He couldn’t believe it.
He fucking couldn’t believe it.
No wonder Emory’s body hadn’t been found. She wasn’t fucking dead!
Cell phone to his ear, Jeff paced the lobby of the SO. That smelly, grimy, unsightly hallway in which he’d spent countless hours already had become a metaphor for his life. Everything about it sucked.
Emory lived.
“Mr. Surrey, are you still holding?”
“Yes,” he shouted into his cell phone. “Did you tell him who was calling?”
“I did.” The law firm’s receptionist apologized again for the delay. “He’s with another client. If you’d rather hang up and let him call you back when—”
“I’ll hold. Put a note under his nose. Tell him it’s urgent.”
“Is it regarding Dr. Charbonneau?”
“Yes.”
“We heard she was returned safely yesterday.”
Yes, about twenty-four hours ago. When Jeff heard her voice coming through his phone, what whizzed through his mind was the irrational thought that she was speaking to him from the other side.
But no, she wasn’t channeling from the land of the undead. At the moment Knight and Grange had barged into his motel room, prepared to arrest him for her murder, she proved herself to be very much alive.
And what a life she had been living!
When he’d placed his hands on her shoulders in a seeming gesture of concern, he’d wanted instead to wrap them around her neck. Who would have blamed him? How much could a man be expected to take before he snapped?
His fury barely under control, he said into his phone, “Get him on the line.”
He was put on hold again. As if the indignity of having to arrange for a defense lawyer for Emory wasn’t bad enough, he was having to wait for the privilege.
When her body wasn’t discovered after the first twelve hours of the search, he’d started rehearsing how to play the aggrieved widower. He’d ranted. He’d stamped and stewed and made a nuisance of himself, pressuring them to find her, when, actually, the longer she remained lost, the better.
Just as he was growing accustomed to her being dead, she had turned up alive.
The receptionist came back on. “He’ll speak with you now, Mr. Surrey.”
The attorney addressed him brusquely. “What’s so urgent, Jeff?”
He couldn’t bring himself to explain Emory’s escapade in any detail. “Emory didn’t come away from her harrowing experience unscathed. She needs a good defense lawyer, she needs one immediately, and money is no object.”
After agreeing to a retainer’s fee, he got their business lawyer’s promise to hop right on it. He was just concluding the call when Grange surprised him by entering the lobby through the front door, not from the squad room. Beyond him, Jeff could see the SUV parked out front.
Grange said, “We’re going up there.”
“Up where?”
“Are you coming or not?”
Chapter 30
With head-spinning expedience, Emory was hustled outside and into the SUV. The seating arrangement was as it had been yesterday on the way from the gas station to the hospital. Knight was behind the wheel, Grange also in front, Jeff seated in the back with her.
Today, however, the mood inside the vehicle was considerably different.
When Jeff got in, he reached across the backseat and took her hand. Speaking in an undertone, he told her about his brief conversation with their business lawyer. “He’s retaining someone who handles criminal law cases.” He winced on the word criminal.
“Thank you for doing that.”
He said nothing more, but, feeling his censure, she turned her head away and stared out the window. Gorgeous scenery up here. She tried to empty her mind of everything except the landscape as they wound their way into the mountains.
On a clear day, the vistas would have been breathtaking. Today fog blanketed the valleys. The highest peaks were obscured by low-lying clouds. She recognized the turnoff she’d taken into the national forest last Saturday morning, but they drove past it without anyone remarking on it.
In fact no one spoke for the entirety of the trip. Then they rounded a bend. “Look familiar?” Knight asked over his shoulder as he applied the brakes and the SUV slowed down to go through the open gate. “That’s the Floyds’ pickup across the road. All the tires have gashes in them.”
She wasn’t asked what she knew about their wrecked truck; she didn’t volunteer anything.
In any case, she was feeling such a surge of emotion, it would have been difficult for her to speak. The split-rail fence had been strung with crime scene tape. The yard was crowded with official vehicles bearing the insignias of various agencies. Personnel, bundled up in winter gear, were poking about, drinking from thermoses, talking among themselves. Two emerged from the shed, one carrying a paint can, the other a spool of wire. The door to the cabin was standing open.
Knight got out and handed her down from the backseat. “This the place?”
What would have been the point of lying? But she didn’t vocally confirm it either. She asked the question she’d been dreading most. “Is he in custody?”
“No.”
Her knees went weak with relief. Jeff stepped to her side and cupped her elbow for support. “This is a bad idea. She’s not up to it.”
“No, I’m fine, really.”
He seemed on the verge of arguing when his cell phone chirped. “It’s Alice,” he said after checking the caller. “How much do you want me to tell her about this?”
“Nothing yet.”
He gave a curt nod of agreement. “I’ll think of something.”
Raising the phone to his ear, he walked away from them. She was glad. She didn’t think she could have borne his being inside the cabin. Knight and Grange ushered her up to the door and motioned for her to precede them.
The charred logs in the fireplace had gone cold. On the hearth, the wood box had been emptied and upended. His books, once neatly arranged alphabetically, lay in one large heap on the floor as though ready for a bonfire.
In the center of the floor, the hidey-hole had been exposed and the foot locker removed. It stood open and empty. The lamp remained on the end table, but the burlap shade had been removed, exposing the bare bulb. Men in uniform were searching drawers and cabinets. The mattress on the bed had been stripped and pulled aside.
Knight was saying, “When our people got up here, there was no sight of him and the cabin was mostly empty. Cleaned out. He didn’t leave behind a single scrap of paper. Nothing. But we’ll find him.”
She didn’t think so. He always did as he said. As promised, he had returned her unharmed. He’d rescued Lisa from her brothers’ abuse. He’d left the Floyds alive but not before getting more than the pound of flesh he felt was due for whatever grievance he bore them.
He had also told her that they would never see each other again. He would hold to that, too.
A deputy came in from outside. “Found these in the shed. Somebody asked what the bar was for.” He dropped the heavy articles onto the floor and stamped out.
Emory looked from the pair of gravity boots to the worrisome suspension rod overhead and gave a half laugh, half sob.
Knight mistook the sound for one of distress. “Does this bring back painful memories, Emory?” He looked up at the bar in the ceiling. “Was he into kinky stuff? Did he hurt you?”
“How many times must I tell you? No.”
He studied her for a moment, then summoned over a deputy. “Keep the husband distracted,” he said. “In fact, why don’t all y’all take a ten-minute break outside?”
The room emptied except for her and the two detectives. Knight said, “Let’s sit.” He sat down with her on the leather sofa.
Grange pulled up one of the dining chairs, and as he sat he motioned toward the foot locker. “Reeks of gun oil.”
They looked at her. She kept her expression neutral. When it became obvious that she wasn’t going to reveal anything voluntarily, Knight asked, “How many firearms did he have?”
“I never counted them.”
“What kind were they?”
“I wouldn’t know one from the other.”
“Handguns? Rifles?”
“Some of both.”