He grunts. That’s no answer. He isn’t ready to give one.
I continue, “Conrad almost died for claiming he had more dirt on people and threatening to expose them. Marissa was attacked for being in Will’s place after he was exposed. Now the town is shutting down. People are on edge. If we tell them about this?” I point at the sign. “We’re going to panic everyone who has secrets of their own, and we’re going to panic everyone who was ready to accept that Will’s case was an exception—the only exception. It’s the absolute last thing we need while trying to close the town.”
“You think we should cover up her death?” Anders says. “Inform the council, but otherwise keep treating her like a missing person?”
“I still need to investigate her murder. I don’t think the town has to know what happened. Either we hide it entirely or we just hide…” I point to the sign around Jolene’s neck.
“I’d agree we’re sitting on a powder keg here,” Anders says. “Casey solved the case two days ago. Yesterday we told them we’re shutting down. People haven’t even had a chance to breathe.”
I glance up at Dalton. “We can hide her body and let me investigate her death under the guise of investigating her disappearance. I’d rather not do that, though. I’d like to admit she died and just not mention that sign.”
He nods slowly, still processing.
“Whatever we do, there’s also the question of what we tell the council.” I pause. “Or does that even matter now? Either way, they can’t do anything worse than shut us down. They’re sure as hell not going to ship us out early and shut down the town themselves.”
“Well,” Anders says, “if there’s any advantage to accepting what’s happening, here it is. For the rest of our time here, we are out from under the council’s thumb. They can’t threaten to shut us down. Can’t threaten to kick us out. Can’t threaten to split us up. Remind me why we didn’t do this a year ago? Oh, right. Because it involves starting an entirely new town from scratch. Still, I kinda like this part.”
“Yeah, and I hate to be petty and vindictive, but fuck them.” Dalton tilts his head. “First time I think I’ve ever said that and meant it. Feels good.” He looks back at Jolene. “Doesn’t solve this problem. Just means we don’t need to factor them into our decision. Also means we can’t blame them if we make the wrong choice and royally fuck up.”
“Not necessarily,” I say. “Why don’t we let them make the decision? My inclination is to hide the existence of the sign. I suspect they’ll agree. Let them feel like they made the call. We can always ignore their decision if we don’t like it.”
“Works for me,” Anders says.
“I would also suggest we bring in Phil before we do anything, including moving the body.”
“Tell him what we plan,” Dalton says. “See whether he sees any issues we’re missing. Quietly move Jolene to the clinic. Inform the council. Get their take on it before we tell the town anything.”
“It’s not perfect,” I say. “But perfect would have been Jolene sitting there, dead drunk. We didn’t get that.”
“Fuck, no. That’d be too easy.” Dalton exhales. “Let me get Phil. Will? Stand watch. We don’t want anyone seeing this. Casey? Start your crime-scene work. No one touch that sign until I’m back.”
* * *
While Dalton’s gone, I do a preliminary examination of the body. I’m very careful, knowing April will have my head if I interfere. I need to examine Jolene in situ, though, and as soon as Phil has had a look, we’ll move her to the clinic.
I inspect her slit throat in the beam of my flashlight. I’d love something to poke at it with, to get a better look, but I came running in an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants. I’m lucky I grabbed a flashlight.
The wound is consistent with my theory that it was slit after death. Blood loss is minimal. I’d say she was dead when this happened and had been dead long enough for her heart to stop pumping and her blood to start settling.
Still using only the flashlight, I examine her for other signs of injury. With her head, I’m looking for blood-slicked hair that reflects in the flashlight beam. There’s none on the visible parts of her skull. That doesn’t mean she wasn’t hit in the back. Or it could have been a blunt-force blow that didn’t cut into the scalp.
Her eyes are shut. I prod one lid up. The whites of her eyes are dotted with red. Strangulation? Suffocation? When I shine the light full on her face, her skin seems slightly darker, another sign of asphyxiation.
I move the light over her clothing. It’s all dark. Jeans. Black T-shirt. Dark sneakers. Is that intentional? Was she doing something that meant she didn’t want to be spotted? Given the lack of clothing options in Rockton, though, it could be unintentional.
Her arms are bare in the short sleeves. Her wrists are ringed with abrasions, suggesting a soft binding that she’d struggled against. Struggled hard. Her nails are ripped and torn.
I shine the light up and down her body, looking for cuts in the fabric or darker spots that suggest blood. I bend and shine the beam on what looks like a dark line in the crook of her elbow. A darker line than the usual crease. I consider. Then I pick up a stick and poke, ever so gently.
Dirt.
There’s dirt caught in the crevice, and now that I’m staring hard, I see dirt dusting the fine hairs of her arms. I move the light beam to her jeans. Dirt crusted in the seams. I lift my flashlight to shine it full in her face, forcing my attention beyond the gash in her neck.
There’s a spot of dirt at the corner of her mouth. A smear of it at her hairline. Grains in her eyelashes.
How would dirt get there? I have a very good idea, but for now, I’m keeping it to myself.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Isabel insists on coming with Phil, and I think Dalton is just too tired—physically and mentally—to argue. Isabel is understandably annoyed at us for dragging Phil out of bed when he’d been stabbed a few days ago. She thought Phil might die because he leaped in to protect her. Now she needs to protect him in any way she can, including making damn sure we don’t shift responsibility from our shoulders to his.
Two months ago, I told Phil that he needed to make choices, after he complained about us keeping something from him. The problem was that if we’d told him, he’d have needed to decide whether to tell the council and therefore he might prefer to not know. That’s even more critical now that Rockton is shutting down.