08-A Thousand Bones, page 33
Holt broke the silence. “The tire tracks up the road are from a truck. I’m no expert, but I’d say a big pickup. Pretty worn tread, though, so it might be an old vehicle.”
“Nothing else there?” Mike asked. “Cigarette butts tossed out the window? Oil leak? Wrappers?”
Holt shook his head. “I don’t think he stayed in the truck. Looks to me like he sat right here.”
Joe stepped closer to the tree, shining her light directly onto the footprints. They were from a boot, size ten or eleven. Nothing special about them. But then she saw something else.
“Look,” she said.
Mike knelt next to her.
Lying in the snow behind the tree was a shred of fabric, dark green. Chips had torn a piece of clothing from him. Mike picked it up and put it in an envelope he drew from his jacket pocket, then pulled himself to his feet.
“I’ll get a team out here tonight to look around,” he said. “See if we find anything else.”
Joe nodded. They stood in silence for a moment longer, hands stuffed in pockets, gazes nervous and unsteady.
“What do you think this is, Joe?” Mike asked.
“I think it’s Trader. He’s back.”
Mike glanced at Holt, and Joe thought she saw a glimmer of fear in his eyes—for her.
“He’d be crazy to come back here,” Mike said. “Every cop in the state is looking for him.”
“But not here. No one believes he’d come back here.”
“But why?” Mike asked. “What does he want?”
“He wants to die,” she said.
Mike looked at Holt again, and this time she was sure she saw doubt. “Come on inside,” she said. “I’ll explain it to you.”
48
The uniform was laid out on the bed waiting for her. Joe’s eyes traveled over the dark brown pants with their razor-sharp crease, the tan shirt with its starched collar, the brown tie, the thick leather utility belt.
The room was cold, but she didn’t make a move toward getting dressed. She just stood there, staring at the clothes, lined up like some weird headless, deflated corpse.
She heard the floor creak and turned. Her mother was standing at the door, bundled in a pink robe, coffee in hand.
“You didn’t have to iron my uniform, Ma,” Joe said.
“It’s your first day back. You should look good.”
Joe smiled, went to the bed, and picked up the pants. She put them on, sliding on a belt and pulling it tight. It went in an extra notch.
She went to her dresser and opened her jewelry box, taking out the gold bar that read J. FRYE, the two SO collar pins, and her deputy star. She slipped the collar pins into the small preset holes in the shirt.
She turned to her mother. “You find the tape?” she asked.
Florence nodded and pulled out a roll of black electrical tape from her robe pocket. Joe tore off a small piece, and placed it over the star. She inserted the star in its hole in the shirt. When she put the shirt on, it was tighter than normal. She turned, frowning, to the mirror.
“I sewed some darts in it,” Florence said.
Joe looked at her.
Florence shrugged. “Why the hell not? Just because it’s a man’s shirt doesn’t mean you have to look like one.”
Joe smiled. “Thanks, Ma.”
She clipped on the tie. There was just the utility belt left. She slipped on the attachments, the leather loop for the nightstick, a second one for the flashlight, the cuffs pouch, the pepper spray holder, the radio pouch, and last, the holster with the .38 revolver snapped inside.
She cinched on the belt. It was only ten pounds, but it felt heavier than she remembered. She turned to face her mother.
Florence had been sipping her coffee, and her hand holding the mug came down from her face slowly. Her mouth fell open slightly. Her eyes, behind the huge pink frames of her glasses, blinked and misted over.
“What’s the matter?” Joe asked.
Florence shook her head slowly.
Joe’s right hand touched the butt of her gun and then came up to the star and the tie. “Do I look okay?”
Florence nodded quickly. “I never realized before how much you look like your father.” She took off her glasses and wiped at her eyes. Then she turned suddenly and headed toward the kitchen. “I’m gonna make some fresh coffee. You want some?”
“Ma—”
“You should have some breakfast, you know.”
Joe followed her mother into the kitchen. “Ma, I’m all right. It’s time for me to go back.”
Florence was standing at the sink, her back to Joe. When she finally turned, she was wiping at her eyes. “I know, I know,” she said.
Joe came forward and hugged her mother. “I gotta go. I’m late,” she said softly.
Florence held up a hand. “Wait a minute.” She reached into her bathrobe pocket and pulled out a small holstered .22 revolver. “I want you to take this.”
Joe’s eyes went from the gun up to her mother’s face. “Where’d you get that?”
Florence thrust the gun forward. “It’s mine, and it’s legal. And I don’t want my daughter going out there without a backup weapon.”
“Ma…”
“Take it!”
Joe took the gun and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. She went to the door, reaching for her parka hanging on the back.
“Keep the doors locked, okay?” Joe said, slipping the .22 into her parka. “And if you want to go out, call me first.”
“Joe, Mike has a cruiser parked at the end of the driveway.”
“I know. But I can still worry about you for a change, you know,” she said.
Outside, Joe squinted in the bright sun and pulled the cold air into her lungs before getting into her Jeep. She waved to the deputy in the cruiser as she pulled out and headed toward town. The only driver she saw was the woodcutter, Jack Jenkins, hauling cords of firewood in his old red pickup. She made a mental note to call him. It was something Brad had always taken care of in the past.
As she drove slowly down Main, she realized a sense of normalcy had returned. Emptied of the state police cars, the TV vans, and the morbidly curious, the streets were quiet again. Dirty snow was piled against the curbs, and people came and went from the grocery to the post office, heads shrouded in wool hats and hoods, pausing to chat in the cold sunlight. The somnambulant pace of Echo Bay in winter had returned, even if it was fragile, as if the smallest jostle could awaken everything again.
Joe had a sudden idea and parked in front of the Early Bird. She would take fresh doughnuts to the station. She was paying for her order when she spotted a woman in the corner booth by the window.
Dorothy Newton.
Joe went over to the booth. Dorothy Newton was gazing out at the street, chin in hand, and didn’t look up. A copy of that morning’s Banner and a plate of half-eaten scrambled eggs and toast sat at her elbow.
“Mrs. Newton?”
The brown eyes came up, blank for a moment, then clearing with recognition. “Deputy,” she said softly.
“How are you?” Joe asked.
A faint smile. “I’m okay. Thank you.” The smile faded. “I heard what happened to you. I’m so sorry. I don’t even know…”
Joe gave a curt nod. “It’s all right, Mrs. Newton.”
Dorothy Newton’s eyes drifted back to the window. “Everyone’s gone,” she said softly.
Joe hesitated. “May I sit down, Mrs. Newton?”
She didn’t look up but nodded. Joe slid into the booth.
“I don’t understand it,” Dorothy Newton said.
“Understand what, ma’am?”
“I read they found more bones, somewhere up in the sand dunes.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand why there are so few bones. I don’t understand why the rest…”
“Mrs. Newton—”
“I know now Natalie’s dead. But I know she’s still out there somewhere.”
“Mrs. Newton,” Joe said, “you should go home.”
Dorothy Newton shut her eyes briefly.
“There’s no reason for you to stay here now. If there is anything…” Joe’s voice trailed off. “You really should go home.”
“Have you given up, Deputy Frye?”
Joe was silent, riveted by the strength in those brown eyes.
Dorothy Newton gave a half-smile. “I didn’t think so. Neither have I.”
She was surprised to see Brad waiting for her outside the sheriff’s office. Hands thrust into the pockets of his jacket, his face red from the cold, his eyes tearing from the sun as they drifted to the sound of her tires crunching on the frozen snow.
They had talked on the phone two nights ago. He had gently told her he had accepted a position at a clinic in Marquette, saying without really saying it that he was not coming back. She had told him she was happy for him and she understood. He told her he would come back to get his things and hung up.
She didn’t think it would be so soon.
She gathered the bag of doughnuts off the seat and got out slowly, not at all sure what she was feeling.
“Hi,” he said as she stopped in front of him.
“You could’ve waited inside,” she said.
He glanced at the sheriff’s office door and tried a smile. “I was never comfortable in there.”
She nodded, looking around for his truck. She saw it, parked in front of the drugstore. A canvas was draped over some boxes in back.
“Your mom helped me pack up,” he said. “She was very kind. Tell her thank you for me.”
Joe nodded, and they both fell quiet while a salt truck rumbled past. When it was gone, he stepped closer.
“I need to make sure you know that I’m not doing this because you were…because of what happened to you,” he said.
“I know that, Brad,” she said softly.
“It’s just”—he shook his head and let out a long breath—“I don’t know, Joe, it’s just you wanting to stay in a world that hurt you so much. That’s what I don’t understand. I don’t think I can ever understand that.”
Joe forced herself to look at him. The stiff wind was fingering his hair, watering his eyes. It reminded her of how he looked the day they had foolishly ventured out onto a frozen Lake Superior. Scared to death but trying to be brave.
“This is where I belong,” she said.
They both fell quiet. He reached out and pulled her to him for a hug. She closed her eyes, wanting to hold on to this one moment for just a few seconds longer. When he let her go, the space between them filled with cold air.
She realized suddenly that he was waiting, waiting for her to tell him it was all right to go, to leave her alone.
“It’s okay, Brad,” she whispered. “I’m okay.”
His eyes teared. “If you need anything, you call me, okay?” he said quickly. “You have my mom’s number in Marquette.”
She nodded. Again, the quiet. He looked down the street, sighed, and finally forced his eyes back to her.
“Take care of yourself, Joe.”
“I will. I promise.”
He walked away, and she stayed for a moment on the sidewalk, watching the truck until it turned a corner at the traffic light.
There was an ache in her chest, as though if she tried to take too deep a breath, something would break. And already she missed the feel of his arms around her, missed his voice, missed knowing he would be there when she came home at night. But she knew it had to end. Knew that as much as they had loved each other, he couldn’t give her whatever it was she needed to heal.
She turned to the door of the sheriff’s office. In the sun-glazed glass, she could see herself. She didn’t know what she needed to heal. But whatever it was, she had to find it herself.
She pulled open the station door. The smell of burned coffee, leather, and pine air freshener greeted her, and she closed her eyes briefly at the familiarity of it.
“Joette!”
Augie sprang from his console and came rushing forward, throwing his arms around her, crushing the bag of doughnuts. “Oh, my dear! I’m so happy to see you!”
Joe pulled back and handed off the doughnuts. “It’s good to be back.”
“Are you okay, Joette? You look a little—”
“I’m fine, Augie.”
“Mike told me to tell you he needed to see you as soon as you got here.”
Joe was still thinking about Brad, and it took her a moment to pick up on Augie’s agitated tone. “Why? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, but Theo just got here, and he’s all excited about something, and no one will tell me—”
Joe was already on her way down the hall, throwing off her parka. The office door was ajar, and she pushed it open. The sight of Mike sitting in Leach’s beat-up leather chair was like a punch to the heart. Mike and Theo looked up.
“Joe,” Mike said, rising. “Boy, am I glad you’re here. Theo, tell her what you found.”
Theo had a paper in his hand. “I was going over some records, and I found this.”
Joe tossed her parka onto a chair and took the paper. It was a form, filled in for a six-month subscription to the Echo Bay Banner. The name on it was Otis Deppert.
“So?” Joe asked.
“Look at the town,” Theo said.
“Peterbell, Canada,” Joe read.
“It’s up in Ontario,” Mike said, gesturing to the map spread on the desk. “It’s about five hundred miles from here.”
She looked at Theo. “When did this order come in?”
“I don’t know. Carrie didn’t record it. I only noticed it because the bank called me since it’s a Canadian money order. The subscription started December 1.”
“About a week after the ambush,” Joe said. “Better call Kellerman.”
As Mike made the call, Joe looked at the map of Ontario. Peterbell was nothing but a pinpoint in what looked like a forest or game preserve. The nearest town of any size was at least twenty miles away. If Roland Trader had been hiding out in Canada, an outpost like Peterbell would be the perfect place. She had a fleeting thought of some faceless man named Otis Deppert. As much as she wanted Roland Trader caught, she prayed Deppert was still alive.
Mike finally reached Kellerman, and she listened as he relayed the information. She was thinking about how Mike had reacted when he came over the night Chips had been stabbed. She had told him everything she knew—about the moon symbols, the Windigo psychosis, what Ahanu had told her about the worthy warrior. She told him her theory that Roland Trader had targeted her as his mythic opponent in some twisted final confrontation. When she finished, Mike’s face was etched with skepticism. But that same night, he had posted the deputy in their driveway.
Yesterday, Mike called her to say he had spoken with Kellerman and filled him in, not just on the stabbing of Chips but also on Joe’s theories, including that Roland might be back in Echo Bay. Kellerman had told Mike just to send him a report.
“Joe?”
She turned to Mike. He was holding out the receiver. “Kellerman wants to talk to you.”
She took the phone. “Deputy Frye.”
“I want you to listen to me very carefully,” Kellerman said. “First off, I don’t think you should be back at work yet.”
“Captain, the doctor—”
“I don’t care what the doctor says. I have a lot of experience with this sort of thing, and I’ve seen officers—strong men—crack after being involved in a traumatic situation, and what happened to you goes beyond even that. I’m not sure putting on a uniform, let alone still working this case, is the best move for you or your department.”
Joe felt a tightness in her chest, felt eyes on her, but didn’t look at either Mike or Theo.
Kellerman coughed. “I’ve got someone on the phone now with RCMP, and we’re going to catch this bastard. You leave it to us. I don’t want you people doing anything stupid again.”
“Sir, we aren’t—”
“I mean it, Deputy. Don’t go setting yourself up as some bait. Don’t put yourself in any position where—”
He coughed again. When he spoke this time, the edge was gone. “Look, I’ll send a man over. We’ll do what we can, but we can’t completely protect you.”
Joe almost cringed at the paternal tone of Kellerman’s voice. “Sir, if I may, I don’t think sending your men here will help,” she said. “If Roland Trader has come back here, any extra police presence will scare him off.”
Kellerman was quiet again, considering this. “I still don’t think he’s stupid enough to show up there. But on the small chance he is, I want you with other deputies at all times. I want you to be careful.”
Now Joe was quiet.
“Do you understand me, Deputy?”
“Yes, sir.”
Joe hung up and turned to Mike. Holt had appeared. Augie was standing just outside the open door next to Theo. They were all staring at her. Kellerman’s voice had a way of carrying, even from the telephone, and she wondered how much they had heard. From the look on Mike’s face, they had heard every word.
“Okay, look,” Joe said. “You heard Kellerman. You heard him say he can’t protect me. And neither can you.”
They were all just staring at her. She was looking at them, but she was seeing Brad.
“I don’t want to be protected. I want to work. I have to work,” she said. “I know you want to make things right for me, make things go back to the way they were. But that can’t happen.”
Holt looked at the floor. Mike shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. Theo glanced at Augie.
“If things are ever going to be okay again around here, you guys can’t be walking on eggshells afraid something you say or do is going to upset me,” she went on. “We will never be able to function as a department again that way.”
She looked at them, at each of them. “I am all right,” she said, carefully enunciating every word.
Mike hesitated, then nodded. “Okay, then we’ll see this through together.” He looked at the other men. They nodded awkwardly, and then, almost as one, they looked back at Joe.
She felt a small tightening in her chest. “Doughnuts,” she said. “I brought you doughnuts. I’ll go get them.”
