"Or all of it."
FIFTY-SEVEN
Dalton joins the search party after breakfast. As much as I want to, I have something else to do.
I'm at Val's. We haven't spoken of my theory about the council. When Dalton asked her to contact them about medical care for Roger, she didn't flinch or give him a hard time. She just took his request and reported back afterward.
Now she brings me in without a word. We sit in that damned living room, and it's like some kind of recurring nightmare where I keep looping back to the same place, with the same goal, making no progress. Like Dalton and that cat analogy. I keep trying to pet the cat, be the one person who treats it well in hopes I'll break through.
"I need to know if Mathias is one of the council's spies," I begin.
She tenses.
"I'm not asking you to give me a list," I say. "This is very specific and tied to the case."
"Until our discussion the other night, Casey, I wasn't aware that anyone acted in that capacity. Which sounds naive of me."
I point at the radio. "That is the one method of communication with the council. Which means those messages go through you."
"Yes, there are people who make reports, for various reasons. But I hear those, and I can honestly say that they aren't spying on anyone."
Like Anders, reporting on Dalton, which would seem like a backup account of police activity. The real purpose, of course, was to see where Dalton lied or hid acts of rebellion.
To Val, those reports would seem like simple checks on Dalton's power. If we do have true spies, whatever secrets they impart must be in encoded in their message. And yes, even thinking that makes me wonder if I should join Brent in his cave, swapping conspiracy theories.
But I still ask, "Does Mathias submit a report?"
"Yes. He provides psychological evaluations. General reports give his opinion of the overall mental health of the community. Specific ones deal primarily with an individual's propensity toward violence. That is his area of expertise, though, so it seemed proof that the council was indeed safeguarding citizens."
"Seemed proof? You're not so sure now?"
A pause. Then a quiet, "I'm not so sure of anything anymore."
And that is, I suppose, the best I can hope for. That Val is questioning. But questioning isn't the same as questing, trying to get answers, to take action. I'm not sure I can ever expect that from her.
"You said the specific ones deal primarily with violent tendencies. What else?"
"Various things. If Sheriff Dalton is having a problem with a citizen--one who seems particularly rebellious or difficult--council requests Mathias assess whether that person is a danger here or elsewhere."
"Elsewhere?"
"Once they leave. Or, if the council decided to cut a difficult resident's stay short, would that prove problematic."
"And by problematic, you mean whether they're an exposure risk."
"Yes."
"Let's say they are. In that case, as with Diana, they might not let them leave early. But what if they were at the end of their term? What if Mathias decides they'd be an exposure risk?"
"All residents are monitored after they leave Rockton. If Dr. Atelier found them to be a threat, I would presume they are more strictly monitored."
"Do you play any role in that monitoring? Receive feedback on how a resident is readjusting to life down south?"
She shakes her head. "Other areas of the council manage past residents."
"One more question, completely off topic. How did Nicole's brother die?"
She blinks. "Nicole's brother?"
"I know he was taken by a cartel. I know he was tortured. Do we have any indication that captivity was involved?"
More confused looks.
"I know it sounds like a strange question," I say. "But there is a point to it. Is there anything in the council's report that would indicate whether his torture happened quickly or over a period of time?"
"I believe he was held and tortured for several days, which is why she faked a similar situation herself."
"That's all I need. Thank you."
As I head for the front door, Val stays in the living room. I'm reaching for the doorknob when she says, "I know you are disappointed in me, Casey."
She appears in the living room doorway.
"You expected more," she says. "Better. I can only tell you that I need time. I am considering everything you said."
"Okay."
"You may also be disappointed because I haven't apologized to Sheriff Dalton. Please remember, however, that I believed what the council told me, and therefore my response was appropriate."
"So you feel you don't owe him an apology. Sure. Nor does he owe you one for the way he insulted and belittled and patronized you in response. Oh, wait. He didn't."
"I--"
"You already had preconceptions about Eric. What the council said only endorsed them. But Eric didn't mistreat you in return. So you can tell yourself you did nothing wrong, but the fact you feel the need to defend your decision proves you know better. For the record, though, he doesn't want an apology. He just wants you to do your job."
She lets me leave after that. Not a word of denial. Not one of acknowledgment either. She just lets me leave.
*
Dalton and I are in the clinic with Roger's body. Mathias is there. Anders is not. Our deputy doesn't have the acting skills for this. I'm not sure our sheriff does either, but he's behind Mathias, sitting and observing, saying nothing.
I've asked Mathias for a second opinion on the cause of death. All he knows is that we have a theory.
"Collapsed lung, obviously," Mathias says. "You have exposed the lung, which makes your findings easy to determine."
"I'm not making a game of it, Mathias. You can see what we've found. I'd like you to confirm it as cause of death."
"Cause of death is clearly that lung, given the fact it is collapsed and there is bloody froth in his mouth." He flips open Roger's eyelids. "Bloodshot eyes suggest suffocation. The fact he did not fight means he was receiving too much morphine. Which could suggest..." He checks Roger's lung. "There is a puncture lining up with a stab wound. Someone exacerbated the injury. Used a lancet or other thin object to bypass the ribs and puncture the lung."
"How do you figure that?"
"The wound has been stitched, yet it is open slightly at this end. There was no injury to the lung yesterday. I was here. There is also tissue damage consistent with a blade being inserted and removed." He points it out. "It may appear the killer knew what he was doing, but he was really only making an educated guess. Anyone with basic knowledge of anatomy could do the same."
Mathias taps the morphine pump. "This has been tampered with."
"How can you tell?"
"I cannot. But we know he slept through suffocation. I watched you and William pore over your notes, discussing exactly how much morphine this man needed. I know enough about sedatives to have agreed with your dosage. Someone increased it. Does that concur with your findings?"
"It does."
"Which would suggest I did not kill this man."
"I only wanted--"
He switches to French and puts his back to Dalton. "Playing coy doesn't become you, Casey. You didn't need a second opinion. You wanted to see if I would argue that you and William missed that damage to the lung. That this man did, indeed, die of his injuries."
I glance at Dalton, but he doesn't insist Mathias return to English. Mathias will speak more freely to me.
He drops the probe back on the tray with a clack.
"If you expect me to deny you're a suspect," I say, "you know better. I'm sorry if you're offended--"
"Not at all. Nor are you sorry, so you should not say so. It cheapens our relationship. You believe I may have killed this man. My only question is whether you also believe I am guilty of the rest. Of the kidnappings and the deaths. I believe you do. You have determined that the timing of my arrival in Rockton does not
completely absolve me. Your suspect only needed to be present at the time of Robyn Salas's death. Which I likely was."
I open my mouth, but he keeps going. "The death of this man removes him as your former top suspect. It also suggests your killer is almost certainly a local. No one could enter Rockton twice and not be recognized as a stranger."
"Fine," I say. "You're a suspect. Thank you for your time--"
"Before I go, I must ask ... what do you consider as my motivation?"
"Motivation is the last thing I consider. Facts come first."
"So you presume I'm simply a garden-variety sociopath, a man who rapes and tortures women for fun? No. Again, you insult our relationship by lying."
"This isn't about our relationship. It's about my job."
"You have a motivation in mind. You will. It is how your mind works."
He moves around the examination table, coming toward me. Dalton tenses, but Mathias stops out of reach of me.
"You know why I am in Rockton, yes?" he says. "I presume Eric has told you."
"The moment anyone becomes a suspect, that information is no longer privileged."
"I am not whining about privacy, Casey. We surrender that when we come here, and the fact we retain any privacy at all is a courtesy. So you know what happened to me. What that poor excuse for a human accused me of."
"Yes."
He studies my face. "You know something more. Or you think you do."
"I know there was a second case. One that wasn't officially tied to you. A disembowelment."
I have to switch to English for the last word. My French vocabulary isn't that extensive. It catches Dalton's attention. That's intentional. I could have found another way to phrase it, but this is me letting him know what I'm sharing, asking if he wants me to stop. He stays quiet.
"The council did their homework. I am impressed." Mathias considers. "Too impressed. They are not that thorough. It was Eric, I presume? Checking our stories."
I say nothing.
"It would be Eric," Mathias says. "He is the only one who cares enough to be thorough. And his uneducated hick-sheriff routine is quite possibly the least convincing performance I have ever seen. So you have two cases suggesting I somehow persuaded killers to commit terrible acts of self-mutilation." He leans against the examining table. "But how would that relate to Nicole and the others? I know one could say Nicole caused the death of her brother--yes. He was held captive, wasn't he? Held prisoner and tortured. If I believed in retributive justice, I might give her a true taste of what her brother went through. Yet the entire scenario does not fit. Her captor tormented her for personal pleasure."
"Maybe outrage over a perceived miscarriage of justice was just the rationalization."
He eyes me before he relaxes, pulling on a smile. "Perhaps, as you say, for whoever would do such a thing, there is more to it. There is gratification. A sublimation of desire. But not in the way you think. That would make the predator no better than his prey. I did not murder this man here. I did not capture Nicole. I am not the killer you seek. As for the rest, I am no threat to you. No threat to Eric or to the job you both perform, protecting the safety of those here."
I look at Dalton. We're still speaking in French, and he's been watching my body language. When I look over, he tenses, ready to rise. I shake my head.
"Your theory is sound," Mathias says. "But there is a missing piece, a part you are not able to resolve. The other women. You don't know how they'd fit the pattern of retributive justice, and you are too good a detective to decide that doesn't matter."
"Tell me about the reports you make to the council."
That throws him; his composure ripples.
"I know you report on the psychological well-being of the community as a whole, plus assessments of specific individuals at the council's request."
"Yes," he says slowly.
"Why you?"
"Do you mean, why not Isabel? She is more a part of the community, which would seem a natural choice, but it is actually a hindrance. That, and the fact she is now a businessperson first, a community worker second. If she had minor concerns about a well-paying customer, would she raise them? Perhaps not. I have no such restrictions, not for business or personal reasons. As well, their concerns over violence are far more my area than Isabel's."
"They also ask you to assess exposure threats."
"I can see that my reporting concerns you, Casey, but I am not understanding the source of that concern. I am well aware that the council's primary interest is not altruistic. It is financial. Even more so than Isabel, who despite her veneer of avarice, does actually care about this town. But it is in the council's best interests to keep the town safe, which is what my reports do."
"Fine, go back to--"
"Not until I understand this new line of questioning. You are interested in my reports, and you highlight exposure threats. The connection, then ... Ah, back to Nicole, who posed a threat." He taps a probe against the table. "But she did not. You suggested she may be a threat to allow her to stay. I did not tell the council that. I kept your secret."
"Great, so--"
"Yet you believe I may have 'silenced' her, to use the vernacular. Very 007 of me. I am flattered. You will notice that I am not, however, mocking the underlying suggestion--that someone could have kidnapped Nicole at the council's behest. I do not say they would. I do not say they would not. I will only admit this--if I believe a good person represents a small risk of exposure, I see no need to trouble the council with my thoughts."
"Have they ever suggested they've acted on your reports? To squelch threats?"
"If they did, I would stop giving any reports. And possibly relocate to the forest. As for what I report, I keep copies. You and Eric are welcome to see them. I would have shared them with Eric sooner, if I did not fear adding my observations might cloud his own judgment."
"I'll take those."
"Good." He looks me in the eye. "I understand why you might suspect me of this, but I did not do it, Casey. I am certain you have already ordered militia to keep an eye on me, but I can assure you, I will not leave Rockton. I trust you to find the correct answer, and I know I am not it."
FIFTY-EIGHT
I'm at the station. Writing. Spelling out what fits and what doesn't. It's past noon when the door opens and Jen walks in.
I keep writing. She drags over a chair. It's light enough to lift, but she drags it, legs scraping on the rough wood floor. Then she plunks herself onto it.
"Has anyone ever said you're a phony bitch?" she asks.
I don't raise my gaze from the paper. "Only you."
"Oh, I'm sure others have said it. Just not to your face. You can talk the talk. Act like you're some hard-ass feminist, but it's all for show."
I set down my pen. "I don't know what a hard-ass feminist is. I'm a feminist, which only means that I think men and women deserve equal treatment. Hardly a groundbreaking concept. But I'm sure you're about to give an example of where I failed in that."
"About last night. I've been waiting for you to come and get my side of the story, but apparently, that's not happening. You got the man's side. That's enough."
"Yes, that must be it. It has nothing to do with the fact that one of you has proven trustworthy and the other has not. It may also be because I'm still mulling through Paul's story. You were late. That got him out of Roger's room. Then you further distracted him, giving the killer time--"
"No," she says, and there seems to be genuine horror in her eyes. She covers it quickly with "So now I'm a suspect? Of course I am. I'm always a suspect."
"Then you disagree with my reasoning?"
"I was late for my shift, but it's not like Paul says, me sauntering in whenever I felt like it. I'd worked a double shift. I got three hours' sleep and missed my alarm. I woke up, chugged cold coffee as I dressed, and then ran all the way to the station. Paul threatened to report me to Will, wouldn't listen to my excuses. So, yes, I bought my way out of it with se
x. If you want to judge me for that, go ahead. I did it to shut him up because I want the goddamn job and I didn't trust you to listen to my side of the story. If I'd had any clue you'd actually think I was an accomplice--"
"Again, look at the facts. If it was anyone else, you'd berate me for not considering her. I'm sorry you felt you had to buy off Paul."
"You know what you sound like, Butler? When I was a kid, I got into a fight at school. My stepdad said I needed to strike back at the bullies. So I did, and do you know who was sent for counseling? Not those bitches. Me. You sound just like my counselor. I'm sorry you feel that way, Jen. You're mistaken, Jen. I understand your frustration, Jen." She curls her lip. "Sanctimonious bitch."
I walk over and add more logs to the fire.
"I gave you a chance," she says. "I tried to help. You shit on me."
I turn and look her in the eye. "I'm sorry you feel that way."
She takes a swing at me. I duck it, grab her arm, and wrench it up, forcing her over the desk.
"Sorry," I say. "But you walked into that."
She struggles beneath me.
"You didn't give me a chance, Jen," I say. "If you feel like you tried to reach out and I smacked you down, then I am sorry. Maybe I should have been quicker to ask for your side. But I was still investigating the possibility you were involved, and I needed to do that before I spoke to you. I will interview you when I'm ready."
"Bitch."
"Yes. I am. But I'm a bitch with a murder case to solve and an innocent woman to free, so unless you can help with that--"
"I'm not sure anyone can help you with that. You're screwing up this case so badly, I have a better chance of solving it."
"Awesome," I say as I release her. "Go solve it."
She shakes herself. "Do you know why else I was waiting for you to come talk to me, Butler? Because I have information that'll blow your case wide open. A suspect you haven't even considered."
I turn on her. "And you were just sitting around, waiting for me to prove myself by coming by and earning your tip? While Nicole sits in a--"