Beneath Devil's Bridge(57)

“I want my lawyer!” Clay yells as the officer ducks him into the rear of the marked vehicle with the light bar pulsing red and blue through the streaks of rain.

“Knock your socks off,” I say. “We’ll see you at the station.”

With flashlights, Luke and I make for the shed in the back garden. Fury fires through my veins.

There are two officers in the shed already. They’ve brought in klieg lights. The interior is awash with harsh, unforgiving light that exposes every corner.

Four file boxes are open on a table near a desk. Beside the boxes are a computer and printer. An officer steps back for us to see.

“Must be hundreds of images in the boxes,” he says quietly.

I stare. Deep down inside my belly, I begin to shake. The cop is correct. The boxes contain hundreds of glossy photographic prints. All of pornographic acts, some more awful, more violent, than others. Graphic images that show unidentified men with young children. Girls. Inside one of the boxes is a fat manila envelope with a return address. It, too, seems to be stuffed with photographs.

I turn slowly and study the shelves along the back wall. A camera rests on one. Lighting equipment on another. I try to imagine Clay tutoring Leena and other girls in here. My hands tremble as I watch the officers begin to carry the boxes and computer equipment out to the vehicles.

Luke puts his hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

Quietly I say, “How can anyone be okay with this? Those . . . those are children in those photos. Young children. What is this? Is he part of some pedophile ring that shares child porn via mail? And what’s in those film canisters on that shelf there? Did he also take pictures of the kids in this shed, while he was allegedly tutoring them? Has he shared those?”

Luke rubs his mouth.

My voice cracking, I say, “He did it. I’m sure he did it. He killed Leena. I’m going to nail his dick to the wall.”





RACHEL


THEN


Wednesday, November 26, 1997.

Clay’s lawyer is Marge Duncan, a woman from Twin Falls who traditionally handles minor criminal cases like DUIs and shoplifting. She’s probably all Clay Pelley can find at this time. She looks uncomfortable. It’s 7:32 p.m., and Marge sits beside Clay on one side of the interrogation room table. Luke and I sit opposite them. We’ve run through the preambles. The interview is being recorded.

“Where’s Lacey?” Clay demands again. “Was she home when you invaded? Did she see? Where’s my baby, Janie? Is she all right?” Clay’s skin shines with sweat. His clothing is disheveled. His pores exude a stale alcohol stink.

“Lacey and Janie have been put up in a motel,” I say tightly. “Her parents are driving down from Terrace to fetch her.”

Clay’s head drops forward. I am ramrod erect, simmering after what we found. Now that I know what darkness lives inside this man’s head, I can barely tolerate him. I have an urge to beat him. To kick the shit out of him. This man who taught and coached my daughter and her friends. The others watch from behind the one-way mirror, including a prosecutor. This case is blowing up. Media attention is going to go global. I’ve been instructed to let Luke do the interview.

“Okay, Clay,” Luke says. “By your own admission, and confirmed by nineteen witnesses, you were at the Ullr bonfire on Friday night, November fourteenth. You sat beside Leena Rai on a log. You spent considerable time talking to her, and then shortly before the Russian rocket hit the earth’s atmosphere at nine twelve p.m., you went with Leena Rai down a trail toward the outhouses.”

He glances at his legal counsel. She communicates something to him with a whisper in his ear. He remains silent.

Luke continues. “You made a statement that you left the bonfire before the rocket and drove directly home in your Subaru. However, your alibi doesn’t hold up. Lacey, your wife, has made a statement that you arrived home at 3:42 a.m. on Saturday morning, November fifteenth. She says you were intoxicated.”

He looks up. His eyes widen. “No. That’s not right.” He glances at his legal counsel, panic beginning to show. “That’s not what happened. I was home. Lacey saw—”

“You don’t have to answer, Clay,” Marge says. “You—”

“But it’s not true. I went straight home.”

Luke calmly glances at the notes in his folder. “Another witness, one of your students, Maddison Walczak, stated she saw you and Leena Rai engaging in sexual intercourse in bushes off a trail near the outhouse. This was shortly before the rocket went through the sky.”

Clay stares. He pales. “Maddy said that?”

“Did you engage in sex with your student, Leena Rai?” Luke asks.

Clay’s gaze flares to mine. His features are twisted with what looks like fear. His eyes shine.

“It’s a lie. No way in hell is that true.”

“Maddy says it’s true. She saw your face clearly with her headlamp.”

“It’s a blatant lie! It never happened. And it’s her word against mine.”

“Maddy ran straight to tell her friend Beth Galloway, who was at the bonfire. Maddy and Beth returned quickly back down the trail in time for Beth to see you helping Leena up off the ground, putting your arm around her, and walking her back to your Subaru, which was parked on the logging road. We have several other witnesses who also saw you walking up that trail, holding Leena.” Luke pauses, and he watches Clay closely. “Where were you taking Leena, Clay? Where did the two of you go between nine twelve p.m. and two a.m. the following morning, when Leena was seen stumbling, alone, along Devil’s Bridge in your jacket?”