The Last Victim (32 page)

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Authors: Kevin O'Brien

BOOK: The Last Victim
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Zach didn’t say anything either. He just held on to her hand and smiled a tiny bit to himself.
No one knew she was here. She’d talked on the phone with Brad last night. Keeping her promise to Zach, she didn’t say anything to her brother about their plans for today. However, she did tell him about Cheryl’s freak “accident.”
“Jesus, no,” Brad murmured. “I really didn’t . . .” He made a strange raspy sound.
Bridget listened for a moment. “Are you crying?” she asked.
“No, no, I’m okay. I—well, you just caught me by surprise. I started to remember how crazy I was about her when we were kids.” Brad cleared his throat. “Listen, I should hang up and call you back.”
When he called a half hour later, he was all business. He’d contacted the private detective agency and put twenty-four-hour surveillance on Bridget’s house. She would have a bodyguard at her disposal, if she wanted one. He’d hired someone to start watching
his
house too. “Damn it, Brigg, you were right,” he admitted. “This is no coincidence. Something’s going on here. Don’t take any chances. And don’t say anything to anyone until we figure this out.”
He phoned again this morning to make sure she was all right. He wasn’t going to Cheryl’s funeral—no surprise there. “If you go, promise you won’t drive down to Eugene by yourself. Have one of the private detectives drive you.”
“It’s okay, Brad,” she replied. “I don’t think I’m going.”
He’d asked about her plans for the day. Bridget lied and said she was getting together with Gerry’s sister for lunch.
Before Brad got off the line, he said that Janice wanted to talk to her.
“Listen, could you take Dad and Emma tonight?” Janice asked. “I know it’s last minute. Brad had planned to go stag at this fund-raiser dinner, but now suddenly I’m coming along. They need me there for the photographers and everything.”
“Sounds like a ton of fun, I don’t think,” Bridget said.
“It’s crazy,” Janice grumbled. “I swear, Foley has total control over the media. We’ve proven they lied about that stupid cocaine party, but it still hasn’t made much difference. Jay says Brad’s numbers in the morning polls haven’t bounced back yet. Anyway, Mrs. Brad Corrigan has to
sparkle
tonight. So—back to my original question—can you take Dad and Emma?”
“No sweat,” Bridget said. “I can even come pick them up.”
“Well, I was hoping you would,” Janice replied. “I don’t think that’s asking too much. I’m still exhausted from all those interviews yesterday. Huh, you know, it’s
your
fault I have to go to this thing.”
“What are you talking about, Janice?”
“Aren’t you the one who was so gung ho about me making these personal appearances with Brad? It’s because of you I’m suddenly in the front lines.” She let out a disingenuous little laugh. “You stinker.”
“Janice, I was simply agreeing with Jay and the P.R. guys. But you know, if you’re feeling tired, you shouldn’t go. I mean—”
“Too late, I’m going,” she interrupted. “And now you get to babysit for a change.”
When Bridget hung up, she wondered how—even though she was doing a favor for her sister-in-law—Janice still managed to make her feel horrible.
Or perhaps she was already feeling crummy for having lied to her brother about today. He still didn’t trust Zach. But she did.
As they walked deeper into the woods, Bridget felt so grateful to have this thoughtful, handsome man at her side. After so many years of keeping Gorman’s Creek a secret, she’d confided in him. Zach knew the very worst thing about her, and he still loved her. Bridget squeezed his hand.
“Is it weird coming back here?” he asked.
She glanced up at the bare tree branches hovering over them. She heard the rushing water from the creek.
The Devil’s Gulch
, Mallory had called it. Bridget brushed her shoulder against his. “Just stick close to me, okay?”
“I won’t let go,” Zach whispered. He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed it. Then they continued down the path.
Through the trees, Bridget saw the old Bowers place in the distance. They veered off the trail. The broken-down brick fireplace and chimney and the front stoop were just as Bridget remembered.
She wrapped her arm around Zach’s as they approached what was once the Bowerses’ living room. She nodded at the tree behind the house, the tilted one that precariously loomed over the ravine. “The crawl space is on a ridge by that leaning tree,” she said.
As they climbed down to the ridge, she glanced at the ravine below, and the pile of rubble from the landslide. Among other things, she saw an old wicker chair, a smashed cabinet, and the remnants of a window. But the child’s rocking horse was gone. She wondered if someone had taken it. Or had it just rotted and washed away in a storm?
Letting go of her hand, Zach moved along the slope, then stopped suddenly. “I see it,” he announced, peeking over the tilted tree.
Bridget stepped toward him. He helped her over the tree and its tangled roots, then climbed over them himself. Bridget stared at the trapdoor on the ground. “It’s not the same,” she said.
“What do you mean?” Zach asked.
“Someone replaced the lid.”
It wasn’t the moldy, rotting wood-plank cover with the broken latch from two decades ago. This trapdoor was one piece of solid wood. It appeared a bit weather-beaten, but couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen years old.
Zach squatted down to get a closer look. He tugged at the panel. “It’s nailed shut. We’d need a crowbar to get this sucker open.” He straightened up and wiped the dirt off his hands. “Whoever did this, I don’t think they were trying to be sneaky about it. Looks like they cleared away some shrubs here too.”
Bridget nodded. “You’re right.” She remembered first finding the trapdoor behind a clump of bushes. She wondered why someone had replaced the lid. Had they buried something down in that hole? If that was the case, it didn’t make sense to clear the bushes away.
“You said the hole is twenty to thirty feet deep,” Zach said. He gazed out over the ravine. “I’ve never been to this spot before. At least, I have an idea of the layout now. I didn’t realize there’s such a sharp incline here. It’s possible Mallory climbed out of the well—only to fall down this slope. Maybe that’s why you didn’t see her when you came back. She could have been knocked unconscious again, unable to hear you calling for her.”
Bridget gazed down at the plank of wood over the hole where they’d left Mallory Meehan. She remembered what Mallory had told her: “There’s no other place in this town where you could scream and scream, and no one would hear.”
Bridget shuddered. “Can we go now?” she asked.
“Of course.”
Zach helped her climb over the trunk of the tilted tree, and they made their way back up to the old Bowers ruins. Catching her breath, Bridget paused by the decrepit chimney and hearth.
“Jesus,” Zach murmured, looking out toward the trees.
“What is it?”
“I just saw someone out there,” he whispered, still gazing at the woods.
“Where?” she asked, panicked. “Zach, if this is your idea of a joke—”
“Shhh.” He pulled her behind the chimney.
Bridget resisted for a moment. But then she ducked behind the old fireplace with him. She listened for footsteps, but the rushing stream in the ravine below drowned everything out. The wind kicked up and several leaves scattered along the forest floor. Trees swayed, and everything seemed to move and shift for a moment.
“You didn’t tell anyone we were coming here, did you?” Zach asked, under his breath.
Wide-eyed, Bridget stared at him and shook her head.
Zach stepped in front of her. “Damn, there he is again,” he murmured.
“Where?”
He pointed toward the trail. In the distance, Bridget saw someone moving between the trees. “Oh my God,” she murmured.
“Don’t move,” he said in a hushed voice. “Let’s just see who this is. Could be anyone. Maybe a schoolkid.”
But it was eleven-thirty on a Thursday morning. Most schoolkids were in school. Bridget thought about her stalker—the one playing cat and mouse with her in the alley by the Starbucks, the one skulking around her house.
Bridget watched the man—a fractured shadowy image darting between the trees. He wore dark pants and a blue jacket. “He’s too tall to be a schoolkid,” she whispered.
He was working his way toward them. Then he ducked behind a tree. Bridget kept waiting for him to reappear.
Zach reached for a loose brick by his feet. He straightened up and gazed toward the trail again. “Where the hell is he?”
“I don’t know,” Bridget murmured, clutching Zach’s arm. “It’s like he vanished.”
Then she saw something move—several yards over from where she’d last seen him. Was it a tree swaying? The wind was starting up again.
All at once, someone emerged from behind a cluster of bushes. He was lumbering toward them.
Bridget gasped. Zach pushed her back again, and he stepped forward.
“What are you kids doing?” the man yelled.
She peeked over Zach’s shoulder and recognized the tall, stocky, gray-haired man. Sheriff Miller squinted at them. “Oh, it’s you two,” he said.
Zach tossed the brick aside. “You gave us a bit of a scare,” he admitted.
A hand on her heart, Bridget emerged from behind the chimney. “Hello, Sheriff,” she said, catching her breath.
“Anastasia Fessler phoned in a report that a couple of
kids
were out here,” the sheriff explained. “Didn’t you folks see the
No Trespassing
sign? Old Anastasia is an absolute stickler about people coming into these woods. What are you doing out here?”
“Sorry you had to schlepp all this way for us,” Zach said. “I’m researching a story idea again. I probably should have asked permission—”
“The Mallory Meehan article?” the sheriff asked. “What brings you out here for that?”
Zach hesitated, then shook his head. “Oh no, this is a different story altogether—about the Bowerses. We were just checking out what’s left of the place.”
Bridget touched Zach’s shoulder. Now that he was carrying around her secret, Zach was lying about it too.
“Didn’t Anastasia tell you that we stopped by?” Bridget asked.
The sheriff shook his head. “No, she just said there were a couple of kids trespassing. I get a call like this at least once a month from her, and half the time it’s a false alarm. Old Anastasia isn’t playing with a full fifty-two—if you get my drift.”
“Sorry,” Bridget said. “We didn’t mean to bother anyone.”
The sheriff waved the apology away. “Forget it. No harm done.”
“Thanks, sheriff,” Brad replied. “As long as you’re here, can I ask you a question? We noticed a board nailed to something on the ground along the ridge down there. Do you know what it is?”
Bridget swallowed hard. She didn’t expect him to ask the
sheriff
about it. The last thing she wanted was for the authorities to investigate that well. Sheriff Miller scratched his chin for a moment, then nodded. “Oh, I know what you’re talking about. A kid found a well back there about ten years ago. Must have been part of the old Bowers place. Anyway, he fell in and twisted his ankle. So we had to come out here and board it up.” He shrugged. “It’s always something, y’know? Anyway, we should beat a retreat before Anastasia gets her panties in a twist and calls the state police.”
As they started down the trail, Bridget gave Zach a furtive that-was-a-close-call look. He reached over and took her hand.
“I guess Sonny Fessler is in a rest home now,” Bridget said to the sheriff, who was walking ahead of them.
“Yeah, poor old guy,” the sheriff grunted. “I’ve heard the place is more like a sanitarium. Anastasia couldn’t take care of him anymore. Hell, she’s too far gone to take care of herself.”
“Do you know where this rest home—or sanitarium—is?” Bridget asked.
“Nope,” the sheriff said over his shoulder. “It’s weird. After they put him in there about fifteen years ago, my wife wanted to send Sonny a Christmas package. She always made Christmas cookies for Sonny and bought him a trinket. Made his day. Anyway, she asked Anastasia for the address of the place. So Anastasia gave her a card and said she should write to him care of some law firm in Seattle.”
Bridget let go of Zach’s hand for a moment. She dug the business card out of her pocket and looked at it again.
Rachel Towles, Attorney
BARD & MITCHELL ASSOCIATES
Law Offices
She put the card back into her pocket, and then looked at the trail ahead.
She could see the Fesslers’ house in the distance, and the woods reflected against the darkened windows. No doubt, they could see whenever someone came and went out of this forest.
Bridget wondered which one of those windows was to Sonny’s bedroom.

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