was almost empty. I had a GPS mounted on the dash, which I’d left on. I took the GPS inside and downloaded the route from that night. My Jeep had been driven from the pit up to the trailhead and over the trestle bridge, to the old copper mine, then back down, north along Highway 99 for about twenty miles, then up into the Rutherford drainage.”
“Where the trapper’s cabin was,” she said quietly. “Where Amy had been.”
Adam nodded. “The Jeep was then driven straight back to our house. Not to Harvey’s. The time stamps were not consistent with Luke’s story, either. I saved the route to my computer log and put the GPS back into the Jeep, then went to sleep. I didn’t think too much of it. Mostly I thought Luke was so wasted he didn’t know what he was talking about.”
Adam scrubbed his hand over his brow. “Next morning around nine thirty a.m., I went outside and I found my Jeep as clean as a whistle, washed and detailed. Mud gone. Blood had been scrubbed out, just a damp spot on the backseat where it had been. My GPS was also wiped clean.”
Brandy looked away. The wind rattled windows and rain slashed at the skylight. The sky was darkening. “Yet you still had the medallion,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“And the bloody hoodie?”
“It was gone from the laundry. I assumed it was in the wash.”
“And then you heard the girls were missing.”
“Later that day, yes.”
“Shit,” she said.
They both sat silent for a moment, just the sound of the storm crashing through trees outside, the flicker of lightning through the skylight above them.
“What happened then?”
“I saw the missing person posters. They used photos of the girls taken earlier that night. Merilee was wearing the medallion in the photo. I confronted Luke, told him I’d found a medallion in my Jeep. He said I was full of shit, I didn’t know what I was talking about, and that they’d all seen Jeb Cullen driving off with those girls.”
“You believed him?”
“I don’t know what I believed. Perhaps I just fooled myself because I didn’t want to think what else it might mean. My brother was not a bad guy, just an asshole sometimes. My mother’s team questioned everyone who’d been at the pit party. Those four guys all had the same story. All said they’d seen Jeb go north with the girls. Trey and Rachel had also seen Jeb with the girls in his car before he left the pit. So yeah. I started to think Jeb had something to do with it. I put the medallion in an envelope in my drawer.”
“Why?”
“Because—” He dragged his hand over his hair. “Because otherwise I’d have to get involved. I didn’t think it was that relevant. At that time my GPS route didn’t mean much. But then, seven days later, Amy was found staggering along those tracks. Twenty miles north, in the area the GPS said my Jeep went. It’s a drainage thick with black mud. God knows how she was still alive. But humans can be resilient, even when lost in snow in the wilds. And Amy was a fighter. She’d have had water from the snow and river, and there were old sacks in the trapper’s cabin to wrap herself in. There were rope marks around her neck, and she’d been brutally raped. But too much time had passed to collect viable semen evidence. There was, however, the pregnancy. They arrested Jeb, impounded his vehicle. Later I heard that they found a gray sweatshirt with Merilee’s blood in his car, and in the pocket of the hoodie was an empty pack of date-rape drug.”
“You thought the hoodie could have been the one Luke came home in?”
“I don’t know what I thought. It could have been a coincidence. Gray hoodies were common enough at the time. Jeb and Luke were about the same size. I asked Luke what happened to his hoodie. He said he threw it out. I asked him why my GPS had showed they went north. He said he didn’t know what the fuck I was talking about. We got into a yelling match. He stormed out but my mother overheard. She came in and told me to mind my own business. To just let things ride. To say nothing.”
“Did you tell her about the GPS route, the bloody hoodie he was wearing, the medallion?”
“Yeah, I told her. I told her I was in possession of the medallion and that I’d seen the GPS route north into the Rutherford drainage. I didn’t mention I’d saved it to my computer, though. At first I thought she was in some kind of denial. But then she shocked me by saying I had a choice to make. I could keep quiet, go back to Edmonton, look after my career, stay clean and clear of all this. Or I could make a huge stink trying to take my own family down, my own mother, own brother, and that I had no evidence to go on. I went straight to look for the medallion, and it was gone from my drawer. I thought it was Luke who took it.”
“It was her.”
He nodded. “A single mother protecting her boys. And, I think, also protecting my father’s legacy as a police hero. In turn my mother became a cop who didn’t care that an innocent man went down for a crime he didn’t do. And she made damn sure he went down for it. She buried him. She believed he was a bad person, expendable. My own goddamn mother.”
“She planted the shirt?”
“I figure it was her who logged it into evidence, fudging the date. When this discrepancy in the log was questioned during the hearing to overturn Jeb’s case, counsel claimed it was simply a police error, that someone forgot to log the hoodie in initially and the oversight had been redressed. By this time my mother’s dementia had progressed too far to question her directly.”
“The other DNA on the shirt?”
“My guess is it matches Luke’s.”
Worry flared sharply in Brandy’s eyes. “Luke’s gone, Adam. He can’t be tested. Or punished.”
“Familial profiling will work. The DNA profile from that shirt will come up as a brother of mine. The son of my mother.” He paused. “The things we do for love. For our children.”
“So where is Merilee’s body, then? What happened to her?”
“My guess is we’ll find her in that mine.”
“What if no one looks in the mine?”
“Jeb will get to that point. Rachel will get there. It’s just a matter of time.”
Brandy looked away, pressing her hand to her stomach. “But if no one tells anyone to look in the mine . . .”
“Brandy, look at me.” He cupped the side of her face, forcing her to look at him. “It’s over.”
Panic flared through her features. “What do you mean, over?”
“I need to do the right thing now. I need to make the choice I should have made nine years ago.”
“Why are you telling me this? You didn’t need to tell me this. You don’t need to tell anyone this.”
He got up, pulled on his clothes. He felt oddly at peace now. He hadn’t realized how heavy the weight of suppressing a dark secret could really be, how much of a toll it had taken on him over the years. And what a catharsis confession was.
“I already have, Brandy. I wrote out a full confession. I included the medallion and a flash drive containing the GPS route.”
She stared at him in silence for several beats.
“What’s this going to do to us, to your boys?” She avoided mentioning Lily. Lily was like a blind spot to Brandy. “What will this mean for our future?” Her voice was going high, her eyes shining wildly.
“My boys will grow up knowing their father finally did the right thing, the honorable thing. It’s better this way than me being prosecuted and put away, with them growing up while their father is behind bars. It’s just a matter of time. Already I’ve been sidelined.”
“What do you mean?”
He held his hand out to her, helped her up, and kissed her deeply. Her body was rigid in his arms. “Good-bye, Brandy,” he whispered over her mouth, kissing her lightly one last time.
He made for the door.
“Where are you going?”
He stilled, hand on the doorknob. “I love you. You know that.”
“You are going to leave her, right? We will be together one day, like you said, when the boys are a bit older. We’ll have children of our own, like you said. We . . . we will get married one day . . .” Her voice strangled itself. Her eyes were manic.
“I love you. I will always love you.”
“Adam, don’t give that confession to anyone!”
But he was gone, door closing behind him.
Brandy raced to window. She watched him running lightly down the stairs in the beating rain. Panic struck like a hatchet. She flung open the window. “Adam! No!” But he was getting into his truck. The door slammed shut. And he was gone.
Fuck.
If Rachel and Jeb didn’t go looking down the mine, Adam could stay safe. They could stay together. Have their future. Desperation clawed through Brandy’s chest and panic rose in her throat. Everything she had ever wanted was crumbling in front of her.
She cursed viciously, dragging her hands through her hair. Her eyes burned. She started to shake.
She thought of the group of mothers at the base camp when she’d brought the kids down earlier today, how they’d told her Quinn was Jeb’s child. How Rachel’s bringing Quinn to Snowy Creek had lured Jeb back, and now everyone’s lives were tearing apart.
The things we do for love . . .
Suddenly Brandy made a decision. She knew what she had to do.
She spun round, grabbed her jeans, yanked them on with angry movements. She tied her hair back, pulled on a ball cap, and shrugged into her jacket. She laced her hiking boots on tightly, then crouched down and pulled out her kit bag from the bottom of her closet. She checked her ropes, cell battery, radio, flares. Hauling it over her shoulder, she locked her front door and ran down the wooden stairs, wind whipping branches, the smell of smoke thick. Choppers thudded somewhere behind the clouds in the darkening sky and sirens threaded down the valley. She got into her old beater of a truck.
She hit the gas and squealed into the street. Driving too fast, she dialed Adam’s cell. It went to voice mail. She cursed viciously and tried again. This time she left a message. “Adam, don’t do anything yet. Just don’t—I’ve got it under control.” She dropped the phone to swerve round a vehicle as she ran a red light. Her heart was pounding.
Adam felt incredibly calm. The manila envelope containing his confession sat on the passenger seat next to him. He drove first to his mother’s condo to make certain Rubella was ready to evacuate her.
Then he drove down to the station. There was chaos outside, first responders rushing here and there. He caught site of Annie Pirello running past. Adam rolled down his window, called her over. He handed her the envelope. He had no intention of entering the station and possibly being detained. He had no desire to look Mackin in the eye, to be swayed from his purpose.
“Can you make sure Chief Mackin gets this.”
“What is it?”
“It’s something he needs. Urgent.”
She held his eyes. “You okay, sir?”
“You’re a good cop, Pirello. I saw the way you were watching me, second-guessing, taking nothing at face value.” He paused. “Don’t ever forget why you became a cop. Stay the good cop.”
He rolled up the window, drove off, leaving her standing there. His phone rang again. He let it go to voice mail.
Pirello watched him go, a strange feeling curling inside her. She heard her name being called over her radio. Quickly she keyed the mike.
“Pirello.”
“Phase one mandatory evac going into effect. They need you to work with emergency social services going door-to-door, south end. Start with the eight hundred block. Novak has the nine hundred block. Knock on every door. This station is closing down. Secondary command base is being set up further south.”
She ran to her cruiser, threw the manila envelope onto the passenger seat, and pulled out of the parking lot, wipers whipping across the windshield. She flicked on her siren.
Clint Rudiger’s cell phone rang. People were calling his name from all directions. He was busy talking into his radio, helping coordinate the multiagency response and the setting up of a mobile command base farther south. Already landlines were down. One of the radio towers was out. Cell communication was still available, for now. Mobile repeaters had been set up and amateur ham radio operators called to action. Communicating with agencies in the city farther south was going to be a problem.
Plus there was another wildfire that had broken out closer to a larger urban population than Snowy Creek. It was being driven by fierce winds and fueled by drought-ravaged forests, and it was threatening to turn into a massive interface fire. It had drawn down the forestry resources that would otherwise be available to Snowy Creek.
Heavy smoke, low cloud, and lightning had also shut down most air approaches. They now had to rely on whatever local emergency personnel and equipment they could find.
Participating agencies currently included the province’s wildfire management branch, ambulance service, Rescue One, the SCPD, BC Hydro, the natural gas companies, plus the Snowy Creek Amateur Radio Society and emergency social services volunteers, who were currently going door-to-door with the help of police.
Clint had meanwhile orchestrated the positioning of a Type 1 Structural Protection Unit, or giant sprinkler, at the base of Bear Mountain. It was watering down the buildings there. The Mount Barren fire was approaching the Khyber drainage. It would likely jump the creek.
Three helicopters and air tankers were on standby at the municipal heliport to action the fires. Objectives included building control lines around the fire perimeter and tying them into natural rock features. The steep terrain in the Khyber drainage and other mountainous areas would be a problem.
Clint worked best under this kind of pressure. His military training helped. He kicked into a zone and was able to keep such a cool, collected head, be so devoid of the usual emotions, that his team had fondly dubbed him the sociopath. Inwardly he found this amusing; he’d never been big on empathy.
His cell rang again. He checked the incoming number. Beppie. He ignored it. She knew what to do. His wife was a capable farm and mountain woman. His girls would be safe.
Assistant Chief Kerrigan Kaye came rushing over to him with another report. As he took it from her, Beppie phoned yet again.
Clint turned his back, answered. “Bepp,” he said curtly. “I’m busy—”
“Clint, she knows.”
He stuck his finger in his other ear. “What did you say?”
“Rachel Salonen knows what happened.”
“She knows . . . what? What are you talking about?”
No words came. Just a funny breathing sound, the noise of an engine, as if she were driving. A weird kind foreboding struck like an ax. Clint stilled, everything around him—time, sound, scents—turned thick and black as molasses.
“Beppie, where are you? Are you driving? What’s the matter with you?”
“Rachel said Amy remembered. The dragon tattoo . . .” A shaky breath came out. “Amy remembered you . . . hurting Merilee. You and the others . . . you raped her . . . with the others.” His wife made a choking, gagging sound. “You killed her. Down the mine . . . she’s down in the mine. All this time . . . she’s been in the mine. The evidence is in the mine.”
Silence.
Clint’s mind galloped as he tried to process what his wife was saying, the implications.
“Chief Rudiger!” Clint held his up hand to the man calling him, his world narrowing, a tinnitus beginning in his ear
s, the taste of copper in his mouth. He went into the small storeroom, shut the door.
“She’s lying. Whatever she said, she and Cullen are just pressing buttons. Trying to spook everyone. They’re dangerous. They have no evidence of any of this. Cullen has gotten into Rachel’s head and now she’s messing with your mind.”
“They’ll get the evidence in the mine. After the fire and everything has died down. Merilee’s down there, isn’t she? Down a shaft, all this time. Is she there?”
Banging sounded on his door. Sweat broke out over his body. He wasn’t so cool and collected now. Shit was hitting the fan. If there was one thing Clint was about, it was about self-preservation.
“It’s a lie. All of it.” His voice was brusque now. “We’ll talk after—”
“God will protect my children. God will purge the Evil . . . God—”
“Beppie, listen to me—”
“We must do what we must in the name of God . . .”
His brain raced. The mine. Evidence. Without evidence they only had Jeb’s accusations, his theories. Amy was dead. Her therapist had been silenced. Luke was MIA and no worry. Zink and Levi wouldn’t breathe a word or they’d go down.
He could still control this.
“Where are you?”
“In the truck. Driving. Near the gravel pit turnoff.”
“Calm down and listen carefully to me. Take that road to the gravel pit. Cross the rail bridge and drive up to the trailhead. Park there. Wait for me. Understand?”
“Why? What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to stop this. And you’re going to help me.”
“I can’t, Clint, I can’t.”
“Yes you can. Think of the girls. Do it for the girls. Once this is done, it will all blow over. All the misunderstandings will be gone. Do you understand me?”
She made a muffled sound. He could hear the truck engine. Worry sparked through him.
“Beppie? Do you understand?”
“Yes.” She sniffed. “Yes, I understand.” Her voice was thick. She sounded strange. “I’m doing it for the girls. I must do it for the girls.”
The Slow Burn of Silence (A Snowy Creek Novel) Page 33
