Beneath Devil's Bridge(7)

I step out of his reach and grab the coffee tin from the cupboard. I scoop ground coffee into the filter as my thoughts turn to my ex and then to my estranged daughter, Maddy, and my two beautiful little grandkids, whom Maddy will barely allow me to see. I bump the spoon, and coffee scatters across the counter. Tears fill my eyes. Leena Rai’s murder changed everything. It changed me. My marriage. My relationship with my kid. It changed the town. Twin Falls lost its innocence the night Leena was sexually assaulted and killed. It was also the beginning of the end of my career as a cop. I never did get to follow in my dad’s footsteps and become police chief, as everyone expected I would. I can’t even pinpoint the one thing that toppled me.

Maybe it was Luke.

“You need to tell me things like this, Granger.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. I love you, and I knew this would bring up bad things. And I honestly didn’t think the woman—”

“Trinity Scott.”

“I didn’t think Trinity would be so stubborn as to return, let alone go around the back of the house and hunt you down in the field. Come to think of it”—he smiles—“she reminds me of someone I know.”

I half smile. But disquiet lingers.

“Clay Pelley spoke to her.” I watch his face closely. “Trinity claims he’s agreed to a series of on-tape interviews, and he’s promised to explain why he did it.” The change in Granger’s eyes tells me. I curse. “You’ve listened to it. You’ve gone and listened to her podcast, and you didn’t have the guts to tell me?”

“Rache—” He reaches for me. I shove his hand away.

“Damn you. How? How could you listen and not tell me?”

“I was your therapist. I was there firsthand. A person can think they’re fine. They can believe they’ve overcome or effectively compartmentalized negative events, but traumatic memory—it can become locked into the body. And you hearing Pelley’s voice, exposing yourself to all this . . . it’s unnecessary, for God’s sakes, Rache. Just let it go. Leave it alone.”

I glower at him as blood drains from my head.

“So . . . you heard him speak—you heard his voice?”

Granger remains silent.

“What did he say?”

A small vein swells on his temple. His jaw is tight. “Please, Rachel,” he says quietly. “It’s not worth it.”

I grab the coffeepot and slosh hot liquid into my mug. “What the fuck did Pelley say? Has everyone out there, including Leena’s father and her little brother, heard her rapist and killer’s voice now?”

He touches my arm. I jerk. Coffee splashes onto my hand and burns. I set the cup down and brace my palms on the counter. I stare out the window above the sink, my heart thumping. Granger is right. Listening to the podcast will not be good for me. Look at what it’s doing to me already. I’m being triggered.

“Do you really want my opinion on the first episodes?” Granger asks softly.

I nod, not looking at him.

“In my view, Clay Pelley is messing with the head of a pretty, young pseudojournalist who is hungry to make a sensation and a name for herself in the field of true crime. Trinity Scott is gullible. Or just plain opportunistic. The fact that he’s chosen her—it’s gone straight to her head, bought her instant notoriety. People are tuning in because Pelley has until now remained silent, and for some reason, Clayton Jay Pelley has started a game.”

“Why?” I ask quietly. “Why now?”

“I guess the answer to that will become evident as the weekly podcast series evolves, but what is clear after the first episodes—in my opinion—is that Clay is pacing himself. Trinity has apparently been granted a series of twenty-minute sessions with him, and Clay is going to ration his information out. He’s going to end each session on some tantalizing hook of information that is not only going to bring listeners back—it’s going to bring Trinity Scott back. To him. To his prison. Again and again. A sexy young female in his boring life of incarceration. It could be that simple. A pretty face who hangs on to his every word. It would fit with his pathology of manipulation and power over young women. But whatever his plan is, I don’t see that you should fall victim to his sick game, too.”

“Maybe he will explain why he did it.”

“Or maybe he will lie.”

“But if he does tell—”

“Then you’ll find out. But you don’t have to listen blow by blow. You can get the score at the end of the game.”

I force out a heavy breath of air.

He comes closer, cups my face. “Promise me you’ll try to ignore it.”

“When did you listen to it?”

“The day after it first went live.”

“Last week?”

He looks uncomfortable. I take a moment to breathe in. “Did . . . did he say anything . . . relevant?”

“No.”

“How did he sound?”

“Hoarse. Like he’s had damage to his throat.”

Curiosity is piqued in me. I study Granger for a moment, trying to read his eyes. He meets my gaze, unblinking. I force a smile.

“As always. My rock.” I lean up and kiss him.

But as I carry my coffee mug to the fire, I feel a darkness in my wake. My man should have told me. The fact that he didn’t unsettles me. And I feel that once more the Leena Rai murder is balancing my life on the cusp of change.