The Slow Burn of Silence (A Snowy Creek Novel) Page 27

  I go stone cold. I reach for the door handle, clench it. Terrified at what is going to come next.

  He glances at me. “Sophia and Peter went out for dinner that night, which is why they missed her call. They came home to the message. Sophia said Amy sounded very drunk, but that she said she knew who did it.”

  “Stop.”

  He shoots me another glance.

  “Stop the car! Right now!”

  He slows down, draws over to the curb, comes to a halt. I swing round in my seat, face him square. Anger, hurt, fear, it’s a violent cocktail swirling in my gut, pounding through my blood.

  “From the beginning. Every damn detail. You tell it to me now or you get out of my truck and stay the hell away from me and Quinn.”

  His features tighten, eyes darkening. Even as I say the words, I know he has rights to Quinn no matter what I say. I feel ill. We’re locked together, whether I like it or not.

  “Rachel—”

  “From the beginning.”

  He turns off the engine, scrubs his hand hard over his face. “It started with Piper. Five years ago. She was interviewing people for the CBC True Crime docudrama—”

  “I know all this. She tried to interview me, too. I refused.”

  He nods, holding my gaze. “You also know Piper has an ability to see things that haunt people, especially people who’ve experienced a deep psychological trauma.”

  I give a harsh snort. “Yeah. So-called psychic.”

  “Whatever you want to think of her ability, when Piper met Amy and shook her hand, she got a vivid image of several young men assaulting a screaming woman. Piper told Amy about this vision, and she questioned Amy about the possibility of there being more than one rapist. Amy completely shut down.”

  “How do you know this?” My voice is going shrill and I hate it.

  “I know from Sophia.”

  I tighten up. I feel so left out, so betrayed in a way, by my own sister.

  “The initial thinking was that Amy was so drugged she was not able to form memories of the event. But Piper felt that because she’d received this vision from Amy herself, that the memories were actually there, locked in Amy’s brain, and subconsciously haunting her.”

  He clears his throat and raises his hand slightly, as if to touch me. But I recoil, pushing my back into the truck seat. I’m a dangerous mess. I’m ready to implode. “Go on.”

  “Piper met with Sophia and told her about the vision she received when she touched Amy. Sophia decided to ask Amy whether she’d be willing to try a new form of hypnosis to prompt potentially locked-down memories.”

  “All based on a psychic experience?”

  “There was also the DNA evidence from the hoodie that indicated there might be at least one other male involved. Amy agreed. She and Sophia had several sessions. Amy started to recall some things—”

  “Autosuggestion. From Piper. That’s what it could have been.”

  “It’s possible. However, the few images that Amy did recall prompted Sophia to visit me at Kent. She came first under the pretext she was doing research for a series of case studies. She said she wanted to talk to me about that night.”

  “And you agreed.”

  “I was prepared to tell my story to anyone who might actually listen. Yes. I agreed.”

  “So that’s how it started, five years ago, the bond between you and Sophia, because of some psychic. And then Sophia told you about Quinn?”

  “Because of what the lab tech revealed about there being an unidentified DNA profile, and because of Amy’s growing self-doubt, because of her snippets of returning memory. And because of me. After visiting with me on several occasions, Sophia began to believe I was telling the truth. She took on my cause, for Quinn. For truth, justice. She approached the UBC Innocence Project.”

  I curse softly under my breath. “And what did Amy allegedly remember in those hypnosis sessions?”

  “More than one rapist. A group of guys. Repetitive music. A cold place with a musty smell, darkness, a low ceiling or sense of heaviness overhead. The smell of soil and marijuana. The sound of water rushing. Like a river.”

  “The old trapper’s cabin they traced Amy’s tracks back to, after she was found, was near a river. It had a low roof.”

  He nods. “Amy also recalled an odd phrase that seemed to go round and round in her brain: Lewd boy brain is coming crashing now.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know what it means. Sophia believed more context would come with further hypnosis sessions. She felt they were getting close. But Amy started to get scared and stopped the sessions. Sophia let it ride; we had enough with the DNA and the tech’s testimony at that point to appeal my case. Sophia felt Amy might grow more courageous once the judge ruled in my favor. And when it looked like he really was going to rule in my favor, Amy agreed to try again. That was six months ago. But she missed her appointment with Sophia, and two days later she called from Snowy Creek, leaving that message on Sophia’s home phone. By the time Sophia got it, Amy was dead.”

  “Oh, God,” I whisper as I look down at my hands. My brain is spinning. I can’t seem to absorb it all at once.

  He lets me sit in silence awhile. Then he places his hand gently over mine. I allow it. I need him. As much as I resist, I need Jeb. I love Jeb. I want Jeb. I hate that he’s had this intimate relationship with my own sister. That I was not a part of any of it. Logically I can see why. But it doesn’t stop the hurt. The sense of aloneness.

  Emotion burns into my eyes.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me all this.”

  “It was too much at once, Rach.”

  “That’s not for you to decide.”

  Again, he remains silent for several beats. Then, quietly, he says, “Sophia also told me that Amy recalled an image of a dragon, an undulating dragon.”

  I look up slowly. “A dragon?”

  “That’s all I know. Every time this image of a dragon came into her mind, the rest of the memories went blank.”

  I take my hands out from under his and rub my brow. “Did Sophia go to the cops with this?”

  “She didn’t trust the cops who had handled the case, or the original defense counsel. She took the information to the Innocence Project lawyers instead. There was enough for the judge to rule last week that I didn’t get a fair trial.”

  Last week.

  He hasn’t even been out a week. It feels like a lifetime has passed in just a few days.

  “Sophia’s been gone six months,” I whisper. “She never got to hear the final verdict. She died before she could see what she’d done.”

  “These wheels turn slowly. The judge took his time. But six months ago we were all feeling good about it, positive it was going to come down in our favor.”

  “It must have been hell, remaining in prison those last six months, waiting. Especially with the news Sophia was gone.”

  “It was the longest time of my life. I miss her more than you can know.”

  I hold his eyes. “I’m sorry, Jeb.”

  “I’m sorry, too. She left a big hole in a lot of lives.”

  I turn and look out the window.

  “When she called you in prison,” I say, my voice coming out thick, “the night before the fire, did she say anything else?”

  “Only that Amy had left the message saying she was in Snowy Creek and that she knew who did it. As soon as Sophia got the message, she tried to return the call, but there was no reply. She said she was going to drive up to Snowy Creek first thing in the morning, to see Amy. She called me because she was excited. She told me this could be it, we might finally learn who did it. But the next morning the fire took her life.”

  Ice forms in my veins.

  “Jeb,” I say, very quietly, “if—just if—Amy was killed by this guy in a ball cap, do y
ou think this same guy might have learned from Amy that she’d called my sister and left a message? Do you think my sister was murdered?”

  He says nothing.

  “Fuck!” I reach into my pocket, take out my smart phone. I call Jonah Tallingsworth, my crime reporter. He would have been the one to write the stories on Amy’s suicide.

  He answers and I waste no time with pleasantries. “Jonah, it’s Rachel. The Amy Findlay suicide story in April this year, do you still have your files for that?”

  He asks me to wait as he pulls out his notes. I hear paper rustling.

  “I have copies of the coroner’s report,” he says. “And the police report.”

  “Was the gun Amy used registered to anyone?”

  He pauses, going through his notes. “Serial number was filed off. The cops figured she obtained it on the black market.”

  “Any mention of phone calls she made the night she died?”

  He’s quiet for a few beats. “Yes, the report mentions she made two calls that matched the numbers left on a piece of paper on the table. First call was to the Snowy Creek Fire Hall. The second to her therapist in West Van, Dr. Sophia MacLean.” He hesitates. “Your sister.”

  My mouth goes dry. “She called the fire hall?” I glance at Jeb. “Do you know who she connected with at the hall? How long the call was?”

  More papers rustle. “There’s no record here of who she spoke to at the hall. Just the fact she dialed the number.”

  “Can you give it to me?”

  “You mean the fire hall number?”

  “Yes.”

  He recites it, including an extension number. My pulse quickens. “Whose extension is that?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t follow it up. It was ruled a suicide. The case was closed.”

  “And you just dropped the story there?”

  “I had no reason to pursue it further. We had a lot on our plates at that time.”

  “Thank you, Jonah.” I kill the call. Immediately, I dial the fire hall plus the extension. The phone rings twice, then clicks over to a generic fire hall voice mail.

  I hang up, heart racing. “I want to go there,” I say. “When we’re done with Piper.”

  “The hall?”

  “Yes. Kerrigan Kaye works Fridays—she’s an old friend of mine.” Or used to be. “I can ask her who the extension belongs to. I want to know who has access to that phone, and who was on duty at the time Amy called.”

  When Annie Pirello returned to the station, she pulled the Findlay suicide file. Rachel Salonen’s insinuations had piqued her interest.

  In the file, Annie found the two numbers Findlay called before she died. She jotted them down. One was for the Snowy Creek Fire Hall, with an extension. The other belonged to Dr. Sophia MacLean. Annie double-checked the dates. Salonen was right. The MacLean house fire had broken out the morning after Findlay died.

  She sat back, thinking.

  A woman like Amy Findlay? She doesn’t eat a gun. She takes pills, an overdose. Annie pulled out the photos of the scene, laid them out on her desk. She pursed her lips as she studied them. She leaned forward suddenly as she caught sight of the open newspaper at Findlay’s feet in one of the photos. The paper was open on a full-page advertisement for a firefighters’ fundraiser. Included in the ad were two pictures from the new firefighters’ calendar. One was a photo of a man’s muscled back as he worked an old-fashioned water pump. She knew who the man was because she had the same calendar at home; she’d read the small caption underneath.

  Quickly Annie turned to her computer and ran a cursory background check that set her spidey senses tingling.

  She got to her feet, reached for her jacket. “Novak.”

  Her partner looked up from his desk.

  “We’re taking a drive to Pemberton.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Piper was wearing a long, flowing dress, soft Ugg boots, her hair a tumble of honey-colored curls around her face. She was beautiful, thought Jeb, but in a way that was very different from Rachel’s looks. Rachel still did it for him.

  “Come in.” Piper’s voice was warm, husky, as she invited Jeb and Rachel into her home on the west side of Pine Cone Lake.

  A striking dark-haired man with angular features, olive skin, and hooked brows got up from the table at which he was sitting, in front of a window overlooking the lake. In front of him on the table were a laptop, notebook, scattered papers—he was working. A toddler sat in a high chair at the table beside him. A girl of around four was drawing pictures in front of a crackling fire in the hearth. The dark-haired child got up quickly and went to hug her mother’s skirts while spying curiously up at Jeb and Rachel.

  Jeb’s heart did a funny squeeze as he imagined Quinn at that age, holding on to Sophia’s legs. Emotion suddenly rode hard through him. This was taking its toll.

  “This is my husband, Dracon, the horror writer, as everyone refers to him here,” Piper said with a smile. “Dracon also lectures at the new private university in Snowy Creek.” She had an aura of happiness, contentment. Their home exuded a sense of family, of peace. Suddenly it was everything Jeb craved, and more. He glanced at Rachel and she met his gaze. She was seeing the same thing he was, but she looked uneasy.

  Jeb moved forward and shook the hand that Dracon offered. The man’s eyes were black as night. He had a silver streak at his widow’s peak that Jeb guessed had little to do with age and more to do with genetics. He looked as mysterious and haunting as the kinds of books he wrote. Historical gothics and horror novels set in the Pacific Northwest. Jeb had read a couple in prison.

  “We finally meet,” Dracon said, shaking Jeb’s hand with a solid grip. He exuded a casual confidence, the kind of ease that came with wealth.

  “You’re Merilee’s half brother,” Jeb said.

  “Older half brother, yes,” he added with a smile. “Hence the different last names.”

  “And you hold no animosity toward me?” Jeb needed to clear it out of the way.

  Dracon glanced at his wife. “I’ve learned the hard way to trust Piper’s intuition. I’ve believed for some time now that you’re not the one who knows where Merilee is, or the one who did this.”

  Jeb stared at Dracon. To be so openly accepted at face value, to not have to erect walls of defense . . . it turned his bones to a feeling of water for a moment.

  “And this is Crystal,” Piper said, smoothing the hair of the girl hugging her skirts. “Sage is the little monster eyeing you from his high chair with cereal on his mouth.”

  Rachel took Dracon’s hand. “We’ve met.”

  “We have indeed. Thank you for the coverage and reviews in your newspaper.”

  “Your books speak for themselves,” she said with a smile that belied the wariness in her eyes. “I’m a fan.”

  “And we’ve met, too, of course,” Rachel said to Piper. Jeb noticed Rachel did not take Piper’s hand. She was keeping a physical distance from the psychic.

  “I tried to interview Rachel for the docudrama,” Piper offered in way of explanation for Jeb. “But I understand the reasons for declining.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not into all that rehashing true crime stuff. I’m sorry.” Rachel rubbed her arm. It was a nervous habit. “However, I can see that in this case the show offered something really valuable. Jeb’s freedom. We’re hoping it’ll now all lead to the truth somehow.”

  Piper eased the tension with a grin. “Come, take a seat in the living room. Anyone want tea?”

  Both Jeb and Rachel declined.

  They sat on overstuffed sofas surrounded by artsy decor. The view over the lake was stunning from the living room’s large picture windows. Shelves lined the one wall and were packed floor to ceiling with books and magazines.

  “What can we help you with?” Piper said.

  Jeb leaned forward, resting his arm
s on his knees. “You had a vision when you first touched Amy all those years ago. Are you able to tell us exactly what you saw? Can you still remember it?”

  Piper nodded. “Indelibly. I saw two distinct figures, males—”

  “You saw their features?” Rachel interrupted.

  “It doesn’t always work like that,” Piper explained. “I didn’t see their faces in this case, but rather the shadowy forms of two distinct males, which is likely what Amy remembered, and what I was picking up from her subconscious. However, I also had a sense of there being two or more other guys as well, in a peripheral way.”

  Rachel’s mouth flattened and her eyes narrowed slightly. Jeb could see doubt written all over her. “How can you be sure? I mean, if you don’t see faces?”

  “It’s a sense of separate souls, individuals. Distinct.”

  “I see,” Rachel said.

  “I know it’s difficult for some people to grasp.” Piper bent down, spoke softly to her daughter. “Crystal, can you go fetch the cookie tin in the kitchen?” She waited while her child slid off the sofa and left the room, then said, “The two males in the foreground of my vision were attacking, raping a screaming woman. I got an image of a handgun, and one of them was . . .” She glanced toward the door, making sure Crystal had disappeared. “He was using it to rape the woman.”

  Rachel swallowed hard, her face going markedly pale. Jeb felt ill. No matter how many times he heard this stuff, it affected him physically. It had come out in court that Amy had been sexually assaulted with a foreign object, front and back.

  “Was it Amy who these two guys were attacking in your vision?” Rachel asked, her voice tight.

  “I believe what I was picking up was Amy’s suppressed and horrific memory of watching her friend Merilee being raped by at least two guys.”

  Dracon looked away, out the window, features tight.

  Piper reached over and placed her hand over her husband’s knee. “That’s how it works for me. I can see people’s nightmares, the ghosts, memories that haunt them. Often those hauntings are vivid images locked in the subconscious. I can bring them out in starker detail sometimes if I sit down and draw the person being affected by the image. The act of drawing seems to open a channel in my mind and connect me more deeply.” She glanced at Dracon as she spoke.