“You’re a good cop,” said Macy. “I imagine you’re going to be a very good detective someday.”
Alisa brightened. “Do you really think so?”
“You have all the right instincts. You just have to believe in yourself.” Macy hesitated. “If you ever want to talk about how you can move forward or if you’re ever considering a move to work for the state, you should let me know. Bolton is nice but it’s limited. You don’t have any family tying you down here, so it would be easy to move on.”
Alisa put her coffee cup down on the table and folded her hands in her lap. She sounded unsure.
“Thank you. It’s certainly something to think about.”
Macy gulped down some of her coffee. It burned her tongue and throat. She wouldn’t say anything against Brad, but that wouldn’t stop her from running interference.
“We should go,” said Macy. “We’re short on suspects. This kid, Chad, is the only promising lead we have at the moment.”
* * *
Chad Nelson lived in a bungalow south of town. His mother was understandably nervous at seeing two police officers standing on her front porch. Macy tried to reassure her.
“Chad isn’t in any trouble, but he may be a witness. We need to speak to him.”
“I wish I could help, but Chad is with his father this weekend.” A yellow Labrador stuck his snout between the woman’s legs. She reached down to give him a reassuring pat on the head. “I’m not even sure whether they’re in town. There was talk of going up to Missoula to see Chad’s grandparents. Can I ask what this is all about?”
Alisa handed the woman the screenshot of Chad.
“Can you confirm this is your son?” asked Alisa.
The woman’s hand was shaking. She nodded.
“Your son picked up an order at a print shop near campus. He paid in cash and left on his bike. Did he say anything to you about this?” asked Macy.
“He sometimes does odd jobs for people around Bolton. Puts up flyers, makes deliveries, babysits—anything to make a few dollars. Do you think he’s gotten mixed up in something he shouldn’t be doing?”
“It’s likely that he’s an innocent party,” said Macy. “We’re only talking about a print job. Only paper. No drugs or anything like that. We’d still like to speak to him as soon as possible. We’re hoping he can identify the person he was running errands for. Could we have your ex-husband’s phone number?”
“Sure, but don’t hold your breath. My ex hates phones so he rarely answers. You should probably send him a text explaining why you need to speak to Chad. I imagine he’ll call you back once he reads it.”
“Does Chad have a cell phone?” asked Alisa.
The woman hesitated and then started rambling nervously. “Chad is only thirteen, so some people think it’s wrong for him to have one but both me and his dad work so sometimes it’s the only way we can keep track of him.”
“Ma’am, there’s no need to apologize,” said Macy. “We’re sure Chad is a great kid.”
Macy copied out the phone numbers in her notebook and shook the woman’s hand.
“Can you tell me anything more about what this is about?” she asked.
“Not at the moment, but we’ll be in touch soon,” said Macy.
Alisa spoke under her breath as they made their way back to the car. “We can track Chad’s movements the day he picked up the order using his phone number. May give us an idea of who we’re dealing with.”
“Let’s try calling them first. Dad may not be keen on cell phones, but I can almost guarantee that Chad will have his within reach wherever he is.”
Macy was wrong. Neither Chad nor his father answered their phones. Macy sent the father a text while Alisa drove them to Cornelia Hart’s condominium.
* * *
Rainwater cascaded down from the condominium’s rooftop and pooled on the wide concrete walkways and front porch. There were few cars parked in the lots. Most of the condo interiors were dark and the sales office was closed for the day. Macy rang Cornelia Hart’s bell several times and waited in the driving rain. The drumming was so loud she could barely hear the bell’s chime inside Cornelia’s home. Alisa stood next to Macy, but she was facing away from the door.
“I’m pretty sure that’s Cornelia Hart’s car parked out front,” said Alisa.
There was nowhere to go on this end of town unless you were planning on taking a long walk, and Cornelia didn’t strike Macy as someone who went for walks. She certainly wasn’t going to go out in this weather. Her front curtains were drawn shut, but the gate leading to the backyard stood ajar. Macy led the way. A cold blast of wet wind shot down the narrow alleyway. For a couple of seconds Macy was walking blind. They hopped a low brick wall and stood on a small covered courtyard that could be accessed from Cornelia’s back door. A common area dotted with newly planted trees was boxed in by a dozen condominiums. Despite the overhead cover it felt very exposed.
“This place is soulless,” said Alisa.
Macy didn’t disagree.
Cornelia’s cat peered out at them through the open sliding glass door. The curtains fluttered inward, brushing the fur back on the cat’s head. There was broken glass all over the wooden flooring. Macy drew her firearm and told Alisa to call for backup and an ambulance.
Macy stood to the right of the door and pounded on the wooden doorframe hard with the butt of her gun.
“Cornelia Hart!” she shouted. “This is the police. Please answer if you can hear me!”
The cat scampered away and the curtains fell flat.
Macy called out again.
“Police! We’re coming in.”
Macy pushed the sliding glass door open completely and quickly stepped out of the way. The curtains billowed inward. Loose papers fluttered across the floor. A glass vase that had once been filled with artificial flowers lay splintered into hundreds of shards. They reflected off the overhead light. There was a wide smear of what looked like blood trailing across the wood floor. Macy pulled the curtain open completely.
“The carpet that was here is gone,” said Macy. “Looks like it was rolled up and dragged across the floor.”
Alisa’s eyes were wide and searching. “Do you think there was a body inside?”
“Follow in my footsteps as closely as you can,” said Macy.
They skirted around the edges of the room with their weapons drawn. Broken glass cracked underfoot.
“There’s more blood on the kitchen floor. Shoe prints too. They look too large to be a women’s shoe,” said Alisa.
“Cornelia Hart!” yelled Macy. “Are you in here?”
The cat headed for the stairs. Macy followed.
“The bedrooms should be upstairs,” said Macy.
There was no sign of Cornelia Hart in the home office or bedroom, but everything had been pulled out of the drawers and cupboards. Other than a couple bloody shoe prints at the base of the stairs, there was no sign of a struggle outside of the kitchen and living room. The smear of blood went from the back door to the front door, then disappeared.
“She’s not here,” said Macy.
Alisa was studying the front door.
“No signs of forced entry anywhere,” said Alisa. “She may have known her attacker.”
Macy and Alisa carefully retraced their steps back through the apartment and took shelter under the covered porch. The rain had lessened. It was falling in a thin veil, silent rain that softened the light and left everything a muddled gray. Emergency sirens were approaching from the east.
“There would have been a lot of noise,” said Alisa. “I’m surprised one of the neighbors didn’t call the police.”
“What neighbors? Most of the units are empty.”
Macy knelt down to take a closer look at the bloodstains. They appeared to be completely dry.
“I interviewed Cornelia Hart on Thursday morning. Has anyone spoken to her since then?” asked Macy.
“No, ma’am. I’ve been trying to reach her since
we found Hannah Granger on Thursday evening.”
“Did the patrol unit that you sent out report seeing anything unusual?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. They’ve come out a couple of times. Hannah said she’d been trying to reach her as well.” Alisa pointed to the floor. “Does that seem like a lot of blood to you?”
The complex was isolated. No one would have heard Cornelia’s cries for help. The perpetrator could have cut across the common area and entered through the sliding glass doors. The front door had been chained and locked when Macy came to see Cornelia. She wasn’t like other people in Bolton. She was from New York. She locked her doors. Macy had a horrible feeling she’d missed something and Cornelia Hart had paid the price.
“It’s not a lot of blood but there may be more on the rug. If they dragged it outside there should be glass and fibers out front in the parking lot, but the rain would have washed away other evidence.” Macy stood up. “Until DNA proves otherwise we’re going to assume the victim is Cornelia Hart. When I came here on Thursday the front door was double locked and the security chain attached. It isn’t now.”
“Maybe her attacker left that way.”
“They would have had to wait until it was dark to move the body.”
“We’re assuming she’s dead?”
“If this is her blood I’m afraid we’re going to have to assume the worst. We would have heard if Cornelia Hart was dropped off at a local hospital.”
“Why would they risk taking her body with them? It’s not like they could disguise that a crime took place.”
“Hard to say. They may have been thinking no body, no murder charge, or there could be physical evidence on the body. Something that could be used to identify the killer. I didn’t see anything that looked like a murder weapon either.”
Macy’s eyes darted from the bookshelves to the walls. She was pretty sure a couple of paintings were missing, but harder to explain was the methodical search of the entire condominium. Someone had taken their time going through every drawer and cupboard. They were confident that no one was going to come visit Cornelia.
“What in the hell were they looking for?”
“The missing artwork?” asked Alisa.
“They weren’t going to find it in a kitchen drawer.”
“Money then?”
“Fuck.” Macy closed her eyes for a second. She needed to think. Ted Nelson and his son still hadn’t returned their calls. “Give Missoula PD a call. They need to send a patrol unit to Chad Nelson’s grandparents’ house right away. I’m worried about that boy.”
Macy pulled her phone from her pocket and scrolled down until she found Aiden’s phone number. He didn’t answer so she left him a message. She was going to be working late again. He and Luke would have to have dinner on their own.
* * *
The television blinked in the darkened hotel room. Luke and Aiden were asleep on the sofa bed this time. Aiden was propped up on the pillows with Luke tucked beneath one of his arms. Macy turned on the light in the adjoining room and left the door ajar. She sat on the edge of the sofa bed and watched as their features slowly came into focus. She smiled, then shook with laughter, covering her mouth so she wouldn’t wake them. Aiden opened one eye, then another. He cracked a smile.
“You’re not supposed to laugh,” he said.
Macy rubbed her hand over his hair. It was less than a quarter inch in length and felt like the quills on a hedgehog.
“What possessed you to get buzz cuts?” she asked.
“Luke insisted.”
“He’s not even three. You didn’t have to listen.”
“Figured I’d take one for the team. You can go with him next time.”
“You still look good.”
He ran his fingers through his nonexistent hair.
“It’s going to take some getting used to. Feels cold, for one. Just think of the money we’ll save on shampoo.”
She rubbed his ear lobe between her thumb and forefinger.
“It’s a good thing you have nice ears,” she said.
“A little warning. Luke’s do stick out a fair bit.”
“So do mine. It’s a Greeley trait.” Macy snuggled in next to Aiden and closed her eyes. “It has been a long evening. What did you guys get up to?” she asked.
“We had dinner with Brad Hastings and his wife, so I’m all caught up on the case. Heard you’ve got another missing person on your hands.”
“It’s worse than that. We may be looking for a body.” She hesitated. “How well do you know Brad?”
“We go way back. Invited him up to Wilmington Creek, but they’ve got the baby on the way so who knows if he’ll be able to make it. Funny. I could never imagine he’d get married and now he’s going to be a father.”
“Why’s that?”
Aiden yawned. “He was a bit of a player, that’s all.”
“A bit like you were then?”
“No, this was different. He always seemed to have a girlfriend. He just never seemed to care.”
“I don’t think he’s changed.”
Aiden held his lips to her forehead.
“Why do you say that? Did he hit on you?”
“No, but I’m pretty sure he’s seeing Alisa on the side.”
“That ain’t good. How sure are you?” he asked.
“Fairly. I ran into Brad coming out of the supermarket late last night with a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates. He said he was on his way home, but the next day the same bottle of wine and box of chocolates were in Alisa’s apartment.”
“Maybe he had good reason to be there. He could have stopped by and forgot them.”
“The bottle was empty and the box had been opened. I’m not imagining things.”
“Do you think I should say something?”
“I don’t know,” said Macy. “Alisa reminds me a lot of myself when I first started out on the force. I think she has promise. News of their relationship gets out and we both know who’s going to get blamed.”
Aiden shifted Luke and tucked the covers around him. He sat up and stretched.
“Let’s move to the other bed,” he said. “Last night just about killed my back.”
Macy switched off the television and they leaned against each other in the dark hotel room. She was crying and she wasn’t sure why.
“You’d tell me if you weren’t happy,” she said.
He kissed her for a long time.
“What’s this all about?” asked Aiden. “You know I’d let you know if we weren’t okay. I’m not shy about bitching.”
“But I’m always working.”
“There’s nothing wrong with missing the person you love. It’s what makes you love them even more.”
18
Sunday
Grace had driven past Bolton’s only Episcopal church on a number of occasions and had always liked the look of it, but this was the first time she’d ventured inside. She’d woken up at 7:00 A.M to walk her dog, but still had to rush in order to make it in time to attend the earliest service. She quietly slipped inside and stood near the doors. It was much as she’d expected. Most of the parishioners were elderly. Grace picked up an order of service from a table near the entrance before taking a seat in the second pew from the back.
Clare had called her late Friday night. Her interview with Macy Greeley had gone on for over an hour. Clare had insisted it was a misunderstanding until she’d seen the Polaroids for herself. Nothing could have prepared her for seeing herself like that. Clare’s parents had arrived in time to pick her up at the police station. They were all staying at a hotel on the outskirts of town. Clare couldn’t stop crying.
At least my parents now know that all the problems I’ve been having are real. It’s not all in my head.
Grace hadn’t known how to comfort Clare. Her friend’s memory was full of blind spots. She didn’t remember being photographed and, with Peter dead, there was no way of finding out exactly what took place in that room.
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I don’t even know how upset I should be. Should I assume the worst or hope for the best?
Grace sank back in the pew and stared into the middle distance. She was confident God would forgive her recent lapses in church attendance. The only thing that mattered was that she had returned. She wasn’t raised in the Episcopal Church, but everything from the vicar to the altar to the stained-glass windows to the smell of wood polish was familiar. It was like coming home.
Taylor Moore was special by anyone’s standards. Her quiet confidence stood in contrast to Lara’s showmanship. She was incredibly curious and took the time to listen, but there was also something about her that was intangible, something you couldn’t touch. Peter had never wanted to help Taylor become a better writer. He’d only wanted to contain her. He wanted to pin her down to a page like a dark-winged moth. Try as she might, Grace couldn’t picture them as a couple. Taylor was too clever. She should have seen right through Peter’s lies.
Grace opened the Book of Common Prayer to Psalm 39. She kept her eyes on the page even though she knew the verses by heart. Common prayer was like meditation. She found the rise and fall of voices soothing. She tipped down the padded bar and knelt with the rest of the congregation.
Grace wanted to focus on Taylor as she was in life but her mind refused to settle on something beautiful. All she could see was the woman Peter had left behind. Pinned down on a Polaroid, Taylor’s scarred body had been laid bare. Her head was tipped back and her arms sprawled out to the sides. She’d looked like she was asleep.
This one comfort was tiny but Grace clung to it.
Taylor probably had no idea it was happening.
The police didn’t know how Taylor had died or why she’d been in the same bed as Peter. All they knew for sure was that she hadn’t died in the fire. Grace had lied when Macy asked if Taylor had ever talked about committing suicide. Taylor spoke of death like other people spoke of the weather. There’d been at least two failed attempts that Grace knew of. This time she may have succeeded. Grace certainly wasn’t going to blame her for taking Peter Granger with her.
Grace wiped away the tears in her eyes. She hadn’t realized she was crying. Everyone was standing, but she was still on her knees. They’d moved on to a hymn. Grace was confused. She’d never heard it before.
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