The Slow Burn of Silence (A Snowy Creek Novel) (32 page)

The things we do for lov
e . . .

Suddenly Brandy made a decision. She knew what she had to do.

She spun round, grabbed her jeans, yanked them on with angry movements. She tied her hair back, pulled on a ball cap, and shrugged into her jacket. She laced her hiking boots on tightly, then crouched down and pulled out her kit bag from the bottom of her closet. She checked her ropes, cell battery, radio, flares. Hauling it over her shoulder, she locked her front door and ran down the wooden stairs, wind whipping branches, the smell of smoke thick. Choppers thudded somewhere behind the clouds in the darkening sky and sirens threaded down the valley. She got into her old beater of a truck.

She hit the gas and squealed into the street. Driving too fast, she dialed Adam’s cell. It went to voice mail. She cursed viciously and tried again. This time she left a message. “Adam, don’t do anything yet. Just don’t—I’ve got it under control.” She dropped the phone to swerve round a vehicle as she ran a red light. Her heart was pounding.

Adam felt incredibly calm. The manila envelope containing his confession sat on the passenger seat next to him. He drove first to his mother’s condo to make certain Rubella was ready to evacuate her.

Then he drove down to the station. There was chaos outside, first responders rushing here and there. He caught site of Annie Pirello running past. Adam rolled down his window, called her over. He handed her the envelope. He had no intention of entering the station and possibly being detained. He had no desire to look Mackin in the eye, to be swayed from his purpose.

“Can you make sure Chief Mackin gets this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s something he needs. Urgent.”

She held his eyes. “You okay, sir?”

“You’re a good cop, Pirello. I saw the way you were watching me, second-guessing, taking nothing at face value.” He paused. “Don’t ever forget why you became a cop. Stay the good cop.”

He rolled up the window, drove off, leaving her standing there. His phone rang again. He let it go to voice mail.

Pirello watched him go, a strange feeling curling inside her. She heard her name being called over her radio. Quickly she keyed the mike.

“Pirello.”

“Phase one mandatory evac going into effect. They need you to work with emergency social services going door-to-door, south end. Start with the eight hundred block. Novak has the nine hundred block. Knock on every door. This station is closing down. Secondary command base is being set up further south.”

She ran to her cruiser, threw the manila envelope onto the passenger seat, and pulled out of the parking lot, wipers whipping across the windshield. She flicked on her siren.

Clint Rudiger’s cell phone rang. People were calling his name from all directions. He was busy talking into his radio, helping coordinate the multiagency response and the setting up of a mobile command base farther south. Already landlines were down. One of the radio towers was out. Cell communication was still available, for now. Mobile repeaters had been set up and amateur ham radio operators called to action. Communicating with agencies in the city farther south was going to be a problem.

Plus there was another wildfire that had broken out closer to a larger urban population than Snowy Creek. It was being driven by fierce winds and fueled by drought-ravaged forests, and it was threatening to turn into a massive interface fire. It had drawn down the forestry resources that would otherwise be available to Snowy Creek.

Heavy smoke, low cloud, and lightning had also shut down most air approaches. They now had to rely on whatever local emergency personnel and equipment they could find.

Participating agencies currently included the province’s wildfire management branch, ambulance service, Rescue One, the SCPD, BC Hydro, the natural gas companies, plus the Snowy Creek Amateur Radio Society and emergency social services volunteers, who were currently going door-to-door with the help of police.

Clint had meanwhile orchestrated the positioning of a Type 1 Structural Protection Unit, or giant sprinkler, at the base of Bear Mountain. It was watering down the buildings there. The Mount Barren fire was approaching the Khyber drainage. It would likely jump the creek.

Three helicopters and air tankers were on standby at the municipal heliport to action the fires. Objectives included building control lines around the fire perimeter and tying them into natural rock features. The steep terrain in the Khyber drainage and other mountainous areas would be a problem.

Clint worked best under this kind of pressure. His military training helped. He kicked into a zone and was able to keep such a cool, collected head, be so devoid of the usual emotions, that his team had fondly dubbed him the sociopath. Inwardly he found this amusing; he’d never been big on empathy.

His cell rang again. He checked the incoming number. Beppie. He ignored it. She knew what to do. His wife was a capable farm and mountain woman. His girls would be safe.

Assistant Chief Kerrigan Kaye came rushing over to him with another report. As he took it from her, Beppie phoned yet again.

Clint turned his back, answered. “Bepp,” he said curtly. “I’m busy—”

“Clint, she knows.”

He stuck his finger in his other ear. “What did you say?”

“Rachel Salonen knows what happened.”

“She know
s . . .
what
? What are you talking about?”

No words came. Just a funny breathing sound, the noise of an engine, as if she were driving. A weird kind foreboding struck like an ax. Clint stilled, everything around him—time, sound, scents—turned thick and black as molasses.

“Beppie, where are you? Are you driving? What’s the matter with you?”

“Rachel said Amy remembered. The dragon tatto
o . . .
” A shaky breath came out. “Amy remembered yo
u . . .
hurting Merilee. You and the other
s . . .
you raped he
r . . .
with the others.” His wife made a choking, gagging sound. “You killed her. Down the min
e . . .
she’s down in the mine. All this tim
e . . .
she’s been in the mine. The evidence is in the mine.”

Silence.

Clint’s mind galloped as he tried to process what his wife was saying, the implications.

“Chief Rudiger!” Clint held his up hand to the man calling him, his world narrowing, a tinnitus beginning in his ears, the taste of copper in his mouth. He went into the small storeroom, shut the door.

“She’s lying. Whatever she said, she and Cullen are just pressing buttons. Trying to spook everyone. They’re dangerous. They have no evidence of any of this. Cullen has gotten into Rachel’s head and now she’s messing with your mind.”

“They’ll get the evidence in the mine. After the fire and everything has died down. Merilee’s down there, isn’t she? Down a shaft, all this time. Is she there?”

Banging sounded on his door. Sweat broke out over his body. He wasn’t so cool and collected now. Shit was hitting the fan. If there was one thing Clint was about, it was about self-preservation.

“It’s a
lie
. All of it.” His voice was brusque now. “We’ll talk after—”

“God will protect my children. God will purge the Evi
l . . .
God—”

“Beppie, listen to me—”

“We must do what we must in the name of Go
d . . .
”

His brain raced. The mine. Evidence. Without evidence they only had Jeb’s accusations, his theories. Amy was dead. Her therapist had been silenced. Luke was MIA and no worry. Zink and Levi wouldn’t breathe a word or they’d go down.

He could still control this.

“Where are you?”

“In the truck. Driving. Near the gravel pit turnoff.”

“Calm down and listen carefully to me. Take that road to the gravel pit. Cross the rail bridge and drive up to the trailhead. Park there. Wait for me. Understand?”

“Why? What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to stop this. And you’re going to help me.”

“I can’t, Clint, I can’t.”

“Yes you can. Think of the girls. Do it for the girls. Once this is done, it will all blow over. All the misunderstandings will be gone. Do you understand me?”

She made a muffled sound. He could hear the truck engine. Worry sparked through him.

“Beppie? Do you understand?”

“Yes.” She sniffed. “Yes, I understand.” Her voice was thick. She sounded strange. “I’m doing it for the girls. I must do it for the girls.”

Clint killed the call and left the storeroom. He made for the exit.

“Where are you going?” Assistant Chief Kaye called after him. He didn’t answer.

He ran for the Rescue One building.

Beppie turned off the highway and crossed the Green River rail bridge. She bumped up the logging track to the Mount Rogue trailhead, her wipers slapping as rain slashed at her windows. Mud was thick under her tires, she could feel the wheels slipping. It was hard to tell what was smoke and what was cloud, but it was dark, her headlights hardly helping at all.

She knew her husband. Deep, deep, deep down she’d known him all along but hadn’t want to think about it. He was a fighter and a survivor. She’d known he’d come here if she called him and told him what she knew. She knew he’d try and get rid of her, too, now.

Repent. Repent in the name of the Lor
d . . .
purge the Evil.

The shotgun lay on the backseat, next to the boxes of slugs. Next to his bag of trinkets and human trophies.