Ink and Bone(106)

He cleared his throat, leaned forward in his chair.

“For a little while we lost you altogether, but then Chuck heard the sound of your voice, and we found our way back to the cavern, the seat of that mine shaft, or whatever it is. The hole where they—” He paused a moment, folded his hands, and looked down. “Found all the bodies.”

Put her with the others, Bobo. She could still hear Poppa’s voice, that unearthly growl. The horror of what he did was almost too much for Finley; she felt herself shutting it away, turning from it.

“Crawley had her at the edge. There was already a standoff underway because the tunnels were full of cops. It was a crime scene. A young officer had his gun drawn, pointing it at Crawley, who had your grandmother across the chest, holding her in front of him. And you were standing there, screaming at him to let her go.”

He stopped a minute and stared up the ceiling.

“She looked at me with that expression she always wore. You know what I mean, right? That sad half smile like she already knew how everything was going to be and she was just waiting for me to figure out.”

“Yeah,” said Finley. “I know what you mean.”

“I knew she was sick,” Jones said. “She was sick when we first met. But she got better. She never told me about it; I could just tell. Just like I could tell when she wasn’t well again. I asked her about it, but she waved me off—you know how she is.”

Outside, Finley heard a woodpecker tapping on the oak tree, cars going by, a school bus letting out a pack of laughing boys.

“But that night when I locked eyes with her, I felt this tremendous wash of peace. I can’t explain it. She gave me something, some kind of gift. That’s Eloise, always giving but never allowing you to give back.”

Jones was stringing more words together than Finley had ever heard him utter. He’s one of the few who only talk when absolutely necessary. Jones Cooper does not rush to fill a silence.

“Then he just—jumped, taking Eloise with him.” His eyes took on an unfocused quality, like he was staring at something he didn’t want to see. “It was just like that. One minute she was there, all Eloise. The next minute she was gone. She never even uttered a sound.”

She wondered if he’d cry again, but he stayed steely eyed. She figured he only cried about once a decade, if that. He’d probably used up his supply of tears.

“Chuck fired his gun, just as you dove for them. I dove to grab hold of you and caught you by the ankles before you went in after them.”

“You should have let me go,” she said blackly.

He shook his head grimly.

“Are you kidding? And have your grandmother haunting me for all eternity, complaining about how I didn’t save you. No.”

She smiled a little, just a little.

“All the best things are before you, Finley,” he said softly. “Don’t let that darkness lure you away from that. It’s a false promise. Stay in the light as long as you can.”

He sounded old and tired, and she wondered not for the first time what kind of dark secrets Jones Cooper had.

“Have you been up there?” she asked. “Since that night.”

“A couple times,” he said. “So far only one body has been recovered. They think it’s Abbey Gleason, but DNA matching is underway.”

He rubbed at his eyes. “We went through the cold cases, to see if we could connect other missing persons to Abel Crawley. There are two more missing girls—Jessie Holmes since 1995, Annie Taylor from 2003. They were local, girls from the hills. Jessie was not even reported missing until a year after she’d been gone; her mother died about ten years ago. And there’s no other family. Annie was an assumed runaway. Her father still runs a farm outside The Hollows now. I had the feeling he’d rather have kept thinking she ran away.”

He put a hand on files on his desk, kept his eyes there a minute, flicked at the oak tag with his thumb. Finley wanted to stop thinking about the girls, imagining their pain and fear. But she couldn’t so she didn’t stop him from going on.

“How long he had them up there, what he did to them, and when he finally killed them we may never know. His son Arthur, the only one who might have some idea, is virtually catatonic, can barely even feed himself at this point.”

“He was as much Abel Crawley’s victim as anyone,” said Finley. Inhabiting him, she’d felt all his anger and sadness, his pain. She couldn’t see him as an accomplice, though, of course, he was.

Jones dipped his head to the side. “Maybe.”

“Then Eliza, and eighteen months later Abbey Gleason,” she said. “If not for Abbey, we would never have found Eliza. If not for them, who knows how many others.”

She wanted to be like Eloise, who let go of anger, who didn’t judge. But she wasn’t there, might never be.

“It’s a horror show,” said Jones. “And there’s another whole network of tunnels down there. If they’re down there, we may never find any remains.”

Finley stood and paced the office a little. She tried to push it back, the horror of it, the terrible sadness. But it wrapped itself around her, a cloak she feared she’d have to carry. She’d seen them, those angels in the snow. The only comfort she had was that Eloise had helped them find their way home.

Finley looked around the office, noticing that Jones had hung some more pictures—his swearing in as a police officer, his wedding, being given an award by the mayor, his son’s graduation. There were even some white throw pillows on the couch.