Sins of the Father (Book 2, The Erin Solomon Mysteries)

by Jen Blood

  Just as we went over, Diggs abandoned the wheel and pushed my head down. “Just hang on,” he shouted over the sound of screaming engines. I clutched the dashboard with one hand, the other holding tight to Diggs. The world spun and kept spinning, end over end, until I felt a sharp pain in my temple and darkness fell.

  ◊◊◊◊◊

  “We’ve gotta go. Come on—Erin, wake up. Please.”

  I floated for a while, halfway between consciousness and something infinitely nicer, before Diggs’ voice finally registered. Pain came next, accompanied by a wave of nausea and the even less pleasant memory of what the hell I’d gotten us into.

  I was on my back outside the Jeep, beneath a star-filled sky and a canopy of forest. Bono was still singing somewhere far off. Diggs tried to pick me up, but I squeezed his arm to let him know I was awake.

  “I can do it,” I whispered.

  I caught a glimpse of his face: blood down the side, terror in his eyes. The terror vanished the second he realized I was with him, replaced almost instantly with a determination I’d come to know well over the years.

  “Come on,” he said. “We have to go. Can you walk?”

  I sincerely doubted it, but I made the effort anyway. My right leg folded beneath me, but no real pain came until Diggs grabbed my arm to keep me on my feet. I cried out. He let go.

  “Sorry—”

  My head spun, darkness closing in again. Diggs stopped long enough to face me, still holding me up with his hand under my other arm. He looked me in the eye.

  “We have to do this,” he said.

  I nodded, though even that small movement brought back the nausea. He lifted my chin with one hand, his eyes boring into mine.

  “You’re okay,” he said. “We’re alive. I won’t let him near you.” I’d never seen him look so fierce. “We’re getting out of this, Sol. We just have to keep moving.”

  If he’d expected an argument from me, he wasn’t getting one. I nodded gamely. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  He took my good hand. He had his backpack on and a bottle of water in the mesh side pocket, a map clutched in his other hand.

  “You ready?”

  I swallowed past all the fear and doubt, pushing it far away. There was no room for it here. “I’m ready.”

  Part III.

  Over the River

  Through the Woods

  Chapter Thirteen

  Juarez

  Juarez’s plane touched back down in Black Falls at ten o’clock Sunday night. The landing could have been smoother, but wasn’t the worst he’d ever had. He dug his nails into the arms of his seat and thought of Erin’s words that morning: Mind over matter. It was the sort of thing someone who had never experienced aviophobia would say—to Juarez, she may just as easily have told him to will his way to time travel, or sprouting a dorsal fin. He’d been afraid to fly for as long as he could remember, all the way back to thirteen years old, when the sisters would wake him from nightmares in which airplanes crashed into a sea of fire off the Miami coast.

  All of that required more of an explanation than he was prepared to give Erin that morning, however. Besides, she’d been sweet enough to be concerned, and kind enough to distract him until the plane landed. If he had to fly, that wasn’t a bad way to go.

  He tried Erin’s cell phone when he landed, but she didn’t answer. He frowned. He’d already tried her once before, with the same result. He called the hotel he’d booked for her and Diggs, and was told they hadn’t checked in yet. It had been nearly four hours since he’d left the two of them at the restaurant; more than enough time for them to make the trek from Quebec City to Montreal. A pinprick of concern needled its way beneath his skin.

  He made sure that his phone was on, put it in his pocket, and offered up a quick, silent prayer that for once Erin had decided to go against her nature and listen to someone else for a change. If she hadn’t, and arrived in Black Falls while this latest development was still unfolding, he would simply have to deal with it. For the moment, there was very little he could do.

  From the air field, Juarez drove straight to the Black Falls police station, where Sheriff Nathan Cyr was waiting for him. There were seven others in the cramped police station, most of them in civilian clothes. Juarez offered a perfunctory nod when he came through the door, then asked to speak with the sheriff alone.

  “Who’s at the crime scene now?” Juarez asked the moment they were shut in Cyr’s office. A deer’s head was mounted on the wall, along with framed photos of the sheriff’s family. The sheriff himself was likely in his fifties, with dark hair and a dark moustache and a beer belly that hung over the belt of his uniform.

  “I just left Teddy—my deputy—over there. He knows not to touch anything.”

  “There’s no question it’s Bonnie Saucier?”

  “Not one,” the sheriff confirmed. Juarez was surprised he didn’t look more shaken, considering what he was dealing with. “She’d only been out there a few hours, so no problem with ID there.”

  “And you still believe there are other bodies buried there?”

  “We’re not positive, but it looks that way,” Cyr said. “We’re basing some of that on what Bonnie said to Red when she called this afternoon. But there are a few mounds in that area, about the right size. I figured I’d leave that to you to figure out.”

  “Can you take me out there?”

  “Now?” Cyr hesitated. “You don’t want to go out in the morning? There’s not much you can tell right now. We’ve got a couple of guys up there to make sure no animals go for the body overnight… She’ll be just as dead come morning.”

  Juarez didn’t even dignify that with a response.

  It took half an hour driving through dense woods before they reached the site. During that time, Juarez went over everything that had happened in Black Falls since he and Erin had left town that morning, point by point, starting with a phone call Red Grivois had received from Bonnie Saucier at three o’clock that afternoon.

  “Did she say where she was calling from?” Juarez asked.

  The sheriff shook his head. “If she did, Red didn’t recall. It was late afternoon… After church is out, Red likes to tip back a few. Just to relax, you know. There were a few things he wasn’t completely clear on, thanks to that.”

  Juarez nodded. “So, he got the call from this woman. And she said…?”

  “She gave him directions to this spot. Said she’d seen blood—that it all came to her in a dream… And around here, of course, we all know about Bonnie’s dreams. Nobody really questions ‘em anymore. He called me, and we went out there together.”

  Cyr continued talking for the remainder of the drive, but Juarez wasn’t listening. He didn’t like to know that much about a crime scene before he arrived, preferring to come to his own conclusions about what may or may not have transpired.

  When they had driven as close as possible to the site, the sheriff parked behind another police car pulled off to the side of a narrow dirt road. The moon was full overhead, the air cool. The deputy, Teddy, was waiting in his car. He was no more than twenty-two or twenty-three, and looked terrified. The sheriff told him to go home, but Juarez stopped him.

  “I’d like you to come with us, if you don’t mind. So I can get your impressions of what you’ve seen.”

  And find out whether or not the deputy had compromised his crime scene, of course. He left that part out.

  A narrow path littered with beer cans and cigarette butts led to an overgrown field where the gravestones from an old, forgotten cemetery were scattered in a distinctly haphazard fashion. The sheriff continued on through the first field and back onto another path in the woods. Juarez could hear the river nearby. The moon was bright enough that they barely needed flashlights, though he used one regardless. When they reached the cabin where Luke and Sarah Saucier lived, Sarah was waiting on the path with a large white dog. Teddy and the sheriff forged on ahead, but Juarez stopped and stood there for a moment, listening to the
scene.

  He disliked having others with him in these situations—particularly those he didn’t know well. It was a common requirement for him to work with local law enforcement, however, and over the years he’d become used to simply taking the time he needed. If his pace was too slow for those around him, it was rare for them to come right out and say so; and once they saw the results he typically got, they stopped complaining.

  The house was well cared for, with a flourishing flower garden in front and a pen off to the side containing three goats, a donkey, and a well-made henhouse. A man, presumably Luke Saucier, sat on the front steps. He was rocking slowly, his gaze focused on the ground; according to the sheriff, the man suffered some type of mental deficit (He’s not all there, if you know what I mean, were the sheriff’s exact words). Juarez turned his attention to Sarah Saucier next.

  She was a large woman, though she moved well for her size—five-foot-eight or nine and easily two hundred pounds. He guessed her to be in her mid-fifties. She bypassed both the sheriff and his deputy and went straight to Juarez.

  “Ou est Bonnie? C’est vrai—elle est mort?”

  Juarez put his hand on her shoulder, guiding her away from the sheriff and his deputy. The dog growled at him; Juarez ignored it.

  “Ms. Saucier, can you tell me what happened?”

  “Oui. I came in to cook, pis Tulip—le chien—was barking. I called for Luke, mon frère, mais he is not home. Red came to the door. He said Bonnie called, pis could he come inside.”

  She was close to hyperventilating. Juarez led her to the front door, his hand at the small of her back.

  “Why don’t you go inside,” he said quietly. “And if you would please put on some tea—you have tea?”

  She nodded. “Oui.”

  “Good. If you would put on some tea, I’ll have the sheriff show me the scene. The deputy will go inside with you and your dog. I’ll be in shortly to speak with you.”

  With Sarah Saucier, her dog, and the deputy out of the way, Juarez followed Sheriff Cyr out to a path behind the house. He tried Erin again, with no more satisfying results than he’d gotten all night. After a brief internal debate, he paused to contact the police in Quebec, leaving instructions that Erin and/or Diggs be detained and he be called immediately should they attempt to cross the border. Then, satisfied that he had done everything he could, he rejoined the sheriff.

  They continued walking for as much as half a mile through dense underbrush and thick mosquitoes before the sheriff finally stopped at the edge of a small clearing. Juarez noted that the man didn’t venture any farther.

  “This is it,” he said.

  Juarez walked past him and surveyed the scene: A circular clearing ringed by evergreens, perhaps ten yards in diameter. A body encased in a white sheet lay at one edge of the clearing. When Juarez got closer, he could see that the sheet had been pulled away from the victim’s face, revealing a gray-haired woman in her fifties or sixties. Juarez crouched beside the body and pushed the sheet aside, holding the edge with a glove-clad thumb and forefinger.

  “Did anyone move the body?” Juarez asked the sheriff.

  “No, sir,” Cyr said immediately. “We don’t deal with these things much, but we know protocol. We moved the sheet enough to see who it was, then called you.”

  “But you didn’t put it back the way it was before?”

  “No, but I had Teddy take pictures before I checked to see who it was. We’ve got ‘em back at the station.”

  “And other than that you haven’t examined the body?”

  “I haven’t,” he confirmed. “And nobody else has—at least, not that I know of.”

  Juarez nodded, satisfied. It was more than he usually got. He noted bruising around the woman’s neck and a bluish tint to her lips. He lowered the sheet, but stopped after only a few inches at what he found. The sheriff scratched his head and crouched beside him.

  “What the heck is that?”

  “Can you get photos of this?” Juarez asked. “I need to send them to someone immediately.” He stared at the woman’s thin chest. The letter inscribed there wasn’t unexpected, but it still sent a chill through him. What was unexpected was the age of the injury: The J carved into Bonnie Saucier’s chest had scarred over completely. She’d likely been living with the mark for decades.

  Once he’d examined Bonnie Saucier’s body, Juarez refocused his attention on the immediate area around him. He stood and walked three paces, stopping when his feet hit an area where the earth was piled slightly higher than anywhere else. He set an evidence marker down beside the mound. Another six paces, and he found another. Ten paces more, and there was another. By the time he had carefully walked the entire area, he’d found four such mounds.

  “And Sarah Saucier says she knows nothing about these?” Juarez asked.

  Sheriff Cyr hurried over to stand beside him, now at the center of the circle. “They don’t usually come out this way—or at least she doesn’t.”

  “But Luke Saucier does?”

  “She claims she doesn’t know,” the sheriff said uncomfortably. “This land’s been in the Saucier family for a lot of years… They’re old timers around here—traditional. Superstitious.”

  It was cool here—colder than the surrounding woods, at least. The moon was low and white, the sky filled with clouds. Jack took it all in, listening for those things that might not be visible to the naked eye.

  “Is there a story attached to this land?” At the look on the sheriff’s face, he added quickly, “I’ve studied these types of things before. It’s not to say we believe any of it is real, of course… Simply that legends and superstitions handed down over the years can influence behavior.”

  The sheriff scratched his chin. “From back at the turn of the century—around 1915, 1920, I think. About a local Indian girl who got killed out here.”

  “Who killed her?”

  “Supposedly, Luke and Sarah’s great great granddaddy,” the sheriff said, warming to the subject. “He had a bit of a reputation with the girls back then. Young girls. Apparently things got out of hand with this Indian, and he wound up killing her while he was trying to… Well, you know. So, he tried to bury her out in this spot. Only she wouldn’t stay buried. According to the legend, her maman was a witch. Old Jason Saucier’d dream of her in the night and come back to make sure she was still here, and the grave would be half dug up. So he’d bury her again. Go back to bed. Come out the next day, and there she’d be, half out of the ground all over again.”

  Juarez studied the area, considering it with fresh eyes within the context of the story. “How did anyone find out about what he’d done?”

  “He finally admitted to it,” the sheriff said. “I guess he thought he’d go crazy if he didn’t. He brought his wife out here to show her what he’d done, but the body was gone. He dug up the first spot where he thought he buried her, but she wasn’t there. Then he dug up the whole rest of this plot, trying to find her.”

  Juarez felt a familiar chill wrap itself around his shoulders. He considered the story, imagining the white man desperately searching for the ghost he would never be rid of.

  “He never found her,” he guessed.

  “Not according to the story,” Cyr confirmed. “He started the cemetery out here after that, supposedly so he’d be able to keep track of his dead from then on. He was never the same, though. His grave is up there, too.” He gestured back toward the house. “Jason Saucier. He died in 1922. I don’t think he made it to forty.”

  Another young girl raped and murdered—this one a Native American with strong ties to the spirit world.

  “How did he die?” Juarez asked.

  “Suicide,” Cyr said. “He hung himself from a tree not far from here.”

  “And the girl? Any idea how she was killed?”

  Cyr looked uncomfortable. His gaze drifted to Bonnie Saucier’s inert form. “Strangled. That was his thing, I guess you could say. He liked to choke the girls while he was, well… In
the middle of things, if you know what I mean. As far as I know that Acadian was the only one he killed, though.”

  Juarez walked the area once more, while the sheriff remained beside the lifeless body of Bonnie Saucier. Based on what he’d seen thus far, he would guess that there were four bodies buried here, at least—possibly more. And now he had the story of an ancestor tormented after raping and killing a local Native American girl. Plus Erin Lincoln, Ashley Gendreau, and six other girls, kidnapped, hunted, and killed in pairs by an unnamed male who may or may not have been Jeff Lincoln.

  And now Bonnie Saucier. If Bonnie had been J.’s victim all those years ago, how had she survived? And why kill her now?

  Juarez rejoined the sheriff. “I’ll have a team out here from D.C. tomorrow—if it’s all right, I’d prefer if they handled the crime scene. If you could just cordon it off, I would appreciate it. Keep predators away, and make sure no one disturbs anything.”

  “Fine by me,” the sheriff said, clearly relieved. “I’ll get Teddy and a couple of the other boys to babysit out here overnight. Then it’s all yours. We should probably get back to Sarah now, don’t you think? Try to figure out what’s going on there?”

  Juarez agreed. “Just give me a minute, if you don’t mind,” he said. “You can go on ahead. I’ll find my way back.”

  Cyr didn’t look very sure about that. “I can just stand by, if you want. Teddy’ll be back before too long to keep the scene secure ‘til we can get the crime scene boys out here. These woods can be hard to find your way out of sometimes, especially this time of night.”

  “I have my phone—I’ll call if I have any trouble. Just a few minutes please, Sheriff.” It wasn’t a request. The sheriff didn’t take it as such.

  When he was alone, Juarez took some time to view the scene again. Bonnie would have come down the same path he and the sheriff had traveled; he didn’t see any other way to get here, unless it was straight through dense forest. Or was she killed elsewhere, and brought here after the fact? Red Grivois received his phone call at three o’clock. Based on lividity, Juarez estimated that Bonnie had to have been dead at least a few hours. She planned on coming here to meet him. Said she saw blood in her dreams…