Chapter 18
The electronic sign at the Ranchland Community Bank across the street read “12:04 p.m., 84 °” when Colly pulled into the police station parking lot.
She found Russ staring out of his office window and speaking quietly into his phone. When she cleared her throat, he shoved the phone abruptly into his pocket and said with brisk cheerfulness, “Hungry? I thought we could—” His eyes widened. “ Damn .”
“What is it?”
He nodded towards a small mirror behind the door. Colly glanced at her reflection. Since she’d checked it at the trailer park, the swelling on her forehead had doubled in size and turned a mottled purple-blue.
She touched it gingerly. It felt puffy and loose, like an under-filled water balloon. She pressed harder, and a bolt of pain blazed along her brow ridge. “Ow!”
“You need a doctor.”
“I’m fine. I took ibuprofen.”
“Randy always said you were the stubbornest woman on earth, besides Momma.” Russ grabbed his hat. “Let’s get some ice on it, at least.”
On the way out, they cut through the breakroom, where Russ rummaged in the freezer for a cold pack.
“Whew, it’s as hot as yesterday—and even more humid,” he said as they climbed into the SUV.
Colly fastened her seatbelt. “Where are we going?”
“The bluffs. They’re installing turbines east of the ravine.”
“Good spot. Wind’s always howling up there.”
Russ pulled out onto Market Street. “That’s where Randy proposed, isn’t it?”
Ignoring the question, Colly rummaged for her sunglasses. “You’re hiding something. Is it about Lowell?”
In her peripheral vision, she saw Russ look hastily her way. “Nah. I was going to tell you—Sam and Alan Sandleford lawyered up. Station got a hand-delivered letter from their attorney an hour ago.”
Colly leaned against the window, pressing the cold pack to her head. “Didn’t waste time, did they?”
“Go ahead, say it.”
“I told you so.”
“Those boys didn’t murder Denny.”
“Then why’d they lawyer up?”
“Probably their old man’s idea. Sam and Alan were in diapers when Adam Parker was killed.”
Despite her sunglasses, the hazy glare was making Colly’s head ache. The air felt sticky and warm. She rolled down her window. “They still could’ve killed Denny.”
“But Adam’s killer’s the only one who knew about the rabbit mask.”
“Some killers brag. Whoever murdered Adam might’ve told the Sandlefords. I don’t see how we can rule out a copycat situation.”
Russ turned south onto Whiskey Creek Road. “We went over this yesterday. Do you know how hard it is to keep a secret around here? If you tell anyone other than your priest or your lawyer, you might as well post it online. And the Sandlefords aren’t famous for discretion. There’s only one way to keep something this big under wraps for twenty years.”
“Shoot, shovel, and shut up?”
“Exactly. This killer’s stone-cold. Sam and Alan have gone too far with a prank, now and then, but nothing worse.” Russ braked at a red light behind a roughly idling pickup.
“Would they consider anonymous texts a prank?” Colly pulled out her phone and handed it to Russ.
He cast a cursory glance at the screen, and his face darkened with disgust.
“It came while I was talking to Satchel’s teacher.”
“Hell.” Russ handed the phone back. “I doubt it’s the Sandlefords—more likely Jace Hoyer. We’ll try tracing it.”
“Probably a burner.”
“We’ll find out where it was bought, at least. I’ll get Edna started on the paperwork.”
Russ called the station and rattled off instructions. When the light turned, he hung up, dropping his phone into the cup holder as the truck in front of them roared away in a cloud of diesel exhaust.
Colly coughed and rolled up the window. “Linking Jace to the phone might support harassment, but not murder.”
“It’d be a hell of a red flag, though. Jace wants you out of here—why else would he plant that snake?”
“Maybe he didn’t. The video’s circumstantial, at best.”
“It looks bad. He’d know how to make those masks. Plus, he’s got a motive for killing Denny, and no alibi. Now he’s skipped town. Men have gone to prison on a lot less.”
“It’s not proof. You think Jace murdered Adam, too? How old would he have been in ’98—fifteen? Sixteen?”
“Old enough to kill.”
“If the two of them ever met. Avery didn’t mention it.”
“She was a kid. She might not have known.” Russ glanced at Colly. “The pieces fit, don’t they? Why are you pushing back so hard?”
Because I know what can happen when detectives cut corners , Colly thought bitterly. You’re tossing a stone in the water with no idea where the ripples might go.
“Think about the crime scenes, Russ. They’re staged, almost playful. Those masks were meant to taunt us, like a twisted little ‘catch me if you can’ game. I think we’re looking for someone emotionally controlled, maybe well-educated. Does that sound like Hoyer? If he murdered—” Colly stopped. Her head was pounding, and the smell of diesel exhaust was making her sick. She took a breath, exhaling slowly.
“You’re pale. Have you eaten?” Russ asked. “We can grab a couple burgers at the Dairy Queen.”
Colly’s stomach roiled. “Please shut up.” She pressed the heels of her hands against her temples. “Stop the truck.”
Russ pulled over. Colly threw the door open, but Russ grabbed her arm. “Put your head down, Col.”
Too nauseated to object, Colly complied, resting her head against her knees.
“Breathe through it,” Russ said. “Nice and steady.”
For a few seconds, Colly had the odd impression that it was Randy seated next to her, speaking soothingly and rubbing her back. When the queasiness passed, she sat up.
“Have some water.” Russ produced a bottle from the center console.
Colly took a drink. “Thanks.”
“Better?”
“I’m fine. Let’s go.”
Russ frowned. “If you’re still dizzy when we get back, I’m taking you to a doctor, whether you like it or not.”
The Crescent Bluffs, a long, low ridgeline some twenty miles southeast of the eponymous town, were named for the narrow ravine that sliced through them—which, from a distance, appeared as a scimitar-shaped gash of blue sky in the red rock surrounding it. Through that ravine ran Whiskey Creek. At most times a dry wash, the creek transformed into a boiling, rust-colored torrent after heavy rains.
As the SUV crept up the switchback road that mounted the bluff-face east of the ravine, Colly, still fighting a headache and nausea, stared out of the window, hardly aware of the sweeping vista beneath. She was preoccupied instead with holding at bay the painful memories—of a bright autumn afternoon nearly a quarter-century ago.
She’d been queasy that day, too, already three weeks pregnant with Victoria, though she hadn’t known it yet. Thanksgiving 1996—a year into her relationship with Randy. She’d been to the ranch twice before, but this was her first major holiday visit. After an enormous midday meal and an afternoon nap, she and Randy had gone for a hike up the bluffs to watch the sunset.
“You won’t regret it,” he’d insisted. “The view’s spectacular.”
There was no road then—only a steep footpath up the talus slope. The climb was slow going. Juniper bushes, stunted and warped by the wind, clung to the escarpment, their roots burrowing into cracks and dislodging stones that tumbled onto the path below.
After an hour’s sweaty scramble, they’d crested the ridge. And there, in a broad, empty tableland of sage and switchgrass, beneath a sky of pale autumnal blue, Randy pulled a jeweler’s box from his pocket and dropped to one knee, while the wind whipped around them and the whole world seemed spread at their feet ...
“I hate these hairpin turns,” Russ said, wrenching Colly abruptly back to the present.
She looked around. “How do they bring up the installation equipment? No tractor-trailer’s coming this way.”
“There’s an industrial-haul access ramp out towards the gravel quarry, but this is quicker for us.” Russ downshifted up the last, steep slope and braked at the top.
Colly leaned forward, squinting into the hazy glare. Once an undeveloped expanse of grassy scrub populated only by jackrabbits, lizards, and red-tailed hawk, the blufftop had been transformed into something like the surface of Mars. The ground was rutted by heavy equipment, the plant life trampled into the red clay. A line of gleaming turbines now marched down the center of the ridge, their tapered blades spinning slowly in the wind.
The closest was still under construction. Though several hundred yards away, it seemed impossibly tall, its headless mast towering into the sky alongside a gigantic crane. Smaller cranes, bulldozers, and portable toilets ringed the area. A dozen men in hardhats crawled over a flatbed trailer, though Colly couldn’t tell what they were doing.
“Is this the last installation?”
“On this side. They’ll start west of the ravine after this. That’s on a separate ranch, but both owners agreed to lease us the land. We nearly lost the westside contract after the bird-strike accident. Lucky for us, Talford knows the owner and pulled some strings.”
Russ let out the clutch, and they lurched slowly along a pitted track towards the construction site. He parked a football field’s distance from the work zone, and Colly now saw that the flatbed trailer held a single turbine blade, which the workmen were apparently preparing to unload.
“That thing’s huge,” she said as they climbed out of the SUV.
“Everyone says that when they first see one up close.”
“No, really. Randy took me to the factory once, but I don’t remember the blades being like that .”
“We were probably still making 126-footers then. Other manufacturers have lengthened their blades to boost power output, but Dad was too cheap. After he died, Momma decided we should upgrade. We’re a lot more competitive now.”
“The retooling must’ve cost a fortune.”
“That’s why Dad dragged his feet. Lowell’s just like him. He fought Momma like blazes about it, but she insisted.”
“What did you think?”
“I stay neutral. There’s enough cooks in that kitchen.”
Some things never change , Colly thought as they walked towards the worksite. It hadn’t been easy for the brothers, growing up in the shadow of a man like Bryant Newland. Each had coped in his own fashion. Russ was the peacemaker.
They stopped a few dozen yards from the flatbed. Lowell was pacing beside it, shouting orders as a half-dozen men attached harnesses to the cradles holding each end of the blade, while others maneuvered two cranes into position nearby. When he saw Colly and Russ, Lowell nodded at them but kept working.
Colly started forward, but Russ stopped her. “Once the blade’s down, he’ll be less distracted.”
Lowell didn’t seem particularly surprised to see them there, Colly thought. “You didn’t give him a heads-up, did you?” she asked.
“Don’t be silly.”
For twenty minutes, they watched as the cranes slowly lifted the turbine blade from the truck and lowered it onto the packed earth. Lowell walked its length, running his hand over it and occasionally stopping to peer closely at something. Apparently satisfied, he nodded to the workmen, who began unhooking the cradle straps.
Lowell strode towards Colly and Russ. He was sweating and exuded a faint odor of Scotch.
“Glad that’s over. Easy to ding the fiberglass getting it off the truck.” He took off his hard hat to mop the back of his neck with a red bandana, and for the first time appeared to notice Colly’s bruised face. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Bumped my head. No biggie,” she said. “The blades are fiberglass? I thought they were metal.”
Lowell stared suspiciously at her eye. “Fiberglass is stronger, more flexible. No welds or rivets to worry about.”
“If they’re so strong, why’d a bird strike break one apart?”
Lowell muttered something inaudible and spat in the dirt.
“Don’t be an ass, Lowell.” Russ turned to Colly. “We had an especially harsh winter that year—the PUC thought the heavy ice buildup weakened the epoxy, somehow. We considered suing the supplier, but that would’ve kept the story in the news. We needed it to die.”
“Epoxy? The blades are glued together?”
“If you want a turbine-construction tutorial, go watch a damn YouTube video,” Lowell snapped. “Y’all got any important business?”
Colly’s head was throbbing like an engine. “We do, as a matter of fact. Where were you the afternoon Denny was killed?”
Lowell flushed a deep, mottled red. He turned to Russ. “What the hell?”
“It’s routine, Lowell. She’s questioning everyone.”
“Probably why someone popped her in the eye. You let her interrupt an installation to hear the same shit I told the Rangers six months ago? She can read, can’t she?”
“You sure you gave the Rangers everything?” Colly asked. “I hear you know more about Denny’s murder than you reported.”
“Hear where ?” Lowell demanded, still addressing his brother. “Who the hell’s saying that?”
Colly moved closer and caught a whiff of sour sweat. “Just answer the question.”
“You can’t listen to Jace Hoyer, if that’s who it was—he’s pissed because I fired him.”
“It wasn’t Jace.”
“Who, then? His pill-popping wife?”
“Where were you?”
Lowell threw up his hands. “It was my weekend for the kids. I picked them up from school and took them to the movies in Big Spring. We had pizza after that, and then we went back to the ranch—like I told the Rangers.”
“What about earlier, before you picked up the kids?”
Lowell looked at Russ, who cleared his throat. “He was with me. Dove season just opened. We took the day off, went hunting out at Paint Rock. Left before dawn and got back just as school let out.”
“Why Paint Rock?”
“Felt like getting away.”
Colly’s phone began to vibrate. She reached into her pocket and switched it off. “What about that evening?”
Lowell shrugged. “I put the kids to bed, then fell asleep watching Netflix.”
“You didn’t go out at any point during the night?”
“Why the hell would I?”
“Can anyone verify that?”
“I was sleeping alone, if that’s what you’re asking.” Lowell wiped his face with the bandana and stuffed it in his pocket. “I didn’t see Denny that day. Jace neither. Hadn’t seen either of them in weeks.”
“Jace said you fired him because of Denny.”
Lowell swallowed. “This again? I explained everything to the Rangers. I got a business to run.” He put on his hard hat and turned to go.
Colly was losing patience. “It’ll waste more time if I have to drag you to the station to finish this.”
Lowell turned back, furious, but Russ cut in. “We’re almost done, Lowell. Cooperate, so we can wrap this up.”
Lowell glared at them. He pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket.
Colly took that as a go-ahead. “How long was Jace your plant foreman?”
“Twelve years.”
“Was he any good?”
Lowell shook a cigarette from the box and lit it. “He was an ungrateful sonofabitch, but he had his strengths.”
“Such as?”
“Whenever Momma’d come up with some bonehead idea that shot our overhead through the roof, Jace had a knack for finding ways to offset the costs. The foreman I got now ain’t half as good.” Lowell took a long drag and exhaled in Colly’s direction.
“If Jace was so talented, why’d you fire him?”
“He started taking liberties—thought the safety regs didn’t apply to him. Kept bringing that kid to the plant, even after I said not to. Distracted the workers.”
“Seems pretty minor, all things considered.”
“If a man breaks small rules, he’ll break big ones, too.”
“Like what?”
“I meant hypothetically.”
“He says you spread a rumor that he caused the turbine accident.”
“Bullshit. He’s lying.” Lowell spat a bit of loose tobacco off his tongue and glanced at the worksite. The men had finished removing the harnesses from the turbine blade and were milling around, chatting and smoking.
Lowell flicked his cigarette away. “That’s all I know. We finished yet? I’m paying those bozos by the hour.”
Colly scrutinized his face. In some ways, the interview had raised more questions than it answered. Lowell was concealing something, she was sure. He fidgeted, avoiding eye contact one moment and meeting her gaze belligerently the next. But she sensed she’d get nothing more from him now.
“Go ahead. We’ll talk again later.”
Lowell grunted and walked away, yelling, “Y’all quit screwing around and prep the damn rotor hub.”
“Hang on, I need to ask you about the Rodeo setup,” Russ called after him. “Be right back,” he said to Colly before hurrying to catch his brother.
Damn, this headache , Colly thought as she climbed into the SUV. She checked the visor mirror. The bruise on her forehead had darkened and spread around the orbit of her eye, but the swelling had subsided a bit and the queasiness was gone.
Colly pushed up the visor. Outside, Russ and Lowell had stopped walking. Russ had his hand on Lowell’s shoulder and was speaking earnestly in his ear. Whatever they were discussing, she thought it wasn’t the Rattlesnake Rodeo.
As she watched them, Colly heard an electronic chirp. It wasn’t her phone—she’d turned the sound off. Looking around, she spotted Russ’s, still in the cup holder where he’d dropped it earlier.
Colly picked it up, and the passcode screen appeared. Going through someone’s phone without their permission was risky. But she needed to be sure about Russ. Pushing guilt aside, she typed in Russ and Randy’s birthday; then Alice’s; then, after a few moments’ struggle to recall it, Russ and Wanda’s anniversary.
“Damn it,” Colly muttered, rubbing her eyes.
She looked out of the window. Russ and Lowell appeared to be wrapping things up. They’d moved a little apart and were chatting more casually, though Russ’s hand still rested on his brother’s shoulder. Even from that distance, Colly could see the faint dark smudge of Randy’s name tattooed on his outstretched arm—Russ’s tribute to his lost twin.
Colly’s heart raced. Her own phone buzzed, but, ignoring it, she typed “010317” into Russ’s keypad. Instantly, the passcode screen vanished and the home screen appeared. She tapped the messages app. At 11:54 a.m.—immediately after she’d called him from the Hoyers’ driveway—Russ had texted Lowell: GOTTA TALK NOW. She checked the phone log. Lowell had called his brother at 12:01 p.m.—three minutes before Colly arrived at the station. Russ had been on the phone when she’d entered his office. She remembered the look on his face, how quickly he’d hung up when she walked through the door.
Colly looked up. The brothers had concluded their talk and parted ways. Russ, his hands in his pockets, strode slowly towards the SUV.
Colly’s phone began to vibrate again.
“Finally,” Avery said when Colly answered. “I’ve been calling forever.”
“We’re leaving the bluffs now.”
“Going to the station? I got some intel at the factory you and the chief need to hear.”
Russ had reached the SUV and was rounding the front bumper. When he saw Colly watching him, he smiled.
“Don’t go to the station, and don’t talk to anyone.” Colly checked the time. “I’ve got to pick up Satchel. Can you meet me at the farmhouse at four?”
There was a heavy silence. “Russ’s in-laws’ old place?”
“I’m staying there.”
“What about Russ? Shouldn’t—”
Colly cut her off. No time to debate the issue. Russ was outside, fumbling for his keys.
“Don’t tell him anything, yet—I want the first briefing. I’ll explain why later.” She hung up and reminded herself to smile as Russ opened the driver’s-side door.