Allison Brennan - If I Should Die

Lucy’s skin tingled painfully, as if a million ants were trailing up her body. She could barely stop herself from shaking the imaginary bugs from her skin. She was being watched, and worse, she had lost herself in her analysis, forgetting where she was, forgetting that she was standing in front of her future colleagues. She was the freak show. There was no doubt in her mind that they would find out exactly who she was, if they didn’t already know what happened to her seven years ago.

Normal was so foreign to her she didn’t even know what it meant anymore. All she knew was that it wasn’t her.

She put down the marker and faced the room, even though she wanted to bolt. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done-to stand there and be stared at.

Noah spoke, and Lucy quietly returned to her seat. He took her hand under the table and squeezed it, then let go. The gesture stunned her, and she didn’t know how to respond.

He’s just giving you a nonverbal pep talk .

She must have looked terrified for Noah to be so bold.

“Remember,” he said, “besides Agent Sheffield, there was another victim to get out of the mine-the private investigator working the vandalism case was seriously injured when he fell down the mine shaft while pursuing an arsonist. As you all know, the rules of triage demand that we help the living before we deal with the dead.”

Candela nodded. “I’m satisfied at this point, and we have a lot to get through so we can find out who killed Agent Sheffield.” He motioned to the female agent sitting at the computer. “Tara has prepared a detailed list of all Agent Sheffield’s electronic contacts up until her silence on January second.” Papers were passed around. “And Agent Strong is handing out a list of key dates in the investigation.”

Strong avoided looking at Lucy and said, “We now believe that she called her parents under extreme duress. There was no reason for her to cancel her vacation. When I last saw her, she was heading home to pack and catch an early morning flight. However, she never boarded the plane and we haven’t found her car. Her personal car didn’t have GPS installed-it was a 1995 dark blue Nissan Pathfinder.”

Lucy was thankful that the focus had shifted from her and to the papers in front of them. Her stomach was so twisted she was in physical pain. She whispered to Noah, “I’m going to find the ladies’ room.”

He nodded, catching her eye. “You did good,” he mouthed.

She didn’t know why his praise didn’t make her feel better, though she knew he was sincere. She excused herself and stepped out of the room. She leaned against the wall and took a deep breath.

The door opened behind her. She straightened, feeling sheepish to be caught in a state of near panic.

It was the SAC, Elizabeth Hart. She was tall and stately. Not pretty in the traditional sense, but what Lucy thought of as a handsome woman.

“I knew Victoria must have been dead,” Hart said. “But I think they all were holding out hope. You understand this is a shock. Not simply because of where she was found, but because none of us knew what she was doing there. We’ve gone through all her records, emails, notes-she had no contact in Spruce Lake.”

“Maybe it was personal,” Lucy said.

“I saw the photo you brought. She looked happy.”

“I gather she didn’t mention if she was involved with Jon Callahan.”

Hart shook her head. “Why hide it?”

That was a good question, and Lucy didn’t have an answer.

Sean and Patrick sat in a small, windowless meeting room off the assistant warden’s office at the state prison in Ogdensburg, twenty minutes west of Canton, right on the St. Lawrence River. They’d been reviewing Paul Swain’s prison records for nearly an hour: Sean reading Swain’s file and Patrick scouring the visitor logs.

Swain had been a model prisoner at the beginning; then, after a year, he started getting into fights and spending more time in solitary than not. Authorities had confiscated more than a dozen cell phones over the six years he’d been in the prison, plus four handmade knives. He’d killed a fellow inmate in a prison riot, earning him another twenty years on his twenty-five-to-life sentence. It was only recently, in the last year or so, that he had stopped getting into trouble.

“Look,” Sean said to Patrick, “The first time he got into serious trouble was a week after his wife died.”

“Makes sense. Wanted to be a model prisoner and not lose visitation rights with his family. Abigail visited him twice a week, once alone and once with their son.”

“Did Ricky visit after she died?”

“No, but James Benson did.”

“That could be another reason for Paul acting up-Benson not bringing his son to visit.” Sean thought back to Ricky’s letters from his mom. Sean had only skimmed most of them, but he had the impression Abigail was constantly apologizing for her husband to her son. Had she been trying to fix a bad relationship before she died?

“Benson visited the first Saturday of every month like clockwork,” Patrick said.

“Any other regular visitors?”

“After Abigail Swain died-Reverend Carl Browne visited twice a year, until a year ago last March. That was his last visit.”

“March? That’s when Swain’s behavior took a dramatic turn for the better.”

“He had another visitor in March. A week before Browne.” Patrick paused. “Joe Hendrickson.”

“ Hendrickson ?”

“Stayed for ten minutes.”

Neither Tim nor Adam knew about a connection between their father and Swain. His sudden visitation was of definite interest.

“Who else that month?”

“Other than Benson, no one.” Patrick looked at the months before and after. “Except Jon Callahan. The last week of February, ten days before Hendrickson. Wait-” Patrick flipped through his notes, “Callahan also visited twice during the first year of Swain’s incarceration.”

If Callahan was as involved with Bobbie Swain as Sean thought, what was he doing meeting with Paul Swain? Were the brother and sister back on good terms? Perhaps Callahan was a messenger.

Sean’s phone vibrated. It was a text message from Dillard.

The divers found a body. We just made a positive ID of James Benson .

“They found Benson’s body,” he told Patrick. He hadn’t known the guy, but he was saddened by the news.

He responded to Dillard.

Don’t forget his cell phone records. I’m particularly interested in the twenty-four hours after the arson fire .

Dillard sent back:

Got the preliminary report. No effort made to stop, signs that he sped up then turned sharply off the bridge. Possible DWI, accident, or suicide. More later .

Suicide? Sean hadn’t expected that. “Why would Benson protect Ricky Swain for years, then kill himself when things in town started heating up?”

Patrick didn’t have an answer.

“Anything else on Callahan?” Sean asked.

“He’s visited Swain two more times,” Patrick said. “February, two months later at the end of April, and again just after New Year’s.”

Sean frowned. Those dates seemed important. He pulled out the calendar on his cell phone. He’d already plugged in the important dates in the case. When Joe Hendrickson died, his funeral, when Tim and Adam moved back to Spruce Lake, their town hall meeting about the resort, each vandalism attack. And when Sheffield went missing.

“Let me see that,” Sean said, grabbing the visitor logs. He input Callahan’s recent visits and Hendrickson’s lone visit. “Look. Don’t tell me this is a coincidence.”

Patrick stared at the calendar. “Well, fuck.”