Craig Smith - Cold Rain

‘What’s your point?’

‘I’m not sure what Buddy intends to do next.’

‘I thought that was obvious. He intends to watch you go to prison for a crime you didn’t commit.’

‘Buddy never quite does what I expect, Molly. What if there’s more to it than that? What if he isn’t finished with this thing until he hurts you and Lucy?’

‘I can take care of myself.’

‘And Lucy?’

Molly wasn’t so quick to answer this.

‘Lucy isn’t with us on this, Molly. She’s not afraid of the guy. Given the way she’s acting tonight, I think it’s possible she’s having second thoughts.’

‘She’s not going to see Buddy again, David.’

‘You sound pretty sure of yourself.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘She’s seventeen. One phone call, one heartfelt apology and she goes to him and just maybe never comes back. Both times he’s struck at us he was with Lucy. I don’t think that’s an accident. I think he’s letting me know he can hurt my family anytime he likes.’

I finally had Molly’s attention.

‘The best thing is for the two of you to disappear.

Go some place he doesn’t know about.’

‘I’m not leaving you. That’s all the sheriff would need.’

‘Then get Lucy somewhere safe.’

‘She’s got less than two weeks to go until Christmas break-’

‘Forget school, Molly! This guy has decided to hurt us. So far he’s done a hell of a job! I’ve lost a tenured position. You filed for divorce. Two of our friends are dead! And a young woman has disappeared, with me as the only suspect. This isn’t a game you get to start over if things don’t work out. There aren’t any second chances if we’re wrong. If you want to stay we can handle this together, but Lucy is vulnerable. As long as she stays vulnerable, he can hurt us, and there’s nothing we can do to stop him.’

To her credit Molly said nothing more. She went upstairs to talk to Lucy. Half-an-hour later she was making reservations for a flight out the following morning.

Molly and Lucy drove Molly’s rental car to the airport at first light. I followed in my pickup. After Molly dropped her car off the three of us drove over to the terminal.

Lucy was quiet. Tense? Nervous? I couldn’t really tell. I had even less feel for Molly’s mood. It occurred to me that the two of them had probably enjoyed a long intimate discussion on the drive over. Things were settled now. No need to bring Dave into it. At the security gates Lucy gave her mother a perfunctory hug.

When she looked at me I thought she was making an effort to remember my face. ‘Take care,’ she said and walked away.

When we went out and stood on the observatory deck to watch her plane take off, Molly seemed jittery.

‘You think she’ll try to contact Buddy?’ I asked.

Molly shook her head. ‘She understands that Buddy wants to hurt us.’

I thought about telling her that seventeen-year-olds are only rational if it will inconvenience adults, but there wasn’t much point upsetting her.

‘Did she tell Buddy about Doc and Olga? Can he follow her?’

Molly answered without a tremor of doubt. ‘No.’

Kip Dalton left a message on our answering machine for me to call him. I knew it wasn’t going to be good but I dutifully dialled his number. As usual the detective apologized for disturbing me. He said he would like to talk to me about a few things, if I wouldn’t mind coming in.

‘What’s this about?’ I asked.

‘Some hunters found the body of a young woman this morning, Professor. We think it might be Johnna Masterson.’

I got into town a little after two o’clock and went directly to the county building. At the front desk I asked for Kip Dalton. A uniformed officer led me to an interview room and opened the door. Detective Jacobs greeted me with an icy smile. ‘Thanks for coming in, Dave.’

‘Where’s Dalton?’

‘He’ll be along in a minute. Why don’t you have a seat and we can get started.’

Jacobs’s new partner stood up when I stepped into the room. He was a big man, six-and-a-half-feet tall, I thought, and almost certainly pushing three hundred pounds. He had a gut of marbled fat, a roll of pink flesh slopping over a crisp white collar, the same snarling smile Jacobs had offered. Jacobs introduced him as Tom Newsome with the State Police. We shook hands. Newsome tried to make me wince. I tried not to give him the satisfaction.

In his late forties or early fifties, Newsome was still mostly animal. That was the point today. I had Jacobs the jackal nipping at my ankles, Newsome the bull threatening with a direct assault. Jacobs made a show of reading me my rights. It was a sterling piece of intimidation and left me under the impression I had been arrested. Following this Detective Jacobs pushed a sheet of paper and a pen across the conference table.

I held the ink pen while I read a benign statement indicating that I had been given the Miranda and had waived my rights to an attorney. I pushed the paper back and pocketed the ink pen. Jacobs had trouble bullying me into a signature after the inconvenience of asking for his ink pen back. I made a slight, insincere attempt at apology and shot the pen back across the table.

‘I’m afraid we can’t proceed with our interview until you have signed that,’ Jacobs told me.

I shrugged and stood up. ‘I guess I’ll take off then.’

Tom Newsome told me to sit down. I didn’t care for his tone and simply looked at him.

‘Please.’

It still sounded like a command, but I obliged him and took my seat. Jacobs asked me if I was familiar with a certain woods. I wasn’t, and said so. His eyes appraised me suspiciously. ‘You haven’t been in that area in the past few weeks?’

‘I have no idea. I don’t know the place.’

Tom Newsome stood up and walked behind me.

State Police officers had canvassed the area, he said.

They had a witness who had identified me. Jacobs described the area by naming a couple of county roads.

I still didn’t know what they were talking about. They ran through my former statements. They called everything into question again. Jacobs slumped down in his chair, his eyes locked on me. Newsome paced, sometimes in my view and sometimes behind me.

How was it possible people had seen me in the area where they had found a body if I hadn’t been there?

I knew that police officers are permitted by law to lie to a suspect. The easy answer, however, would let them see I wasn’t falling for their trick. I said I didn’t know.

They asked about my license plate. They had the number, so I played dumb. You tell me. One of the neighbours, Newsome said, had seen a Ford truck parked close to the woods the night Johnna Masterson disappeared. She had caught only three numbers on the license plate. The others were covered with mud.

As it happened, three of the numbers matched my plates. How did I explain that? Couldn’t. Did I drive a Ford truck? Sure, didn’t everyone? Did I think this was a joke? I said I wasn’t sure what to think.

Jacobs asked me if I still understood my rights. I said I didn’t understand them the first time. Newsome informed me that a number of people at the university had heard me bragging about Masterson. ‘ All natural, wasn’t it, Dave? Isn’t that how you described Johnna Masterson’s tits?’

Jacobs pulled three photographs from the pocket of his sports jacket. I saw leaves, nothing more, but I knew she was there. Finally I understood. For a moment I struggled to breathe. Newsome leaned close, his breath at my ear. ‘How’s that for all natural?’

‘Look at the next picture, Dave,’ Jacobs told me.

‘You like it all natural, don’t you?’

When I didn’t react Tom Newsome pushed the top photograph away. The second photo featured a nude body ravaged by wildlife and decay. I looked away before I understood the full extent of damage. Newsome whispered. ‘Come on, Dave. You like it, don’t you?’