Chapter 25
Jamie
At seven in the morning, Jamie is back at the sheriff’s office, sitting at a battered metal desk pulled from storage, drinking
his third cup of bad coffee. He is running on fumes and not thinking straight. Nothing is connected, yet everything is.
Mellie Bauer recalled seeing Dalton coming out of the barn a few minutes before the explosion, but after reading through the
notes from the dozens of interviews with the other partygoers, he can find no other reference to this. The party was chaotic,
loud, with lots going on, but Jamie is finding it hard to believe that not one other guest saw Dalton going into or out of
the barn prior to the explosion. But why would Mellie lie?
Sheriff Colson comes out of his office, grabs a chair and drags it across the floor and sits down next to Jamie’s desk. “Christ,
what a cluster,” he says wearily, dropping a stack of papers in front of Jamie. His shooting of Dalton Monaghan has been ruled
justified, and he is back on the job. “A bomb and a shooting. This has been quite the week.”
“Yeah,” Jamie says. “How are you?”
“I’m okay,” Colson says. “Though, I was hoping to get through my career without having to shoot someone.”
“You most likely saved the Drakes’ lives,” Jamie reminds him. “But you’re right, it’s too bad Dalton put us in that situation.”
“Hey, Jamie,” Ruby says from the doorway. “Someone’s here to see you.”
“Who is it?”
“Laura Holt,” the receptionist says. “She was the photographer at the party.”
Jamie gets up and makes his way toward the reception area of the office.
Laura is standing in the lobby, staring at a bulletin board tacked with Wanted posters. Her chestnut hair hangs down her back
in a loose braid, she’s wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and running shoes. In her right hand she holds a large professional-looking
camera, and in the other she holds a book.
“Ms. Holt,” Jamie says, “what can I help you with?”
She turns, and Jamie winces. Her right eye is black-and-blue and swollen completely shut. “Call me Laura, please,” she says.
“And it looks a lot worse than it is.”
“Come on back,” Jamie says and leads her back to the smaller of the two interview rooms in the building.
Jamie waits until Laura takes a seat before he sits down across from her. She looks around the room curiously. Like all the
rooms in the sheriff’s office, this one is crammed with all sorts of extraneous equipment: binders, ammo, armor gear. Jamie
knows the state of the sheriff’s office isn’t unusual. Departments across the country are bursting at the seams and being
asked to do more with less funding. “You were injured in the explosion?” Jamie asks. “Not exactly what a photographer expects
will happen on a shoot, right?”
“I’m okay. Just this shiner,” she says. “And no, I never dreamed anything like this would happen. I’m sorry I’m just bringing
this to you now.” She sets her camera atop his desk. “I was taken to the hospital over in Cody, and I had to make arrangements
for someone to watch my son. I haven’t removed the SD card, but I don’t think it was damaged when the camera hit the ground.”
“I understand,” Jamie says, lifting the camera and examining it. The lens is broken, and it’s dented in a few spots. “I’m
glad you weren’t hurt badly. So the SD card is in here?” Jamie asks, tapping the camera.
“Yeah. Want me to pop it out?” Laura asks.
“Please,” Jamie says and pulls an evidence bag and sticker from his drawer as Laura retrieves the memory card. “It holds the
original pictures?” Jamie asks. “None have been deleted or edited in any way?”
“No, not at all,” Laura says, dropping the card into the plastic bag. “I haven’t even looked at any of them.”
“That’s good,” Jamie says, but falters when he notices Laura searching his face closely.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” she asks with a little smile.
Jamie nearly groans out loud. He knew that this time would come. It was one thing to have Sheriff Colson recognize him, but
he was hoping that it wouldn’t be so obvious for random townspeople. Does he play ignorant? Pretend he has no idea what she’s
talking about?
Laura doesn’t give him the chance. She sets the book she’s been holding on the conference room table. It’s covered in black
pebbled faux-leather and embossed with gold lettering. A yearbook. The room suddenly becomes even smaller, the walls closing
in, the ceiling bearing down on him.
“It’s from back when the middle school and high school were in the same building. Before we consolidated with Clayton and
Red Creek,” Laura says. “You were in seventh grade, and I was in sixth, and we rode the same bus. When I saw your photo in
the newspaper, I recognized your face right away.” Laura flips through the pages. “Look.” She pokes her finger at a black-and-white
photo. She looks up at him expectantly. “You’re J. J. Archer, right?”
It’s definitely a picture of Jamie. It was taken the second week at his new school, a month before Juneau disappeared.
He is eighty pounds lighter and a foot shorter, and his shaggy hair falls over his eyes, but it’s him.
He’s wearing an oversize flannel shirt buttoned up to the neck, and even without seeing them he knows he’s wearing a pair of baggy shorts with his battered Vans.
The expression on his face is one of barely contained contempt mixed with utter boredom.
He wasn’t happy about being in Nightjar and wanted the entire world to know it.
“Wow, that’s a blast from the past,” Jamie says with a little laugh because he can’t think of anything else to say.
“Tell me about,” Laura says, then flips the page. “There I am.” She points to a skinny mouse of a girl with glasses much too
large for her face and a smattering of freckles across her nose.
Jamie lifts his eyes from the page. “You still have the freckles,” he says.
“You don’t remember me at all, do you?” Laura says, rubbing her nose self-consciously.
“I’m sorry,” Jamie says. He has no recollection of this girl, no memory of riding the bus with her. It’s no surprise, really.
“I’ve been told I was quite self-absorbed during that era of my life. And actually, my wife might say I still am.”
Laura smiles. “That’s okay, I didn’t think you would. My last name used to be Higgins. It’s Holt now. You don’t go by Archer
anymore?”
Jamie shakes his head. “It’s complicated.”
He really doesn’t want to get into this right now, and thankfully Laura doesn’t push it. Instead she says, “I have to tell
you, your sister was really nice to me.”
A spark of electricity shoots through Jamie, and he sits up straighter. “You knew Juneau?”
“Not really,” Laura says, regretfully. “But she took pity on me on the bus and kind of took me under her wing. She’d sit next to me and show me how to make cootie catchers, and when other kids would comment on my clothes or my hair, she’d tell them to shut the fuck up.”
“That sounds like Juneau,” Jamie says with a fond smile.
“When it happened . . .” Laura falters, then continues, her words thickening. “When she disappeared, I was so sad. I know
it doesn’t make a lot of sense, but I felt like I lost a friend. I can’t imagine what you and your mom went through. She really
was a special person.”
“Thanks,” Jamie says. He’s forgotten how nice it is to talk to someone who knew his sister. There was his mom, of course,
but she avoided speaking about Juneau at all costs. He dreads the conversation telling her about his return to Nightjar. “Do
you remember my sister having any problems with anyone? Or hanging around with anyone in particular?”
“Not really,” Laura says, “but I did hear she was dating an older boy but never heard who it might be.”
Jamie doubted this was true. He would have known if his sister was dating someone, wouldn’t he? “I know she took pictures
for the school newspaper, but she never mentioned anyone specifically,” Jamie says.
Laura’s forehead furrows as she thinks. “No, no,” she says after a moment. “I don’t know anything about her dating someone
from the school paper, but I did see her taking pictures at a football game a week or so before she disappeared.”
This isn’t the earth-shattering news that Jamie is hoping to hear, but it is something. “Anyone she interacted with that stands
out?”
“Not really. She took action shots during the game, and afterward I saw her talking to a few boys on the team. Steve Hoffman,
Mike Gentry, Wes Drake.”
Jamie’s head snaps up. “Wes Drake?”
“Yeah, but it didn’t seem like a big deal,” Laura says. “Was it?”
“Probably not,” Jamie says. “But it’s good to know, anyway. Did the police talk to you during the investigation?”
“Me?” Laura says, placing a hand to her chest. “No, no one talked to me. I didn’t exactly run in those crowds.”
“Yeah,” Jamie says with little smile. “Me neither.”
“I’m sorry,” Laura says. “I wish I could remember more.”
“Ah well, it was a long time ago.” Jamie tries not to let his disappointment show.
“I’ll keep thinking,” Laura says. “Anyway, I thought I’d tell you how nice your sister was and how sorry I am for your loss.”
“Thanks,” Jamie says. “But while you’re here, can I ask you a few questions about the explosion?”
“Sure,” Laura says. “Whatever I can do to help.”
“Did anything about the night jump out at you? Anyone acting suspiciously?”
“No. I’ve been racking my brain, trying to remember if anything seemed off, but most of what I saw was through a lens,” Laura
says, tapping the cracked camera lens. “Not exactly a panoramic view.”
“I’m sure your photos will be very helpful,” Jamie says. “How well do you know Madeline and Wes Drake?”
“I don’t know them at all,” Laura says. “I mean beyond talking on the phone with Madeline. I’ve met Wes’s brother, Dix. I
was the photographer at one of his weddings. But beyond that, I don’t know them.”
Dix Drake. Jamie received word that he had been found in a Salt Lake City hospital. He was questioned by a local ATF agent,
but nothing in their conversation stood out.