Chapter Five #5
The labored groan that came out of her mouth when she stood reminded her of her father getting out of his cruiser on cold mornings.
She went to the sink. Gulped water from the faucet.
Turned the handle all the way off to stop the incessant dripping.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Dark circles under her eyes. Octopus tendrils of hair sprouting from her head.
Her skin still felt filthy from sweating at Myrna’s grave, then being covered in Sheetrock, then sweltering inside the Tyvek suit.
She needed to get her shit together.
Emmy put her phone on the counter. Slid her fingers across the screen. Tapped a familiar number.
Tommy answered on the third ring. “What’s up, kiddo?”
He sounded the same as always, which was exactly what she needed from her brother right now. “Just hanging out in the toilet.”
“Fun times.”
Emmy noticed the sound of gentle shushing in the background. “Are you at the river basin?”
“Thought I’d go fishing.”
“It’s night-time, Tommy.”
“Might catch a starfish.”
Emmy laughed, but only for the release. “Do you remember a girl from your history class named Talia Wilkinson?”
“Turned in her work on time. Stayed out of trouble.”
Emmy had been raised by a teacher. She knew this was high praise. “She’s friends with a girl named Mandy Vickery. Both her and her mother were—”
“I know what happened.”
There was a weight to their silence.
Tommy said, “Never had Mandy in my class. Celia might know her.”
Celia was one of the vice principals at North Falls High School. She would be a good source, but Emmy wanted to talk to her brother. Or listen to him breathe as he watched the Flint River roll by.
Emmy leaned back against the sink. Pressed the phone to her ear.
Focused on the sound of the water sliding over rocks that had been worn smooth by friction and time.
Her eyes closed. She felt tears start to well up.
She wondered what Tommy had done with the handful of dirt he had carried away from their mother’s grave.
Her phone buzzed in her hand, work trying to pull her back into reality. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I should go.”
“Hey—” Tommy paused. “You know, kid, I love you so much. If you ever need to talk—any time, day or night—all you have to do is call Jude.”
She laughed so hard the sound echoed against the tiles. “Tommy, I want you to know that you can call her, too. Jude is always there for you.”
“No, she’s there for you.”
Emmy grinned as she brushed away her tears.
“Oh, Emmy Lou,” he sighed. “A long time ago, Mom told me that people are like boomerangs. The harder you try to throw them away, the harder they come back at you.”
She heard a hint of melancholy in his voice.
She could’ve offered to come find him at the river.
To call Celia. To get Jude and a six-pack to mark the passing of their mother, but instead, she told him, “I hear it’s actually really difficult to throw a boomerang the right way so that it comes back. ”
“Then it’s not a boomerang,” Tommy said. “It’s a stick.”
Emmy smiled. “Okay.”
She ended the call. Dropped her phone face down on the countertop surround.
Splashed more water on her face. Tried to neaten her hair.
The vise that had tightened around her chest had loosened enough so that she could draw in a full breath again.
She pressed her hands on the counter. Put her head down.
Thought about her job, because the only way to help Mandy Vickery right now was to find the person who’d murdered her mother and left her fighting for her life in a hospital operating room.
Emmy looked at her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t see herself. She saw the badge that her father had worn for six decades. She heard the voice of his experience in her head.
What do we know?
Allison was murdered with her own gun. Mandy was shot.
There was $300,000 in cash hidden in the attic.
Last year, Allison broke off an affair with a volatile cop who was her superior officer and subsequently retired from the force.
Two months ago, she dropped her lawsuit against the City of Clayville for work-place retaliation.
Two weeks ago, she filed divorce papers on her abusive husband.
Woody was seen several times with Mandy by two different witnesses over the past two weeks.
This afternoon, Allison and Mandy were packing their bags to leave town.
What do we think we know?
Talia had mentioned an unnamed older man who was grooming Mandy.
Or maybe the older man was Woody, and Mandy had lied to Talia.
Which meant that Woody was still at the top of Emmy’s list of suspects, but just because the Rawleys were murdering drug dealers didn’t mean one of them had murdered this particular woman. There were other men in Allison’s life with motive, means, and opportunity.
Bill Garrison wasn’t the type of psychopath to let a woman have the last word.
Reggie Wilder was not accustomed to being told no.
Allison had spent twenty years locking up the worst of the worst—drug dealers, human traffickers, murderers, rapists, any of whom could be out by now and looking for revenge.
What do we do next?
Emmy needed to speak to Skylar Guthrie, Mandy’s friend she’d fallen out with.
Hopefully, Cole would find some information from Talia’s phone that led them to either Woody or the unknown older man.
Brett would have to report in at some point about the canvas of Allison’s neighborhood and the strip malls on the other side of the woods behind her house.
Emmy needed to verify Bill Garrison’s alibi that he was at the Lazy Eight when Allison and Mandy were shot.
She needed to ascertain Reggie’s whereabouts at the same time.
To ask questions around town in case somebody bad had come into a large sum of money recently that might indicate a gun for hire.
Woody’s movements would be more difficult to pin down, but Emmy would have her deputies talk to every drug addict in the county to build a timeline for his day.
Anyone with half a brain was terrified of the Rawleys, but just about every addict on the street would trade information for a get-out-of-jail-free card the next time they were picked up for using.
She took a full breath, held it in her lungs for a beat.
She felt clear-headed, ready to jump back into the investigation.
If her father had taught her anything, it was how to build a case.
All you had to do was keep picking at every thread until you found the one that connected the killer to the crime.
Her phone buzzed again.
Emmy flipped it over and looked at the screen.
The first message was from Bernadette Grayson, the mayor of Clayville.
The second was from Chief Reggie Wilder.
They were both demanding answers about the Allison Vickery investigation.
They were both on their way to the station.