There are no lights on in the Cragg house that I can see, but a shaggy golden retriever sits on the front steps of the house trembling. Great, a dog. He looks friendly enough, but I open my glove box and retrieve a few dog treats that I keep in there just for this purpose. The dog’s tail thumps the ground at my approach and I snap the dog biscuit and toss half to her. She swallows it in one bite and looks expectantly up at me for seconds.
“Hold on, girl,” I tell her as I join her on the steps. The Cragg house is a lovely two-story, painted white with black shutters. Below are window boxes that I imagine are filled with pansies and geraniums in the summer months, but now are filled to the brim with snow. I allow the dog a moment to sniff me and when I’m certain she’s not going to attack I press the doorbell. I listen for any sounds but hear nothing but the whine of the wind and the dog’s snuffling breaths. I open the screen door and pound on the thick oak front door with my fist. Nothing. “Where is he?” I ask the dog, as if she might be able to answer me. When I get none, I walk back down the steps and over to the front window. I stand on my tiptoes in order to peek through the window. The living room is dark; there are a few soda cans and beer bottles strewn around on a dusty coffee table. It’s not a disaster area, but is neglected enough for me to be able to tell a woman isn’t living here.
I walk to the side entrance of the house and see that while the screen door is shut, the inside door is ajar. “You stay,” I order the dog as I step into the kitchen. A reddish smear of some unknown substance is smattered along the floor. Drying blood is my first thought and I pull my Glock from my holster. I move to what appears to be a home office. There are the usual papers and clutter that fill a home office, but my eyes are drawn to a large gun safe in the corner of the room. I pull at the metal handle and it swings open easily. The safe is designed to hold several shotguns, all nestled in their correct green-velvet homes. One empty space glares conspicuously up at me. It isn’t large, just the right size for a handgun. “Jesus,” I mutter. “It is Ray Cragg.”
“I think you’re right,” comes a voice from behind me, and I whirl around, raising my firearm as I do so, my finger instinctually pressing against the trigger as I take aim.
Chapter 67:
Will
“Don’t shoot!” Will called out as he saw Officer Barrett level her gun at him.
“Goddammit,” she barked, clutching at her chest with her empty hand. “That’s a damn good way to get killed.”
Will steadied himself against the desk, heart hammering in his chest, his fingers leaving imprints in the dust. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, hoping that he wouldn’t die of a heart attack after avoiding death by gunshot.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Officer Barrett asked venomously as she shakily returned her firearm to its holster.
“Verna Fraise was worried about her son-in-law. I knew you all were busy with the school so I came over to check things out,” Will explained, realizing as he heard the words said out loud what a stupid thing it was to come here. He took a shuddering breath and continued. “I found Theodore Cragg in there—” he gestured toward the bathroom “—bleeding. He said his son did it.”
Officer Barrett pushed Will aside and entered the bathroom. Theodore Cragg was slumped against the wall, barely conscious, a bloody towel pressed against his forehead. “Your son did this?” Barrett asked Cragg, who nodded woozily. She turned back to Will. “Did you call an ambulance?”
Will shook his head. “I tried, several times. I couldn’t get through to 9-1-1. I figured the lines were tied up with families trying to get information. That or maybe the storm knocked out some telephone lines. I did get through to Herb Lawson just fine. He was going to try and get an ambulance over here.”
“Did you see any sign of Ray?”
“No, none. But I’ve only checked down here. I didn’t make it upstairs or to the outbuildings.”
“I’ll make a quick sweep of the upper level. Keep trying for an ambulance,” she ordered, and then disappeared.
Chapter 68:
Meg
After I clear the upper level of the Cragg house and once the ambulance has arrived to take Theodore Cragg to the hospital, I head back outside. The golden retriever nudges her nose into my leg; I give her the other half of the dog biscuit and check her dog tag for her name. Twinkie. “What do you think, Twinkie?” I ask. “Where do we look next? The big scary barn on the right or the big scary barn on the left?” I run my gloved hand through the dog’s shaggy coat and make my way toward the smaller of the outbuildings. I check my watch; I only have five minutes before I need to call Randall back. I pick up the pace, grateful that I’m wearing my knee-high winter boots. Still, a sharp, cold wind pushes me toward the red, peeling structure and I begin to jog toward the barn door, Twinkie running ahead of me, stopping every few yards to make sure I am still following her. She reaches the barn well before I do and begins to whine and scratch at the red door. I try to run faster but the snow is deep, my legs are aching and my chest feels as if it’s going to burst.
Twinkie looks up at me with mournful eyes and a sense of foreboding comes over me. I slowly pull at the handle of the door and it opens a fraction of an inch and then is blocked by a pile of snow that has drifted around the base of the door. I kick the snow away with my boot and pull the door open wide enough for Twinkie to squirm through. Immediately she begins barking, a rapid desperate baying. I look at my watch again. Two minutes until Randall calls in the cavalry. “Police,” I call out. Nothing but the dog’s yapping. “Police,” I say again, this time more loudly but my words are still drowned out by the dog’s barking. “Quiet!” I shout, and Twinkie immediately quiets and squeezes back through the door to my side. “You sit,” I order, and she does. I clear away more snow so I’m able to open the barn door as wide as it will go. Gun at the ready, I peer around the corner into the barn. The musty smell of hay fills my nose and minuscule bits of dust hang in the air around my head.
I step inside, look around the dim interior and pause at what lies in front of me. I lower my Glock, pull out my cell phone and speed dial Randall.
Chapter 69:
Augie
I just make it to the top of the steps when I see Beth standing in front of P.J.’s classroom door. Her long brown hair has come loose from her ponytail and it looks like she’s been crying. I try to get her attention by waving my arms at her, but she doesn’t notice me. She knocks twice on the glass window in the door as she twists the knob and steps into the room.
“Dad?” I hear her say. “Please don’t.”
Chapter 70:
Meg
“Jesus, Meg,” Randall says, relief in his voice. “I was just about to call the chief. He would have castrated me if someone had to leave the school to come looking for you.”
“Randall,” I try to interrupt.
“I can’t believe you put me through this. I’ve had enough stress for one—”
“Randall,” I say more forcefully. “Ray Cragg gave himself a 9 mm skylight. I need Fred.” Fred is our medical examiner investigator.
There is silence on the line.
“Randall?” Still no response.
“Randall,” I snap. “Stay with me here. I need the MEI at the Cragg farm.”
“I’ll call Fred, but you have to call the chief.”
“Fine.” I press the end button and look over to where a man sits—Ray Cragg, legs splayed, head lolled forward. I bend down to get a better look at what remains of his face, the lower half obliterated. His eyes, though lifeless, are opened wide as if surprised that he did this awful thing to himself. To his family. Splatters of blood and tissue cling to the bales of hay that he is resting against and I’m thankful that I’m the one who found him this way. At least that horror was spared from his family. I cringe at the thought of one of his daughters finding him
in this state. I hear footsteps behind me and I whirl around, “Stay out!” I order.
The footfalls abruptly stop and I see Will Thwaite standing in the doorway, his hand on Twinkie’s collar. “Jesus,” he rasps, his gaze falling on the grotesque figure behind me.
“Go on outside, Mr. Thwaite,” I say gently. “I’ll be right there.”
Chapter 71:
Mrs. Oliver
“Beth?” A small voice came from the back of the room. Mrs. Oliver spun around, the man’s hand still gripping her upper arm firmly. Natalie Cragg looked up at her older sister in surprise, the tail of her braid damp from where she had been sucking on her hair nervously.
“Jesus H. Christ,” the man said in defeat. “What kind of town is this? Doesn’t anyone know who their father is?” Beth stood in stunned silence looking from her little sister and back to the gunman. The man dropped Mrs. Oliver’s arm and shoved her aside, sending her crashing into the iron radiator beneath the window. A sharp pain spread from her hip down the length of her leg. The man grabbed Beth by her ponytail and forced her to her knees, waving the gun around carelessly. “Who else is out there?” the man asked.
“No one, j-just me,” Beth stammered. “I thought…I thought you were…”
“I’m not your fucking father,” the man spat, yanking the ponytail violently, causing Beth to cry with fright. “You better not be lying to me.” He was breathing heavily and had a dangerous expression on his face.
“I’m not, I’m not lying,” Beth assured him desperately.
Mrs. Oliver felt that things were spiraling quickly out of control and hobbled back toward the man. “Can’t you see she’s terrified?” Mrs. Oliver said. “Look at her.” The man’s eyes seemed to clear a bit and he released Beth’s hair and she collapsed into a sobbing heap on the floor. Mrs. Oliver bent down and whispered soothingly in her ear. “Go to Natalie now, Beth. It’s going to be okay. See—” Mrs. Oliver tenderly brushed Beth’s hair away from her sweaty forehead “—it’s not your father. Go on and sit with your sister now.” Beth nodded and, still crying, joined her sister in the back of the classroom.
A burning rage grew in Mrs. Oliver; she straightened her spine, drawing herself up to her fullest height, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in her hip. She turned to the gunman. “Lay one more hand on one of these children—” Before she could finish her sentence the man reared back his hand. Mrs. Oliver’s last thought before he cuffed her soundly on the side of the head with the gun was that once again Cal was right—the easiest way to save face is to keep the lower half shut.
Chapter 72:
Meg
The medical examiner investigator, Fred Ramsey, lives only about twenty minutes from Broken Branch and should be here shortly. I quickly decide that no one is going to disturb the body so I hike through the snow back to my car, with Twinkie on my heels, in order to meet Fred and the ambulance and warm up. I settle Twinkie into the backseat, well aware of the crap I’m going to get for being a softie, but I can’t leave her out in the cold; the temperature is dropping quickly and the winds have picked up. It must be below zero with the windchill factor and I can only imagine how logistically difficult it is over at the school. I dig into my glove compartment and pull out the plastic bag filled with dog biscuits and give them all to Twinkie, who makes short order of them and then curls up into a golden ball and closes her eyes. Exactly what I’d like to do right about now.
I’m taking notes regarding my discovery of Ray Cragg’s body, the interior of the cruiser is finally warm enough for me to remove my gloves and I can actually feel my toes again when my cell phone buzzes. I’m hoping it’s Maria but the display reads Stuart. My curiosity gets the best of me and I answer. “Yes, Stuart? Very, very busy here.”
“Hi, Meg,” Stuart whispers. “Two quick questions for you—”
“No comment, no comment,” I answer in a bored voice.
“Ha. Good one. No, seriously. This one is off the record if you’d like,” he says softly.
“Oh, I like,” I respond, angry at myself for getting pulled into Stuart’s orbit again. “Why are you whispering, Stuart?”
“I don’t want Bricker to hear my conversation. He’s always trying to home in on my stories. Question one. Do you ever miss me?”
“How’s your wife doing, Stuart?” I snap.
“Okay, sorry. She’s fine.”
“I’m happy to hear it. You used up one of your questions.”
“I kind of have the feeling you haven’t heard this news yet.” Stuart hesitates as if maybe continuing this conversation isn’t such a good idea.
“Spit it out, Stuart.”
“Have you heard about your ex-husband?”
I straighten in my seat. I can see a vehicle moving slowly through the snow toward the Cragg farm, its headlights barely a glint against the brightness of the snow. “What about Tim? Is he okay?”
“That’s the thing. No one seems to know where he is. My sources tell me that a call came into the Waterloo P.D. and that he just up and disappeared.”
My mind is whirling. Where could Tim be? It’s not like him to take off, especially when he has a visit with Maria.
“Meg,” he says gently, tenderly, as if he still cares about me. “My source speculated that maybe, just maybe, he’s the guy in the school.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I say out loud before I remember I’m talking to a reporter, a reporter I once thought I could love, but certainly don’t trust. “No comment,” I say, and disconnect. If I find out who the hell Stuart’s source is, I’m going to arrest him myself.
As the car comes closer I recognize Fred Ramsey’s white SUV. Trailing behind him is another car that looks to be a Stark County sheriff’s vehicle.
My feet feel like lead. I’m still in shock from Stuart’s words. Tim, the intruder at Maria’s school? No way. Stuart is messing with me. I force myself from the car to greet the men.
“Fred,” I say, “thanks for coming so quickly. The body is this way, in the barn.” I move to lead Fred to the barn when the sheriff’s deputy steps from his car. Unusual for a deputy from another county to work a scene. I try to tell myself that it’s because this is an unusual day, unusual circumstances, but a ripple of fear moves through my limbs.
“Officer Barrett?” he says formally. I nod. “I’m Deputy Sheriff Robert Hine from the Stark County Sheriff’s Department. We’re assisting your department because of all that’s going on over at the school. Your chief wants me to take over here so that you’ll be able to head back into Broken Branch.”
“Did he say why?” I ask.
“No, ma’am, just that you are to report to the command center at the school.”
I climb back into my car and, with shaking hands, I slide the gear into Drive. I hear Twinkie yawn in the backseat. I’ve forgotten about the poor dog. I don’t have time to take her to animal control or to take her to Darlene Cragg’s house without having to explain why I have her in the first place.
Mercifully, the snow has stopped for the time being but the winds continue to blow, making visibility difficult. I try to call Tim’s cell phone but it goes directly to voice mail. “Tim,” I say, “please call me right away when you get this message.”
I call Judith, Tim’s mother, hoping to get more information, but she isn’t answering, either. I consider calling Maria, but I don’t know what she knows. I don’t want to worry or upset her.
I know Tim’s not the man in the school. There’s no reason for it. He doesn’t own a gun, doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. That isn’t the man I was married to.
As much as I don’t want to, I put a call in to Chief McKinney.
Chapter 73:
Will
Will thought that he would be tied up at the Cragg farm for hours giving his statement to the sheriff’s dep
uty about how he came to be in the Cragg home, found an injured Theodore, how that led to the discovery of Ray’s suicide. Surprisingly, the officer simply took Will’s statement, wrote down his contact information and sent him on his way.
He decided to drive back to the farm, check in with Daniel on how the calving was going. At times there were complications with calving in the best of weather, but in bitter conditions like this it could be deadly. He knew he should head back to Lonnie’s, but the thought of sitting and just waiting made his skin itch. The Cragg farm was just minutes from Will’s place but drifts of snow were scudding across the roads in erratic sheets, making visibility difficult. Just as Will was nearing his farm, faint headlights winked weakly from an approaching vehicle. Daniel. And he had the cattle trailer hitched to his truck. The two vehicles stopped, and Will powered down his window. The cold was relentless and instantly he was chilled through.
“I’m heading over to Dr. Nevara’s. Number 421 is in distress and I’m thinking she’s going to need a C-section,” Daniel explained. “Herb Clemens is watching over the others, so no worries there.”
Will felt a rush of gratitude toward his friends and neighbors; they could always be counted on. Whether you needed help planting your corn or birthing calves, they were there. “I’ll follow you to Dr. Nevara’s and then head back to Lonnie’s.” Will paused, trying to decide whether or not to tell Daniel about Ray Cragg’s suicide. It could wait, he figured. Best if Verna and Darlene learned about it before the town at large.