The Dead Lands Read online

  “What’s he doing here?” Megan asked.

  “What do you think?” Abby replied. She watched him climbing down, keenly aware that neither of the men could see or hear them.

  They all watched as Bob Ryder clambered up the rock and stood there, looking down at the sneaker. The expression on his face was almost impossible to read. Abby saw amazement along with rising fear bordering on panic.

  “It can’t be,” he said, his voice whisked away by the wind.

  He slowly bent over and reached his hand out. He looked as though he thought the sneaker was a snake that was going to strike him without warning, and he kept pulling his hand back as though afraid to touch it, afraid it would burn him or that it wasn’t real.

  All the while, he was grunting and making a soft groaning sound as he shook his head, his eyes wide with amazement. Finally, he picked up the sneaker and just stood still for the longest time, staring at it and turning it over and over in his hand.

  In an instant, his expression froze, and he glanced around as though expecting to see that he was being watched. Detective Gray ducked back out of sight behind a rock as Megan’s stepfather jumped down to a small stretch of gravelly beach. There were various-sized pieces of broken shale lying about, and he studied these. Still gripping the sneaker with one hand, he found what he was looking for—a blade-shaped piece of rock that was about the size of the sneaker.

  Grunting with satisfaction, he loosened the laces of the sneaker and slipped the rock inside like it was a foot. Bending down and supporting the sneaker on his thigh, he pulled the laces as tightly as he could and then tied them in a double knot. When he was finished with that, he straightened up and walked close to the water’s edge. Taking a solid stance with is feet apart, he hefted the sneaker in his hand like a baseball or a hand grenade, and then he swung his arm back and flung the sneaker out over the water.

  Abby and Megan along with Detective Gray and Megan’s stepfather all watched the sneaker as it arced through the air in slow motion and then landed with a splat in the water. It sank fast, disappearing beneath the surging green surface.

  “Why’d he do that?” Megan whispered, her voice as hollow as the wind piping across the rocks.

  “So no one will ever find it,” Abby replied, then froze when she saw Detective Gray push himself off the rocks. He walked toward Megan’s stepfather, who was standing with his back to him.

  “You got a good arm there,” Gray said when he was about fifty feet away.

  Megan’s stepfather jumped with a start and wheeled around, his face going instantly pale.

  “What the—” he said, but that was all he could manage. His eyes were all but popping from his head, and his mouth gaped open.

  “Bitch of a cold day, ain’t it?” Gray said, slapping his hands against his upper arms to warm them. “I should’a made Murray hang down here while I sat nice and warm in the cruiser drinking coffee.”

  Megan’s stepfather still couldn’t say anything. He stood there, gaping at him like he didn’t understand English.

  Brushing his fingers reassuringly across the grip of his service revolver, Gray moved closer to Bob, being careful as he navigated the jumble of rocks. They were slick in places, and he had a tough time trying to maintain his balance while keeping an eye on Bob. When he was about ten feet away from Megan’s stepfather, Gray stopped and stood there, gazing at him with a cold, distant stare.

  “Well,” he finally said, “as Ricky Ricardo used to say to Lucy—‘You got some ‘splainin’ to do.’”

  — 4 —

  “I’m sorry,” Bob Ryder said after a long, tense silence during which the only sounds were the rolling surf and the breeze hissing in the crevasses between the rocks. “I was …”

  His voice trailed away because his mind was drawing a blank. He was angry at himself for not thinking this through, for not seeing it as the setup it obviously was. The back of his neck was burning; his stomach felt fluttery.

  “At the very least, I could write you up for littering,” Detective Gray said. “But unless I’m completely off the mark, here, that looked like it might have been Megan’s missing sneaker. Am I right?”

  Bob’s throat was frozen shut, but his mind was racing as he nodded once and then raised his head and stared back at the detective.

  “What do you think the odds are?” Gray continued. “What are the chances a sneaker that’s been missing for—how many days now? Four?”

  “Five,” Bob corrected him.

  “Five days … lost for five days, and here it is, washed up on the rocks. And you just happened to be out here to find it. And then you not take it home or anything, but weigh it down and toss it back into the ocean … Curiouser and curiouser.”

  Bob licked his lips, swallowed hard, and took a breath. He was running through any number of excuses. He could run or try to fight with the detective. Kill him if he had to. But the detective’s hand was hovering close to the revolver in his holster, and fighting him hand to hand could easily end badly. The cop was older than he was but obviously in much better shape. So if he ruled out fighting or running, that left just one thing.

  He had to bullshit his way out of this.

  And that was one thing Bob Ryder thought he was better at than most people.

  “I had to do it,” he said, his nervous voice adding to his meekness rather than detracting from it.

  “Had to?” Gray echoed, his eyes narrowing with doubt.

  “It was … it’s my son … Michael.” Bob’s voice seemed to be coming from far away. There was no way it was originating in his throat, and no way he was saying this. Hell, there was no way he should even be thinking what he was about to say, but what choice did he have?

  “What does Mike have to do with this?” Gray asked flatly.

  “I think he …” Bob’s voice choked off, and he milked it for all the emotion he could get. After taking a moment to compose his thoughts—to make sure he had this right—he said, “I think he may have done it.”

  “Done what?”

  Bob couldn’t believe the cop was playing dumb like this. Of course he knew what he meant, but the son of a bitch was going to make him come out and say it, wasn’t he? And since this was the best he could come up with, he had to play this out. His mind was racing as he tried to think through everything he had to say so there would be no loose ends.

  “I’m afraid he may have pushed his sister,” Bob said in a broken, strained voice.

  Once the words were out of his mouth, there was no taking them back, and Bob felt a sudden rush of empowerment. There was no way he was going to take the rap for what he had done to Megan. And he could easily play the role of distraught parent who was doing anything and everything he could to protect his own son.

  “Really?” Gray asked, his voice still low and flat, barely audible above the waves.

  There was no way of knowing if the detective believed him even for a second, but Bob was committed, now. He had to take it to the end, whatever it was and no matter the consequences. It tore his heart that he was betraying his son—his own flesh and blood—like this, but what were his options?

  Confess and go to jail for the rest of his life?

  Not likely.

  “I’m afraid so,” he said. “I’m not absolutely sure, but I—he had one of his sister’s sneakers in his room the other day. I caught him hiding it under his bed the day after she—after Megan died. I asked him about it, but he didn’t have a good explanation, and as much as it tormented me even to consider it, I had to suspect that he had … he had more to do with it than he was admitting.”

  Wind whipped his face like a cold, stinging lash, and he found it almost impossible to take a deep enough breath. His head was spinning, and bright dots of light spiraled across his vision.

  “It’s a tough thing—pretty much impossible for a parent to even consider his child might be a … might be a murderer.”

  “I can’t imagine,” Detective Gray said, shaking his head, but th
ere was still a lack of sincerity or conviction in his voice.

  “I … I was just out for a walk,” Bob said. “I’ve done that a lot since Megan died … to clear my head and to … to try to let it sink in that she’s really gone. You know, maybe that sneaker didn’t wash up just today. Maybe Mike came out here and threw it into the water, trying to … to get rid of any evidence, you know?”

  “I’m trying to piece it together myself,” Gray replied. “But you’re the one I saw throwing it into the water, so I can’t help but wonder why.”

  Bob’s breath was jammed in his chest, and he wasn’t sure he could speak, but he was surprised by the strength of his voice when he said, “I did it to protect my son.”

  Detective Gray was silent for a long time. Bob didn’t like the way he kept staring at him as though he could see through him and discern the depths of his soul. He felt dirty beneath the detective’s cold, steady stare.

  “Well, then,” the detective finally said, and for the first time his voice sounded light and friendly. “The only thing to do is go back to your house and have a talk with your son.”

  “I guess so,” was all Bob could manage to say before he turned and started clambering over the rocks with the detective a few paces behind him, no doubt keeping an eye on him, a hand on his revolver.

  — 5 —

  “Why would he say anything like that?” Megan asked.

  She and Abby were in the front entryway of the house, waiting for Detective Gray and Megan’s stepfather to arrive. They had traveled to the house as fast as storm-tossed leaves. In the short time since they had been down on the shore, clouds had blown in and covered the sun.

  “Why do you think?” Abby asked.

  “Do you really think he’d do something like that? Blame Mikey just to save himself?”

  Abby had seen a lot over the last hundred plus years, and yes, she’d seen worse, but she said nothing. They both stepped back when the front door opened, and Megan’s stepfather entered, followed by Detective Gray. Down by the curb, a police cruiser was waiting, engine still running. A short, stocky man neither Abby nor Megan recognized sat behind the steering wheel. Maybe he was the man “Murray” that Gray had mentioned on the beach.

  “Hey, Caroline?” Bob shouted as he closed the door behind them.

  Megan’s mother entered the hallway from the kitchen. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, looking like she had just finished a crying jag. Abby felt sorrow for her now and even worse for how she was going to feel in a few minutes.

  “Is Mikey home?” Bob asked.

  “I think he’s upstairs,” Caroline said, nodding in the direction of the stairs.

  Megan’s stepfather walked over to the foot of the stairs. Grasping the end of the railing, he leaned forward and shouted, “Hey, Mikey! Come on down here!”

  “What’s this all about?” Caroline asked, her face going paler.

  “Detective Gray wants to ask Mikey a few questions, is all,” Bob said, his voice snapping like a bullwhip.

  The only answer from upstairs was a loud thump, and then the sound of feet scuffing the carpet as Mike walked down the hall to the head of the stairs. He looked down at his father and mother and the detective.

  “What is it?” he asked feebly.

  Megan glanced at Abby. Her face was a distraught mask when she said, “I wish to God I could talk to him right now and warn him what he’s gonna do.”

  Abby didn’t have to ask her who she meant by “he.”

  “We’ve tried to get through,” she said. “This is the only way I could think of to make it so they all found out who—what really happened.”

  “But what if he gets blamed for it?” Megan asked. The panic rising up inside her was palpable. “What if he, like, goes to jail for something he didn’t do?”

  Abby was also concerned. There was no guarantee Detective Gray would realize who the real killer was. Simply finding a sneaker wasn’t going to be enough to convict anyone, including Megan’s stepfather. What if Mike wasn’t tough enough to stand up and defend himself? Abby was beginning to think she might have miscalculated terribly. She should have thought of some other way to reveal Megan’s real killer.

  “Detective Gray wants to talk to you,” Megan’s stepfather said curtly.

  All eyes were focused on Mike as he started slowly down the stairs.

  “This isn’t fair!” Megan shouted, clenching her fists and shaking them wildly. “This isn’t fair!”

  The sudden sound of a door slamming shut came from somewhere upstairs, catching everyone by surprise. They all looked upstairs, but no one could have known or guessed that the source of the sound had been Megan’s sudden rush of anger and fear about what was going on.

  “Did I do that?” Megan asked Abby.

  “I think you might have. Sometimes … if you get really—”

  “Can I do it again? Can I make stuff like that happen?”

  “I dunno. It’s hard to do, but yes, if you get upset enough, then maybe. You can’t think about it too much. You have to be … detached, but I’m not sure what good it will do.”

  “Do you have a window open upstairs?” Caroline asked Mike.

  He shook his head in denial, his eyes wide with shock and fear that the detective was here to talk to him. He glanced back and forth between Gray and his father, his body all the while tingling with rising tension.

  “I want to ask you about a certain sneaker,” Detective Gray said in a kindly voice. “It’s one that belonged to your sister.”

  Mike’s face visibly blanched, and he cast his eyes rapidly back and forth like a trapped animal looking for an escape route, even if it meant chewing his own leg off.

  “Wha—what about it?” Mike said.

  Megan shifted closer to her brother so she was standing directly behind him. Her arms were waving in a blur as she tried to touch him. She leaned as close as she could to his ear and yelled at him to stand up for himself, but her voice was as empty and hollow as the wind blowing outside the house.

  “I met your father out on the rocks today, and I saw him throw a sneaker into the ocean to sink it. When I asked him why, he said he was protecting you.”

  “Me?” Mike’s eyes popped wide open; his face creased with concern.

  “He said, as terrible as the thought is, he’s afraid you might have had something to do with Megan’s fall … maybe accidentally.”

  “No … no way … I didn’t … I wouldn’t … I would never do anything to hurt Megan …”

  “Mikey,” Megan’s stepfather said patiently as he moved a little closer to his son. When he put his hand on Mike’s shoulder to reassure him, Abby saw how he flinched.

  “If you have anything to say,” Detective Gray continued, “you know it would be best to say it now.”

  “No … I didn’t … I never … never—”

  His voice choked off as he stared blankly straight ahead and shook his head.

  “You bastard! How could you?” Megan’s mother said, turning to her husband. Her face was pinched tightly, and her body was shaking as she gaped at him. “How could you even suggest that Mike would—that he would do anything like that?”

  Megan’s stepfather shrugged and held his hand out, palms up, as though it was all out of his hands now, but he didn’t say anything. He just stared at her, his eyes as glazed as small mirrors.

  Detective Gray stepped closer to Mike, his eyes softening with sympathy as he said, “Is there anything more you want to say about what happened?”

  Mike didn’t say a word.

  “Do you remember anything … anything at all that might help us find out what really happened?”

  “It was him,” Mike said in a low, trembling voice.

  Abby couldn’t believe her ears. She looked from Mike to Megan and then at Mike again, unable to believe what she had just heard.

  Did he know?

  Had he seen their father out there that day?

  How could he have and not said anything until
now?

  “What’d you say, son?” Detective Gray leaned closer.

  Bob’s face drained of blood in an instant, and it was easy for Abby to figure out why. He was trying hard to pretend he hadn’t heard what Mike had just said.

  For his part, Mike looked even more like a frightened animal who wanted to bolt but wasn’t able to. His eyes shifted back and forth, and his body was tensed and trembling, like he was ready to make a run for it. His breath came in tiny, hitching gulps that caught in his throat.

  “You’d better be very careful what you say next, boy,” Bob said, his voice so low and threatening no one in the room could miss it.

  Mike looked at his father with a steady stare. Even though his face was pale with fright, he said it louder now. “I saw him there—” He raised his hand and pointed at his father. “He was out there that day. I saw him.”

  Bob flushed with anger as he regarded his son. He looked like he was getting ready to grab him by the throat and rip his head off.

  “If you did what I think you did,” Bob said, his voice so tightly controlled it almost broke, “you’d better be very careful what you say next.”

  Mike stared at his father and seemed to wither under his steady gaze, but then he clenched his fists and said, “No! I know you did it! I saw you out there!”

  Detective Gray shot a look at Bob as if challenging him to contradict the accusation. The men held each other’s gazes until—finally—Bob cracked. His face appeared to be frozen in stunned awe, but then, very gradually, it shifted to an expression of stark horror.

  “Bob …?” Caroline said.

  Bob looked at his wife but wasn’t able to withstand her steady gaze for long.

  Megan looked at Abby with an expression of mixed joy and fear.

  “He really did it,” she whispered, and both of the dead girls noticed when Mike reacted. He looked around as if he had heard her—or something. And then, suddenly, he looked up the stairway.