Bed of Bones (A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Five)

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  “Why can’t I talk to him?” he asked, head tipped toward Cade.

  “I’m the one with the gun. Why are you here?”

  “I saw my grandfather’s property on the news. A chopper was filming it from the air. I want to know why.”

  “You don’t know what happened?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I take it you didn’t watch the entire broadcast?”

  He shook his head. “Soon as I saw it, I got in my truck. You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

  This time he gazed at me just long enough for Cade to lunge forward and battle Willie for the gun. It wasn’t much of a fight.

  “Don’t hurt him,” I said.

  “Wasn’t going to,” Cade replied.

  Willie’s palms went up. “Aww hell.”

  “I’ll answer your questions,” I said, “but first I want you to answer some of mine.”

  “Why would you? I just had a rifle on your…Cade here.”

  “I don’t believe you would have shot him.”

  “Don’t you?” he said. His mouth formed a crooked smile. “Guess you’ll never know now. If you’re going to ask questions, let’s get on with it.”

  “Did you hire Karin Ackerman to steal from the museum?”

  “I might have. What’s it matter?”

  Blatant honesty was just one of the things I lauded in old-timers. At least he didn’t deny it.

  “It’s important,” I said. “I need to know.”

  “Why? Because the theater blew up and now everyone’s curious? What’s it got to do with me?”

  “Everything.”

  He crossed his arms. “Oh…I see. You’ve seen the film, haven’t you?”

  “You know about the movie?” I asked.

  “Melody what’s-her-name came to my house, yammered on and on about how she needed my help to get the story right.”

  “Did you?”

  “Slam the door in her face? Sure did.”

  “What do you know about the explosion?”

  “I saw it on television just like everyone else. What are you getting at?”

  “You hired someone to steal,” I said. “You could have also hired someone to blow up the theater.”

  He pointed at himself. “You think I had something to do with it? So now I’m a killer because my grandfather was one?” His bottom lip trembled. He reached up, attempted to cover it with his hand. “What my grandfather did…to this day, it sickens me.”

  The emotion seemed genuine. I wanted to believe he was telling the truth.

  “If you’re innocent, explain what happened at the museum.”

  “A year ago or so there was a write-up in the paper. A movie was to be made about the murders at the mines. I remember sitting in my recliner thinking it couldn’t be true. After all these years, why would anyone want to drudge up the past? Then she started calling, and when I refused to talk to her, she came to my house.”

  “Melody Sinclair obviously valued your input,” I said.

  “I’ve lived my entire life harboring regret over what happened to Leonard. For over fifty years, I’ve relived the same nightmare night after night. You’d think it would go away after a while. It never did.”

  Losing my own sister had taught me the same thing.

  “First to lose a brother,” he continued, “then to find out my grandfather, the relative I idolized most, killed seven women then traipsed around like he’d done no wrong. I’ve had more sleepless nights than all the years of your life. And you think I’d waste the remainder of it killing more innocent people? I don’t want to remember my past. I want everyone else to forget it as well.”

  If Willie was telling the truth, the Compton apple had fallen several acres away from the tree, and Willie wasn’t like Chester at all.

  “If you didn’t bomb the theater, who did? Who else had motive?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think you do,” I said.

  “You’ve been wrong about everything else. Why stop now?”

  “You still haven’t explained Karin Ackerman.”

  I felt like a parrot, just press record and pull the string. How many pulls would it take to get an answer?

  “Did she tell you I did it?”

  “She gave me a physical description,” I said. “It’s easy to see she was describing you.”

  “If you think I’m capable of such a thing, why am I still standing here? Take me in, get it over with.”

  I shot a glance at Cade. “Cuff him.”

  At present, Cade didn’t have any handcuffs in his possession, but Willie only knew Cade was a detective. He didn’t know where.

  Willie ran two bent, arthritic fingers through his threadlike hair and then tugged the loose skin surrounding his jaw. “Fine, fine. I hired Karin because I knew once the movie came out people would do exactly what you’re doing now—go to any length to get more of the story. My family name has been butchered enough. I don’t want meddling reporters at my house, ogling the items that tainted our history. I don’t want them here, in this house, mixing lies with the truth.”

  “You just wanted it to go away,” I said.

  “Can you blame me? How would you feel if it was your family? Your grandfather? Your brother?”

  “If you want to get away from the past, why haven’t you sold this place?”

  He smirked. “I don’t want to sell it. I want to burn it to the ground. After all of this happened, after Leonard died and the women were found, the developer who was all set to buy it pulled out. I guess the controversy was too great. Told my dad the thought of buying it after what happened gave him the creeps. Can’t say I blamed him. He bought another stretch of property, built a ski resort. My father was so angry he took the house off the market. He was shamed. We all were.”

  “When the women were discovered in the fifties, you were just a boy,” I said. “How much did you parents tell you?”

  “As little as possible. Worked for a while. Then one day I was at my aunt’s house. I didn’t visit very often, and she didn’t know it had been kept from me. I learned things I wish I hadn’t.”

  “So you know everything?”

  “As much as there is to know.”

  “Are you married?” I asked. “Do you have any children?”

  “No and no. Are you finished?”

  I wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of what had occurred over the last several days, the last day in particular. “You asked why we’re here. I’ll tell you. Someone is killing women again, in the same way, and in the same place as before.”

  Willie staggered back, his face even whiter than before.

  “No…no. It’s not true. You’re lying.”

  “I would never lie about something like this.”

  “It can’t be. Please…you must be wrong. You must.”

  CHAPTER 41

  It took some time for Willie to settle down once he heard the news. His body seemed to experience the five stages of grief within a matter of minutes. Every second we spent inside Chester’s house, I felt colder and colder, and it wasn’t just the temperature outside. I didn’t want to be here anymore.

  “Is there any chance you could help us find the man we’re looking for?” I asked.

  “How could I? I don’t know who he is.”

  “What about family? Is anyone still alive who might know more?”

  He shook his head. “Cousins. They were kids at the time, just like I was. All of my aunts, uncles…they’re no longer around.”

  “Did any of your relatives ever mention anything about your grandfather not working alone?”

  “My grandfather’s brother speculated as much. No one gave his opinion much consideration though.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “He refused to believe Chester was guilty, even after all the evidence they found right here in this house.”

  “Typed pages, a gun, and a piece of fabric, right?”

  “They found the typewriter too. Ma
tched it up easily since the letter “e” never showed up right.” He closed his eyes. “Miss Monroe. It’s not that I don’t want to help, but I don’t want to know anything more. It’s too hard.”

  “I apologize if we scared you by trespassing,” I said. “We just need to find this guy.”

  “I’m not trying to keep you from doing your job. I hope you find him, for your sake, and for the sake of the women too.”

  Cade opened the bolt, removing the shell from the rifle’s chamber. He handed the gun back to Willie. Willie took it, nodded like he grasped why Cade still felt he needed to err on the side of caution.

  On the way out, Willie caught my elbow with his hand. “Walk with me.”

  I returned him to his truck, noting the identical tires on the front—although I believed he was innocent, I couldn’t resist the urge to double check just in case. He pulled on the handle, reached over, lifted a key from an open drawer under the radio. He deposited it in my hand. “18B.”

  “What’s this?”

  “A key to a storage unit. Been in my family for years. Before my father died, we came here, packed most of it up. Donated a good portion to charity. A few things my father wanted to keep. I don’t know why. Pictures mainly. I didn’t want any of it. Still don’t. Oh, and…you’ll find a grey container. It contains everything I took from the museum. Don’t know if it will help, but my conscience won’t be clear if it turns out any of it could have made a difference. Do with it what you will.”

  He slid onto the seat of the truck, started to close the door. I held it open.

  “I need to tell you—”

  A trio of SUVs, sirens blazing, slid up the drive.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I texted them. I believe you, Willie, I do. But please understand, I need to be a hundred percent sure.”

  He placed a hand over mine. “It’s okay. I’ve nothing to hide.”

  “I know it’s been a long time, but I want you to know how sorry I am about your brother. I know what it’s like to lose a sibling.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, miss, but not the way he died you don’t.”

  CHAPTER 42

  “How long do you think he’s had this stuff in storage?” Cade asked.

  “No idea.”

  “Don’t they auction a unit off after a certain amount of time?”

  “Not as long as you keep paying.”

  We still had a good amount of daylight left when we located unit 18B at Sunrise Storage. The exterior door was tiny, about four feet wide. Willie was right. They hadn’t saved much. The lock was old and weathered, but it still served its purpose just fine. Cade slipped the key into the hole, twisted it to the right. Nothing happened.

  “Try wiggling it,” I said.

  He looked at me like every man does when a woman tries to “help him” do his job. He tried again. His efforts were ineffective.

  I placed a hand over his. “Here, let me.”

  I paused, thinking he’d take even more offense, but he backed away, a look of indifference on his face. Three attempts later and I felt like a failure too.

  “I can’t believe it,” I said.

  When Cade didn’t reply, I turned to see him back at his truck, milling around in a metal box in the back. He returned, hammer in hand. He pounded the lock and the area surrounding it.

  “What are you—”

  The lock fell off.

  Cade smiled, satisfied with his gallant achievement. “Would you like to do the honors?”

  I held my hand out like I was showcasing a prize on a game show. “Go ahead.”

  The metal door rose. I wasn’t sure what I expected to find on the other side—a room stacked full of junky boxes, maybe. It wasn’t to be.

  “This won’t take long,” Cade said. “I’m not sure why anyone would keep a storage unit this long with just five boxes in it and some random furniture.”

  The unit smelled like the final resting place for several generations of rodents. Aside from the boxes there was an antique bike, a dresser, and a desk. The dresser and desk were both empty.

  “Why do you think they kept this furniture and got rid of the rest?” Cade asked.

  “It looks expensive, or maybe these two items were passed down from a generation or two before.”

  We opened the boxes, sifted through sterling silverware, heirlooms, albums full of photos. Nothing stood out, not one single thing. In the photos I thumbed through, Chester and Pearl looked like a happy, normal couple.

  “I think I see the container Willie mentioned behind this desk,” Cade said, strong-arming the desk to the side.

  Indeed it was. I set it in front of me, pulled the lid off.

  “This is it? I thought there would be more.”

  Two typed pages, faded so much it was hard to read. None of it made much sense—it was several paragraphs of random, restless babbling. A piece of fabric with flowers on it with an edge that looked like it had been dipped in blood, and newspapers, several of them. There were detailed articles with information about the seven women, the murders, even a graphic sketch someone had drawn recreating the scene at the bottom of the mine. A photo of Chester Compton was front and center on one paper, and a photo of Detective Hurtwick made headline news on the other. The detective posed for the camera in front of the Compton house, typewriter in hand.

  I sighed, frustrated. I was no closer to finding the killer than I had been a few hours before. And for Angela Rivers, time was running out.

  CHAPTER 43

  Carlo was waiting in his car outside when I arrived home. I let him in.

  “I wanted to apologize,” he said.

  Apologies seemed to be running rampant these days.

  “Why?”

  He glanced at Cade like he was trying to decide whether to continue the conversation in his presence or not. “I…spoke to Giovanni today. I knew you two broke it off, but until today, I didn’t know why. He told me.”

  Nice of Giovanni to keep our private life private. It made me wonder whether Giovanni was keeping in touch with Carlo so he could keep tabs on me. He didn’t deserve to know about my life. He no longer had the privilege.

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “I gave you a hard time. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Cade got up, walked into the other room, giving us our privacy. I didn’t want it. Giovanni was a Band-Aid I wasn’t ready to rip off yet, let alone discuss at length. I changed the subject. “The gun used to kill the women, if it’s the same one as before—”

  “I know where you’re going with this. And I already checked. Saw it with my own eyes this morning. It’s still in evidence. It would have been easy for the Sundance Killer to do his research, find out the type of gun Chester used, buy one similar or the same.”

  “What about a list of everyone who purchased a forty-five in the area?”

  “Like I said, this is what we do,” he said. “We haven’t made a connection. Believe me, we’ve tried.”

  With the conversation going in another direction, Cade returned to the room.

  “Your forehead’s all wrinkled up,” Carlo said to me. “Is something bothering you?”

  Cade nodded, agreeing with Carlo’s assessment.

  “The note the killer left in Shelby’s coat, I feel like it was meant for me. I can’t help but wonder if I crossed paths with him before. He put himself at risk to give Shelby back, but he did it anyway. It’s like he respects me or feels sorry for me, or both.”

  Carlo crossed one leg over the other. “Maybe you’re right and it was for you. What do you think he meant by it?”

  I threw my hands in the air. “I don’t know.”

  “Care to find out if you’re right?”

  “How?”

  “I’d like to try out a technique on you,” Carlo said. “We use it on witnesses. I’ve never done it myself, but I’ve watched it being performed many times.”

  “Do you mean hypnosis?”

  “No. It helps jog the memory. What do you say?
”

  “Sure, if you think it will work.”

  “Close your eyes,” Carlo said.

  “Right now?” I asked.

  “Do you have something more important you could be doing?”

  He turned toward Cade. “I’ll need you to keep quiet.”

  Cade looked back like he wanted to shove his boot somewhere Carlo wouldn’t soon forget.

  I leaned back, did what Carlo asked.

  “Take yourself back to the beginning when everything first started,” he said, “when you returned to Park City the morning after the bombing. Think of all the places you’ve been, all the people you’ve seen.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now…focus on the people you’ve come into contact with over the past several days. People you didn’t know before.”

  “It’s impossible. I can’t register everyone at the same time.”

  “Your mind can process a lot more than you give it credit for. Relax. Take a deep breath. Try again.”

  I saw myself in the car with Maddie, at the hospital, the station, home. As Carlo continued talking, images filtered in. Some fuzzy, others clear. I flashed from one person to the next. Random people were everywhere, filling rooms, crowding my brain. Still there was no one of significance. No one who stood out.

  “I’m going to give you some key words,” Carlo said, “from the scripture found in Shelby’s jacket. Listen to them, try to remember if any of the words remind you of a specific time and place. Righteous. Astray. Evil. Fall. Pit. Upright. Good. Possession.”

  Nothing.

  They meant nothing.

  I opened my eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” Carlo asked.

  “It’s not working. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I can’t seem to focus. I started to, but I don’t think this will work on me.”

  “Do you want to try again?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Carlo patted my leg, stood up. “It will come, and when it does, call me.”

  …

  “How about some wine?” Cade asked.

  He found two glasses and poured. I hadn’t even said “yes” yet.

  I held the glass in front of me. “This might not be the best idea.”

  “Sure it is. Look at it this way…it’s good for your heart. I thought it might help you unwind.”