Walleye Junction Page 10

  Emma dismissed her mother’s comment. “Buying a gun would have gone against everything dad believed in.”

  Francine mumbled something under her breath that Macy didn’t quite catch.

  “Mom, I’m aware that I haven’t been here for twelve years, but I still spoke to him once a week. He wasn’t ever going to change his stance on gun ownership.”

  Macy looked from daughter to mother. In unison they took a deep breath and dipped their heads. Their hands were folded in the same way on their laps. Their mouths held the same hard line. They were at odds and yet so similar. Macy started to speak again and two sets of blue eyes zeroed in on her.

  “Then I guess it would come as a surprise to both of you that Philip applied for and received a gun license three months ago. He owned a registered handgun.”

  Francine stared at Macy. “That’s not possible. He would have told me.”

  “Have you come across any firearms here at the house?”

  “I had no idea.” Francine glanced at her daughter. “Did he say anything to you?”

  Emma looked lost. “Not a word.”

  “It’s possible he decided to take the threats seriously but didn’t want to alarm you,” said Macy.

  Emma picked up Lloyd’s photo. “Do these people have ties to any militia groups?” she asked.

  “Carla and Lloyd formed their own group two years ago. Lloyd called your father during one of his shows. His language can only be described as colorful.”

  “Did he threaten to harm my father?”

  “Most definitely.”

  “So that’s it then,” said Francine. “It’s over. You found who did it.”

  “There are still unanswered questions,” said Macy. “We searched the van and Carla and Lloyd’s home but have yet to find the murder weapon or your husband’s laptop.”

  “They could have thrown that stuff in the river or buried it,” Francine said, her voice going up an octave. “What other questions do you need answered?”

  Macy waited a few seconds to answer. It could be that Francine was right and there were no other questions left to answer, but Macy wouldn’t let it rest until she was sure.

  “We need to be absolutely certain there weren’t others involved. Lloyd Spencer was physically incapable of riding a motorcycle, and so far only one person has admitted to seeing Carla on a motorcycle in the past ten years. The conditions were treacherous the night your husband was killed.” Macy kept her voice steady. “Winds were gusting at sixty miles per hour and rain was pouring down. It would have taken a lot of skill to ride a bike off road on a night like that.”

  Francine sat forward. “Was it you in the police car?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m afraid it was.”

  “Then you saw everything,” said Emma.

  “Unfortunately,” said Macy, “the motorbike was out of my field of vision and the rider was wearing a helmet, making identification impossible. We’ve been able to establish the brand of gear the rider was wearing from the description I gave of the logo, and we know the bike cut through the cherry orchard between the house and Route 93 because we found tire tracks.” Macy leafed through her file until she found a picture of Philip Long’s broken glasses. “We found these up at the house. His vision would have been greatly impaired the night he died. I believe he ran out onto Route 93 in an attempt to flag down a passing vehicle but misjudged the timing.” She lowered her voice. “I tried to stop.”

  “I saw pictures of the accident in the paper.” Francine’s voice also faded. “You’re lucky to have survived.”

  Macy hesitated before telling them the results of the toxicology screen. Francine was exhausted and Emma looked like she was ready to bolt.

  “The medical examiner ran a routine toxicology screen, and I’m afraid we’ve had some worrying results.” Macy took a deep breath. “Heroin was found in your husband’s system.”

  Francine pressed her hands to her face. “My husband never took drugs. Dr. Whitaker tried to prescribe something for the pain after Philip had knee surgery, but he insisted on getting through without them.”

  Emma’s voice was tight. “My mother is right. They would have had to force him.”

  “That is one line of inquiry,” said Macy. “I just wanted to rule out the possibility that he might be using. There’s been a rise in heroin abuse in the area over the past few years. There’s a lot of it coming through the state on its way to the Bakken oil fields in North Dakota.”

  Macy looked from daughter to mother. Francine had closed her eyes again. Her face looked serene, but there was nothing relaxed about her posture. Emma’s face was in profile. Tears were streaming down her cheek.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t feel well,” said Emma as she got up from the sofa.

  Macy stood with her. “You have my card. Please get in touch if you have any questions.”

  “I’m going out back,” said Emma. “Please come see me before you leave.”

  Francine flinched at the sound of the back door slamming shut. She smoothed her dress and took a deep breath.

  “Emma has been away a long time. It’s difficult having her here.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I’m afraid we’re both too stubborn for our own good.”

  “But you still stayed in touch.”

  “Yes, but it wasn’t the same. We used to talk once a week and meet up a couple of times a year.” Francine leveled her blue eyes on Macy again. “To really know someone you have to spend more time together than that. After a while I gave up trying to make it work.”

  “You stopped going to meet her?”

  “I decided enough was enough. In my opinion her reasons for staying away were unfounded. It was time for her to grow up and come home.”

  Through the back windows Macy could see Emma walking across the yard. Sunlight filtered through pollen and dust. Macy checked the time. It was coming up to midday. Francine cleared her throat.

  “A few years ago there was an incident in Chicago,” said Francine. “I should have put my feelings aside and gone to be with her, but I stayed here. Now I don’t know that we’ll ever be able to make it right again.”

  “May I ask what happened?”

  Francine looked like she was lost. “Pardon?”

  “You said there was an incident in Chicago.”

  Francine nodded vigorously. “Emma’s boyfriend died of a brain hemorrhage.”

  “That’s so sad.”

  Another nod. “He fell and hit his head during an altercation with a group of youths who’d been trying to steal Emma’s purse.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Macy.

  “All for a handbag. Emma can afford to buy a hundred more with the salary she makes and yet he decided to take a stand. I didn’t go to the funeral.”

  “Did your husband go?”

  “Philip was always there for Emma when she needed him.”

  Macy made some notes. There’d been a hint of anger in Francine’s voice. It seemed she was jealous of Emma’s close relationship with her father. Everyone interviewed thus far had described the marriage as a happy one. Maybe there were cracks there.

  Francine put her fingers to her lips. “I’m not sure why I told you all that. It’s not something I tell anyone. She’s had a tough few years, but she’s pulled through.”

  “When did you last speak to your daughter?”

  “Is that relevant?”

  “I’m just trying to get an impression of how much she’d have known about what was going on at home.”

  “It would have been six years in November.” Francine took hold of the cushion again. “Emma continued to talk to her father once or twice a week, but I’d always make myself scarce when she called. He’d tell me her news. I never asked what he said about me or Walleye.”

  “That’s okay. I’m sure Emma will let me know if anything was said that could be of help.” Macy paused. “Mrs. Long, your husband had a reputation for being very argumentative w
hen he was on the air. Did this carry through into everyday life?”

  Francine almost smiled. “Everyone in town knew that Philip would go out of his way to be contrary if he thought it would get a rise out of someone. It was always in jest, but I suppose it’s possible that he could have upset someone. At times he could be relentless.”

  “I’ve listened to his radio program. He seemed to enjoy getting under people’s skin.”

  “I sometimes wondered what he saw in me. I’m not the argumentative sort. I’d make peace with the devil if it meant I could have a quiet life.”

  “You retired from your job recently.”

  Francine’s voice broke. “I was the receptionist at Dr. Whitaker’s practice for thirty-four years.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  “When I started, there was only him and a part-time nurse.” Francine frowned. “After he expanded things got a little crazy. Now it’s a dozen full-time staff, security at the door. They were very patient with me. I never did get to grips with the computer system.”

  “It was nice of Dr. Whitaker to come see you. It seems like a lot of people are looking after you.”

  Francine’s eyes shifted to the front windows. “It’s a real comfort.”

  “You look like you could use a rest,” said Macy. “Perhaps I could stop by again sometime soon? I’d like to keep you abreast of developments.”

  Francine picked up Macy’s business card and stared at it for a few seconds before rising to her feet. “Please, tell Emma that I’ve gone to take a nap.”

  * * *

  Macy found Emma sitting on an old swing at the far end of the backyard. Beyond her a low wooden fence marked the property boundary. A dozen crows gathered on the lawn. They were cracking apart peanut shells with their sharp beaks.

  Eyebrows in a knit, Emma’s thumbs were flying over her smartphone’s screen. She didn’t look up when she spoke.

  “My boss has no shame.”

  Macy plunked herself down on the second swing and pivoted around so she faced the Whitefish Range. Gray clouds had settled in on the lower slopes, but the highest peaks sparkled in the midday sun.

  “Seems to be a lot of that going around,” said Macy.

  Macy was dreading the long drive down to the town of Deer Lodge, where Montana State Prison was located. She knew damn well that the trip had nothing to do with the case she was working on. Ron Forester’s interview could be done via video link. She was going because she wanted to see her old boss, Ray Davidson. In his case a video link wouldn’t do. She needed him to look her in the eye and say he was sorry.

  Emma apologized for taking so long. “I just need to finish this e-mail and I’m all yours.”

  Macy told her to take as long as she needed. In truth, she wasn’t in a hurry to get to her next destination. The only place she really wanted to be was at home with her son. She scrolled through the pictures of Luke that were stored on her phone and reminded herself for what seemed the millionth time that he was happy and well looked after. Macy gazed out into a cherry orchard that stretched out in a precise grid. Sunshine shot through the delicate white blossoms, scattering light and shadow across the neatly tended earth. At the far end of the orchard she could just make out a farmhouse and some outbuildings. The Flathead River ran along one side. The big black cottonwood trees lining its shore rustled in the breeze.

  Emma shoved her phone into her jacket pocket. “While I’m here my boss wants me to look into investment opportunities. How tacky can you get?”

  Emma got up from the swing and walked to the back fence where a wooden gate was secured with a latch. Someone had made a daisy chain and fixed it to the top of the metal crossbars. Emma touched the petals lightly with her fingertips.

  Macy went and stood next to her. “Your work?”

  Emma shook her head. “My second cousins stopped by yesterday with their mother. It must have been them.”

  Emma opened the gate. “Do you feel like taking a walk?”

  “Are we trespassing?”

  “It’s okay. I know the owner.”

  “After you then.”

  They followed the fence line until it butted up against the shores of the Flathead River. Emma had her hands tucked deeply into the pockets of the thin coat she was wearing. Her long brown hair fell across shoulders that curved a bit too far inward. When they reached the shore, Macy stayed well back and watched as Emma picked through the dense undergrowth that edged the fast-moving river. In places the wash had submerged trees up to their lower branches. Emma stopped a few feet from the water and pointed out a small raised clump of land that was stranded in the middle of the river. The remnants of a tree fort clung to the branches of a battered tree. The current was so loud Emma had to yell.

  “In the summers I used to spend a lot of time out there.”

  Macy couldn’t look at the slate gray water without remembering what it was like to tumble through the drainage ditch in darkness. She focused on the abandoned tree house and the endless blue sky that framed the distant hills. She almost warned Emma to be careful, but instead mumbled something about Walleye Junction being a wonderful place to grow up. Emma picked up a rock and threw it into the churning water before turning back to join Macy.

  “I feel stupid for coming home,” said Emma. “For some reason I thought my mother needed me.”

  “Have you always had a difficult relationship?”

  “I wouldn’t describe it as difficult. Until a few years ago I thought she understood my reasons for staying away from this place.” Emma headed east along a path that cut between the cherry trees. “I take it you know the whole story.”

  “I heard you have a reputation for running away from funerals.”

  “Makes it all sound so quaint.”

  “Quaint seems to be what this place is all about.”

  Emma pointed to the farmhouse. “My best friend, Lucy Winfrey, used to live over there.”

  “Winfrey as in Winfrey Farms?”

  “That’s the one. Do you know it?”

  “I’ve eaten the cherries. Does that count?”

  “It’s all that counts. We used to call Lucy’s father the cherry king, but we didn’t mean it kindly. Caleb was rather obsessive.” Emma frowned. “His nephew, Nathan, seems to be in charge now. Anyway, to make a long story short, Lucy’s mother, Beverly, and my mother became close. They put a gate between the properties so it would be easier for them to visit each other without having to drive all the way out to the main road. Lucy and I would get dragged along, but we didn’t really get on. She was an odd child who was always getting into trouble. I, on the other hand, was already working too hard at being perfect.”

  “So what changed?” asked Macy.

  “Lucy’s mother died when we were nine. I honored Beverly’s wishes by making a special effort to look after her daughter. Caleb wasn’t the most affectionate of fathers and Lucy didn’t have many friends. At the church service I offered her candy in an effort to comfort her. When we got to the cemetery she came and found me. When she ran off, I went after her.”

  “How far did you get?”

  “Not very,” said Emma. “It was March and there was a lot of snow on the ground. It felt like a long way though. I called my dad from a gas station about five miles south of Walleye.”

  “I think you’re shortchanging yourself a bit there. Around here five miles is quite a distance at that time of year.”

  “Thankfully, we were dressed for it.”

  “Your friend was very young,” said Macy. “Losing her mother would have been tough.”

  Emma glanced up at the farmhouse. “There was and is a lot of sadness in that house. I did my best to keep Lucy afloat, but in the end it was a weight I couldn’t carry. She died from a drug overdose when we were eighteen.”

  “Prescription drugs?”

  “There was a mixture of Vicodin and OxyContin in her system, but they weren’t hers. No one is sure how she got them.”

  “Sadly, pres
cription drug abuse is a big problem these days. Was it an accident?”

  Emma shrugged. “Cause of death was ruled accidental, but I don’t see how that’s possible seeing that they found a partial print on the syringe.”

  “She may have been sharing needles.”

  Emma’s voice rose. “I didn’t even know she had a habit. Apparently, the cops found enough of a stash to conclude she was dealing. Lucy was supposedly my best friend and I didn’t know her at all. What does that say about me?”

  “It’s an issue I’ve been dealing with as well. It makes me wonder if I can trust anyone.”

  “Well, you’re a cop. Paranoia comes with the job, doesn’t it?”

  Macy smiled. “Yeah, I guess it does. Could it have been a suicide? Was there a note?”

  “Oh, there were lots of notes, but Caleb made sure they weren’t presented as evidence. I can’t say that I wasn’t grateful. Lucy left a trail of destruction. Anyway,” Emma said, looking Macy full in the face. “It’s hard being back here. It’s all getting dredged up again.”

  “That can be a good thing,” Macy said, thinking of her upcoming meeting with Ray. “You may have to face your past full on if you want to get it out of your system.”

  Emma stopped walking about twenty yards from the Winfrey farmhouse. The building had an abandoned look about it. The curtains were drawn and it didn’t appear that anyone had been home for some time.

  “Lucy’s father, Caleb, is in a nursing home,” said Emma. “The locals probably think the place is haunted.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Both Beverly and Lucy died in there. By Flathead Valley standards that’s pretty spooky.”

  “Emma, I need to ask you a few more questions about your father.”

  “I’m not sure how much I can help.” Emma turned her back on the farmhouse and started toward home. “I hadn’t spoken to him in a few weeks.”

  “Was that normal?”

  “No,” said Emma. “We were pretty good at keeping a once a week routine, but it was never a set time. Two weeks ago there was nothing, but it was really busy at work so I let it be. When the same thing happened this week I called my mother.”