Chapter 23
It was nearly five-thirty when Colly arrived at the Compass Counseling Center to pick up Satchel. She’d been reluctant to leave Avery on her own to manage Jace Hoyer. His reaction to the news of his wife’s death had been unsettling. He’d grown very quiet, dropping his head and staring down at his hands for the rest of the drive. By the time they reached the police station, he had sunk into a torpor so profound that they needed the help of two patrolmen to get him out of the squad car. Colly had insisted on calling a doctor. It wasn’t until Jace had been evaluated, booked, and given a sedative that she felt comfortable leaving.
She rehearsed an effusive apology as she trotted up the sidewalk and through the empty waiting room, but she had no need to use it. She found Brenda at her office desk working on her laptop, while Satchel played with a pile of toys next to a large dollhouse on the floor. When Colly entered the room, they both looked up. Satchel waved distractedly and resumed playing.
Brenda pushed away from the desk. “There you are.” Her voice was cheerful. She showed no sign of annoyance or fatigue.
“What a day.” Colly collapsed into an armchair. “I owe you, big-time, Bren.”
Brenda smiled sympathetically. “How’s Jolene? Carmen said they were taking her to Abilene.”
“She died a couple hours ago. Carmen was with her. I just notified Jace.”
“Oh, no. He fell to pieces, I imagine.”
Colly was startled. “How’d you guess?”
“Sometimes the abusive ones are the most fragile. They bluster, but they don’t have much ego-structure of their own.”
Colly wondered whether Brenda was thinking of Jace or of Lowell. Did she know about the embezzlement? Had it been the last straw that ended the marriage? Colly needed to find out, but now wasn’t the time.
She leaned forward and tousled Satchel’s hair. “What are you playing, buddy?”
Satchel hunched his shoulders without looking up. He had arranged two action figures—an Iron Man and a Wonder Woman—on the sofa in the dollhouse living room, and was moving a plastic grizzly bear stealthily through the kitchen towards them, growling menacingly through his teeth.
Colly felt suddenly cold. “Is he okay?” she mouthed to Brenda.
Brenda nodded and stood. “It’s almost time to put up the toys, Satchel. You can have five more minutes while I talk to Grandma.”
She led Colly across the hall into a breakroom. “Those are therapy toys I use to assess trauma in young kids. I wasn’t trying to diagnose him or anything. He was bored, and I thought he’d enjoy playing with them.”
“But did you see? I think he’s reenacting—”
Brenda held a finger to her lips and pulled the breakroom door nearly closed. “It’s okay, it’s normal.”
“He’s using a bear .”
“They all gravitate to that bear—the ones who’ve gone through major trauma, I mean. That’s why I have it. It’s a way for kids to express adult behavior that’s too monstrous for them to process.”
“I thought he’d worked through all that. He’s seemed so much better lately.”
“Trauma recovery’s never a linear thing.” Brenda’s brow furrowed. “But I don’t mind telling you—I am a little concerned. I think he’s struggling more than we realized.”
Colly sighed. “Is it because I’m working a case? Or is it more than that?”
“I don’t know. Like I said yesterday, I’d be happy to do a couple sessions with him.”
Colly chewed her lip. “I’d hate to confuse him, Bren. He’s used to the Houston therapist.”
“I get it. But if you change your mind, let me know.”
They returned to Brenda’s office, where she wheeled an enormous suitcase out of the closet and laid it on the floor by the dollhouse.
“Let’s put away the toys, Satchel.”
Satchel clutched an action figure against his chest. “Iron Man doesn’t want to go in the suitcase. He hates the dark.”
“Would he rather go home with you for tonight?” Brenda asked.
Satchel nodded.
On the drive home, Colly tried to engage him in conversation, but Satchel was in an odd mood, distracted and remote. Back at the farmhouse, however, he seemed to return to normal. He sat at the kitchen table and chatted about his day as Colly made grilled cheese sandwiches and heated a can of tomato soup.
It wasn’t until later, when she had helped him into pajamas and was reading him a bedtime story, that Satchel abruptly asked, “Do you ever dream about bears, Grandma?”
He spoke the words quickly, and his voice sounded strange—simultaneously nonchalant and tentative.
Colly laid down the book. “Not very often. Do you?”
Satchel nodded. He was propped against the pillows, balancing his ant farm on his chest and staring intently at it. The Iron Man toy lay beside him on the comforter.
“Scary bears? Or nice ones?” Colly asked.
“Mostly scary.”
“What do the bears do in your dreams?”
Satchel shrugged and appeared suddenly to lose interest in the subject. He set the ant farm on the nightstand and picked up Iron Man.
Colly hesitated. “Satchel, do you remember the day Mommy and Grandpa Randy—the day they got hurt?”
He seemed not to hear her; he was absorbed in making Iron Man combat-crawl over the quilt.
Colly tried again. “Did you like playing with the toys at Aunt Brenda’s office?”
“I guess.” Satchel made an explosion sound. Iron Man flipped in the air and dove for cover beneath a fold of blanket.
“Would you like to play there again?”
“Okay.” Suddenly, Satchel turned and extended the action figure’s arm towards Colly, aiming it like a gun. “Pew, pew, pew!”
“Why is Iron Man shooting me?”
Satchel giggled. He shoved the toy closer to Colly’s face. “Pew, pew, pew!” There was a manic edge to his voice.
Colly started to move his hand aside, but he shrieked and jerked it away, hurling the toy at her head. It bounced off her cheekbone and onto the floor.
“ Ow —that was too hard, Satchel.” She stooped to pick up the figurine. Satchel lunged for it, but Colly stuffed it in her pocket. “I think you’re overtired. Time for lights-out.”
Satchel immediately burst into hysterics, sobbing and flailing. Colly tried for a while to calm him, but her efforts only made him more upset, so she turned off the lights and left the room. She paced the hallway, listening to him cry until, after half an hour, he wore himself out and fell asleep, still sniffling and hiccupping fretfully into the pillows.
Exhausted, Colly went downstairs and collapsed on the sofa. She took out her phone and held it uncertainly for a minute. Finally, she dialed. Brenda answered on the first ring, and Colly gave her a summary of the evening.
“I don’t know what got into him, Bren. Maybe some therapy sessions aren’t a bad idea.”
Brenda seemed pleased to help. She had an online conference the next day, she said, so she wouldn’t be at school for her usual morning hours; but she thought she’d be done by the time school was out. With Colly’s permission, she would pick up Satchel and take him to the clinic. “I cleared my schedule tomorrow because of the conference, so we’ll have as much time as we need. I can get a friend to take my kids for a couple hours.”
Colly hung up, relieved, and checked her watch. Nine o’clock. She was beyond tired but too keyed up for bed. Maybe she’d take a closer look at the case files. But first, she needed a stiff drink. Was there any liquor in the pantry? She was heading for the kitchen when a loud knock on the front door shattered the quiet.
She grabbed her pistol. “Who’s there?” she shouted.
“It’s me.”
Holstering the gun, she unbolted the door. “Dammit, Russ, don’t scare me like that. Text first next time.”
Her brother-in-law stood on the porch, a slender brown paper bag in one hand. “Sorry. You busy?”
“I’m tired. Can’t it wait?”
“I’m not here on business.” Russ wiped his boots on the mat. “I came to apologize for being a jackass yesterday. I shouldn’t have accused you of going behind my back.” He pulled a bottle of wine out of the bag. “Peace offering? The guy at the Booze Shack said it’s pretty good.”
Colly hesitated. “Okay, but outside. If Satchel heard us and woke up, that would be the last straw.”
By the time she returned with two tumblers, Russ had settled on one end of the porch swing and was opening the bottle with the corkscrew attachment on his pocketknife.
Colly sat beside him. “I couldn’t find wine glasses.”
“Wanda’s folks were teetotalers.” Russ poured the drinks and held up his tumbler. “Here’s to the end of one hell of a day.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
They sipped for a while in silence. A few early crickets chirruped in the grass and a gentle breeze rattled the dry leaves still clinging to the branches of the oak tree in the yard.
“Did you talk to Jolene before she died?” Colly asked finally.
Russ shook his head. “She was unconscious when I got there. Never woke up again.”
“What about Carmen?”
“I tried, but she was in no fit state. Let’s give her a day or two.”
But the trip to Abilene hadn’t been a total waste, Russ said. While he was there, he’d gotten word about the burner phone that had sent Colly the threatening text. It’d been purchased less than a week ago at a convenience store outside Colorado City—not much of a detour for Russ on his way back to Crescent Bluff, so he’d decided to stop by.
“No video footage, unfortunately,” he said. “But the kid working the register remembers selling two phones that day.”
“Cash transactions?”
“Yep. The kid said one was bought by a woman about his mom’s age—in her forties, slender build. Could be either Carmen or Jolene.”
“Or Brenda, or me, for that matter. Did he get hair color? Eye color?”
Russ shook his head. “He didn’t seem real detail-minded.”
“What about the other phone?”
“Bought by a thin Black man who looked like ‘a banger,’ he said. In his twenties, maybe thirties.”
“Damn.”
“At least we know that text wasn’t sent by Hoyer’s phone—not the one you found the receipt for, anyway. He could have another one we don’t know about.”
“I doubt it. You said the phone was bought a week ago? That’s before I got here. Our perp must’ve known I was coming. Jace didn’t.” Colly swallowed the last of her wine.
“We don’t know that. Gossip spreads fast in a small town.” Russ refilled her tumbler. “I’m not thrilled you went looking for him today without telling me, by the way. That was risky.”
“I’ve been a cop longer than you. I know what I’m doing.”
“You’re not a cop anymore. I feel responsible.”
“Jace is in custody, isn’t he? You said you’d stay out of things and let me investigate my way.”
Russ sighed in the darkness. “It’s harder than I thought.” He half-turned towards her and laid his arm on the back of the swing. “It’s nice having you here, Col. I’ve missed you these last couple years.”
His hand dropped to her shoulder. It was an innocuous gesture, but the casual intimacy of it felt disquieting, somehow, at the end of an exhausting day.
Colly stood up, setting her glass on the porch rail. “Let’s walk around a little. I’m getting sleepy.”
She led the way down the steps into the damp grass. The storm that afternoon had cleared the air, and the night was cool and fine. The waxing moon hung over the black line of the eastern bluffs, bright enough to obscure the stars around it and bathe the land in a cold, pale light. Away from the house, the breeze was stronger. Colly shivered as she ambled in the direction of the big oak.
Russ strolled beside her, carrying his drink. “You and Avery get anything out of Jace today?”
Colly hesitated. Should she ask if Russ knew about the embezzlement? No. Not yet. She’d talk to Lowell first. “I got an earful about Newlands in general and Lowell more specifically. Hoyer’s not a fan.”
Russ laughed. “I reckon not.”
“He did say Lowell’s drinking is out of control. I’ve noticed it, myself.”
“I know.” Russ sighed. “He fell apart after the divorce. He blames Brenda, but she wouldn’t have had the affair if he wasn’t such a mess. I’ve tried to get him to join AA.”
They reached the oak, and Colly leaned against it. The bark was rough and solid through her shirt. “Is he fit to manage the company?”
Russ’s face was hidden in darkness, but his feet shuffled restlessly. “Did Jace say he wasn’t?”
“I just wondered. I have a vested interest, too, you know.”
“Momma keeps an eye on things. The company’ll be all right.”
“I asked you this yesterday, Russ, but I’ll ask again—could Lowell have killed Denny Knox?”
“Is that what Jace says?”
“He has his suspicions.”
“You can’t trust his word—he hates Lowell.”
“That’s why I’m asking you.”
“I told you, Lowell’s alibied for that day. He was with me in Paint Rock till just before school let out, and with his kids after that.”
“Hypothetically, then. Is he capable?”
Russ swallowed the last of his wine in a noisy gulp. “Anyone’s capable of anything, under the right circumstances. Put me in a room with that nutcase who killed Randy and Victoria, and I’d have blown his head off without thinking twice—if he hadn’t beaten me to it.”
“That’s different. Denny was a child.”
“Lowell can’t be in two places at once.”
“There’s such a thing as a contract kill.”
Russ ran his free hand roughly up and down the back of his head. “Oh, come on, this is Crescent Bluff. Besides, he’s got no motive.”
“Sure he does. Lowell fired Jace, and then Brenda started counseling Denny—all while she and Lowell were in a nasty custody dispute. You don’t think Lowell might’ve been scared that Denny could tell her something damaging, something he overheard from Jace?”
“Like what?”
“Maybe that Lowell drinks on the job,” Colly said. “Jace was my prime suspect. But I don’t think he did it. I have to question who else had cause. I need to rule Lowell out so I can move on.”
“Yeah, okay. I just didn’t expect—I mean, I brought you in to clear Willis, not—”
“You brought me in to find the truth. That’s what you said, anyway.”
Russ emitted an exasperated sigh. “Dammit, Colly, Lowell’s not the killer.”
“How do you know?”
“Lowell couldn’t have killed Adam Parker in ’98—he was away at college when it happened. And nobody but the police and the killer knew about the rabbit mask.”
Unless you told him , Colly thought. Would Russ do that? Anyone’s capable of anything, under the right circumstances —he’d said so himself. Assumptions based on trust could be fatal to an investigation. Russ was not Randy, though the fact that they looked alike made it harder to remember.
Somewhere in the darkness, an owl hooted mournfully. Colly pulled out her phone and checked the time. “It’s ten o’clock. I looked over the case files last night, but I want to spend more time with them before bed.”
They moved towards the house. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Russ asked.
“I’ve got to figure out who’s stalking me. We’ve come up empty on the snake in the van and the anonymous text. That just leaves the red ballcap. If Tom Gunnell didn’t see who took it, maybe the farmers on Salton Road did. I thought Avery and I might knock on a few doors. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“Watch out. Dave Carroway’s place is over there.”
“Carroway? Isn’t that—?”
“Yep. He’s the kid Willis molested at church. That was thirty years ago. His folks are gone, and he runs the farm now. He went through a rough patch—bar fights, drugs, a few DUIs. Served a stint for assault. Seems pretty stable these days, but tread lightly. He hates Newlands.”
“Good to know.”
They mounted the porch steps, and Russ faced her. “I’m glad you’re okay, Col. See you tomorrow.” He leaned in suddenly and kissed her cheek before turning and striding back to his truck.
Colly watched with her hand on the doorknob until his taillights vanished in the distance.
“Shit,” she murmured. Then she opened the door and went inside.