Pitch Black (22 page)

“Is that the way you want to play this? Semantics and vagaries?” His temper was flaring again.

She faced him. “I don’t want to play this at all.”

“Too bad.”

“You can’t drag in things that happened years ago to build your case. You have no proof that Ethan has done anything, other than being at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I have enough to get a warrant,” he said coldly. He wanted her to know how deadly serious this was. In reality, if the suspect had been anyone except Ethan, he probably would have taken this to the DA already.

She paled. Even her bruise faded in color.

He said, “You should have told me he’d been questioned in a murder case before.” Of the things he’d discovered about Ethan in last night’s research, that was the most damning.

“Why? So you could do what you’re doing now and judge him solely on that?”

“So I could have prepared. What if I wasn’t the one who uncovered this first? It’ll look really bad for Ethan if it crawls out on its own. You couple the previous murder investigation with the fact that his father is in prison for manslaughter. . . . ”

Her gaze snapped up.

“Yes, I found that out, too. And don’t say it never crossed your mind to tell me. I asked specifically about his biological father when we were discussing Ethan’s adoption.”

“His father was
never
a part of Ethan’s life, so guilt by association can’t even apply. And if you read about the murder investigation, you know Ethan wasn’t charged, simply questioned. He was detained because he had no home and no guardian.”

“Yes, but that case was never solved. Which means the killer is out there walking around free. It could be Ethan as easily as anyone else in that investigation.”

She looked as if he’d slapped her.

“I’m stating the reasons why this is a problem for Ethan, not what I believe,” he said. He just wished he knew exactly what
to
believe. Had he been blinded by his admiration for Maddie and not seen the boy for what he was?

Her anger bubbled in every word when she said, “That murder wasn’t solved because the victim was a homeless old man, murdered in the middle of winter for his shelter, blankets, and food. Nobody cares about people like him. The police did a cursory investigation then filed it away in the cold case room. Ethan was eleven years old, for God’s sake. Feel free to question him about it yourself.”

“I will. And stop looking at me like that. I’m only trying to cover all of the angles, because believe me, things are not looking good for him at the moment.” He paused. “Here’s the part where I’m breaking my own rules. I should never discuss a case with someone associated with a suspect, but I want you to be prepared. There may come a time when it’s out of my hands. The DA is already getting pushy. If he knew half of what I know, you can bet there’d be a warrant for Ethan tomorrow.”

“Why Ethan?” she asked. “Why not J.D.? He was the one with Colin on the mountain during the murder. It makes more sense that J.D. killed McPherson than Ethan, especially with Colin’s death.”

“J.D. didn’t threaten Colin in the hallway at school the day before he died. And I didn’t find J.D.’s cap on that bridge.”

“Ethan and I both told you his cap didn’t come home with the rest of his stuff. Maybe J.D. had it. Maybe he planted it to make it look like Ethan was the one. What kind of threats are you talking about?”

“Kids said Colin was telling them that he knew what happened on the mountain, he knew how McPherson died. Ethan came up and slammed his fist against the locker right next to Colin’s head.”

“That’s all?” Was Gabe mistaken, or did she sound relieved?

He said, “In the circumstances it’s enough to raise suspicions—especially when you compound it with the laundry list of other things. Besides, J.D. was sick that night.”

“So was Ethan. And if you think Ethan could muster up the energy to go throw Colin off a bridge while he was sick, why not J.D.? All you have is J.D.’s word. Christ Almighty, his brother’s in prison for beating a woman. That sounds a lot more incriminating than Ethan’s father being in jail—a father whom he hasn’t seen in fourteen years.

“Listen,” she went on, “I’m almost certain J.D.’s brother used steroids, which can cause mood swings and violent behavior. That could account for the assault on Shelly. Look at J.D.’s size. He plays football; maybe he’s using them, too.”

He didn’t want to dismiss that theory out of hand. In fact, everything she’d said about J.D. being a probable suspect had grounds. But he also didn’t want to let her shift the focus of this discussion.
Maybe because you’re more upset that she kept this from you than you are concerned about the case?

She pressed on. “My point is, J.D. makes as likely a suspect as Ethan.

“
Ethan’s
locker was trashed. Whoever did it was making it clear that Colin and Jordan were his victims—that Ethan was next. Why couldn’t it be J.D.? Who, by the way, hasn’t seemed to have received a threat and is lying low at home.”

Gabe sat in silence for a few minutes. Why
hadn’t
he looked harder at J.D.?

The answer came fast and clear. Because his gut told him J.D. was telling the truth. In his heart, he believed that Colin Arbuckle had told the truth, too. He believed neither of those boys saw what happened on that mountain. Not to mention the most obvious and investigation-sound reason; lack of motive.

But Ethan had held back; he’d kept most of his story to himself until he
needed
it. And his motive could be found in his protective attitude toward Jordan, and his suspicion that McPherson was abusing his stepson.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Then Maddie sighed. “I think someone we haven’t considered killed McPherson for reasons we don’t yet know. Someone who is getting nervous that he didn’t get away as cleanly as he’d first thought, and now is tying up those loose ends.”

“You think someone climbed that mountain to beat the man to death?”

“The murderer assumed it would be viewed as an accident. If that didn’t fly, he assumed no one would consider anyone other than the four boys who were with McPherson.”

Maddie had just echoed one of his own possible theories, one that he hadn’t found a scrap of evidence to support. He reminded himself that she had also been the one who tried to direct Gabe’s attention toward Jordan’s being the killer. Was she grasping any straw that pointed away from Ethan?

After a moment, he asked, “Does Ethan have any Diesel-brand clothing?” Gabe asked.

The distrust in her eyes nearly pierced his heart. “Why?” she asked.

“It’s a simple question, Maddie.” Had he asked it for the right reasons? He’d as much as given her fair warning to get rid of it if Ethan did have any.

“No. He’s not into brand stuff. He’s just thankful to have clean clothes,” she said sharply.

“There are kids who notice and care about that kind of stuff,” he said. “Kids who remember what everyone else wears.”

“Listen to me.” She shifted to look squarely at him. “I’m not so stupid as to lie about something like that. If I hadn’t wanted to answer, I wouldn’t have. I’m trying to cooperate with you and all I get is a raft of shit. Maybe I should take the safe route and have Ethan and me speak to you only with an attorney present.”

He felt a fraction of satisfaction in the hurt he saw in her eyes; it was just a little bit emotionally satisfying to know his distrust hurt her as much as hers had cut him.

“That’s your right,” he said. “But if I was trying to trap either you or your son into an incriminating statement, I wouldn’t have laid my cards on the table like this. I’m doing this because I care about you.”

“But you don’t believe Ethan is innocent.” Her voice was cold enough to frost his ears.

It slashed him to the bone that his confession went unheard. God, he did care about her. More than he’d cared about a woman for a very long time. “I don’t believe he’s
guilty.
” Could she see the difference? “But I have to follow
wherever
the evidence leads.”

“It won’t be to my son. Good God, why would he have killed Steve McPherson? He barely knew the man!”

“I think you’ve already answered that, back when you were supposing it may have been Jordan acting in self-defense.” Shit, talk about blowing your own case.

Unwelcome realization dawned on her face. “You think Ethan killed McPherson because he thought the man was knocking Jordan around?”

“I don’t have a solid suspect at the moment. But that is a theory I can’t dismiss. Colin and J.D. said McPherson left camp angry because the boys weren’t back yet. Hell, maybe McPherson went after Ethan, too, if he tried to step in and protect Jordan.”

“If Ethan was that protective of Jordan, it blows your theory that he tried to kill the kid with sedatives, wouldn’t you say?”

“I think Jordan is a very troubled boy. Until there is a complete investigation into how he got the drugs, we can’t say anything at all about that piece of the puzzle.”

“Ethan had nothing to do with McPherson’s death. The fact remains that the man was murdered. Out of the four boys on that mountain who could possibly have witnessed it, one has had a nervous breakdown and made a suicide attempt, one is dead, one is hiding, and my son is getting threats. I’m very worried that Ethan is this guy’s next victim. It’s scaring the crap out of me. Find the sonofabitch.”

She opened the car door and got out before he could reply.

Chapter 22

M
ADISON SPOKE PRIVATELY with the principal before she went to the counselor’s office to pick up Ethan. “I want to see his locker.”

Mrs. Gibbons said, “There isn’t much to see. The police took almost everything.”

“I still want to see it.”

“All right, then.” The principal stood, looking only slightly resentful for Madison wasting the woman’s time. “I’ll take you.”

As they walked down the hallway, their high heels clicking in unison, Mrs. Gibbons surprised Madison by saying, “Are you planning more articles on drug abuse?”

“Yes, I am,” Madison said firmly. “Unpopular as the topic is around here at the moment, I still feel it needs to be addressed.”

Mrs. Gibbons stopped and faced her. The woman was at least five inches shorter than Madison, but carried herself with an authority that commanded respect. “Good.”

Madison tilted her head. “Good?”

“Yes. No matter what people say, educating yourself on these subjects can’t do anything but have a positive effect. Knowledge is power, as they say.”

“I’m glad to hear you feel that way. I think people’s objections have more to do with the messenger than the message. If I had had one of the staff who is a long-time resident take on this topic, it might have been better received.”

A small, knowing smile crossed the principal’s face. “You’re learning fast.” She started walking again. “Here we are.”

They stopped in front of a locker whose door had a sharp bend right at the latch. Pry marks marred the paint on the frame. Whoever broke in wasn’t trying to be sly about it.

“You can just swing it open,” Mrs. Gibbons said. “I’ve had Ethan remove his personal things and put his books in another locker. The police have the photographs and other articles that were left here.”

Madison hesitated. “What other articles?”

A look of distaste crossed Mrs. Gibbons’s face. “A dead rat. An empty beer can. A handful of some kind of pills. And a rock.” The principal didn’t seem to have any problem seeing the significance of these items.

Madison said, “Being an outsider in this town carries a heavy prejudice, wouldn’t you say?”

For the first time, Mrs. Gibbons did not meet her eyes. Madison couldn’t tell if it was because she agreed with the implications of the message, or if she was ashamed that her community was so shallow and quick to judge.

“Are there video surveillance cameras in and around the building?”

“We’ve never had the need for such a thing.” There was just enough accusation in her voice that Madison decided to stop asking questions.

She took one finger and pulled open the locker with her breath held in her chest.

Mrs. Gibbons said, “As I said, the police took everything except Ethan’s books.”

The inside of the locker was empty. Madison realized her tension came from picturing the moment her son opened this door and discovered the hateful message. She released her breath, but not the anger welling inside as she closed the damaged door.

They returned to the office in silence. Ethan had come out to wait at the front counter with his backpack sitting at his feet.

Madison’s heart squeezed tighter. He looked so defeated, so broken. “Ready to go?”

He nodded and hefted his backpack to his shoulder.

“Ms. Wade?” the principal said before they got out the door.

“Yes?”

“I think it’d be best to keep Ethan home for the next few days.”

The “suggestion” was made in a tone that didn’t reveal the reason for it. For Ethan’s safety, or because she thought Ethan was a threat?

GABE PULLED UP OUTSIDE
J.D. Henry’s duplex and shut off the engine. He was waiting on hold for the ME to come to the phone. The sun was beating through the windshield; he opened the window and rested his elbow on the door.

From the moment Madison had gotten out of his Jeep this morning, her fury had eaten at his insides like acid. He was in one hell of a mess. Investigative logic led him down one path, while his gut diverted to another. And as much as he tried to be objective when he asked if that gut’s instinct was being swayed by his heart, he wasn’t coming up with an answer he wanted to acknowledge.

He was ignoring his obligations; his responsibility to the people of this county being only one. Family loyalty was another. What if Gabe’s missteps blew the bottom out of his father’s political boat? It was one thing to stand fast to his gut convictions if he was right. What if he was wrong? He could be taking his father down with him. And although he and his dad differed on many subjects, his father was the best choice for governor of this state.

There were questions Gabe had been avoiding asking himself. It was time to drag them out into the light.

Was Ethan much smarter and more devious than either Gabe or Maddie suspected? Gabe had studied plenty of cases where a psychopath blended right in, never once arousing suspicion of even those closest to him. How much did Maddie know about Ethan’s early years, the ones that shape and mold the human psyche?

Because Ethan had managed to avoid child protective services, there would be no psych evaluations, no counselor’s recommendations, no records. Maddie could only know what Ethan chose to divulge. If he’d been physically and emotionally abused himself, it could account for his heightened protective instincts for Jordan.

Damn it. If not for his feelings for Maddie, Gabe knew full well who he’d have in his sights as his most likely suspect.

He pushed ahead along that path, making himself look at things as he would if he knew nothing except what he’d discovered since McPherson’s death.

The key to the entire thing lay in the motive. Why would anyone kill Steve McPherson?

Considering Jordan’s peculiar fears at home and the fact that McPherson’s first wife’s death was an unusual—and unwitnessed—accident, abuse could be a motive. As soon as he got to the office, he’d call Ann Arbor about the accident investigation.

If revenge or self-defense from abuse was the motive, did Jordan have the strength to carry out such a brutal beating?

Even if the answer to that question was undoubtedly yes, the kid had been locked up in the stress center since then. He couldn’t have had anything to do with Colin’s death.

Gabe forced himself to keep marching down that path. If Jordan couldn’t have had anything to do with events this past week, it meant someone else had set Colin up for his “accident.”

Did Ethan fear that Colin had actually seen the murder? Regardless if it had been Jordan or Ethan who committed the original act, Ethan could be the one cleaning up the mess.

As for the locker, Ethan could have trashed it himself in order to throw off suspicion. What better way in these circumstances than to hide behind the mask of a victim himself?

And what a perfect sign of a psychopath.

Had Ethan made up the phone threat? Or did he receive it and use disgruntled citizens taking issue with Maddie’s public view of their community and twist it into his own defense?

Gabe hadn’t asked if Ethan had received that call on his cell or the home phone. Gabe would have to find out, and confirm a call had been received at that time. If not, it would be clear Gabe had backed the wrong horse. If there was a call, perhaps it would lead him to whoever threw that rock through Maddie’s windshield.

He’d have to go to the judge for a subpoena—which meant he had to tell the DA everything.

If Gabe was operating with a clear head, he wouldn’t shy away from the prospect.

His fear boiled down to the worry that the DA would buckle to the pressures of public opinion (this was an election year), and take a case forward on less than solid grounds.

It was Gabe’s job to investigate and present what he discovered to the DA—and it was pretty damn clear he wasn’t doing his job.

Christ.

Blowing out a long exhalation, he ran a hand through his hair.

The phone line clicked. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Gabe,” Dottie Zinn said. “What can I do for you?”

You can tell me there’s no doubt that Colin fell off that bridge all by himself.
“I was wondering what your preliminary findings on the Arbuckle boy are telling you.”

“You already know he had enough alcohol in him that he couldn’t tell up from down. Cause of death thus far appears to be a broken neck. It was instantaneous.”

“Anything suspicious . . . defensive wounds and the like?”

“Nothing conclusive. The poor boy fell thirty feet and landed on a bed of rocks. He was wearing two sweatshirts and a T-shirt, lots of padding against possible defensive marks on the forearms. I was just going over his hands again when you called. I recovered some fibers from under the fingernails on his right hand. It’s going to take a couple of weeks to get them processed.”

Two weeks. If Maddie’s theory was right, by then all four boys could be dead. If Kate’s theory was right, at least three of them could be.

“No skin under the nails?” he asked. DNA would take weeks, but it might be the only near-conclusive thing they had in this case.

Would it exonerate Ethan, or incriminate him?

“Nothing I can detect visually. I’ve taken scrapings from all ten. Again, until the lab gets back to us, I don’t have a thing for you to work with. Sorry.”

“Use the age of the victim as leverage and see if you can get a rush on that lab work.”

“Already placed the call,” she said. “I’ll let you know as soon as I have anything.”

“Thanks, Dot.”

“Oh, Gabe?” she said as he was about to disconnect.

“Yeah.”

“You might want to know our young DA came scratching around here like the cock of the walk earlier today. He mentioned that he’d told Kate McPherson—who apparently has initiated a telephone campaign to put pressure on him—that he’d look personally into her husband’s murder investigation. He expressed concern over our ‘lack of progress’ in the case. I set him right straight.
Lack of progress
. . . ,” she said with a sneer in her voice. “We’ve managed to cut the wait time in a quarter for most of the stuff we’ve needed processed. I told him that if he’d had
experience
with murder cases, he would know that a week is a drop in the river. He didn’t much like it. But he went away.”

Gabe couldn’t help but smile through his frustration. He’d loved to have been a fly on the wall when Dottie “set him right straight.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Again, Kate surprised him with her aggressive tactics. Apparently he’d underestimated the woman. He hung up and went to question J.D.

After knocking on the front door three different times and getting no response, Gabe walked around the outside of the duplex. All of the drapes were closed tight.

As he approached the back door, he stopped. Something black and about the size of a toss pillow was jammed just above the threshold between the screen door and the passage door.

He climbed the four steps to the back stoop.

Leaning close to the screen, at first he thought it was one of those fake fur pillows. Then he saw it was a black cat—a dead one.

A message left for J.D.? Maddie’s theory of someone after all four boys took on more credence . . . unless Ethan had been the messenger. Gabe realized this new clue was just another question with no answer.

He left the screen closed and thumped on the door frame. “J.D.?” he yelled. “Mrs. Henry? It’s Sheriff Wyatt.”

The back door opened on the other half of the duplex. A stooped old woman with a deeply lined face peeked out. “They’s long gone, honey.”

Gabe went down the steps and stood at the base of the neighbor’s steps. “Do you know where they went?”

“No, sir. I just heared lots of yellin’ this mornin’—which ain’t so uncommon, mind you. Today she wuz carryin’ on somethin’ ’bout her cat. Shortly after that, I seen her and the boy leave with suitcases.” She drew her face into a disapproving frown. “It’s a school day, too. That boy’s gonna end up bad as t’other, way she’s goin’ ’bout raisin’ him.”

“Do you know what time they left?”

“Yes I do. It wuz during
The Price Is Right
.”

Gabe could check the television listings if it became an issue. “Thank you, ma’am.” He started to step away, then paused and asked one of the questions he’d come to ask J.D. “Um, do you happen to know if J.D. is a smoker?”

She blew a breath through her prune-like lips and waved an arthritic hand in front of her face. “Lordy, who could tell? That young’un always smelled like it. But could be from his momma. There’s always so much smoke over there, it comes right through the wall. Shameful the way she’s raisin’ them boys.”

After thanking her again, Gabe returned to his Jeep. He put on latex gloves and pulled out a fingerprint kit and a garbage bag, then went to retrieve the dead cat.

He wondered how Dot felt about working with animals.