08-A Thousand Bones, page 25
“Mr. Chapel,” Leach said, “we couldn’t share those details with you. Not then.”
“Share them now,” Chapel said.
Leach motioned to his open door. Then he tipped his head, indicating that Joe should follow. Chapel sank into a chair, and Joe stayed back near the bookcase, hands clasped behind her back.
“The papers said you have bones,” Chapel said. “How many?”
“Only a few,” Leach said. “We have a jawbone, an arm bone, a rib, a pelvic bone, and—”
“Where were they found?”
“All but the last set—hand bones—were found in the general proximity of where we found your daughter’s jawbone.”
“But you haven’t identified any of these other bones as belonging to Annabelle?” Chapel asked.
“There’s no way to do that,” Leach said. “The best we could do is have an expert assemble what we have and try to determine which bones may be similar enough to suggest they could belong to one victim. But since we think we are dealing with girls of the same age and race, it’s going to be near impossible.”
Chapel was quiet for a moment. There was a fractured sense about him that made him hard to look at, and Joe shifted her gaze to the window behind Leach. The line between the gray lake and the sky was broken only by the lace of whitecaps curling toward the shore.
“You’re telling me all I have to take home to my wife is one bone?” Chapel asked.
Leach hesitated. “Well, yes. All we can identify for sure is the jawbone, but I’m afraid you won’t be able to…” Leach paused. “You won’t be able to take possession of your daughter’s remains for a long time.”
“Why not?”
Leach cleared his throat. “We suspect there are as many as eleven victims, and we could be finding bones for months, even years. It would help us, sir, if we could keep Annabelle’s jawbone for future comparison. Maybe at some point, our technology…”
Chapel lowered his head, and Leach fell quiet. Joe looked out again at the lake, her ears picking up the soft rush of wind at the glass. She realized Snider was finally quiet.
“Do you know yet how she was killed?” Chapel asked softly.
Leach glanced at Joe, holding her eyes for a moment before he spoke to Chapel. “No, the suspect’s not talking.”
Chapel opened the newspaper he had in his hand and stared at the photograph of the carving for a moment before looking back up at Leach.
“I’ve never seen such incompetence,” Chapel said. “A man kills for more than a decade unnoticed. Bodies are left in the woods, unfound. Bones are left piled in a lab somewhere because no one can put a name to them.”
Leach rose slowly. “We are sorry, Mr. Chapel,” he said.
Chapel shook his head. “You said there may be eleven victims. If that’s true, which number was my daughter?”
“We believe number five,” Leach said.
Chapel stared at Leach for a moment. He set the folded newspaper on the desk, turned, and left, leaving the door open.
Down in the basement, Snider started to yell again. Joe stayed where she was, listening to him and watching Leach. She remembered something Rafsky had said to her in Inkster. It can start to get to you after a while. Especially if you’ve never worked something like this before.
“Can I get you anything, sir?” she asked.
Leach looked up and tried a smile. He didn’t quite make it.
“Did you eat today, sir?” she asked gently.
He shook his head numbly.
“How about a ham on rye from The Bluebird?”
He hesitated, then nodded. She left his office, closing the door behind her. She was walking through the front office when she stopped.
Roland Trader was standing at the counter. No suit today. Corduroy pants, a shirt and sweater under a dark green parka, the kind of coat city guys ordered from L. L. Bean catalogues hoping it made them look rustic. He set his briefcase on the counter with a thud.
“I want to see my client,” he said. “And this time, not in that damn basement.”
36
Roland circled the table, scanning the conference room for surveillance equipment.
“Roland,” Ken said.
“Be quiet.”
“If you’re afraid of being bugged, why’d you ask for this room? Why not just talk in my cell?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Damn it, Roland, talk to me!”
Roland grabbed a chair, pulled it close to Ken, and sat down. Ken stared at him, still angry about the newspaper stories, still waiting for answers.
Roland leaned on the table, head down, finding a small scar in the tabletop to focus on. He knew he couldn’t let Ken look into his eyes when he told his story.
“I killed that Chapel girl,” Roland whispered.
“Jesus,” Ken said.
“It happened the weekend we came up to sell Dad’s cabin.”
“But you…you told me you went skiing.”
Roland heard his brother let out a long breath, as if he were trying to remember.
“Wait,” Ken said. “You…did you just take her from there?”
Roland shut his eyes as a cold burn started to rise in his face. The same kind of burn that hit his face when he raced down the slopes in a blinding rush of wind and snow. The burn that stayed with him as he followed her, watched her laughing with her friends, waited until the one moment when she was alone outside. The same burn that built to an icy heat as he grabbed her, dragged her to his car, and threw her into the trunk.
“I didn’t take her,” Roland said, his head still down. “She went with me. She wanted to have sex, and the only place I could think of was the cabin.”
Ken was quiet, but Roland was conscious of Ken’s leg next to his, could even feel the nervous tremble in his muscles.
“When we got there,” Roland said, “I couldn’t do it at first. She got mad and started making fun of me.”
“No,” Ken said, standing. “I’m not hearing this again about how some girl called you names and—”
Roland grabbed Ken’s sleeve and pulled him down. “Sit down and shut up,” he hissed.
Ken sat down so hard the chair scraped across the floor.
“She told me she changed her mind and she wanted to go home,” Roland said, head down again. He could hear Ken’s breathing. It sounded just like Annabelle’s had inside the cabin. Fast and thin at first. Then later, when she started screaming, her breaths changed to something terrified and primitive. Almost like a hungry animal in the night.
“I don’t believe this,” Ken said. “I don’t understand it. What’s wrong with you? How could you murder two girls?”
“I lost it,” Roland said. “I was never good enough, never big enough, never…you know what Dad used to say, Kenny, you know what—”
Ken pushed away from the table again. Roland let him go this time, watching him out of the corner of his eye. The jerky panic in Ken’s pacing seemed familiar. Almost like hers that day in the cabin. And Ken had that same caged look in the eyes now, like hers when he locked the door.
Suddenly, Ken was at his side. “You killed them all, didn’t you? All the girls they’re talking about in the newspapers.”
Roland nodded slowly.
“Jesus Christ!” Ken said, spinning away from him.
“Kenny,” Roland said.
Ken turned back to him, finger pointed. “I’m not going to prison for you,” he said. “You’re just going to have to—”
“Have to what, Ken?” Roland asked.
“You have to tell them what you did, tell them I didn’t—”
“Sit down.”
“I am not—”
Roland stood up, grabbed the front of Ken’s jumpsuit, and pushed him roughly onto the chair, almost tipping it. Ken batted at his hand, then doubled his own hand into a fist. Roland held up an open palm, taking a step back.
“Relax,” he said. “And listen to me.”
Ken clenched his jaw.
“If you say a word to the cops about what I’ve told you,” Roland said, “I will tell them what happened to Dad.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell them exactly what you did.”
Ken’s eyes teared up. “You son of a bitch.”
“I’m sorry, Kenny.”
“We made a promise never to tell anyone,” Ken whispered. “And you know I did it for you. You know that. He was going to leave you out there all night tied to that—”
“Don’t talk about the hoist, Kenny.”
Ken leaned on his knees, head down. For a long time, he didn’t move. Then his face came up into the harsh fluorescent light, wet with tears. “I don’t know what you want from me, Roland,” Ken said. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
“I have a plan that will get both of us out of everything,” Roland said. “But I need your help to make it happen.”
“Nothing will get you out of what you’ve done, Roland.”
“This will. And if you can pull off your end, three hours later, you and I will both be safe in Canada.”
“And then what? You go on killing up there?”
“It won’t be your concern what I do after,” Roland said. “You’ll be free.”
Ken stared at the floor, hands clasped between his knees.
“I need a decision now, Kenny,” Roland said. “What we have to do needs to happen tonight.”
“Why?”
“Tomorrow morning, you’re being moved to Traverse City,” Roland said. “And when that happens, there will be nothing I can do for you.”
“You’d leave me here?” Ken asked. “Just go to Canada and leave me here?”
“I’d have to,” Roland said.
Ken rubbed his face and looked up with a sigh. “What do I have to do?”
“Remember back in high school, Kenny?” Roland said. “Remember when you were in that play and how much you liked it? You were good at it, Kenny. Remember how good you were at it?”
Ken was quiet.
Roland leaned forward and cupped his brother’s face firmly in his hands. He wiped one of Ken’s tears with his thumb.
“It will be just like that, Kenny,” Roland said gently. “Only this time, you’re going to play the part of your lifetime.”
Joe was filing folders when she heard the first thump from the conference room down the hall. She stepped out into the hall and listened. Another bump, then voices. Loud.
“You bastard!”
It was Ken Snider yelling. And Roland shouting, “Shut up!”
Joe moved closer, tipping an ear to the closed door. She heard the scrape of a chair, then Ken again.
“You let me sit in here for four days and you don’t come to see me and you don’t talk to me and you don’t—”
“Shut up, Ken. They’ll hear you.”
A crash, as if a chair had been thrown. Leach appeared in his office doorway farther down the hall. “What the hell is going on?” he asked.
“They’re fighting,” Joe said.
Leach joined her outside the door, and they both listened for a moment longer.
“I’m telling you to shut up, Ken!”
“No! I want to tell them what really happened.”
“They won’t believe you, and they’ll use it against you, and they’ll hit you with every murder this side of Lansing once you tell what you know.”
“Fuck you!” Ken yelled.
Then the sound of fist against flesh and thumps against the wall.
Leach pushed open the door. Ken was standing near the table, fists clenched. Roland was slumped on the floor, holding the back of his hand to a split lip.
“What’s going on in here?” Leach demanded.
Ken just stared at him.
Leach reached down to help Roland to his feet. Roland shoved him away, drew a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his mouth.
“You’re going to blow everything, Ken,” he said.
Ken hesitated, then looked at Leach. “Get him out of here,” he said. “He’s not even a real lawyer. He flunked out.”
“Don’t do this,” Roland said.
“Shut up,” Ken said.
Joe looked from one to the other. There were tears in Ken’s eyes. Sheer fury in Roland’s.
Ken looked around the cell in confusion, and finally his eyes found Leach. “I want to talk to you guys,” he said. “Without him.”
“You’ll need new counsel first,” Leach said.
“I’ll sign a waiver,” Ken said. “I’ll sign anything you want me to. No more goddamn lawyers.”
Leach looked to Roland. “I guess you’re fired,” he said.
Roland grabbed his briefcase and started to leave. Then he leaned back toward Ken one last time. “You’re one stupid motherfucker.”
Roland pushed past Joe, almost knocking her over as he stormed down the hall. When Leach was sure he was gone, he looked at Ken.
“What are we going to talk about, Mr. Snider?”
Ken was staring after Roland, his face sweaty. “Annabelle Chapel,” he said.
37
Leach told Joe to call Adderly and tell him Ken Snider had fired Roland and wanted to make a statement. The first thing Adderly said was to make damn sure they had Snider’s waiver signed before asking him one question.
Joe hung up and started back to the conference room, then stopped. She picked up the phone and dialed the Riverside, asking for Rafsky’s room. When the clerk told Joe he had asked not to be disturbed, Joe told him to deliver the message that Rafsky was needed at the sheriff’s office.
“Joe?” Leach called out.
She hurried back to the conference room. Mack was setting up a tape recorder. Mike was leaning over Snider, telling him where to sign the waiver. Snider signed it and pushed it away.
“Can I have a pop?” he asked.
Joe looked at Leach sitting across from Snider. He nodded, and she left, returning with a Pepsi from the office fridge. Snider held the can in his hands a long time before taking a drink.
A couple of minutes later, she heard Adderly’s voice in the front office. He appeared in the room, face red from the quick trip down from the second floor. He set his briefcase on the table, picked up the waiver, and read it.
Snider took a long swig of his Pepsi, looking at the wall clock over the can.
Adderly handed the waiver to Mike with the direction to make copies. Then he motioned to Mack to turn on the tape recorder. The snap of the record key sounded like a hammer drawing back on a revolver. Mack stated the date, location, and purpose of the interview. Then he listed the names of those present. He asked Ken Snider to reaffirm that his statement was without counsel and of his own volition. Snider said it was.
“First question,” Leach said. “Why’d you fire your brother?”
Snider brought up a hand to wipe his mouth. “Because the fucker wouldn’t believe me when I told him the truth.”
“So you’ve decided to tell us the truth, I take it?” Leach said.
“He told me I should just shut up, go to court, and let the evidence talk for me.” Snider set the Pepsi can down with a thud. “Fuck that, man. I didn’t kill anyone. If anyone’s going to talk, it’s going to be me. I’ll talk to you. And I don’t want anyone in between.”
Leach glanced up at Adderly. “Okay, then, start talking.”
Snider leaned forward and stared at the microphone. Everyone waited, and it was almost a full minute before Joe realized she had been holding her breath. She let it out to relax herself, but it didn’t help much.
“Mr. Snider,” Leach said, “would it be easier if we asked you some questions first?”
Snider shook his head quickly, drawing his hands into his lap. He was not handcuffed, and Joe could see him twisting his fingers under the table.
“We don’t have all day, Mr. Snider,” Leach said.
Snider’s eyes flicked to the clock and down again. Finally, he took a breath and cleared his throat.
“There’s someone else,” Snider said.
Leach stiffened his shoulders. “You had an accomplice?”
Snider’s head came up. “No, I didn’t kill anybody. He killed Annabelle Chapel.”
Mack stepped forward. “Who?”
“A buddy of mine,” Snider said.
“What’s his name?”
“I can’t give you that ’til I get some guarantees.”
“What kind of guarantees?” Mack asked.
“I want that immunity or whatever you call it.”
“No way,” Mack said.
Snider clenched his teeth. Under the table, Joe could see him digging the nails of one hand into the flesh of the other.
“This other guy did it all,” Snider said. “I can testify against him.”
Mack leaned over the table, in Snider’s face. “Liar. You killed her yourself.”
“I didn’t!” Snider said. “I swear, I’ll tell you how it happened. I’ll tell you all of it. But I want something in return.”
“All right, Mr. Snider,” Adderly said. “Tell us how the Chapel girl was killed, and if we like what we hear, we’ll talk about things like immunity.”
Joe watched as Snider shut his eyes for a moment, as if he had to dig down inside himself and find the memory. Leach tapped the table.
“Mr. Snider.”
“I had to come up here to sign some papers.” Snider started slowly. “It was February 1969.”
“The papers were for the sale of your father’s property here?” Leach prompted.
Snider nodded. “Yeah. My buddy and me drove up in my truck. We didn’t have much money, so we stayed at the cabin the night before. We were planning to stay the next night, too. That’s why I asked Mrs. Collier if I could keep the key.”
Joe caught Leach’s eye before he looked back at Snider.
“Go on,” Leach said.
“The next day, we drove up to Petoskey, and my buddy dropped me off at the title company, and he took off in the truck. He didn’t come back until late afternoon, and I was pissed because I had to hang around in town all day.”
