Chapter 9 #2
He followed her to the edge of the tall grass, stopping beside her as she looked down into the shallow drainage ditch.
It wasn't deep, maybe three feet at its lowest point, with sloping sides covered in grass and weeds.
In the summer, during heavy rains, it would fill partially with water, but now it was dry, a depression in the earth that held only shadows and memories.
"She was here," Kelly said softly, pointing to a specific spot. "Face down with her arms over her head. The police report said she was fully clothed, but I always wondered about that."
“Her dad, or even the farmer, could have redressed her,” Ben suggested. “In their minds, they might have thought they were doing the right and proper thing. They wanted to protect Lori at the end. We should talk to the farmer.”
“He passed away about three years ago,” Kelly replied. “The farm was sold to a corporation.”
“Cold cases are never easy.”
Moving past her, Ben stepped carefully down the slope to examine the bottom of the ditch. He crouched, running his fingers through the short grass, his expression focused and analytical.
"It's isolated enough," he observed, glancing back toward the road. The closest house was over a mile away. "But still risky. Anyone driving by could have seen someone dumping a body."
"Exactly," Kelly agreed, opening the autopsy report.
"That's always bothered me. This road isn't heavily traveled, but it's not deserted either. Farmers use it constantly during planting and harvest seasons, and it’s also a good road to take to a few neighboring towns. The killer’s best bet would have been at night. There’s not much traffic then. "
"Unless they came from across the field," Ben suggested, gesturing toward the east. "Is there another access point? A service road or farm path?"
"There's an old tractor path about a quarter mile down that way. It connects to some back roads eventually, but you'd have to know it was there."
"It’s a possibility the killer knew the area well enough to plan this spot specifically," Ben concluded, climbing back up to stand beside her. "Local knowledge."
"That's always been my theory," Kelly confirmed. "Which narrows the suspect pool to... pretty much everyone in Bergen. Not some drifter through town who got the urge to kill."
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but we can’t, at this point, rule out a drifter,” Ben warned. “We don’t know enough to do that.”
“I know, but that’s just my belief.”
“Sometimes, our guts are better at figuring things out than our brains are.”
Sighing, she shook her head. This exchange was almost surreal. She was used to everyone questioning her about, well, everything.
“Are you always this amazing?” she asked with a roll of her eyes. “Do you ever disagree with anyone? You have yet to tell me I’m out of my mind and need therapy. You’re just so damn…reasonable all the time. Do you ever get angry or jump for joy? You’re so in control. And polite.”
She must have said something funny because it was clear he was trying not to laugh, clearing his throat and covering his smile with his hands.
“Please remember my background,” he finally replied. “I was in business, and the order of the day was to keep a cool head at all times. Don’t give too much away, and always maintain a polite and professional demeanor. To their faces, anyway.”
“You’re good at it.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice,” he said. “My sister Lulu was the dramatic one in the family. Chase was the youngest, and I was the oldest. I was supposed to be responsible and calm. My parents say I was born that way. The most spontaneous thing I’ve ever done is…well…this trip, to be honest.”
In a way, that was kind of sad, if it was true. But then, she couldn’t say that she was pushing life’s boundaries much herself.
“Lulu? That’s an interesting name. I’d like to hear about her, too. She’s now the sheriff of your hometown?”
“She is, and she had her first murder case on her second day on the job. Caught them, too. I’m proud of her.”
She wondered what that was like, having a family that was openly proud of her. The closest she came was Celia, who didn’t openly criticize Kelly’s life.
“How many murders are there in your town?”
“Hardly any. The killer decided to try and take advantage of a new and untested sheriff. They calculated wrong and ended up behind bars.”
“Good for her.”
“You’ll get to meet her and my brother, hell, my whole family and friends when we go to my mom’s birthday party. In fact, that is something that we need to talk about. My family and their friends.”
“I’m intrigued, Ben Reilly.”
“In the meantime, let’s get back to the case.”
Getting any personal information out of this man was downright impossible. He spoke a lot, but didn’t reveal much.
Probably another advantage in business.
Kelly flipped through the autopsy pages until she found what she was looking for.
"Cause of death was strangulation, but she had other injuries that they never explained. There was a hairline fracture to the skull, bruising on the neck and wrists that looked like fingers."
Ben took the report from her hands and examined the photographs with careful attention.
“As far as I know, they didn’t scrape underneath her fingernails.
She may have fought with her attacker, but that evidence is lost,” she continued.
“And there's something else, the report specifically states 'no evidence of sexual assault.
' But as far as I know, a rape kit was never performed.
I specifically asked about DNA evidence and was told they had none. "
"That's not standard procedure,” Ben said, his tone sharp.
"No," Kelly agreed bitterly. "It's not. But Bergen's coroner at the time was Mason Whitfield. He played golf with Robert Powell every Sunday for twenty years. They were friends from elementary school."
"You think a coroner would lie for the Powell family?"
"Yes, and not blink an eye," Kelly responded firmly, the certainty in her voice born from years of observation and frustration.
"The Powells didn't want their daughter's death turned into something even more horrible than it already was.
If there was evidence of sexual assault, it would have meant an even more intense investigation, more publicity, more trauma for the family to endure publicly. "
"You're talking about a cover-up," Ben said, his tone neutral.
"Yes, I am," Kelly confirmed, meeting his gaze steadily. She’d had more than a decade to think about this.
"I think the whole town buried this incident because it didn't want to deal with it.
Not in a conscious, they're guilty sort of way. But as a protection measure, as to how they felt about their home having a killer running around. In a way, it was self-protection. They couldn’t deal with the truth. "
She gestured widely, encompassing the peaceful field, the distant houses, the blue sky above them.
"Bergen sees itself as this perfect small town, this safe haven in the midst of a changing world. Acknowledging that someone in their town was capable of not just murder, but possibly sexual assault and torture? That would shatter the illusion. So they settled on a sanitized version. It’s tragic, but simple.
A moment of violence from someone not from this town.
It’s not premeditated horror from a local. "
Ben was silent for a long moment, his gaze returning to the drainage ditch. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight with controlled anger.
"The autopsy is incomplete at best, deliberately misleading at worst,” Ben replied, handing the report back to Kelly.
“The crime scene photos are inconsistent.
The witness statements read like they were coordinated.
While true conspiracies are rare, the possibility should be looked into. Along with others, of course."
The simple acknowledgment that she might be right nearly undid her. Kelly swallowed hard against the sudden thickness in her throat, blinking rapidly to dispel the threat of tears.
“That still leaves too many possibilities."
"We'll narrow it down," Ben assured her, his certainty a comfort she hadn't expected. "Every case has a breaking point, a detail that doesn't fit the narrative they've constructed. We’ll find it."
Kelly was about to respond when the sound of tires on gravel caught her attention. She turned to see a dark blue SUV pulling up behind their rental car, but she couldn’t see the driver, who was obscured by the tinted windows.
"I think we have company," Ben said, stepping in front of Kelly.
This man has a protective streak a mile wide.
The SUV's engine cut off, and for a moment nothing happened. Then the driver's door swung open, and Kelly felt her breath catch as a familiar figure stepped out, eyes hidden behind reflective sunglasses but unmistakable all the same. She’d recognize him anywhere, even after several years.
Ethan Walters.
What was he doing way out here this early in the morning?
Ben watched as the SUV door swung open and a smiling man emerged, waving cheerily. Dressed in a suit and tie, he looked a bit out of place next to an empty cornfield, but his friendly demeanor spoke of someone familiar from the town.
The man removed his sunglasses with a practiced flourish, tucking them into his breast pocket.
“Kelly, I thought it was you. I heard you were coming home for the wedding.”
“Hello, Ethan,” Kelly said, amusement in her tone. “What on earth are you doing way out here this morning?”
This was Ethan Walters. Hannah’s ex-boyfriend and part of the friend group. In other words, a suspect.
"I have a client meeting in Ridgeville. I take this route sometimes to avoid the morning traffic on the highway." His gaze shifted to include Ben, extending his hand. "My name is Ethan Walters."
“Ben Reilly,” Ben replied, shaking the man’s hand. “Kelly’s boyfriend from New York. I’m here for the wedding, too.”