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"So Irene and Powys did kill--?"
"Hastings had a thing for Abbygail. He'd hit on her when they worked together in the clinic, but she'd have nothing to do with him. As for Powys, he didn't give a damn about a twenty-one-year-old girl. What mattered to him was the rydex. Hastings was getting cold feet, knowing Eric was on to him. So to secure his help with the drugs, Powys promised him Abbygail. Irene lured her out into the forest. Hastings raped her. It seems he expected her to 'come around' then, she'd see how wonderful it was and how wonderful he was. That didn't happen, shockingly. Powys knew it wouldn't. He wasn't securing Hastings's help with the rydex by giving him a girl. He secured it by making him a murderer. Abbygail vowed Eric and Mick would hunt Hastings to the ends of the earth for assaulting her, and Powys pushed Hastings until he lost it and strangled her. Then they chopped up her body and scattered it for predators."
I stand there, shocked into silence. It takes a moment for me to find my voice, and when I do, I say, "You switched out Irene's X-rays to make it seem like she was here under false pretences, too. To help me draw the conclusion that I was chasing a vigilante eliminating killers."
"Which you were. So, detective, do you agree they had it coming?"
"Irene? Powys? Hastings? Maybe. But Mick?" I look her in the eyes. "Absolutely not."
She blanches. Then her face hardens. "I'd made a mistake letting him in on it, and I had to correct that mistake."
"Correct that mistake? You made him a party to brutal, sadistic murders because he was grieving for a girl he loved. Then you murdered him when he regretted it."
"Mick was weak. That is where I made a mistake. He didn't like what we did to Powys. I knew he wouldn't help me with Hastings if he knew what I planned. So I did my surgery, knocked Hastings out, and put him in that bag before I called Mick in. Mick thought he was already dead when he hauled him up in that tree. When he found out otherwise, I had to admit I'd made a mistake letting him help me."
"So you killed him to protect yourself. Then you planned to frame Diana and let her die in that fire for no reason other than that it would give me a reason to leave town. When that failed, you remembered Irene's accidental confession and the rumours you'd heard about Diana. You doped her up and got her to confess to even more than you bargained for. But still I wouldn't leave. I ran into that forest ... and into Jacob, the pistol you'd cocked to fire. Perfect timing ... and yet I survived, and with Eric playing nursemaid, you couldn't even make sure I died from unforeseen complications. Still, you could frame Jacob for the murders. Another innocent party whose guilt would doubly help you--blame him for the crimes and get him out of Eric's life so he'd be free to go south with you."
"You don't understand anything," she snarls.
"Maybe," I say. "But I think we'll let the council decide." I turn and call, "You get that, sheriff?"
Dalton walks out from a clump of trees. He's pale and pressing his blood-soaked shirt to his shoulder. But he's on his feet, walking toward Beth, and she falls back, blinking hard.
"Eric? You ... you..."
"Yeah, he's fine," I say. "I lied. It's Will who's been shot."
"And you're going to fix him," Dalton says. "Or I'll shoot you before Casey can."
SIXTY-FIVE
And that's it. Well, no. It's not. When we talk to the council, Beth tries to retract her confession. That's when I bring up the trap left in the clearing with Hastings's body. I accuse her of trying to hurt Dalton, and she can't resist that bait, saying it must have already been there, defending herself and thereby trapping herself.
By morning, the council has sent a plane to pick her up. Apparently, they don't trust Dalton to get her out of Rockton alive. After that? Well, I don't give a shit what happens to her after that. I cannot forgive her for what she did to Mick, to Jacob, to Diana, and, however inadvertently, to Dalton. And there's hurt there, too, and I'll let myself acknowledge that. She'd become a friend, and I do not understand what she did. I do not.
As
for Anders, he's fine. Physically, at least. The rest? That's a little more complicated. The next morning, I wake in Dalton's bed, and I lie there, trying to figure out how to tell him that the guy who saved his life is a killer who's been informing on him.
When Dalton wakes, he pulls me to him for a kiss, but then stops, wincing at his shoulder wound, and I take advantage of that to wriggle away and prop up on my elbow.
"I need to tell you something about Will," I say.
He shoots upright. "Did he get worse--?"
"No, I'm sure he's fine. But ... I found out something about him last night. That file Mick had on the people smuggled into Rockton ... He'd stolen it from you but added an extra entry. On Will."
Dalton goes quiet and rubs his mouth.
"You knew," I say.
"Yeah."
"He's not in your book."
"I got rid of the page a while ago, in case anyone found it. I'd have told you if I thought there was any chance he'd killed Abbygail and the others. Or if you got involved with him."
"Okay." I hesitate and say slowly, "You knew his backstory, but there's more. In order to stay in Rockton, well, there was a price."
