Chapter 33
Emery
“I don’t like having my phone blown up by Brad Whitley on the daily,” Doug Freeman’s nasally voice drones in my ear. “He’s becoming a fucking thorn in my side. And he had the balls to go above me to Robinson. Can you believe that!”
You mean like he has the balls to go above me to you? I lean back in my office chair and close my eyes as my boss commiserates over speakerphone first thing Monday morning, before a day of meetings. “Welcome to the club. At least you don’t have him showing up at your office.”
“He’s hounding me to put the detectives back on the Monroe case.”
“He doesn’t like that there’s no one actively looking. Can you blame him?” As much as I don’t want to defend Brad’s tactics, if I put myself in his shoes, I’d be throwing my weight around too.
My boss grunts in my ear. “If there was something there, Terry and Schmidt would have found it.”
And yet there has to be something there. Holly didn’t evaporate into thin air. We’ve all missed it, me included.
“And why does Brad keep goin’ on about investigating Logan Landry?”
I stifle my groan. “Because he’s got it out for him and he has for years.” As I’ve already explained to Doug, more than once. “Your detective spoke to Logan Landry and excluded him as a suspect. End of.”
“Is this guy actually as dangerous as Whitley says?”
“No!” I burst, my annoyance getting the better of me. “He dove into freezing water to rescue a complete stranger a week after he got out. Saved her life. He works all day on his family’s ranch and shows up for his parole meetings on time. He just wants to live in peace.”
“Well, Whitley seems to think you’re too close to this family to see things objectively. He says there’s a major conflict of interest here.”
“Are you kidding me, Doug? I have a conflict of interest? How about we discuss how a member of the detachment board is trying to steer my detachment’s priorities for his own personal vendetta?”
Mike’s face appears in my office window with a questioning look.
I hold up a finger to signal needing another minute. “You’re welcome to send your detectives back here to rework the case, if you think that’ll make a difference. We all want to bring Holly home.”
“That’s not an option. I’ve got them on something else and, uh …” He fumbles for his words. “That wouldn’t be a wise use of resources given the case’s status.”
“Okay, then how would you like to solve this problem? Should we make Brad Whitley Cold River’s detachment commander?”
“I don’t appreciate the snark, McAllister.” His tone sharpens.
“You’re right. I apologize.” Even if I don’t mean it. “My money’s still on Hank and Axel knowing something they aren’t telling us, so we’re gonna give them a little extra love. See if they screw up.”
“Fine. Keep me updated.” He ends the call abruptly.
I wave Mike in.
His spicy cologne follows him as he steps into my office. “Freeman?”
I rub my temples against the building headache. “How can you tell?”
“’Cause it’s usually this reaction.” He smirks. “Clara said you wanted to talk to me.”
“Yeah. Shut the door.” I wave him in to take a seat.
He drops into it with a heavy thud. “I heard you had an exciting weekend over at the Landrys.”
“What?” My stomach drops. “What does that mean?”
“Uh … Someone’s been tampering with their fences?” Mike frowns. “Andy said they filed a report yesterday. It had all the pictures you collected, and the staples.”
“Oh, right. Yes.” I steady my breathing as I relay all that I know about the case.
“Any suspects in mind?”
“There’s a ranch hand who was recently let go. I’ll head over with Andy this afternoon and see what we can shake out of him.”
Mike’s eyebrows pop but he doesn’t comment. I know what he’s thinking—detachment commanders don’t question people over misdemeanors.
But I didn’t call Mike in to discuss the Landrys’ fence. “I want tails on Hank and Axel Murphy. As much as we can spare. I think they had something to do with Holly Monroe’s disappearance.”
“Yeah, okay.” He scratches at his jaw. “Both of them?”
“Yeah. If Axel’s guilty, Hank will know. Plus, I’m concerned about trouble he’s trying to stir up.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“The kind that impacts our community,” I answer vaguely.
The way he tried antagonizing Logan at the Bale House, and then again outside of the gas station, it won’t be the last time.
I’m terrified he’ll say something—about me, or Isla, or another member of Logan’s family—that Logan will not be able to walk away from.
“And any parole violations we can catch him on, let’s catch him.
Getting him off the street would be ideal.
Let’s make sure we give them both enough room to hang the noose around their own necks. ”
“How long you want this to go on for?”
“Until they’re where they belong.” Behind bars. “Hank’s bound to fuck up sooner or later.”
Mike hesitates.
“What is it?” Of my three platoon sergeants, Mike and I have always been the most open and frank with each other.
“Just … you’re always talking about not having enough staff or budget to cover.”
“Because we don’t.”
“So then, is this the right move?”
“Holly’s still missing. She went missing from a place where they were, and they’re all lying about what they saw.
We know she was going to meet a guy there, and she was friendly enough with Axel to have gotten a ride from him more than once.
And then there’s that hockey game. What was Axel doing there, watching teenage girls play? ” Looking for his next victim?
“His story about the dead battery checked out, didn’t it?” He looks at his hands. “Is this about Holly, or is it about whatever’s going on between Hank and Logan Landry?”
“It’s about protecting our community,” I say, too crisply.
I know Mike is just doing his job, but he doesn’t know the whole picture.
He doesn’t see how dangerous the Murphys can be, how they can destroy a family.
“The day Terry and I went to talk to Hank about Holly, he brought up Isla. By name, Mike. I think he was trying to make a point.” Or put fear in me.
Either way, it worked. “If Hank Murphy was throwing around Ashley’s name, what would you do? ”
Mike’s jaw clenches and then he nods. “We’re on him. On both of them.”
I step out of the way as the paramedics wheel the gurney past, the snowy ground creating some resistance. “Is she going to be okay?”
“Should be.” Russell watches with me as they load the seventeen-year-old girl into the ambulance. “Staff were fast on calling 911 and Matt gave her CPR until these guys arrived.”
A group of girls huddle together against the cold, their cheeks tearstained as they witness their friend vanish behind the heavy doors. Above them, a new security camera with a protective cage around it captures the scene.
I shake my head. “I swear, if Isla had a severe nut allergy, I’d duct tape the damn Epi-Pen to her phone so she couldn’t forget it.” I was leaving the station when I heard the call come over the radio and my heart stopped. I raced here.
“Just glad it all worked out. The last thing this place needs is two dead girls.”
I open my mouth to correct him—Holly’s not “dead” yet—but decide on, “Have a good holiday” instead, before easing into the Bale House.
The interior is decorated with simple rustic adornment for Christmas—green boughs and crimson bows. It works well with the country theme, but it can’t mask the feeling that hangs in the air. It’s been here since the night Holly vanished.
Matt sees me and sinks against the counter. His hands are shaking. “I swear to God, Emery, I’m taking everything peanut off the menu. The kitchen staff is tossing whatever we have in the back after we close.”
“Sounds like you’ve had a day already and it’s barely started.
” I scan the tables in the Bale House. It’s a little after four p.m., and it’s already busy, but that’s not surprising given it’s the Friday of the last weekend before Christmas and everyone’s squeezing in holiday cheer with friends and coworkers.
“Did the girl mention her allergy to her server?”
“The girl didn’t mention it, and my server didn’t ask. She knows she’s supposed to every time, but she’s new and …” Matt curses under his breath. “Poor kids just wanted to celebrate. They had gifts for each other and everything. It was sweet.”
“They’re gonna be fine.” I reach across the bar to squeeze his hand. “Everyone’s gonna be fine.”
Matt’s chest heaves with a deep breath, still trying to collect himself. “You done for the week?”
“Yeah. And the next two weeks.” I can’t remember the last time I took that much time off.
“Nice! What do you got planned? Going somewhere hot?”
“No, staying close to home.” Where Logan is.
And it’ll be plenty hot. “Reading, crosswords, horse rides, fires.” Sneaking off to Logan’s place under the guise of sorting through decades-old dusty things for donation or trash.
It’s a reliable cover story. That’s the reason we gave Annie for rifling through every box.
She agreed it’s finally time to let go. And we have been slowly purging the garage of clutter while looking for clues to Jay’s misdeeds, but we’ve also stolen plenty of moments within the safety of Logan’s apartment walls. “What about you?”
“The usual. I’ll be here, and then I’ll head to the cabin for Christmas and Boxing Day.”
“I’ll bet it’s peaceful at this time of year.” I’ve gone ice fishing on the lake a few times with Mike and have always marveled at the silence. You can almost hear the snowflakes as they fall.
“Yeah, it’s …” Something flickers in his gaze. “Yeah. Peaceful.”
And lonely, perhaps. Matt doesn’t seem to have much family—at least none that he mentions. “Maybe Shawna can come visit you there?”
He wipes a cloth over the counter with one hand while collecting a dirty glass with another. “Nah. That fizzled.”
“Oh. When?”
“’Bout a month ago?”
I’d ask what happened but I’m sure I can guess. Matt doesn’t seem like the type to settle down. “How have things been around here? How are you?” Because he looks worn down, tired.
“You know ….” He shrugs.
“I see you got new cameras up. Expensive system?”
“Oh yeah.” He nods. “Out front, out back. I’ve got a new one on the far side too. Plus a few spotlights. Brighten it up back there.” Matt purses his lips. “If only I’d done it sooner.”
We’re all carrying a bit of blame, I want to say.
Matt for the cameras. Me for not dragging Holly home by her collar.
Even that poor idiot trucker, Jordan Reeves, for feeding teenage girls alcohol and weed in a parking lot in the middle of the night.
“What’s the buzz about Holly? What have people around here been saying? ”
“Same old garbage.” He studies his hands.
“So, they’re blaming the cops?” It’s what people are doing in the Cold River Facebook group, tagging Dillon as the mayor to “do something,” as if Dillon has control over the investigation or the officers employed, as if he has a magic wand that he can wave to reveal Holly’s whereabouts.
I despise logging in there, but it’s a necessity these days. I lurk under a fake profile to gauge the temperature of the town but also in case an offhand comment might turn into a lead. So far, nothing of use. Just fear-mongering and finger-pointing, with a dash of political nonsense.
Logan’s name has been tossed around more than a few times, the comments bordering on libel, one person going as far as to suggest the police should search the Landry property for Holly’s remains; another one likened their bison ranch to the infamous case of Robert Pickton, the BC pig farmer who fed his victims to his hogs.
As if bison behave like pigs. Thankfully, people were quick to correct that idiot.
It’s taken everything in me to stay quiet and maintain my cover.
“So, tell me, how did everyone like those cookies I dropped off last week?” Stan appears then, a half-finished pint in hand, interrupting us before I can push Matt for specifics.
I smile at the friendly face. “They went fast, as always.”
“Good, I’ll let Barb know. She was experimenting for the holidays. Cranberries instead of raisins. She always gets so nervous when she does that. Say, I heard that Chapman kid confessed to sabotaging the Landry property.”
I stifle my sigh. Where there’s a crime, Stan is never far behind.
Ever since Holly went missing, the detachment has had its fill of Barb’s cookies almost weekly as Stan digs for details to fill his cup of gossip tea.
“He did.” The moment Robbie answered the door and started fidgeting, I knew my hunch was right.
His nervous tell grew tenfold as I walked through the evidence Logan and I had found.
But it was when I painted a gruesome picture of the kinds of things that could happen if a herd that size broke through the fence that he blurted an admission, as if he couldn’t hold it for another second.
I hadn’t even hinted at my suspicions.
“He’s been charged with mischief. Might pay a fine and do some community service.” Still, he’s earned himself a record.
“Boy, those Landrys sure seem to attract trouble.” Stan tsks. “And nothin’ new on Holly Monroe, then.”
“Nothing yet.”
“I’ve been walking my female staff to their cars every night,” Matt admits. “They’re afraid.”
“That’s understandable. But we have reason to believe Holly knew the person involved with her disappearance.”
Matt hesitates. “Do you think there’s any chance she’s alive?”
“We’re still very focused on her case and we’ll chase every new lead. I haven’t given up hope that we’ll find her.” Alive is another story. And that’s an official statement, should it ever be repeated.
Matt’s brow furrows deeply as he wipes a sticky spot off the bar counter. He’s not a dumb guy. He sees the truth.
“What a damn shame, for both the girl and her family.” Stan shakes his head. “I can’t imagine what the holidays will be like in their home.”
I’ve tried hard not to, but now I’m picturing Jenny’s hollowed-out face on Christmas morning, staring up at Holly’s empty stocking.
Matt’s dour expression says he’s picturing the same somber thing. “I think I’ll grab a smoke before the after-work rush hits.”
I frown. “You smoke?”
“Only when a kid nearly dies in my bar because of fucking peanuts,” he mutters, grabbing a pack of cigarettes that sits by the cash. “Enjoy your holidays, Emery.”
“Yeah, you too.” I watch him disappear down the hall.
“Gonna stay for a drink?” Stan holds up his beer as if it’s a carrot I’ll follow.
“No, I’m gonna head home.” To the people I love and the place I feel safest in.