“Okay, start over and tell me how you know this.”
“I just ran into Lucas Browne on Main Street and—”
“What were you doing on Main Street at this time of night?”
“I was walking to my car after the New Year’s Eve party,” she says, her frustration building, “but that’s not important. Lucas Browne went to dental school in Buffalo.”
“How exactly do you know that? For that matter, how do you know Lucas Browne?”
“I met him and his father when we were searching the field that day. His father told me Lucas went to college in Buffalo, but he came home early after he got into some kind of trouble.”
“And Lucas told you it was dental school when you saw him tonight?”
She doesn’t answer right away. “Something like that.” She takes a deep breath. “Norris, he was wearing cowboy boots. I think there was blood on them.”
Rustling in the background now. “Where are you?”
“I just turned on 117. Headed home.”
“Turn around,” he says, and she can hear a door opening and closing. “Meet me at the station. Don’t call anyone else.”
“Hurry, Norris.”
69
GWENDY PULLS UP A chair and sits next to Sheila Brigham inside the dispatch cubicle, listening to the radio calls as they come in. She recognizes Sheriff Ridgewick right away, although his voice sounds much deeper over the airwaves, and State Trooper Tom Noel, who was a year behind her at Castle Rock High and grew up two blocks away from Carbine Street. The others are strangers to her, their words terse and clipped, but Gwendy can hear the excitement simmering in their voices.
The sheriff and Deputy Footman are in the lead car, followed by a large convoy of Castle County Sheriff’s Department, Castle Rock Police Department, and Maine State Police vehicles. They’ve just crossed over the old railroad bridge on Jessup Road and will be splitting up and surrounding the Browne’s ranch house in a matter of minutes.
Despite numerous requests and a half-hearted attempt at bribery (involving one of Mr. Peterson’s prized fly fishing rods), the sheriff refused to allow Gwendy to ride along with him or his men—the press would have a field day, he argued, especially if something went wrong and she were injured—so this is the closest she’ll get to the action.
She stares at the radio with nervous anticipation, tapping her foot on the ugly green carpet and chewing her fingernails. Sheila has already scolded her twice for not being able to sit still, but Gwendy can’t help it. She’s running on fumes and nearly a half-dozen cups of coffee. It’s almost ten o’clock in the morning and she hasn’t slept a wink. In fact, she didn’t even make it home last night.
Shortly after 1:00 AM, not long after meeting Gwendy at the stationhouse, Sheriff Ridgewick got in touch with a Detective Tipton of the Buffalo Police Department. Files were pulled. Phone calls made. Doors knocked on. By 6:00 AM, a senior official from the Administration Office at the University of Buffalo verified that Lucas Tillman Browne of Castle Rock, Maine was dismissed from the School of Dental Medicine—just before the conclusion of his third semester—after numerous female students filed sexual harassment and stalking complaints against him. Shortly after 8:00 AM, State Police detectives learned from the Tomlinsons and the Parkers that both families had hired handyman Charles Browne the previous spring to power-wash the aluminum siding on their houses. In both instances, Mr. Browne had been accompanied by his son. It’d been so long ago the families had simply forgotten. This treasure trove of new information led to a search warrant being issued for the Browne residence and the surrounding property.
“I’ve got eyes on a single male subject,” the radio squawks, and Gwendy can picture Sheriff Ridgewick sitting in the driver’s seat of his cruiser, squinting through a dirty windshield. “Check that, two male subjects in the garage. Second man’s working under the truck.”
“Copy that. We’re in position out back.”
“All good at the fence line. He comes this way, we got ’em.”
“Approaching subjects now. Detective Thome is at my twelve o’clock blocking the driveway. Stand by.”
Three-and-a-half minutes later: “Warrant has been served. Both subjects cooperating. Detectives entering the residence. Stand by.”
The radio goes mostly silent then. Someone requests a new pair of gloves be brought inside the house. Another officer asks if he and his men should continue to turn away traffic at the intersection. Deputy Portman responds in the affirmative.
Gwendy pulls in a deep breath, lets it out. Sheila takes a bite of her donut and stares intently at the radio monitor, the expression on her face unchanged.
“How in the world are you so calm?” Gwendy asks, breaking the silence. “I’m dying over here.”
Sheila gives her a dry look, smudges of white powder stuck in the corners of her mouth. “Twenty-five years on the job, honey. Seen and heard it all by now. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen!” She takes another bite of donut and continues with her mouth full. “I’ll tell you this, though… if you don’t stop chewing on those nails of yours, you’re gonna have to walk across the street to the drugstore in about five minutes and buy yourself some Band-Aids.”
Gwendy lowers her pinky finger from her mouth and crosses her arms like a sullen teenager.
“Sheila, come back,” the radio squawks.
She wipes powdery fingers on her blouse and keys the mic. “Right here, Sheriff.”
There’s a crackle of static, and then: “I’ve got a message for our visitor.”
“Roger that. She’s sitting right next to me gnawing on her fingers.”
“Tell her… we got our man.”
70
“TURN IT UP, GWEN,” her father says, sitting down on the arm of his recliner. He’s staring at the television screen with rapt fascination.
“I’ll be making a few brief comments,” Sheriff Ridgewick says into the tangle of microphones set up outside the stationhouse, “and then I’ll hand it over to State Police Detective Frank Thome to answer any questions.”
He flips open a notepad and starts reading. “Earlier today, the Castle County Sheriff’s Department and the Maine State Police executed a search warrant on a residence located at 113 Ford Road in northern Castle Rock. A number of personal items belonging to Rhonda Tomlinson were discovered under a loose floorboard in one of the bedrooms. After interviewing multiple residents of the home, a suspect, Lucas Browne, age twenty, was placed into custody. After receiving permission from the owner of the residence, Charles Browne, age fifty-nine, to search a family-owned cabin located near Dark Score Lake, officers discovered fourteen-year-old Deborah Parker shackled and unconscious inside the cabin’s dirt cellar. She has been reunited with her family and is currently receiving medical treatment at a local hospital.”
The sheriff looks up from his notepad, the dark circles under his eyes telling the rest of the story. “After an extensive search of the property surrounding the cabin, officers were able to locate the remains of Rhonda Tomlinson and Carla Hoffman buried a short distance away. Both families have been notified and the victims’ remains will be transported to the Castle County Morgue in due course pending further investigation. Lucas Browne has been charged in the abductions and murders of Miss Tomlinson and Miss Hoffman and the abduction and torture of Miss Parker. Additional charges are pending. Lucas Browne remains in custody at this time at the Castle County Sheriff’s Department. Detective Thome will now take your questions.”