But there’s no wind tonight, she thought.
And though the woods were full of such sounds-unexplainable creaks and cracks-she’d come to discern a difference between the sounds of nature and the sounds of animals in nature. The sound hadn’t resulted from a tree limb falling, or a pine tree splitting; it had sounded more like something slapping the cottage’s clapboard siding.
Bear! She spun in her chair, her elbow bumping the mug and sloshing some tea onto the table. She jumped up. Something-someone?-moved off quickly through the woods, snapping twigs and swooshing branches. She lunged forward, killing the interior lights and switching on the outside floods. The computer monitor cast a glow into the room as she raced to the wall and peered out a window. But too late. If there had been anything out there it was long gone, amid the harsh shadows knitting in the woods.
It can’t be!
A deer or elk antler making contact with the wall-that made sense. But the escape into the woods had sounded like something big and fast, which brought her back to a bear. The bear. Except that Walt had now convinced her that the destruction at the Berkholders’ had not been the work of a bear, but instead an itinerant who’d vandalized the place and had worked hard to make it look like the work of a bear.
It can’t be. Her chest was tight, her throat constricted. Heat flooded through her, immediately followed by a penetrating cold.
A man, out there creeping around her cottage.
Not possible.
She glanced to the front door and then threw herself across the room to the phone, stabbing the intercom button.
“Kira! Pick up! Pick up!”
“Yeah?” Kira said over the main residence’s speakerphone. A television played in the background.
“Lock the doors. Pull the blinds. And leave the phone on while you’re doing it.”
“What’s going on?”
“Just do it! Right now! There’s a… bear,” she said. “I think there was a bear outside my window just now.”
“No way!”
“Kira. Now!”
“Okay, okay.”
She heard the girl moving through the rooms, pulling drapes and dropping blinds. Then footfalls returned toward the phone.
“I don’t see how pulling blinds is going to make any difference to a bear,” Kira said.
“Are the doors locked?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“You sound so… freaked out.”
“Do I? Sorry. It just scared me, was all.”
It can’t be. Not again.
“I think it’s cool. I wouldn’t mind seeing a bear for real.”
“Do not go near the doors or windows.”
“Jeez… Chill.”
“You have the baseball bat?”
“P… le… ase,” Kira said, drawing the word out dramatically.
“I’m coming over. Get the bat and stand by the front door and get ready to unlock it for me.”
“What? Seriously? Why? You don’t need to do that, Fiona. I’m fine. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“I know you don’t,” Fiona said. She paused, looking near the front door for her running shoes. “But I think I do.”
8
The young man wasn’t prepared for the formality of the interview room, just as Walt had hoped. He was accompanied by his father, who was fit and ruggedly handsome, and his attorney, Terry, for whom Walt had a great deal of respect. The boy shared his father’s good looks, broad shoulders, and deep voice, though the combination belied his boyish, naïve eyes.
Terry Hogue, a sizable, well-dressed man with a commanding presence, displayed the calmness of an academic. “As to the nature of the inquiry, Sheriff, I’d like to restate that my client, Mr. Donaldson, is here of his own volition, that is, voluntarily, and has not been charged with any crime.”
“That’s correct, Terry.”
“That Mr. Donaldson is willing to cooperate with your investigation, if any, and that nothing said here today is being recorded and may not be used against him.”
“Agreed.”
“That said,” Hogue continued, “I’ve asked my client to clear his answers with me before responding, so he may seek my advice, which I’m here to give. We apologize in advance for any delays that may cause.”
“Understood.”
“It’s all yours,” Hogue said.
“Mr. Donaldson… may I call you Brian? Brian, are you in a relationship with Dionne Fancelli, of eighteen Alturas Drive?”
The nervous boy looked to Hogue, who nodded his assent.
“Yeah. Me and Di are boyfriend, girlfriend.”
“And we’re all aware of Ms. Fancelli’s medical condition,” Walt said. “That is, that she’s pregnant, with child.”
The boy nodded regretfully, without checking with Hogue. The father fidgeted in his chair.
“Sheriff,” Hogue said, “let’s be clear that acknowledging the young woman’s medical condition by no means implies my client’s role in that matter.”
“Which is why we’re here, Terry. Right?”
“We’re here as a result of your invitation,” Hogue clarified.
“Have you had sexual intercourse with Ms. Fancelli?” Walt asked the boy.
The boy looked to Hogue, who spoke for him. “My client will not comment on the physical nature of his and Ms. Fancelli’s friendship.”
“I assume we’re all aware that Ms. Fancelli is claiming the child is your client’s,” Walt said to the attorney, since Hogue was the one answering.
“We’re aware of the claim,” Hogue said, “but again, we are making no statement about the physical or sexual nature of their relationship.”
“We’re also all aware that Ms. Fancelli is fifteen.”
Silence.
“I will assume Mr. Hogue has briefed you on the quirky nature of Idaho law,” Walt said to the boy. “Idaho accepts sexual relationships between adolescents of similar ages. But you must be at least eighteen years old in Idaho to have consensual sex with an adult, that is a person eighteen or over. You are over eighteen, Brian. And therefore, if you have penetrated Ms. Fancelli, orally, vaginally, or anally, you are in violation of state law.”
Hogue seemed on the verge of stepping in, but resigned himself to allow Walt to continue, apparently wanting to see where this was going.
“With the girl’s claim of penetration, the state can therefore charge you in this matter, leaving it for the courts to decide. There is no physical proof required, although you may or may not be aware that Ms. Fancelli has retained electronic correspondence-e-mails and texts-in which she discusses your sexual relations with her, and your replies to those e-mails contain no denials. To the contrary, in fact.”
“Where are we going with this, Walt?”
“We’d like to take a swab.”
“Absolutely not,” Hogue said. “Show us a court order, and my client will oblige.”
Walt met eyes with Hogue. “I’m requesting your client provide a swab voluntarily and that he aids this office in obtaining a hair or some other sample from Ms. Fancelli that contains the young woman’s DNA. Perhaps he is already in possession of something along these lines.”
“This is ridiculous!” the father said, nearly coming out of his chair. “They haven’t got anything! No way this is happening.”
Hogue, without breaking eye contact with Walt, motioned for the man to remain in his chair, and implicitly, to remain quiet.
“I don’t get it,” Brian said.
The father couldn’t help himself. “He wants you to do his work for him. Let’s get out of here.”
Hogue turned on the father. “You may leave the room, or you can remain and be quiet, but that’s the last we’re going to hear from you right now.”
The father huffed, but stayed in his seat.
“Let me get this straight,” Hogue said. “You’re requesting my client’s participation and cooperation in certain aspects of your evidence collection and in keeping with the confidentiality of the current interview, you’re implying any evidence acquired as a result of this cooperation…?”