The Summer Bones (30 page)

He took the extended sack. She collapsed into a chair by the desk and put her head in her hands. Red Sanger, typing away at the computer, his lips thin with concentration, looked up. At Danny's nod he rose and went to the water cooler to get Mrs. Knox a glass of water. As he glanced into the bag, Danny felt a frisson of excitement and apprehension along his veins, like tiny stabs of fire. The twine handle was stiff in his fingers.

He touched nothing. Simply opened the bag wider and saw the crumpled T-shirt, the jeans, the blue and yellow plaid backpack. His lips were dry.

Lila Knox was weeping, rocking back and forth, arms crossed over her stomach. The sound was awful. Danny heard it only distantly.

Lifting his head, he asked urgently, “Where did you find this, Lila?”

“I …”—she spoke to the floor, still rocking—”found it in his room.”

“His room?”

“I found it hidden in my son's room.”

Danny fought to keep triumph from surfacing in his expression.
I knew it,
he wanted to shout and shout loud.
I knew that Randy was lying, that he knew something.
He and Pino had both sensed the tension under the bravado, felt it in their bones, smelled it on him. Old habits die hard.

Yet the woman in front of him was in pain. Her body quaked with anguish, at both her discovery and her betrayal. What it had cost her to come and deliver her terrible discovery could only be his guess.

He and Laura had no children. At this moment, he was glad. He gently set down the bag and went around the desk to kneel by Lila Knox's chair. He took her hands in his, looked into her puffy face.

“Tell me,” his voice was gentle and truly sympathetic, “all about it, Lila. You have to do this. It's … right.”

“I know,” she said hysterically, and began to cry harder. “Why do you think I'm here? For the love of God, I'm here, aren't I?”

“Yes.” Her hands jerked against his. The tip of her left index finger was missing, lost in an accident at the factory where she worked a few years ago. The crippled finger looked obscene against his strong, whole ones.

“Those are her clothes, aren't they?” She lifted a face that was defenseless with tears. Ravaged by encroaching middle age and a hard life. Swollen with tears and snot and distress. “Those are Hallie's clothes. I read the paper. Jeans they said, and a backpack that was … yellow and blue … Oh, God.”

Oh, God.
There was nothing he could say to comfort her.

* * * *

“She didn't have to come forward,” Danny reminded Pino, receiving in turn a bored look from unfathomable dark eyes.

They were currently occupied with the painstaking task of making sure the evidence they had was enough to confront Randy Knox and get the confession he was sure—99 percent sure—that would follow. The boy was known to be her boyfriend and her father was known to disapprove. A secret meeting was no surprise. It explained Hallie lying about where she was going to be the first three hours that April evening. The clothes and backpack were just the trigger that fired the gun. He and Pino had both felt strongly that Randy was concealing something.

“What I'm saying is that I want this to be as smooth as possible,” Danny went on doggedly. “I know the kid will be hostile as hell because he's scared, but his mother has done us a great favor, and I don't want this to hurt her any more than it has.”

Across the desk, Pino grinned in a flash of white teeth. “You're in the wrong line of work, my friend, did anyone ever point that detail out to you? This isn't social services.”

Laura had, time and again. He could hardly say so. Instead, he replied shortly, “I live in this town and I know these people. I can't afford to run roughshod over my own community. Having a badge doesn't make me some kind of superhero. They look to me, but they would stop soon enough if I did something as callous as to make a suffering woman hurt more than necessary to further an investigation. I can't think we'll need to strong-arm Randy. He's going to have a hard time explaining why Hallie's clothes and backpack were hidden in the top of his closet.”

The sunlight glinted off the windows and shone off the street. Red Sanger had gone off duty and wandered toward the local cafe. The phone had rung a couple of times but the rest of the morning had been quiet. Except for the revelation that might help them solve a murder case.

“One hell of a time explaining it,” Pino murmured sarcastically, “if I'm allowed to say that. Or am I being too callous?”

Danny put his hands on the top of the desk. He was tense, no doubt about it. He wanted everything, every minute procedure, followed to the exact measure. He did not have enough murder cases, thank heaven, in his jurisdiction to afford a blowup. A fumble, a bad call, no matter who participated in the investigation, would end up in his lap.

“Yes,” he said frankly, looking at his partner, “you are. Your attitude in general shows more indifference than it does compassion. I've worked with a lot of officers like you in the past. I know what does it. The job isn't easy. I—”

“Can it.” Pino got tersely to his feet. He walked over to the fax machine, which had begun to whir and whine as it intercepted a communication. “You don't know me, Haase,” he added tightly. “I don't know what made you leave IPD, but don't take your problems out on me. You don't have any idea what makes me tick.”

Looking at the sharp averted profile, Danny suddenly felt tired. No, he didn't really know the man. But what he did know was that if he had a thirteen-year-old daughter, he might go down a bit hard on Randy Knox. Fear does that to a person. Your worst fear is even more of a drive.

Danny took a breath. “You're right,” he began to apologize, “I
don't
know—”

“Let's just do the job, okay? I don't have to like you, you don't have to like me.” Pino frowned, glanced at the fax, and then offered it to his colleague. “We got the clear to impound Ronald Sims' Mercedes and have the crime lab boys go over it.”

“Shit,” muttered Danny, taking it. “One case at a time. This is going to have to wait.”

Pino rubbed his lean jaw in a mannerism Danny now knew well. “Yeah, I agree. We had a real break here this morning. Pure luck. It isn't every day that physical evidence missing from the scene and found in the bedroom of someone we can directly link to the victim is neatly delivered to the door.”

Danny stated carefully, “Like I said, his mother didn't have to bring that in. I'm not sure what most parents would do in a similar situation.”

Not an eyelash flickered. “He can't account for his whereabouts on the night in question either, has no alibi as far as we can tell. The body was found in a place where kids are known to go and park. A lot fits here. We have probable cause.”

“Motive?” That was the stickler. Randy Knox might not be the clean-cut all-American kid in every way, but he was close. Not your typical murderer. Just a typical teen, not good but not bad, who made average grades, ran track, and dated pretty girls.

Only, one of those pretty girls was dead.

Pino spoke caustically. “Motive has always been a tricky part of any investigation for me. I can't think like most of the people who view offing someone as a reasonable thing to do. I guess that sits in my favor, right? So don't ask me why the kid would do it, but instead keep in mind he wouldn't be the first.”

“He doesn't have any kind of record of violence.”

“I'd say he does now.” Pino showed even white teeth in a grim smile.

Danny got to his feet. He felt one hundred years old. “Let's get this over with.”

* * * *

Damon reached over and picked up the newborn by two legs. Still trailing the umbilical cord, the tiny pig squealed in protest. Lying on her side in the narrow stall, the huge sow didn't blink or move. Jostling for position at her teats were eight other new arrivals, born over a two-hour interval.

“I don't care what you say, I still think they're cute.” Victoria smiled and reached out a hand. The pig's fur was bristly over the pink skin. Damon lifted his brows skeptically, looked over his latest charge, and deposited it back into the pen.

“I suppose you'll cut their teeth tomorrow?” She gave a small shudder. “I hate that. They are so little.”

“The mother doesn't put up with being bitten,” Damon said seriously, crossing his arms and leaning against the stall. “I'm doing them a favor, actually. Having an irate six-hundred-pound sow turn on you doesn't make for the easiest feeding conditions.”

“I know.” She brushed the hair back from her face. The smell of manure was nearly overpowering when you first came into the barn. He never noticed, but Victoria had coughed and waved a hand in front of her eyes. Once, she had been so used to it she hadn't paid any attention—just as she had been used to the notion of pulling the teeth of newborn piglets. It was standard procedure on any farm that ran a hog operation. It didn't serve him to forget her life was different now. The question was … would she want to go back?

The top of the stall was hard against his shoulder. He had awakened to the fields waving green arms to the sky, the birds singing, and the drive puddled with latent remnants of the cleansing downpour of the night before. It smelled cleaner, too, even here in the barn.

He had awakened—in his bed, in his room, with his arm draped across Victoria's bare stomach and her hair tumbled across his pillow. Her breathing was soft in his ear and the smell of her on his sheets.

Everything was changed. His whole life, even without the horror of what had happened to Emily, was completely different. With those simple little words she had spoken last night, Victoria had chosen to change everything.

Chosen. Chosen to come to his room. Chosen to become his lover. They had lain awake long afterward, talking, touching. Two people who knew each other so well that the final step had been without awkwardness. The physical reality had been the culmination of a lot of his dreams. Yet he was more afraid this morning than he remembered being in a long time.

She stood, face averted, peering into the stall at the melee of pink little bodies almost dwarfed by the huge bulk of the female. Dressed in blue shorts and a white sleeveless blouse, she looked young and rather vulnerable. There were shadows under her eyes. They'd both stayed up too late.

“You're going back to Chicago,” he said with a certainty that startled them both. “Today.”

“I …” She faltered, glancing up. Her mouth was parted, but the look in her eyes told him he'd made an accurate guess.

His smile was tinged with irony. “I know you pretty well. It's one of the disadvantages, I suppose.”

“I have to,” she admitted simply. “Michael was telling me yesterday that I needed to start picking up the pieces. I think he was right. Staying here isn't going to … to help Emily. That's over. I can't do anything.”

Nothing could help Emily.
Neither of them said it aloud.

He bit back his questions. What about the future—their future? What about all of it? The farm, her job, school, her carefully laid plans for the career she was working so hard to achieve?

“Michael?” he said quietly.

She moved her head, a swift awkward jerk of her chin. “I'll talk to him as soon as I get there, of course. I don't think he'll be surprised.”

“No,” Damon responded slowly. Michael Roberts had sensed the truth right off the bat. Michael Roberts was no one's fool.

“I have to go back to work. I'm hoping it will make everything seem more normal again.”

“Normal?”

She rubbed her hand along the top of the stall. The piglets grunted noisily. Her neck looked soft and pale. “I don't know what else to say, Damon. I guess I want normal right now.”

“I thought you wanted everything.”

She looked at him with liquid eyes. “I do.”

Something in him relaxed. “But you figured out that everything is going to be complicated, is that it?” The choice of words was careful and even.

“Very complicated.” Her eyes shifted away. “I suppose you've known that all along, haven't you?”

“Yes.” It was the simple truth. “People will think we're first cousins. It doesn't matter that we know we can marry legally and have normal, healthy children. Mayville is a small place.”

“Yes, I know. And that aside, I don't know if I can live here.” Her smile was wistful. “There are so many ghosts—my parents, Grandma, Em. The children we once were. I don't want to be haunted by the past. Besides, Mayville would be a tough place to be a journalist. I always dreamed of working for a big paper, not the local little rag.”

“I'm not positive I can go anywhere else.” He wanted to be clear. Giving up medical school had been difficult. Starting over again seemed impossible.

“I couldn't ask that,” Victoria agreed, her voice sounding raw and painful with truth. “You're needed here. You love this farm. You've made it work, put your life into it. I can't ask you to move away. Where does that leave us?”

“A sight farther along than yesterday, Tori.” His voice was calm. Yesterday he wouldn't have dreamed this conversation possible. Worrying about the details seemed trivial. “This will always be your home,” he added. “The ghosts will still live here, but this is home. Everyone has memories, good and bad.”

“I suppose so.”

“We need time. You don't have to make any decisions right now.”

He meant it. He could only imagine the kind of pressure Michael had put on her. That school, her job, her parents had always put on her. “Time,” she repeated slowly, as if it were a luxury she didn't understand.

“Take all you need,” he said. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but his hands were filthy, so he leaned forward and brushed his mouth very lightly against hers.