Page 60 of Last Seen
“You know I will.”
“Good. I’ll be in touch. Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”
She kisses and hugs them both goodbye, and at the desk ignores the frantic wave of the nurse on duty, who she knows just wants to question her about Kater. She can’t do this right now. She has a mission.
In the hospital parking lot, Halley checks the Jeep up and down for anything that might be suspicious, like a tracker, and finds it clean. Watching over her shoulder for anyone following, she drives down the mountain, eyes blurring with tears when she drives past the crime scene tape strung across Kater’s driveway. One of Early’s officers is going to report seeing her Jeep, she has no doubt about that, but hopefully the chief will leave her be. She needs to do this. She knows the retreat will have all the answers. Knows it deep in her soul.
The drive goes smoothly. She is certain no one is following her. She pats her purse grimly, comforted by the hard metal. No surprise will be a match for this.
She listens to her playlists and thinks it’s a hoot when R.E.M. comes on. She sings the lyrics and, in a perverse joke, inserts her own. “Don’t go back to Brockville ...”
Her phone rings as she crosses into Tennessee, the car’s speaker kicking in when she answers.
“Halley James? This is Detective Mike Cooper, Metro Nashville. You called about a case from 1989?”
“Yes, I did. My mother’s murder. I was hoping to talk to the detective who worked the case.”
“He’s no longer with us, I’m afraid. I see some of the file was shared already?”
“Yes, the crime scene documents. I’m looking for something else, specifically. My sister was the perpetrator. She was caught and pled guiltyto the crime. I was hoping for transcripts from her interviews with the detectives. She’s missing. I’m trying to find her, filling in the blanks.”
“I understand. I took a quick look myself. The case has been archived. They’re working to get all the old cases online, digitize everything. You’ll need to fill out a formal request from records, all that. You have an email? I can send you a link to the form. Afraid that’s all I can do right now.”
“I’d appreciate that.” She rattles off the address, and he repeats it back.
“I’ll get this to you right away. There is one other thing. You said she’s missing—there’s a missing persons report on file.”
“From Boston, yes.”
“No, from Brockville, Tennessee. Dated June of 2002. Filed by a woman named Tammy Boone.”
This is news. Someone else missed Cat.
“That’s a huge help, thank you. I’m actually on my way to Brockville now. I’ll see if she’s around to talk.”
“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
“I understand. Thanks for the assist, Detective.”
So much for that. The wheels of justice continue turning. Even when a sixteen-year-old pleads guilty to murder, the case files are put in a box labeled “Closed” and left to gather dust on a shelf.
The sun is just starting to descend when she takes the exit off the highway and points the Jeep east. She winds up a mountain that reminds her of Marchburg, switchbacks and steep drops and rocks and trees, then crests the hill and starts down. She does this five times, driving into the darkening sky, until, as she starts the last descent, she sees the great stone entrance, flanked by a well-tended sign with looping scrolls around the letters.
Welcome to Brockville!
Part Two
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:
I love not Man the less, but Nature more.
—George Gordon Byron,
