Stranded (9 page)

He found Dylan at his desk, finishing up his paperwork. Dylan loved to catch the bad guys, as he put it. He had little patience for lawbreakers of any kind, let alone murderers.

Chief Smyth poked his head out the door and called for Alex and Dylan to join him.

“What have we got?” Smyth asked, seated at his desk. There was a framed photograph of a pretty young woman that caught Alex’s attention. The girl had a great smile and a passing resemblance to Jessica.

“My daughter, Stella,” Smyth explained. “She’s currently away at college.”

“She looks like she’s a nice kid,” Alex said.

“Yes, she is.”

“Where does she go to school?”

“Texas,” Smyth said, reaching for the crumbled package of cigarettes on his desk. He knew as well as anyone the laws prohibiting smoking indoors in places of employment and Alex knew he wouldn’t actually light one up, but the instinct to do so was apparently very strong. “Why do you ask?”

The real reason was that with Jess’s pregnancy came the longed-for anticipation of having a child. It had just dawned on him that girl or boy, this baby who was yet to be born, would someday fly away. He shrugged and said, “You must miss her. I bet you can remember every moment of her infancy.”

Smyth scowled. “I suppose,” he said, and then repeated his earlier question. “What have you guys got for me?”

They detailed their day, checking notes to bring the chief up-to-date on where they went, who they spoke to, what they saw. Smyth knew about Billy’s death, of course, and Alex watched him carefully when he mentioned Lynda Summers hadn’t been at home when he went to speak to her.

“She was at the funeral home making plans for the time when her son’s body can be released for burial,” he said somberly. “I know because I’m the one who gave her a ride.” He paused for a second and ran a hand over his bald head. Alex thought he might be getting ready to explain his connection to Lynda, a story Dylan had already related. He could think of no way to cut Smyth short that wouldn’t reveal they’d been talking about him, something Alex was loath to do, but he needn’t have worried. The chief simply cleared his throat.

“I need to get a court order,” Alex said. “I need to check out the shed at the back of the house. I managed to look through a window today and saw the cards I told you about, the ones Billy liked to help him keep directions clear in his head.”

“You won’t need a court order,” the chief insisted. “Lynda will allow me to search anywhere that’s necessary. I’ll meet you there tomorrow, say 8 a.m.?”

“Why not now?” Alex asked. “There are questions about Billy’s activities that she needs to answer.”

“Because right now, she is under sedation, doctor’s orders.”

“Did you happen to ask her if she knew anything about Billy being mixed up with drugs in any capacity?” Alex asked.

“By the time I saw her, I knew about the rumors. They spread really fast on this one. Anyway, I did ask her about the Cummings boys and she said they had come around occasionally, she wasn’t sure why.”

“What about drugs?” Dylan said.

“She said he might have experimented around a little like a lot of guys his age do but that someone would have had to help him procure them because she didn’t think he could do it on his own.”

“Do you think that’s true?” Alex asked.

“Hell, I guess. She seems to underestimate him, though.” He sat back in his chair.

“Jessica is going to want to know if Lynda needs help with her son’s burial,” Alex said.

“She mentioned they have adjoining sites at the cemetery that have been in her family for years. Now tell me what the Cummings boys are saying,” Smyth added. The creaking of the leather made Alex wish he could sit down, but he was too anxious to relax.

Dylan perched on a chair, twisting in a way that suggested he’d hurt his back. The guy needed to lay off the gym equipment for a while. “Alex was detained so Kit Anderson joined me in the interrogation room,” he began. “Basically, the boys say they were together almost all of Saturday and Sunday. However, their parents were out of town. Tad says they went to a party Saturday night but didn’t stay long. They said they walked and that they talked to two girls outside the drugstore. We’re trying to find the girls now. And they both maintain that the car they use to go fool around at the drive-in theater was parked in the far back of the acre their parents own and must have been used by somebody else.”

“Did they give the key to somebody else?” Alex asked.

“No. But they claim they leave the key in the ignition at all times and all their friends know about it.”

“Is that where you found it?” Alex persisted. “In the ignition like they said?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“The M.E. couldn’t find any traces of blood,” Smyth said, pausing as he now fingered a cigarette lighter with a carved silver metal case. “He was able to match the fibers in the grill to Billy’s jacket, though, and the pills in the glove box were Rohypnol, the same as found in Billy’s bloodstream. Oh, and there were weeds in the tires consistent with those growing at the drive-in lot.”

“Did they test the soil underneath the car?” Alex asked. “It sat out in the rain most of the morning. If there was blood on it, it might have washed off into the soil.”

“They didn’t find anything.”

“What about prints?”

“There are a hundred of them. Every kid in this county must have been in that car at one point or another.”

Alex shook his head. “Why would those boys drug and kill Billy? How did they get him out to the drive-in? Are the techs checking the car for evidence Billy was ever in it or that his bike was?”

“They admitted they’d given Billy a ride or two in the past,” Dylan said. “Unless we find blood or something, they’ve got that angle covered. His DNA could have been left behind at any time.”

“Is the car big enough to carry the bike?” Smyth asked.

“It would fit in the trunk, but they said they stuffed it in there once when Billy got a flat,” Dylan said. “And as for the weeds in their tires, that’s tricky, too, because they admit they drive out there sometimes. Hell, I kicked them out myself. What I think is that they arranged to meet Billy at the drive-in to exchange money Billy picked up for them. Maybe they argued, maybe Billy wanted out or threatened to talk if he didn’t get a bigger cut. Maybe that’s why he really wanted to see Alex, to ask for help with them. Anyway, I think they all did some drugs, and then the twins spiked a soft drink or something with the Rohypnol, then Billy fell into a dead sleep and they either accidentally ran him over or did it on purpose.”

“You don’t accidentally run over a man Billy’s size more than once,” Chief Smyth said.

“We have to break their alibi or get them to own up.”

“Before their lawyer got there they talked a little. Thank goodness they’re over eighteen. They admitted they knew Billy, in fact, they tried to make it sound like they kind of looked out after him and that they even did him favors. They admitted they’d been out to the airport but that was because they liked planes.” Dylan straightened his back and sighed. “They didn’t give much in the interrogation room even when Kit got a little hot under the collar. Billy Summers is the first body Kit has actually come across and he’s taking it kind of hard.”

All three men thought about that for a moment.

“Dylan told me your yard was vandalized,” the chief finally said, turning his attention to Alex after casting the cigarette pack another longing look. “I suppose we should launch an investigation into that. I’d rather not include the media, however.”

“I agree about the media,” Alex said. “This has been very traumatic for Jessica. I don’t want her subjected to that kind of attention. I also think we can forgo a formal investigation, as well.”

“But you guys could be in terrible danger,” Dylan said softly.

“I know. I talked to my neighbors before I came in tonight. But you know how the back gate sits out of sight from the street. No one saw anything. And the yard itself was trampled and muddy because of the rain. I checked for a good footprint and couldn’t find a single one.”

“What kind of tool did the creep use?” Dylan asked.

He told them about the missing machete. “Which would suggest the crime was one of opportunity and not premeditated.”

“Are you sure the machete is missing?” Smyth asked.

“Positive. There have got to be easier tools to wield than an old machete but it’s about the only thing that would cut plants fast and quietly that was available in the toolshed.”

“The question is whether this has to do with the perceived threat the FBI mentioned or is it related to Billy’s death,” the chief said.

Or both,
Alex thought and almost said.

But he didn’t.

The conversation he and Jessica had engaged in earlier played through his mind. It was possible someone he knew was behind all or part of this. He looked at Chief Smyth and Dylan, thought about Kit Anderson and Tony Machi....

It just didn’t seem possible.

Chapter Seven

Jessica wound up at the school early in the morning because Alex was determined to follow her to work and watch over her until she was safely inside the building and he had an early appointment. He kissed her goodbye, and she watched him drive away through her window.

She knew he was headed out to Lynda Summers’s house and that Dylan and Chief Smyth were going to join him. She was glad he wouldn’t be alone and she was glad when her class began to fill with students so that she wasn’t alone.

She’d taken one last look out at the yard that morning. The devastation seemed worse even though the rain had let up. She wasn’t sure what a yard crew could do and she didn’t know if she was up to replanting. Alex said he was going to install a lock on the gate, which seemed like a wise precaution.

As the shock of finding the vandalism on the heels of hearing about Billy’s death began to wear off, other considerations pushed their way into her consciousness. They’d had a trespasser who had systematically destroyed the sanctuary of their home. Why?

* * *

A
LEX
, C
HIEF
S
MYTH
and Dylan arrived in three different cars from three different locations. What was incredible to Alex was that they all arrived at just about the same time.

“Thank goodness the rain let up,” the chief said as he got out of his car.

Dylan and Alex joined him on the porch and Smyth knocked. When after several seconds no one answered, Dylan tried looking in the window. Since Alex had taken that route the day before, he knew his partner wouldn’t be able to see inside. That’s why he was shocked when Dylan said, “It doesn’t look like anyone is home.”

Alex shifted position and looked in the window. The boxes that had blocked the view the day before were gone.

“Did she know we were coming?” Dylan asked.

Smyth spoke up. “I called her last night and said we needed to ask her some questions and take a look in her shed. She was groggy but I thought she understood me. She mentioned she’d leave the door open in case she nodded off this morning and didn’t hear us.” He tried the knob and it turned in his hand.

He pushed the door open and called her name. “Lynda?”

Upon entering, Alex turned toward the window that looked out on the porch. The boxes that had towered over the chairs and blocked the window the day before were now in a heap, covering most of the loveseat and big chair. The floor lamp had disappeared completely under the rubble and the television had flown from its table top perch. It lay screen-side down, covered with cable and electrical wires that had ripped from the wall like severed arteries.

But what caught Alex’s attention was the sight of a dirty white slipper sticking out from beneath the most ponderous pile of junk. He moved closer until he was sure, and then he began climbing over things, sliding on the trash in his haste. “Over here,” he said. “Hurry, she’s under all this stuff.”

Dylan moved fast, joining Alex, both of them breathing heavily in their attempt to lift the cumbersome boxes off the chairs and free the woman who must be beneath. Smyth shouted cautionary warnings about causing another avalanche. The boxes were unwieldy, weighty with clothing and books, and so old many tore as Dylan tried to pick them up. Their contents spilled everywhere creating more obstacles and mess. All the commotion dislodged the one sure sign Lynda Summers lay under it all, the slipper, which fell to the cluttered floor, revealing a pale foot with bright pink nail polish.

Desperate now but cautious lest they inflict more damage, they moved aside enough rubbish to finally glimpse Lynda. She was dressed in black pants and a pink blouse. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slack and all three men knew she was dead before Alex laid his fingers against her throat to feel for a pulse. He looked over his shoulder and met Chief Smyth’s stricken gaze as he shook his head.

It looked as though Lynda Summers’s possessions had finally won the battle for her house.

* * *

J
ESSICA
WAS
IN
the process of digging a piece of fruit for a midmorning snack from her lunch bag when the principal, Silvia Greenspan, appeared in her classroom doorway. “You got a call,” she began, and for one second, Jessica’s heart rate tripled. A statement like that one would have sent her into a tailspin a few days earlier. She set a banana aside and stood up because the expression on Silvia’s face finally got through.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Who called?”

“The emergency room over at the hospital,” Silvia said. “They want you to come quickly. Alex has been hurt.”

Jessica stood there for a second, trying to take this in, and then she grabbed her sweater off the back of the chair and dug her purse from the drawer. “Did they say how he was hurt or how bad it was?”

“A car accident out on that twisty road north of town.”

“Blue Point?”

“Yes, that’s it. Connie took the call, but I wanted to tell you myself after last night and everything.” By now they were rushing down the hall. “Let me drive you over,” Silvia said. “Give me five minutes to cancel an appointment—”

“I’m sorry, I can’t wait,” Jessica said. Blue Point was the road that led out to Lynda Summers’s house.

“Then I’ll follow you in a few minutes.”

“Fine,” Jessica called as she hurried outside. Thanks to Alex’s protective streak, and the early time she’d arrived at the school, she had a great parking spot in the front instead of out in the back as usual.

The drive to the hospital was harrowing as her mind raced over the details of Blue Point Road. Had he been hit by another car or had he tumbled over the side into the gorge below? Was he still alive or was she driving to face another nightmare? If someone had hurt him, how would she find that person, because she knew in her heart that she would have to, not only to avenge Alex but to protect herself and thus her child. Had she really told Alex she wasn’t frightened for herself? What a load of bunk that was. She was terrified for all three of them.

She parked as close to the emergency-room door as possible and walked inside, mindful to pace herself. All this stress couldn’t be good for her baby, she reasoned, plus she was never far from remembering the miracle of being pregnant.

The doctor had told her to be reasonable but to live normally. What was normal anymore? Friends being murdered, vandals, trespassers, terrorists? Okay, so her body had so far cooperated in a way she’d never dreamed it could. Did that mean she should heap more punishment upon it? There was so much at stake.

This pregnancy just had to work out.

The emergency room was crowded with people in various states of trauma, all rushing about. What appeared to be several couples stood clutching each other, their faces stricken with fear as though awaiting to hear the fate of a loved one. Others held small children in their arms while older kids clustered around them, some with cuts and scrapes. Why were there so many children here on a school day?

Jessica stood in a short line until it was her turn to talk to a harried-looking man seated on the other side of the glass window. “I’m looking for Alex Foster,” she said, scanning the room, keeping her eyes open for a sign of Dylan or Chief Smyth, both of whom she knew Alex had been meeting with that morning.

“Was he on the bus?” the receptionist asked.

“The bus? What bus?”

“The school bus,” he said, and answered a phone, motioning with his finger for her to wait. Then he began digging through papers, apparently to look up something for whoever was on the other end of the phone.

Jessica leaned forward. “What bus are you talking about? Alex Foster is my husband. I got word from you that he was injured in a vehicle accident. He’s a police detective—”

The man was completely ignoring her, and she turned away. There had to be someone else who could help. Had Alex collided with a school bus, was that what was going on? She saw a nurse talking to one of the worried-looking couples and approached, waiting as patiently as she could while the nurse directed them toward metal doors.

“Excuse me,” she said as the couple hurried off. The nurse turned to face her and Jessica could see in her eyes that she only had a few seconds to explain things. “I’m looking for my husband,” she began, and gave an abbreviated version of what she wanted.

The nurse scanned the clipboard she held in one hand. “I don’t see his name. When did he come in?”

“I don’t know. I received the call about thirty minutes ago.”

“Was he on the Mountain View school bus?”

“I don’t think so. Was there an accident?”

“A bus full of kids on their way to a holiday program overturned while rounding a sharp curve on a highway ramp,” the woman said.

“Out on Blue Point?”

“No, over by Campton.”

Jessica’s mind could not wrap itself around what she was hearing. Campton was fifteen miles north of Blunt Falls. What was Alex doing way over there?

“What kind of holiday program?” Jessica asked, suddenly remembering Memorial Day was only five days away.

“I’m not sure. Anyway, they sent us the overflow because the Campton hospital is so small. Maybe he’s over there.”

“Who would I ask to find out?”

“Wait right here. I’ll look around in the back to see if he’s in a treatment room and then call Campton. His name is Alex Foster, right?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you sit down,” the nurse said kindly. “I won’t be long.”

There was suddenly someone at Jessica’s elbow and she turned, hoping to find Alex. Silvia had arrived and now stood beside her. She took Jessica’s arm. “She’s right, you should sit down.”

Jessica swore under her breath as she retrieved her cell phone. “I’ll try calling him,” she said. “If he’s stuck in a treatment room somewhere, maybe he’ll answer.”

She punched in his number and he picked up before the ring stopped. “This is Alex,” he said.

“Alex!” Jessica closed her eyes for a second. At least he was able to hold a phone and talk. How badly could he be hurt?

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m a little busy,” he said. “Is anything wrong?”

“I got a call you were in the emergency room, that you’d been in an accident. Are you telling me you haven’t?”

“Who called you?” he demanded.

Jessica tried to explain, and then Silvia got on the phone and told Alex about the call. Jessica sank down on a chair, weak now that the adrenaline rush had spent itself. When the nurse reappeared shaking her head, she told her there’d been a mix-up.

But had there really been a mix-up or had this been a deliberate ruse to—to what? What had been accomplished except scaring the daylights out of her? Did it have anything to do with the busful of children?

Silvia handed her back the phone. “Are you going back to the school?” Alex asked.

“I guess.”

“Good. It’s disturbing that whoever sent you on that wild-goose chase knew I’d be out on Blue Point. Go home with Silvia, okay? I have to finish something up here and then I’ll come for you at her house.”

“Okay. And you’d better call the Campton police and tell them to make sure that school-bus accident was really an accident.”