Walleye Junction Page 12

  “You should have given me a way out. A little warning … a loaded gun.” He rubbed his eyes. “It would have saved the state a lot of time and money.”

  Macy flinched. “You know me better than that. Regardless of my feelings for you, I wasn’t going to let you take the easy way out.”

  “And yet here you are. Sitting in this room with me. Right now. Admitting that you still have feelings for a convicted felon. Admitting that you can’t bring yourself to hate me.” He slumped forward and rested his chin in his hands. “Maybe, just maybe it’s better to keep that sort of thing to yourself.”

  Macy slipped her hands in her pockets and made a conscious decision to keep them there. She drew the line at touching him.

  “I believe in being direct,” she said. “If I feel something I say it.”

  “What are you feeling now?”

  “Fear.”

  “Why are you afraid, Macy? You’re a free woman. You can walk out of here anytime you like.” He held up his handcuffed wrists. “I can’t hurt you.”

  “I can’t walk away when you’re in my head. I keep thinking that I should have seen the warning signs, that I missed the point when I could have saved you.”

  “Careful Macy, it sounds like you’re developing a God complex. Maybe that new job of yours at the Department of Justice is going to your head.”

  “I’m far from God. If anything I’ve been humbled.” She caught his eye. “How did you know I changed jobs?”

  “My lawyer told me. It was a wise career move. They’ll give you far more autonomy than I ever did.”

  “It’s a good team of people.”

  “If you’re set on rebuilding your reputation you may want to keep away from doing any internal investigations. How’s your boss?”

  Macy almost smiled. “Pleasant. A little dull.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find he’s more difficult to please than you realize.”

  “You know him well?”

  “Well enough.” Ray yawned. “He knows his limitations so he surrounds himself with people who can make up for them. If he took you on it’s because he feels you have potential.”

  “Nice to know, but I’m not here to talk about my new job.”

  “And here I was hoping I’d successfully changed the subject.”

  “Ray, you were a brilliant man, and I was one of the few people close to you. If I knew what was going on, I would have intervened. I’d like to think you would have listened to me.”

  “You’re giving yourself far too much credit. I wasn’t in the mood to listen to anyone.”

  “Are you listening now?”

  He raised his wrists again. “I don’t have a choice.”

  “You’ve never shown remorse. Why is that?”

  Ray didn’t answer.

  “I know you’re sorry for all you’ve lost, but are you sorry for what happened in that fire?”

  “It’s not as simple as that, Macy. Either way I’d have lost everything. One stupid mistake and I was fucked.”

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “I only wanted to silence her. She wouldn’t—”

  “Fall into line like I did? I was so gullible, wasn’t I? Your bright-eyed ingénue, ready to take a bullet in more ways than one.” Macy paused. “You asked me why I’m afraid so I’ll tell you. I’m afraid that I’ve been wired so well to expect disappointment that it’s now my default position.”

  Macy gathered her son’s photos and stood up from the table, slamming the chair into place as she turned to go.

  “I wasn’t a born cynic. You made me into one.” Macy opened the door. “And do you know what, Ray? It sucks. It really sucks.”

  * * *

  Ron Forester looked more like a boxer than an accountant. Both his hands were heavily bandaged and a strip of tape bridged his swollen nose. His deep-set eyes were shadowed with black and blue hues. Someone had placed a plastic cup full of orange juice on the table in front of him. He leaned forward so he could sip it through a straw.

  “I hope you guys will put in a good word for me,” he said.

  Macy feigned concern. Ron Forester was convicted on charges of aggravated sexual assault. Nothing she said would make any difference.

  “I’ll do what I can,” she said.

  “The woman who accused me of assault has a history of psychiatric problems. It should have been disclosed in court.”

  “Do you have a court date for your appeal?” asked Macy.

  “Yes, but it’s taking too much time.” He held up his bandaged hands as evidence. “I nearly died out there today.”

  “Do you have any reason to believe you were singled out as a target this afternoon?”

  He shook his head. “As far as I can tell it was some random nutcase. You never know what’s going to cause offense in here. You can be staring off into space and some asshole will accuse you of looking at him funny.”

  “I need to speak to you about what happened at your home on Edgewood Road.”

  “I’m not sure how much more I can add.”

  “I understand that you went through photos from the scene with the detectives who first interviewed you.”

  “They left one hell of a mess.”

  Macy slipped out several photos of the kitchen, including one of the contents of the refrigerator.

  “In general would you say that you are a fairly neat person?”

  Ron Forester sifted through the photos. He stopped and stared at the photo of the inside of his refrigerator. “I’d say I’m average.” He pointed to the photo. “That’s not my Red Bull.”

  “Anything else that’s odd about the photo?”

  Ron leaned in. “The Chinese takeaway?”

  “The rest is yours?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose so. I’ve had other things to worry about. Is there something important that I’m missing here?”

  “Does anything look like it’s not where you normally put it?”

  He stared again. “It’s too neat.”

  “Would you be surprised to learn that your condiments are now alphabetized?”

  Two eyebrows rose in unison. “I didn’t do that.”

  “What about the cleaner you used? Had she ever done anything like that?”

  “God, no. I think I’d have fired her if she’d wasted her time organizing my cupboards.”

  Macy showed him several photos of the contents of his cabinets.

  He laughed and winced at the same time. “It’s like a scene from Sleeping with the Enemy.”

  “So you don’t alphabetize your spices either?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Do you know anyone who has these sorts of tendencies?”

  “No one I can think of.”

  “We’re pretty sure you’ve had some kind of contact with the perpetrators. They knew the code for your alarm system.”

  “I already gave the guys that came to interview me a list of anyone who may have known the access code.”

  “Everyone has checked out so far. You were with Mountain Security?”

  He nodded. “For years. I assume they do background checks on their staff.”

  Macy thought about what Kyle Miller had said about Flathead Valley Security employees all being ex-military or ex–law enforcement. Mountain Security had a similar employee profile.

  “We checked,” said Macy. “There’s no known connection between the security company and the kidnappers.”

  “You know who did it?”

  “Carla and Lloyd Spencer were found dead yesterday morning. We’ve come to believe they were involved.” Macy placed their DMV photos on the table in front of him. “Do you know them?”

  He stared at Carla’s photo. “I can’t place her, but she sure looks familiar.”

  “She worked at a waitress at the IHOP.”

  “The IHOP?” he said, looking insulted. “Give me some credit.”

  “For the past year she’s delivered pizzas.”

  He tapped his bandaged finger
on the photo. “That’s it. I only remember because I think it’s the last time I actually had fun. Some friends came over and we ordered pizza. One of my guests had drunk a bit too much. He invited her in.”

  “How long did she stay?”

  “I’m not sure. She was still there when I went to bed.”

  “I need his name.”

  “Could be awkward. He’s married.”

  “We’ll be discreet.”

  “Bob Crawley.”

  Macy made a face.

  “You know him?” asked Ron.

  “We’ve met.”

  “Then he’s probably made a pass at you,” he said.

  “It was in a professional capacity.”

  “That wouldn’t have mattered to him.”

  “His wife wasn’t too pleased the last time we spoke, either.”

  “I hope you nail him for this,” he said.

  “I thought he was your friend.”

  “Now that I’m in here I know exactly who my friends are.” He glanced down at his bandaged hands like he was contemplating counting the number of friends he had on his fingers. “It turns out I don’t have any.”

  * * *

  Night was falling as the prison’s well-lit perimeter faded in the rearview mirror. The road heading into town was empty save a pinprick of red taillights in the distance. Following a round of polite introductions their driver had gone quiet. Gina had her hand wedged deep in a bag of potato chips.

  “We missed our flight so I’ve initiated Plan B.”

  Macy closed her eyes. Driving all the way back to Walleye Junction held no appeal.

  “Does Plan B involve a glass of red wine?” asked Macy. “I still owe you a drink.”

  “Sadly, no, but I’ll take a rain check on that. I’ve rented a car. We’re driving to Helena. We’ll get a flight from there in the morning.”

  “You’ll have to spend time with your mother-in-law.”

  “She’s not so bad in small doses. To tell you the truth I think I resent her sometimes because she’s there with the kids when I can’t be. Anyway, I suspect I’ll arrive just as she’s heading up to bed.”

  “Luke will be sound asleep by the time I get home.”

  “Wake him up. A little anarchy never hurt anyone.”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure I’m up for the anarchy. I’ll see him in the morning. Did the Bozeman police find anything at the address Sean listed on his employment application for the brewery?”

  “Looks like he used a random address. The homeowner said he’d never heard of Sean Spencer.”

  Macy pictured Kristina’s face captured on the security footage. There’d only been one camera at the entrance to the microbrewery, and it almost seemed like she’d gone out of her way to find it.

  “What is going on with that kid?” said Macy. “He and his girlfriend go out of their way to advertise their location and then disappear into the night.”

  “They could be leading us on a wild-goose chase. For all we know they’re back in the Flathead Valley.”

  * * *

  Macy let herself in the front door and locked it behind her. Her mother was sitting on the family room sofa. As usual she had a book in her hand.

  “Hi Mom,” said Macy, taking off her jacket and hanging it on a hook.

  Ellen put her book to one side and took off her reading glasses. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

  “We were at Montana State Prison all afternoon. The interviews took longer than expected so we decided to come back to Helena instead.”

  “You must be exhausted. There’s a bottle of red open on the counter.”

  “Thank you, I’ll go pour myself a glass.” Macy noticed her mother’s glass was nearly empty. “Would you like a refill?”

  “No thank you, I’ve had my one for today.”

  Macy wandered into the dimly lit kitchen and poured a large measure of red. She’d fallen asleep in the car and was still feeling disoriented. She sifted through some mail that had been left on the counter. The only thing that stood out was the letter from Ray’s eldest daughter, Nicole. She carried it into the living room and set it down on the coffee table next to her glass of wine.

  “There’s some leftover pasta in the refrigerator,” said Ellen.

  Macy settled down on the sofa next to her mother. She took a sip of her wine but left the letter unopened.

  “I wish I’d waited,” said Macy. “Gina stopped at a fast food Mexican restaurant for dinner. The woman likes her junk food.”

  “She likes her opinions as well. In those five minutes you left us alone yesterday morning she shared her thoughts on everything from gay marriage to the value of a college education. For the record, we disagreed on both counts.”

  “She’s never been shy about letting folks know what’s on her mind.”

  Ellen glanced at the coffee table. “I see you found Nicole’s letter,” she said.

  Macy closed her eyes. It was the fourth letter she’d received from Ray’s daughter since her and Ray’s past relationship became public. Macy wasn’t convinced any sort of correspondence was healthy for either of them, but during a brief phone call with Nicole’s therapist, Macy had been told that it was a good idea for Nicole and her half-brother Luke to form some sort of relationship.

  Nicole is convinced that Luke is the only positive thing that has come out of this difficult time. As part of her ongoing therapy, I’ve encouraged her to reach out to you.

  Does her mother know about this?

  Unfortunately, her mother has washed her hands of the situation.

  Ellen placed her empty wineglass next to the envelope. “Are you going to open it?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid to.”

  “Remind me what the last one was like.”

  Macy stared into space. “Four pages of teenage angst. She pretty much called me every name in the book and then some. I couldn’t finish reading it.”

  “If she’s following a pattern then this one will be an apology.”

  “I told her therapist that I wasn’t willing to do this any longer if the verbal abuse continued.”

  “What did the therapist say?”

  “She didn’t seem to think my discomfort was equal to Nicole’s. Apparently, Nicole has been self-harming for some time but has recently graduated to slitting her wrists.”

  “How does this kind of thing happen?” said Ellen. “I remember her being such a happy little girl.”

  “Ray told me that you could see the moment she changed by looking at family photos.”

  “How old was she?”

  “Twelve. They were camping in Yellowstone Park. He and his wife had a huge fight in front of the girls. Nicole was never the same. The snapshots from the trip are like before and after photos. Healthy one day. Nervous wreck the next.”

  “She was old enough to understand that her parent’s problems were serious,” said Ellen.

  “You have to admire her single-mindedness. She practically destroyed herself trying to keep the family together.”

  “Wouldn’t it be nice if she directed that same energy outward instead of inward?”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” said Macy, taking another sip of wine. “It’s pretty negative energy.”

  Macy checked the return address on the envelope. It had been sent from the therapist’s office in Chicago. It had been agreed that neither Macy’s nor Nicole’s home addresses would be revealed.

  “I don’t like that she’s fixated on Luke,” said Macy. “The girl is as manipulative as she is unstable. Unless there’s some real improvement I’m not letting her near him.”

  “You won’t get any argument from me on that front. How was today? Did you go see Ray in the end?”

  “Ray doesn’t want me to visit anymore. He told me that he didn’t want Luke to know he exists.”

  “That’s probably for the best.”

  “Luke is going to find out eventually. I can’t protect him forever.”

  “We’ve
been over this a hundred times,” said Ellen. “Luke is the most loved up child I’ve ever met. He’ll be fine.”

  Macy squeezed her mother’s hand. “I know I don’t say thank you often enough. I wouldn’t have been able to get through this without you. You’ve been amazing.”

  “You’d have been fine on your own.”

  “I wouldn’t have been able to work.”

  “You would have had to cut back for a few years, that’s all.”

  “Doesn’t really work that way in law enforcement. There are no half measures.”

  “Well,” her mother said, rising to her feet. “It’s all academic. I’m here so all is well. Are you going to bed soon?”

  Macy held up her glass. “I’m passing out as soon as I finish this.”

  Ellen snatched the letter off the coffee table before Macy had a chance to pick it up again.

  “I’m taking this with me,” said Ellen. “Regardless of its tone, I doubt it’s good bedtime reading.”

  * * *

  The hallway light illuminated the soft curves of Luke’s face. Macy watched him from the doorway for a few minutes before sitting on the edge of his narrow bed. She bent over and kissed his forehead. He stirred but did not wake. She removed one of his hands from beneath the blankets and pressed it to her cheek. It felt like a hot stone. She had no idea what she’d say to Luke when he was old enough to ask about his father. As far as she was concerned, the Ray she knew was dead. She didn’t think she could breathe life into him if she tried.

  Macy stretched out on her side and rested her head on Luke’s pillow. Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. It was Aiden, probably checking to see if she was okay. She started to answer then stopped. Aiden could wait until morning. She draped her arm across her son and closed her eyes.

  8

  Francine Long sat perched in the passenger seat of her daughter’s hatchback with her handbag resting against her chest like a shield.

  “Your car is so small,” said Francine. “Don’t you feel vulnerable sitting down so low?”

  Emma put the car in gear and backed out of the driveway.

  “Finding parking is difficult where I live. I don’t have much of a choice.”

  “You wouldn’t be able to drive this car here during the winter.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it.”