The Summer Bones (18 page)

“There was some disturbance of the remains by scavengers. Nothing significant to your investigation, at a guess.”

They both nodded again. The scene had been secured, and then carefully documented. The location of the body precluded interference by the human element, and the animal element couldn't be helped. Some teeth had fallen out of the skull and fragments of hand and wrist bones had been sifted from the soil, but nothing else had been found.

Dr. Neukam concluded by saying, “My report and opinion will be on file, gentlemen. Good luck. I contacted her parents about thirty minutes ago.”

“Yeah.” The detective from Rushville—slight, sarcastic, and dark, stood and stretched his arms. Homicide wasn't routine business in Rush County, but Pino had done his share of investigations. Usually the Mayville Police handled their own investigations, but homicide was a bit different. Pino wasn't anyone Danny had actually worked with before, but they did know each other. Small departments often overlapped duties.

“Her parents said she had a backpack with her that night,” Danny noted dispassionately to the room at large as he watched Dr. Neukam leave. “It wasn't at the scene.”

“Neither were her clothes.” Detective Pino scratched his chin. “All we found were scraps. Rape and murder? It fits.”

It did. The cloth found with the body had been consistent with the nylon used for underwear. Danny bent his head and jotted in his notebook.

The other man said, “I guess there's someone else missing, right? Do we have a possible double?”

“It's possible,” Danny admitted wearily. He thought about Emily Sims' abandoned car and all the small patches of woods in the area. “It's more than possible.”

“Oh boy,” said Pino. He took a stick of gum out of his pocket, unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. He was smiling.

Danny Haase lay in bed and watched the patterns of light move across the ceiling as the sun rose higher and higher. Birds raised a racket outside his window. The coffeepot began to perk in the kitchen, the timer set for six thirty. His eyes felt worn and dry from lack of sleep.

It was amazing how fast the old weight of responsibility came back—the solid heaviness in chest and stomach, the itch of sleeplessness, the ache of the reaffirmation of man's inhumanity to man. He had gone to bed the night before with the image of Hallie Helms in his mind. The gray bones superimposed on the rotting remnants of last fall's leaves, the beautiful green of the fern growing where her heart used to beat, the leg bone at right angles to the rest of the skeleton. The sightless eyes of her damaged skull with those horrid clinging clumps of brown hair.

What had happened to that young girl the night she was supposed to spend it with her friend and never came home? Who had killed her and left her almost-naked body lying in that patch of woods like so much garbage? What kind of monster left a family to suffer in ignorance, grieving but ever pathetically hopeful?

And had he struck
again
with Emily Sims?

Danny wasn't cut out for homicide investigation; he'd known that for a long time. It bothered him too much. He still had, after eight years in law enforcement, too much imagination. Heaving himself out of bed and walking to the bathroom, he thought about Indianapolis—about Laura, about his decision to leave IPD.

Self-destruct, or destroy his marriage. It hadn't been much of a choice, either way.

He showered and shaved, ignoring the haggard reflection in the steamy mirror. Then he ate some cold cereal, ignoring the empty cupboards and vacant refrigerator. He left the house, ignoring the space in the garage where Laura normally parked her car. He hadn't heard from her since she had walked out, three days before. Would this be his life? he wondered as he started the patrol car—just the job and a hollow place where Laura's laughter, her smile and warmth in the night, used to be. Was he simply left to silence?

He drove to the station and found Pino already there, enjoying a cup of tepid coffee from the battered coffeemaker in the corner and musing over the autopsy report. His short hello was received with a grunt and a shuffle of papers. Red Sanger, Danny's deputy officer, ambled by on his way out, mumbling a good morning.

“You must have some pull, huh?” Pino smiled blandly. He was immaculate in a starched and pressed uniform. His dark hair was slicked into place. “One call from you and Marion County offers Neukam to do the post the same day we find the body.”

“I worked IPD, remember?” Danny said briefly, and let it go. There was no reason for Pino to hear about his personal conflict with the job in Indianapolis. He went to the file cabinet and selected the missing person file on Hallie Helms. He handed it to the other man without comment.

The room was quiet as Pino perused the contents, his quick gaze darting across the pages of faxes and the handwritten notes. When he finished, he raised his brows and asked, “The boyfriend says he wasn't with her that night?”

“Nope.” Danny gave the coffeepot a look of mild interest and then changed his mind. It was already too hot for coffee. He sat down instead and stared moodily at the coroner's report lying on the desk.

“Should we talk to him again?” Pino moved restlessly. The old chair squeaked loudly. “This is now a possible murder investigation.”

They should, Danny knew it—especially as the boy had been so unresponsive and sullen the first time. He nodded.

“What about her friend?”

“Amy Reeve? She claims that Hallie said she'd be over about ten. Mr. Helms says he drove himself and his daughter into town around seven. He dropped her off in front of the Reeves' house and drove off to the store. He bought milk, some sliced ham, and half a dozen doughnuts. Then he drove home, thinking all the while that Hallie was with Amy.”

“Did the Reeve girl see her arrive at seven?”

“No one did. Amy was at the movies with her boyfriend and says Hallie knew this and had planned on coming late, not at seven. The rest of the family was at a church function.”

“She lied then.”

“Looks like it.”

Pino digested this information, most of which was noted in the file anyway. His thin face reflected no dismay over the time elapsed since the victim had disappeared, nor did he seem to mind the assignment of a case involving someone so young.

Danny got suddenly to his feet and paced to the window. The glass seemed to radiate heat from the street outside. Cars crawled slowly past on the steaming pavement.

Pino said to his back, “So Hallie Helms had something going that night. She left three hours early and made her father think she was with her friend. It's a start.”

“I was pretty convinced she was a runaway.”

“Oh yeah?” Pino rubbed his lean jaw.

“Henrik Helms is a little on the strict side.” It was an understatement. Henrik was a Bible-thumping Baptist with old-school tendencies. Danny watched a couple walking by on the sidewalk. They were holding hands and smiling at each other. He added, “His kids toe the line or else. You know how teenagers feel about that sort of thing.”

Pino laughed mirthlessly. “Yes, I do. I've got one of my own. She's thirteen.”

Danny turned around.

“I'm divorced.” Pino grimaced without regret. “Which makes it even harder to keep her in line. I hate to be the bad guy every other week.”

Divorced. At least,
Danny thought as he surveyed the room with unseeing eyes,
Laura and I have no children.
He had wanted to wait until they were set financially, and then … well, and then it was too late.

“Let's go talk to Randy Knox,” he said.

* * * *

“We call that hill,” the boy shook wet hair out of his eyes and pointed behind him, “the Beast. Randy was just behind me. He'll be right along.” Face beet red and dripping, he huffed for air and shook his head, laughing at himself as he gasped and clutched his side.

Pino and Danny eyed the long slope behind the high school track. Two boys chugged up through the long grass and more were emerging from the fringe of trees along the road. Long bare legs and tanned arms gleamed with sweat—Mayville's cross-country team, training for the upcoming season.

Randy Knox was third now, his arms bent at the elbows. Thick brown hair was plastered to his forehead and his mouth hung open, like a hungry baby. He trailed in with two others, head bobbing, chest heaving. He'd seen the two police officers standing there, Danny knew he had, but he acted as if they couldn't possibly be wanting to talk to him.

There had been no way of keeping the bones found on Keller's property out of the press. A bit had run on the late evening news last night, carried by all three of the major networks out of Indianapolis. The world knew, and Mayville knew.

“Randy.” Danny said his name quietly.

The boy's head came up in feigned surprise. He gasped, “Yes?” and put his hands on his knees, hanging his head down as he fought for air.

“We want to talk. It'll just take a few minutes.”

“What about?” Defiant brown eyes lifted to stare at both of their faces. His chest moved up and down rapidly.

That was too much. Danny's mouth tightened. “I think you have a good idea, Randy. By the way, your mother knows we're here. I called her earlier today.”

“Does she?” The boy appeared uninterested in his mother's opinion. At seventeen, he was already taller than both Pino and Danny, all gawkiness set off by shoulders that promised width in the near future. He had a square jaw, stubborn mouth, and the tilt of his head indicated contempt, with or without fear. He rubbed his arms and stood up, waiting. Sweat dripped off the end of his nose. The rest of the team had either headed for the track or were coming up the Beast. They passed, curious heads turning.

“Hallie Helms,” Danny said pleasantly enough, “did you see her on May 2?”

“No.”

“Not at all?”

“I thought you already asked me this.”

“I'm asking again.”

Pino raised his eyes to heaven, very briefly.

Randy said, “I told you before, I went out with friends that night. Hallie's old man had some kind of problem. We weren't exactly seeing each other anymore.”

“A problem with you?”

Randy shuffled in the dirt and looked stony. “A problem with anyone.”

“Including his daughter?” Pino piped up, looking animated.

“Yeah.” Randy looked wary. “I guess so.”

“Enough that she would lie to him about what she was doing if it was something he didn't approve of?”

“He didn't approve of much.”

“What did you do on May 2? Can you tell us?” Pino smoothly fell into the role of interrogator. Danny stood, mentally stepping backward, and watched Randy's face, assessing the movement of his eyes, the set of his mouth, and body language of stance and attitude.

“I think I told Officer Haase I was with some friends. It's hard to remember now.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His gaze was on the ground, on the distant hill, anywhere but meeting theirs.

“What friends? Doing what? Where?”

“It was a Saturday night. Sometimes we just hang out.” The words came out thick as he recovered his breath from the run up the hill, “and I can't remember who I was with exactly. Hell, that was three months ago. It was raining, I do know that.” His voice was jerky and short. “It was slippery outside. I … I about fell down getting out of my truck. I think we caught a flick downtown.”

“What movie did you see?” Pino had taken a notebook out, flipped it open, and was writing.

“Hell if I know. Whatever was playing. They only have one screen.” Randy Knox's mouth attempted a sneer. “This is a one-horse town, if you haven't noticed.”

“Okay.” Pino nodded pleasantly, unruffled by the angry voice and flaring nostrils. He'd obviously faced truculent adolescents before. Many times. He wasn't going to rise to any tone of the kid's voice. “Just give me the names of a few of your friends. Maybe someone else will remember.”

Randy jerked out some names, his face twitching. Pino wrote them down with deliberation. The air was sour with sweat and the smell of torn sod. Danny watched as Randy flexed the arches of his feet and pumped his arms. “I'm getting stiff,” he complained, glancing at the group now bunched by the side of the track. “Are we through here?”

Danny followed his gaze. A figure detached itself from the boys. A man came across the grass. He wore running shoes, nylon shorts, and a sleeveless tank with the emblem of the Mayville Mavericks on the front. His hair was blond, his features regular, his body trim. Danny knew him. Of course, not as well as Laura knew him, he thought grimly, but they were acquaintances just the same.

Dale Hanson, the track coach, approached them with due consideration. He lifted a hand, a halfhearted greeting at best, and then nodded at Randy. “Is there some trouble?” he asked.

He
looks nervous
, Danny thought with satisfaction that was gut-deep.
Nervous and trying not to show it. Not all that certain I won't smash his face in, or haul him downtown for an imagined charge or two. Good.

To his own amazement, he heard his voice, calm and detached, say, “We may have some more questions later, Randy.”

Without a word, Randy Knox turned and left, jogging away with shoulders taut and set. Dale Hanson said, “I suppose this is about Hallie Helms. What a terrible thing.”

Pino flipped his book shut, “Yep. We talked to the boy's mother.”

Hanson nodded. His body was tense, his face alert. “Okay then,” he said slowly, “as long as she knows. I'm not certain of the law, but he is a minor.”

“She knows,” Danny curtly responded. Pino looked from him to Dale.

“It's just that they're my responsibility for—”

“She knows,” Danny said again, quite coldly, cutting him off. It was hard enough to stand there—hard enough to stand and not start to scream and rant and demand to know where she was. “Where's my wife?” he wanted to ask. He wanted to do a lot of things.