The Deepest of Secrets, page 10
The man is sitting up now, as limp as a rag doll, with Jacob supporting him. Damp earth clings to the man’s face. As I brush it off, my brain insists I know who this is. Yes, I do. I just need to be sure. One last swipe, and I am.
It’s Conrad.
TWELVE
I keep clearing the dirt from Conrad’s face, faster now, my heart thudding. There are no residents I wouldn’t frantically try to save, no matter what they’d done. I do not need more deaths on my conscience, and I would never want to look back and question whether I really did all I could.
I’m also suddenly very aware of how it will look if he dies. Residents won’t care who buried this man alive. They’ll only know that I found him and failed to save him and maybe, just maybe, that was revenge for what he did to Anders.
One advantage to Conrad’s upright position is that I’m not fighting gravity to clear his airways. I lean him forward, face tilted down. Then I open his mouth and hook a finger inside. Nothing falls out, and my hand comes back clean. That means he hadn’t woken up under the earth, clawing and gasping. A small mercy there. He’s unconscious now and has been since someone dumped him into a very shallow grave.
“There’s blood on the back of his head,” Jacob says.
I nod and hope it’s not too curt. At this point, injuries are irrelevant. The man isn’t breathing. That’s all that counts.
“I need him on his back,” I say.
Jacob helps me get Conrad into position. I bend over the unconscious man and begin rescue breathing. I get maybe a half dozen breaths in when Conrad convulses and sputters. His head jerks, as if he’s trying to get upright, but it’s only a cough. His eyes stay closed.
“He’s breathing,” Jacob says. “That’s a start, right?”
I nod. “Can you run to town and get help? Please?”
He rises. “Your sister and Eric, right?”
“And a couple of strong residents with a stretcher. Tell Eric we have an unconscious victim in need of emergency attention. He’ll know what to do.”
* * *
With Jacob gone, I put Storm on watch. I’ll be too focused on Conrad and the scene to notice if there’s trouble, and out here, trouble could be anything from a curious bear to whoever failed to kill Conrad.
My sister will remind me that “failed” is a premature judgment. I don’t know what his injuries are. I do a quick assessment on that right away.
As Jacob said, there’s a wound on the back of Conrad’s head. A wide and shallow dent, high on his skull. When I check, I find a second strike lower down. Hit from behind. He falls to his knees and then comes the killing blow.
It’s supposed to be a killing blow. It is not. Did it render him unconscious and his killer said “good enough”? Dug a shallow trench and covered him up to let nature take its course? Or did they think he was dead? Either way, it was a spectacularly half-assed job, like covering the footprints and burial site.
A half-assed job that still would have killed him. It’d have been tomorrow before we realized Conrad was gone, and even then, we wouldn’t have rushed a search, presuming he fled after being tipped off that I knew he was behind the sign posting. We’d have eventually found this shallow grave, but by then, he’d be dead, any evidence gone.
Speaking of evidence …
We have a shovel. That suggests premeditated murder. There wasn’t enough time for the killer to fetch it from Rockton after knocking Conrad out. This wasn’t a supporter wanting to help the cause. Someone wanted Conrad stopped.
Stopped before their own secrets were revealed?
Lure Conrad into the woods. Hit him over the head. Have the hole pre-dug with a shovel brought for that purpose. Bury him, cover it up, and accidentally leave the shovel behind.
When I find blood on the shovel, I start cursing myself. I almost used the murder weapon to dig out the murder victim. Of course, at the time, all I was thinking was that someone was buried here, and I needed to get them out.
Technically, it’s a spade. All-metal construction. Definitely Rockton issue. From the wound, the killer hit with the spade part. The second strike had been focused on power rather than aim, and there’s a cut in Conrad’s scalp where the edge bit in.
Hit twice with the spade. No other obvious wounds. Those two are nasty enough, and it’s a miracle he didn’t die of that second blow. Whoever hit him used all their force to do it.
With my flashlight out now, I see drag marks in the dirt. He’d been struck close to the hole. Had he noticed it? Come to investigate and been struck from behind?
That’s all I have for now. Partial footprints. A possible scenario. The murder weapon. And a living murder victim, who can hopefully recover and point his finger at his killer, and all this will be supporting data only.
At the sound of voices, I rise, and I’m halfway up when my swinging flashlight beam catches something in the hole. Fabric. I lean in to see a hat of some kind. It must have fallen off Conrad when he stumbled. Just before the second blow.
I use a stick to pull it up without touching it. Since I’ve already, you know, touched the damn murder weapon. As I lift the hat, I frown. I’ve seen it before. A dark gray baseball cap that honestly doesn’t look like anything I can imagine Conrad wearing. The man is really more the fedora type.
The killer lost their hat? Buried it with the body? Oh, that would be too good. The ultimate half-assed murder.
There’s an insignia on the front. I shine my light as I twist the baseball cap on the stick.
It’s a Canadian military hat. One I know very well, because I bought it as a joke. That’s why this cap seemed so familiar.
It belongs to Will Anders.
THIRTEEN
April and Dalton have come, with Jacob leading the way and two militia members following. April does an onsite assessment and declares Conrad fit for transport. The militia and Jacob carry him on the stretcher, with April keeping watch over her patient. As they leave, Dalton sets up a battery-operated floodlight for me to process the scene. When he turns, I’m holding Anders’s baseball cap in one gloved hand.
“I found this in the grave,” I say.
“Fuck.” He sighs and throws up his hands. “Well, that’s it. Case solved. I’ll go arrest Will.”
“Funny man.” I lift the cap higher. “Though I might be tempted to actually laugh if I wasn’t rolling my eyes hard enough to hurt. Is this actually supposed to incriminate Will? When he was with you at the time of the murder? With you the entire evening?”
“We aren’t dealing with a criminal genius,” he says, taking out my camera. “Although, to be fair, given the inexact science of determining time of death, it would have opened up a window of doubt if we didn’t know exactly when Conrad died.”
“One would hope that Will, being a police deputy, wouldn’t let his baseball cap fall into the shallow grave as he’s burying the body.”
“Still reasonable doubt.”
“Agreed, which is why I wasn’t waving it in front of the others.” I look up at Dalton. “I do not want to suppress evidence, Eric. In an actual investigation, police keep lots of things from the public to help us narrow down suspects and weed out crackpots. Up here, it’s not as if I publicly report every finding, but this…”
“If we don’t mention it—and residents find out—they’ll scream cover-up, even if you’ve noted the cap and filed it as evidence.”
“Yep. And even if you and I agree this doesn’t introduce an iota of reasonable doubt, given Will’s ironclad alibi.”
“The guy providing that alibi is his boss and his friend. I can say he’s been with me all evening, except for a two-minute piss break, and they’ll argue he managed to attack Conrad then. Or that I’m outright lying.”
“I don’t want to put this burden on you.”
“I’m the sheriff. It’s my call. And my call is…” He runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck. My call is that we can’t be accused of covering it up. I’m not walking back to town waving that hat over my head, but it needs to go out in a public message.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe I just suggested you do one of those damn statements.”
“It’s the only way to handle it. Full statement first thing tomorrow about what happened to Conrad, and as part of that, I will mention the baseball cap. You will alibi Will. Before any of that happens, Will needs to be warned and we need to figure out where the baseball cap came from. Presumably the break-in.”
“Which is awkward when we think Conrad did that.”
“He could have brought it along as a souvenir. Showing off for whoever he was meeting. Or whoever summoned him was his accomplice that night. Or it was stolen later, when we had Will’s house open as a crime scene. Our best bet, though?”
“Hoping Conrad wakes up to identify his attacker?”
“Yep.”
* * *
We set Storm on the would-be killer’s trail. She follows it back to town, where she loses it in the web of scents. I wish I could ask her whether it’s the same scent as the one at the break-in. If there’s a way of doing that, we haven’t trained for it. Another thing to add to my endless list.
We warn Anders next. He’s shaken, more than we were. To me, it’s a truly eye-rolling frame-up job. To him, though, a killer has actively tried to pin a murder on him.
The last time he wore the baseball cap was a week ago. Since then, it’s been in his front closet with all his outerwear. After the break-in, he checked valuables, but he didn’t look through his clothing or other everyday items.
We stop in at the clinic next. Yes, Anders was our priority, and I will feel no guilt about that. Conrad is in my sister’s hands, and he couldn’t receive better care.
I walk into the clinic. Dalton peeks over my shoulder, sees Diana there and murmurs that he’ll meet me back at the station. I’m sure he’s retreating because four people in the tiny room is too much, but yes, if he doesn’t need to deal with Diana, they’re both happier for it.
My sister is busy with Conrad, who’s unconscious on the table.
Diana slides over and murmurs, “I haven’t had time to talk to you in person lately. How’s Will doing?”
Anders and Diana had a one-night stand shortly after she arrived. She’d hoped for more, and when it didn’t materialize, she’d blamed me—I must have said something to Anders or batted my lashes and lured him away. That is Diana.
Is it more accurate to say that was Diana? I think so. She’s changed. I know that if she hadn’t, we wouldn’t be the semi-friends we are today. We’ll never be best friends again. I came to recognize the toxicity of our fifteen-year friendship and decided I deserved better. She’s given me better, and I must acknowledge that.
“Will’s managing,” I say.
“In other words, he’s as well as can be expected. If there’s anything I can do to help…”
“Just stay on his side. Please.”
She nods. “I’m there. Always. He doesn’t deserve this.”
“Are you two done chitchatting?” April says as she prepares an IV for Conrad. “If you aren’t, I’ll ask you to leave, Casey. I require my nurse’s full attention.”
“I’m your nurse now?” Diana says. “Can I get that in writing?”
“Certainly. As soon as you can provide your nursing degree. Now, do you think you can help me with this, Diana?”
“That depends. Two minutes ago you shooed me away.”
Diana brings the IV tube over to April. Diana’s nursing background comprised one summer when we’d both been candy stripers. My parents had insisted I take the job, still holding out hope of a medical career for me. As for Diana, she just wanted to meet cute interns.
She’d stumbled into nursing here. Knowing Diana from before, April is comfortable with her. And by “knowing her,” I mean that April was aware Diana existed and thought she was a waste of space in my life. I believe her opinion has changed. I’m not actually sure.
Whatever their personal opinions of one another, they work well together. I wait while they get the IV inserted. Then April turns to me. “When I started here, I was assured that baby and prenatal care would not be required, given that children are not permitted. Yet I have treated one baby and now I will be delivering another. Delivering.”
“Don’t forget, Jen can help. She was a midwife.”
Diana mutters, “I’d sooner deliver the poor baby myself.”
“Speaking of which,” April says, “I need a full team of medical professionals, and you’ve given me…” She peers at Diana. “What are you again?”
“Human?”
April waves her hand. “Whatever Diana did for a living. You bring me cases such as this. A man brutally struck over the head and buried alive. Buried alive? You don’t think that’s a bit excessive?”
“I agree in principle, but you’d need to ask the person who buried him.”
“It is one trauma after another. One unique situation after another.”
“One challenge after another?” I say. “I know you love puzzles. And before you suggest it, I did not bury him alive to give you one. It isn’t your birthday yet.”
“I realize that is meant to be a joke. It is not funny.”
I walk over and pat her back. Not the most affectionate gesture, but it’s one she’ll allow. I understand the reason behind this outburst. It has nothing to do with her questioning our medical hiring practices or even railing against inadequate staffing. This is how April deals with stress.
My sister does enjoy a challenge. Just not the ones where someone’s life is in her hands and her hands alone. She feels inadequate to the sheer breadth of work she’s asked to do in Rockton, and it isn’t in her to simply say she’s done her best and rest easy. In that, we are truly sisters.
“I take it the prognosis isn’t good,” I say when she turns back to Conrad.
“I don’t know yet,” she says curtly. “I don’t know how long he was buried for. I don’t know how much damage was done by the blows to the head versus the suffocation. What I can tell you right now, Casey, is that he is unconscious and has shown no signs of reversing that condition.”
“He’s alive,” I say.
“For now,” she says. “For now.”
* * *
Without an MRI or CT scan, April can only guess at what’s keeping Conrad from waking, which completely freaks her out, as much as she tries to hide it. I bring in help. She might rail at the lack of medical professionals here, but as a psychiatrist, Mathias has his medical degree. He’s just never practiced medicine. There’s Anders, too, who’d been pre-med in university and started his army career as a medic. While I am not a medical professional—at all—growing up in my family means I have stellar first-aid skills. For this, we decide to leave Anders out of it. Covering his ass in case anything goes wrong.
Mathias suspects intercranial swelling from the blow, but again, there’s no way to confirm that, especially when Conrad is unconscious. For now, that’s the best thing for him—being unconscious. His body is resting, and his brain is healing, and we need to leave him be, which means I’m not interviewing Conrad anytime soon.
I’m in the forest with Dalton and Storm. We’re going over the trails again in hopes that if we reinforce the scent of Conrad’s attacker, Storm will be able to unweave that web of in-town scents. Better yet, we’ll return to town and she’ll race to the killer, barking madly. Yeah, if there’s a way to teach her that, I haven’t found it either.
It sometimes feels as if I don’t do enough tracking work with Storm. Think of all the incredible applications it has to Rockton police work! Tracking lost residents! Tracking fleeing criminals! Identifying killers! But even if she could run up to Conrad’s attacker and bark, no one would accept that as proof. I’ve already seen how quickly skeptical residents dismissed her work tracking Anders’s home intruders.
What I’m hoping for is not that she’ll expose the would-be killer to the world, but that she’ll expose them to me.
Show me whodunit, Storm, and let me take it from there.
That doesn’t happen. She seems to get the scent in town, and then loses it. Picks it up again. Loses it again. By that point, it’s time for the town meeting.
The crowd is smaller this time. I’m not sure what to make of that. It’s later in the morning, with little excuse not to be there, and surely “resident found buried alive” is a bigger deal than Anders’s sign. My fear is that fewer people means they’re losing trust in us. They want to know what happened to Conrad; they just don’t trust us to give them the truth.
I explain what I discovered last night. I say that I had reason to believe Conrad went into the forest, and that concerned me so I followed with Storm and discovered him in a shallow grave. No mention of the fact that I knew he was meeting someone there, someone who sent a note. I don’t want to spook his attacker.
What I don’t withhold is the baseball cap. I display it in a baggie and explain where I found it. Then Dalton gives his alibi for Anders, and the grumbling begins. It’s quiet at first, an angry hornet buzz that finally erupts in a single word.
“Figures.”
When Dalton surges forward, I subtly block him with a hip and shoulder.
“Would you care to elaborate on that?” I call into the audience.
“Do I need to?”
“No,” I say. “But I thought you might want the opportunity to step forward and say it, instead of hiding in the crowd.” I shade my eyes and squint for emphasis. “Is that you, Arnie? You’re questioning the validity of Will’s alibi. We anticipated that. Eric has compiled a list of everyone who stopped by the station or otherwise saw them yesterday evening. We will be confirming that with the people involved. In the meantime, if anyone saw Will alone or with someone other than Eric, please come forward. I will investigate—”
