A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(70)

Ryan Moody had called her twice, asking for an update on his missing brother’s case. She didn’t have any new information for him. The same search groups out looking for Truman had included Clint Moody in their hunt.

Joshua Forbes also hadn’t turned up, and Mercy wondered if he should be added to the list with Truman and Clint. Another visit to his home and his father’s had been fruitless. She’d asked Kenneth Forbes if he wanted to file a missing persons report, but the man had waved her off, stating his son was known for taking off for a week or two with no communication. He didn’t appear worried about Joshua. He was just pissed at the man for leaving without a word after his father had paid his bail.

They had no new leads on the Jorgensen murders. Mercy had exhausted them all. The same was true for the Hartlages.

She felt like a failure. All those children.

Britta didn’t press charges against Chuck Winslow for trespassing. Mercy had disagreed with her decision, but Britta wanted the incident to go away. Chuck had been silent on the internet—too silent—since he was shot, which made Mercy wonder what rock he would crawl out from underneath next.

“Mercy, Britta is here,” came Melissa’s voice from the speaker on her desk phone.

“I’ll be right out.” Time had gotten away from her. Britta had called earlier and asked to meet at three without giving a hint of what she wanted to talk about.

Britta and her black Lab waited for her outside the office. Mercy squatted to greet the dog and received two wet paw prints on her pants.

“Zara!” The Lab wasn’t leashed, but she promptly pulled back and sat next to Britta’s feet.

“What’s up? Chuck hasn’t contacted you again, has he?” Mercy asked, crossing her arms against the chill in the wet air. Is Truman warm? She shoved the thought away.

“No. But . . .” The tall woman frowned and looked away, her face reflecting an internal struggle. “This is stupid.”

Mercy waited.

Britta finally made eye contact again. “Chuck’s accusations that I knew something about the murders of my family have reminded me of something.”

Every nerve in Mercy’s body focused on Britta.

The woman stroked Zara’s ears, her lips pressing together. “It’s nothing. Like I said, it’s stupid.”

“Tell me. It’s bugged you enough to contact me,” Mercy pointed out.

Britta exhaled, her shoulders sinking. “I never saw the man who killed my sisters or hit me. But I often dreamed of that night for years after it happened. I’d forgotten about the dream until Chuck started harassing me.”

Disappointment settled over Mercy. “Go on. What did you dream?”

“That I woke and saw my sister Astrid in her bed across the room. She was bloody and silent. I couldn’t see Helena because she was in the bunk under me. But I knew she looked the same.”

“What about yourself?”

Britta’s cheeks flexed as she clenched her teeth before continuing. “I saw myself all bloody too. But it was like I was above my bed, looking down. I knew I would die.”

“I’m so sorry, Britta. It’s completely understandable that you’d have that dream.” She wanted to hug and comfort the woman but knew better.

“I saw an angel that night.”

I didn’t expect that. Britta was too sensible to talk about angels and visions. This is why she hasn’t told anyone before.

“You nearly died,” Mercy said. “I’m not surprised.”

“It was all in white and very small. It hovered over Astrid and I knew it was taking her to heaven. Then its face was close to mine. I felt it gently touch my forehead.” Britta bent to give Zara a hug, burying her face in the dog’s fur for a moment. “I remember floating away and believed I was going to heaven too.”

“That doesn’t sound like a horrible dream,” Mercy said gently. “It sounds almost comforting.” Was that when Steve Harris checked the girls to see if they were alive?

“I always told the police I didn’t remember anything. I was too embarrassed to tell them about the angel. But I’m positive I was awake for a few moments after Grady Baldwin struck us.”

“I don’t think there’s anything in that story that would have helped the police back then.”

“I know, but I always felt I was lying to them by holding it back.” She stood, a half smile on her lips. “You have no idea how much better I feel now that I told someone.”

“I’m pleased you picked me.” Her affection for the unusual woman grew. Mercy liked people who pulled themselves up by their bootstraps. Britta had done that times ten.

“I need to leave . . . Come, Zara. Bye, Mercy.” Britta abruptly turned and left.

Mercy understood. Sharing a childhood dream had to be an uncomfortable experience for her. She went back to her desk and sat down with a sigh. I forgot to ask if she plans to move.

She’d miss the woman—and Zara—if she did.

Her cell phone rang, and her anxiety hit the ceiling at the sight of the Eagle’s Nest Police Department number. “Agent Kilpatrick.”

“It’s Lucas.”

“Has something happened?” Tension strained her voice. Truman?

“You could say that. Joshua Forbes walked in a few minutes ago and asked for police protection. He’s got a story you need to hear.” He cleared his throat. “It’s about Truman, Mercy,” he said softly.