River Bodies (Northampton County #1)(80)

He took the sheet of paper from her and looked it over. “Do you have any idea who gave him this statement?”

“No,” she said. “I never got around to asking him. But whoever it was described the sweatshirt I saw in the barn. And whoever it was didn’t want to be identified.”

“It had to be someone from town. No one wants to talk when it concerns the damn Scions.”

“I suppose not.”

They were silent again, and in the silence, she heard the river flowing behind the house. A flock of geese honked as they made their way south for the winter. A clock ticked, the sound coming from somewhere in the kitchen. Her head felt heavy. She struggled holding it up.

Parker sat on the coffee table in front of her, his forearms resting on the top of his thighs, his eyes full of concern. “Do you understand that you’re a key witness in my case? And that I’m going to have to take an official statement from you?”

“I understand, but there’s something else you need to know, something that happened this morning.” Her tongue was thick, clunky.

Parker continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “I can’t bury evidence. I can’t.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “It’s my job. I have to do my job. But I promise I’ll protect you. I promise I won’t let him hurt you.”

Outside, an engine rumbled.





CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Parker jumped up from the coffee table where he’d been sitting, knocked over Becca’s empty water glass. Someone had pulled into his driveway.

“Don’t move,” he said and darted into the bedroom. He walked back into the living room with his Glock in his hand.

Becca stared at him wide-eyed, her body curled against the back of his couch. Becca’s dog was on her feet, ears alert. Parker moved toward the window. He pushed the curtain aside with the tip of the barrel, peeked out. He didn’t recognize the vehicle parked outside his cabin.

There was a knock at the front door.

He put his finger to his lips, signaling Becca and her dog to stay quiet. Becca whispered to the dog to sit, stay.

Parker eased his way over to the door. “Who is it?” he asked, gripping the gun.

“It’s Rick Smith.”

He let out a sigh and lowered his weapon, opened the door.

Rick stepped inside, took one look at Parker and the gun, and said, “I gather you were expecting someone else?”

“Something like that,” Parker said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“That’s a first,” Rick said and gazed at Becca. He didn’t look surprised to find her on Parker’s couch.

Becca’s dog stood in front of her as though she was guarding her.

“Beautiful dog,” Rick said. “Do you mind if I pet him? Is he friendly?”

“She’s a girl. Her name is Romy,” Becca said.

Rick stuck out his hand. The dog sniffed his fingers and arm. She licked his palm. He knelt on one knee and scratched her chest and back.

“She’s a beauty,” Rick said. “I knew a couple of guys on the force in the canine unit who had German shepherds. I’ve always respected what these dogs can do.” He continued petting Romy, not making eye contact with Becca when he asked in a casual way, as though it wasn’t his intention to pry, although that was exactly what he was doing, “You’re Clint Kingsley’s daughter, right? I told you I was pretty sure we met before. I never forget a face, and you, my girl, haven’t changed since you were little.”

Becca glanced at Parker.

“It’s okay,” he said.

Rick looked back and forth between them.

“He should know,” Parker said.

“You mind telling me what’s going on?” Rick put his hand on the coffee table for support as he pulled himself up. His joints cracked and popped. He released a little groan, a sign of his years.

Becca’s eyes had closed; her head rested against the pillow.

“Follow me,” Parker said to Rick, leading him into the kitchen, where he had both river body cases opened and the files spread out in an organized mess.

Rick smiled. “It looks like someone’s been working hard,” he said. “And by the way, you look like hell.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Parker said, echoing the exact words Becca had used earlier on him.

He laid the Glock on the counter and cleared some of the papers. The two men sat at the table. Parker told him Becca’s version of the facts. While he filled Rick in on the details, he also jotted down notes, connecting the pieces of the puzzle of the cases as he went. There was still some information he didn’t have, like who the original witness was that Clint had interviewed and kept hidden.

“I’ll be damned,” Rick said when Parker had finished. “I really thought Russell was our guy back then. But I was right about Clint protecting someone, and she’s sitting right in there.” He pointed toward the living room, where Becca and her dog were resting. “It all makes sense now.”

“Yeah, except one thing. What was John Jackson’s motive?” Parker stood and started pacing, rubbing his hand over the top of his head. “This might sound crazy, and I know this guy is in deep with the Scions, but I think there’s more to it than a connection with this group. I think whatever happened, whatever his reason for killing those two men, was personal to this guy. Otherwise, why not just dump the bodies in the river? Why gut them? It seems like a really personal thing to do.”