Chapter Twenty-One
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Anders and Dalton both leave briefly. Dalton goes to speak to Phil, while Anders asks Kenny to gather folks for a town meeting. Then Anders returns, and I take him, Yolanda, and April through the case, laying out all the evidence and the suspects.
“Sebastian’s being framed,” Yolanda says.
“I think so, too, but you can’t discount him—or anyone—as a suspect.”
“If Sebastian did this,” April says, “he would not have done such a poor job of it. Therefore, I agree with Yolanda.”
I lift my hands. “Yes, but we can’t start using ‘would have covered his tracks better’ as a defense. You have all the evidence. This morning, I want to speak to Grant again. It’s time I learned why Lynn was here.”
“My grandmother can tell you that,” Yolanda says.
“She can confirm it, but I’d rather give Grant a chance to explain… while I behave as if I can’t get it otherwise. Then I’ll want to see how his story compares with the real one.”
“Clever,” April murmurs. “But, as much as I do not care for Grant, I find Thierry a better suspect.”
Yolanda’s brows shoot up. “Based on what? The fact he flirted with Lynn? There’s no evidence they did more than flirt.”
“He fits the physical description as well,” April says. “Which also matches Sebastian, and I believe that is significant. The killer is framing someone who could be mistaken for them, in case they were spotted.”
“I’d like to roll back to motive,” Anders says. “If we think it’s the same person who attacked Kendra, then it would seem to be random. Choosing whoever took the drink at the Roc. Choosing whoever was out alone in the storm. But the fact that Lynn was also at that table, getting the same drink, might argue otherwise.”
“How?” April says. “If they all had the same drink, there was no way of knowing which would go to Lynn.”
“I’ve considered the possibility they were all dosed.” I turn to Yolanda. “I meant to ask you about that. How did you feel that night?”
She takes a sip of coffee before answering. “I’m not sure. I have thought about that. I only drank half of mine, and looking back, I fell straight to sleep, which isn’t normal for me. But I wasn’t going to mention it because it sounds like paranoia.”
“But it was Kendra who was grabbed,” April says. “If the target was Lynn, and her killer dosed all the drinks, why take the wrong woman?”
Yolanda shrugs. “A mistake? As someone with some face blindness, I can tell you they’re of a similar build. I wouldn’t make that mistake face-to-face—even with my condition, I can tell a brown person from a white one, but at night, bundled up…?”
“Except they also live in different residences,” Anders says. “Kendra was grabbed going into hers. That argues against the killer making a mistake. I think it was random. The fact our second victim was also at the table is a coincidence.”
I clear my throat. “All that is to say we need to look at all possibilities.”
Dalton comes in the front door. “Well, that’s done. How’s it going in here?”
“Wrapping up,” I say. “I’d like to speak to Grant. Is he still in custody?”
“He is.”
I’m alone with Grant. That seems best for this conversation. Dalton joins me long enough for Grant to vent his frustration at being under house arrest. Dalton says he’ll be allowed out tomorrow morning. He frames it as a courtesy for the grieving husband, but really it’s for Anders and the others. Needing someone to guard Grant at all times would pull them away from protecting the town at large.
And what if Grant really is the one we’re protecting them from? Well, if Grant killed Lynn, it was personal, and that’s not likely to endanger anyone else.
Once Grant gets that promise of freedom, he’s ready for our interview. Of course, after I tell him what he needs to know, we cycle back to complaints.
“So my wife was murdered? What happened to promising us safety? That’s why we came to this backwoods shithole. To keep her safe.”
I struggle not to flinch. I’ve heard this before. Every time someone died in Rockton—or was in danger—this became the discourse. How could that happen in a place that guaranteed safety?
I could point out it wasn’t a guarantee. The entry process is extremely clear on that, so residents can make informed decisions. But when something goes wrong, it feels like breaking a promise. Like when someone dies in a car accident despite wearing a seat belt. Or drowns in a boating accident despite wearing a PFD. Isn’t that why we endure the inconvenience and discomfort of those safety measures?
Those things do make us much safer. Coming to Haven’s Rock makes people much safer. But it’s a matter of degrees, not absolutes. In a time of crisis and grief, though, no one needs to hear that. It puts the blame back on them for accepting a less-than-perfect solution.
“We are investigating all the safety measures that could have prevented this,” I say. “On that note, though, I do need to ask about why you came here. I know that’s confidential, and of course I can’t force you to answer, but I am asking. In case it proves relevant.”
“I thought that’s why we went through all that cloak-and-dagger stuff. To be sure no one could follow her here.”
“The chance of that happening is infinitesimal. While again, I can’t say no one could ever track a resident here, the storm makes that particularly unlikely.”
“What about a resident coming on false pretenses?” He waves off my protest. “Yeah, yeah, I know there’s a system and an investigation, but what if someone offers your investigator a million bucks to falsify documents?”
“There’s a fail-safe. Everything is thoroughly verified by a second party. If there is even the slightest concern, the application is denied.”
“What about the person who makes the final decision? What if they’re bribed?”
I shake my head. “Financially, they’re bulletproof. However, that’s why I’m asking about Lynn’s story. To determine whether it might be worth extreme measures to kill her. Also, given the way she died, I’m wondering whether her story might have compelled someone to enact a form of twisted justice.”
“Fuck.” Grant slams back against the wall as he shakes his head.
“Grant…”
“She thought she was doing the right thing. That was the problem. She had this very…” He gestures, as if unable to find words. “… rigid sense of right and wrong. I told her it was going to get her in trouble someday, but even when it did, she didn’t see that she’d done anything wrong.”
He rubs one temple. “And she didn’t. What she did was the right thing, but sometimes, you need to protect yourself, you know? Stick your nose where it doesn’t belong and someone’s going to bite it off. That’s what my mother always said, and Lynn could never understand that.”
Before I can comment, his head jerks up. “Look at Dana and her kids. Look at what they’ve suffered because Dana and her husband couldn’t just keep quiet. Now he’s dead, and she’s permanently injured, and they’re stuck here. For what? If you see something you shouldn’t see, keep your damn mouth shut. Mind your own fucking business. But when I told Lynn that—look, here’s proof of how bad it can get when you stick your neck out—what did she do? Started thinking Dana’s story can’t be that simple. Sticking her nose into that. Surely your husband wouldn’t be murdered for doing the right thing. There must be more to it.”
He looks at me sharply. “Someone put a fucking bomb in Lynn’s car, and she still didn’t think she was in real danger. To her, it was just a warning. She said it didn’t go off because it wasn’t supposed to, not because the fucking guy screwed up. She would not listen to reason, so if you’re asking whether she would have told someone what she did? Yeah. Because she was so sure she’d done the right thing.”
“Which was…”
He throws up his hands. “Sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. She worked for this lawyer, a lot of rape cases and whatnot, and Lynn discovered this doctor had been bought off. Big-name guy, did a lot of expert-witness stuff. Was that wrong? Of course it was, but it wasn’t her job to rat him out. Let someone else do that. It wasn’t her job to get involved. But she swore nothing bad would happen to her. And it did, didn’t it?” His voice cracks. “I told her it would, and I was right, and I wish to God I wasn’t.”
I’d told Anders, April, and Yolanda that I only wanted Lynn’s backstory to see whether Grant would tell the truth. I didn’t actually think it could be a lead. Was I wrong? I don’t think so. I still can’t see how that would lead to her murder. Down south, yes, to silence her. Up here? The “damage” was done, at least in the eyes of the person she accused.
Dana’s husband was murdered because they bore witness to a murder. That was pure vengeance—the person they accused had already died in jail. But there’s no point in chasing a whistleblower. The whistleblower only initiates the investigation, and nothing they retract will change the outcome.
What if Lynn told someone here what she’d done? Even bragged about it? That’s not grounds for murder.
I’ll need to confirm this story with émilie, but my time is ticking. I’m reminded of that when I step outside and look up. I don’t like the color of that sky, but the cloud cover has lifted. Dalton is going to be eyeing the clock—and the number of hours of daylight. It’s already late morning. I’m guessing I have about two more hours before he declares it’s time to go.
Before I interviewed Grant, I’d sent a message to émilie requesting a meeting. She might be elderly, but she’s not sitting in her rocker beside the phone. In this case, I’m not sure talking to her is the most efficient use of my waning time. I could do that from Whitehorse more easily, and do it via video. But she’s replied to say she’s available, so I take the phone into the town hall and make the call.
I tell her what’s happened to Lynn. I also tell her that Dalton and I need to go to Whitehorse for the duration of my pregnancy. I approach the former with far more care than April did with Yolanda, but Yolanda is her grandmother’s child, and I know better than to leave out details.
It takes a few moments for émilie to recover from the shock and horror of Lynn’s fate, but when she hears why I’m leaving, she’s quick to agree. Anders, April, and Yolanda are more than capable of handling the situation, however much I might hate leaving a killer uncaught.
As for Lynn’s background…
“Grant was telling the truth,” she says. “As Lynn said, she worked for a law firm that took a particular interest in sexual assault survivors. Of course, that is mostly civil litigation against offenders. There’s no money to be made simply helping survivors.”
Sadly true. A survivor or victim of crime can retain a lawyer, but that’s mostly for support. Technically, the prosecution is their advocate.
émilie continues, “In the course of her job, Lynn learned that a psychiatrist expert witness was taking bribes. He was providing testimony that set the accused free. The man was exceptionally well known and well regarded, and seems to have been above reproach for most of his career, but then, with retirement looming, he got greedy.”
“And realized he could leverage his reputation to pad out his retirement plan.”
“Yes. The problem, of course, was that this man had done a lot of good earlier in his career. His list of supporters was long and vaunted, and they could not believe such allegations. I’m sure you know how that goes.”
“They called the accusations a smear campaign,” I say. “Someone wants to take this poor doctor down and paid Lynn to do it. Or, even if he did do these things, his reputation should absolve him. Forget that rapists were set free. The doctor screwed up, but he should be forgiven based on his illustrious career. Everyone makes mistakes.”
“Exactly. The vitriol against Lynn was breathtaking. Or, it was to me, though you might not have been as shocked. She received rape threats, death threats, and a bomb in her car, as Grant said. I reached out and offered sanctuary, and I believe it was Grant who talked her into it.”
“The same Grant who grumbled constantly about being forced to come here because of her? The same Grant who apparently also supported her by having an affair during that whole mess, ’cause it was stressful, you know. For him.”
émilie sighs. “Grant is an ass, and from what you’ve already told me, he was likely psychologically abusive. This is one of the issues I didn’t consider with letting in couples.”
“We focused on signs of physical abuse.”
“Yes. Back when my husband and I took refuge in Rockton, couples were allowed, obviously. I will be blunt and say that, back then, we did not really consider spousal abuse an issue.”
“It was a different time, as they say.”
“ Serious abuse would have been a concern, but otherwise, it was seen like spanking your children. Distasteful but nobody else’s business. The problem, I fear, going forward, is that in a case like this, I’m not sure what we would have done. I doubt you would have refused to let Lynn into Haven’s Rock because her husband was psychologically abusive. Even if he’d been physically abusive and she insisted he come with her…”
Now it’s my turn to sigh. “In trying to make Haven’s Rock better, we’ve opened ourselves up to a million more moral and ethical dilemmas, haven’t we?”
“We’ll figure them out. For now, the unhappy marriage only gives Grant motive for murder. I don’t suppose he’s hinted at leaving early?”
“He’s done more than hint. Since they were here for Lynn and she’s gone, he wants to leave. He’s been very clear on that, which gives him a definite motive for murder.”
“It does indeed.”
émilie and I only talk for a few more minutes, mostly nailing down any potential problems with Dalton and me leaving mid-investigation. While residents sign a zillion forms absolving us of all liability, that’s mostly for show.
What if someone is injured by the killer while Dalton and I are away and the victim threatens to go to the authorities? émilie would certainly try to buy their silence, but if they refused that, it doesn’t matter whether those forms protect us from liability—Haven’s Rock would be exposed. More importantly, are we in breach of duty by having both me and Dalton leave? I’m the one with the health emergency.
émilie doesn’t see an issue. Unlike Dalton, Anders has formal training from his experience in military policing. Leaving our deputy in charge of the investigation works, and with such a small town, we have more than enough staff for security.
After that call, it’s time to interview Thierry again. I’ve been postponing this one in hopes of finding more to use. Hell, I’d settle for proof that he was having an affair with Lynn. I just need leverage. Otherwise, I’m asking the same questions in hopes of spooking him into slipping up.
That’s what I do. I ask the same questions, hammering particularly on his whereabouts the day of the storm. He does start to sweat, quite literally perspiring. Is that a sign of guilt? Not necessarily. When the police keep harping on the same points, a suspect begins to worry that we’re about to reveal the big gotcha.
Tell me again where you were the night of the murder. Are you sure? Absolutely sure? Well, then explain why you were seen…
I push hard, but all he does is sweat, which could mean he’s guilty or could just mean he’s worried about being framed for a crime he didn’t commit.
I’ve arranged for Anders to come by twenty minutes into the interview. That lets him tell Thierry that he’ll be taking over and do a bit of posturing.
Casey’s leaving, but I’m in charge now. I’ll be keeping an eye on you. She’s told me everything. If you’re seen talking to a woman or setting foot in the Roc or stepping outside the town boundaries, you’re being shipped south for a proper interrogation.
We leave Thierry and head out into the cold, as I pull my scarf up higher against the wind.
“You get anywhere with him?” Anders asks.
“Nope. He’s sticking to his story, even under threat.”
“Hmm. I will definitely keep my eye on him, but I suspect the guy’s only crime was some gentle flirting with a married woman.”
I don’t answer. I agree, but I don’t want to influence his investigation.
“Also,” Anders says, “Eric’s over at the hangar getting the plane ready. He says you’ve got about another hour.”
“I shouldn’t even need that much. I just have one more stop, and then I’m ready to go.”
“We’ll figure this out,” Anders says.
When I don’t answer, he says, “You need to leave, Case. If you don’t and anything goes wrong with the baby, you’ll blame yourself, whether leaving could have helped or not.”
I nod.
He squeezes my shoulder. “You go, relax and have a baby, and when you come back with the little one, everything here will be quiet.” He glances over at me. “Note that I said everything here will be quiet. Your house will be another story. Nonstop crying and fussing… and that’s before the baby chimes in. You’re going to be itching for a crime to solve, to get out of the house.”
“Just make it a small crime. Maybe a nice theft. We—” I see Mathias stalking from the butcher shop ahead. “And there’s my interview target. Let me talk to him, and I’ll catch up with you before we leave.”
“Have fun!” Anders calls as I stride to catch up with Mathias.