In the Dark (26 page)

 

Up here, the heat gathered like a cloud during the warmer months, and during the winter it was frigid, and the old chambered windows collected frost. The space was wide open. The sharp peaks of the roof rose above her head. The unfinished floor was a minefield of splinters and nail pops. Spiderwebs hung like draperies from the beams. There was nothing but unpacked moving boxes strewn on the floor. They had plans to convert the upper floor into a master suite someday and take advantage of its quirky angles and lake views, but for now, it was a dumping ground for remnants of both of their pasts.

 

“Hey,” she said.

 

Jonny was seated on the floor in the middle of the attic. He wore only black boxers. His feet were bare, his hair damp and wild from the shower. The contents of two open boxes were scattered around him. She saw shoe boxes filled with photos, rubber-banded stacks of letters and postcards, and other paraphernalia from his marriage that he had long ago packed away.

 

He didn’t reply.

 

“God, it’s hot,” she said. She sat down near him and reached for a stack of photographs that showed Jonny and Cindy on the strip of lakeside beach on the Point. Both were young. Jonny’s hair was dark. One picture, slightly off center, had obviously been taken on a self-timer, with the camera balanced on a tree stump. It showed the two of them kissing. The kind of kiss you felt down to your toes. Serena couldn’t help herself; she felt a pang of jealousy. She put the photos back, not wanting to look anymore. She felt as if she had intruded on something sacred.

 

“You okay?” she asked.

 

Jonny looked lost. He didn’t share his memories easily. Serena had made it a point never to push him, because she had spent years dealing with the ghosts in her own past, and she knew that you couldn’t open up about them on anyone else’s time. Every now and then, he opened a window to her. Only a crack. Only when he was ready.

 

He lay back, propping himself up on his palms. When he looked up into the shadows of the high ceiling, she saw dark stubble on his face. For a man in his late forties, he was fit and strong. His stomach was taut. He worked out ferociously, as she did. It was only a stall, of course. Age was catching up to both of them, in their skin, their eyes, their muscles, their hair, and their bodies.

 

“Did I ever tell you about the day I found out Cindy had cancer?” he murmured.

 

“No, you didn’t.”

 

She could almost see his mind traveling back, retrieving the memory from among the cobwebs. She knew she was about to learn something important.

 

“I was investigating a girl’s disappearance,” he told her. “You remember the Kerry McGrath case? I was working on it sixteen hours every day.
Cindy had been having unusual pain and vaginal bleeding, and so she had an MRI scheduled. I was supposed to go with her, but I totally forgot. She had to go alone. I didn’t get home until nearly midnight, and I never even remembered the appointment. She was sitting on the bed, smiling at me. This fragile smile, like glass. I didn’t notice. I was talking about the investigation, going on and on, and Cindy just smiled at me.”

 

“Oh, Jonny,” Serena said softly.

 

“It was like I never took a breath, you know? I was so caught up in it. And then finally, I looked at her, and I still didn’t get it. I didn’t have a clue what was wrong. So she said, still smiling, ‘It’s not good, baby.’ Just like that. Her smile broke up into little pieces, and I knew. I knew what was coming. I knew that every plan we had made for the future had just evaporated. I looked at this little jewel of mine on the bed, and I watched her start sobbing, and I knew I was going to lose her.”

 

His voice caught. He closed his eyes.

 

Serena felt tears on her cheeks.

 

“I am so sorry,” she said.

 

He exhaled a long, slow breath. “No, I’m sorry. This isn’t fair to you.”

 

“You don’t have to keep things from me,” Serena told him. “It took me a long time to be vulnerable around you. I was so busy protecting myself that I forgot that you had demons of your own.”

 

“It’s this case. It’s brought it all back.”

 

“Is that a good thing?”

 

“I don’t know. I spent years getting over Cindy. Now I feel like the stitches have been ripped open.”

 

Serena wondered whether to say anything. “Is it making you question things?” she asked.

 

“Like what?”

 

“Me.”

 

She saw his face cloud over.

 

“Don’t think that,” he said. “That’s not it at all.”

 

She thought he was trying to convince himself.

 

“There are days when I feel like I’m competing with a ghost,” she admitted. “Someone who’s always perfect, who’s always young.”

 

“There’s no competition. I apologize if I ever made you feel that way.”

 

“No, this is my problem, not yours.”

 

“It’s not that this case makes me miss Cindy any more than I do already,” Stride told her. “I always will, you know that. The hard part is that I’m learning things that make me question my whole life. Cindy was keeping secrets from me. I never would have thought that was possible.”

 

He told her about meeting Tish on the beach and about everything she had shared with him. He gestured at the boxes and said, “I’ve been through all of Cindy’s old papers. There isn’t a word about Tish anywhere. She was hiding something, and for some reason, she decided not to share it with me. I don’t understand.”

 

“Don’t be too quick to believe what Tish tells you,” Serena warned him. “This woman has her own agenda. I’m worried that she’s playing with your head, Jonny. I don’t know what her game is, but I don’t like it.”

 

“If she wanted to get me hooked, I’m hooked,” Stride said. “All I can do is keep following the trail.”

 

“Just don’t start doubting your past because of her. Maybe there’s a reason Cindy never mentioned Tish to you. Maybe Tish is lying.”

 

Stride nodded. “I know. I thought about that, too, but there’s a casualness in how she talks about Cindy. I really think they knew each other. She may be lying about other things, but not about that.”

 

Serena wasn’t convinced. “I think you should let this case go.”

 

“You’re probably right, but I can’t.”

 

“You’re not going to get the satisfaction you want. Pat Burns is right, and you know it. This case isn’t going to trial unless someone decides to confess, which isn’t going to happen. So exactly what do you hope to accomplish?”

 

Stride began to gather up the leftovers from Cindy’s life and put them back in their boxes. He handled each item delicately, as if it were an antique that might break apart in his hands if he was too rough. “I’m not sure.”

 

He reached inside one of the boxes and extracted a leather-bound Bible, its cover rubbed and smooth. With a puff of his lips, he blew dust off it. Stride turned it over in his hands and then flipped through the tissue-thin pages. The corners were worn and well thumbed.

 

“Did that belong to Cindy?” Serena asked.

 

“Her father.”

 

He tried to remember a time when he had seen William Starr without
this Bible in his hand. It was always there, propping him up like a crutch.

 

“Cindy was different after he died,” he said.

 

“We all are.”

 

Stride nodded, but he didn’t put the Bible down. “This was something else. I saw a change in her. Back then, I thought it was grief, but now I realize it was more than that. It was Tish.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

26
___________

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maggie stopped in the town of Gary on Saturday afternoon to visit Clark Biggs, but the house was empty. His truck was gone. She left a handwritten note wedged inside the screen door and used a cell phone to leave a message on his answering machine. She was worried about him. This was the worst time, in the days after a child died. More than once, she had witnessed a double tragedy, when a child was killed and a parent committed suicide soon after.

 

At the highway, she turned south toward Fond du Lac, rather than heading north to the city. It was her day off, but she wanted to go back to the park where Mary Biggs had died. There was nothing more she could learn from the scene, but she often returned to places where crimes had occurred, as if echoes of what had happened, or what the victim saw, could still make their way into her brain. It was superstition, but she believed in it. It was also the perfect day to wander on the trails near the St. Louis River.

 

The heat hadn’t broken. The afternoon sun blistered the pavement. She kept her Avalanche ice cold as she drove, shivering in her spaghetti-strap top and white shorts. Her small feet barely reached the pedals. As she
neared the gold reflections of the river at Perch Lake Park, she could see a flotilla of multicolored sailboats squeezed into the narrow inlets. Motor-boats dragged teenagers through the waves in old tires. On the shore of the nearest island, she spied rows of near-naked bodies, their bare flesh baking on beach towels.

 

Maggie got out of her Avalanche and adjusted her burgundy sunglasses. She took a seat on the nearest bench, pulled her legs underneath her, and tilted her face to the sky, relishing the sunlight. When she opened her eyes, she realized that, like Mary, she was alone here. Everyone else had someone with them to share the day. Husbands had wives. Mothers had sons and daughters. Boys had brothers. Even the old men walking by themselves had dogs on a leash.

 

Maggie thought it again. She wanted a child. Someone to raise, take care of, and be with. It was easy to wish for something when you couldn’t have it.

 

She pushed off the bench and headed along the dirt trail leading up the shore, past birch trees and lowland brush. This was the route Mary Biggs had walked, innocent and unknowing, from the safety of the little gray bench to a place where strangers and deep water took her away. From where she was, Maggie kept an eye on the highway. Donna Biggs, running to rescue her daughter, could have glimpsed a tall man through the trees as he climbed into a silver SUV, but at this distance, she wouldn’t have been able to identify him. She knew that Donna was right, because she believed that Finn Mathisen had been here. Stalking Mary. Driving a silver RAV. What she knew and what she could prove, though, were two different things.

 

When she reached the point in the trail where Mary had run for the river, Maggie veered off the path into the woods. She knew the ev techs had been over this ground thoroughly, and she didn’t expect to find anything they had missed. Even so, she wanted to put herself in Finn’s shoes. Mary is screaming, running away. The noise terrifies him. He escapes back into the trees, heading for his car, pushing through spindly branches that claw at him, hearing his own breath and the squish of wet leaves beneath his feet. It isn’t far, but it must have seemed far, wondering if he would be caught. Maggie saw the road ahead of her. She emerged from the trees, as he would have done, and found herself on the
gravel shoulder of the highway. The silver RAV4 would have been parked right here.

 

He got in; his tires spun on the loose rock; he sped away.

 

Maggie stared down the curving stretch of road. She could see the flat area near the parking lot where the young boy had spilled off his bicycle. From there, Donna could see clearly up the slope. She would have seen the RAV parked here as she called out for help. It all must have happened quickly. Mary wandering up the trail. Donna noticing she was gone. The man spying Mary, realizing she was coming closer, stepping out onto the trail to confront her. Mary wailing, Donna running to find her, Finn—if it was Finn—pushing through the trees.

 

Maggie realized that Finn couldn’t have predicted that Mary would wander up the trail alone. That was a bonus. He knew that Donna and Mary came down to the park most Fridays and that they spent time sitting on the bench by the river. So the most he could have hoped for was to spy on her. Watch her. Where would the best place have been to do that? Maggie didn’t think he would have risked sitting in his car, with traffic coming and going. He would have taken binoculars and staked out a spot near the trail, closer to where they sat.

 

She wandered down the slope, looking for a place where she could duck back into the trees. She kept an eye on the parking lot, as Finn would have done, trying to find a hiding place with the best vantage. Twenty yards away, she found a slim trail, where the foliage was beaten down, a shortcut for kids to hike and ride bikes off the highway on their way to the river. She followed it, certain that Finn would have used this route. Maggie reached the wider trail, the one Mary had used, and realized that if she continued down to the water, she would have a largely unobstructed view across the bend of the river toward the clearing where Donna and Mary sat, watching the birds fly.

 

Maggie scooted down the gentle slope to the water. There, she could imagine Finn tucked behind the brush, crouched down, binoculars in hand, zooming in on the pretty young face a hundred yards away. When she studied the area, however, she didn’t see any remnants of someone lurking there. She would get the ev techs to come back and examine the spot in detail, but she wasn’t optimistic.

 

Frustrated, Maggie retraced her steps up the slope. When she pushed
her way back onto the main trail, she was surprised to find a man watching her, no more than ten feet away.

 

It was Clark Biggs.

 

“Oh!” Maggie exclaimed. “Mr. Biggs. I’ve been looking for you.”

 

Clark nodded but said nothing. His hands were jammed in his pockets. He hadn’t shaved, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept. Maggie thought that big men always took it hardest. The burly ones were used to thinking of themselves as strong, but when it came to something like this, a strong man was nothing in the face of disaster. His muscles didn’t matter. His courage didn’t matter.