Chapter 23
Emery
I park my SUV behind Terry’s vehicle and cut my engine.
He meets me on the sidewalk, removing his aviator sunglasses to study the unassuming brown-brick bungalow that I’ve visited a dozen times over the years.
To anyone walking by, all they’d see is another family home with the pickup truck in the driveway, children’s bicycles and toys strewn haphazardly on a sizable front lawn next to a row of obsessively manicured bushes.
Big Hank can often be seen out here in his pajamas on Saturday mornings, snipping away at wayward growth, a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
“Quaint,” Terry murmurs. “How many of these Murphys live here?”
“Twelve, as far as we know. Big Hank and his wife, Janet, plus Hank and his youngest, Kyle. Two of Ian’s kids, plus their girlfriends and kids. Ian’s oldest, Axel, lives in the apartment above his towing company.”
“One big happy family.” Terry eases open the metal gate.
The chain-link fence that surrounds the property has been a bone of contention around the neighborhood for years, with people claiming bylaw infractions.
Unfortunately for them, the unsightly barrier has been grandfathered in and as long as it’s in good operating order, Bylaw can’t do anything about its lack of aesthetic appeal.
The gate swings with a screech and, seconds later, two mastiffs appear in the front bay window, their hot breath fogging up the glass as they bark.
“And two large dogs,” I add.
“They look friendly.” Terry gestures ahead of him. “Please. After you.”
“The chivalry.” I lead the way up the path.
Terry closes in beside me quickly, flipping through his notepad. “I don’t think I’ve had a detachment commander come to question witnesses on an investigation before.”
“Like I said, the Murphys are a special breed. I know them, you don’t, and we don’t have time to waste with their games.” I speed up, not giving him a chance to respond. He hasn’t brought up yesterday’s encounter on the Landry porch, but I know it’s coming.
I point at the rickety storm door. “I’ll let you do the honors.”
With a smirk, Terry raps his knuckles on the glass.
A crash sounds against the other side of the solid wood door as the two dogs barrel against it, their clawing enough to unease even the most assured person.
Terry takes an instinctive step back.
The wooden door swings open and a looming figure appears in his standard-issue wrinkled T-shirt, jeans, and black socks.
A thin clear tube settled under his nostrils connects to the oxygen tank he often totes around.
“Can I help you?” Big Hank shouts over the barks, holding the storm door closed so the dogs don’t push through.
Terry introduces himself.
“Can’t hear ya!” Big Hank holds up his free hand to cup his ear. “What are you selling? No, sorry, I don’t want any. Thank you!” He pushes the wooden door shut but not before his lips curve with a smile.
“Big Hank is aptly named,” Terry muses, his notepad still in hand.
“He might actually be smaller than the last time I saw him.” At over six feet tall and with a prominent belly, he could give Benny the Hulk a run for his money.
“And he does this every time?”
“Every time.” I let my smile peek through. At least he’s consistent.
Terry smacks his lips, the first sign of irritation I’ve seen yet. “So, now what?”
I don’t answer, waiting for the barking to wane, then stop altogether.
That’s when I move in, rapping my fist against the door, extra hard.
The dogs go wild again.
“Goddamn it!” Big Hank snarls from inside, annoyed. “I don’t know which one of you did what, but get them off my property!”
The wooden door swings open again, long enough for a shirtless Hank to muscle his way past the dogs, ushering them back with shouts and nudges, before shutting the door.
“What do you want?” All charming pretenses from Friday night at the Bale House are gone, the sleep still in his eyes as he pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his pajama pants pocket and lights one.
I remain quiet as Terry gives his little song and dance, studying Hank for any twitch, any eye shift, any indication that he knows something about what happened to Holly.
“So, the girl’s missing.” He combs his fingers through his unkempt hair, the move highlighting his gangly upper body. “That’s terrible news.”
She’s more than missing at this point. The sample from the blood found on that dumpster fork pocket is a match to Holly.
“It is terrible,” Terry agrees. “If you know something that might help us find her, anything at all, now’s the time to talk.”
Hank takes a long drag of his smoke. “Yeah, I saw that girl outside the men’s washroom with Logan Landry that night. They looked chummy.”
“Bullshit,” I blurt before I can help myself. “I was there, and I saw the interaction in question. You were not there.”
Hank assesses me a moment, and then the hint of smile touches his lips. “My mistake. Must have been another girl he was getting friendly with.”
My teeth grind with frustration. There was no other fucking girl with Logan.
There was only me. “Imagine if it were Karla or Riley who were missing.” Hank’s two daughters who left with their mother when Hank and his ex-wife divorced.
It was the smartest decision she ever made, taking them far away from the cesspool that is this family.
Though their relationship is strained, I have to believe he would care if something tragic happened to them.
Hank’s beady eyes flash with surprise—that I would dare bring his daughters up—before narrowing on my uniform. “How was your Thanksgiving? I’ll bet you were over at the Landrys?”
His question catches me off guard as readily as my words did to him. Does he know something specific or is he trying to prove how much he knows about me?
Or is this another one of his stupid games?
“You were at the Bale House on Friday night,” I say slowly. “Did you see or hear anything that might help us with Holly’s case?”
“Just what I told you. Believe me or don’t.” He shrugs.
“What time did you leave the place?” Terry asks, though we already marked Hank leaving before midnight.
“Can’t remember.”
“And where did you go?”
“I came home, and that’s all I’m gonna say without my lawyer.”
Terry nods and refers to his notes. “Okay, I’d like to speak to Kyle, Blake, and Shane. Are they here?”
“Nope.”
“Do you have any idea where I can find—”
“Nope.” A cloud of smoke puffs from him as he butts his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray.
“They’re grown men. I don’t keep tabs on them.
But thanks for stopping by. Always a treat talking to Cold River’s finest.” He hesitates for a beat, but then clearly can’t help himself, a smug smile taking over.
“How’s that daughter of yours, McAllister? Isla, right?”
“Excuse me?”
“I heard she’s a feisty one on the ice.”
It takes every ounce of control not to erupt with rage, hearing her name on his filthy tongue as horrifying thoughts flash through my mind about the kinds of things a guy like him might do to her, or to Holly.
But that’s what Hank wants—to get a reaction out of me. There’s probably a camera angled on us to catch me doing something that will cost me my job.
I clear the anger from my throat and ask calmly, “Have you heard from Travis Dorsey lately?”
“Who? Sorry, don’t know him.” But the flicker in his eyes gives away his lie.
I force a wide smile. “I wonder what kinds of things he could tell me.” That’s right. I know you two are connected. “Have the day you deserve, Hank. I’m sure we’ll be talking again really soon.”
We leave him on the porch.
The gate squeaks shut behind Terry. “They’re a delightful bunch.”
“That’s only two of them.” I stall at the hood of his sedan to steal a glance back. Hank has already gone inside. The dogs sit at the window, observing, but otherwise quiet.
Terry follows my gaze. “Do you think the others are inside?”
“Probably. But I can guarantee all of them will either say they saw nothing or they saw Logan with Holly.”
“There’s a lot of this going on between those two families.” He crosses his forearms and points his index fingers.
“Except the Landrys are right, and we should be scouring every single Murphy alibi because the things they are capable of …” I let my words drift.
“You think these guys have murdering a teenage girl in them?”
“Before all this, I’d say no, but now, I’m not so sure.” Was Hank involved with what happened to Logan in prison? And what would the motivation be for going after Holly?
“I’ll get them to talk to me. Eventually.” Terry fishes his keys from his pocket. “Isla’s your daughter?”
“Yeah.”
He shakes his head. “Bold move, bringing her up like that to you. Glad you didn’t take the bait.”
“Like I said, I know their games. Keep me posted on what you find.” I wait until I’m in my SUV before I unclench my fists.