"Wh-what?" Her eyes bug as she runs to me. "Y-you mean-- No, that's not--"
"Not possible?" I say. "Of course it is. What did you expect?"
She stops so fast she stumbles and grabs a tree for support. "Wh-what?"
"You drugged Jacob. I don't know what you gave him, but whatever it was, it was intended to cause delusions."
She stares at me. "What are you--?"
"You gave Jacob drugged food, telling him you were a friend of Eric's. He'd seen you out here with Eric before--you made sure of that first. It solidified your story. Then, when he started getting sick from the food, you 'treated' him. While telling him about Eric's newest friend. A woman who wasn't any good for him, would hurt him, was keeping Eric away from his brother. It worked--Jacob did come after me. Only what you didn't anticipate is that little boy inside him, the one who still blames his big brother for leaving, the one who still wants to lash out at Eric, to hurt him."
Beth rocks there. Then she looks around wildly. "Take me to Eric. You're not a doctor."
"True," I say. "I could be wrong. But you were right about one thing, Beth. I am bad for Eric. I think he's a sweet guy, and a really sweet fuck. But that's it. What matters most to me is justice. So, if you want to treat Eric before he bleeds out, you're going to have to give me a confession."
She lunges at me. A well-placed kick in the shin sends her down, snarling, "You crazy bitch. You'd let him die--"
"He's an officer of the law. He knows the risks." I point my gun at her. "Now talk."
"Yes," she spits. "Jacob already told you what I did, and it was for Eric's own good, saving him from you--"
"Bullshit. You might be more than a bit delusional yourself, but you weren't trying to kill me because I was getting close to Eric. You wanted me gone because I'm dead set on solving these crimes. With Jacob, you got a two-in-one deal. An assassin to kill me and a scapegoat you could frame for the murders you committed."
"Wh-what?"
"It started with Abbygail's. You suspected that Powys killed her and somehow Irene was involved. Maybe you were working on getting a confession out of her and it went wrong. Then you and Mick went after Powys. That was the piece I was missing: Mick. I might have suspected you of that impromptu surgery on Hastings, as crudely as you did it to disguise your handiwork. I might have even linked you in via Abbygail. But you couldn't have hauled Hastings into that tree. You had a partner. Mick. The one person even more broken up about Abbygail than you. The one who'd have snapped when you made up a story about what happened to her. You had to convince him that story was true, because Mick was a decent guy and needed to be sure he had the right target. But then you realized you were wrong, and it was actually Hastings who killed Abbygail. You managed to talk Mick into killing him, too, but that's where you lost him."
"What?"
"You went overboard with Hastings. Mick was already uncomfortable with what you two did to Irene and Powys, but Hastings was pure sadism. Mick wanted out. He even pointed me squarely in Hastings's direction. And I made the mistake of telling you that he'd fingered Hastings as the guy who left the berries. Mick became a liability, so you killed him, conveniently framing Diana, in hopes that might get me out of Rockton."
"You can't prove--"
"Right. I can't." I waggle the gun. "But I'm holding your beloved Eric's life hostage, so you're going to give me what I want. Then I'll let you save Eric, because I don't want him to die--I'm just willing to let it happen."
"You're just as bad as them. A killer--"
"And I deserve to die, blah blah blah. Time's ticking, doc."
Her face mottles. "They did deserve to die. I didn't need to fabricate a story to get Mick's co-operation. I told him the truth. How Irene came to me for dental surgery two weeks after Abbygail vanished. I dosed her up with diazepam, which made her very talkative. And there was something in particular she wanted to talk about. Confess, I think. Like your friend, Diana. Except in Irene's case, she confessed to Abbygail's murder."
"So Irene and Powys did kill--?"
"Hastings had a thing for Abbygail. He'd hit on her when they worked together in the clinic, but she'd have nothing to do with him. As for Powys, he didn't give a damn about a twenty-one-year-old girl. What mattered to him was the rydex. Hastings was getting cold feet, knowing Eric was on to him. So to secure his help with the drugs, Powys promised him Abbygail. Irene lured her out into the forest. Hastings raped her. It seems he expected her to 'come around' then, she'd see how wonderful it was and how wonderful he was. That didn't happen, shockingly. Powys knew it wouldn't. He wasn't securing Hastings's help with the rydex by giving him a girl. He secured it by making him a murderer. Abbygail vowed Eric and Mick would hunt Hastings to the ends of the earth for assaulting her, and Powys pushed Hastings until he lost it and strangled her. Then they chopped up her body and scattered it for predators."
I stand there, shocked into silence. It takes a moment for me to find my voice, and when I do, I say, "You switched out Irene's X-rays to make it seem like she was here under false pretences, too. To help me draw the conclusion that I was chasing a vigilante eliminating killers."
"Which you were. So, detective, do you agree they had it coming?"
"Irene? Powys? Hastings? Maybe. But Mick?" I look her in the eyes. "Absolutely not."
She blanches. Then her face hardens. "I'd made a mistake letting him in on it, and I had to correct that mistake."
"Correct that mistake? You made him a party to brutal, sadistic murders because he was grieving for a girl he loved. Then you murdered him when he regretted it."
"Mick was weak. That is where I made a mistake. He didn't like what we did to Powys. I knew he wouldn't help me with Hastings if he knew what I planned. So I did my surgery, knocked Hastings out, and put him in that bag before I called Mick in. Mick thought he was already dead when he hauled him up in that tree. When he found out otherwise, I had to admit I'd made a mistake letting him help me."
"So you killed him to protect yourself. Then you planned to frame Diana and let her die in that fire for no reason other than that it would give me a reason to leave town. When that failed, you remembered Irene's accidental confession and the rumours you'd heard about Diana. You doped her up and got her to confess to even more than you bargained for. But still I wouldn't leave. I ran into that forest ... and into Jacob, the pistol you'd cocked to fire. Perfect timing ... and yet I survived, and with Eric playing nursemaid, you couldn't even make sure I died from unforeseen complications. Still, you could frame Jacob for the murders. Another innocent party whose guilt would doubly help you--blame him for the crimes and get him out of Eric's life so he'd be free to go south with you."
"You don't understand anything," she snarls.
"Maybe," I say. "But I think we'll let the council decide." I turn and call, "You get that, sheriff?"
Dalton walks out from a clump of trees. He's pale and pressing his blood-soaked shirt to his shoulder. But he's on his feet, walking toward Beth, and she falls back, blinking hard.
"Eric? You ... you..."
"Yeah, he's fine," I say. "I lied. It's Will who's been shot."
"And you're going to fix him," Dalton says. "Or I'll shoot you before Casey can."
SIXTY-FIVE
And that's it. Well, no. It's not. When we talk to the council, Beth tries to retract her confession. That's when I bring up the trap left in the clearing with Hastings's body. I accuse her of trying to hurt Dalton, and she can't resist that bait, saying it must have already been there, defending herself and thereby trapping herself.
By morning, the council has sent a plane to pick her up. Apparently, they don't trust Dalton to get her out of Rockton alive. After that? Well, I don't give a shit what happens to her after that. I cannot forgive her for what she did to Mick, to Jacob, to Diana, and, however inadvertently, to Dalton. And there's hurt there, too, and I'll let myself acknowledge that. She'd become a friend, and I do not understand what she did. I do not.
As
for Anders, he's fine. Physically, at least. The rest? That's a little more complicated. The next morning, I wake in Dalton's bed, and I lie there, trying to figure out how to tell him that the guy who saved his life is a killer who's been informing on him.
When Dalton wakes, he pulls me to him for a kiss, but then stops, wincing at his shoulder wound, and I take advantage of that to wriggle away and prop up on my elbow.
"I need to tell you something about Will," I say.
He shoots upright. "Did he get worse--?"
"No, I'm sure he's fine. But ... I found out something about him last night. That file Mick had on the people smuggled into Rockton ... He'd stolen it from you but added an extra entry. On Will."
Dalton goes quiet and rubs his mouth.
"You knew," I say.
"Yeah."
"He's not in your book."
"I got rid of the page a while ago, in case anyone found it. I'd have told you if I thought there was any chance he'd killed Abbygail and the others. Or if you got involved with him."
"Okay." I hesitate and say slowly, "You knew his backstory, but there's more. In order to stay in Rockton, well, there was a price."
"Informing on me."
I blink at him. He shrugs. "That's obvious, isn't it? They let him in because they wanted leverage inside my department. Knowing who the spy is made it easier for me. I didn't tell Will anything that I wouldn't want getting back to them. I did give him some stuff that could get me in a bit of trouble, just to monitor. After about six months, he stopped passing that along, and that's when I knew I could trust him. I still never gave him anything that could get me kicked out."
"Which is why you told me to keep even the murder investigation between us."
"Yep."
I lie back on the pillow. He stays there, on his side, watching me as I stare at the ceiling.
"How do you deal with what he did?" I say finally. "How do you reconcile that?"
"I don't."
I look over at him.
"Something happened over there," Dalton says. "In the war. All I know is that the guy who killed his commanding officer just sacrificed himself to save me. That's the person I need to focus on."
I expect any conversation with Anders will wait until he's recovered. It doesn't. He wants to talk to us, and Dalton realizes he's not going to truly rest until he does. Dalton expects we'll do this together. I refuse. He's the one Anders has worked with for two years. Been friends with for two years. Betrayed for two years. That's a conversation between them.
Dalton talks to him that afternoon. I go right after. I walk into Anders's room, and I sit on the chair by the window, and I stare out of it. He just waits until I'm ready.
"I want to know why," I ask.
"Why I shot my CO?" he asks, his voice low. "Or why I informed on Eric?"
The answer should be obvious. Why he murdered a man is far more important than how he wronged Dalton, but he knows which one I meant. And here is the truth of why this is so hard for me. Because it doesn't matter if I only met Anders a few weeks ago. I know him, and he knows me.
That's why nothing ever happened between us. I understood him, and so there wasn't that thrill of fascination and discovery that I had with Dalton. I understood Anders, and that's what twists in my gut now, because I want to say, in light of everything, that I obviously don't understand him at all. Like in the forest, when I kept waiting for him to turn into something else, someone else. But he didn't.
He did exactly what I expected of the man I'd come to know. He did exactly what I would have done.
"When you came to Rockton, you didn't know Eric," I say. "I'm sure the council told you stories that made him seem like a loose cannon. Informing on him was the price of admittance. Then you got to know him, and you realized you could help him by reporting things that didn't matter, making the council think he was being monitored."
Anders exhales. "Yes. Thank you."
"The shooting..." I prompt.
"Why did I do that?" He goes quiet long enough that I don't think I'm getting an answer. When he does speak, his voice is barely audible. "Anything I can say feels like an excuse. A good man is dead at my hand. Two good men were wounded. That can't be excused." He lifts his gaze to mine. "I think you understand that. Better than anyone."
"Give me a why, then."
"There is no why. Not like with you. They didn't..." He fidgets in his bed, wincing as he pulls against his bandages. "They did nothing to even remotely deserve it, Casey. It was me. All me. I was ... I had problems. Coping. I saw something. Over there. A mission went bad and things happened and something snapped. I blamed my CO, but not like that, not like I wanted to kill him for it. They put me on meds, and there were side effects. Rage, mental confusion. I wanted to stop taking them, and I just damned well should have, but I agreed to give it one more week."
He goes quiet and I wonder if that's all I'm getting. Then he says, "I remember going to bed. The next thing I knew, I was standing by his bed, and then I'm suddenly outside his quarters looking down at two wounded men. I still do not know what happened. But that's no excuse, is it? I kept taking the meds when I knew better. No one else pulled that trigger. The army wasn't going to send me home with a dishonourable discharge. I was looking at life in a mental ward or a prison cell, which I deserve, because I was responsible."
I move to the bed, and I sit beside him, and that's it. We just sit there. In silence. Like we did in the cave. Lost in remorse and guilt that won't ever go away. Not for either of us. There are no excuses here. No easy answers, either. We'll spend the rest of our lives dealing with what we did. Period.
As for Jacob, Dalton's dealing with that, too. I'll help, as much as I can, but it's his brother, and I understand that. The fact that we no longer have a doctor in Rockton complicates matters--with both Jacob's withdrawal and Anders's recovery. We've called on anyone with any medical training to step up. Except that two of those three people are also on Dalton's watch list, having bought their way into Rockton. Complicated? Fuck, yes, as Dalton would say. But we'll deal. We have to.
Then there's Diana. We know she didn't kill Mick, but it doesn't matter. She's still being deported. I haven't talked to her since I learned the truth. I've been telling myself that I can have that talk in Dawson City, more privately. Except with Anders incapacitated, I need to stay behind as the only law enforcement in town.
Two days after Beth leaves, the council decides Dalton is well enough to take Diana out and I promise to speak to her that morning. At eleven, Dalton finds me still at my desk.
"We leave in an hour, Casey."
I keep writing. "I just need to finish this report."
"I'll do it. You go see Diana."
When I don't answer, he shifts his weight and shoves his hands in his pockets. "I'm not pushing you to be a jerk, Casey. I just think if you don't..."
"I'll regret losing the opportunity for closure. Diana is about to walk out of my life forever, and there are things I need to say."
"Yeah."
I rise. "Let's go."
SIXTY-SIX
Kenny has Diana at the station. We're taking her out that way rather than marching her through town. We haven't let the others know what she's done, but news has travelled, along with the opinion that she shouldn't be allowed to get on that plane and sail off scot-free.
We go into the station and Diana's there, with her back to us. Dalton takes Kenny out the back. I wait until the screen door shuts. Then I say, "I'd like to talk."
"Too late." Diana turns, and there's an ugly smile on her face. "You had time to talk to me, Casey. You didn't. You've lost your chance to apologize. I'm not giving you the chance to make amends now. I'm walking out of this shithole of a town and I'm going south, to a real life, the kind I could never have while you were hanging around my neck."
I open my mouth, but she's going strong.
"I'm going to track down that asshole Graham and get my money. I have a plan all worked out. The perfect
way to get him to do what I want." She gives that ugly smile again. "Because I've realized I'm kinda good at that, aren't I?"
She stands there, chin raised. After a moment she says, "Come on, Casey, hit me. You know you want to."
"No, I don't."
"How about you, sheriff?" she calls. "I know you're listening. Making sure I don't damage your broken little girl. Come on in and tell me what a bitch I am."
"Nah," he says as he strolls in. "A bitch has spine. You're just pathetic."
She launches herself at him, and before I can intercede, he's blocked her. She spins on me and says, "I saved you. Look at you. A new boyfriend. New friends. An actual social life. And you're a goddamned local hero. Solved the mystery. Saved the town. All hail Casey Duncan--whoops, Butler. Casey Duncan is a murderer. Casey Butler is a hero."
"Are you finished?" I ask, and that really does stop her. Into the silence, I say, "Yes, I'm better off for coming up here. It was exactly what I needed. But you didn't bring me here to help me. You brought me here to help you. To be here for you."
"Um, no. I brought you to stop you from searching for me."
"That was probably part of it, but if you're going to pretend that we weren't friends? Bullshit. You don't hang out with someone for years because they're useful. But slant this your own way, if it makes you feel better."
I turn to Dalton. "She's all yours."
I walk to the door as Val steps in and says, "Diana's still here? Good. There's been a change of plans."
We're at Val's listening to Phil on the satellite radio. I'm there with Dalton and Diana. Isabel is there, too--summoned by the council, though no one seems to know why.
"We've changed our mind," Phil says. "Diana is staying in Rockton."
I'm not sure who says "What?" first--or louder.
Phil continues, "It is the decision of this council that Diana Berry is clearly unstable and poses a serious exposure threat. She will remain in Rockton until that risk assessment changes. Isabel will assist in Diana's rehabilitation."
Isabel opens her mouth. Diana cuts her off with, "You can't make me stay. That's kidnapping. Unlawful confinement."
"No, it's not," Phil says. "Eric? The council wishes to officially inform you that Ms. Berry is exempt from all laws restricting personal freedom of movement."