Chapter 26
Emery
“Another dead end.” Terry drops into the chair in my office without an invitation or preamble.
I abandon the report I was reading. “Ethel Borowitz?” A lady called in yesterday to tell us a girl matching Holly’s description was working in a town an hour away.
“Good ol’ Ethel. I drove all the way out there to meet this waitress. Her name is Bella Rogers. She’s twenty-four years old and she’s lived in that town her entire life. In fact, she has served Ethel every Wednesday morning for the past three years.” The flat look he gives me makes me snort.
But there’s nothing amusing about it. “So, we’ve officially exhausted all leads.” We’re at a standstill in the investigation. There are no witnesses, no trails. We have no hits on Holly’s bank card. No secret text messages on her phone.
We have nothing.
Terry nods, growing somber. “Command is sending us up to the Kirkland Lake area for another case.”
“Yeah, I know. Doug gave me the heads-up.” My boss and I speak daily, much to my dismay. I knew the call was coming and soon, but it doesn’t make this any easier.
“Any new tips that come in, Schmidt or I will be on it in an instant,” Terry promises.
Despite our rocky start, I’ve come to appreciate his dogged work ethic over the past month. He’s turned every stone, chased every lead, and he’s irritating enough that he could probably get an admission of guilt out of someone who didn’t want to give it.
“And you saw the Murphys one more time?” Pressing CIs hasn’t garnered us any clues, and Isla said there was nothing between Holly and Hank’s son, Kyle, beyond a friendship and the occasional joint.
CCTV footage showed him at a gas station around midnight and then leaving there and reappearing at the back door of a closed weed shop.
He didn’t come out again until after three a.m.
“I did. Me and Big Hank are—” Terry bumps his fist against his chest twice in rapid succession.
“And I’ve got Beef and Pork Chop eating out of my palm.
” He named the two mastiffs on his third visit to the house, looking to speak to the rest of the Murphys, who are as slippery as eels in a vat of oil.
By the fifth visit, Big Hank was so annoyed by the cops constantly on his doorstep, he promised he’d have his grandsons and grandnephews come by the station later that day to talk.
All of them showed up within the hour.
“Anything new?”
“They’re still singing the same song about seeing Logan and Holly getting close in the hallway.”
I roll my eyes. “At least they’re consistent.”
Terry hums with agreement. “Good thing Logan has a solid alibi, right?”
“Not that the Murphys’ word means anything,” I say. Do I hear a hint of doubt in his tone?
“Nah, I don’t trust anything that comes out of their mouths.” Terry picks at a piece of lint on his sleeve. “But you trust the Landrys without question.”
“Holt is one of the most rigidly honest and proud men you’ll ever meet.” Which is why him covering for Logan and I was so shocking. “If you deserve to be punished, don’t look for protection behind him.”
“I checked out Logan’s case files. It was a riveting read.
” His dry tone suggests otherwise, but that’s Terry’s style—he probably read it five times.
“No doubt, Logan got the raw end of that deal. Someone sure was trying to make an example of him. I noticed he had a lawyer from Legal Aid defend him.”
“Oh God. That guy was a clown.”
“Seemed strange, though. A tight family like that, a lot of land they could have used as collateral to pay for a good defense lawyer.”
“Holt refused. He said he wouldn’t risk losing everything his family had built to help Logan avoid a punishment he deserved.
” When my father sat me down and told me what was happening, I was so furious, I swore I’d never speak to Holt again.
“I don’t think he believed Logan’s punishment would be so severe. ” Nobody did.
“Does he feel guilty about that decision?”
“You’d have to ask him.” I imagine Holt would tell Terry to go fuck himself.
But I see where Terry’s mind is going. He’s wondering if Holt feels guilty enough to lie for his son to make up for the past. “I can tell you with absolute certainty that Logan was nowhere near the Bale House or Holly again that night.”
Terry stretches a leisurely arm over the back of the other chair. “You and Logan were really close, from what I hear. You know, way back when.”
“Our families have been close friends for as long as I can remember. You already know that.”
“Yeah, but you two were more than friends, weren’t you?
When he went away.” Whatever Terry may have thought about that day on the Landry porch, he has never said a word, never questioned Logan’s alibi or him trying to cover for my being there.
He didn’t even include the conflicting answers in the case report.
But I’ve been waiting for this.
“We were kids. That’s all in the past.” Even if I can’t close my eyes these days without replaying every touch, every kiss, every tear from our one stolen night together.
“Of course it is. He’s a felon with a serious record tied to the death of two police officers, and you’re a female detachment commander with an entire station of hardworking people who actually respect you, which is not an easy feat.
It’d be colossally stupid to start something up with him again.
Reputation shattering, probably career ending …
gosh, I can’t even imagine all the ways you’d fuck yourself over.
But you’re not stupid. Neither is Logan. ” He watches me closely.
Where is he going with this? “Why are you so interested in him again?”
“I’m not.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t pursue him as a suspect because I wasn’t going to waste valuable time building a case against the wrong guy, and I believed him when he said he wasn’t anywhere near Holly that night.”
Because I know he was with you, Terry doesn’t need to say. His shrewd gaze says as much. He wants me to know that he’s figured that part out, but that he has no interest in torpedoing me.
I bury my anxiety for now. “Have you gone to update the Monroe family yet?”
“I was about to do that.” He stands and stretches. “Figured you might want to come with me?”
It’s the last thing I want to do. Telling parents that we’ve shifted to the wait-and-see stage for finding their missing child never goes well, and rightfully so.
I grab my keys. “I’ll follow you there.” And then I have to get home so I can break this news to my daughter.
The unmistakable scent of snack bar french fries hits me as I step inside the Cold River Arena. There’s already a herd of people hovering around the open window, impatiently waiting for their orders as the teenage girl working the counter scrambles.
All these years later and nothing has changed.
The exterior walls are clad with metal siding; the narrow halls to the change rooms stink of stale sweat.
Championship banners from as far back as the ’70s hang from the open rafters, though there are some new ones displayed from recent years.
The wooden bleacher-style stands that I sat in to cheer on Isla during her games are the very same ones I sat in while cheering for Logan.
Our initials are still engraved in them.
The only upgrade this place has seen in recent times is for a scoreboard three years ago. Dillon’s big dream is to build a shiny new facility, and he’s been busy tapping shoulders looking for funding.
I haven’t stepped inside Cold River’s arena since Isla’s season ended in March, and now I’m technically here as a parent from the visiting team. But I know most of these people, and they descend on me like the paparazzi on a scandalized celebrity.
“Emery! It’s so good to see you again!”
“How’s Isla liking her new team?”
“So, what’s going on with Holly Monroe’s case?”
“Who do you think took her?”
“Do you think she’s alive?”
I expected as much, which is why I waited until after the puck drop to sneak in. Clearly, I didn’t wait long enough. After a few smiles and nods and standard scripted answers, I manage to slip through the doors to the rink in time to see Isla lose a puck draw.
The stands are packed. Also not a surprise, given it’s a Friday night in November and families are looking for something free to do.
I spot Dillon halfway up on the visitors’ side, and my stomach tenses.
I don’t normally go out of my way to avoid him at our daughter’s games, but the last thing I can handle is Mayor Sanders tonight, especially after the gut-wrenching conversation I had with Holly’s parents earlier.
Thankfully, he hasn’t noticed me yet, too busy yelling plays at Isla that she can’t hear—and, even if she could, she’d ignore.
Donna sees me, though, and offers a delayed wave.
I respond with a nod—our standard “Let’s be civil for the children’s sake.” At least with her and Tanner here, Dillon’s less likely to hunt me down. Still, I’m not in the mood for conversation, and if I go up into those stands, that’s all it’ll be.
I veer to the left and around the various small clusters of dads who also prefer watching at ice level, aiming for the far end of the rink. It’s the perfect hiding spot.
That’s where I find Logan leaning against the glass.
I stop dead, startled. “What are you doing here?”
He stares at me for an unnaturally long time.
I repeat myself. “What are you—”
“Watching the game.” Intense eyes drag down over my winter coat and boots. It’s been weeks since I saw him. A thick layer of stubble coats his jaw. Is he growing a beard or is he lazy? Either way, it works on him. Dillon tried to grow a beard several times, but it always came in patchy.
But Logan might look even better, if that’s possible.