“Now, open the backdoor,” I commanded, stepping away from him to allow a sliver of freedom for him to grasp the handle and pull it open.
As I peered into the backseat, I pictured the postmortem markings on Grace Allan's thigh. The imprint of a jagged line, the roll of a car seat’s seam, and the obvious impression of a buckle. I looked at the tear in the cloth of Finley's backseat, and although I couldn't say for certain without having the pictures to compare it to, I knew in my gut that this was the seat to leave those marks on her leg. This was where her body had been laid, making this the car that took her body to the woods.
“Was she awake when ye killed her?”
Finley whined and clapped a hand to his forehead. “Oh, God, Brodie, no, I didnae …”
“Did ye also kill Madison Lang?”
“I dinnae ken why ye're sayin' this! I dinnae—”
I thrust a finger toward the backseat, pointing directly at the tear in the seat. “This! This is what gives ye away, Finley, and there's no gettin' around it now!”
He looked in the direction of my finger and shook his head. “I-I have no—”
“The mark from this tear was on her thigh, Brian,” I said, lowering my voice, knowing there was no way he could talk himself out of this one. “This backseat was where ye put her body, wasn’t it? Ye killed her, ye drove her to the woods, ye—”
“Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God …” He shook his head, keeping his hand over his forehead and chanting to a god that would never help a sinner like him.
“Ye laid her there and did what ye could to make it look like an accident, but ye didnae plan on me questionin' anythin'. Ye thought—”
“Brodie, no. No, no, no, no, ye gotta listen to me.”
I wrenched his arms behind his back and steered him in the direction of my car, as I said, “I'll listen when we get to the—”
“No! Brodie, it isn’t my car!”
Frozen on the spot, I asked, “What?”
“It’s not mine!” He pressed the back of his head to my shoulder. “Ah, Christ, it isn’t mine!”
“Whose is it? Yer wife?” I demanded, hissing into his ear.
“No! Oh, God, no!” he cried out, desperate and wrung out. “It's Sharp's!”
He was sobbing now, crying unabashedly in the middle of the bustling tourist street, and I just stood there, unable to believe that Finley and I had been looking at each other, and never at a man that had been right under our noses the whole time.
“I'm a fuckin' fool,” I muttered, releasing his arms and hurrying back toward my car.
“Where are ye goin'?” Finley called, running after me.
“To find Sharp,” I grunted, as I climbed in, while praying to God he hadn’t found Rosie first.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ROSIE
“So, Sharp said to go straight to the station?” Rick asked, as he pulled on his shoes and grabbed his coat.
“Yeah,” I replied, hoping I had heard all of his instructions clearly. “He said that Alec had Finley and was interrogating him. They want to get some kind of statement from me—”
“Has Alec contacted ye?”
I shook my head, watching as he slid his arms into his coat. “No, but I mean, he's probably been a little busy. When would he have had the chance to text or call?”
Rick hesitated before nodding, as he adjusted his glasses. “Ye're right. I was only askin'.”
All of the nerves in my body exploded as I hurried down the hall. Every emotion I had ever felt was alive now, fueling every step I took as I ran down the stairs. Anger, excitement, sadness, heartbreak … they all fought for center stage, while I grabbed my jacket from a chair in the foyer and pushed my arms through the sleeves. Rick was right behind me, retrieving his car keys from a table by the front window, when the sound of a car door slamming shut resounded through the quiet night. I turned at the sound and looked at Rick, frozen with the keys dangling from his fingers.
“Who is that?”
He shook his head at the silly question. Of course, he didn't know, as he pulled back the curtains and peered outside.
“I dinnae ken,” he said, squinting into the darkness. “Hit the light over there, will ye, please?”
I reached for the switch beside the door, to turn on the stoop light, and instantaneously, the windows were brightened in an ethereal glow. I went to peer through another window when Rick's audible swallow caught my attention.
“Ye said Constable Sharp called.”
“Yeah,” I replied, nodding. “He wants me to come down to the station.”
“Right,” he said, quickly closing the curtain. “Then, why is he standin’ outside?”
That curious inkling of knowing something wasn't right pinged at my gut as I shook my head. “I don't know. He said he would send someone to pick me up, but,” I swallowed, as that little ping turned quickly into nausea, “he doesn't know I'm here.”
Knock, knock, knock.
Neither of us rushed to answer it, as we stared at the solid slab of wood. I turned to Rick, expecting a man of his nature to be more nervous and scared but was surprised to find him sturdy as stone. I was grateful for that, as my hands began to shake once the cop behind the door spoke.
“Rick? Are ye in there, lad?”
Rick turned and gestured for me to leave the room. I hurried through the kitchen and into the living room, where I closed the door and pressed my ear to it. My nerves calmed a little, as I reasoned that Constable Sharp hadn't specifically said he would meet me at the station. Just like River Canyon, Fort Crow was a small town, where I expected everybody knew everyone, and it seemed possible that Constable Sharp had simply needed Rick for something completely unrelated. Then, as I listened to the heavy front door opening and the beginning of casual conversation, my nerves disappeared entirely.
“Sorry to come so late,” Constable Sharp said, his voice booming and friendly. “I wanted to talk to ye about somethin'.”
Rick laughed easily. “Ye couldae sent a message, mate.”
“Ah, well, y'know, I was on my way home and thought I'd see if ye were about.”
“Ye caught me at a good time, then,” Rick replied. “I was just about to run outside and grab somethin' from the car. Forgot my mobile.”
Sharp chuckled. “Good thing I didnae ring ye, then.”
My attention on the conversation dwindled as my phone began to chime. The cheerful melody startled me, and I dove quickly into my pocket to retrieve it and shut it up, when I saw Alec's number on the screen.
Moving away from the door, I answered the phone and put it to my ear, then whispered, “Hey, I heard you got—”
“R-R-Ro-Rosie, are ye at th-th-the h-h-hou-house?”
His stuttering was enough to stir my calmed nerves into a full-blown panic, as I replied, “Y-yes, why?”
“W-where i-i-is Rick?”
“Uh, he's in the foyer, talking to—”
“T-t-talkn' to wh-wh-who-who?!”
“Um, Constable Sh-Sharp,” I whispered meekly, aware now of how suddenly quiet the house had become.
“R-Rosie, l-l-li-listen—”
A loud crack of thunderous noise came from outside the closed living room door. My brain raced with questions of what it could have been, whether a door was slammed, or if it could be gunfire, as my heart raced frantically, and my entire body began to shake.
“W-w-w-what was th-that?!”
“I-I don’t know,” I whispered, as the tears began to fall.
Maybe the Constable had left. Maybe the door had been slammed behind him, and that's what I had heard. Maybe those footsteps I was all of a sudden hearing were Rick's and he was coming to find me, to tell me the coast was clear. That had to be it. Everything was fine. Everything was—
“G-G-Get out of th-there, Rosie!” Alec shouted. “Ye n-n-need to find a-a-a place to-to hide! Go!”
Yet there was nowhere to go, as the door slowly opened, revealing the fat cop on the other side and the blood spl
attered over his sinister grin.
“Rosie?!” Alec asked, his voice commanding and afraid, as Constable Sharp came toward me and plucked the phone from my hand.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
ALEC
“Rosie?!” I shouted into the phone, as Finley started my car. “R-Rosie, ye g-gotta get--”
“Brodie, is that you, lad?”
The voice was familiar but it now came with a chilling calm that left my spine frozen against the seat. Every drop of moisture was sucked from my mouth as I pulled the phone from my ear and put it on speakerphone, so together, Finley and I could listen to Rosie's encounter with her sister's murderer.
“Sh-Sh-Sharp, if ye h-hurt her, I-I-I—”
She screamed for me, and then, came a slapping sound. A tussle. The shattering of glass. Another scream. I gritted my jaw as we pulled out of the station’s car park and barreled down the road toward Rick's house. We were fifteen minutes away, ten if we drove well above the limit, and every second of that distance was crucial. Every second was another chance for her to die.
“Sharp!” I barked, and I was answered with maniacal laughter.
“Oh, I think we're upsettin' him, lass. We best keep what's comin' next quiet.”
“N-no, no, no! Please, no!” Rosie exclaimed in a panic, before the car was filled with the sound of her blood-curdling scream.
“Goddammit, Sharp! Get yer bloody hands off her!” Finley shouted, smacking his palm repeatedly against the wheel.
My ears fell deaf to the persistence of her pain as my volcanic fury bubbled up and over. In an incontrollable fit of fiery rage, my fists punched, and my legs kicked against the dash, as my lungs expelled a primal growl that could only come from somewhere deep in my soul. And Stirling Sharp laughed.
“I'd say he's pretty angry,” he said in a mocking voice. “Oh, no, come on, lass. Dinnae pass out on me now, Rosie—can I call ye Rosie?”
“Ye fuckin' bastard,” I shouted from between gritted teeth, my throat raw and torn apart. “I'm gonna kill ye myself. I swear it. Ye're a fuckin' dead man, Stirling. Do ye understand me?”
Sharp chuckled. “Oh, I understand ye just fine now, Brodie. Glad ye've gotten that s-s-s-stutter under control. But listen, mate; we've gotta get out of here. She's fadin' fast, and we've got plans. But I'll see ye soon, all right?”
“Sharp!” Finley exclaimed, taking his eyes off the road momentarily to stare at the screen of my mobile. “Sharp, ye better—”
“He's gone,” I croaked, my voice unrecognizable to myself.
After throwing the mobile against the windshield, I pushed a fist to my mouth to keep my soul from howling in despair, knowing what Rosie’s fate would be if I didn’t get to her in time. He was going to kill her, and it was my fault. Her blood would be on my hands, and that was a stain I'd wear for the rest of my life.
***
The car was steered into the drive and before Finley had finished parking, I’d already bolted from my seat and down the path to the stone steps. The front door was wide open, and as I took the steps two at a time, Rick's body and the puddle of crimson came into view.
“Ah, Christ, Rick!” I shouted, dropping to his side, and pressing two fingers against his neck in search of a carotid pulse.
“I'm alive,” he answered in a hoarse whisper, though his eyes were shut, and his pulse faintly fluttered beneath my fingertips. “He … he took Rosie.”
“What did he do to ye?” I asked hurriedly, looking over his torso to find the torn hole in his shirt, just over his chest. “He shot ye?”
“A-aye.”
He grimaced as I gently rolled him onto his side, to find his shirt clinging to his back, wet and sticky with his blood.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” I repeated over and over, as I laid him back down and pulled off my sweatshirt to bunch it up and lay it beneath his head. Then, I reached for the curtains, tearing them down and fashioning a makeshift bandage, as I said, “The good thing is, the bullet passed through.”
“Oh, that makes me feel so much better,” he said, as his lids fluttered to look at me, and that's when I realized his glasses were missing.
“Shite. Where are they?”
I looked up, surveying the room to see where the black frames had gone, but the place looked so unlike the home I knew. Furniture was toppled to the ground, broken glass glittered against the hardwood floors, and drops of blood speckled the walls. Wave after wave of nausea threatened to do me in, but I fought against it. There would be time to fall apart later, but not now. Not when I had to find Rick’s glasses and help him see.
“Goddammit, where the fuck are they?!” I shouted, pushing a chair aside. “They haftae be in here!”
“Alec,” Rick said, reaching out with a limp hand. “Don’t worry about my fuckin' glasses, mate. I dinnae want yer face to be the last thing I see.”
Finley ran in and swore loudly, as I turned to Rick and sneered into his bleary eyes.
“Ye're not gonna die, ye fuckin' gobshite. Ye willnae talk like that.”
“I'm dialin' 9-9-9,” Finley informed me, holding his mobile.
I grasped Rick's hand and studied the pallor of his complexion, as a tear trickled over his cheek, to fall into the blood pooling beneath his shoulder. I struggled against my own composure and scolded him for crying.
“I'm sorry, Alec.”
“What the fuck are ye apologizin' to me for?”
His eyes pinched shut as his emotions took control. “I didnae protect her. I didnae do anythin' to keep him from gettin' to her.”
Swallowing repeatedly, I looked away from the tears wetting his face and shook my head. “There wasnae anythin' ye could do, man. Ye cannae blame yerself for that.”
Finley crouched beside us and said, “The ambulance is on the way.”
With more strength than I thought he could muster, Rick squeezed my hand and said, “Ye gotta go. Both of ye. Go find her.”
“And what am I supposed to do? Leave you?” I asked the man who had never once willingly left my side, even in moments when he should have.
“That's exactly what ye're gonna do,” he demanded, nodding. “I'll try and stay alive, I promise. Now, get the fuck out of here and do what ye gotta do.”
Leaving Rick's side was the hardest thing I've ever had to do, when I was always the one to tend to his wounds and make sure he was fine. But I knew in my heart that I had done what I could to stop the bleeding, and Rosie was still out there. I swore to my best mate that I would do everything in my power to bring her back or die trying, then I exited the house, leaving the door wide open.
When I got into the car, Finley asked where we should go first, as if there might be a slew of locations Sharp would've gone. But I knew better than that.
“He took her to the woods,” I said, stone faced and prepared to kill. So, Finley pulled out of the drive and steered us toward Coille Feannag.
***
Two beams of torchlight aimed at the forest floor were all we had to guide our way through the thick brush and whipping branches. I desperately hoped that Rosie would scream and help lead us to where she was, but the night was thick with a deadly silence save the occasional call of an owl or the flapping of bats' wings. Yet I knew she was here. I sensed her presence and with that, I held onto the hope that we would find her alive.
As we closed in on Grace's clearing, my foot landed on a fallen branch. It cracked in half with a brittle snap and as Finley turned to me with a startled wide-eyed stare, I hissed a curse beneath my breath.
“A-A-Alec, is that y-y-y-you?” Sharp's voice called from nearby, and a bright stream of light cut through the trees.
Together, Finley and I dropped to crouch beneath the cover of a bush.
“Fuck,” I whispered at my own carelessness, shaking my head.
We waited for Sharp to assume he'd simply been startled by the natural noises of the forest, and the trees overhead eventually went dark once again. Quietly, we stood and moved closer to the clearing'
s edge, where Sharp came into full view.
A fire had been lit in the center of the open space. It was such a basic human necessity, a discovery of our earliest ancestors and one we are taught from childhood to respect. But like an inferno eating away at a beloved home, there was nothing good about this fire. It performed an excited dance over the logs, as if its wild flames had come from Hell itself, and I was so transfixed on its demonic glow, I almost missed the horror show playing out on Grace's rock.
Rosie laid there, like a lamb for the slaughter, with her wrists and ankles bound. Her shirt was cut open from her neckline to waist and a gag was stuffed inside her mouth, keeping her muffled pleas and cries from being heard. Tiny slashes had been cut into her arms, breasts, and belly, and the blood trickled over her flesh, painting her body in smears of deep, dark blood.
Finley pulled me down to crouch in the tall grass that bordered the clearing. I resisted with a firm tug of my arm, but he only tugged harder.
“Wait,” he hissed, as he pulled his mobile out. “Listen.”
Then, he began recording.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ROSIE
“If ye wanna know the truth, I didnae plan to kill ye,” Constable Sharp said, as he turned from me and headed toward the fire, with a knife still in his hand. “Ye wouldnae leave it alone though, Rosie, and ye were supposed to leave it alone. Ye were supposed to think she was happy, ye were supposed to think she had a wee accident, but ye just kept on questionin’ every little thing. And I tried to warn ye, I did. Hell, I tried to warn both of ye, you and Alec, but ye just couldnae leave it alone.” He shook his head, as if he was disappointed, and sighed into the night.
“So, I just want ye to ken, I didnae want it to come to this. Not for ye, not like the others. I knew I’d kill them. Especially that one bitch, and Lord, was she a fuckin’ bitch. Women should know to respect a man. They should be taught to, but somethin’ was wrong with that one. She had spit right in my face, and for what? Because I had the fuckin’ nerve to speak to her?” He turned toward me, waving the knife in the air, his bewildered eyes gleaming. “A woman who would do somethin’ like that deserves to die! What good is she to anybody? No man should be disrespected like that!”
A Circle of Crows Page 23
