A Darkness Absolute (Casey Duncan #2)(47)

“It’s not someone from Rockton, Casey. It’s one of them. Out there.” She straightens her blouse. “I realize we have some people here who have committed crimes. But they are not the kind who’d do this. This is, as you said, a monster. Or monsters. We don’t have that here.”

Does she know that for a fact? Or is she toeing the party line?

The first time I met Val, she struck me as classic middle management, from her attire to her demeanor. In many ways, that’s what she is, which means that while she has to know more about Rockton than us mere employees, she may not know the worst of it.

Dalton thinks she knows what we have here—he jokes that’s why she never comes out of her house. But looking at her now, something in her expression tells me she believes what she’s saying. Or she wants to. Desperately wants to.

“You believe it’s hostiles,” I say. “Or settlers.”

“I don’t know why Sheriff Dalton makes the distinction,” she snaps. “They’re all hostiles. No one would choose to live there. No one normal.”

I don’t argue, fearing that, in my exhaustion, I’ll say more than I should about Dalton’s own past.

“At some point,” I say, “I would like to ask you about your experience with them. The hostiles.”

I say it as gently as I can, but she still flinches.

“Not right now,” I add. “But if my investigation swings in that direction, as you think it will, I’ll need as much as I can get on them, from as many angles as possible. Eric says—”

“You’re asking Sheriff Dalton about the hostiles? That’s like asking the pot about the kettle.”

I bite my tongue. Hard. “I know your experience of them is very different from his,” I say when I can speak again. “That is why I’d like to talk to you.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary, Detective. I appreciate your thoroughness, but I’m sure you can find others to more adequately discuss the topic. I will, however, guarantee that is what you are looking at here. Whether one monster or several, they come from out there. Not in here.”

*

My first “press conference” was memorable for being the first one ever to be held in Rockton. I talked Dalton into letting me do it by convincing him that updating a gathering once was more efficient than snarling at an unending succession of citizens.

Otherwise, that conference was memorable only for the sheer unmemorability of it. I’m accustomed to dealing with pushy members of the press and outraged members of the public, all trying to get their two cents in while paying very little attention to what the police are actually saying. That first time in Rockton, they listened to the update, and they accepted it, much the way one accepts the announcement of a minor flight delay—grumble a bit, but trust that the airline has the situation in hand.

When I hold my conference this morning, people are more unsettled. They have questions. Yet they still listen and accept and, yes, trust.

I spin the story to emphasize the likelihood that the killer comes from without. From the forest. I’m careful to warn that might not be the case, and everyone needs to be careful in town too, but mostly, I want them staying out of those woods.





TWENTY-EIGHT

After the press conference, I head to speak to Nicole. Diana is at the house. Despite my reservations, she’s doing an excellent job with Nicole.

I don’t know what it’s like to be in Diana’s head. God knows, I’ve tried getting there. I realize it’s not uncommon for people to still love their abusers, to put up with the abuse and even turn against those who try to help them. I know it. I don’t understand it. With everything Diana did, it would seem she never truly recognized she was being abused, that she paid lip service to it for my sake, while seeing only the exciting emotional tumult of a toxic relationship.

Yet her patience and kindness with Nicole make me wonder if I’m being unfair. If she did feel trapped in her relationship with Graham, knowing it was abusive but unable to break away. Maybe the sympathy and care she gives to Nicole as a victim is the sympathy and care she couldn’t give to herself.

I think that, and then I think of all the ways Diana betrayed me, all the times I thought I understood her motivations and suffered for it.

When I reach the house, Nicole is on the front porch, bundled in a nest of blankets, wearing dark sunglasses as she sits in a shard of sunlight, her face tilted up to catch it. A cat long denied the sun, now basking in it. When she sees me, she sits up and says she’ll come inside, but I tell her not to rush, I have to check in with Diana first. Nicole settles back in her sunlight, and I head indoors.

Diana’s in the kitchen, making tea. We talk. We’re capable of that, though I’m well aware of how odd those conversations are, speaking to my oldest friend as if she were any other resident tasked with Nicole’s care. Polite and businesslike, not a spark of warmth between us. No chill either. Just … nothing.

Before she leaves, she says, “I hear you have a puppy.”

I tense and say, “Eric got her for me. To train for tracking.”

“Good idea.” She pulls on her boots. “Do you remember when I tried to talk you into getting a cat?”

“Uh-huh.”

A brief smile. “You’re not really a cat person. A dog’s better. I’m glad you have one. I saw you with her the other day. She’s adorable.”