Emily Littlejohn - Inherit the Bones

Undoing the buckle had helped; I lowered the seat behind me and lay back, taking the pressure off the small of my spine. My stomach gave another rumble and I shifted to the side.

“Are you thinking there was something going on?”

I shook my head and then remembered Sam couldn’t see me.

“Not exactly. To be honest, I’m not sure what to think. I found the bodies in November of 2011. By early spring of 2012, at a point when we were scratching our balls and admitting defeat, Nicky was obsessed with the case, to the point that he was spending all his free time poring over newspapers from 1985. But by July, he tells the librarian he’s done, that he’s found what he needed.”

“What did he find?”

“I have no idea. But two days later, he’s gone over the waterfall and the world thinks he’s dead,” I said.

I heard a thump outside and looked out the car window but the rain came down in sheets and all I saw was the blurry red hatchback of a Saab that was parked next to me.

Sam was silent a moment. “So if we find what he found, maybe we find what happened in those two days to make him fake his own death.”

“Fake his own death… or take advantage of an accident,” I said. “Nicky was a smart kid. There are easier ways to fake a death than to jump over an eighty-foot waterfall. In fact, doing that just about guarantees a real death.”

“What kind of other ways?”

“Oh, car explosion… house fire… there are ways. You pay a guy at the morgue enough money and you can buy a body that fits your description. Burn it bad enough, bam. You’ve convinced the world you’re dead.”

Sam laughed uneasily. “It sounds like this is something you’ve given a lot of thought to, Gemma.”

“Not really. Let’s just say I’d put money on Nicky being incredibly lucky to survive a fall, and then maybe deciding to take advantage of it.”

Sam said, “So, this other report on the original investigation, would it be in the records room?”

He murmured something else and then I heard the dull clink of metal on metal, followed by a low fizzing noise.

“Should be.”

“Okay, I’ll get on it,” Sam said. I heard a grin in his voice.

“What?”

“I just opened a Coke and I couldn’t help reliving that moment a few hours ago when you sprayed Finn with the Sprite,” he said.

“That was terrible.” I laughed. “Just terrible. Speaking of the devil, is he there?”

“Yeah, hang on…”

I waited and then Finn’s voice came on the line, still angry.

“Gemma? What the hell? I thought you were changing your shirt, not going out. I’ve been waiting here all morning. You got to keep me updated, remember? That’s what partners do,” he said with an emphasis on “partners.”

I groaned and popped the seat back into an upright position.

“That’s why I’m calling you right now,” I said. “I’m going to call on the Bellington family. Come with me. I could use the extra eyes and ears.”

“Uh-huh. You going now?”

“Yep, just leaving the library. Meet me there?”

He sighed a heavy sigh. “All right. But tell me, what are you doing at the library?”

I filled him in on my conversation the day before with Ellen, and subsequent chats with Darren Chase and Tilly. “I want to know if the family was aware that Nicky was looking into the Woodsman murders. And when I ask them about it, I want to see their reactions, face-to-face.”

“I don’t understand why they never mentioned the library,” Finn said. “I specifically asked them if they had noticed anything odd in his behavior; you know, in case it was a suicide.”

I shrugged. “I don’t think they knew, Finn. Remember, Ellen Bellington pointed me to Darren Chase. She told me Nicky was with him all the time, at practice with the basketball team.”

I thought again of the strange tone in her voice, the implication that there had been something more to Darren and Nicky’s relationship than strictly coaching, and I wondered if that was Nicky’s doing. Maybe he was planting seeds, throwing misdirection. Purposefully keeping his mother away from what he was really doing.

Finn said, “I’ll meet you there.”

I hung up and stared out into the rain for a moment, the way the water came down, washing the dirt and mud away from my car, erasing where I’d been. There was a spot, though, on my front windshield, a stubborn bug splat that had been there too long to be washed away.

I started the car and thought the case was like that, too. Time had come through and washed away plenty, but like the bug, a few stains were left behind. I wondered if they would be enough to solve two mysteries: Nicky’s death and the Woodsman murders.

For the first time in years, I allowed myself to seriously consider the possibility that justice might finally be given to the McKenzie boys. With that came the darker realization that I had spent the last four years, ever since I found the skull, living in the shadow of the Woodsman.

He haunted my dreams and drove me in a relentless and likely self-righteous pursuit of putting the bad guys away.

Who was I if I wasn’t chasing the Woodsman?

I realized something else, too, as I pulled out of the parking lot and fell in line behind an empty school bus. Putting away the Woodsman meant freeing up emotional energy that sooner or later, I’d need to direct toward figuring out my own head and heart. Bull said I needed to crap or get off the can, and I knew he was right.

Brody wouldn’t wait forever. He wanted a wife, not just a live-in lover and partner. And I wanted my daughter to have stability, to drown in the kind of stable, loving home life that I only got to sip from as a tiny child.

Finn waited in the Bellingtons’ driveway. He must have left the station right after our call, whereas I had to make a pit stop at the Conoco station, and then a second at the McDonald’s on the north end of town. Whatever I’d eaten wasn’t finished ravaging my insides. Both stops were uncomfortable enough to make me consider calling the visit off.

But the image of Finn questioning the Bellingtons alone, his baby blues batting at Ellen and Annika, gave me enough motivation to grit my teeth and carry on.

Finn sat in the driver side of his Porsche, a hot ride that was impractical in Cedar Valley. He drove it four months a year, and a Suburban the other eight, and every time I saw the sports car I cringed. He had a way of working that car into a lot of conversations.

I parked as close as I could to the house and together we dashed through the rain to the front steps.

“You really ought to think about getting a stick, Gemma. The Porsche handles so great on these mountain roads,” he said. He gave the car a fond look and I wondered if he was as attentive to his girlfriends, he might have better luck with his relationships.

I ignored him and knocked on the door.

After a long minute, Annika opened the door. She wore an oversize men’s navy sweat suit and tan sheepskin slipper boots. Her long pale hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun and she looked like she had just woken up.

“Hi, honey, is your mommy or daddy home?” Finn asked.

Annika stared at him a moment and then looked at me. “Gemma?”

“Annika, hi. We have a few questions we’d like to ask your parents, and you, too, if you all are free.”

She nodded and let us in. “They’re in the living room with Grandpa. They thought he might enjoy watching the rain. Sentimental fools, they think he can still enjoy stuff like that.”

We followed her down the same long hall that just a few days before, Mrs. Watkins had led Chief Chavez, Sam Birdshead, and me. The pouring rain and general gloom outside only served to emphasize the cold atmosphere inside and I shivered. Finn noticed and for a moment I thought he was going to offer me his jacket, but he only rolled his eyes and gave me a look.