My Sister's Grave (Tracy Crosswhite, #1)(89)

Parker.

In their rush to convict Edmund, no one had checked Parker’s alibi. Parker had said he’d worked a late shift at the mill, but no one had bothered to confirm it. There’d been no reason to, not with a convicted rapist to blame. It was just as likely that Parker, known to be a heavy drinker, had been out knocking back a few in one of the local bars, decided to drive home on the county road to avoid the highway patrol, and stumbled upon Sarah stranded and soaking wet. Parker would have been a familiar face. Sarah wouldn’t have hesitated to get in the cab with him. What had happened from there? Had Parker made a pass and gotten angry when Sarah had rejected him? Had there been a struggle where Sarah had hit her head? Had Parker panicked and hidden her body in a garbage bag until he could safely bury it? Parker would have known about the dam going online. He lived not far from the area that was to be flooded. He also knew the trails in the foothills, and he’d been part of the search team, so he would have known when and where to bury Sarah’s body. And maybe, most importantly, Parker had had a ready scapegoat to give up when Calloway came calling: his rape-convicted nephew.

The lumber mill in Pine Flat where Parker had worked at the time of Sarah’s disappearance had since closed. How had Parker continued to make a living? How did he pay the bills? He’d made furniture as a hobby when Tracy had lived in Cedar Grove, selling a few of the pieces at Kaufman’s Mercantile Store on consignment. Apparently he’d gone into business for himself—as Cascadia Furniture—and had bought a flatbed truck to deliver what he sold.

Tracy thought again of her question to Dan. Where would Edmund House go now that he was free? But House had already answered that question when she and Dan had first met him in Walla Walla.

I can already see it. The looks on the faces of all those people when they see me walking the streets of Cedar Grove again.

Where else could he go? Where else but to his uncle’s home in the foothills? Edmund House had insisted that Calloway and Clark had conspired to convict him, and that had certainly seemed to be the case, but it didn’t explain who had hidden the jewelry in the coffee can in the furniture shop and who had planted the blonde strands of hair. Neither Calloway nor Clark could have done it, not with Edmund at home and on high alert, not with an entire CSI team scouring over the site. Had Edmund also figured out that his uncle had been part of the conspiracy, and had willingly joined Calloway and Clark in order to cover his own crime?

Tracy briefly took her eyes off the road to check her cell phone. No bars. She wondered if Dan had made it home and found her note. She wondered if he had gone to get Roy Calloway. She spotted a pile of snow that looked to have been plowed from a side street and left along the side of the road, and slowed to have a closer look, trying to remember if that was the turn that led up the mountain to Parker’s property. If she guessed wrong, she’d likely get stuck, with no way to turn around.

She made the turn and punched the accelerator to keep her speed up the grade. The tires of her Subaru fell into fresh ruts that had been made by a vehicle with larger tires and a wider wheel base—a flatbed truck. Her car shuddered back and forth as if on a track at a carnival ride, and the headlights bounced and shimmered off the trunks and limbs of trees swaying violently in the wind. Tracy leaned forward, peering through an ever-shrinking window of visibility as ice and snow gathered on the windshield, seemingly immune to the wipers and the defroster hissing hot air.

Tracy slowed into a corner, about to accelerate out of the turn when she saw a branch sticking up out of the snow. She braked hard and jerked to a stop. The headlights extended just far enough to illuminate two other trees that had fallen across the path. She’d get no farther in the car. Tracy looked about, uncertain how much farther it was to Parker House’s property, or if she was even on the correct road. She again checked her cell phone. No reception.

Were Dan and Calloway on their way? She had no way to know. Instinct told her she didn’t have time to wait.

She checked the clip of her Glock, slapped it back into place, and chambered a round. After slipping two additional clips into the pocket of her jacket, she pulled on her hat and ski gloves and grabbed the flashlight she’d found in a drawer in Dan’s kitchen. Tracy shoved open the door, using her forearm to brace it against the howling wind and keep it from slamming shut. She steeled herself for the weather and what was to come.





[page]CHAPTER 54





DeAngelo Finn hung crucified inside the closet door. His arms were raised shoulder height, metal spikes driven through the palms, blood dripping down the wood from each one. The weight of his body was held up by a rope tied around his waist and hung on a hook. Finn’s head listed to the side, eyes closed and face ashen in the intense beam from Calloway’s flashlight.

Roy Calloway put his ear to Finn’s chest and heard a faint beat. Finn moaned.

“He’s alive,” Armstrong said, disbelieving.

“Get me a hammer, something!”

Armstrong stumbled out of the room, spilling whatever remained atop the dresser to the ground.

Calloway’s instinct was to remove the belt, but if he did, Finn’s weight would be transferred to the spikes through his hands. “Hang on DeAngelo. We got help on the way. Can you hear me? DeAngelo? Hang on. We’re going to get you down.”

Ronkowski and two of his firemen trailed Armstrong into the room. One carried a powerful lantern.