Page 39 of Duress (Birch Falls #3)

DANE

T his doesn’t make any fucking sense. No fucking sense at all. Pacing in front of the small table in my kitchen, I run my fingers through my hair for the millionth time, trying to puzzle out the information in front of me.

I have the medical examiner’s report spread out.

I’ve read every line in it multiple times.

The urge to vomit has been haunting me since I read each documented injury.

There were plenty of injuries that could be explained by the impact between the car and the tree and the airbag deploying.

But one in particular haunts me, because it makes no fucking sense.

The crush injury to the back of my dad’s head. Described as central to the occipital bone, about four centimeters in diameter. His skull was smashed in, resulting in trauma to the occipital lobe. It is listed as the cause of death.

How in the hell did he wind up with a traumatic injury to the back of his skull in a forward collision ?

I try to think back to the day we got the news.

Did the officers give Mom or Bryce any indication that dad’s death was anything more than a tragic accident?

But my memory of that day is just a fog of grief.

I refuse to ask Mom about it. She was doing so much better last time I saw her.

More like the woman who raised me than she has been in a decade since losing Dad.

I am not going to set her back just to sate my curiosity.

I also refuse to talk to Bryce about it. At least until I have a better idea of what the truth really is. I know how easily he lies and manipulates, and I want to be prepared with facts I can check him with.

Glancing at the clock on the stove, I see it is nearly midnight. I go on shift in the morning at seven. I make a plan to go into the station early to see if I can find the police report from Dad’s accident, to see if anything unusual was noticed when they arrived on the scene.

I pull out my phone to see if Everly has texted me.

Nothing. After making love to her, we both fell asleep, emotionally and physically drained.

When I woke up nearly two hours later, the gnawing feeling that this is the key to unlocking everything would not leave me alone.

It made me anxious, my body thrumming with renewed purpose.

The need to have answers driving me away from the comfort of her embrace.

She didn’t rouse at all when I crawled out of bed.

I left Everly sleeping, so beautiful and peaceful, so I could solve this mystery.

It felt like I was leaving a piece of my soul behind when I walked out of her bedroom. It also felt a lot like I was leaving her alone in a lion’s den.

The next morning I arrive at work an hour earlier than usual.

The skeleton crew that works the nightshift are sitting in the dimly lit room, quietly finishing up their paperwork from the night’s events.

Birch Falls at night is fairly quiet unless there is a big event on campus or it’s rush week at BFU.

Mostly DUIs, a few bar fights, sometimes an out of control college party.

The crew that works this shift has been on it for years.

It takes the right kind of person to work that shift.

Most newbies can’t hack it, too used to the normal biological circadian rhythm.

But when someone clicks with it, they really click with it.

Hugh Harvey is one of those people. He’s been on the nightshift since I joined the academy six years ago.

Probably even longer. I’m not sure when he moved to Birch Falls.

All I know is he came from a bigger city a few hours away, with a much busier and more troublesome population.

He said he moved to Birch Falls because he was getting too old for that shit.

He’s however not too old to be a night owl apparently.

“You’re up early. You forget daylight savings isn’t until next week?”

“I need to look something up. Figured now would be the best time to go digging into the file room before things get busy.” I wave my thermos of coffee at him, not stopping my stride, not interested in small talk.

Hugh grunts a dismissive goodbye in return.

I take two steps before it dawns on me—Hugh might be exactly the person I need to talk to.

Turning on my heel, I head back over to Hugh’s desk. “Hey, Hugh, when did you join the BFPD?”

Hugh had already buried his nose in his work so my question catches him off guard.

Hugh sits back in his chair, causing it to creak from his substantial size.

He’s a big man. Nearly six-foot-five, probably 280 pounds on a good day.

Night shift is hell on the body. I can tell Hugh used to be fit and formidable in his younger days, but the sedentary lifestyle is catching up to him.

Still, though, when he knocks on your car window after pulling you over at two in the morning, you realize he is not a man to be trifled with.

“Winter of 2008, why?” Blood rushes to my head. That is six months before my dad’s accident. Hugh would’ve definitely been one of the responding officers.

I take a seat on the metal chair next to his desk. “Can I ask you about a car accident you might have worked in 2009?”

Hugh’s bushy eyebrows creep up in interest. “Sure, kid. This mind is a steel trap. I remember everything.” He taps his temple, a serious, no-nonsense expression on his face.

I believe him. I’ve heard him recount arrests from early in his career nearly twenty years ago with a surprising amount of detail.

“My dad died in a car accident off of Route 19 in the summer of 2009. Went off the road and head first into a tree. Died on the scene. Were you one of the responding officers?” I pull on every ounce of training I have for delivering bad news to next of kin.

I keep my voice even, expression flat. I don’t want him to think I think he did something wrong when investigating and put him on the defensive.

Hugh leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk. His expression goes soft as he realizes what I’m asking about. His face turns thoughtful, and I can see him searching his memory bank, recalling that night, getting the facts in order before responding.

“Yeah, I was there. O’Malley and I got the call. It was the only one we worked that night. Someone called in when they drove by and saw the old fence line broken. It had rained that night, so they thought maybe someone lost control going round the curve. I think his name was Smith?”

“Were they there when you got to the scene?” I lean forward too, resting my elbows on my knees, eager to hear more.

“Nah, they were long gone by the time we got there. I thought it was weird they wouldn’t stick around to see if someone needed help.

When O’Malley and I got there, we went down the embankment and found an truck smashed headfirst into an oak tree.

Front end crumpled like a soda can. Must’ve been going way too fast around that give and went into a skid.

” He makes a face when he realizes he’s talking to the victim’s son. “Sorry, I?—”

Shaking my head, I wave him off. “It’s fine. Listen, do you remember anything else unusual about the scene? Anything that didn’t add up or that made your spidey-sense tingle? Anything that indicated it wasn’t an accident?”

Hugh’s brows furrow as he considers my question. I can tell he’s mulling it over, going through all the facts in his head, before he responds. He knows I’m not asking just for curiosity’s sake.

“Other than the lack of skid marks on the road and the missing good Samaritan who called it in?”

“There weren’t any skid marks?”

“Nope. Not one. I looked myself that night and checked again when the sun came up. It was like he drove off that embankment on purpose. I thought maybe it was…” He trails off, not wanting to finish that sentence in respect for me.

A slick, nauseous feeling roils in my gut.

My dad would not have killed himself. He and Mom were so happy.

They had been planning a trip to Puerto Rico for their anniversary in October.

Aside from Bryce being a dick to Dad and me, our lives were great.

There is no fucking way Dad would’ve driven into that tree on purpose. So…who did?

Then it hits me. The memory of the last time I saw my dad alive. He had dropped me off to go to the game with Jason. He took me instead of Mom because he said he had to go see Bryce anyway.

Bryce was the last person to see him alive.

“Hey, kid, what’s up? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Hugh’s gruff voice pulls me from the memory, and I know he can see the shock written all over my face.

“I found… I found the medical examiner’s report for my dad when I was…

looking through some stuff,” I hedge, not willing to tip him off that I was hunting through Bryce’s files in case Bryce paid Hugh off to help forge the police report.

“The medical examiner said dad had a crush injury to t he back of his skull. Does that make any sense based on how he was at the scene of the accident? Was his—” I pause, choking back the pain from discussing my own dad’s death so plainly. “Was he thrown from the car?”

Hugh shakes his head immediately. “No. He was buckled in. Driver’s seat.

Slumped toward the passenger seat, but definitely mostly in place.

Air bag deployed. Both actually, even though there wasn’t anyone in the passenger seat.

” Hugh’s brows furrow in confusion as he considers that fact.

“What kind of car did your dad drive? Was it new or older?”

“It was new. I remember he bought it just a few months before he died. Why?”

“Newer cars, after 2007, were designed so the passenger airbag shouldn’t deploy if no passenger is detected in the seat. Shit. I should’ve noticed that.”

My blood runs cold at Hugh’s words.

My dad wasn’t alone in the car the night he died.

And I think I know who was with him.