Page 60

CHAPTER 60

I CHECKED INTO A little roadside motel around midnight. I’d called ahead, and the clerk had left the key for me under a potted plant by the door to the darkened reception office. I went into the room, dumped my bags, and showered.

I stood for ages under the water-saving showerhead, forcing scalding-hot water needles into my skin. It wasn’t an entirely bad sensation, but no amount of physical discomfort could alleviate the guilt galloping around in my chest after the confrontation with Dave Summerly. Or the uneasiness I felt after Raymond’s insistence that he’d seen a man sneak into my car. Truth was, I believed the guy. And though I’d managed not to dwell on my violent altercation with Martin Rosco in my home, I wondered if someone had been hired to finish what Rosco had started. There’d been no sign of anyone suspicious when I stopped at a roadhouse for dinner. Nor at the next gas station I stopped at before arriving here. But I felt watched all the same.

My emotions were tangled. I lay on the bed and stared at the dusty stucco ceiling and tried to talk myself down from that catastrophic ledge. My senses jolted at every sound outside the motel room. I’d never been afraid of the dark, but as I reached to turn off the bedside lamp, a horrifying thought occurred to me. There had been no cars parked outside when I arrived. What if I was the only guest at the motel tonight? This isolated place was nothing but a tiny office and a row of six rooms. The clerk probably forwarded calls to the motel’s number to his own phone at night.

I realized that if I screamed, no one would hear me.

When my cell phone rang, I did scream. It took me a few long, urgent seconds to catch my breath.

“Something you want to tell me, Ms. Bird?” Detective Will Brogan asked when I picked up the phone and turned the bedside lamp back on.

I heard my own sigh rattle on the line. “The box,” I said.

“The box, the messages, the backpack,” Brogan said. “Hell of a twist in the tale, all of this. And I’m surprised it’s come this late in the story.”

“I thought I was protecting my client,” I said, “and the truth. And you know what? I stand by my decision, Brogan.”

“I get it,” Brogan said. His tone was reasonable. I held the phone and felt a tiny amount of comfort.

“You’re taking this better than expected,” I said.

“Well, I’m tired.” He gave a small, warm laugh. “It’s been a hell of a day. Maybe eight hours ago I would have been pissed as hell at you for holding this back. But to be honest, I’ve had a lot going on. The crime scene. The autopsy. The press. I’m kind of relieved I didn’t hear about the box until all that was over.”

“Well, you’re welcome,” I quipped. “Dave sure got angry enough for the two of you.”

“He’s an emotional guy. I’ve been around longer. I’m more grizzled and jaded. I’m not surprised anymore when people do things like this — hide evidence. Lie. Protect the bad guys. It takes a bit more than that for me to really pop my lid.”

I smiled. I couldn’t deny a tiny stirring in my chest at Brogan’s measured composure. Unshakable men had always attracted me. It was probably a throwback to growing up with an unstable and then absent father. I heard him shifting in his chair.

“Anyways, I’m sorry to tell you that I’m calling because I’m on a streak of delivering bad news, and it’s your turn.”

“Okay?”

“Troy Hansen got beat up this evening at Men’s Central.”

All the air left my chest. I lashed out, kicked the nightstand over. The lamp rattled to the floor and threw abstract shadows on the walls.

“They couldn’t see that coming?” I yelled. “Are you serious?”

“Well, they probably did see it coming.” Brogan sighed. “But you know what these good ol’ boys who go into corrections jobs are like. They want to see justice done, even if it’s the in-house kind. Either the guards smacked Troy around or they put him in a cell with someone who would and turned the cameras off. The saving grace is that it’s nothing permanent. He’s been through the infirmary and he’s already back in his cell sleeping it off.”

“They’ll kill him in there,” I said.

“Maybe.”

“Until he makes bail, he’s in the lion pit,” I insisted. “You get that, right? And it won’t matter if you think he killed Daisy or murdered all those other people or both. You will never know the absolute truth because there’ll be no trial, no confession, no hearing of — ”

“I know, Ms. Bird. I know,” Brogan said. “But I’m doing my job here. I ordered Troy’s arrest. I had to. The guy led me to his wife’s body. And nothing you’ve done today has made me think twice about that order.”

“There’s always tomorrow,” I said.

“That’s the spirit.”

“Brogan, I helped you out by surrendering that box,” I said. “It’s your turn.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m calling you right now to update you. Giving you the twenty-four-hour news cycle on this case. I don’t have to do that.”

“But you are, because you’re trying to keep me on your side in case I get something more. In case I can be useful to you later.”

“I’m also just a genuinely nice guy, Rhonda.”

“So throw me another bone, Mr. Nice Guy. I’m in the middle of nowhere, clutching at straws.”

“In the middle of nowhere?”

“Uh-huh.” I took the phone away from my ear when I heard what sounded like footsteps on the gravel outside. “And I don’t think I’m alone.”

I went to the curtain, pulled it back, and looked out. The lot was empty. The road beyond and the woods bordering it were quiet. I double-checked the lock, then took a chair and wedged it under the door handle.

“Let me think.” Brogan sighed. “Our techs have analyzed Troy’s cell phone locations over the past several months. I could maybe send you that.”

“Good. And I want the official files on all the missing people from the box.”

“Big ask,” he said.

“You’ve got nothing to lose.”

The silence stretched, both on the line and outside my dark little pocket of rural California.

“Let me see what I can do,” Brogan said.