I return to the small clearing and crouch at the footprints. They’re Gloria’s. They’re all Gloria’s. I checked her soles so I could eliminate the tread. She was wearing sneakers that she brought to Rockton with her, meaning her attacker’s would have a different tread. Yet all I see are Gloria’s prints.
I walk to that disturbed bit of ground and bend. From a distance, it had looked like animal scratching. There are clear claw marks. Four of them. Yet they aren’t sharp-ended, and I’ve seen both wolverine and bear claws. They’re fearsome weapons, and incredible tools for digging that leave deep ridges. Here I see multiple sets of four clearly delineated lines raking the earth.
I reach out as if to scrape at the spot, and my fingers fit perfectly into a set of four grooves.
I push to my feet. “We need to get to Rockton. Now.”
THIRTY-SIX
Jen doesn’t ask for details. Maybe the answer is obvious enough that she doesn’t need to. I start sprinting back to Rockton, and I make it about a hundred paces before Cypher hails us. I don’t stop. Jen does, and the murmur of their conversation reaches me as I keep going.
My damned leg won’t allow me to run all the way to Rockton, but it’s not as if we’re ten miles deep in the bush. Even doing half at a quick walk, I’m back in ten minutes. I burst into town just as the roar of a plane fills the air.
First flight out. Right on schedule.
A reminder that I need to move quickly or my quarry will escape.
I enter town closest to the clinic. My sister is on the front porch, heading out.
“April!” I call.
She turns, sees me, and waits. Just waits. I grumble that she should see how fast I’m moving and at least meet me halfway.
“Gloria,” I say as I catch my breath. “Have you figured out what’s wrong with her stomach?”
“No.” My sister’s tone is as calm as if I had ambled over, asking out of idle curiosity. “She continues to complain of pain, which is concerning.”
“Did you get her flight bumped up?”
“I asked Will to do so last night. She departs first thing tomorrow morning.”
I turn to Jen and Cypher, just emerging into town. “Can you grab Eric? Bring him here?” Back to April. “I need to speak to you.”
I might think she hasn’t noticed my emotional state, but the fact that she doesn’t argue tells me she has. She waves me inside.
Once the door closes, I say, “Is there any proof of internal injury?”
April frowns. I brace for a lecture on questioning patient reports, but her brow smooths as she says, “You’re wondering whether she’s malingering. There is faint bruising on her torso, but my ultrasound could not detect any internal damage, which as you know, does not negate the possibility.”
“Other injuries?”
“A small spot on the rear of her neck, which you saw. Also one on the back of her arm, which you also saw.”
“The knife tip and needle.”
“Yes.”
“Any bruising around either?”
April shakes her head. “Both were fine this morning.”
“Additional injuries?”
“None. She complained of a twisted shoulder. I found nothing, but I had someone bring ice.”
“I saw her nails last night. They were dirty and seemed ragged. Yes?”
“Yes. One was broken, two were slightly damaged, and there was dirt under them, consistent with digging out.”
I consider my next question, unsure how to frame it. In the end, I just ask, “Did you notice anything else consistent with being buried alive? Any further proof?”
“You think she lied?” She pauses and then murmurs. “You seemed to suspect she was faking. You didn’t just mean the stomach pain, did you?”
“I did not.”
April walks to the counter and picks up her clipboard. “I also checked inside her mouth for any signs of what we found with Jolene.”
“The tube.”
“Yes. Gloria appeared confused by that.”
“Confused or concerned?”
April takes a moment before answering. “She asked what I was looking for. I find it hard to gauge sincerity or detect body-language cues that might override her words.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize, Casey. I understand that would be a valuable skill in detective work.” The faintest smile. “Which is one reason why I should not trade my stethoscope for a badge.”
She consults her chart again. “I asked whether she felt anything in her mouth that might have aided with breathing. At that point, she became agitated, which I presumed was from triggered trauma. She said that you had asked the same thing. She wanted to know why. Naturally, I couldn’t mention Jolene, so I ignored the question.”
“Good. Thank you.”
“Had you suspected she lied about being buried, I would have searched for dirt particles in her nostrils. I will say that I did not observe any offhand. Nor did she complain of having inhaled or aspirated dirt. In short, I found nothing that contradicts your theory.” She peers at me. “You don’t seem surprised by that.”
“There was no sign of a second party in the area where she was taken. No sign of anything like a grave. Just a spot where someone had dug fiercely in the dirt.”
“Damaging her nails and ensuring they’d be dirty.”
“Also scraping up enough to smear on her clothing. Last night, when I suggested we find the spot right away, she experienced sudden stomach pain.”
“Which convinced you to bring her back. She then presumed you’d be unable to find the spot on your own.”
“I almost didn’t. So the only evidence we have is those pricks to her skin, which could have been self-administered, yes?”
“Yes.”
The door opens, and Dalton walks in, his face drawn. Seeing me, he straightens and finds a faint smile.
“Hey,” he says. “You wanted to see me?”
“I think I know who killed Jolene. I need more proof, but I can definitely accuse Gloria of misleading police.”
“Gloria?” he says slowly.
“Jolene was blackmailing Marissa. I thought that could be a motive for Marissa. She kidnaps Jolene and buries her alive with that pipe in her mouth. Once she’s scared the shit out of her, she’ll let her go. Except the pipe displaces and Jolene dies, and Marissa frantically tries to make it look like a murder.”
“And Gloria?”
“Remove Marissa from that solution and substitute Gloria. Marissa’s smart—she’d see all the flaws in that plan. Gloria is just inspired by what Brandon did to Conrad and tries to duplicate it as torture. Marissa wouldn’t think for a moment that we’d be fooled by the slit throat. Also, she wouldn’t panic like that. Gloria doesn’t know better, and she would panic.”
“But Gloria was buried…” He doesn’t finish that sentence. Just shuts his eyes and whispers, “Fuck.”
“There’s no pit and no physical evidence. I believe she smeared dirt on herself and roughed up her nails and poked a couple shallow holes in her skin. She must have planned to stumble back into Rockton after destroying her scent trail in the water. Instead, she got turned around, headed in the wrong direction, and interrupted a wolf-dog’s dinner.”