I didn’t want to take the time for that, but she was right. I could take a shower and change into some fresh clothes in ten minutes, I was betting.
I did it in nine.
As I was getting ready to head back out again, Jayne met me at the door. “I’m going to drop Norman’s phone back at his place,” I said. “Can I have your cell?”
I figured, given that we were among the last people on the planet with a landline, she could use that to try and reach Nan Sokolow. Jayne got her phone and handed it over. I didn’t have to ask her for her passcode. We used the same one for both our phones.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said. “We’re going to get through this.”
She put her arms around me again. “Call me with any news.”
“You, too.”
I went to the car and got in. I put both cell phones in the center console — easy enough to tell one from the other. Norman had a drab brown leather cover on his, and Jayne’s encasement was vivid with a floral design. I grabbed it, wanting to double-check that I could, in fact, get into it, and I did.
I must have sat out there for a few minutes, not realizing how much time had gone by, because finally I heard a rapping at my window and found Jayne standing there, staring at me. Through the glass she said, “What’s going on?”
After I’d set down her phone, keyed the ignition, and powered down the window, I said, “I think I’m in a bit of a daze. Overwhelmed. Shell-shocked, maybe.”
“Come inside. I’ll make us some coffee. Or make you something stronger.”
“No, I’ve got to go.”
She stepped away as I backed onto the street, stood and watched as I drove off. In my rearview mirror, I saw her step into the street and wave. I was halfway down the block when Jayne’s phone rang. The caller ID was blocked.
I picked up.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Carville.” I knew the voice.
“Detective Hardy,” I said. “Sorry, you were probably wanting to speak to Jayne.”
“No, in fact I was hoping to reach you. I tried your number and it went straight to voice mail.”
“My phone’s broken,” I said.
“I need to see you right now.”
“Sorry, I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment. What’s this about?”
“I think you know. Your name just popped up on another matter. Something that happened up on Wheelers Farm Road.”
“Figured I might hear from you.”
“There’s a dead man in the woods and an open grave. I’m heading up there shortly. Meet me there.”
“He wasn’t dead when I left him, but he said his name is Matt,” I offered. “He killed Brie. Her remains are in that grave. I think if you do a DNA test on them, that’ll be confirmed. He lured me up there, made me dig her up on the off chance I might be able to say whose bones they were, and then he intended to kill me.”
“But he didn’t.”
“No. I got lucky. Norman — Brie’s brother-in-law — happened to be in the right place at the right time and created enough of a distraction that I came out of it alive.”
“You killed this Matt person.”
“Like I said, he was alive when I left.” I was surprised how easy it was to lie about this. “I’d sent Norman to call for an ambulance. He went up by the road to wave them in. I stayed with Matt a few more minutes, talked some, then made my way back to my car and said goodbye to Norman.”
“Why was Norman there?”
“He wanted to thank me.”
“Thank you?”
“For never telling Isabel what I told you. For not ruining their lives when I had every reason to. You can ask him, if you want. He saw me driving out of town and followed.”
“Meet me there. I’m not going to ask again.”
“That’s good,” I said, “because I’d be getting tired of having to say no. I know who did it, Detective Hardy. I know who hired him to kill my wife.”
“This Matt told you?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I guess he felt a need to unburden himself,” I said.
“Tell me. I want the name.”
“Soon,” I said. “I’ve got a few questions to ask first.”
“Mr. Carville — Andrew. Please, just meet me at—”
There she was, asking again within seconds of saying she wouldn’t. I ended the call. And then, in case she could use Jayne’s phone to track me, I powered it off.
I imagined she’d be putting out a description of my car. I hoped I could get done everything I wanted to do before I was spotted.
First stop was to drop off Norman’s phone.
I wanted to have a word with Isabel. Who’d been up in Boston, with her husband. Far, far away when Brie was abducted and murdered.
Fifty-Five
Detective Hardy was almost at the scene when Andrew Carville ended their call.
“Shit,” she said.
She saw a collection of vehicles up ahead, pulled over onto the shoulder of Wheelers Farm Road. Police cars, an ambulance. She parked her car and went to the first uniformed officer she saw, a man who didn’t look old enough to have graduated from high school. Why, Hardy wondered, did everyone seem younger every year?
“Where’s the guy who called it in?’ Hardy asked.
The officer pointed to a man leaning up against a silver Nissan. Hardy recognized Norman from the times she had met, over the years, with his wife, Isabel. Hardy walked over to him.
“Norman, isn’t it?” Hardy said.
Norman pushed himself off the car and extended a hand. “Yeah. The paramedics, then that cop over there, they told me to wait for you. The one who really should have waited is Andrew. But he took off.”
“I know, but for now you’re all I’ve got. Tell me what happened.”
Before Norman had gotten very far into his story, Hardy said, “Show me,” and Norman led her down the rutted road to where he had found Andrew’s car — now gone — and the SUV that belonged to the other man. Hardy gave the vehicle a quick look, including opening the glove box and looking for the registration.
“Matthew Beekman,” she said under her breath, and made a quick call with her cell. Once she was finished with that, she let Norman continue giving her the tour.
“I heard voices coming from up that way,” he said, pointing deeper into the woods. They started making their way until a large rock became visible in the distance.
“That’s where it happened,” Norman said.
“Tell me what you saw.”
Norman said Andrew, shovel in hand, was standing over a pile of dirt and two holes in the ground, a few feet ahead of the rock. The other man was pointing a gun at Andrew. When Norman called out, all hell broke loose. When the gunman looked around, Andrew charged him with the shovel.
“He told me to call for help, and that’s kind of all I know,” Norman said.
“Mr. Carville says you followed him up here.”
Norman looked to the ground and nodded. “Yes. I had some things I wanted to say to him.”
Hardy waited. Norman told her he’d wanted to thank Andrew, and also wanted him to know he had been to the Mason house on the Saturday of the weekend Brie vanished.
“You never told me that,” Hardy said.
Norman shrugged. “I know.”
Hardy told him to go to his car and wait in case she needed to speak with him further, then made her way closer to the scene.
Matt’s body had not been moved. The area had already been cordoned off with police tape, a few nicely placed trees used as anchor points for the corners. Hardy ducked under the tape and moved carefully around the scene. Studied the wound in Matt’s belly, the severed hand, the liters of blood that had drained from his wounds into the forest floor. Then she had a look at the hole in the ground that revealed a hint of uncovered skeleton, a necklace that still looped loosely around the neck.