Burnt River (23 page)

“Given the serious nature of the crimes that have been committed here in Wilmington Creek, I’ve decided to make a personal appeal to the citizens of the Flathead Valley. For those who don’t know me, my name is Ray Davidson and I’m the captain of the state police. First and foremost, my thoughts and prayers go out to Lindsay Moore’s family, friends, and colleagues. Lindsay was a highly respected police officer who proudly served the state of Montana for more than a decade. We’re calling on the local community for help in tracking down her killer.”

Tyler folded his arms over his chest. “I told you they don’t know jack shit.”

“We have been able to link the gun used in the murders of John Dalton and Lindsay Moore to the one used to kill highway patrol officer Timothy Wallace last summer. Although no one has been formally charged, Ethan Green has since been identified as the man who pulled the trigger.” He held up a mug shot. “Ethan Green is well known to state law enforcement. He’s served time for firearms offenses, burglary, and assault and battery.”

Dylan stepped farther into the room and sank down onto the nearest chair. “Holy shit.”

“We are asking the public to remain vigilant. Ethan Green is a highly trained survivalist who has intimate knowledge of the wilderness areas in and around the Flathead Valley. Many here in the local community know him personally and are familiar with his efforts to raise private militias. According to our sources at the state level and in the FBI, he is once again active in the militia movement and may be planning a major attack on the federal government. If you have any information, please contact the authorities on the special hotline that has been set up.”

Tyler switched off the television. Outside, Dylan’s dog yelped and scratched at the screen door, and in the distance a train sounded its whistle as it passed through the Flathead Valley. Tyler went into the kitchen, took a beer out of the refrigerator, and drained it while hanging on the open door.

“Talk about a cluster fuck.”

Dylan picked up a lighter and flipped it between his fingers.

“He’ll try to pick us off one at a time.”

Tyler took long, ferocious drags off a cigarette without bothering to flick away the ash. “Ethan must have been planning John’s murder all year. That took some patience.” He leveled his gaze on Jessie. “I bet he saves you ’til last. That’s what I’d do. I’d take my time with you.”

Dylan slid the screen door open and his dog ran into the room with a tennis ball in its mouth. “Tyler, there’s no need for that. Jessie’s scared enough as it is.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I? That’s what he’ll do. Either you or me is next, and then it will be Jessie, saved for last.”

Jessie kept her voice low. “Dylan, we need to go to the police.”

Tyler stepped out of the kitchen and grabbed hold of her arm. “Do you think I’m deaf, or something? I see what you’re trying to do, but Dylan isn’t stupid enough to listen to the girl who got us into this mess in the first place.”

“It’s you and John that fucked up.”

Tyler slapped her so hard her head snapped back against a framed photograph of Tyler’s grandparents. It fell to the floor and broken glass shot across the room.

“We fucked up?
We
fucked up? What about you? Are you ever going to take responsibility for the shit storm you caused that night?”

Dylan grabbed hold of Tyler’s shoulder. “That’s enough, Tyler. Let her go.”

Tyler shoved her into the wall again. “Dylan, you better keep her in line, or I will.” He held a lit cigarette within an inch of Jessie’s right eye. “No one is going to the police. We’ll deal with this ourselves.”

Jessie craned her neck. “Quit telling me what to do. I’m going to the police, Tyler! You hear me?”

Tyler grabbed her by the throat. “You go to the police and you bring us all down.”

“Tyler, I told you to let her go! Listen to me.”

Jessie started screaming. “I’ll tell them it was just me and John. I’ll leave you guys out of it.”

“The hell you will. You’ll cave in like you always do.”

Dylan grabbed hold of Tyler’s hands and tried to pry them away. “Goddamn it, you’re choking her. Stop.”

Tyler gave her once last shove and released his hands. Jessie sank to the floor and gasped for air.

“You stupid bitch,” said Tyler, stomping across the room and kicking over the coffee table. “You’re going to ruin everything.”

Jessie spoke in a whisper. “I’m not.”

Dylan stood between them. “What the fuck, Tyler? You can’t treat her like that.”

Tyler slammed his fist into the drywall, leaving a hole. “I need to get out of here.” He gave Dylan a quick glance as he headed out the screen door. “Are you coming?”

Dylan tried to look Jessie in the eye but she’d turned away.

“Jessie, I’m going to try to make Tyler see sense. I’ll be back in a sec.”

Jessie didn’t move until she was sure they were both gone. She ran her fingers through her hair. A bump was forming behind her right ear. Her throat was bruised and it hurt to breathe. Using the wall for support, she staggered to her feet and steadied herself. If she started crying now there would be no stopping. Shards of glass cracked underfoot. She reached for the countertop for support and tried to focus her mind on something besides that night at the lake, but nothing would shift the last time she saw Ethan Green’s face. She still remembered the moment her fingers closed around that rock. It had felt reassuringly heavy. There was an unopened whiskey bottle on the breakfast bar. She closed her fingers around its neck. It also felt reassuringly heavy. She slipped it in her bag and left the way she’d come.

*   *   *

Jessie ground her way through the hatchback’s gearbox as she headed north toward the Canadian border. The farther she drove, the more the forested hills closed in on her. She pulled off on a dirt road and the car clattered as she made her way east. The track twisted with the changing terrain, and just when she was feeling lost, it came to an abrupt end on the stony beach of a tributary. Before getting out, she checked her phone. There was no signal, so she threw it into her bag and grabbed the whiskey bottle from the cup holder. A third of it was already gone. A cloud of insects trailed behind her as she made her way north along the shore. Her feet sank in the loose gravel. The conversation she’d had with her mother replayed in her head.

He caught us in bed together. His best man and his wife.

Aside from a few rust-colored needles, the tree her mother had described in her journal had been picked clean by pine beetles. Dry limbs twisted outward, their gnarled tips still holding offerings—faded lace panties, keys without chains, crucifixes woven from twigs, and higher up, a pair of sneakers hanging from their laces. Jessie wove the broken necklace around a low branch. The heart-shaped locket spun like a top until she stilled it with her thumb and forefinger. The hot springs were hidden behind a ring of smooth granite boulders. The gray pool didn’t seem any more magical than the tree. Jessie took a long swallow from the whiskey bottle before stepping in fully clothed. Steam rose around her. She waded out to the middle and dipped down so that she was sitting with just her head and shoulders exposed. She tilted her head back so her dark hair floated around her face. The smoky haze had thinned. She would see the stars.

Annie had written about coming to these hot springs with a man that Jessie had grown up admiring from afar. There were always stories about him in the papers. To some he was a modern-day folk hero. To others he was a common criminal. The fact that Jeremy hated him only made Jessie like him more. In all these years she’d never suspected that he might be her father. She wondered if Ethan Green knew the truth about their connection—that he’d killed his own son and tried to rape his own daughter.

The morning after it had happened, it didn’t hurt as much as it should have, but that was only because she was still drunk. She’d laughed at Dylan.
Come on,
she’d said, confused by the look on his face.
I don’t look that bad?
He’d pulled her out of his bed and positioned her in front of a full-length mirror. Jessie was naked aside from a bra and a pair of Dylan’s boxer shorts. She put her fingertips to the swollen lips of the battered stranger in the reflection. She’d thought she might be dreaming. Dylan had held up his camera like an apology.
We need evidence in case the police ever tie you to Ethan’s death
. She’d nodded in agreement, but in her head she had been picking through all the blind spots from the night before. She’d lost hours, and no amount of sifting could get them back. She remembered waking up in the dirt with Ethan Green lying on top of her. He hadn’t looked like he was sleeping. The fact that he was actually dead made no sense at all.

Dylan had taken photographs: close-ups of her raw knuckles and broken fingernails; her bugged-out eye—red and swollen like a ripe fruit; her split lip; the black-and-blue handprints on her thighs; the boot imprint stamped on her belly. She looked down at her bruised body.

Dylan, who did this?

Ethan Green.

I killed him?

Don’t you remember?

I’m not sure.

Dylan had put the camera aside and there was no lens to shield her from his gaze.

Jessie, how long do you think you can keep this up before you end up dead? When are you going to realize there are people in this town who love you?

She had waited, reworking his words like she might do a riddle, trying to bend her low opinion of herself around them, trying to make him into the fool. He was talking nonsense. He had reached out to touch her, but stopped before his fingertips found her skin. Then it had hit her. She’d looked up at him. There it was, and it was unconditional. It was the first time she’d ever seen a man cry. She’d run to the bathroom, where she was sick until she was nothing but thin skin stretched over a drum of bones. She had washed her face, gingerly touching her bulging eye and lip. She’d used the toilet and there was a deep, penetrating hurt that burned and left her gasping for breath. Violent cramps had shot across her abdomen. She clutched hold of the sink and cried out for help, but Dylan was gone. She had returned to bed and gripped the pillow tight. She’d wondered how she could die when she already felt dead.

Jessie gazed up at the darkening sky. Tyler’s words were still fresh in her head.
Ethan must have been planning John’s murder all year. That took some patience.
And then that knowing smile.
I bet he saves you ’til last. That’s what I’d do. I’d take my time with you.

Darkness fell and, as promised, the sky crystalized. Jessie tracked satellites and airplanes making their way through the thick veil of stars. She sipped from the bottle and wished she could fly to the moon. She shook herself awake. If she wasn’t careful she could drift away into nothingness and be none the wiser. The whiskey bottle slid from her fingertips and they floated side by side. People would explain it to Tara but she would never understand. Jessie tried to focus. All she needed to do was walk away. The car wasn’t far. There was a towel in the back, a sweatshirt too. She’d dry off and drive away. She imagined picking her way along the shore in the pitch-black.

Jessie opened her eyes and coughed up water. She’d fallen asleep. She thought she heard someone calling her name. She might have been dreaming. A beam of light skimmed the top of the boulders surrounding the pool. She sat up and water cascaded from her hair. She searched the darkness. There it was again. The light bobbed up and down along the shoreline and flicked toward the trees. She waited, half submerged. Dylan called for her again and she stood shivering in the rising heat. This time she answered.

19

Nick Childs was only forty-one years of age, but looked much older. His skin was darkened by years in the sun. There were two white blotches on his forehead where the pigment was gone. The Kalispell Police Department had held him overnight, but he was to be released as soon as Macy was through interviewing him.

“Mr. Childs, as you know, you were originally wanted for questioning in connection with the murder of John Dalton. You are no longer a suspect in that crime.”

“Does that mean I can finally go?”

“I was hoping you’d be willing to answer a couple of questions first. I’m following up on a witness statement.” She pushed Lana’s and Charlie’s photographs across the table. “I’d like to know how you’re familiar with Charlie Lott, if you’re aware of his present whereabouts, and if you knew Lana Clark prior to meeting her here in Wilmington Creek.”

“I take it Lana hasn’t been talking too much.”

“I’d like to hear your side of the story.”

He picked up Lana’s photograph and smirked. “I met Lana about four years ago. I was down in Georgia, visiting some cousins. She was working at a strip club, but she was willing to take it further for the right price. I spent a lot of money on her that summer.”

“Do you remember the name of the club?”

“The Night Crawler. It was about thirty miles east of Fort Benning. She said she was doing it to earn money for college. I treated her well. Hell, I even tipped her.”

“How did you know Charlie Lott?”

“He came into the club one night. I got the impression from talking to him that he didn’t know Lana was doing business on the side. She got real nervous when she saw us sitting together. The next night she was gone. I was pretty surprised when I found her working at The Whitefish and she had all her clothes on.”

“Tell me about Charlie.”

“Not much to tell. Seemed to be a pretty mellow guy. He was dealing, but it was small time. I think he was a musician or something.”

“Did Lana ever tell you that Charlie threatened her?”

“I wasn’t paying her to talk.”

“Have you had any contact with him since?”

“It was just that one time. I only remember him ’cause the situation struck me as funny. We’re drinking beers together and he’s got no idea I’ve been meeting his girlfriend in a motel room five nights running.”