"Sheriff Dalton wouldn't have returned her attention."
"Hell, no. If I felt like the old guy with the teenager, it would have been even worse for Eric. Like dating your little sister." He shudders. "Just no. I think Abby understood that. Most times. Every now and then ... Well, she'd wonder, and I'd steer her away. For her own good. For his, too. If she came on to him ... shit. That'd have been rough, knowing she saw him that way. He wanted to be her big brother, not her Prince Charming."
I must smile at that, because he laughs. "Yeah, no one's going to mistake Eric for Prince Charming. But he was her knight in shining armour, however much he'd hate to hear that. He's a good guy."
"I keep hearing that."
"Yeah, Eric's fans and friends are a little too quick to support him. Mainly because we know what a crappy first impression he leaves. And second. And third. How are you guys doing?"
"We had a rough start, but I'm starting to see the side that wins him fans."
The smile grows. "Good. You two seem to be spending a lot of time together."
"We're working a big case together."
"Still..." He catches my look. "Okay, I won't play matchmaker. You'll get plenty of that from others. So, back to Abbygail..."
"You were the last person to see her alive."
He flinches, as if I've poked a wound that hasn't healed.
"She was heading for the forest," he says. "I was over by the woodshed, hauling logs. It was after dark, and there was no way in hell she should have been that close to the forest. She said she'd heard an animal that sounded hurt. We scoured the area together and I had no reason to think she wasn't telling the truth, which makes me feel like a complete idiot, but honestly? Eric said don't go into the forest, so Abby didn't go into the forest. She'd tease and poke, but she never disobeyed him. I really did think she'd heard an animal."
"But you didn't find anything."
He shakes his head. "So I walked her home. Beth's neighbours saw us--they can confirm that. Abby went inside and everything seemed fine. Beth got home an hour later, after working late next door at the clinic, and when Abby wasn't there, she just figured we were out, and she went to bed. I think Abby grabbed a lantern and went back. She loved animals, and if she thought she heard a wounded one..."
"It's the only thing that would have drawn her into the forest."
"But not far. Yes, she might wander in farther than she meant to, chasing a noise, but I can't imagine she'd go in deep enough to get lost. Someone lured her in. I'm sure of it. Others might tell you different, and maybe they think I'm just covering my own ass because I didn't manage to stop her. Either way, it doesn't cover my ass, because I was still the last ... the last to see her. I fucked up. And she disappeared."
He goes quiet, lost in that grief, until I break it by saying, "You mentioned a list? Guys who gave her trouble?"
He snaps from his reverie. "Right. Let me get a pen."
I pass him mine, and he writes it out and hands it to me. As I go to leave, he says, "Abby would have liked you."
I turn and look at him.
He shrugs, a little embarrassed. "I was just thinking that. She had a lot of women here playing mother and therapist. What she didn't have was a female friend." He fidgets. "It wasn't the same with me, and sometimes I think maybe if she had another girl she could have confided in, about anything..." He rubs the back of his neck. "I don't know. I'm probably being silly. We all keep wondering where we went wrong, thinking we missed something, failed to give her something, and if only this or that then maybe it'd have been different. Anyway, all I mean is that she would have liked you. You're a survivor. Like her."
That gives me pause, but he only shrugs and says, "I was a cop, remember? I recognize the signs."
I nod and start to go. Then I say, "Everyone presumes she's dead. You knew her, as much as anyone. Maybe more. Is it possible she's..." I look toward the forest.
"Still out there?" His gaze drops. "I wish it was, detective." He resumes polishing the bar, his voice rough with grief. "I really wish it was."
THIRTY-TWO
Mick's list is indeed short. Three names. One is Pierre Lang. Abbygail had mentioned getting a "weird vibe" around him. A few times in her last month, she'd had the feeling she was being followed. Not stalking, just someone following her for a short distance, watching her. A secret admirer who'd left a bowl of wild raspberries outside her door. Mick had suspected it was Lang, but he'd figured Lang was just a middle-aged guy with a crush on an inappropriately young woman, and it would end when she didn't reciprocate.
I'm walking to the station when Kenny catches up. He comes around once or twice a day. Just pops in to see what's going on, if anyone needs him for militia work. Today, he says he has a hot tip for me. Apparently, someone overheard Hastings badmouthing Dalton before he took off. Which is about as shocking as telling me the sun rose that morning.
I'm thanking Kenny when Isabel intercepts us and shoos him with her fingers. "Stop bothering the new girl, Kenny. I know she's very pretty, but Eric didn't hire her for ornamental value."
"I had a tip."
"Yes, I'm sure you did. Now go."
When Kenny leaves, I continue walking and say to Isabel, "If you have a problem at the Roc, Sheriff Dalton just headed that way."
"Sheriff Dalton?" She laughs. "That's awfully formal. Are you and the boss not getting along, sugar?"
I look at her, and I think about my talk with Mick, and there's a part of me that wants to cut Isabel some slack. But I get the feeling if I do, she'll use it to her advantage, and drag me into her battle with Dalton.
I climb the steps into the station. "Is there anything I can help you with, Ms. Radcliffe?"
"Ouch. All right. That cold front isn't for our good sheriff." She follows me in. "Do you want to talk about what I do?"
"I don't think there's anything to discuss. You've found a way to turn a profit in Rockton. And in return, the rest of the women have to put up with being treated like we'll all whore ourselves--it's just a matter of finding the right price."
"I think that's exaggerating--"
"I've been here four days and I've still managed to be offered money for sex twice. That's not counting the guy who told me that if I ever need extra credits, he has some 'night work' for me. I'll just presume he wants me to come over after my shift and type his novel."
"You're young and attractive. It's an anomaly."
"And you know that how? Marketing research? Door-to-door surveys?" I shake my head and sit at the desk. "I can handle it. I'm sure every other woman in this town can, too, because it's not like most of them have had their self-esteem ground into the dirt by an abusive asshole." I look at her. "Right?"
Her reply is slow, careful. "I think that while you have a very valid point, if you could let me state my case, you'd see that we're damned if we do and we're damned if we don't. This is one solution to a very serious problem."
"That guys can't keep their pants zipped? That if you deprive them of women, they'll just take them? That's a hell of an insult to the men in this town."
She sighs. "I'd like the chance to explain, Casey. That's why I came by. To invite you to lunch."
"No, thank you."
I notice Anders has come in. He's standing in the doorway. He sees me look up, nods, and backs out with a motion that he'll be back in five.
"There are a limited number of professional women in this town," Isabel says. "Most of us work in menial jobs, just like we did down south. Those in higher positions should stick together."
"I don't choose my friends by gender. Now, if you'll excuse me..."
She leaves without another word, and I return to my work.
Anders returns and sets a Tupperware box in front of me. Inside are cookies.
"I know," he says. "For cops it should be doughnuts, but we don't get those here."
"I prefer cookies anyway." I select one.
"Good, considering I probably need to score a few points after last n
ight." He takes a cookie and the chair Isabel vacated.
"I'm sorry about Diana," I say. "I should have walked away sooner. You guys didn't deserve that."
He gives a half shrug. "I kinda did. Before you arrived, Diana and I were at the Lion, with others, lots of drinking, she seemed fun and she's new in town and ... And that really doesn't make me sound any better, does it?" He shifts in his seat. "Diana's having some ... I'd say issues, but that sounds condescending. Cutting loose is fine, but with her it seems a little..."
"Frenetic?"
"Yeah. Which I didn't realize at the time. So inadvertently I took advantage of the situation, and I feel bad."
"Deputy," Dalton says as he walks through the door, "did you come in today to talk or to work?"
Before Anders can answer, Dalton heads out the back.
"Good morning to you, too, boss!" Anders calls. Then he says, to me, "Sometimes I wonder why he doesn't just walk around the building."
"Not really an inside cat, is he."
He smiles. "No, he's definitely not. If he isn't prowling through town, he's sunning himself on the back porch."
"Sunning himself? Or watching for prey?"
"Much better analogy. An outside cat scouring the woods for predators and prey alike."
I finish my cookie and then say, "About Di, I know she was a bitch last night, and I'm not apologizing for her. That was unforgivable. She obviously likes you and wants to see more of you. I'm guessing you're not interested."
He exhales. "Shit. That sounds bad, doesn't it?"
Actually, no. Given how she's acting, I don't want to see him mixed up in that.
He continues. "In my defence, I didn't say anything to suggest I wanted more than one night. But I still feel shitty."
"Don't. It was her mistake."
"Thanks for not thinking I'm a complete asshole."
"You aren't."
I smile, and he opens his mouth like he's going to say something. Then the door opens. It's Beth.
Anders gets up. "I'd better go do my rounds before Eric finds me still chatting. Hey, Doc." He lifts his hand to high-five her as they pass. The doctor makes a valiant, if awkward, effort to return it. Anders chuckles and keeps going.
"Hey, Beth," I say. "Thanks for coming by."
I wave to the chair. She stays standing.
"I'm just popping in to see if you're free for lunch," she says.
"Oh." I push my folder aside. "I thought ... Sorry, Eric knew I wanted to speak to you, so I thought he asked you to stop in."
"That's a no for lunch, then?" She smiles, but there's a wariness there, like she's screwed up the courage to make a friendly overture and it's being rejected.
"No, no. Lunch is good. Great, in fact." I check my watch. "I'm off in an hour. I'll come by then."
I pick up lunch, and we eat in the clinic backroom that serves as Beth's office. My sandwich is peanut butter and saskatoon berry jam. The PB is freshly ground, from nuts flown in. The jam is made from berries gathered every summer.
"Did Will ask you to invite me to lunch?" I ask as we eat.
She stops mid-bite and checks my expression. When she sees I'm smiling, she returns it and says, "Maybe."
"I figured that." Especially given that he left after hearing me turn down Isabel's invitation. "Helping me make friends."
"Both of us, I think. Will's always trying to get me to mingle more. It's just not my thing. In college, I was the girl with her nose stuck in her texts from freshman year to graduation."
"Well, don't let him make you feel like you have to be nice to the new girl."
"Oh, I'm fine with socializing. Just not the kind that ends with lampshades on your head, which seems to be the main form of entertainment around here."
"Except there aren't lamps. Which makes it even more awkward."
She smiles. "It does. You don't seem to be into that, but your friend..."
"Diana wasn't before she got here, either. But I'm glad she's enjoying herself while I'm busy with this case."
"Which segues nicely from the awkward talk of your friend onto safer ground."
I smile. "Maybe. I wanted to talk to you about Irene Prosser."
Beth wipes mustard from her lips. "You're not buying the story she nearly hacked off her own hands?"
"Not exactly."
"That suicide ruling isn't Eric's fault."
"I know. He's dealing with politics and angles and doing his best. I can see that."
"He is. As for Irene, yes, it wasn't suicide. Do you need my autopsy report?"
"I have it. I'm looking for observations that might not have gone into it. Specifically, proof of past injuries."
Her lips purse. "Past injuries?"
"Were there signs--in the autopsy or a previous medical examination--that she'd been the victim of abuse?"
"Ah. I see where you're heading. Let me check her file." She wipes off her hands and starts to stand.
"Eat first," I say.
"No, you've set me on a mystery. The sandwich can wait. Do you know how to read an X-ray?"
I follow her from the room. "You have X-rays?"
"I take all the equipment as they offer it. One thing I use the X-ray for is autopsies. Not exactly standard procedure, but it's here, so I put it to use."
She opens a locked drawer in the next room and takes out a file folder. An X-ray film goes into the viewer. There are five, covering Irene's full skeleton. I see signs of a previously broken wrist, but nothing more.
"That's actually a childhood injury," Beth says. "I remember she hurt her wrist last winter, falling on the ice. She was concerned it broke again--once you've done it, it's very easy to do again."
I squint at the X-ray. "I'm not seeing any other signs of old breaks."
"Neither am I. Is that significant?"
"Just an angle I'm pursuing."
"In other words, mind my own business." She fends off my protest. "I'm sure Eric told you to keep me out of the loop for my own safety. He's very protective."
"Ah," I say as I remember Anders saying Beth often brought dinner for Dalton when he worked late.
She laughs. "If that means, 'Ah, so you two are an item,' the answer is a resounding no. Eric's a little young for me. And a little moody. A little difficult. A little demanding. A whole lot of other things, as you may have noticed." She hesitates before we sit. "You aren't interested in him, are you?"
"After that glowing recommendation?"
She smiles and shakes her head. "Eric's a good friend. As a romantic partner, though? I ... really wouldn't go there, Casey."
"I'm not. Believe me."
She nods. "Good. Lots of women like the bad boys ... then they realize Eric's not bad--he's just cranky."
I laugh.
"He's a good-looking guy, so he gets more than his share of attention. Rumour has it that when he was young, he took full advantage. These days, though, he's a lot more discreet. Given his position, it's difficult to get close to anyone." She goes quiet, her expression thoughtful, a little sad. Then she gives her head a sharp shake. "If you're looking for company, I'd turn toward Rockton's most eligible bachelor: Deputy Anders. Looks, personality, and a sweet, sweet guy. Who has definitely taken notice of you."
"Thanks, but I'm not looking. I..." I finger my necklace from Kurt.
"Left someone behind?"
"Kind of. But as a friend, Will seems great."
"He is, and if you're happy with that, he'll be, too. That's the thing about nice guys. Now back to lunch. If you're five minutes late, you'll hear it from the boss."
THIRTY-THREE
"We're going for a ride," Dalton says as I walk into the station.
"ATV?"
"Horse."
"I'd prefer ATV."
"Stables, Butler."
I salute. "Yes, sir."
We head out. He says nothing until we're halfway to the stables. Then, "You're happy today. Found what you wanted, I take it?"
"Maybe."
He no
ds. "You can tell me on the ride."
"Mmm, you said not to trust anyone."
"I think I like you better when you're not in a mood."
"This isn't a mood."
"Yeah, it is. A good one. Normally, you don't have a mood at all. You're just there."
"I'll ignore that jab, since I'm in a good mood."
"It's not a jab; it's an observation. And you are going to tell me what you found, because I'm your boss. That's why we're taking the horses, not the ATVs. So we can talk. Also, so we don't scare off the ravens."
"Ravens?"
"Hunting party spotted a flock of ravens." He pauses. "Which, technically, is an unkindness."
"What?"
"Murder of crows. Unkindness of ravens. And they can be pretty damned unkind if they're scavenging something, which they seemed to be doing."
"Shit."
"Yeah."
Our route takes us toward the mountain, and I ask him about a rodent that darts across the increasingly rocky path. He says it's a pika, also known as a rock rabbit, coney, or whistling hare. He even stops, so I can hear the noise it's making--more of a loud "meep" than a whistle. Dalton says it's warning us off its territory. I ask what other rodents are local, and that gets him talking as we ride, about wood rats and flying squirrels and marmots and others.
"We're in a good spot for wildlife here," he says. "Fly another hour north and you're into the Arctic. And you'd better not have been taking an interest to distract me from asking what new information you got from Beth."
"I wasn't. I am interested."
"Good. Did you find any sign Irene's story wasn't legit?"
I move aside a branch. "What?"
"That's what you were looking for, right? Evidence that she'd been abused. Skeletal evidence, I'm guessing, since the soft tissue damage would be long healed." When I hesitate, he says, "No, Beth didn't tell me what you talked about. It's a deduction."
"Remind me why you needed a detective?"
"Because I'm not the one who thought to check."
"Did you 'deduce' my theory, too?"
"Yeah, but that would be showing off."
"In other words, you didn't."
"Harry Powys was involved in selling illegal organs. Jerry Hastings may have murdered his mother for his inheritance. You were checking on the possibility Irene was also here under false pretences."
"Okay, you did figure it out."
He lifts a hand, telling me to stop, and he scans the forest. Then he waves for us to take the left fork on the path.