Walleye Junction (4 page)

“I can't say that I'm surprised that they ended up this way, but I am a little taken aback that they were involved in Philip's kidnapping.”

“Did they have any children?”

“An older boy in his teens from Carla's first marriage and two younger ones who are in foster care. There's extended family, but no one was able to take them in.”

“That's sad.”

“Carla was trying to stay clean though. Last time we spoke she seemed determined to get her kids back.”

“I want to know where Carla was attending rehab. Her therapist might have some insight. It's also possible that Carla met someone there that she shouldn't have.” Macy tilted her head to the stolen van. “The vehicle still needs to be processed.”

“I just got off the phone. More crime scene techs are on their way.”

“I've been through Philip Long's archived shows. Recently he was pretty vocal about the growing threat of the militias in Montana. Any possibility of a connection?”

Lou Turner sighed. “Carla and Lloyd's only claim to fame was when some obscure blog characterized their militia group as being a potential domestic terrorist threat, but I don't think those idiots did their research. Anyone with half a brain would have seen them for what they were. Carla and Lloyd were all talk. I'm not saying Lloyd wasn't a mean bastard, but he kept it in house. More of a bully than a defender of democracy.”

“Philip Long went out of his way to provoke a lot of people. He went so far as predict the emergence of a breakaway territory. Something he called the
Third State.
He said it was his duty to expose these groups before it was too late,” Macy said.

“A big part of Philip's job was chasing ratings so don't take everything he said too seriously. Sure there are people in the valley who are involved. Some of them are among my friends, but I can't think of anyone who's far gone enough to try something like this.”

“That may be so,” said Macy. “But he's received a lot of hate mail in the past few weeks.”

“Then why kidnap him? There are more subtle ways to get someone to shut up when you don't like what they're saying.”

Macy decided to change tack.

“Lloyd and Carla may have died of an overdose, but it looks to me like the bodies were moved. There's gravel imbedded in the heel of his boots and their positioning looks posed. We'll have to wait for a report back from the crime scene techs to be sure.” She paused. “Do you think Carla and Lloyd Spencer could have pulled off Long's kidnapping on their own?”

Lou walked toward the bodies for a closer look. “They didn't exactly pull it off. Philip almost got out alive and they're both dead. We'll look closely at the militia angle though. We're going through Philip's hate mail and the comments left on the radio station's Web site. If Carla or Lloyd made any threats we'll know soon enough.”

“Do either of them ride a dirt bike?”

“You got me there. We'll have to check.”

“We'll need to search their home.”

Lou patted his shirt pocket. “A warrant has already been issued. I've got a unit keeping an eye on things over there. Just waiting for more manpower.” He took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. “You know, the motive could have been financial. Philip Long was as close to a celebrity as you can get around here. Maybe they thought he was loaded. We'll have to interview the family members and look into Carla and Lloyd's financial situation, but odds are they were heavily in debt.”

“Is there a connection between them and Ron Forester, the homeowner?”

“At three hundred dollars an hour, I doubt they could have afforded Ron's accountancy services. Lloyd was an unemployed roofer and although Carla once held a good job with a tech company, she's spent the last year delivering pizzas.”

“I'm interviewing Philip Long's wife tomorrow,” said Macy.

“His daughter Emma arrived in town today.”

“It took a while for her to get here.”

“I spoke to her briefly,” said Lou. “She says she only found out about her father's death because she called home wanting to speak to him and got her mother instead.”

“Her mother didn't call her?”

“Nope.”

“Wouldn't you characterize that as odd?”

“Definitely out of character for Francine, but I've always seen Emma as a bit of a wild card. Among other things she has a rep for running away from funerals.”

“Sounds interesting. I'll have to ask her about that.”

Lou cleared his throat. “By the way, the toxicology screen came back on Philip Long. He had heroin in his system.”

“Considering the extensive injuries to his body, it's impossible to tell what was going on in that house. They may have used it to sedate him. Did he have a history of drug abuse?”

“Not to my knowledge, but maybe so. It's not exactly something people advertise.” Lou Turner glanced over at the bodies again. “I need to notify the family and set up some interviews.”

Gina walked over and shook the chief's hand as Macy introduced them. Gina held open a box of doughnuts, but neither Macy nor Lou wanted one.

“The manager of the bakery doesn't seem to know anything,” said Gina.

Lou Turner pointed to the cameras mounted on the wall beneath the eaves.

“Did you ask her about the security cameras?”

“They're only there as a deterrent. The owners quit maintaining them a few years back.”

Macy took off her sunglasses and polished them with the hem of her shirt. “Lou, if it's okay with you, Gina and I will go out to the house where Long was held. I really need to see it firsthand.”

Lou jotted something down on a sheet of paper and handed it to Macy. “This is Carla and Lloyd's home address. Meet you there when you're done at the other house, around two?”

“That works for us. See you then.”

 

3

Pulling over on a rough bit of road heading north toward the Canadian border, Emma Long checked the map. She leaned the tangled folds against the steering wheel and peered over her glasses every few seconds, studying the view. In the distance, the lonely silhouette of her hometown rose out of the landscape, and on either side of the car a patchwork of farmland rolled away like a quilt, flattening out across the wide valley, before giving way to high, crystallized peaks. But distant memories confused her sense of place. The scale was wrong and Walleye Junction's skyline wore an imperfect smile; in her absence someone had knocked out a few teeth.

Another mile on she realized what was missing from the view. The steeple from Walleye Junction's biggest church and the brick tower that marked the entrance to the town's cinema were both gone. Along with a rusted water tower and radio mast, they'd once formed the modest skyline that stood tall in her memories. In the years of her exile, her hometown had only made the national news once. In 2008 a gas line exploded on Main Street, punishing Jesus and celluloid in equal measure. The church, where she cursed quietly during prayers, and the cinema, where as a teenager she'd had her first fumbled sexual encounters, were both flattened in the explosion.

As she was about to take a right turn onto another farm track, a long-legged dog darted into the road. She yanked the steering wheel hard, clipping the animal on its hindquarter. It disappeared from sight and she skidded to a halt inches before the hard shoulder gave way to endless rows of cherry trees. Emma dipped her head to the steering wheel. For a few seconds she couldn't move. Her hands trembled when she put the car in reverse and backed away from the edge of the shallow ditch that cut into the soil following the orchard's boundary. A Winfrey Farm truck drove up just as she was opening the door. An old uneasiness took hold and she struggled to find her feet, standing up slowly and acknowledging the man sitting at the wheel with a tentatively raised hand. Technically speaking, she was on private land. She knew the owner, but they were not on good terms. The man remained in his truck, talking on his phone. She wondered what he would do when he found out her name.

A flatbed truck drove by, honking its horn and raising a cloud of dust. The smell of cherry blossoms rose up from the fields. Above the call of crows, she could hear the steady ticking of her car's motor. She pointed to the orchard and waved the man over. He nodded and put down the phone before exiting his vehicle in a way that seemed purposefully intimidating—straight backed, no smile, and checking his phone again before fully acknowledging her presence.

Their shared history snapped open like a pocketbook. Emma held her hand to her mouth, while her wide eyes said everything her lips could not. Nathan Winfrey was flesh and blood once more. His metal-framed sunglasses concealed his eyes. He looked her up and down, his face giving nothing away. This bothered her. She couldn't tell what kind of man he'd turned out to be.

“Welcome home,” he said, his feet growing roots in the gravel where he stood.

Emma struggled to come up with a simple response. “I hit a dog,” she said haltingly, once again pointing to the orchard. “It came out of nowhere.”

While Emma peered over the side, ready to close her eyes at any hint of blood, Nathan jumped the narrow ditch without a second thought. He was already kneeling next to the dog before she had a chance to focus.

He shook his head, removing his hat in that dramatic way they do in movies. There was a bit of a smile on his face. “Em,” he said softly, using the nickname she once loathed. “You're gone for twelve years and the first thing you do when you come back is run over Caleb's dog?”

The word
fuck
hung in the air between them like a swarm of blackfly. Emma never meant to say it out loud, but the sentiment escaped before she could snatch it back. Caleb Winfrey wasn't someone she wanted to see again. The dog stood up and looked around like it was lost before taking a few tentative steps toward the road.

“Will he live?” she asked hopefully.

“Yeah,” he said, coaxing the dog to follow him back to where Emma was standing. “Looks like he's a little dazed though. I'll run him to the vet to be sure there's nothing more serious.” He pushed his hair back off his face and put on his hat. “I'll tell Caleb that I found him here.”

“You don't have to cover for me.”

Nathan interrupted her. “You know it's for the best, so don't worry yourself. Damn kamikaze dog has had a death wish for years.” He turned and looked her full in the face, removing his sunglasses for the first time. “Would be funny if you were the one to take him out.”

Emma rubbed the tears from her eyes. “This doesn't feel like fun.”

Nathan cocked his head to the side and watched her for a few moments. “I'm surprised you're only just getting here.”

“Not as surprised as I am,” she said, looking everywhere but at him. “I only found out what happened yesterday.”

“I am sorry about your dad. Philip was a good man.”

Her eyes settled on cherry blossoms. It was difficult to speak.

“How is your uncle anyway?” she asked.

“Caleb's in a nursing home. His health has deteriorated over the last few years. Two strokes so far.” Nathan lowered his voice. “His memory comes and goes.”

“I know we had our differences, but I wouldn't wish that on anyone. How are your mom and dad?”

“Fine. Fine.” He squinted into the sun. “You know nothing around here changes much.”

Emma pointed to his truck. “It looks like you're in charge of the farm now. That's something.”

“By default. With Lucy gone there was no one to take over the business. I'm still a little surprised he's entrusted me to run things.”

“You were like a son to him.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“I thought farming was what you always wanted to do,” she said.

He looked to the horizon as if he was checking the weather. “You know what they say about being careful what you wish for.”

Emma leaned against her car. She was vaguely aware of how she must have appeared. She raked her brown hair back from her face and fought the urge to straighten her blouse. There was a coffee stain running down one leg of her jeans. She'd been driving for twenty-four hours straight, dosed up on a tightly wound rotation of Red Bull and coffee. It was only a matter of miles before she collapsed.

“It's weird being back here after so many years. The distances are huge and yet everything feels so small.”

“You'll get used to it by and by.” He paused. “You talk to the police yet?”

“I've barely talked to my mother. Have you seen her lately?”

“Sometimes. Since she retired she and my mom spend more time together so I hear stuff. She volunteers down at the homeless shelter her church set up.”

“Walleye has homeless people?”

“It's just a bunch of losers. As far as I can tell they're all on drugs.”

“I wasn't expecting that.”

“I think more come our way because of the shelter. It's not very Christian of me to say this, but I don't feel they deserve charity.” He gave her red hatchback a quick glance. “Where are you living now anyway? It seems to be a different place every time I ask.”

“San Francisco, but it's only temporary.”

“You always wanted to get away from here.”

Her voice was flat. “Not as much as you wanted to stay.”

“Thought I might stop by your house this evening. We could talk. There's that business with Lucy. I feel there are some things that need to be said.”

Emma pursed her lips. “Not sure that's a good idea. I don't know what things are like at home. Can I give you a call and let you know?”

“That's okay, I understand. Maybe another time then.”

“I'm not blowing you off, Nathan. It's just that things have been strained between my mom and me for years. I don't know what to expect. I was actually thinking of staying at a hotel.”