The Botanist (25 page)

“We’ve come across similar information,” Cody said, thoughts of Tom making him pause. “One of our detectives traced the partial serial number to a database, but that was the only source of information we could find.”

Thompson heaved a deep sigh. “That’s my doing, Detective. The pieces aren’t valuable enough to be put in that database, but I put it there, hoping that someone would see it and either add to its history or contact me. I left my contact information on the website.”

Cody thought about that. Suddenly the database made sense, though Tom hadn’t said anything about contact information. Cody wouldn’t be able to ask him about it now. His throat felt blocked. He pretended to cough so he could clear his throat and blink away the tears Tom’s memory evoked. “So what do you know about the artist that crafted the jewelry?”

“Not much more than I put into the database. His name was Jones. He fell off the face of the earth not long after the pieces were sold. He actually lived in these parts, but there’s no paper trail for him after 1991. I never did find a death certificate for him, but for all intents and purposes—financially, legally—he doesn’t exist anymore, hasn’t for twenty years.”

Based on Stieger’s information, Cody knew Jones and Landes were the same man, but he wanted to find out what Alex’s father knew independent of that information. “You said he lived around here? You mean
here
here? In southern Utah?”

Thompson nodded.

“That’s quite the coincidence, considering Alex was found wandering these highways wearing one of his signature pieces.”

“I agree, Detective, but I couldn’t ever find anything to tell me where he was, or what happened to him. The biographical sources I found were people who worked with him professionally when he was creating the jewelry. They said the man who made those pieces grew up not far from here, on a ranch just outside of Antimony. But when I tried to check up on that, I couldn’t find anything anywhere on paper that said he ever lived in these parts. Nothing at all. Trust me. I knocked on every door in this county. No one knew anything about him. Or if they did, they were very convincing liars.”

“What do you think that means?”

“Either my source was lying, or perhaps the name is made up. Lots of artists take on different names for their work.”

Cody longed to tell Mr. Thompson what Stieger had learned, but he couldn’t reveal information about an active investigation. “And from there the trail went cold?”

“It did. After a while, I tired of obsessing about it, gave up after a few years. I tell you, though, even years later, if an unexpected knock came at the door, I would get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was so sure that someday, someone would try to take my daughter away from me.”

When he said it, his eyes grew misty, and Cody understood the haunted look. What he’d been fearing for twenty years was now happening. The man wasn’t raging against it. Rather, he was trying to accept with dignity something he’d always known, but had never had any control over.

“Mr. Thompson,” Cody said quietly, “I’ll find your daughter. She’s going to be okay. You have my word.”

Thompson looked up at Cody curiously at first, then as though seriously considering what he was saying. A look of awe came into the man’s face. “Detective, that’s the first thing I’ve heard in two days that gives me reason to hope.”

Cody swallowed hard. He prayed it wouldn’t prove false.

Chapter 38

It was late afternoon before Stieger finally drove up to Colleen Hinckle’s sprawling ranch house. It was a two-story monstrosity with a wrap-around porch and white siding badly in need of a paint job. Wind chimes tinkled lazily beside a weather-beaten screen door, and an ancient wooden rocking chair faced west.

After visiting the old Landes property with Detective Oliver, he’d spent the last twenty-four hours making a formal request for Jonathin Landes’ military records and trying to track down Colleen Hinckle. Eventually, he’d made his way back to Ronnie, who’d let slip that Colleen owned the land she lived on.

Stieger got out of his car, wondering if he should knock or look around first. His question was answered when Colleen suddenly appeared from the screen door, carrying the biggest basket Stieger had ever seen. Knitting needles stuck out of it at different angles and he assumed the colorful lumps rising above its rim were balls of yarn.

Colleen froze when she saw him, looking trapped. As he walked toward her, she took on a resigned look. He stopped when he reached the porch, looking up at her.

“So,” she sighed, “you found me, did you?”

“Wasn’t easy.”

“No?”

“You’ve got loyal neighbors—wouldn’t give your address out to a stranger.”

“That’s good to know at least. How then?”

“Public records. Got Ronnie to tell me that you owned this place.”

“You’re a PI aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She sighed again. “You might as well come in. I’ll get us some lemonade and we can chat.”

Fifteen minutes later, Stieger was sitting on an ancient couch with a glass of yellow liquid in his hand. It was the good stuff: homemade, sweeter than anything stores had to offer these days, and surrounding three perfectly formed ice cubes. Stieger practically guzzled his first cup.

Colleen didn’t say anything, but he saw her smile with pleasure. She poured him another cup. He didn’t complain.

“So,” he said when he’d downed half the second cup in one gulp. “Did you know Alastair Landes well?”

She shook her head and wisps of white, cottony hair came loose from the bun curled at the nape of her neck. “No. I knew who he was by reputation, but we were hardly acquainted at all.”

Stieger nodded but waited for her to speak again. She was studying her cup of lemonade.

“Mr. Stieger, I’d like to tell you some of my history, if you don’t mind hearing it. If I’m going to tell you what you want to know, I need you to understand the reasons behind my choices.”

“I’m here to listen to whatever you have to say, Mrs. Hinckle.”

She smiled. “Colleen, please. No one calls me ‘Mrs.’ I’m far too old.”

Stieger ducked his head in acquiescence.

“You should know I’ve recently found out that I am terminally ill. I’ll be dead within the year.”

A stone lodged in Stieger’s middle. He’d dedicated his life to the pursuit of law, justice, and the enforcement of them. Death was part of life, and often an integral part of his chosen profession. Still, when you find out someone who is living and breathing and talking right in front of you will be dead soon . . . there’s an utter finality to it that’s suffocating.

“I’m so sorry.”

She looked up in surprise. “Don’t be. I’m not. I’ve lived a good, long life. I’ve put my affairs in order and made my peace. I’m ready to go. There was only one thing I ever regretted in my life. When the news about my health came, I wished on a star that God would help me make it right. I’m sorry I ran away from you yesterday. I suppose I should have known that righting an old wrong wouldn’t be pleasant. Despite asking for it, when the opportunity came, I ran from it.” Her smile was far away. “Yet, here you are.”

“Here I am.”

“More than twenty years ago, Mr. Stieger, I buried my second husband. It was one of the most difficult times of my life. For weeks—no, more like months—I was shrouded in a darkness of my own making. My grief consumed me, and I couldn’t pull out of it. Only with time—a lot of time—and the love of my friends and family was I finally able to find joy in life again.” She looked up at him, as if to ask if he understood.

“Many people go through similar things when they lose loved ones,” he offered.

“Yes, but my experience lasted longer than most. My children were worried that I was suicidal. Perhaps I was, I don’t know. They tried to get me on depression medication, but I refused. To cope, I started taking long drives through the countryside.”

“Doesn’t sound like such a bad way to cope.”

“It is when you disappear for days at a time, or forget to show up to work, or run out of gas a hundred and fifty miles from home. Still, it was the only thing that calmed the aching in my chest, so I did it for months.

“It was during this time that Alastair Landes died. I remember hearing that he’d passed but I barely registered it. I hardly knew him, as I said, and I was dealing with my own demons. The thing is . . .”

She trailed off, studying her lemonade intensely.

“Yes?” Stieger prodded after a long period of silence. She looked surprised to see him still sitting there.

“You must understand, Mr. Stieger, that I’m unsure of the timeline. That whole year is a blur to me. It’s like I was drunk the entire time. I wasn’t, but my grief was such that I wasn’t particularly . . . present either. I went through the motions of my life, but didn’t make any effort to actually
live
it. Because of that, I’m not sure what order things happened in.”

Stieger set his empty glass on the coffee table between them and rested his forearms on his knees. “Okay. Fair enough. Go on.”

“One day I was driving aimlessly. I didn’t know where I was going—just driving—but I happened to drive past Alastair’s farm. This wasn’t on the highway. I was on a little-known dirt road that runs between his land and what back then was the McClintock place. Only the land owners and townsfolk ever use those little roads. Outsiders wouldn’t know about them.

“The only reason I remember where I was that day—near Alastair’s land—is that I had to stop. Some of his sheep were in the road right in front of where I needed to go. It wouldn’t have been difficult for me to go around them—I had four-wheel drive and the dirt path was quite wide—but I didn’t. Again, it was my mental state. I might have stayed there waiting for those sheep to move all night; I might have run out of gas waiting, and it wouldn’t have made an ounce of difference to me.

“I’m not sure how long I actually waited. I’d say ten or fifteen minutes, though I’m not at all certain. Then, a man appeared. I recognized him right away because I’d known him since he was only a child. He smiled at me, coaxed the sheep out of my path, and waved me on.”

“Who was it, Colleen?” Stieger realized he was holding his breath, but he couldn’t make himself release it.

“It was Alastair’s son, Jonathin.”

Stieger’s body went rigid. He blinked in disbelief. That wasn’t possible, was it? “Colleen, you said this was right around the time Alastair died, right?”

She nodded.

“Do you know if it was before or after?”

“No. That’s why I explained that everything seems jumbled. I couldn’t say if this was before or after I heard about Alastair’s death. I was so out of it. I have no way now of sorting out the chronology of events.”

“But it was definitely right around the time of Alastair’s death?”

“Yes.”

Stieger took a deep breath. “And you’re sure it was him? You’re sure—with your grief and all—that you didn’t imagine it?”

Colleen smiled. “I’m sure, Mr. Stieger. In my younger years, I was a teacher. Jonathin was one of my pupils. I’d know him anywhere. I think, when he coaxed the sheep out of my way, he even called me Mrs. Hinckle, as he had when he was a child in my class. That memory has stayed crystal clear in my head all these years. I don’t know why, when the rest is so hazy, but perhaps there’s a reason for it. I’m positive it was him that I saw.”

“Colleen, when Alastair died, people looked for Jonathin. They wanted to tell him of his father’s passing and encourage him to make a claim for the land. No one ever found him. No one remembers him being in town. He disappeared years before Alastair’s passing, and no one ever saw him again.”

Colleen’s eyes had taken on a sad cast. They were covered with a misty sheen that bespoke a profound, aching sadness. “I know that, Mr. Stieger.”

“Then why . . .” Stieger had to work to keep his voice calm. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“To be honest, I didn’t think anything of it until weeks afterward when I realized people were looking for Jonathin. At that point, I should have, but it would have required action on my part, and I could barely force myself out of bed in the morning. I have only excuses for why I kept silent, nothing justifiable. I told myself that if he’d been there and hadn’t come forward, then perhaps he didn’t want to be found. I convinced myself I was doing him a favor by not mentioning what I saw. I even invented grand stories about him coming back, having a falling out with his father, and leaving, and the drama of it all causing Alastair’s untimely death. I told myself I was right; I told myself I was protecting him; I told myself whatever I needed to sustain my cowardice.

“In the years afterward, when I finally rejoined the world of the living, I thought about it a lot. But by then, people had stopped talking about the Landes family. The land had been turned over to the county. The town gossip had moved onto other subjects. I still rationalized. I told myself that it didn’t matter anymore. Who would care or even believe me after so many years? I was afraid of repercussions. Though, in truth I was less afraid of being condemned by the town for silence, than of finding out that my actions—or lack thereof—would have much greater consequences than a change in my social status in the community.” She looked down at her lemonade. The ice cubes had long since melted. “I suppose I’ve always known how wrong my silence was. I always felt that I’d done some kind of evil by letting the truth slide, though I never knew what it was.”

Steiger frowned, feeling a stab of compassion for the woman. “You only saw him on the side of the road, Colleen. How could you possibly—”

“I’m an old woman, Mr. Stieger. And a Christian. If it wasn’t a big deal, it would have gone away eventually. It never did. And with each passing year, the nagging weight of what I’d done grew stronger.” She smiled at nothing. “I suppose it might be hard for people to understand.”

“No, ma’am,” Steiger said quietly. “Not hard at all.”

“When you’re running the home-stretch of your life, the things you’ve left undone start to glare at you like branches coming up from an otherwise unbroken lake.”

She swallowed and met his eyes. “What’s this about, Mr. Stieger? Are you investigating those corpses found in the desert?”

There was fear in her eyes, now, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie to her. “I’m part of that investigation, yes.”

“Is Jonathin Landes dead?”

“That I don’t know, Colleen. We haven’t found him. You may have been the last one to see him alive, though.”

Colleen suddenly looked every year of her age. She lapsed into uncomfortable silence, and Stieger found himself thinking about a certain daughter he hadn’t spoken to in almost a decade. She was as pig-headed as he was and had stormed out nine years ago, promising to never speak to him again. She never had. For years, Stieger had wanted to reunite with Kyla, but he always found a reason not to. Now, looking at this poor woman in her misery over a choice made a lifetime ago, under circumstances mitigated by soul-numbing grief, Stieger made himself a promise that he’d call his daughter the second he wrapped up this case, not an instant later. Colleen had a regret that had haunted her for decades. Stieger didn’t want to end up the same way. “Do you have anything else to tell me?”

Colleen looked at him steadily, and he took her silence for an answer.

“Well, thank you for sharing this with me. I don’t know what bearing it will have on our case, if any, but I appreciate the information. Just one more question. Did you know the transient that was working for Alastair at the time of his death? Do you recall seeing him around the property on your drives?”

Colleen shook her head. “I remember hearing about him, but I don’t think I ever met him. And no, I don’t recall seeing him. I couldn’t even say what he looked like.”

Stieger nodded, suddenly unsure how to make his exit. “Well, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time, ma’am. Thank you for the lemonade. It was the best I’ve had in years. I do want to reserve the right to call on you again and ask you to give the police a formal statement.”

“Of course.” She smiled, but it was a melancholy smile, and he felt bad just leaving her to her grief.

“Colleen, don’t worry about this anymore. It’s understandable, given your state of mind. And you’ve done your duty, now, by telling me everything. There’s absolutely no reason for you to think on this any further.”

She looked up at him from her loveseat and a tear leaked down her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He took her hand briefly and she walked him to the door.

“Good evening, Colleen. Thank you for your kindness.”

“Good evening to you, Mr. Stieger. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“We all hope for that, ma’am.”

He kept an encouraging smile on his face until he’d driven away. The information she’d imparted was valuable, but it also frightened him. How could Jonathin Landes have been in town and no one have known about it? Did he kill his father? Was he their desert killer? Was the town covering for him, Texas-chainsaw style?

Stieger told himself not to let his imagination get the best of him, but something sinister had happened on that land twenty years ago. He could feel it. He would find what he was looking for eventually. He just wasn’t sure he’d like it when he did.