Macy scrolled through some of the text messages again. Between Saturday afternoon and the time he died, he’d not tried to make contact with anyone else. Macy started to speak but Hannah interrupted her.
“Peter knew where I was. If he was so desperate to speak to me he could have driven out to the cabin,” said Hannah.
“We only have your word for that.”
“I’ve never been in trouble with the law. I have no record and no motive. You can look at the GPS on my phone. It will tell you where I’ve been.”
“Your location is confirmed until you switched off your phone on Sunday afternoon.”
“I forgot my charger. The battery died.”
“You know we’re going to check.”
“Please do. The sooner we clear this up the better.”
“You may not consider infidelity a motive for murder, but many people do. It’s plausible that you came home to find your husband in bed with another woman and killed them both.”
Hannah didn’t respond, so Macy continued.
“The woman found dead in your house was in her early twenties, Caucasian, around five foot six in height with brown hair. Evidence tells us that she was dead before the fire started. We’re assuming she’d been in a relationship with your husband for at least two months. Was there someone Peter was seeing regularly?”
“Not to my knowledge. To tell you the truth, I was under the impression Peter wasn’t interested in getting involved with anyone exclusively.”
“Yet, it turns out he was very involved. The young woman was pregnant with Peter’s child.”
“Are you sure?”
“She was in her first trimester, somewhere around two months. Do you have any idea who she might be?”
Hannah hesitated for the first time.
“I’ve had my suspicions about a few young women but couldn’t tell you anything for sure,” said Hannah.
“From his writing workshop?”
“Yes.”
Macy spread the Polaroids out on the table in front of Hannah.
“We found these Polaroids in your office. Do you recognize them?”
“They were given to me. I was keeping them safe while I decided what to do.”
“Who gave you the photos?”
“Lara Newcomb. She’s a student in Peter’s writing workshop, one of the ones who showed a lot of promise. She said she found the photos in Peter’s office at the Bridger Cultural Center when she was housesitting for us in August.”
“Why did she bring them to you?”
“She wanted me to stop Peter from doing this to anyone else.”
“Is Lara Newcomb in any of these photographs?”
Hannah pointed to a girl who was positioned in an armchair. Black curls fell past her shoulders. Her eyes looked black behind the mask. There was a tattoo of a snake on her ankle. Multiple rings on her fingers.
“She thinks Peter drugged her,” said Hannah. “She claims she doesn’t remember anything.”
“How long have these photos been in your possession?”
“A few weeks.”
“Did you speak to your husband?”
Hannah looked away for the first time. “I couldn’t do it. Peter wasn’t just my husband, he was my best friend. I can’t accept that he was doing something like this. I’m sure it was consensual.”
“So, let me get this straight. A young woman came to you and asked you for help, and you did nothing?” Macy didn’t give Hannah chance to respond. She pointed to the bedspread in a couple of the Polaroids. “Do you recognize the bedspread?”
“Maybe, I think we used to own something that looked like that, but it’s been years.”
“What about the bed and the chairs?”
Hannah stared at the photos. Her confusion was convincing.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know where these photos were taken.”
“I have a hard time believing that.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“Hannah, these photos were taken in your house.”
“That’s not possible.”
“We found a room hidden behind some shelving in the basement. Your husband may have been abusing women under your roof and you’re saying that you knew nothing about it. Were you hoping that you could make it all go away? Is that why you came back to Bolton on Monday to set the fire?” Macy held up the Polaroid of the woman who died. “Did you get angry when you found out your husband had already moved on? Is that why you killed them both?”
Hannah was crying again. “I swear I didn’t do this,” she said.
“The room in your basement is bigger than most people’s apartments. It has en-suite bathroom, a wet bar and Wi-Fi. It was going on under your roof. How could you be so oblivious?”
“I know what it looks like, but it’s the truth. Ask Cornelia. Peter managed most of the restoration work on the house because I was teaching full-time in California. I only came out occasionally.”
Alisa spoke for the first time. “That’s not what all the magazines say. You’ve told interviewers that you were involved in every aspect of the building work.”
Hannah’s voice had lost its edge. “That was all said for PR. We were putting on a united front. It’s what was expected from us.”
* * *
Macy sat down at her desk and opened the video link Alisa had sent her of an interview Peter Granger had done a year earlier. There’d already been over a half-million views on YouTube and hundreds of his fans had left comments. Peter Granger was wearing a sharply cut blue suit with a crisp white shirt that was open at the collar. Though the lines on his face were heavily demarcated, they didn’t seem to age him. He was powerful and at ease in front of the large audience and there was both warmth and authority in his voice. The male interviewer who sat with him onstage barely registered. At some point Granger took over the discussion and engaged the audience directly. One after another, predominately female audience members asked him detailed questions about his novels. Microphone in hand, he walked off the stage and into the crowd. A woman was crying about a passage he’d written. She’d wanted him to know that his book had saved her life. He received a standing ovation for giving her his handkerchief.
Macy snapped her laptop shut and slipped it into her bag. If Peter Granger had this sort of effect on an audience full of strangers, she could only imagine what he was like one-on-one. The young women in the Polaroids hadn’t really stood a chance.
11
Thursday
Grace drove down the dirt road with one eye on the gas gauge and the other on the rearview mirror.
“Damn, that was fucking scary,” said Lara.
Grace was no longer panicked, she was angry. She shot Lara a quick glance.
“That was crazy. You shouldn’t have got in his car.”
Lara turned sideways in her seat. “I think we got away with it. There’s no sign of him.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’ll know it was me who took the letter.”
“His car was a mess. He could have just as easily misplaced it.” She sniffed her jacket. “God, I stink. It smelled like something died in that car.”
“You’re lucky it wasn’t you.”
Lara sat with her knees braced against her chest. Her black jeans were covered in dust.
“I think you should go to the police and report him for harassing you. You’ve got the letter now so there’s nothing he can do.”
Grace checked the mirrors again. “I’ll go as soon as we’re back in Bolton.”
Ahead the dirt track ended at a paved road. Grace had no idea where she was. She figured if she kept heading west she’d eventually reach the outskirts of town, but instead the terrain became more and more densely forested.
“We’re going to run out of gas soon,” said Grace.
Lara patted the dashboard. “My car has never let me down. We’ve gone a long way on fumes.”
“Is there a phone signal?”
Lara checked their phones. “Nada.�
��
Grace took a left onto the paved road and headed south. As least it didn’t feel as isolated. With any luck they’d catch a ride with a passing vehicle if they got stranded.
“Do you ever talk about what happened in Collier?” asked Lara.
“Not if I can help it.”
“Why did you talk to Peter, then?”
“I guess I was in awe of him. Here was this great writer paying attention to someone like me. You don’t come across people like Peter and Hannah where I come from. Thankfully, I didn’t tell him everything.”
“Why’s that?”
Grace suddenly felt very tired of being Grace Adams. Anyone else would do. She did a quick check for Jordan’s Bronco in the rearview mirror.
“There are things I don’t tell anyone.”
“Are you still going to go public at your student art show?”
“I keep changing my mind. Maybe it’s not such a good idea.”
Grace pumped the gas pedal, but the engine was dead. They were out of gas. They coasted onto the hard shoulder. They’d not seen a single car since they’d left Jordan’s home twenty minutes earlier. The weather was relatively mild for November, but it was forecast to rain.
“I’m nervous about walking out in the open,” said Lara.
“Do you know if Clare is around today?”
“She said she was going to the library.”
“We should have let someone know where we were going,” said Grace.
“To be fair, even we didn’t know we’d end up here.”
They trudged along the hard shoulder with their phones held out in front of them like divining rods.
“Bet you’re thankful I bought you that bagel,” said Lara.
“I’m surprised Steve made you pay.”
“Steve thinks I’m a bitch.”
Grace nudged her friend with her shoulder. “He’s not wrong.”
Lara spread her arms like wings, casting birdlike shadows on the tarmac. “I’m going to write about this,” she said.
Grace walked backward so she could watch the road behind them. Sun glinted off the windshield of an approaching vehicle. It slowed down as it came alongside Lara’s abandoned car. Grace grabbed Lara by the arm and pulled her toward the trees.
“Run,” she said.
“It could be anyone,” said Lara. “We could get a ride.”
Grace didn’t want to argue. The terrain was a mass of broken branches, tufts of silver leafed shrubs, and fallen pine needles. They ducked beneath low-hanging branches and scrambled over rocks. The ruins of an abandoned homestead blended into the forest. They didn’t see it until Grace nearly tripped over the remains of the foundation. It was about a quarter mile from the road and at the top of a small rise. Beyond the remains of a back wall, the landscape sloped steeply downward. A thin thread of the Gallatin River was visible through the trees. If they followed its course they would reach Bolton in a couple of hours.
Only one of the homestead’s walls was intact. Thankfully, it faced the road. Grace peered through what had once been a window. The glass was green and broken. Jordan’s Bronco edged along the road.
“Oh, my God,” said Lara. “That’s him, isn’t it?”
Grace felt sick. “Is there anything in your car that could give us away?”
“Shit, shit, shit.”
“What?”
“The sketch you did is still on the dashboard.”
Grace dropped to her knees and opened her bag. Her .22-caliber handgun was in the inside pocket.
“Sweet Jesus,” said Lara. “You’ve got a gun.”
Grace checked the cartridge and removed the safety. “Keep an eye on that Bronco,” she said. “I want to know if he’s coming this way.”
“He’s still sitting in his car.”
“We didn’t see this building from the road, so I doubt he can either.”
Grace rested the gun barrel on the stone window frame and aimed it at Jordan’s truck. Her uncle had taught her to shoot when she was little, and she was made to practice until handling a gun was as natural as breathing. Not that it would help them if Jordan brought along something with more firepower. He struck her as someone who would consider a .22 a child’s toy. Lara was bouncing from one foot to the other.
“Shouldn’t we just keep on going?” she said.
Grace blinked her eyes and tried to focus. He was out of his truck and moving through the trees along the road.
“What is he up to?” said Grace.
Lara grabbed Grace’s arm. “I don’t know and I don’t care. Let’s keep moving.”
Grace lost sight of Jordan.
“Christ, I can’t see him anymore.”
Lara made a move. “Please, Grace. We need to go now.”
Grace threw her bag over her shoulder and ran after Lara. The clouds thickened overhead and raindrops pelted the forest canopy. Aside from the river there wasn’t a familiar landmark in sight.
* * *
The descent down to the river was trickier than Grace and Lara had thought it would be. They slid on the thick carpet of pine needles, leaving tracks in the damp soil underneath. The overhead branches protected them from the worst of the rain, but the shoreline was more exposed. They needed to gain some ground on Jordan or he was going to spot them easily. Grace cut across the slope sharply and headed toward a rocky outcrop.
“We’ll follow the river but stay out of sight. It will be slower but safer.”
“I’m right behind you,” said Lara.
Once they were hidden behind the rocks they took a few seconds to get their bearings. The river was farther down the slope, about a hundred yards north. A herd of elk was braving the rain. They crossed over the stony banks in a tight group.
“Do we need to worry about bears?” asked Lara.
“I’d say bears are the least of our worries.”
The herd tensed up in unison and took off running. Jordan was also moving down the slope toward the river. He was carrying a hunting rifle and a backpack. Grace covered Lara’s mouth and put a finger to her lips. They backed away slowly. The boulders that towered over them were as big as buses. An animal track led them deeper into the forest. Grace doubled back and told Lara to climb up into a tight crevice between the rocks. It was a squeeze for them, which meant it would be impossible for Jordan to follow. Lara was the stronger of the two of them. She pulled Grace through the crevice and they emerged onto a sheltered plateau. Above them a flat boulder balanced precariously across an opening that was about ten feet wide. Grace found a gap in between the rocks. It took her awhile to spot Jordan. He was moving methodically, making a wide sweep of the hillside.
“Not a word,” whispered Grace. “Make sure your phone is switched off.”
Jordan slowly made his way toward them. The rain was falling harder. It ran down the sides of the boulders, forming a puddle where they sheltered. The temperature may have been mild for November but the water was freezing cold.
Jordan passed out of view as he moved beneath their hiding place. Smoke from his cigarette wafted upward through the crevice. Grace aimed her gun at the opening and prayed.
Overhead, thunder rolled across the valley. Midday quickly descended into night as the sky darkened and a storm barreled across the terrain. There was a flash and lightning split the sky. The puddle beneath their feet grew larger. They pressed themselves to the rock face in an attempt to stay dry.
It no longer smelled of cigarette smoke. From their perch Grace studied the shoreline. The beech trees and cottonwoods bent double in the driving wind.
“I’m freezing,” whispered Lara.
Grace threw her a dark look and put a finger to her lips. She’d make Lara wait there all night if she had to. Thunder rumbled closer. Rain gave way to hail. Stones the size of marbles ricocheted off the boulders. The noise was deafening. Overhead the treetops clanged together like church bells. A shudder ran across the river’s surface as lightning struck a pine tree on the far shore. The earth shook in
the deep crack of it.
Jordan had found shelter in the trees beyond the stony riverbank. He appeared to be watching the hillside. A few seconds later he stepped out into the open. He’d changed into a rain poncho printed with camouflage. The hood was up so his face was obscured in shadow. Grace moved away from the gap between the boulders.
“He’s got binoculars,” she said.
“Did he see you?” asked Lara. Her face was pale, her lips blue. Rainwater dripped from the loose tendrils of her hair.
“I don’t think so.”
“What should we do?”
Grace took another peek. Jordan was moving toward them.
“He’s coming this way,” she whispered.
“Maybe if we keep climbing,” said Lara.
“The sides are too slippery. We’d never make it.” Grace once again aimed her gun at the opening. “Keep an eye on the hillside,” she whispered. “He may be heading back to his car.”
“I see him,” said Lara. “He’s on the far side of the hill again.” Grace hunched down next to Lara. Jordan was inspecting the tracks they’d left when they’d hurried toward the river. He eventually shouldered his rifle and headed in the direction of the road.
Overhead the sky settled and the rain lessoned. They waited for it to stop completely before sliding back down through the crevice. It was nearly three o’clock when they emerged stiff and cold. They could see Jordan’s heavy boot prints in the damp earth. They found one cigarette butt wedged into a crack in the rocks and another on the path.
They followed the animal track deep into the woods and stayed out of sight until they’d rounded the far bend in the river. The sun broke through the clouds at the same time they stepped out of the trees, but a freezing wind skirted across the valley.
“How far do you think it is?”
In the distance, Grace spotted one of Bolton’s many grain silos.
Silent Rain Page 16
