Beneath Devil's Bridge(93)

“Poor Johnny.”

“Yeah.”

I see Rachel come out of the corridor and into the waiting area. She makes hurriedly for the hospital exit. I see the moment Rachel registers the media crowd through the windows. She stalls, as if slammed against a wall. Confusion chases across her face.

I jump to my feet and rush over to her. “Rachel—”

She spins. Her face tightens as she sees me. She looks trapped, drained, exhausted.

“Is Maddy all right?”

She regards me. Absorbing me. Her eyes laser on mine. The noises of the hospital seem to subside into the distance. And for a moment it’s just her and me, locked in a capsule. I begin to fear the worst. That her daughter hasn’t pulled through.

“I . . . Gio saw the girls—Lily and Daisy,” I say. “I know they’re okay. I—”

“Darren is dead.”

I feel faint. Responsible. For all of it. Yet this is what I wanted, in some form, was it not? To poke and unravel the secrets of this town until the truth of that night came rattling out. “And . . . and Maddy?”

“She’s going to be okay.” Rachel wavers. Her gaze ticks to the gathering and growing throng outside the windows. She turns back to me. “I’m ready,” she says quietly. “I will take you up on your offer. I will talk.”

I open my mouth. “You mean—”

“I’ll do it. Go on your show. The whole story. Maddy just gave the police her statement, and she told me she’ll get advice from a lawyer, but she wants to talk to you, too.”

Words escape me for an instant.

Softly, Rachel says, “I owe it to you, Trinity.” She pauses, and her eyes mist suddenly. “Janie. We all owe it to you. We are part of this story. You are part of this story. And the time for secrets . . . it has to be over.”

“Do you know who did it? Who Leena’s killer was?”

“Yes.”

Her direct response is a punch to my gut. A conflicting surge of adrenaline, excitement, edginess, anger, erupts in a hot cocktail in my chest.

“It was Beth, wasn’t it?” I say. “And someone else. A guy.”

She swallows.

I say, “I got a call from a long-haul truck driver. He was listening to the podcast. He remembers the rocket, and he remembers seeing Leena on the bridge that night. Two people were following her, farther back, in the shadows. One was a girl with waist-length blonde hair. The other a tall guy with a hat on.”

“So there’s a witness.”

“It seems so.”

She nods, and her gaze flicks again to the media phalanx outside. She looks broken suddenly, drags her hand over her tangle of hair. “That’s good,” she says quietly. “A witness is good.”

“Rachel, who was the male?”

She meets my gaze. “Maddy’s husband, Darren. It was the father of my grandchildren. My son-in-law. And I never knew. None of us knew. Not even Maddy. Not until just before he set their house, their lives, on fire. He wanted to take them all with him. He wanted to make it all go away.”

Shock slams through me. “I . . . I’m so sorry, Rachel.”

The ex-detective swipes a tear away.

“Maddy—she’ll really be okay with this? To talk to me?”

Rachel nods. “Yes. And about . . . what your father did to her, if you want to hear it.”

Emotion is a sudden blow to my stomach. So forceful it steals my breath. I do want to know. But part of me is suddenly unsure. Afraid to hear it all. But I must. I need to know. I’ve needed to know since I first saw that photo of my father. We are driven, all of us, to understand where we have come from. Who we are. This journey began when I was a child who started asking about her “dead” daddy. All roads have led me here, right here, into this Twin Falls hospital where I was born. In front of the old detective who changed my diaper and locked my dad away. I have to know.

Rachel wavers for a moment, as if debating whether to reveal more. Then she says, “There was something you said, Trinity, back in the first episode of the podcast series. You posed the question, ‘If it takes a village to raise a child, does it also take a village to kill one?’ You were right. It does. We all killed Leena Rai. We all turned away, looked away, one too many times. And if you ask me who started the fire last night . . . we all did.”

Then she does something unexpected. She hugs me and whispers near my ear, “I’m sorry.”

A photographer suddenly breaks past security and pushes in through the front doors of the hospital. He raises his camera, clicks. The flash goes off. I hear a yell. A security guy comes running and takes hold of the photographer’s arm. As he’s dragged out the entrance by the guard, the photographer calls out, “Rachel Hart, how is your daughter? How are your grandchildren? Do you have any comment?”

Gio comes rushing up to us. He keeps his voice low as fire burns in his green eyes. “I have news. I just saw it on Twitter. The RCMP have apprehended Beth Forbes and Zane Rolly. The children are fine.” Emotion tightens his features, glitters in his eyes. “They were trying to get onto the Port Angeles ferry in Victoria. They were heading to the States, but the border patrol stopped them.”

Beth’s mother comes out of the corridor. She looks shell-shocked. She just stands there staring at us. Rachel rushes toward her. Eileen Galloway begins to cry. “I just got a call. They’re safe. My grandbabies are safe.”