Hard Truth

11

“Lori?”

“Andrea?” Lorna glanced at the kitchen clock. “You’re up awfully early. What time is it out there, five-thirty?”

“I couldn’t sleep. The baby kept me awake all night so I got up”-Andrea’s words shot through the phone, gathering speed-“and came downstairs and turned on the TV…”

Uh-oh.

“… and what do I see but our house…” she took a breath, “… at least, it looks like our house, Lori. But back when I lived there, it was referred to as the ‘old Palmer farm.’ The house on the TV was being called ‘The Body Farm.’ ”

Andrea paused, then said, “Please tell me they’re talking about somebody else’s farm.”

“I wish I could.”

“Well, what the hell is going on out there?” Andrea sounded close to tears. “Where are all these bodies coming from?”

“I don’t know. And I haven’t seen the news today, so I don’t know what’s being said.”

“They’re saying four bodies have been found out in the fields.”

“It’s actually the old woods. The developer cut the trees down. I guess to the reporters it looks like part of the field. And I guess, technically, it is now.”

“Well, so much for finding a buyer. Who’s going to want to buy the property now that bodies are popping up all over the place?”

“Trust me, any one of the builders down here would love to get their hands on this much land. They won’t care. At least, they won’t after this blows over.”

“Well, won’t the police keep the property off-limits for a while?”

“For a while, maybe, while they search around to see if there’s anything else here, but that won’t last. Are you worried we won’t be able to find a buyer?”

“I’m more worried that we will.” Andrea sighed. “I don’t know if it’s the baby that’s making me nostalgic, or if it’s just a slightly delayed reaction to Mom’s death, but I find myself more and more wishing we didn’t have to sell. Even if we could just save the farmhouse and the barn, maybe that stretch along the road, down to the pond. That way we’d still own the family plot.”

Andrea was sniffling.

“Why can’t we do that, Lori? Why can’t we keep that much?” The sniffles turned to sobs. “Why do we have to sell it all?”

“We’d still have taxes, and maintenance on the house. We can’t leave it vacant indefinitely,” Lorna said as gently as she could.

“But we could come for a few weeks every summer, and the kids could see what life on the farm is like.”

“Does it make sense to hold on to it just for those two weeks when you bring your family on vacation?”

“Well, you could vacation there, too, and Robbie…”

“Andrea…”

“And Christmas. What about Christmas? We could all come back at Christmas. Mom would have liked that.”

“Yes, she would. But there’d be no ‘all,’ sweetie. Rob told me he’ll never come back.”

“I don’t know what’s up with that, Lorna.” Andrea was back to sniffling. She blew her nose away from the phone, then said, “He told me pretty much the same thing, last time I spoke with him. I asked him how he could feel that way about our home, and he said that my memories were apparently better than his, then he changed the subject.”

“He said he only wants his share of the proceeds of the sale. He’s out of work right now, and I guess he needs the money.”

“Why can’t we buy him out, you and me? Why can’t we just sell the fields and give him that?”

“Andi, honey, it doesn’t make sense. Someone has to live here. Someone has to take care of the place.”

“But Mr. Compton-”

“Mr. Compton did it for Mom. Mom’s gone now, and we can’t expect him to watch over this place forever.”

“But you could-”

“No, Andi, I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t. This isn’t my home anymore. I love it, every bit as much as you do, but like you, I’ve made a home elsewhere. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to get back to it.”

“Maybe I can talk to Robbie. Maybe I can bring him around.”

“Good luck.”

“I’ll let you know what he says.”

“You do that, sweetie.”

Lorna hung up the phone and blew out a long breath. Andrea was always sentimental when she was pregnant. Maybe her attachment to the farm would pass when the baby was born.

Maybe not.

Well, Lorna couldn’t dwell on that right now. Her houseguest was on her way down the steps, looking for coffee, no doubt. Lorna opened a cupboard and took down the sealed bag of ground coffee she’d bought at the supermarket earlier in the week, then found the coffee pot. She hadn’t bothered to make her own since she’d returned to Callen; buying it already made had seemed easier. Today would be a good day to start.

Lorna was filling the pot with water when Regan came into the room.

“Oh, yay. I was hoping there’d be coffee.” Regan smiled.

“Well, there will be, once I figure out how much coffee goes into this thing.” Lorna set the pot on the counter and searched through one of the nearby drawers for a pair of scissors to cut the top off the packet of coffee.

“My dad had one of those old percolating pots. He used a heaping tablespoon of coffee per every cup of water.”

“Works for me.” Lorna hunted for a measuring spoon and cup, then dumped the water out of the pot. “We’ll start over, though, because I have no idea how much water I put in there.”

“It looks like it’s going to be a gorgeous day.” Regan stood at the screen door.

“It is, much less humid than it’s been. Which is a relief. It’s been wicked hot here.”

“Can we take a tour of the farm?”

“Sure. Before or after breakfast?”

“Before. We can take our coffee. It’s a nice morning for a stroll.”

They waited while the coffee perked, then left through the back door, mugs in hand.

“Barn on the right, gardens on the left,” Lorna pointed out. “Straight ahead is the field, at the opposite side of which is the section of field where the bodies were found.”

“You have any thoughts at all on that?” Regan asked.

Lorna shook her head. “Not a clue. My first thought was that maybe they’d come from the family burial plot somehow, but there’s no sign of the graves having been disturbed.”

“Could that have happened at some other time? Maybe a few years ago?”

“Someone would have noticed. My family has lived here continuously since the mid-eighteen hundreds. If the graves had been dug up, someone would have known.”

“Where’s the family plot?”

“Right down here.” Lorna led the way. They walked several hundred yards, then stopped by the fence. “Grandparents, great-grandparents, great-greats, and several generations of aunts, uncles, cousins, and of course my dad and some of my mom’s ashes are here now.”

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Regan leaned on the fence. “All those pretty vines and the wildflowers. It’s just the way I’d picture a small country graveyard.”

“I thought it needed some tending-the grass was getting long-but it looks as if our neighbor, Mr. Compton, came down and mowed. I’m going to have to give him a call and thank him.”

Lorna walked around the back of the small cemetery, Regan following.

“Down here’s the pond and, beyond that, a small orchard.”

“I can smell the apples.”

“Rotting on the ground, no doubt. No one’s been down to pick them for years. I don’t imagine there’s much good fruit anymore.” Lorna stopped at the edge of the pond.

The cattails were tall and straggly, their pods having already burst to release the seeds. A small dark bird took cover on the opposite side of the pond, and from deep within the reeds bullfrogs grumbled.

“I haven’t heard one of those in the longest time.” Regan laughed. “Don’t you love that sound?”

“I do. We used to try to catch them when I was younger, but they’re so fast. And some of them are just huge.”

Lorna stood with her hands on her hips. Someday soon she’d have to come back with that second urn of her mother’s ashes. She’d been deliberately avoiding it, but she knew she couldn’t put it off forever.

“And the area where the remains were found?” Regan asked.

“Straight ahead. Want to see how close we can get?”

“Sure.”

They walked around the pond and through the orchard. At the far end, Lorna grabbed Regan’s arm.

“I forgot. The police have cordoned off the field with yellow tape,” she said. “They want to make sure no one gets close to where they’re working.”

“Probably a smart thing to do, to keep as many people away as possible. Otherwise, this field would be teeming with reporters and cameramen, more than it already is. The police don’t need that when they’re trying to investigate something as serious as this.”

“I wish I had binoculars.”

“Me, too.” Regan raised her hand to her forehead to block the sun. “I can’t see a damned thing.”

“The only good vantage point is the old hayloft in the barn.”

“Well, it could come to that before the day’s over, if our curiosity gets the best of us.”

“Seen enough?” Lorna asked.

“I haven’t seen anything, and I’m not likely to, so I’d put breakfast next on the agenda.”

They started back across the field. They’d gotten halfway, when Regan pointed off to her right and asked, “What’s that wild area we passed?”

“It used to be a vineyard.” Lorna told her the story of her great-uncle Will’s dream of bringing a winery to Callen.

“That is so cool.” Regan grinned. “Can we walk over there? I’d love to see it.”

“I’m afraid there’s not much to see, but sure.” She led the way.

As they drew closer, Lorna said, “I think most of the vines are most likely dead. They haven’t been tended in years.” She paused, then added, “Except for those few rows up there near the cottage. Billie Eagan’s been living there, at my mother’s invitation, and she dug all the weeds out and somehow got the vines to grow up on the trellises again.”

“You said your great-uncle brought the vines from France?”

“Some of them. I don’t know if he planted American varieties as well. No one seems to know much about the venture, except he did cultivate the grapes for a few years and was planning to make wine.”

“He had the equipment here?”

“No, I don’t think he’d bought equipment yet. If he did, it was disposed of before I was born. But he did have a wine cellar dug, and he brought a lot of barrels back from France, so I guess he planned on making a lot of wine.”

“Where’s the wine cellar?”

“It runs under the barn and out below the field a ways. I’m not sure how far. When I was little, it seemed like it went down into the center of the earth, but I haven’t been to the cellar in years.”

“Is there wine down there?”

“Like I said, Uncle Will never actually got to make any before he died.” Lorna grinned. “Which is not to say he hasn’t contemplated it since.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s still around the house sometimes. If you believe in that sort of thing.”

“I do,” Regan admitted somewhat sheepishly. “I always have. Growing up in England, I had relatives with very old houses. Some of them had unexplained goings-on, so I’ve had some exposure to the real thing.”

“Uncle Will is definitely the real thing.”

They walked toward the house and were almost to the end of the field when Regan stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

“It’s really beautiful, don’t you think? The vineyard?”

“It used to be. Now, overgrown like that, and with all the vines barren and twisted around the trellises, it’s sort of sad-looking.” Lorna paused. “When I look at it, I can’t help but think about how Uncle Will must have felt, after his wife and son died. Back then, the vineyard would have been beautiful, well tended and the vines healthy, but they lost their beauty for him after he lost his family.”

“Have you thought about restoring them? Raising grapes? You have the basic infrastructure already in place.”

“I know nothing about growing grapes, nothing about making wine. It’s probably more complicated than you think. And I have one business to run. I don’t have time to learn another.”

“Too bad.” Regan resumed walking. “It would probably be fun.”

“Sure it would, if your idea of fun is worrying about crop failure and the weather.” Lorna took one last fond look behind her before falling in step with Regan. “But it might be worth mentioning to the Realtor. There are several really fine vineyards and wineries here in the southeastern part of the state. Someone thinking about starting up their own small winery might be interested.”

“So you’re definitely selling?”

“As soon as I can get around to lining up a Realtor and having everything appraised.”

“Where will Billie go, after you sell the property?”

“I haven’t really given it any thought. Actually, I haven’t given selling as much thought as I should have.”

“My dad’s been gone for a year, and I still haven’t had a serious discussion with an agent about selling his place. I’ve had a few out to look, but I’ve never gotten beyond that. I keep meaning to, but for some reason I’ve found myself putting it off.”

“It’s hard to give it up. Especially if it’s your childhood home.”

“Well, I didn’t grow up on Dad’s farm, but I have spent a lot of time there. I feel the same way, though. I don’t know, maybe it’s just an attempt on my part to hold on to my dad.”

“You were really close, I guess.”

Regan nodded. “Especially those last few years when we worked together. I came to see him in a whole new light, as someone other than simply my father. He was a brilliant writer, and was totally devoted to finding the truth and seeing the bad guys pay. He received citations from police departments all over the country. Cops loved him. He treated them with great respect in his books, never blamed them for not being able to solve a crime, even when their investigations had proven to be sloppy or lazy. He had a huge following in the law enforcement community. When he had book signings, the stores would be filled with cops.”

“We could sure use him now,” Lorna said, thinking of her situation with the Callen PD.

“Well, you’ve got me. Granted, compared to my dad, I’m just a rookie, but if there’s anything you think I could do to help you out…”

Lorna stopped for a second, her thumbs hooked into the pockets of her jeans, a slow smile working at the corners of her mouth.

“You know, Regan, there just might be.”

“Chief Walker, I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to see me on such short notice. I know this must be a busy time for you and your men.” Regan smiled into the chief’s eyes.

“Busiest we’ve ever been, with the body count rising every day.” He guided her by the elbow to his office. “But when you called, how could I say no? I’ve been a big fan of your father’s-and you, too, of course-for many years now. He was a great friend to law enforcement, Ms. Landry, and well respected.”

“Thank you, Chief. And it’s Regan.” She sat in the chair he pointed to. “Please call me Regan.”

“Well, Regan, we’re honored to have you here. Now, what’s this about a book in the works?”

“As I told you, it’s really just a gleam in my eye right now, but I thought if I were to give it any real consideration, I should go right to the source, and what better time than now, while events are still unfolding?”

“I’ll help you where I can, but there’s still a lot we don’t know, you understand.”

“Oh, I’m sure. And I hesitated to call, but you know, the more I heard about your case through the media, the more I thought it sounded familiar. Like something I read in one of my dad’s files. And I thought, hey, if it turns out that these cases are related, and there was something I could share with you-well, I just had to call. It’s a long shot, of course…”

“Long shots have been known to pull through sometimes.”

“True enough.” She nodded as she took a notebook from her shoulder bag. “I thought we could compare notes.”

“You know the basics. What more did you want to know?”

“Frst of all, have you determined if there’s a connection between the little girl who disappeared all those years ago-”

“Melinda Eagan.”

“Right. Melinda Eagan.” She paused, then asked, as if the thought had just occurred to her, “Was any trace of her ever found?”

“Nope. Nothing.”

“Not a shoe, not a-”

He cut her off. “Nothing.”

“Do you think her disappearance is somehow connected to the victims you’ve found this week?”

“Don’t know. The ME says the remains we’ve uncovered are all males. Adolescent males. ‘Course, so far, we haven’t been able to identify anyone but Jason Eagan, her brother. We’re still working on that.”

“Similar cause of death?”

“Yes, ma’am, fractured skulls, every one of them.”

She pretended to make notes in her file while she asked, “Have there been reports of boys of that age going missing over the past years?”

“Only Jason.”

“So these boys would have come from someplace else.”

“Most likely. Unless those remains are better’n fifty years old or so, I’d say they’d have to have been brought in from elsewhere. I’ve lived here all my sixty-five years, and I’d have heard if anyone else had disappeared.”

“The FBI files might be able to help you there,” she said. Then, noticing the way his eyes narrowed, she added, “But of course I’m sure you have contacts with other local police departments. Those boys could have lived in some of the nearby towns.”

“Most of the towns out here are little bigger than this one. And some of them have no police force. Much of the area falls to the state police. Here in Callen, we’ve always had our own department. Some of the other towns never have.”

“Well, that’s quite remarkable, don’t you think, that your career has spanned all those years successfully, here in your hometown?”

He nodded. “Only job I ever had, after I left the army. I’ve been grateful for the opportunity to serve my community.”

“I was wondering, will you be reopening Melinda’s missing-persons case? It seems like it all started with her.”

“In a sense, maybe it did.” He tapped his fingers on the desktop.

“Is her mother still under arrest for Jason’s murder?”

His eyes narrowed again.

“I was just wondering,” she shrugged nonchalantly, “since the mother has been arrested for killing her son, and he died of a fractured skull… if all these other boys were killed in the same manner, is it likely that she killed them all?”

“I still believe she’s guilty of the death of her son, yes. I haven’t seen anything that would rule that out.”

And not much to rule it in, either, Regan thought.

“Far as these other boys are concerned, how does that match up to the case you were looking into?” he asked. “That case of your father’s that you mentioned.”

“Actually, it doesn’t match up at all, now that I have the facts straight from you.” She folded her notebook. “The cases I was interested in were all gunshot victims. Had I mentioned that?”

“No, you did not.”

“I thought I had.” She tucked the notebook back into her bag and stood up. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your time, Chief.”

“That’s all you wanted? You sure?” He stood, but remained behind his desk.

“I’m sure.” Regan turned on the charm. “I’m disappointed to learn that our cases aren’t as similar as I first thought they might be. I would’ve enjoyed working with you.”

“Well, perhaps some other time. And who knows, maybe the next victim we dig up might have some bullet holes in him.”

“You think there are more victims out there?” she asked as he escorted her to the door.

“Yeah, there are more. We’re working to keep it quiet, because we want to keep the press out, keep the publicity down. The county boys are excavating as cautiously as they can, but it’s tedious work. They’re trying not to lose any evidence. We’re not sure just how carefully those first couple boys were dug up, between you and me.”

He opened the door and held it for her.

“Thanks again for your time.”

“Been a pleasure.”

Chief Walker stood in the doorway of his station and watched Regan drive off. She gave a little wave when she passed him, and he waved back.

Now, what was that about? he wondered as he watched her drive away. He shook his head and went back inside, walking right past Mrs. Rusk as if he didn’t see her and straight on to his office. He closed the door and sat in his old brown leather chair. He lit a cigarette-opening the window to let the smoke out, since Callen’s municipal building was supposed to be smoke-free-and leaned back in the chair. The interview had left him unsettled.

He had been a great fan of Josh Landry’s, that was certainly true enough. His gaze searched the nearby bookcase for some of Landry’s titles. He’d meant to point them out to the daughter, but they hadn’t gotten far into the conversation before something seemed off-kilter. Of course, he’d never been interviewed by a writer of her stature before, so maybe he simply wasn’t aware of how it was done. He’d expected more questions about the remains they’d just found, and fewer about the Eagan kids. And he hadn’t expected any questions about Billie.

Thinking about the Eagan kids always made him uneasy.

He’d always believed Billie had killed her son. There’d been no doubt in his mind about that. He could see how it happened, how she’d killed him in anger, smacked him in the head with something hard, something they’d never found. But the girl… he’d never had a feel for what had happened to the little girl.

He blew out a long breath, and recalled the night when the call had come in from Billie Eagan that her daughter was missing. His first year on the job, and he’d been so eager to make a good impression on the chief. He was one of the first ones on the scene, and helped lead the search party through the fields, calling for her.

He was on his way back across the field when he found the brown paper bag. He’d looked inside and seen the yellow-and-white fabric. He’d tucked it under his arm, and was almost back to the Eagan house when one of the others called him for assistance. Billie Eagan had just about collapsed at the edge of the field. He set the bag down to help carry her into the house.

When he went back for the bag a few minutes later, it had disappeared.

He had walked into the field again, and looked all around the back of the house, but the bag was gone.

Some of Jason’s friends had gathered in the yard-they’d all taken part in the search for Melinda-but the bag wasn’t there. He’d thought maybe one of them had picked it up, but when he asked if anyone had found anything that might have belonged to Melinda, they all said no.

He’d hoped against hope that the bag hadn’t contained anything important. All he’d seen was some yellow-and-white fabric.

But as soon as he’d spoken with the Stiles girl, he’d known what was in the bag.

Melinda Eagan’s birthday dress.

He should have told someone at the time, but he hadn’t. He was new to the force. If the old chief had known that evidence had disappeared because the rookie had left it unattended in the field, well, they probably wouldn’t be calling him Chief Walker today. It was a lesson Walker had never forgotten.

He’d turned his back for just a few minutes, and the damned bag had disappeared into thin air.

Billie hadn’t taken it. She was with him and his partner. Jason was being questioned at the time.

So, who had taken it? And why?

And why did it seem to matter more now than it had then?