I think I know what happened—I figured it out when I saw her dirt-smeared clothes—but I’m going to wait. Dalton does the same. He’s behind us, as if standing guard, but really getting out of her line of sight. Letting her feel as if it is just the two of us.
“I woke up in a hole,” she whispers. “I couldn’t breathe. I went wild. I’ve been thinking about what happened to Conrad and what that would be like to be buried alive. I remember when I was young, I read about how it used to really happen, and it terrified me. Then it happened to Conrad, and I could barely sleep. What would it be like to wake up like that? Buried and trapped? I’m surprised I didn’t think it was just a nightmare. Thank God, I didn’t.”
She rubs her throat, shaking convulsively, as if remembering that moment of waking up, gasping for air, realizing what had happened.
“I fought,” she says. “There was a rope on my hands, but I didn’t realize that, and I just pulled, and my hand came free. I could scrape and claw, and that’s what I did. Went wild clawing at the dirt. Then I could breathe.”
She takes a deep inhalation, as if reliving the moment. “Once I could breathe, I calmed down. I stayed under the dirt for a few moments, listening to be sure she was gone.” A dry chuckle. “By then I was calm enough to realize she might be there but not thinking straight enough to realize that if she was, she’d have seen or heard me digging.”
She shifts on the log. “After a few minutes, I started working my way out. She must have dug one end of the hole deeper, because I couldn’t get my legs out at first, and I panicked. But I eventually got free, only to realize I had no idea how to get back to Rockton. It was getting dark by then. I knew I had to get away from the hole—in case she came back to check on me. I remembered the water we walked through. My shoes were still soaked with it.” She lifts one foot. “I heard water and headed that way, and then stumbled on that dog-wolf.”
I take a few minutes to provide some victim support. There’s always part of me that wants to jump ahead and ask more questions and start investigating. That part feels cold. Yet on the few occasions when I’ve had to jump straight into an investigation, I’ve been equally champing at the bit to offer support instead. Two warring sides. Tend to the victim with quiet sympathy and tend to the victim by solving the case.
I give Gloria the first and then ease into the second. The obvious initial question would be “Can you tell me anything about your attacker?” I already know that she didn’t get a look, and pressing the point will only panic her. Instead, I ask if she can help us find the spot where she was buried.
“Of course,” she says. Then she freezes, panic flashing as she looks around. “If I can find it. I should have paid attention.” She straightens. “No, I can find it. I’m sure I can.”
She stands quickly, and then gasps, wincing in pain.
“Gloria?” I say.
“I’m fine. Just…” She touches her side and winces again. “That’s where she kicked me. When I took a deep breath, it hurt.”
She starts to inhale, as if to test it, before I can stop her. Pain flashes over her face and then she doubles over, dry heaving.
“Eric?” I say. “We need to get her back to town.”
“No,” Gloria says, raising a hand. “We have to find the spot. I’ll be fine, just give me a moment.”
Gloria tries to sit back on the log, but misses. I catch her arm and steady her.
I look at Dalton. “I was going to ask you to take her, while I search with Storm, but I think we’re both going to need to help her get back.”
“No,” she says. “This is important. We need to find that spot.” She rises and straightens. “There. I’ll be—”
Another wave of pain as she doubles over, and I catch her again. Dalton takes her other arm over her protests.
Gloria’s face contorts, as if she’s infuriated by her own weakness. I understand that. She wants to lead us to that spot so I can catch her would-be killer. The truth, though, is that it’s unlikely any case-breaking evidence will appear at the scene, and certainly not any we won’t be able to find just as easily tomorrow—more easily, in the daylight.
We note this spot to begin our search and then we’re off, helping Gloria back to town.
* * *
On the way back, I remember to ask Gloria what she’d wanted to tell me earlier. It was about Jolene. Gloria had taken coffee to her apartment the morning after we found Conrad. She heard Jolene inside arguing with someone. Jolene didn’t answer the door, and when Gloria asked later, Jolene said it was none of her business. The person she’d been arguing with? A woman. That’s all she knew, the conversation having been too muffled to recognize the voice.
A woman argued with Jolene the morning before she vanished. Jolene was last seen talking to Marissa. Then a woman tried to murder Gloria.
I really need to talk to Marissa.
I leave Gloria with April and head to Marissa’s apartment. She doesn’t answer her door. Dalton offers to open it with the skeleton key. I consider. Consider some more. That seems the obvious course of action. Charge into her apartment and haul her to the station for questioning.
And yet …
Marissa has done something. She may have murdered Jolene. She may have attempted to murder Gloria. Or she did something completely unrelated.
I know she’s not innocent—her behavior has been too suspicious. But I need more evidence before I get her into a room for questioning. She’s a lawyer. Unlike Brandon, she’s not going to break down and confess when confronted with flimsy evidence.
She’s been seen around town, which means she isn’t missing. Just avoiding me.
Dalton gives me permission to bag her boots before we leave her apartment. Back at the station, I examine her boots and the hair I took from them, along with a sample hair from Jolene. It’s a match insofar as I can tell without DNA. The boots are also a match for the size and tread found at the scene. That seems damning, but it’s still circumstantial. Next I write up all my questions about Marissa—all the things she’s done in the last week that strike us as suspicious.
“I don’t like it,” Dalton says when we’re done with our list.
“Yep.”
“Is it wrong that there’s a little part of me that would like to see her guilty of something?” he says. “Proof that Will’s better off without her?” He leans against the station wall. “Not murder, though. I’d rather it wasn’t murder.”
“Agreed. Still, something is definitely up.” I skim the list. “There’s nothing here that lets me go in hard. I think I’ll keep the boots in my back pocket and insist on an interview. Where was she when Jolene disappeared? Where was she tonight when someone kidnapped Gloria? Softball it until I have more. Like a lack of alibis.” I glance up at him. “Agreed?”
He nods. “First thing tomorrow, you interview her. If she holes up in her room, we’ll go in after her. If she ducks you, we’ll get every damn person looking for her.”
“Tomorrow is also the first exit day.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Sorry. I just mean…”