Читать книгу The Price of Redemption - Pamela Tracy - Страница 7

Ricky, the reporter, got so excited he dropped his pen. The two deputies froze, probably fearful lest they move something and find yet another body. The coroner simply reopened his medical bag and waited for the deputies to snap out of their stupor and clear the way.

Eric watched Ruth. She didn’t make a sound. The heat from the shed seemed to cloy as the players in this no-win game waited to see what would happen next. It reminded Eric of prison, of being in a place he couldn’t breathe, a place with no soul. The smell of death, human sorrow and just plain wrongness, intensified. Although no one acknowledged the feeling, they all recognized it.

Sheriff Mallery finally snapped his fingers and barked at his deputies, “Well, you two just gonna stand there?”

Suddenly Ruth and Ricky were both pushed back as the need to maneuver boxes and clear the area became frenzied. Ricky obviously knew his job. He blended into the shadows. Ruth stumbled forward, her hand stretched out, her mouth a silent “0” of what? Fear? Shock? Disbelief? The deputies got busy and the hand became an arm, a torso, legs, a complete corpse.

From Eric’s vantage point, he could tell this body had been a dead body longer than the woman’s. The black slithery look was missing because there was no tissue left to rot. Only dingy brown bone remained. This corpse hadn’t preferred the pink, flowered polyester of the first corpse. No, this corpse dressed a bit more conservatively, a bit more dignified.

But police uniforms, like pink polyester pantsuits, were meant to last.

Doctor Winters nodded in Ruth’s direction and took on the same snappish tone the sheriff had just used. “Get her out of here.”

“Nooo,” Ruth keened.

The deputies didn’t move; Ricky didn’t move; the sheriff didn’t move. The coroner was already on his knees in front of body number two. The white-haired doctor frowned. Shaking his head at what he knew to be a bad decision, Eric entered the shed and grabbed Ruth by the elbow. “Let’s go back to the cabin.”

“I need to see—”

“They’ll work faster if you’re not here. You’re making them nervous.”

Ruth glanced at the two deputies who were now both still—again. Nervous didn’t begin to describe the looks on their faces. “Go, Ruthie,” Ricky urged. “I’ll tell you everything. I won’t leave out a thing.”

Her knees crumpled, and Eric held her upright. He moved her toward the open door. The top of her head came to his chest. It would have been easier to pick her up and carry her, but if he knew anything about this woman, it was that she wouldn’t want to show weakness at this time. The sheriff moved aside to let them pass. He didn’t offer to help. He didn’t offer condolences or advice, either. He followed them out into the semifresh air and made a phone call. Doctor Winters did the same.

Eric had too much on his mind to even attempt to eavesdrop, though he was tempted. And each heavy step gave him time to think. Two bodies! There are two bodies in my shed. Maybe he should have waited before calling the authorities. This sheriff inspired about as much confidence as a used-car salesman. Two bodies! Helping Ruth across the front yard, up onto the porch, into the house and finally to the couch, he couldn’t help but shake his head. Two bodies and one of them belongs to her!

He fetched a bottled water from the tiny kitchen, laid it at her feet and waited a moment to see what she’d do.

Nothing. She slumped forward instead of back. Her hands crossed her chest as if holding something—probably pain—inside. Her hair cascaded down and almost touched the floor. This was the first time he’d seen her in civilian clothes, not that black counted as a good first impression.

When the court had vacated Eric’s conviction, and later during the trial of Cliff Handley’s partners, Ruth had been in attendance, always wearing her police uniform. She’d also worn her hair in a braid that hid the fact that she had a rich, red, luxurious mane.

He went outside, found the same spot for phone reception he’d discovered earlier and called Rosa’s cell. It was fifty-fifty he’d get through. Sam and Rosa would be at the other police officer’s funeral. Eric couldn’t remember the man’s name, but he remembered how the man died. He’d been shot by a fifteen-year-old trying to steal a car. The news stations kept mentioning the kid’s age, as if crime was reserved for adults. The residents of Gila City were shocked. Eric wished he could be shocked, but in his world, fifteen-year-olds knew more about guns than they did about skateboards.

Which is why he wanted to change his world.

He’d chosen Broken Bones because he wanted out of that life, that media circus. Yeah, right, as if he could be that lucky. That world had obviously followed him. No, not followed but preceded, giving him a proverbial Santellis welcome—You can run but you can’t hide.

Rosa picked up after just two rings. “Packard here!”

He almost mentioned how he couldn’t seem to get used to her new surname, but the timing wasn’t right. Banter between him and his last remaining friend was strained, to say the least, mostly on his side. “I think you need to come out here. I found a body earlier, called it in and wound up with quite a few guests.”

“Who’d you find?”

“First body was a female. Second body is wearing a police uniform. The bad news is Ruth is here.”

“Second body? Police officer? Oh, don’t tell me.”

“I’m telling you.”

“We’ll be right there.”

He went back in and sat on the floor. The couch was big enough for two, but he doubted Ruth would appreciate sharing with him—with the brother of the possible, probable, killer. She most likely figured he could tell her which sibling claimed guilt: Tony? Sardi? Kenny?

Of course, the murderer might not be one of his brothers. It could also very well be his brother-in-law. Until just over a year ago, Eddie Graham ran the Santellis Used-Car Lot in Gila City, barely thirty miles away.

Eric again shook his head. Currently, Eddie was doing a dime in Perryville Prison. Word had it he was happy there, that he didn’t want to leave. Mary Graham, Eric’s missing sister, had a temper. Her eight-year-old had gotten into his father’s stash, digested some and had to be hospitalized. So now Eddie was in jail and his newest tattoo probably read I’m Too Scared of My Wife and Her Brothers To Move Back Home. Of course, now that Tony and Sardi were dead and Kenny missing, Eddie might reconsider parole. Maybe that’s why Mary and her son were hiding.

The first thing Eric had done, after being released from prison, was get the electricity turned on out here in no-whereland, and then he spent some time looking for his sister, looking for the one piece of his life that might still need him as much as he needed it. Mary had vanished, and in some ways, he was grateful to know she was out of the life, out of the media’s spotlight and maybe safe. He’d gone to Italy, to relatives he’d never met. So, even if the female had died within the last three months, Eric still had an alibi for much of it.

Thumps came from outside. Then came the sound of a highly agitated sheriff. This investigation bordered on the archaic. The effort to keep the area clean encouraged one mishap after the other. Good thing he’d already accepted that he lived in a fixer-upper, otherwise he’d be hard-pressed to keep the Santellis temper in check.

The damages were to be expected. Tender loving care would not have been in the vocabulary of the grandfather who’d left Eric the cabin. The fact that the place was in any decent shape at all could be credited to his sister. Mary and Eddie had lived in the cabin just after they’d married, and Eddie drove the sixty miles to his job at the Santellis Used-Car Lot in Gila City. Four years later, once their son, Justin, turned two, Mary insisted on moving back to Phoenix. She wanted to be close to doctors, stores, etc.

For the last eight years, the cabin had been deserted. Well, deserted except for Jane Doe and what was probably Dustin Atkins.

“Tell me how he died?” Ruth’s words interrupted his thoughts.

He felt pathetically grateful to leave the images of the past, of his sister, his grandfather, his life, and focus on Ruth. She no longer bowed her head. Hair streamed in her face, obscuring most of her features but not hiding the fact that she’d been crying and hard. No woman he knew could cry that hard and keep silent.

His sister, Mary, wailed. Rosa was a gasper. He’d never seen his mother cry. Maybe she did it in secret, or maybe by the time he’d been old enough to notice, she’d forgotten how.

“I don’t know how he died. I was in prison.”

“Somebody would have told you.”

“Right, I had so many visitors. That came up in court, remember?”

“How do you think he wound up in your shed?”

“Just my bad luck,” Eric muttered.

“What?”

“It’s just my incredibly bad luck. If one of my brothers murdered your husband, of course, they’d leave him in my shed. It’s not like I can ever hope to break free of their doings.”

“Did he make one of them angry?”

“How should I know?”

“Were they dealing drugs out of this house?”

“I’m gonna say no.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The amount of dust and debris I’ve shoveled out. And if they had been dealing drugs from here, they’d have had a working stove and refrigerator. The windows would have been covered. Yes, even here in the middle of nowhere. Plus, there’d have been a chemical smell. There’d have been something tangible left behind, be it a broken propane canister, lithium batteries or rubber gloves.”

“Maybe they cleaned up?”

“Yeah, right. They’d leave dead bodies but carry away the drug paraphernalia. No, the dirt was two inches deep.”

“It’s Dustin. I know it’s him.”

“I think so, too,” Eric said.

“I think so three.” Ricky the reporter stood in the cabin’s doorway.

Eric almost stood up, almost shouted that now was not the time or place for any attempt at humor, but the look on Ruth’s face stopped him.

“Have they said anything?” she asked.

“Boy, they’ve bantered his name around enough, but no one’s willing to commit. They just kicked me out.” He sounded indignant.

Eric was pretty amazed they’d let Ricky stay for so long, but then again, Eric had watched as Ricky the ace reporter melted into the shadows of a crime scene.

Walking to the doorway and nudging Ricky aside, Eric stared at his very popular shed. “Why’d they finally kick you out?”

Eric turned in time to catch a look passing between his guests. Finally, Ricky came clean. “They’re saying the woman’s only been dead about two to three months. So, Eric, you are a suspect. And they’re saying Dustin didn’t die in the shed. Somebody moved him and fairly recently.”