Tumbledown (25 page)

She started the engine, the noise prompting loud complaints from both cats, and turned the truck away from the cabin. She hadn’t packed everything—the rental cottage was furnished—but she knew the only time she would come back here would be to collect the rest of their belongings.

“We’ll find somewhere else, somewhere safe,” she said, trying to distract herself as she approached the spot where Lyssa had died.

She caught sight of the fresh earth she had piled over the bloodstains and of the roses she had cut to lay in remembrance, and a familiar self-reproach overwhelmed her. Lyssa was the one whose life had truly been destroyed. No matter how bad things were for Alex and Sarah, at least they were alive and could try to pick up the pieces once all this was over, something Lyssa would never get a chance to do. Alex had never been religious, had never believed in a god or higher being, so she had no one to pray to for Lyssa’s sake. She murmured a quiet good-bye as she unlocked the gate, but there was no closure in it and it didn’t make her feel any better.

The rest of the journey was uneventful, interrupted only by a quick break for Tilly. As Alex drove along the back road that circled Tawny Ridge, she could hear distant church bells ringing out to announce Sunday worship. The town center would be lively with people traveling to church or meeting for breakfast, but hers was the only car using that particular route and no one saw her pass. She had packed enough provisions for her first few days and intended to drive out to the busier, more anonymous stores in Ruby when she needed to restock. The owner of the cottage she had chosen lived in Kennebec, while the cottage itself was in an isolated lakeside spot on the very outskirts of the town. She wasn’t moving to Tawny to settle or make friends; she planned to stay only until she had exhausted every possible avenue in her investigation, and then to leave the area for good. In a best-case scenario, no one would even know she had been there.

The cottage had a private access road, like their cabin’s, except that there was nothing to stop anyone from driving straight up it. At first, Alex had considered renting an apartment in a large public block, where security would come from having people around instead of attempting to hide away. Ultimately, though, the idea of seclusion, privacy, and somewhere for the animals to roam had won out. Only time would tell if she had made the right choice.

She pulled up on the driveway and climbed out of the truck, grateful to stretch her legs. “Rustic” had been the word used to describe the cottage in the e-mail, and it did have a certain rough-around-the-edges charm, with a deck that needed painting and window frames that had seen better days. As promised, the key to the front door was waiting for her beneath a yard ornament. She let herself in and stood blinking against the dim light of the kitchen until she found the cord for the window blinds. The sunlight revealed rooms furnished in a simple, practical style, designed to meet the needs of outdoorsy visitors and their pets. What it sacrificed in terms of esthetic appeal, it made up for in comfort. It felt like a home away from home, and right then that was exactly what she needed.

It took her three hours to unpack, with Bandit’s increasingly inventive escape attempts at least making the task entertaining. In the aftermath of her visit to Sarah and of Emerson’s unannounced visit, she had forgotten to check the messages on the answering machine at the cabin. She plugged it in and hit play just as Bandit made a beeline for the only window she had opened.

“You little bastard.” She ran across the living room into the kitchen and grabbed hold of him, using one hand to support his weight and the other to pry his claws from the wooden frame. He purred and butted his head beneath her chin, seeming to realize he was in trouble and attempting damage limitation. “Where you gonna go if you get out? You’ll get lost and never find your way back…Hmm.” She paused to consider that as a paw hit her on the nose. “Maybe I should just open the door for you, huh?”

A woman’s voice filtered through from the next room, reminding Alex that she had started the answering machine. With Bandit still in her arms, she went back to listen.

“…and it’s strange, because I took them a welcome basket around, like I do for all my honeymooning couples, and they weren’t there. He booked the cottage for three weeks, but there was no sign of them. If you’re interested in a lease, I can do you a reduced rate for this next week because I don’t think they’ll be coming back.”

As the woman began to recite her contact details, Alex dropped Bandit on the sofa and scrabbled for a pen, swearing when she couldn’t find one. The message had ended and gone on to the next by the time she remembered which drawer she had stored them in. She played the tape back, skipping through three people confirming that their homes were currently occupied by vacationing families before she recognized the woman’s bemused voice. Alex had only stretched the truth slightly when she contacted the local landlords, telling them she was a police officer investigating a recent murder and asking whether they had received any unusual inquiries about their properties, perhaps a single male requesting a family-sized home or renting for a period beyond what would be considered normal. Of all the responses she had received, this was the only one that hinted at something out of the ordinary.

The woman answered her phone just as Alex was about to hang up. “Oh yes, I remember you, Officer,” she said. “I hope you had a good think about my offer.”

“It was very kind of you, ma’am, but I’m afraid, being in the middle of such a serious case—”

“Of course, of course. That was a terrible thing, but I thought you’d charged somebody already.” Her voice dropped to a stage whisper. “She was a lesbian, a
British
lesbian. They can have her back, as far as I’m concerned.”

Alex closed her eyes and counted to five. She hadn’t specified which case she was supposed to be working on, but only one murder had taken place in the area recently and the woman had made the obvious connection.

“The gentleman who rented your property, did you speak to him at all?” she asked, once she was sure she could speak without snapping the woman’s head off.

“No, it was all arranged through the e-mail.”

“Would it be possible for you to send me copies of the correspondence?”

“Well…” The woman hesitated a moment. “Yes, I don’t see why not.”

“Thank you. And when you went over with the basket, was there any indication that someone had stayed there? Perhaps something had been moved or used?”

“The key had been moved,” the woman answered with certainty. “He left the cottage very clean, but someone had definitely been there. There were towels unfolded and the bed had been slept in.”

Alex felt her pulse begin to thud at her temples as she thought of the potential for DNA evidence on the sheets or towels. If she found something to prove that Deakin had been in the area when Lyssa was murdered, it might at least throw enough doubt on the charge against Sarah to get her freed on bail.

“And you’re sure no one has rented the property since?”

“No, his lease continues for another week yet,” the woman confirmed, before giving Alex the opening she so badly needed. “You can go on up there and have a look around if you think it would help at all. I leave the front door key below the first porch step.”

“Thank you very much,” Alex said, hardly believing her good fortune. “Could you give me the address? I guess it won’t hurt to go there and take a look.”

Sarah settled the phone back into its cradle but stayed where she was in the small privacy booth. She didn’t want to have to explain to Camille, who was next in line, exactly why she was smiling, given that her calls to Alex more often ended in her curling up on her bunk and staring out the window.

She had known the instant she heard Alex’s voice that something had happened. Despite Alex’s obvious eagerness to explain about Emerson, the conversation had been restricted to guarded terms, as they were unsure whether anyone else would be listening in. There was clearly a lot more Alex wanted to say, but Sarah understood enough to know that she had a useful ally now, and that he and Alex were planning to investigate a lead first thing in the morning. While Alex’s optimism had been unmistakable, Sarah found herself smiling for a different reason: Alex was no longer working alone, and being able to trust Emerson would make her a hell of a lot safer.

An impatient rap on the booth reminded Sarah that Camille was still waiting.

“I’m really sorry,” she said as she stepped out.

Camille’s demeanor softened. “If I miss
The Amazing Race,
you’re cleaning the toilet tomorrow.”

“Okay, deal.”

They shook on it and Camille ducked into the booth, leaving Sarah to trudge back to their cell. It had taken her a week to decide that the evenings were the worst part of prison routine. Dinner was always served at four o’clock, as if the structure of the day would crumble were it not punctuated by food at four-hourly intervals. The regular breaks in the monotony seemed to suit the majority of the inmates, but for her the early evening meal signaled the end of any opportunity to go beyond the confines of the building, to step outside into fresh air, to exercise, or simply to feel the sun on her face. The only options after dinner were a six-by-eight cell or a rec room screening an endless stream of reality television shows. She would sit and wish the hours away, and she came to hate the sense of waste, the nagging realization that these were days she would never get back. That things could get even worse, should she be found guilty and transferred to a state prison, was something she tried not to think about.

Not wanting to sit alone until lights out, she collected the copy of
Pride and Prejudice
and took it to the rec room, where for once there seemed to be a consensus as to which show to watch. The room was crowded, with one of the tables occupied by an arts and craft group while a larger group played card games at another. She chose a seat away from the flickering of the television and began to read. Ten minutes later, she turned the page for the first time. It was almost impossible to shut out the canned laughter blaring from the sitcom, the commentary of one of the more enthusiastic watchers, and the simmering, barely contained argument as the outcome of a card game was questioned.

This latter undertone of muted dissent made her glance uneasily across the room. It never took much of a spark to light the touch paper among the inmates, and she recognized a couple of the women in the card group as volatile troublemakers. The commentator in front of the television continued to share her random observations, but those around her were beginning to turn in their seats, shunning the screen for the promise of live entertainment.

Kendall was one of the two guards on duty. She moved forward, obviously hoping to diffuse the tension, but the threat of intervention provoked an immediate escalation, and the first punch had been thrown before she had gotten anywhere close to the table. It left its victim sprawled bleeding and unconscious on the floor. Screams of outrage and yells of encouragement drowned out Kendall’s urgent radio request for reinforcements, as the expanding melee gave the various factions on the block an excuse to settle scores.

“Jesus.” Sarah scrambled to her feet, her eyes fixed on the insensible woman. Dorea was sweet natured, shy, and barely five feet tall, with the skeletal figure of a chronic drug user, and she lay almost hidden amid the crush of brawling inmates. Sarah was close to the door, and would have had an easy route back to her cell, but instead she ran headlong into the fray.

The first fist to hit her hadn’t been aimed at her. It glanced off her shoulder, making her stagger backward, and the woman who had thrown it held up her hands as if to say sorry.

“S’okay,” Sarah gasped. There was no point trying to interfere; she stepped aside to allow the woman a clearer range for her next effort.

A clatter of booted feet announced the arrival of more guards as Sarah shook off another clumsy punch and dropped to her knees beside Dorea. Several of the inmates veered away from the fight, creating enough space for her to grab hold of Dorea’s shirt and begin pulling her toward the rear of the room. She hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps when an unexpected crack of pain across her lower back made her lurch forward.

“Shit.” She twisted away, landing unsteadily on one knee and just managing to avoid crushing Dorea.

“Fucking stay down!”

Recognizing the guard’s coarse voice, she crouched low, trying to protect herself and Dorea from the baton he was wielding. He was the same man who had tossed her cell earlier. She gritted her teeth as he lashed out at her again, the blow landing higher on her back this time. Beneath her, Dorea’s breathing was guttural and labored. Risking more punishment, Sarah applied a jaw thrust to support her airway.

The room was quieter now, an uneasy peace punctuated by moans of pain and an occasional curse or wild burst of laughter. The guard with the baton tried to wrench Sarah to her feet, but Kendall stopped him.

“She wasn’t involved, Barrett. Get a fucking hold on Macy instead.”

For a second, Sarah caught a glimpse of the loathing in his eyes, but he thought better of ignoring Kendall’s instruction and strode away across the room, leaving them alone.

Kendall looked down at Sarah. “Doc’s on his way,” she said.

“Thanks.” Sarah used her sleeve to wipe away the blood streaming from Dorea’s nose, before resuming the jaw thrust. She tensed involuntarily as she heard the approach of uneven footsteps, but they belonged only to an elderly inmate wearing one sock and one shoe, who stopped short of Sarah and shook her head.

“You don’t want to be doing that,” she said, indicating the blood on Sarah’s clothing. “Dorea has more letters after her name than my goddamn lawyer.”

Another woman—her eye well on the way to swelling shut—hooted with derision at Sarah’s bewildered expression. “HIV, Hep B, Hep C.” She ticked them off on her fingers as she chanted.

“Right.” Sarah didn’t move, she just stared at the women until they were disconcerted enough to walk away. Her attention was drawn back to Dorea as she stirred and opened her eyes.