To Darkness and to Death (27 page)

Bonnie rose and put her arm over her mother’s shoulders, hugging her. “It’s a mistake, Mom. It has to be.”

“He asked me to get him a lawyer as soon as possible. To meet him at the police station.” She turned to her daughter. “Should I call Woodrow Durkee?” Suzanne’s voice was detached. Floating somewhere above reality. “He’s handled some things that have cropped up over the years. With your dad’s business.”

“I think we need to contact a criminal lawyer, Mom.”

Suzanne frowned. “Your father is not a criminal. He’s not. He’s not.” She burst into tears.

Bonnie looked at Clare. “What are we going to do about a lawyer? How are we going to find one on a Saturday afternoon?” Suzanne Castle wept, rocking into her daughter’s shoulder. Bonnie held her mother more tightly and spoke over her head. “I don’t even know what questions to ask. No one in our family has ever been arrested.” For a moment her face wavered, and behind the competent, take-charge woman Clare could glimpse the scared eyes of a child lost in the woods. Then she blinked, and the child was gone. “Do you know anybody?”

Clare hesitated. “I don’t think I ought to be recommending a lawyer for your dad. That’s a huge decision.”

“It doesn’t have to be permanent. All we need right now is someone who’ll be with Dad when he’s questioned. Someone who will know what to do if Dad… if the police decide to charge him. So Dad doesn’t have to stay in jail.”

Suzanne Castle wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. “No,” she agreed, her voice shaky. “He doesn’t go to jail. Whatever it takes. We’ll mortgage the house if we have to.”

Bonnie bent down toward an end table and tugged several tissues out of a waiting box. She handed them to her mother. “I don’t think it’ll come to that, Mom.”

Clare blew out a resigned breath. “The junior warden at my church does criminal defense work. His name’s Geoffrey Burns. I can call him for you.”

“Mrs. Castle?” A well-built man in scrubs stood in the entrance to the waiting room.

Suzanne nodded, snuffling wetly into a sodden Kleenex. “It’s Dr. Gupta, Becky’s surgeon.” Dr. Gupta crossed the room to them. Up close, he looked more like a dashing Bollywood star playing a part than a real physician. Clare half expected him to launch into song.

He smiled, displaying perfect white teeth. “I have good news. Becky is out of surgery and doing well. We’ve caught all the bleeding. I want to keep a close eye on her kidneys for the next few days, but she’s young and strong, and I think there’s an excellent chance she’ll pull through with no permanent damage at all.”

Suzanne Castle burst into tears.

Dr. Gupta smiled understandingly. “She’s in recovery right now,” he told Bonnie. “After she wakes up, you and your mother may go in and speak with her.”

“Thank you,” Bonnie said. “Thank you so much.”

“Do you have any questions?”

Clare waved a brief “excuse me” and retreated to the other end of the waiting room, out of earshot. She fished her cell phone from her pocket. Fortunately, she had her junior warden’s home and office numbers saved in her phone’s address book. Unfortunately, no one answered at either location. She left messages for the lawyer to call her as soon as he could. He was probably, she realized, at St. Alban’s, helping to set up for the bishop’s visitation. She should head over there herself—catch Geoff Burns in person and spend at least some time aiding the volunteers.

She was about to return to Suzanne and Bonnie and make her farewells when her phone began playing “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee.”

“Hello?” she said.

“It’s me,” Russ said.

“I thought you might be Geoff Burns.”

“What a horrible thought. Why?”

She glanced at the Castles and sat down, turning away from them. “I’m here at the hospital with Suzanne Castle and her other daughter. They asked me to help them find a lawyer for Ed.”

“Ah.” There was a pause. “You heard, then.”

“Are you going to arrest him?”

“I don’t know. A lot’s going to depend on the autopsy. We’re still not sure how he died.”

“Why do you think Ed did it?”

“I’m not sure he did. He was in the house when I got here. Said he followed one of the trails back to the old part of the camp—the burned-out buildings I told you about?”

“Uh-huh.”

“He said he found Eugene there. Lying in the grass.”

“What do you think?”

“Somebody used the garden cart to move something heavy from the house to the old buildings this afternoon. There’s a raw track cutting through the trail and dirt stuck in the cart’s tread.”

“You think Ed killed Eugene and tried to hide his body?”

“Maybe. We’re waiting for the crime scene team to arrive. They’ll set up for prints and pictures and tracks. We’ll see what they say.”

“Are you going to be questioning Ed yourself?”

He sighed heavily. “I can’t see handing the job off to anyone else.”

“I can. Ask Lyle to do it.” Russ’s deputy chief was the most experienced man on the force. “You shouldn’t have to do it yourself. Ed’s a friend of yours.”

“I don’t think so. Not anymore.”

Her heart ached for him. “Oh, Russ.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Stop it.” She curled her feet up under her in the squishy seat, tuning out the rest of the world. “Do you want to talk about it?”

There was a pause, and she could picture Russ pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. “Not right now. Kevin’s taking Ed to the station, and I need to be here while the team works up the crime scene.”

“Later.”

“Where will you be?”

“If the Castles don’t need me, at St. Alban’s. Or the rectory. I haven’t done anything to prepare for the bishop’s visit tomorrow.” She brushed a clot of dried leaf rot off her pants. “Or to get ready for this dinner dance tonight. God knows I need a shower.”

“You’re going to be at the new resort tonight?”

“Yeah. My friend Hugh Parteger was invited. He works for an investment bank in New York City. You met him at Paul and Emil’s last year.”

“Oh, yeah.” Russ’s voice was devastatingly unenthusiastic.

“His firm wound up investing in the resort, so Hugh’s driving up this afternoon for the grand-opening celebration.” She tried to keep her voice neutral. “I’m going as his date.”

There was a long pause. Somehow, she didn’t think he was rubbing the bridge of his nose this time. “Nobody drives up from the city for a party and then turns around and goes home,” he said. “Where’s he spending the night?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just thinking of your reputation.”

“Do you mean to sound like a pompous hypocrite, or was that accidental?”

“I worry about what people might say about you!”

“You’re jealous.”

“I’m not going to get into this right now.”

“Hypocrite.” She knew she sounded childish and spiteful, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“I’m not the one who has to set a good example for my flock. What is it your church teaches? Sex should be reserved for marriage?”

“For a committed, monogamous relationship,” she said snottily. “Since I haven’t dated anyone other than Hugh for the past two years, I think we qualify.”

“A high roller from New York is only interested in one thing, and it’s not the Book of Common Prayer.”

Suddenly she deflated. “I kind of wish that was true,” she said quietly. “But it’s not. He likes me. A lot.”

There was a long pause. When he finally spoke, Russ’s voice was scarcely more than a whisper. “I’m sorry. I have no business sticking my nose into your relationship with him. Forget I said anything.” He paused, then went on with badly faked cheer. “If you two are, you know, moving ahead… that’s great. I mean it.”

“Well, there’s your trouble, as the song says. He’s moving ahead. I’m not.” She stared at the stains on her pants as if the secrets of the universe were written there. “I can’t give him something that already belongs to someone else.” She gave herself a shake. “And you know what? You’re right, this is the wrong time to talk about this. Compared to the Castles and the van der Hoevens, I have no troubles.” She smiled brightly. “Time to go where I can be useful. Don’t worry about trying to catch me later. You’re going to have your hands full.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said.

She paused. “No, I’ll be at the—”

“We’re going, too. Linda and me.” She could hear his humorless smile. “We’ll see you and Hugh there.”

2:30 P.M.

She was going to die. She realized, now it was too late, that her panic at waking up in the tower room of the old house had been more like playacting than the real thing. She raged and shook and whimpered out of the unknown, the faceless whoevers who had put her there. But she had been on Haudenosaunee land, at home, in a way, and some part of her must have been soothed and strengthened by that realization. She prepared to be the heroine in her own action film, counting on a lucky break like the ones that heroines always catch by the end of the third reel.

Shut in the stifling trunk of a car, she lost any illusions she had left. There was only the darkness, and the noise, and the continuous rolling and thumping and jolting, leaving her bruised and breathless and unable to think. She was in the hands of the man who had killed her brother, and she was so afraid she couldn’t even grieve for him.

The car stopped. She heard the driver’s door open, then one of the back doors. There was a clinking sound and then footsteps going away. After a while, they came back. She braced herself, but once again she heard the clinking in the backseat and then the footsteps disappearing. The next time they returned, though, there was an electronic
click
, the trunk sprang open, and she was blinking in the light, unable to make out anything other than a blurred black silhouette. He tangled his hands in the blanket that was still wrapped loosely around her and was hoisting her out before she could collect herself enough to protest.

She opened her mouth to scream, but he slung her over his shoulder, knocking the wind out of her. He climbed a short set of stairs, teetering under her weight, and she had the stomach-jolting sensation that she was about to fall. The steps were old, massive stone slabs instead of concrete, and there was a cold, fresh wind and the sound of water. That was all she absorbed before he passed into a dim, still place. He swung around, and she glimpsed a whirl of worn wooden floor and two small wooden crates, and then he flexed beneath her, straining, and she heard the squeak of unused wheels on a metal track.

“Nooo!”

The rumble of the door rolling shut cut off her despairing cry.

He didn’t bother to tell her to shut up. That, more than the cavernous, disused space around her, convinced her she was well out of earshot. Whatever happened here, no one would hear.

He humped her across the floor, between tarp-covered lumps and pallets of old-fashioned wooden crates, much larger than the ones he had stepped around at the door. Despite the golden afternoon sun outside, the huge space languished in twilight.

Facedown, she had no idea how high the vast room was, but overhead she thought she heard the sound of wings. The place reeked of machine oil and damp wood and mouse droppings. As her captor crossed the floor, the dust-flecked air grew lighter and the shadows clouding the machinery and the crates grew more defined. She noticed another thing: The sound of water, faint at first, was increasing steadily.

He stopped, leaned forward, unseated her from his shoulder, and thumped her onto a crate like a sack of grain. She tilted her head back. Above her, I-bars and rafters glinted in the pale light streaming from lozenge-shaped windows set high in the wall behind her. She looked at the man who was going to kill her. She had always thought of herself as a fighter, as a leading-the-charge-from-the-deckof-the-
Rainbow-Warrior
sort. Now she discovered it was possible to be so tired, so hurt and sad and scared, that the
Rainbow Warrior
sank beneath a black sea, leaving her adrift, no surface under her feet. “What are you going to do to me?” she asked, her voice bleached of emotion.

“For chrissakes.” The man wrapped his hand around his upper arm, where she had bitten him. “I told you before, I’m not doing anything to you. You’re going to stay put for tonight. I’ll let you go tomorrow.” He paused. “Or Monday, at the latest.”

“You’re going to let me go.”

“I’m not the bad guy here. Christ! All I wanted to do was talk with your brother about buying some of the Haudenosaunee land. I didn’t know he had his own sister locked up in some kinky game of hide-and-seek.”

“That’s not what was going on!” She was grateful for the tears rising in her eyes. It meant she could still feel grief and outrage. “My brother was protecting me.” At some point between seeing her brother’s face in the tower and facing his murderer here, she had come to accept that Eugene hadn’t discovered she was missing and come creeping in to rescue her. He had put her in the tower, given her a bucket and blankets and food, and if she couldn’t imagine the reason right now, it didn’t mean there wasn’t one.

“Okay, then I’m protecting you, too. In better style, I might add. I’m leaving your gag off, for one.”

He didn’t have any duct tape. Not that she was about to point that out to him.

“There’s a washroom over there.” He pointed toward a dark shaft of a doorway at the far edge of the room. “It’s not in great condition, but it works. And I’ll bring you something to eat and a sleeping bag later. There’s even two cases of your family wine by the door. Be good, and you can have some later on.”

Along with grief and outrage, she could still feel amazement. His tone of voice clearly invited her to admire his generosity. To thank him. He stared at her, expecting some reaction. She didn’t know what to give him. He huffed and turned away. “You’re next to the kill,” he said over his shoulder, and for a moment she had an image of a serial killer’s dumping ground, before common sense reasserted itself. The kill. The river. “You can’t be heard, so don’t bother to wear your voice out yelling.” His figure blurred into the darkness at the other end of the building. “I’ll be back later.” His voice floated through the dusty air.