The Summer Bones (28 page)

“Weapon?”

“A branch, rock, tire iron, baseball bat … we have a few choices. The doc wasn't able to be specific about the possible weapon at the postmortem. Her body was a mess.”

“No one saw Sims leave his house that morning.”

“No one saw anything, no surprise. In that neighborhood, he could have jogged naked around the block and gone unnoticed.”

It was true. In the two hours they'd spent canvassing, they had found three people home, all of whom looked blank at the mention of Ronald Sims or noticing the comings or goings of their neighbors.

“What about Hallie?” Danny said, switching on his turn signal and changing lanes for the Mayville exit. “I have two corpses in less than a week. I find it hard to believe there is no connection. Haven't had a murder in Mayville in forty years and suddenly it's Christmastime? I don't think so. Ronald Sims may have tailed his wife and even killed her, but he has no motive or connection to Hallie Helms.”

“Ah.” Pino narrowed his eyes, folding his lips together. “So then there's Damon Paulsen. Seen with one a few days before she was killed, and supposedly sleeping with the other one. Too bad there is such a leap between giving a ride to a stranded girl and murdering her. And as far as I can tell, no one thinks he was screwing his cousin except Sims.”

“It'll be interesting to see the DNA analysis on the fetal tissue. If necessary, we could prove that Damon Paulsen was, or was not, the father of the child Emily Sims was carrying.”

“Even if he isn't the father, he still could have been sleeping with her. She might have been with half the men in Indianapolis for all we know.” Stretching his arms over his head, Pino yawned.

That was true. It was unfortunate that they had only recovered a few good prints from the car, all belonging to Emily or her grandfather. There had been dirt and manure on the floor mats, but she had stopped often at the farm and that was to be expected. No interesting fibers, hairs, or other helpful evidence.

“Let's not forget,” Danny added wearily, “that Damon Paulsen has a pretty good alibi for the Monday Emily Sims disappeared. In the field all day with Jim Baily, not out of sight for one minute except when he stepped into the weeds occasionally to take a whiz. Hard to break that one unless you figure she was killed much later in the day, which leaves the question, where was she those missing hours?”

“Waiting for him? Maybe they met somewhere. A motel near the highway would be my guess. If they were lovers, they would hardly do their thing at the farm with old Grandma watching, would they?”

“She wouldn't schedule afternoon business appointments if they were going to meet. Besides,” Danny shook his head decisively, “he was working all day mending a fence. Why would he arrange a meeting and not show up?”

“True enough.” Pino looked unfazed by the complications of fact versus theory. “So she wasn't sitting around in a cheap hotel room waiting on Paulsen to show up. It was just an idea. I hate to assume she was killed the morning she disappeared without talking through other possibilities.”

“I'm assuming nothing,” Danny responded, annoyed. The sun glinted off the hood in a killing glare. He squinted at the road. “We aren't paid to assume.”

Pino glanced over, his eyes faintly amused. “That's right, buddy. We deal with facts and keep the assumptions undercover. And the fact is that no one, as far as we know, saw Emily Sims after she left her first appointment that Monday morning. Her car somehow got into Rush County, driven by her or someone else. Her body got into that pond. Her grandparents say she wasn't at the house, or at least her grandmother vaguely supports that statement and her grandfather can only say she wasn't there at lunch when he came in from the fields. He says he went in, ate lunch, and took a nap. Paulsen and Bailey confirm he was gone about two hours, which seems about right to me.”

“Yes.”

“Yes. So I think we can conclude,” Pino stressed the word slightly, his thin mouth twitching, “that it is probable Emily Sims was killed where we found her car and taken to the farm for her body to be dumped. Whoever killed her wouldn't even have to get in her car, which is why we couldn't lift any prints.”

“We could have a serial on our hands,” Danny said reluctantly. “Both women died from blunt trauma, both bodies were hidden in unlikely rural settings.”

“Could be,” Pino agreed.

Mayville appeared on the horizon, the grade school sitting empty and quiet on this summer day, windows like blank eyes gazing onto the deserted playground. Across the highway into town, the cemetery blazed with flowers, both plastic and real. Headstones tilted charmingly under the blue sky, framed by green grass and healthy trees. Danny slowed to thirty-five, his concentration on driving waning with the sight of familiar territory. He could drive Mayville in the pitch dark with his eyes closed, he knew it so well.

“Why put Emily's body in the pond? This bothers me. Why not bury it somewhere near the scene of the homicide?” Danny asked heavily, foot going to the brake as two young boys on bicycles swerved around a corner and into the street. They grinned and waved as he went past. “That's a big risk. No one spotted him, but how could he know they would all be out?”

“Maybe he shoved the body in his trunk and drove over to take a look. Got lucky and decided to dump it.”

“I still say, why the pond? You can't even drive up close. It's such a gamble. Carrying a body up that path and not having a family member see you is practically a miracle. Why not pick someplace else?”

“If I were Ronald Sims and I wanted to implicate Damon Paulsen, that's where I'd put it, right in his backyard. No doubt about it,” Pino declared cheerfully, stretching out his arm and checking his wristwatch. “Damn, I'm hungry. Let's get something to eat.”

* * * *

Victoria put her foot on the boards of the porch and pushed gently. The swing rocked slowly, giving the illusion of a breeze. Her long skirt brushed the floor. In the distance, clouds were gathering forces, looking like piles of shorn wool. It might actually storm, the radio had said, and give the countryside some needed relief. She watched the birth of those ethereal rain-filled promises and consciously thought about nothing. She was removed from life, removed from feeling anything—numb and cold inside.

“Here you are.” Kate's voice came from the lawn. She rounded the porch and came up the steps, strikingly lovely in a black dress that draped her figure in limp, shiny fabric. There was the faintest hint of silver in her dark hair and hollows under her cheekbones. She sank down next to Victoria and said calmly, “I saw Michael leave.”

“Yes.” One word.

Michael had driven down from Chicago for the service, and surprisingly, his father had come as well. Two men, serious and distinguished in expensive dark suits, faces grave with the knowledge of how difficult and awkward a situation they were dealing with, their attitudes adjusted accordingly—kind words, a touch of a hand to her cheek, a handkerchief produced at the key moment, a caring arm around her shoulders.

And then the parting scene came, very carefully planned, with John wandering off to admire the side of the barn at just the right moment. “You need to come back to Chicago,” Michael had urged her. “The police will figure all this out. Time to pick up the pieces, time to get back to your life. School starts soon, the job is waiting.”
I'm waiting,
his eyes had said eloquently.

Not quite an ultimatum. Not quite.

She hadn't known what to say. Getting through the past three days had been difficult enough, not to mention the grueling event of the memorial service. Everyone around her was trapped in a world of robotlike movement, going through the motions but not really living. Grief was like a mantle of fine soot, dusting everything and sifting into the cracks to damage the internal mechanism. Her family was broken, ground to a halt by faulty works. The word “murder” hung an unpleasant scent in the air.

“I don't know,” she had hedged. “I'm not certain right now. Please don't push, please give me space. I'll call you in few days, maybe next week. Maybe I'll come back next week.”

The worst part was that he had known. It had been there in his eyes, a fear, a dawning, a reproach. A lover's sixth sense, perhaps, that something had dramatically changed. It could have been the fact that she scrupulously avoided contact with Damon, any contact at all. They had barely spoken since Sunday night. It was an exponential element of loss in her life, one bad thing flowing into another. She felt like she had lost not only Emily, but Damon as well. The fact that he avoided her as studiously as she did him was evidence enough to lend credence to those feelings. The ensuing desolation was almost more than she could bear.

The air was very moist. The grass smelled sweet and ripe. Kate's weight shifted as she settled on the swing, making it wobble rather than rock back and forth. “It was nice of Michael's father to attend as well. He must think well of you and this upcoming marriage.”

“You can't ever tell what John Roberts is thinking.” Victoria stirred lethargically, pushing her hair off her forehead. “That's one of his trademarks.” Her mouth twisted wryly. She let the phrase “upcoming marriage” go by.

“Danny Haase was there. I saw him sitting with his mother.”

“He's been rather decent, hasn't he?” Victoria lifted a fold of her skirt, rubbing the material with her fingers absently. A crow flew straight overhead, cawing loudly. The leaves fluttered on the locust tree near the shed. “God knows he could pester us more.”

“Yes.” Kate's attention seemed to be held by the subtle shift of the clouds. Her eyes were distant. Ronald had made his position scathingly clear; he had told the police he thought that they should look close to the farm for Emily's killer. No shock to Victoria, but it had rocked both Kate and Jim. The fact that Damon had an alibi had been a relief.

Victoria reached over and touched Kate's hand very lightly. Words seemed inadequate.

They sat. The sun glowed without compromise over the fields.

“I'd like to tell you a story,” Kate murmured into the still afternoon. “I came here … came looking for you … just for this.”

“A story?” Victoria, glanced at her aunt, her forehead creasing. “About what?”

A smile came and went so swiftly that it could have been a ghost. Kate said, “About a princess, like I used to tell you when you were little, remember? You and Emily loved stories.”

Victoria coughed, a small incredulous sound. “I remember. A princess? Aunt Kate—”

The interruption was swift. “Hear me out. Please.”

Surprised, Victoria stared. “Of course.”

Kate gave a heartfelt grimace. “I know I sound ridiculous, but I need to say this. And I've got a feeling you need to hear it, honey. Everything is a jumble and God alone knows if there is a good time for this, but you need to hear it.”

“Do I?” Curious now, Victoria half turned, resting her arm tiredly on the back of the swing. Kate seemed absorbed by the horizon.

She began, “Once upon a time—”

Smothering a choked laugh, Victoria closed her eyes.

“There was a princess, and she lived with her parents in a castle in the small town of Raymond, Indiana.”

Kate had grown up in Raymond and her parents still lived there. Victoria had met them several times in her life, but they were strictly religious and did not approve of any functions not related to their church—Primitive Baptist, or some similar sect. Damon and Rachel rarely, if ever, spoke of their grandparents on that side. Opening her eyes in astonishment, Victoria looked at her aunt.

“The princess grew up very sheltered and very naive. The king and queen thought they knew everything about the world outside, they were very strict, and they disapproved of most of her friends. They did not let her attend dances or go to movies. You can imagine the troubles they had when the princess got into high school.”

“I can imagine,” Victoria murmured.

Kate hadn't taken her eyes off the puffy piles of thunderheads that were building to the west. Her face was quiet with memory.

“The king and queen did not let her socialize at all. They were convinced she would fall into bad company. But the princess had begun to discover that the whole world did not live as she did. She was sure she could take care of herself. She felt very rebellious and they argued.”

It was a common enough story for most teenagers, strict parents or not. It probably hadn't helped, Victoria reflected with a small frown, that no doubt Kate had been astonishingly beautiful. She still was.

“What happened?” she murmured hoarsely. Her foot grazed the floor, scraping the dry wood. A robin hopped in the grass nearby without care for their presence, intent on some hidden prey.

Kate smiled. She glanced over. Her eyes glimmered. “She met a prince, of course. He was kind, funny, and had the loveliest blue-green eyes. By some miracle, the king and queen liked him, too.

Truly interested, Victoria prompted, “But?”

Kate's face changed, going to something between wistful and sad. “But there were too many rules, Victoria. The prince was going to be a doctor and he was away at medical school in Illinois. The princess couldn't stand to be stuck at home every night and she slipped out often with her friends.”

Mystified altogether at the purpose of the whole conversation, Victoria sat, idly pushing the swing.

“The princess met another prince,” Kate said then, quietly. “Or she thought he was a prince. He was tall and dark-haired and handsome and she was flattered at his interest and oh, so very … young.”

Victoria blinked
,
slow comprehension dawning.

“The princess,” Kate added, “was only seventeen.”

Victoria swallowed. “Aunt Kate.”

The finely modeled mouth curved faintly. “There is a term for it now, I guess. Date rape. Twenty-eight years ago it was called bad judgment due to inexperience and stupidity. At any rate, the second prince turned out to be rather wicked and the princess never wanted to see him again. She didn't tell a soul what happened and tried to forget it. A few weeks later, she discovered she was going to have a baby.”