Emily Littlejohn - Inherit the Bones

I nodded and again thought he was probably right. Finn stood and leaned over the table and went through a few more of the piles.

“Why do you think he came back?” I asked.

“Who, Nicky?”

“No, Frank Sinatra. Yeah, Nicky. Sounds like they’ve got people drop in and out of the circus all the time. He had to have known what the next stop was-Cedar Valley. Why would he return? He could have checked out for a week or two and joined back up with the circus in Idaho,” I said. “What’s different now?”

Finn sat down and hugged a stack of files and folders against his chest. He played along. “You abandon your family-your parents, your sister, your grandfather, your friends-and run away for three years. You change your appearance. You’re running, or hiding, from someone. What is the one thing that could bring you back?”

I ran through the last few years, looking for some change, some difference, something new. The People magazine article on the Bellingtons from a month or so back came to mind. It was a two-page spread on the Bellingtons that touched on the tragic loss of their only son; Ellen’s former career as an actress; and Terry’s struggle with cancer. “His dad. Nicky came back because of his dad.”

“The cancer?” Finn asked. He thought about it. “I think you might be right. If I thought my dad was dying, that would be enough to bring me home.”

I nodded. “Something to think about. It’s been splashed all over the news, maybe Nicky saw it in an article somewhere.”

Finn was into the files and folders now. “It seems like there’s a good mix here of reporting from ’85 and from 2011.”

He handed me a photocopy, this one the front page of the Valley Voice dated two days after I found the skull. There was a photograph of Chief Angel Chavez and me. Under the image was a headline that read “Missing No More-McKenzie Boys Found in Local Woods.”

I scanned the first paragraph.

In a stunning discovery early this week, the remains of Tommy and Andrew McKenzie were found in shallow graves in the woods a few miles off Highway 50 by backcountry skiers Gemma Monroe and Brody Sutherland. Monroe, an officer with the Cedar Valley Police Department, declined to comment for this article, but Chief Chavez issued a statement, calling the discovery “an opportunity for closure for the families, and for the town.” The disappearance of the two children in 1985 will be reopened as a murder investigation. In town, a new title has already been bestowed upon the case: The Woodsman Murders.

I stopped reading. The byline was Missy Matherson; at the time, she had been a bit reporter for the Voice and had not yet climbed the ranks to television anchor. Even then, she’d irritated the hell out of me and had been the main reason I’d declined to comment.

That, and what would I have said?

That already I felt finding the bodies had altered the course of my life?

That when I closed my eyes, I saw Andrew’s skull grin at me, his eye sockets wan and empty, his teeth even and white?

The dreams hadn’t yet started but they were sure as hell on their way.

Finn muttered, “Shit, these shouldn’t be here.”

He held up a stack of manila file folders, each stuffed with loose-leaf sheets of paper. He angled the cover of the folder on top and I saw the distinct blue-and-green stamp of the police department emblem.

“You’re kidding me,” I said. “Ours?”

He nodded. They were classified reports. How long they’d been down here, tucked among these public records, was anyone’s guess.

“What are the dates?”

Flipping the first few folders opened, Finn scanned the contents. “From 1985. They’re from the original missing persons investigation.”

“Well, at least it won’t be our butts that will be in the hot seat,” I said.

If case files from 2011 had been down here, free for any person off the street to find, there would have been hell. But most of the cops from ’85 were retired, dead, or had moved away.

“Uh-oh,” Finn said quietly.

He stopped reading the folder in his hands and put it on the bottom of the stack.

“What?”

He shook his head. “It’s nothing. I just remembered, I had an appointment this afternoon.”

“You’re many things, Finn, but a good liar you aren’t,” I said. “Give me the damn thing.”

“I really don’t want to,” he said, but he handed it to me anyway.

A sticker affixed inside the folder read September 18, 1985. Interview 245-A, Officers Dannon and Cleegmont. Subject Daniel David Moriarty. 4:15pm. Moriarty residence, 1763 Lantern Lane, Cedar Valley.

“Our Moriarty?”

Finn nodded reluctantly. “Danny was his son. He died a few years ago in a bar fight; he was stabbed to death. From what I’ve heard, the kid was always sort of a bad seed. In 1985, Danny would have been what? Sixteen? C’mon Gemma, the cops back then interviewed every male between the ages of thirteen and sixty-five. It doesn’t mean a thing.”

“That’s bull, Finn, and you know it. Moriarty’s a cop, a cop who happened to be a lead on the investigation into Nicky’s accident. And now come to find out his son was a suspect in the very murders Nicky was obsessed with? I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“ Subject , Gemma. Not suspect,” he said, and leaned back with a sigh. “Well, go on, read it. Let’s see what it says. I know you’re not going to let this go until you do.”

They were only a few sheets of paper in the folder. On the first page, a tiny notation referenced a recording, and I assumed the transcript was word for word. With a deep breath, I began to read.

Moriarty, Daniel:Do I need a lawyer?

Dannon , Officer:You have the right to an attorney if we take you downtown. Right now, this is just a friendly conversation, son. Your dad does this sort of thing all the time with folks.

Moriarty, Louis:He’s right, Danny. Just answer the officers’ questions.

Cleegmont , Officer:Please, son, have a seat. As Officer Dannon said, this is just a nice friendly little conversation. We’re visiting everyone in town. Heck, we talked to your neighbors just a few minutes ago.

Moriarty, L:That’s right. And I talked to a bunch of your friends, and their parents, last week.

Moriarty, D:Okay, Pop, I get it. What do you guys want to know?

Dannon :Okay, Danny. Says here you’re a junior at the high school? Is that right? On the football team?

Moriarty, D:Yes, sir, a junior. No, sir, baseball’s my game, sir.

Dannon :Baseball? Now that’s a real American sport, isn’t it? You pitch?

Moriarty, D:Yes, sir.

Cleegmont :You know, I played a little ball in my day. I can see by your arms you’ve probably got a real nice throw, son.

Moriarty, D:I do okay.

Dannon :You lift?

Moriarty, D:Coach has us do weights in the afternoons in the gymnasium, sir.

Cleegmont :Would you call yourself a strong young man, then?

Moriarty, D:I suppose so. Strong enough.

Dannon :Now, I heard from one of the families down the road that you and Tommy had a beef awhile back. Can you tell us about that?

Moriarty, Elsa:Oh, that old nonsense? That boy was bothering Danny, following him around. He got in the way all the time. He wanted to be just like Danny.