by B. J Daniels
“Chief.”
He heard the exasperation, the accusation, the frustration in that one word. “You didn’t get my messages?” Walker asked.
“Sorry, I had my phone off and didn’t realize it.” Nash knew Walker wasn’t going to buy that. “I’ve had some personal things to take care of the past few days. What’s up?”
“Anna Collins. I know you said to let the state CID handle it, but I haven’t heard from them and I had to check on a few things.”
Nash swore.
“I drove up to the rest stop last night. I found Gillian Sanders’s car hidden behind a gravel pile near the rest stop—just up the road from where the Collins car went into the lake. It appears that’s where Gillian Sanders was murdered. I found two sets of car tracks. One matches the Sanders car; the other Collins’s Cadillac. I also found a man’s boot prints in the mud. The tracks lead to a cove on the lake below the rest stop where it appeared a boat had been tied up.”
Walker rushed on as if fearing Nash might try to stop him. “I also checked out Collins’s car. The seat belt that she’d said was jammed. I think she was telling the truth about being trapped in the car. I also found evidence that supports her story about someone rescuing her. Whoever cut the seat belt to get her out of there used the vanity mirror. There’s no way she could have done that.”
Nash had to sit down. He dropped into one of the kitchen chairs. “Who?”
“That’s the part that has me thrown.”
“You aren’t going to tell me you think it was Jack Fairbanks.”
“No, but I’m worried that the Fairbankses are involved based on the note Anna Collins said she found in her coat pocket. The one you said Ruth Fairbanks showed you. It looks as if Gillian Sanders really was meeting someone at the rest stop. Presumably one of the Fairbankses.”
The connection to the Fairbankses. It just kept coming back to the Fairbankses. His heart pounded hard against his chest. Maybe Ruth was right to want Jack’s exhumation.
“I secured the crime scene and typed up my report for CID,” Walker was saying. “I know you want them to handle it. But there is one more thing I thought you’d want to know. I found a bullet hole in the trunk and when I checked the body—”
He’d checked the body. Nash swore again under his breath.
“Gillian Sanders was shot after she died. It looks as if someone is trying to frame Anna Collins for the murder.”
Nash didn’t know what to say.
“There’s more,” Walker said with a sigh. “Judge Gandy called. He gave Ruth Fairbanks permission to have Anna Collins stay at the island until this is resolved.”
Nash felt his chest constrict. He glanced toward the bedroom. He could see Lucinda. She was lying on her side, her hands under her head, her blond hair framing her face.
“Thank you for letting me know,” he managed to say.
“I left a copy of my report on your desk,” Walker said. “I have the next few days off, but I’m not going anywhere, so if CID or you need—”
“Nice work, Walker.” He hung up, his hand shaking.
What the hell was going on? He recalled the note Ruth had shown him, the one Anna Collins said she found in her coat pocket. It just kept coming back to the Fairbankses.
And that’s what scared him. That and Walker. The cop reminded Nash of himself when he was that age. Young and idealistic. Walker wouldn’t stop until he got to the bottom of this, even without the state criminal investigation division troopers.
Nash heard a sound in the bedroom. When he looked up he saw Lucinda watching him, a worried expression on her face, and he knew it was time to tell Walker he’d decided not to call in the state CID, that they could handle this within the local department.
Walker would be suspicious, but Nash had to get a handle on this investigation. It was the only way he could protect his wife, because, sure as hell, Jonathan Fairbanks was involved.
Which meant it wouldn’t be any time before Fairbanks would use that leverage he had against Lucinda to get Nash to make this all go away.
AFTER WHAT HE’D DISCOVERED IN the garage last night, Walker hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d gone fishing, then just before light, he’d stopped by the police station and requested phone records for the past eight months for Anna Collins, Marc Collins, Gillian Sanders and all of the Fairbankses, including Jack.
He wasn’t surprised that within the hour he received a call from Judge Gandy telling him he would need a court order to get the phone records on Senator Big Jim Fairbanks.
“I’m investigating the murder of Gillian Sanders,” Walker said. “I believe she was meeting one of the Fairbankses the night of her murder.”
“Unless you have definitive proof regarding a specific Fairbanks, I wouldn’t think of giving you a court order for their phones,” the judge said emphatically.
Walker hadn’t been surprised. He knew that Judge Gandy and Ruth Fairbanks were tight.
He’d known it wouldn’t be easy to get anything on the Fairbanks family even though he was more convinced than ever that they were somehow involved. Of course he’d known that the moment he’d heard Ruth Fairbanks had been to the hospital to bust Anna Collins out. The question was Anna Collins’s involvement with the Fairbanks.
She’d sworn she’d never met any of the Fairbankses before coming to Shadow Lake. Nor was she aware of any contact Gillian Sanders might have made with the family prior to that time.
Walker hoped the phone records, both landline and cell, would provide the answer.
Meanwhile, he wondered if Anna Collins had any idea what she was getting herself into by agreeing to stay with the Fairbankses. Ruth was a viper who protected her nest at all costs.
And Jonathan…
Walker hoped to hell bringing Anna Collins to the house wasn’t his idea. Anna Collins could end up in the lake again, with more tragic results, if Jonathan had anything to do with it.
AS ANNA DRESSED IN THE clothing Ruth Fairbanks had purchased for her, and she was only a little surprised.
The clothes didn’t just fit perfectly; they were in a style, cut and color that Anna might have chosen for herself. Ruth had a good eye and had thought of everything including lingerie, a robe, slippers and several types of shoes for both casual and dress.
Anna had said something to Dr. Brubaker about the almost formal attire Ruth had purchased for her.
“The Fairbankses dress for dinner,” he said with the quirk of one bushy gray brow. “Apparently she intends for you to stay a while.”
Apparently. The question was why she was treating Anna with such graciousness, especially after their first meeting had almost landed Anna in handcuffs and a jail cell.
Doc signed her release form and carried the spare clothing out to the waiting car Ruth had sent. Anna felt as if she was climbing into the lion’s den as the driver opened the door for her and she slid into the backseat.
“Remember to call if you need anything,” Doc said as the driver loaded her clothing.
“Thank you.” She’d called Billy Blake. Ruth had been right. Billy thought it a terrible idea. Anna was starting to think he might have been right as the driver pulled away from the hospital.
Not that she was about to change her mind. If she had any hope of getting out of this mess, she had to determine what had happened the night she went into the lake, the night Gillian was murdered. Ruth Fairbanks had to know something; otherwise, why invite Anna to stay on the island?
Anna had to question why Ruth Fairbanks would want an alleged murderer on her island—let alone in her house. Unless Ruth Fairbanks knew with certainty that Anna was innocent. But wouldn’t that mean Ruth Fairbanks knew who had murdered Gillian? Or at the very least why Gillian thought the Fairbankses knew something about Tyler’s death?
DR. BRUBAKER WATCHED THE car drive away with Anna Collins and tried not to worry.
As he started to go back into the hospital he heard a voice behind him. He turned to find Father Tom Bertonelli coming toward him.
/> “A moment of your time, Gene,” the priest said as he stopped to catch his breath.
Gene had a bad feeling the good father hadn’t stopped by to collect for a priests’ old-age home. He greatly regretted that moment of weakness the other night when he’d gone down to the church and confessed. Confession might be good for the soul, but it had done nothing to make him feel better. Nor did he believe it had absolved him of anything.
“A miserable day to be out for walk, Tom.”
The old priest nodded solemnly under the shadow of his large black umbrella.
“I was just heading home,” Gene Brubaker said, hoping to cut short whatever this was. “I have to pick up some papers for a patient.” He figured lying to a priest at this point was the least of his worries. Lying to an old friend was harder.
Tom met his gaze, held it, then nodded slowly as he said, “In that case, I’ll walk with you.”
With no other option now, he followed the priest up the street, forced to share the umbrella. Doc slowed his pace to match that of his old friend.
“I’ve been thinking about you, Gene,” Tom said as they walked at a snail’s pace along the main street.
He was thankful there was no traffic. Nor was there anyone else out for a stroll. He felt a headache coming on and realized he hadn’t eaten anything this morning.
“Thinking about the talk we had the other night,” Tom said.
“You mean my confession,” he said.
Tom didn’t look at him. Instead, the priest kept his eyes on the sidewalk, his gait awkward, as if walking was the last thing his legs wanted to do anymore.
“Hmm, yes,” Tom said. “I’ve thought of little else. What you told me has left me troubled.”
His pulse quickened. “I thought confessions were confidential.”
“Indeed they are.” The priest stopped under the dark still-bare limbs of a maple in sight of the church. He took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. He looked ancient, his face in deep shadow, his expression grave.
Brubaker felt a wave of sadness. When had they both gotten so old? Worse, he realized that the priest, like himself, wasn’t long for this world.
“This burden you carry,” Father Bertonelli said, his voice low and aggrieved. “It must be a very difficult one. You did the right thing confessing and turning it over to God. I have prayed that you will receive the guidance you need. I would hate to see you take such a burden with you to your grave.”
Brubaker said nothing. This wasn’t something that a few Hail Marys could make right. “I killed my wife, Tom.”
His old friend nodded. “To end her suffering as she begged you to do in the last hours of her life.”
Tears sprang to Brubaker’s eyes. “Semantics.”
“Gladys is at peace. It is you I’m concerned about. Your soul, Gene.” The priest regarded him. “I know how much you miss Gladys and want to join her. I’ve seen you pull away from the church, the community, old friends.”
Brubaker couldn’t look at him.
“I would hate to see your life cut short, but more than that, I couldn’t bear for you to do something that would keep you and Gladys from being together for eternity.” Tom patted his shoulder. “You’d better get those papers for your patient.” With that, his old friend shook the rain from his umbrella and hobbled off across the street to the church, never looking back.
Brubaker took a deep breath. Overhead, a flock of birds swept past, their dark bodies silhouetted against the pale blue sky, reminding him of when he was a boy and the nuns used to sweep down the school hall in a whisper of dark mysterious fabric.
The image sent a wave of dread through him as the elderly priest disappeared inside the church, the door closing without a sound behind him.
AS THE BOAT NEARED THE island, Anna spotted the huge stone mansion with a sense of apprehension. The afternoon sun slanted across the water, making the stones gleam with blinding intensity. Seeing it now in the daylight, Anna thought the place was even more intimidating. As was the family.
To her surprise, the island appeared to be larger than she’d first thought. The house stood on the south end, surrounded on three sides by both beach bluffs and rocky shoreline. Trees graced the large expanse of grass that separated the house from the shore.
But to the north beyond the house, the land became more rugged, with thick stands of pines and fleeting glimpses of sheer cliffs that disappeared in the low clouds.
As the boat pulled into the dock, Anna looked up and saw a man’s face at the farthest window to the north on the second floor. Jonathan Fairbanks. He disappeared at once, leaving Anna with the impression that he hadn’t wanted to be seen. A moment later another face appeared in the window. This one a woman with long red hair. Pet.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“ANYBODY HOME?” BILLY BLAKE called as he came around the side of the house to Walker’s back screened-in porch, as if knowing where to find his friend this time of day.
The sun was almost down, the air cooling quickly as dark shadows settled into the pines around the cabin Walker called home. The cabin had belonged to his grandfather. He’d spent many an evening sitting here, just as he was now, watching the sun sink into the lake.
Only this evening, Walker had been battling with himself and the ghosts in his life. It was one reason Billy was a sight for sore eyes.
“Beer?” Walker asked as Billy climbed the steps. He handed him a bottle of cold beer from the cooler beside his chair. “I ordered a pizza. Had a feeling you might be stopping by.”
Billy grinned as he took the beer and slouched into the beach chair next to him. Neither said anything as Billy twisted the cap off the bottle and took a drink.
This was Walker’s favorite spot. He loved the backyard with its huge trees and wide grassy slope that ended at the lake. In the far distance, he could make out the dock light glowing at the Fairbankses’ island. He and Jack had a signal they used during the summers when they were kids. When Jack couldn’t get a boat to sneak off the island, Walker would pick him up.
“So you heard,” Billy said.
Walker grunted. “I can’t believe Ruth Fairbanks is having Jack exhumed.”
“I meant about Anna Collins staying out at the Fairbankses. I heard Ruth went through Judge Gandy.”
“It’s crazy. Why would Ruth Fairbanks offer Anna a place to stay after calling the cops and having Anna thrown off the property just hours before?”
“A change of heart?” Billy suggested.
Walker snorted.
“Well, Anna Collins is safer there than with her husband.”
“That’s not saying much.”
Billy took another long draw on his beer. “Maybe Ruth Fairbanks got Anna out of the hospital to kill her,” he joked. “Naw, that would be hell on Jonathan’s political career and we all know that’s the only thing the Fairbankses care about.”
“Everyone seems to have forgotten that a woman has been murdered.” Walker swore. “Especially Rob Nash.”
“I guess everyone just assumes the killer is Anna Collins.”
He shot his friend a look. “A damned good reason not to invite the woman to stay at your house if you ask me.”
“Any idea what Ruth or Jonathan want from her?” Billy asked.
Walker didn’t answer. He took a drink of his beer and stared out at the lake through the trees, not sure if he really wanted to open this Pandora’s box. There was a chill in the air that had settled in him tonight.
“That’s just it,” he said finally. “None of this makes any sense.”
“I agree. Why would Anna Collins shoot her best friend and put the body in her trunk?”
Walker shrugged.
“What?” Billy asked with interest. “You know something?”
“I found Gillian’s car parked behind a pile of gravel near the rest stop on the hill.” He also told him about what he’d found at the garage.
“She didn’t do it.” Billy raised his beer bottle. “I knew she d
idn’t do it.”
“The evidence isn’t enough to exonerate her,” Walker pointed out. “But there are a lot of unanswered questions. Like who put the body in the trunk of the Cadillac.”
“A man who wanted to frame Anna Collins for murder,” Billy said simply. “No way Anna could have lifted Gillian Sanders’s dead weight.
“People under stress have been known to lift automobiles,” Walker argued, for the sake of argument more than anything else. He’d already had this same discussion with himself and decided she couldn’t have put the body in the trunk.
“She loaded the body to go fifty yards and drive into the lake?” Billy laughed. “No one is that crazy.”
Walker lifted a brow. “Let’s not forget that she’s still claiming that Jack saved her.”
Billy eyed him, grinning. “But you don’t think she purposely drove into the lake anymore?”
“I told you. I don’t know what to think. If you buy into part of her story, you kinda have to buy into the rest, don’t you think?”
“There is probably a logical explanation,” Billy said. “Like she saw Jonathan Fairbanks at the rest stop.”
“And that’s how she thought she saw Jack under the water? It was Jonathan?” Walker snorted. “Even if Jonathan Fairbanks was physically able, he wouldn’t have gone in the water to save anyone and you know it. But Jack would—”
“Wait a minute,” Billy interrupted. “You saw the body when it was brought in. It was Jack Fairbanks, right?”
“After that long in the water…”
Billy was staring at him now, his beer forgotten. “Oh, hell. Are you telling me you’re actually starting to believe that Jack is alive?”
THE MAN, WHO HAD TOLD Anna she could call him Gregory, parked the boat next to the dock and got out, steadying the craft to allow her to disembark.
She stood for a moment on the dock, hoping Gregory was planning on coming up with her.
“Mrs. Fairbanks is waiting for you,” he said, making no move to accompany her to the house.
She nodded. “What about—”
