The Bone House (25 page)

    'I
think we're alone,' she said, 'but he was there before.'

    'What
do you mean?'

    'At
the house. He was at the house, too. Remember? You heard something outside.'

    He
nodded. 'Who's doing this to us?'

    'I
don't know.'

    'I'll
try to reach nine one one,' Mark said. He dug into his pocket for his phone and
checked the signal strength. 'Thank God for Verizon.'

    'I
love that little guy with the glasses,' Hilary murmured.

    She
waited and listened to Mark estimating their location for the emergency
operator. Her body ached, and she was exhausted and hungry. The blanket didn't
stop her from feeling chilled, and her pants were cold where she sat on the
ground. She closed her eyes.

    'Ten
minutes,' she heard Mark say.

    She
didn't reply. Her head swam. She was conscious of Mark sitting on the road
behind her and of his arms gently taking her shoulders and easing her body back
on to his chest. He stroked her hair and whispered in her ear.
I love you.
Thank God you're OK.
She tried to say something, to talk, but the signals
left her brain and broke into fragments long before they reached her mouth.

    She
had only one more conscious thought before she drifted away.

    Someone
was trying to kill them.

    Cab
found Sheriff Reich behind his desk on Thursday morning in the county
administration building in Sturgeon Bay, which was the southernmost town on the
peninsula. Sturgeon Bay was where people drove to get a taste of the suburbs in
chain stores, big box retailers, and greasy fast food restaurants. North of the
city, those things disappeared. The hour-long drive from Sturgeon Bay to the
tip of the rock at Northport was a journey past miles of gnarled cherry trees,
roadside farmers' markets, and sleepy block-long seaside towns. To Cab, it felt
like a ship-in-a-bottle world.

    Sheriff
Reich sat in a leather chair that was oversized for his compact frame. He wore
black reading glasses on the end of his stub nose and a white uniform shirt with
silver buttons. His brown sheriff's coat, looking starched and perfect, was
hung behind the door. On the walls, Cab noted photos and commendations from the
man's service in Vietnam and framed newspaper articles of major Door County
events from the past thirty years. There was also a Wanted poster featuring the
jailhouse front-and-side photographs of a fit, balding man in his late
thirties.

    The
name on the poster, in bold letters, said Harris Bone.

    Reich,
who was poring over paperwork, took off his black glasses and eased back in his
chair when he saw Cab in the doorway. 'Detective Bolton,' he said.

    'Good
morning, Sheriff,' Cab said. 'I'm surprised to see you here so early. You have
a long commute from the island.'

    Reich
shrugged. 'Most days I fly my Cessna down here. I keep a place in town for the
bad weather. Otherwise, I'm not at my desk much. I don't believe a sheriff
makes much of a difference when he's stuck inside.'

    'That's
a good philosophy.'

    'I
called your lieutenant about you, Detective,' Reich informed him, as he
twiddled his glasses in his fingers.

    'That
must have been an interesting conversation.'

    'It
was. He tells me you're smart, but you don't play well with others.'

    'That's
fair,' Cab agreed.

    'He also
says you're stubborn, indifferent to authority, and condescending.'

    'Guilty.'

    'He
told me about your mother, too. That explains a lot. I figured you were either
rich or on the take. Most cops don't rent Corvettes.'

    'They
don't own Cessnas, either,' Cab pointed out with a smile.

    'I'm
not saying having money is a crime,' Reich replied. 'I've got a plane, I've got
a boat, a couple of trucks. My family was smart enough to snap up a lot of real
estate around here back when it was cheap. I could retire, but I don't want to
sit on my ass all day.'

    'Then
we have something in common,' Cab said.

    'That's
about the only thing, Detective. What can I do for you?'

    'I
heard about the accident on the island.'

    'You
mean the Bradleys?'

    'Yes.
Are they OK?'

    'Bruised
but fine.'

    'Do
you have any idea who was responsible?' Cab asked.

    'I'm
not sure how that concerns you. This is a local investigation.'

    'Mark
Bradley is a suspect in my homicide case.'

    'Well,
it looks like someone almost cut your case short. Some cops wouldn't lose sleep
over that.'

    'I
don't want a vigilante killing a man and his wife on the basis of rumors,' Cab
replied. 'If he's guilty, I want to prove it and put him behind bars.'

    Reich
nodded. 'I agree.'

    'Washington
Island isn't a big place. No one came or went last night unless they had a big
boat, right? With your history around here, I would think you'd already know
who did this.'

    Reich's
frown lines deepened into canyons. 'You can be indifferent to authority and
condescending in your own jurisdiction, Detective. Not with me. Not on my
turf.'

    'Fair
enough, you're right. I'm sorry.'

    'For
your information, the truck used in the accident was stolen from an island farm.
We're checking it over now. I can think of a couple dozen hotheads who know
Delia Fischer and might have done this, but they're not likely to be stupid
enough to admit it to me. Don't worry, I'll get them.'

    'I'm
sure you will.'

    'Is
that all you wanted, Detective? Because if so, I'm pretty busy this morning.'

    'I
promised to keep you up to date on my own investigation,' Cab informed him.
'We've located a couple new witnesses among the people who were at the hotel on
Saturday. Apparently Glory had a big argument with her boyfriend, Troy Geier, a
few hours before the murder.'

    Reich
snorted. 'Troy? You're wasting your time.'

    'Maybe
so, but he wasn't straight with me. I'm going to talk to him again.'

    'What
else do you have?' Reich asked.

    'Another
witness saw a man on the beach with a girl in the right location and time
frame. They were physically involved. Based on the description, we think it was
Mark Bradley. I want to talk to the witness myself, but if it pans out, it's
significant. If we can combine it with DNA evidence, we'll be on the way to
making a case that hangs together.'

    'Excellent.
I appreciate the update, Detective. As I said, my men and I are happy to help
if we can.'

    'There's
something else,' Cab told him.

    'What?'

    'I
ran into Hilary Bradley yesterday afternoon. She told me about Glory Fischer
and the fire.' Cab nodded at the poster on Reich's wall. 'She told me about
Harris Bone, too.' 'So?'

    'So
I'm surprised you didn't mention it to me, Sheriff,' Cab said. 'I asked if
there was anything else I should know about Glory Fischer.'

    'I
don't see how a six-year-old crime is relevant to your investigation.'

    'Harris
Bone is still at large. That makes him a suspect.'

    Reich
shook his head dismissively. 'Harris?' A suspect? You think he just happened to
be in Florida and happened to run into Glory Fischer?'

    'Strange
things happen. Glory saw someone she knew. We have a witness who said she
looked scared.'

    Reich
pushed his leather chair back and got up. He kept a coffee- maker on the
credenza on the opposite wall, and he poured himself a cup in an oversized mug
from a restaurant called the Viking Grill. It smelled strong. He gestured at
Cab with the pot, but Cab shook his head. Reich sat down and sipped his black
coffee.

    'What
makes you think it was Harris?' Reich asked.

    'Frankly,
I don't believe it was. I don't believe in straw men when I've got a suspect
like Mark Bradley who was out on the beach and has ties to the girl's family.
However, I also know what reasonable doubt looks like, and I know what a good
defense lawyer would do with this information. If I don't look into it, I'll
have to explain why on the witness stand.'

    'Lawyers,'
Reich said, in a voice that sounded as if he was spitting. 'OK, what do you
need? What can I tell you?'

    'First,
I need anything that can help us figure out if Harris Bone was staying at or
working in the hotel in Naples under a new identity. Photos";
fingerprints, DNA, background, whatever you have.'

    Reich
nodded. 'My chief deputy can pull together materials for you from our files.
I'll make sure you have it by noon.'

    'Thank
you. Second, I want to know more about him. What happened that night? What kind
of man burns up his family?'

    Reich
studied the poster of Harris Bone on his wall, and his face darkened. 'I'll be
honest with you, Harris is about the last thing in the world I want to talk
about. A lot of people here were hoping we'd finally turned the page on the
fire. You know what that kind of crime does to a community. The scars linger.'

    'I
know.'

    Reich
pointed at a 1960s-era photograph near the Wanted poster that showed two dirty
men in uniform, their faces green with camouflage, arms around each other's shoulders.
'That's me and Pete Hoffman. Pete saved my life overseas. More than once, in
fact. Harris killed Pete's daughter and two of his grandchildren, and he did it
in a horrible way. Pete never got over it. It ruined his life. I don't like to
see my best friend having to deal with that grief all over again.'

    'I
understand. If I can spare him, I will, but I can't make any promises. Right
now, the biggest thing standing between me and a case against Mark Bradley is
Harris Bone. It may be a distraction, but it's real.'

    'I
hear you. I know how the game is played.'

    Cab
got up and examined the photograph of Harris Bone. The man's eyes were devoid
of emotion, like a robot's. He was handsome but empty. 'Did you know him well?'

    'Who,
Harris? Sure, he was a good-looking guy, but mousy and quiet even as a kid. I
knew his parents, Lowell and Katherine; they ran a liquor store here in town.
Harris took it over when Katherine died, but he didn't have much of a business
sense. Pete told Nettie right from the start that the guy was a loser. Nettie
didn't listen. Kids never do, right?'

    Cab
sat down again. 'What about his wife? What was she like?'

    'Nettie
was a pretty little thing. Kind of a God nut, like Pete. Church every Sunday,
always reading the Bible to the three kids, hosting prayer groups at their
house. Harris played along. I never knew if he believed it, or if it was just
talk. You could never be sure with him. It didn't stop him from running around,
either. Nettie told Pete that Harris was cheating on her. Not that I really
blame him. Sounds like Nettie didn't have much interest in sex even before the
accident.'

    'Accident?'
Cab said.

    Reich
nodded. 'Car accident. It was bad. Harris was driving, and Delia Fischer's
husband, Arno, was in the passenger seat. The wives were in back. They'd all
been out to dinner here in Sturgeon Bay and were heading home. They'd had too
much to drink. Harris lost control on a slick curve and drove into a tree, full
speed. Arno died. Nettie wound up in a wheelchair. Delia was lucky, just a
couple broken bones. Same with Harris. After that, Nettie was even worse. She
made life hell for Harris.'

    'Wait
a minute, are you saying Glory Fischer lost her father in that accident?' Cab
asked. 'Harris Bone killed her father?'

    'Yeah.
Some families get lucky, and some just keep getting hit by lightning. That's
Delia. You can understand why I want that woman to get some justice for her
daughters.'