Beneath Devil's Bridge(51)
“When, exactly, was she in our house?”
She spins round. “Like I said, a month or so ago. When you were at work—and when are you not at work? Even Dad says that. Always trying so damn hard to get Grandpa’s job that you don’t even know what is going on in your own house. Leena came to borrow a book for some homework.” She thumps up the stairs.
I press my hand to my sternum. I feel nauseous.
TRINITY
NOW
Thursday, November 18. Present day.
“Chief Tucker!” I call out as I run after the Twin Falls PD chief, who is striding across the parking lot to his vehicle. He stalls, turns.
I reach him, out of breath. I’m under my umbrella and the light is fading. He’s standing bareheaded in the rain. I’ve ambushed him outside the station. “I’m Trinity Scott, I—”
“I know who you are. I told you on the phone, I can’t participate. You have all the old case files.” He reaches for his car door handle.
“I do, thank you,” I say quickly. “But I’d also love to ask you some questions about the town back in the day, and your personal observations about the investigation.”
“It’s against PD protocol. Speak to our press officer.” He opens his car door.
“And I’d like to ask you about your past friendship with Beth Galloway Forbes.”
He stills and stares at me through the rain.
“What about Beth?”
“The two of you dated?”
“We did not. Beth lied to me. She claimed she was nineteen. Nothing happened between us once I found out, and . . . Why is this even an issue? Why is this coming up? Did Beth put you onto this?”
“Did you ever follow the female students, Chief? Twenty-four years ago. Ever park across from their houses, and watch them through their windows while they changed?”
His broad face darkens. He lowers his voice and leans toward me. I smell mint on his breath.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Ms. Scott. An honest true crime story is one thing. Tabloid sensationalist schlock at the expense of good people’s reputations is another.” He pauses. And his eyes bore into mine. “It was a solid investigation. Solid detectives working the case. It cut us all up—that horrific murder. Every last one of us. And if you go making insinuations like this, you’re going to be looking at the sharp end of a serious lawsuit. Be careful,” he says. “Tread very, very carefully here. And consider where you’re getting your information. From a self-professed sex offender? A violent killer? A convict? And a bunch of girls who were infatuated with him?”
He gets into his car and slams the door.
Rain drums on my umbrella. I watch his car pull out of the lot and turn into the street.
RACHEL
THEN
Wednesday, November 26, 1997.
I perch my butt on the edge of my metal desk. It’s almost noon, and there are five of us in the “bullpen.” Chief Ray, Tucker, Dirk, Luke, and me. Luke balances himself against another metal desk in front of his crime board. Leena’s photo watches us from the top. The heaters are on, the windows are misting up, and outside the snow is turning to ugly slush.
Luke spent the morning reinterviewing the students, who were brought in one by one with parents. Maddy was first, at 8:30 a.m., accompanied by Jake.
Jake acted like this was all my fault. Maddy wanted nothing to do with me. I watched from behind the one-way glass with Ray, Tucker, and Dirk while Luke peppered Maddy and the other kids with questions about what they’d seen in the woods.
Maddy claimed that after she witnessed her teacher fornicating with Leena, she ran and told Beth immediately. Beth and Maddy hurried back to the small clearing in the bushes. They saw Clayton adjusting his clothes, helping Leena to her feet, putting his arm around her, and walking her along a narrow trail to his vehicle.
Beth confirmed Maddy’s account.
Both said they were too shocked and too afraid to mention it when Leena was first reported missing. This is something I cannot understand. It could be a form of denial. Compartmentalizing and burying something so horrible that the kids didn’t have any kind of narrative with which to deal with it. So they just blocked it. Until pressed. But it’s eating at me. My own daughter couldn’t talk to me.
The other students who got a good look at the man on the log with Leena all confirmed it was Clayton Pelley, but they had been “afraid to say.” There’d been a conspiracy of silence.
“Okay, let’s run it through,” says Ray. “The RCMP has dispatched another forensic ident team to the grove, this time to search near the outhouses for corroborating evidence of the sexual liaison between Clayton and Leena. But chances are slim of finding anything given the passing of time and snow at the higher elevation. Luke, you spoke with the BC Prosecution Service?”
“Just got off the phone with a lawyer,” says Luke. “Plus warrants are in hand to search the Pelleys’ house, his shed, his office at school, and his vehicle. We’ve got enough to arrest him for further questioning, but the prosecutor would like something more solid in terms of evidence for an ironclad charge and conviction. Let’s see what those search warrants yield. So far Pelley has admitted he was at the bonfire. The lab says his boot imprints are a match to the marks on Leena’s body. Pelley cannot account for the time between when he was last seen leaving the bonfire with his arm around Leena and when he arrived home at 3:42 a.m. in a severely inebriated state, according to his wife, Lacey.”