Refuge Cove by Janet Dailey (14)

CHAPTER 14

By the time they’d shed their gear and finished reloading the van, everyone on the team was sweaty, smelly, and exhausted. They’d brought sandwiches in the cooler, but nobody felt like eating.

Ted and Reuben promptly fell asleep in the backseat, leaving Pete and John awake in the front. It was slow going over the network of rutted logging roads. They drove with the windows down, the cool, fresh air flowing into the cab.

“So what’s next?” John asked, though he pretty much knew.

“We’ll process the evidence here. The body will go to the lab in Juneau to establish the official cause of death.”

“You saw the skull. Wouldn’t you assume blunt force trauma?”

“Probably,” Pete said. “But at this point, we can’t rule out anything.”

“So how soon can you arrest Boone for murder?”

As soon as the words were out of John’s mouth, he knew he’d asked a useless question. The team had found Bethany Ann’s body, but it had yet to be determined how she’d died, let alone that Boone had killed her. They’d found no fingerprints and no murder weapon at the scene. He checked the urge to grind his teeth in frustration. All he wanted was for this to be over so that he and Emma could get on with their lives.

“If we had a reliable witness come forward, like maybe a family member, we could issue an arrest warrant,” Pete said. “Otherwise, we’ll have to sift through the evidence, which may or may not tell us anything.”

“Hell, he married her in that fake ceremony. He took her to the trailer and probably took all her money. He was there—and as far as we know, he was the only one there.”

“It’s all circumstantial. Not enough for a conviction.” Pete braked the van as two deer bounded across the road. “Traverton said you knew the family. What about the brother, the one who shot the dog? He was hanging around today, like he knew where the grave was and was trying to keep Daisy from finding it. He’s the one we need to talk to.”

“You could try. I could show you the family homestead on a map. But Ezra was born mentally disabled. Talking to him is like talking to a nine-year-old.”

“Probably not a great bet on the witness stand. But we need to interview him all the same.” Pete swung the van onto the asphalt highway and hit the gas pedal. The van shot ahead at a speed that would guarantee a record time back to the station.

* * *

John called Emma from the Jeep, parked next to the trooper station. He knew she’d be working, but he was about to head home to the cabin and would soon lose cell service.

“John?” She sounded shaken.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Can you talk now?”

“Yes to both. The place isn’t busy now. Let me step back into the hall.” There was a pause. He could hear her ragged breathing. Something was wrong. “Did you find anything?” she asked.

“We found what was left of Boone’s other bride. But not enough evidence to charge Boone. Not yet, at least. What is it, Emma? What’s the matter?”

There was another pause. Maybe she was checking to make sure she wasn’t needed in the restaurant. “Boone came into my room,” she said. “He was dressed like one of the workmen, pushed his way in. I held him off with the pistol.”

John’s pulse lurched. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. He didn’t touch me. I made him leave. But here’s the thing. I told him I knew he’d murdered that woman. He swore he didn’t do it. He said it was Ezra who killed her because she tried to fight him off.” She took a deep breath, like someone gasping for air. “I called the police as soon as he left. Detective Traverton was there. I told him.”

“But they didn’t catch Boone?”

“I don’t think so. Otherwise I’d have heard. I’m not sure anybody can catch Boone. He’s like a ghost.”

“That’s what he wants you to believe. Don’t let him reel you in.”

After warning her to switch rooms, and promising to see her soon, John ended the call. For what seemed like a long time, he sat staring out the window of the Jeep, watching the play of low sunlight through the trees.

That didn’t make sense. Boone’s brother was strong enough to kill with his bare hands. But John had been around him enough to know that he had the simple mind of a child. True, he’d been raised as a hunter, and might shoot a dog, especially if someone told him to. But the idea that he would come on to a woman and bash her head in when she resisted didn’t fit the picture.

Tired, sore, and just wanting to go home, he hesitated. Maybe he should leave well enough alone. But no, he knew what he had to do. With a weary sigh, he climbed out of the Jeep, and went into the station. Pete and Reuben would be in the garage, unloading the van and getting ready to go off duty. Ted would be headed for the airport and his flight back to Juneau with Daisy and the remains. But Sergeant Packard was still in his office. He looked up when John tapped on the open door.

“Come in and sit down,” he said, pushing aside some papers on his desk. “I hear you hit pay dirt.”

“We did, so to speak.” John took the chair that faced the desk. “But I wanted to bring up something else. Did Traverton call you about Ezra Swenson?”

“He did. Evidently Boone named Ezra as the woman’s killer. Besides that, Pete just told me that Ezra showed up at the crime scene, tried to shoot the dog, and ran off. It looks like we’ve got our man.”

“That’s why I’m here,” John said. “I know how it looks. But I also know the family. They were my in-laws back in the day. Ezra’s a scary-looking man. But he’s mentally handicapped. And he’s shy, especially around women. I can’t imagine him killing one, not even if somebody like Boone told him to. Something here doesn’t feel right.”

Packard leaned back in his chair. “I appreciate your telling me this, but it’s too late to make much difference. I got Traverton’s call around eleven-thirty. By noon I’d located the homestead and sent a SWAT team out there to pick Ezra up. There was nobody home when the team arrived, but they were waiting when Ezra and his mother drove up in the truck. He surrendered without a fight. He’s being booked into the county jail as we speak.”

“And Boone? What about him?”

Packard shrugged. “As the only witness, he’ll need to be questioned. But so far, he hasn’t turned up.”

“You know this case won’t likely go before a jury,” John said. “Innocent or guilty, Ezra won’t be found competent to stand trial.”

“Maybe not,” Packard said. “But our job isn’t to prosecute the bastards. Our job is just to catch them.”

* * *

Dog tired, John drove back to the cabin. By the time he’d showered and downed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with milk, he was ready for a good book and an early bedtime. But he remembered the strain in Emma’s voice, and he knew she needed him. He needed her, too. He needed to hold her close and forget the things he’d seen, touched, and smelled today. And he needed to know that, for now at least, she was safe.

Leaving his damp hair loose, he dressed, closed the cabin, and drove back to town. From the docks, he could see her through the front window, finishing the nightly cleanup. If Boone were out here, there’d be nothing to stop him from shooting her, he thought. But that wasn’t what Boone wanted. He wanted to have her, to possess her, to make her suffer in ways too awful to imagine. And now, with Ezra in jail for the murder that Boone had almost certainly committed, he would be bolder than ever.

He watched her a moment longer before he crossed the street. He’d hoped to see David, too, but his son was nowhere in sight. Maybe Marlena had put a stop to his working.

He stepped close to the window and waved. When she saw him, her face lit in a smile that made him glad he’d driven back to town. She was stunning when she smiled. It was hard to believe that he’d thought her ordinary-looking when they’d first met. There was nothing ordinary about the woman.

She unlocked the door to let him in. He held up the spare jacket he’d brought. “I thought you’d like to get out and go for a ride,” he said.

“I’d love that,” she said. “Just let me finish here.”

Pearl came out of the kitchen and gave him a friendly greeting. “If you’re looking for David, he went home early,” she said. “He has a test tomorrow.”

“How’s he doing?” John asked. “Does he seem all right?”

“He’s fine. I think you did him a lot of good.” Pearl glanced toward Emma. “Go on. We’re almost done here. I can finish.”

“Thanks.” She let him slip the jacket around her shoulders and usher her outside. As was getting to be a habit, he looked up and down the street for any sign of Boone. This excess caution was getting tiresome, but it was still necessary—now more than ever.

“Did you switch rooms?” he asked as he helped her into the Jeep.

“Yes. The new one’s nicer, and the workers have promised not to let Boone onto the floor. Such kind men. Now that they know he’s a danger, they’ve become protective of me.”

“Good, but we’ve got a problem.” He started the Jeep and headed south along the highway. “Ezra’s been arrested for the murder of that woman.”

“But isn’t that a good thing? Boone said he killed her.”

“Boone was lying. Ezra’s no murderer. He may look dangerous, but he’s a gentle giant, with the mind of a child. He’s shy around strangers, especially women.”

“Oh, no!” Emma cried. “John, this is terrible! I was the one who called the police and reported him. This is all my fault!”

“It’s not your fault, Emma. Boone played you. He knew that you’d never met Ezra, and that you’d report whatever he told you. Now Ezra’s in jail for his crime, and Boone is pretty much free to come and go as he likes, which makes him all the more dangerous. Until we find a way to trip him up, you’ll need to be very, very careful.”

“I’m already being careful. Oh, John, that poor man! He must be so scared in jail—and I’m the one who put him there. Can you go with me to the police in the morning and tell them I made a mistake?” She was on the verge of tears.

“Not you. I’ll go by myself. Maybe I can convince Traverton that Boone’s the real murderer.” John tried to sound encouraging, but something told him he’d have no better luck convincing Traverton than he’d had convincing Packard. Neither lawman liked being wrong.

He took the road to the boat ramp where they’d been once before, stopping the Jeep at the narrow beach. The stars cast shimmering reflections in the water. “Come here, Emma,” he said, and pulled her close.

For a few quiet moments she nestled against him, quivering like a frightened animal. He wrapped her in his arms, wanting her to feel protected. His lips grazed her face, brushing her eyelids, her cheeks, and coming to rest on her sweet mouth. She was his woman, to love, keep, and protect. He wanted to build a life with her, to raise their children and grow old together.

But until he could promise to keep her safe, he had no right to speak of those things.

“This nightmare won’t last forever, love,” he murmured against her hair. “It will end, I promise, even if I have to end it myself.”

And maybe that was the key to it all, he thought. He’d depended on the law to take Boone out of action and put him where he’d never harm Emma, or any other woman, again. But the law had failed him. It had failed Emma, and it had failed to get justice for poor Bethany Ann. Maybe it was time to take matters into his own hands.

* * *

The next day John paid a visit to Traverton to express his doubts about charging Ezra. “All you have to go on is Boone’s word,” he said. “And you know Boone’s a liar. He tricked at least two women into fake marriages and took their money. Now he’s pinning a murder he committed on his handicapped brother. That’s pretty low, if you ask me.”

Traverton gave him a cold look. “Just because Boone’s a con artist, that doesn’t mean he’s a killer. As far as I’m concerned we’ve got our man. Ezra Swenson has been processed, arraigned, and assigned a public defender. The judge denied bail, on the grounds that he was a flight risk. My job is done. If you have anything more to say, you can say it to his lawyer. Here’s the young man’s card.”

Robert Falconi. The name on the card had a familiar ring to it, John thought as he walked out to the Jeep. What were the odds that Ezra’s public defender was related to a certain retired judge?

The law office was located above a travel agency on Grant Street. The building was nothing grand, but the law office, at the top of the stairs, was freshly remodeled with a neutral color scheme, high-end leather furniture, and original artwork on the walls. “Nice digs,” John commented as the young lawyer strode into the reception area to meet him.

“Thanks.” He looked about twenty-four, with thick, dark hair and an aquiline nose. “My mother has elegant taste and the money to go with it. Otherwise you’d be looking at folding chairs and a card table in here. ”

“Your mother’s the judge.” It wasn’t even a question.

“You know her?”

“Some. But I’m here to talk about Ezra Swenson.” He spent the next fifteen minutes filling the lawyer in on the background of the story.

“I talked to Ezra for just a few minutes,” Falconi said. “But I got the impression he was a few pints short of a gallon, as they say. Until you showed up, my plan was to get him evaluated and declared incompetent to stand trial.”

“That’s exactly what Boone wants. His brother gets blamed for the murder, the case never goes to trial, and Boone gets off without ever having to show up.”

“Are you saying that Ezra should be tried because he’s innocent?”

“It would be better than shipping him off to some hospital for the criminally insane, where he’d pine away and die. What I’m saying is, before you seek a ruling on this case, you need to learn the truth. Talk to the mother, at least. Talk to Emma, too. She doesn’t know Ezra but she can tell you plenty about Boone and the hellhole where he brought her.”

“What about you? If this goes to trial, would you be willing to testify to what you just told me?”

“Absolutely. But that’s not what you should be shooting for. Bring up enough evidence to get the case dismissed. That’s what a good lawyer does.”

“I’ll do my best.” Falconi looked young and sounded uncertain. John could only hope that the judge’s son knew his job.

* * *

John had planned three errands today. The first two had ended in frustration—with a stubborn lawman and an irresolute public defender.

The third errand was different. He was about to cross the line to the dark side.

After a quick lunch, he drove to the house with the peeling blue paint—the house where Sherman Philpot lived. When he knocked on the door, it barely creaked open. Philpot’s bloodshot eye glared at him through the narrow crack.

“What the hell d’you want, you sonofabitch?” he demanded. “Have you got that cop with you again?”

John shook his head. “Take it easy, man. I didn’t mean for that to happen. And I’m not here to rat you out. I don’t even need to come in.”

“Good, ’cause I ain’t invitin’ you. Anything you got to say, you can say it right there.”

“Fine,” John said. “I know you’re in touch with Boone, wherever he is. I just want you to give him a message.”

“Okay. Let’s have it.”

“Since he’s got a way of hearing things, he probably knows that I was with the state troopers when they found the body of his so-called bride. She was buried with a deer on top of her body to hide her remains.”

“So?”

“The troopers combed the place for evidence, but there was one thing they missed—something that can tie Boone to the murder. The deer was mostly hide and bones, but there was a bullet in it, plain as day. When the troopers were packing up, I went back, took a picture, and put the bullet in my pocket. If I turn it over to the police, they’ll run ballistics and match it to Boone’s gun—or if not that, they can match it to other bullets they found in the dirt around the trailer. That’ll nail him right to the wall.”

“So what do you want from Boone?”

“A trade. That bullet for his promise to leave Emma in peace. He can call me. He knows my number.”

“Hell, he’ll laugh in your face.”

“If he does, he’ll end up sorry. Just tell him. Got it?”

“Got it.” The door closed with a click.

John walked down the steps and back to the Jeep. He had lied. There might have been a bullet in the deer, but nobody had thought to check for it. John hadn’t come up with the idea until last night, after he’d taken Emma back to the hotel.

Finding a similar bullet to pass off to Boone wouldn’t be hard. There were probably some around the cabin from the game John had shot for meat.

Of course, he knew better than to think Boone would keep his promise to leave Emma alone. But that wasn’t the idea. The plan was to click the recorder on his phone and get Boone talking. With luck, by the time the exchange was made, he’d have a recorded confession.

Now that he thought about it, it struck him as a crazy idea, like something out of a bad TV crime show. He couldn’t begin to count the number of things that could go wrong. For all he knew, he could end up dead. But he had taken the first step. Now he had to see it through. He wouldn’t tell Emma about the plan until it was over. She would only worry.

He was halfway home when his phone signaled an incoming text. He pulled off the road to read it.

There was a phone number. John’s pulse leaped. The problem of getting the Beaver repaired had kept him awake nights. If this was a solution, he would have to go for it.

If need be, his plan to trap Boone would have to wait a few days. Getting his plane back had to come first.

* * *

Emma cleaned up after the lunch rush and took her break, such as it was. Since she’d promised John that she wouldn’t go out alone, she picked up the chicken sandwich the kitchen staff had made her, along with a cold soda, and took it upstairs to her room. Here, at least, she could eat in peace and quiet, put her feet up, and maybe do a little reading.

Part of her was counting the days until this work marathon was done. But with so many uncertainties hanging over her, she had no solid plan for what to do next. Should she look for a cheap apartment and another job, maybe as a substitute teacher or aide? Should she cut her strings here and fly back to the life she’d left behind? Could she count on staying with John, even though he had yet to mention that possibility?

Until Boone was out of the picture, there was no way she could make a decision.

John had called her last night. He’d gotten a text from a salvage dealer with a boat who could get him to his damaged plane with replacement parts and tools to do the work. The price was better than expected, but the man had other business and would only be available for the next couple of days, which meant John would need to leave first thing in the morning. He would be gone for at least two days, maybe longer. Again, he’d cautioned Emma to be careful and stay inside the hotel.

It was hard, having him gone at such a critical time. But Emma understood how much John depended on the Beaver for his work, and more. The plane was his lifeline to the sky and the freedom he loved. Without it, he was an eagle with broken wings. She couldn’t begrudge him the time it took to recover it.

A glance at the clock told her the break was over. David would be coming in soon to start his shift. She’d grown genuinely fond of John’s bright, cheerful son, but except for work chatter, they’d never had a chance to talk. She found herself wishing for a chance to know him better.

After washing her hands, she gathered up her plate, left the room locked, and went back downstairs.

The restaurant tended to be quiet at this time of day, between late lunch and early dinner. But as she crossed the lobby, she heard the sound of voices. One of them, a woman’s, was shrill with anger.

“You get on that phone and call her, Pearl! Get my daughter here right now! This is family business, and, damn it, she’s family!”

Emma’s first impulse was to stay where she was. But that wasn’t her job. Pushing aside a dark premonition, she walked through the connecting door.

Besides Pearl, there were two people in the restaurant. One, an elderly man with a nervous look, was getting up to leave. He slunk out with his meal unfinished and his cash on the table. The other, a woman, was standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by empty tables. Emma recognized her at once. Although she’d only seen her from a distance, there could be no mistaking Lillian, the matriarch of the Swenson clan.

Emma walked back to stand next to Pearl, as if in support. She wondered if Boone had shown his mother the school photo she’d given him, but to her relief, Lillian only glanced at her, with no sign of recognition.

“All right, Lillian,” Pearl said. “I’ll call Marlena, but only if you’ll sit down and be still. Would you like some coffee? Maybe a doughnut or some pie, on the house?”

Lillian sank onto a chair with a weary sigh. Dressed in jeans, boots, and a man’s lumberjack-style coat, she was a portly woman, but powerfully built, as if she’d spent a lifetime doing heavy work. Her thin, gray hair was pulled into a knot at the back of her head.

“I’ll take some black coffee and a slice of your apple pie with ice cream,” she said. At a nod from Pearl, Emma scurried off to get her what she’d asked for.

Moments later, when Emma came out of the kitchen, Pearl was still on the portable landline phone. Bending close, she placed the coffee and pie, along with a napkin and utensils, on the table. “Here you are,” she said, getting her first good look at the woman.

Weathered by wind, sun, and time, Lillian’s creased face told a story of hard work, rough living, and disappointment. Her husband had either died or run off. Of the three children she’d raised alone, one son was weak in his mind, the other son was a lying sociopath, and her daughter had cut all ties to the family. Now the one child who’d stayed with her, maybe even loved her, was in jail for an awful crime he hadn’t committed.

Looking into Lillian’s bloodshot blue eyes, Emma caught a glint of tears.

I’m sorry, she wanted to say. This is all my fault. But she knew that would only make matters worse.

Without thanking her, Lillian took a forkful of pie and shoveled it into her mouth. Her hands were chapped and callused, another testament to the rough life she’d led.

Pearl was still on the phone. Placing her hand over the receiver, she turned to Lillian. “Marlena’s not coming. She says that you’re no longer family to her, and your problems are none of her business.”

Lillian rose to her feet, upsetting the coffee cup. “Give me the damn phone!” She snatched it out of Pearl’s hands. “Listen, you ungrateful little bitch, your brother Ezra’s in jail for something he didn’t do! They think he murdered a woman, out at Boone’s trailer. You’re still our blood. If that means anything to you—”

She went silent. The phone dropped to the table as she stared.

David had just walked into the restaurant.