Emily Littlejohn - Inherit the Bones

The rumor in town was that Bellington saw Cedar Valley as a stepping-stone to the big leagues. He’d won the mayoral election with an unheard of 75 percent majority; with that kind of popularity, he might just be able to skip a term in the governor’s seat and go straight to Washington. And after that, the sky was the limit. He certainly didn’t have to stop at the Senate; there’s always a cabinet post, or an ambassadorship, or the golden egg itself: the White House.

If he lived.

His was a dodgy cancer; many people survived it. Many more did not. The last article I’d read on him, in People a month or so back, had quoted his doctors as saying he had a solid 30 to 40 percent chance of kicking this cancer in the teeth. Still, the word “dying” never entered his speeches, never appeared on his Web site.

Mrs. Watkins, the housekeeper, appeared behind Bellington and silently placed a silver tray on a lacquered sideboard and poured tea into four china cups. She whispered something to the mayor. He nodded at her and then she left the room as silently as she’d entered it.

Bellington said, “Ellen will join us in a few minutes, she’s upstairs with Annika. They’re having a hell of a time with this, as you can imagine.”

Chavez nodded solemnly. “Of course. Terry, you remember Detective Gemma Monroe, don’t you? And this is Sam Birdshead, the newest member of our department.”

I nodded hello at the mayor.

“Gemma, Sam,” Bellington said, and handed us each a cup of tea. He sat with his back to the sun, in the room’s only armchair, a black leather number that shone like obsidian. The rest of us spread out on the two sofas flanking the narrow coffee table.

“We’re so sorry for your loss, sir,” I began. “I can’t imagine how difficult this must be.”

The mayor sipped his tea. “Gemma, you’re right, this is extremely tough news. You know, I thought losing my child was the worst thing that would ever happen to me. Now, knowing all these years he was actually alive and allowed us, allowed his mother , to think he was dead… it turns out I don’t even know who my boy was. It goes against everything this family stands for. Cancer is nothing compared to this hell.”

Chavez said, “Terry, we’re going to get to the bottom of this, I swear. Nicky was a sweet kid. He must have had a damn good reason to do this.”

“Easy to say, Angel, harder to believe. He wanted for nothing. Anything he asked for, he got. When I was his age, I worked three jobs just to buy a bike,” Bellington said. He crossed his legs, deep in thought. “Why would he do this?”

The mayor set down his tea and rubbed his hands over his face vigorously as though to wash away the thoughts that prickled him. Red streaks bloomed on his cheeks and just as quickly faded away. His hands were small for his stature and I watched him, knowing I might be looking at Nicky’s killer.

You always look to the family first. Fair or not, mothers and fathers and spouses are the quickest and most direct connection to any victim. That was something I had told Sam; always start your suspect list small and tight and widen as you go.

Sadly, sometimes you never need to look beyond the family.

The mayor picked up his cup of tea and took another sip and repeated, “Why would he do this?”

“Sir, when we find your son’s killer, we might be able to answer that,” I said. “Perhaps the two-his disappearance, and now his death-are connected. Murder is usually never as complicated as it first seems.”

“Imagine that, Terry. We’re now the parents of a murdered child,” a woman’s husky voice said.

I hadn’t heard Ellen Bellington come down the hallway, but there she was, all six feet of her. She moved like a cat, slinking into the room and perching on the arm of the mayor’s chair, her severe black pantsuit blending into the leather.

Ellen was stunning, more beautiful at fifty than she had likely been at twenty. A former actress, the years had softened her striking Nordic features and rounded out her angular frame. Hair as pale as corn silk cascaded over her shoulders and down her back like a waterfall, and I couldn’t help thinking of that other waterfall, Bride’s Veil, that her son had gone over three years ago. Her eyes were the same shade of arctic blue ice as Nicky’s.

“I wonder, does it feel any different than being the parents of a child who died in a tragic accident?” she mused. “I suppose only time will answer that particular question.”

She patted her husband on the head and then began running her fingers over his hairless scalp as though playing the keys on a baby grand.

“Ellen, please,” Bellington began, but she shushed him and dropped her hand from his head to his back. She patted him again like one pats a dog, affectionately and absentmindedly, more because the dog is there than because of any strong desire to do the patting.

Ellen smiled at the chief. “Hello, Angel. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

“Yes, of course, this is Gemma Monroe. Her grandfather-step-grandfather, sorry Gemma, is Bull Weston, who of course you know. And this is Sam Birdshead, he just joined us from Denver. A recent graduate of the academy.”

Ellen said, “Pleased to meet you, Gemma. Bull was the best judge this town ever had. Nothing like that idiot Swanson, he presides over the courtroom like it’s a reality show. And Sam. I know that last name. Are you related to Wayne Bird Head, up in Wind River territory? Yes, you must be, I see a resemblance in the skin and the nose. He’s your grandfather, isn’t he? What was that charming expression I heard? The ‘godfather of the Rez?’”

Sam flushed and I felt like punching her. I knew who Wayne Bird Head was and I also knew that family ties or no, Sam was nothing like his grandfather.

Ellen walked across the room and stopped at the window where I’d gotten dizzy. She pressed a palm against the glass. I wondered if hers had been the face I’d seen when we’d pulled up the drive. She remained there, staring out at the valley below, and we watched her until the silence grew uncomfortable.

Chief Chavez cleared his throat. “Ellen, Terry, we don’t know a whole lot at this stage, certainly nothing more than we discussed last night on the phone. Nicky’s body was found at the old fairgrounds. He was part of a traveling circus doing a clown routine, working there for the last two years. He was hired on in Cincinnati. From all accounts, he was a good worker. We’ve got a few of the officers interviewing some of the other circus employees today.”

Ellen let out a bark of a laugh. It was hard and short and brusque. “A circus, of all places. What kind of freak did my baby become?”

Chavez sighed. “Not a freak, Ellen. Not our Nicky.”

Ellen drew her hand down the window slowly, leaving a long streak on the window. She said, “He was my favorite. I know you’re not supposed to say that, but he was, since the day the twins were born. Nicky was the best of us. He was too good for this world, in some ways, I suppose. Do you think me a terrible person? I love my daughter. But I loved my son more.”

No one knew what to say to that.

I waited a moment and then spoke directly to the mayor. “Sir, you said your daughter Annika is home? May we speak with her?”

Ellen turned from the window and shook her head, answering for her husband. “She won’t come down. She doesn’t want to talk with anyone right now. She is devastated.”

I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “May I go upstairs? I won’t bother her for too long. Maybe she’ll talk for a few minutes, if it’s just me?”

A look passed between Terry and Ellen that I couldn’t decipher.

“Sure, Gemma, you can certainly try,” Bellington said. He shrugged. “Maybe it would be good for Annika to talk with an outsider.”