Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
My conversation with Keith replays in my head as I finish breakfast and shower.
At a little after ten and ready for the hospital, I call Echo.
As the phone rings, I’m reminded of the time difference.
I’m not certain she is expecting a call at seven in the morning, but since I don’t want to be a slave to my phone while with Julie and the rest of the family, I let it ring.
“Shit, Jill. We need you back on West Coast time,” Echo’s voice comes after a few rings.
“Good morning to you.”
“I’m sitting here with an espresso,” she says, “fill me in. We have meetings all day. In all honesty, I’m glad you called early.”
I’m pacing the living room of the cabin, my stomach in knots. This conversation would be easier if I was a bit more transparent from the get-go. “Echo, I need to stay here for a while longer.”
“How long? And what do you have on the homicide?”
“I’m not exactly sure. Like I told you, if I stay longer than Memorial Day weekend, I’ll need a new place to stay. The cottage is booked for the rest of the summer. Here’s the thing I didn’t mention: the town I’m in is Blue Gil, Michigan. It’s my hometown.”
“And Craig Gilbert is the high school’s football coach.”
My heart rate kicks up as I grip the phone. “Was the coach.”
She scoffs. “Right, was the coach.”
“Echo, I didn’t tell you this was my hometown.”
“No,” she replies, “you didn’t and for that I should be mad or threaten your job or something.
You gave me enough clues, and you’re not the only one who can do research.
The most obvious was the use of your company credit card.
Justin in finance came to me. I never knew you were such a Dollar Store fan. ”
“Shit,” I mutter. “There aren’t a lot of options.”
“Listen, small-town secrets are best learned by the insiders.”
Is that me?
“I’m not pulling the plug on this,” she says, “however, you don’t have an open-ended research trip either. I need something. Tell me what you’ve learned.”
Settling onto the sofa, I stare out the large windows toward the lake. The temperature outside is rising. The forecast is for much warmer days over the next week, which is unseasonably warm.
Is Marty still alive?
Is she locked in a place like Julie was?
I begin to think about how hot it would have been for my sister.
“Jill?” Echo prompts.
I turn my attention to the woodstove, and the way the dark glass reflects the hearth.
“Let me start at the beginning.” I mean the beginning of this saga.
We don’t have enough time to go all the way back.
“Craig Gilbert was the high school football coach and physical education teacher. He was reported missing when he failed to report to work. At first, not much was done.”
“Is he married?”
“Yeah.”
“And his school reported him missing? Not his wife?”
“Right. It seems that at first there were some rumors that he might have left of his own accord. The wife denied the possibility. Three days after his disappearance, she made an impassioned plea for his return.”
“I heard about that on one of my podcasts.”
“A week after he was reported missing, the high school organized a search. His body was found by two members of the high school football team in a swale near a country road. Their names weren’t announced, but I have learned their identities.
“The whole thing has apparently put the local police, a sheriff’s department, in a bad light. I know most of the force. Many of them have been there since I was young.”
“Oh my stars. The kids found their own coach?”
“Yes,” I reply.
“That’s awful. Do they know what happened to him?”
“His death is officially ruled an accident.”
“What the hell? Falling from a building could be an accident,” Echo says. “The victim could have slipped, or he could have been pushed, or maybe he jumped. All very different accidents.”
“That’s why I came here, to try to learn if he slipped, was pushed, or jumped.”
“What have you learned?”
“I’m getting nowhere, mostly because yesterday morning a new incident has taken the spotlight.”
Even discussing Julie made my stomach queasy.
“What new incident? Is it related to the coach thing?” she asks.
“No...” I hesitate, giving that more thought. “I don’t think it is. I guess...it could be...but how...? No...”
That’s a correlation I hadn’t considered. Could they be connected?
“Jill, you’re not making sense.”
“I know. Let me think out loud.” I stand again, walking to the fireplace, then turning and walking to the hallway near the bedrooms. Each trek is seven steps.
I continue moving as I try to put the pieces I know into place.
It’s like a puzzle that comes without a picture of the final product.
It’s difficult to know if the piece that fits is the correct one.
I begin again, “I’m trying to be objective here.
The thing is that Coach Gilbert’s death brought many outsiders to Blue Gil.
His funeral was on Friday. It was so well attended that they had to use the high school gymnasium.
” Craig would say he fooled them all. Keith’s strange commentary came and went.
“Complete football teams came from all around the division. Many graduated players. I heard about some from Blue Gil, but honestly, there could have been others from neighboring schools too. On Saturday night, there was a party attended by many people under twenty-one.”
“A party? To celebrate the coach’s life?” she asks. “Is that the incident you mentioned, a big underage party?”
“No. And the party wasn’t officially for Craig, not like a wake.
More than likely, the coach was the excuse to get wasted.
Blue Gil has a lot of land, especially before fields are planted.
Underage parties aren’t a new thing. Hell, I bet my parents went to them.
Anyway, this party was bigger than normal due to the visitors. My sister is a senior and invited me.”
“Did you go?”
“No.”
Echo exhales. “While if you had, you might know more, I think you made a wise decision. We don’t want you arrested.”
I continue, “The incident is that two girls who attended the party didn’t make it home. They were missing.”
“High school seniors, they are probably out with guys.”
It’s a plausible assumption. “Senior boys are all accounted for and all deny the theory. No one could find them. First thing yesterday morning, the sheriff’s department organized a search.
” I take a breath. “The connection to Craig’s death?
That’s one if I were looking. The town thinks the sheriff messed up the search for the coach.
This time, the department didn’t wait. And as it turned out, a good chunk of the townspeople came to help. Thankfully, my sister was found.”
“Wait, shit, Jill. Your sister? Your sister was one of them. What the hell?”
“Yeah, it’s been a nightmare.”
“I’m glad to hear that she is found. Is she all right?”
This time I fall back on the soft sofa. “Echo” —tears come to my eyes— “I’m not supposed to repeat this.” My usually sure voice cracks.
“Jill.” Echo’s tone has morphed also. “What happened?”
“This is between you and me.” I don’t wait for her to answer. “Julie was found locked in an old garden shed. She was unconscious, bitten by mice and insects, and left in her own vomit and waste.”
“Oh, Jill.”
“She had drugs in her system, the usual suspects: alcohol, marijuana, and also cocaine.”
“You said she was locked in?” Echo asks.
“Yes, by a padlock, on the outside.”
“Holy shit, motherfucker.” Echo has always used colorful language. “Do you think your sister willingly ingested the substances or she was unknowingly drugged?”
My head shakes. “I don’t know. That isn’t all.”
“Oh dear Lord.”
I say it fast, as if it lessens the meaning. “She was also assaulted.”
“Raped?”
“Sexually assaulted with garden tools.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“So,” I say, “I hope you can see why I can’t leave.”
“Any suspects with your sister?”
“Not that I know of. Some sick bastard for sure. If this were a show, I’d profile him as impotent.”
“Because the tools were used?”
“Yeah, why not just rape her?”
“We both know that rape isn’t about sex,” Echo says.
“It’s about power. Maybe he gets off inflicting pain, or it gives him a release.
Maybe this action doesn’t coincide with his real life.
In real life sex is about intimacy. He could be married.
By asserting power without using his penis, he can get the relief he needs without crossing some imaginary line. ”
“That’s not a typical profile,” I say.
“No, but I attest to its merit.”
I lift my free hand to my throbbing temples. “It’s difficult to think about this objectively.”
“Of course it is. Have you done a search to find out if there have been other such assaults in the area? Or perhaps farther away, since you have visitors from out of town. Maybe this guy isn’t from Blue Gil, but he knew the coach.
” When I don’t respond, she continues. “With this theory, perhaps the coach’s death fueled a need for the perpetrator to dominate.
Sexual assault is the ultimate in control. ”
“Why Julie?”
“Your sister may be a victim of opportunity more than a specific target.”
“It makes sense,” I concede.
“How is her friend?”
“Still missing.”
The line stays silent for a few moments as my thoughts go to Julie and what she endured. If the perpetrator isn’t from Blue Gil, he could already be gone, back to where he lives. It was like the carny and McKenzie from my childhood..
What if he took Marty with him?
Or what if he’s still here?
“Jill...”
“Yes,” I answer.
“I’d be one sick son of a bitch if I told you to keep working on this so we can recreate it in one of our shows.”
Though she can’t see me, I nod.
“So, for now,” Echo continues, “help your family. Help your town. But remember, you’re kick-ass at what you do. I can’t imagine how difficult it is to separate your personal self from the you who is fantastic at research. After all, this is your sister. You two were probably close—”
“We aren’t—weren’t,” I admit. “I left here over six years ago. But she’s still my sister. My parents are sick with worry as are my other siblings.”
“Of course. You’re connected. Now, Jill Thorne, let me tell you again that you’re better than good at what you do.
You’re tenacious and unrelenting. I’ve watched you go toe-to-toe with seasoned directors over the minutest details.
If it’s possible, try to think not like a sister but like our talented researcher.
“Take a step back. Find out about similar crimes and patterns. Learn who was at that party and why. If your town is as small as it looks on the map, someone saw something. And then, when everyone is safe and your sister is in counseling because...yeah. Then, I want a full report. What you’re doing and seeing is intriguing to me, and I’ve seen and heard it all. ”
“Echo, I don’t want my sister’s story on Netflix.”
“Haven’t you read the disclaimer? Any resemblance to real...”
“You’re saying that you’ll approve my staying longer?”
“As long as you keep me updated. I’ll tell you what. When you can, send me what you have. I’ll look at it from here. Mine is a completely different perspective. Sometimes that’s what’s needed.”
“Thank you.”
“Hey, that’s what friends do. Stay safe.”
As we hang up, a whole new set of questions runs through my mind. Though the top of my agenda is getting back to Kalamazoo, I start to scratch a few thoughts down on the tablet of paper I have near my laptop. After I complete my list—one that may or may not be connected—I send Becky a text message:
“BECK, I’M HEADED BACK TO brONSON. PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU LEARN ANYTHING ABOUT MARTY. I’LL KEEP YOU POSTED.”