Devil Smoke (26 page)

She waved at him from Peter’s arms, and then they vanished out the doors into the night. Tommy kept watching for a long moment, a weight dragging at him, pulling him down into a well of uncertainty.

Burroughs joined him in the hallway. Without looking at the detective, Tommy said, “Let’s get started. How do I prove to you that I’m innocent?”

<><><>

“
HOW
DID WE
not know?” TK asked as Lucy steered through standing water that sluiced the car with mud and silt. Thankfully the rain had slowed to a drizzle and the sky was clearing. “I mean, seriously. How did we not see that she was crazy? No one. Not the doctors. Not Burroughs or your friend the marshal. None of us.”

She flounced back in her seat, her knees drawn up to her chest, feet planted on the dash just like Megan did. “I’ve heard of shit like this. Guess I’ve even seen it. Guys wrapped up in these crazy conspiracy theories. Knew a Force Recon sniper who believed God spoke to him through his scope. Others like him. Totally nuts, but they could do their jobs so no one cared. But this?”

Lucy ignored the tirade; she was busy doing some serious thinking of her own. When TK paused for a breath she said, “Call Wash, fill him in. Top priority is to find Tommy and warn him. Then we need to call Burroughs.”

“Hell no. I’ll call Wash and keep trying Tommy, but you need to break it to Burroughs. Did you see how possessive he was of Sarah? He’s going to freak.”

Lucy said nothing, listening as TK updated Wash and left another message for Tommy. Then she called Burroughs and filled him in.

“Are you certain?” he asked.

“As I can be—remember, I’m only a civilian. Limited resources and access to official information.” It was petty to berate him for not discovering Sarah’s background for himself, but it wasn’t his team member caught in the crossfire of Sarah’s delusions. “We haven’t been able to find Tommy to warn him.”

“I can help with that. He’s at the Forward Township police station. And so am I.”

“What happened? Is everyone all right?”

“Everyone’s fine. But I pretty much just accused Worth of hiring a man to threaten him in public with a shotgun. Still not a hundred percent sure I’m wrong about that. Or that you’re right about Sarah.”

“We’re on our way. Keep him there, will you?”

“Oh, believe me, he isn’t going anywhere. Not until we get to the bottom of this.”

“Think you can also put out a BOLO on Sarah and her husband?” Asking police to be on the lookout for a person or vehicle was one more ability Lucy had lost when she became a civilian. “And maybe run Walter Putnam through NCIC?”

“On it.” He hung up.

“So, is Sarah crazy? Like post-partum psychosis or something?” TK asked as Lucy steered them toward Route 51.

“Her pregnancy might have triggered it, but it’s more common than you think,” Lucy answered. “Fixed delusions. It’s what drives stalkers, assassins, even terrorists.”

TK lowered her legs and sat up straight. “Obsession, is that what you’re talking about?”

“More dangerous than that. People driven by obsession think they can change reality to fit their vision. People driven by delusion are in total denial of reality.”

“They’re living in their own fantasy world.”

“Something like that. Nick could explain it better.”

“And when reality and their fiction collide?”

“Utter devastation.”

GRAMMA RODE IN
the back seat of the car, holding Nellie’s hand while Papa drove through the storm, following a police car. At first Nellie was sad, worrying about leaving Daddy all alone, but the beat of the rain and the bounce of the car quickly had her nodding in her booster seat, chin drooping and eyes closed. Not asleep, but not really awake either. Her mind felt as foggy as the world revealed in the headlights each time she jerked up and opened her eyes before nodding off again.

Then the car came to a stop. Gramma squeezed her hand and Nellie slit her eyes open. They were sitting in the driveway, the police car beside them. Papa had the window halfway down, gave the policeman his keys, but kept it open even after the man left, vanishing into the fog. Papa’s head was tilted as he listened for something. After a few minutes, the policeman appeared through the fog to hand Papa a set of keys and an umbrella he must have gotten from the coat stand.

“No signs of any disturbance, sir,” he said. “You folks have a good night, now. Call if you need anything more.”

“Thank you, Officer,” Gramma said, leaning forward. Papa nodded his thanks as well. Then the policeman left, his car whooshing through the rain, spraying their car, before vanishing into the fog.

Papa got out with the umbrella while Gramma unbuckled Nellie, even though Nellie could have done it herself. Then Papa opened Gramma’s door, walked her around to Nellie’s side of the car, and handed Gramma the umbrella before opening Nellie’s door. It was funny, Gramma stretching almost on her tiptoes to cover both Nellie and Papa after Papa scooped Nellie into his arms. The wind almost blew Gramma over and slammed the car door shut behind them. Nellie wrapped her arms around Papa, shivering as the rain rushed in beneath the umbrella.

They hurried around to the front of the house. A tiny light guided them to the front door. Gramma pushed it open and finally they were safe inside, the storm locked out behind the thick front door. The storm didn’t like that, its wind and rain pounding against the wall of windows.

“Bedtime for you, young lady,” Gramma said firmly.

Nellie was too tired to protest, her grip on Papa’s neck slipping as he carried her up the steps. She didn’t look down—the steps scared her because they only had the step part, their backs open, and she was always afraid she’d slip right through them. Papa huffed a little by the time they reached the loft that stretched out along the back wall of the foyer and living room, but he jiggled her on his hip, redistributing her weight, and they crossed down the hall to her room.

He set her down on her bed. Gramma came in behind them with a towel to dry Nellie’s hair, and before she knew it she was out of her wet clothes and in her warm PJs, tucked in with hugs and kisses, and the lights were out.

She fell asleep, the storm churning beyond her window, dreaming of Mommy caught in the rain, and Nellie was running with an umbrella trying to keep Mommy safe and dry, but she was too short and the wind kept pulling her off her feet until finally it flipped the umbrella inside out and sent Nellie tumbling, falling, falling, falling…

“Mommy!” She jerked awake, sitting up in bed, except it wasn’t her bed. Where was she? “Daddy!” Her voice was croaky, barely made it to her own ears.

A shadow moved through the darkness, sinking onto her bed that wasn’t her bed, not her real bed, as she tried to shake free of her dream. A woman’s arms surrounded her, held her tight. “It’s okay, Nellie. It was just a bad dream. Everything is going to be all right. I promise.”

Not Gramma. Not Mommy—at least not how she remembered Mommy. But it felt so good, the lady’s arms so warm, secure, her heart beating against Nellie’s back. “You’re safe now,” the woman said.

Nellie blinked, finally realizing this wasn’t part of her dream. “Sarah?”

“I came to take care of you. Was worried about you. You’ve had quite a day, haven’t you? Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.” Sarah held a sippy cup up to Nellie’s lips.

Nellie started to protest that she wasn’t a baby, didn’t need a sippy cup, that she wouldn’t spill, but she was thirsty, so she drank the juice. It was her favorite—cherry—but sweeter than normal.

“Are you staying?” Her words were slurred, and her mouth and lips felt weird, like they weren’t hers.

“I’m never leaving.” Sarah set the empty cup down and hugged Nellie tight.

Nellie didn’t want to go to sleep—she had so many questions she wanted to ask—but somehow her body got so heavy, her eyelids just wouldn’t stay open. She fought and fought, managed to open them a slit, just in time to see the door to her room open and a man’s shadow appear.

A man who wasn’t Papa or Daddy. Fear surged through her, her heart racing, and she fought to form the words to warn Sarah, but she was powerless to move as her body surrendered and her eyes closed for good.

AFTER THE PATROLMAN
called Burroughs to let him know that Peter, Gloria, and Nellie had arrived safely at their home, Tommy and Burroughs sat down together in the interview room. Tommy wasn’t sure if the detective’s attitude toward him had truly shifted or if he was simply humoring Tommy in the hopes of getting a confession—more of those games cops played—but he didn’t care.

“I’m serious. Lock me up if it will help. As long as Nellie’s safe, I don’t care.”

“So you’re saying that keeping you behind bars will keep Nellie safe?” Burroughs countered. He was typing at his laptop, Tommy wasn’t sure why—it wasn’t as if their conversation was leading to anything productive as far as the investigation went.

“If it keeps whoever that man was away from Nellie, yes.”

Burroughs considered that. “Okay. Let’s start from the beginning. The tire iron. The charm bracelet. Both tie you directly to Charlotte’s grave.”

Tommy noticed that Burroughs didn’t offer any evidence that the tire iron was the murder weapon or that forensics had confirmed that it was Tommy’s. “Whoever took Charlotte had her keys. Including the key to the Volvo. I changed the locks on the house after, but not the cars.”

He hadn’t even thought of changing the locks on the cars—it had been hard enough to change the locks on the doors to his home. He had kept imagining Charlotte coming home, trying to get in, and finding herself locked out. But Peter had finally come over with his toolkit and together they’d gotten the job done.

“You’re saying whoever took Charlotte came back to your house, took the tire iron, and planted her bracelet?”

It did sound pretty far-fetched when Burroughs said it like that. “Was the tire iron—” Tommy swallowed, unable to finish the thought. “I mean, was it up there the whole time?”

“Why? Do you think someone waited a year and then decided to frame you?”

“I guess not. Just that the charm we found yesterday—it didn’t look like it’d been out in the woods for a year. So, I thought…” He shook his head. “You’re right, it makes no sense.”

“My working theory was that you dropped the charm when you went back to visit Charlotte’s grave, but then when you saw Sarah taking pictures of it, that’s when you chased her off the mountain.” Burroughs looked up. “If that helps.”

“It doesn’t.”

Burroughs heaved his shoulder—either a dismissive shrug or a sigh, it was hard to tell. But then he said, “The tire iron wasn’t the murder weapon. It was planted there, wiped clean of any prints.”

Tommy brightened. “See? Why would I do that? Frame myself? And why use the tire iron from my own car when there was Charlotte’s car right there?”

“Yeah, we got that.”

“Not to mention how did I get Charlotte’s car there and back from Fiddler’s Knob to the river where it was found, and also get my car? Or did I call a cab from the middle of nowhere? Hitch a ride? It all makes no sense.”

“Maybe that’s what we’re meant to think,” Burroughs countered.

“Come on. You have to know I’m telling the truth. What are you looking up on your computer anyway?”

Burroughs scowled, but for once it wasn’t aimed at Tommy. “Another piece of the puzzle that doesn’t fit.”

The desk clerk knocked at the door. Behind her stood Lucy and TK. “These folks said you were expecting them?”

“Yes, thanks.”

TK bounded past Lucy and Burroughs to hug Tommy. “You look terrible. What happened?”

“Guy tried to run Nellie and me off the road, then threatened us with a shotgun.”

Lucy moved to stand behind Burroughs and looked over his shoulder at his laptop. “What did you find on Putnam?”

Tommy looked up at that. “Who’s Putnam?”

Burroughs made an unhappy noise at the back of his throat. He turned his laptop around. “Ever see this guy?”

“I told you, with the rain, I couldn’t see—” He stared at the photo. It was a driver’s license belonging to a Walter Putnam. “Yes. He was at my house. This morning, taking pictures through the window. And I know that name.” He sank back in his chair. “No. I actually met him once. A few years ago. I had to tell him his baby had died.” He glanced at them in confusion. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Sarah is his wife,” TK said, practically bouncing with excitement.

“I never met the mother,” Tommy said, still lost in a fog. “I remember the baby. Such a tragedy. Parents brought him in themselves, didn’t wait for the paramedics. He’d been gone for a while—a long while. But the dad kept screaming at us to keep trying, wouldn’t let go. The mom… I never saw her, they took her up to OB, she was pretty sick herself.”

Then he jerked his head up. “Charlotte. Charlotte worked with her. At least that first day. Then she refused to talk to Charlotte, accused her of covering up my mistake, that I’d killed her baby. She had a raging infection, was feverish, out of her mind with grief. It wasn’t until months later when the insurance company told me about the lawsuit. It was dismissed almost immediately. That case, it was so sad. I always wondered, never knew what had happened to them.”

Burroughs pushed his chair back, gestured for Lucy to sit. It didn’t seem to be from any sense of chivalry, more like he just couldn’t sit still any longer. “Putnam is the witness who came forward, placed you with Sarah at Fiddler’s Knob right before her accident on Saturday.”

“If there was an accident,” Lucy said.

Burroughs nodded, his gaze aimed out the door. “I can’t believe…” He cut himself off. “Putnam also has a silver Jeep Cherokee registered to him. No wants or warrants, record’s clean.”

“Are we really thinking he and Sarah killed Charlotte?” TK said. “Why? To frame Tommy? Then why hide the body? Why all this charade a year later?”