Chapter 11 - The Body In Laurel'S Car
The body in Laurel's car was not Laurel.
It was Martin Hale.
He had been shot once in the chest and left behind the wheel on an abandoned logging road two miles from the cabin.
His phone was gone.
His wallet remained in his pocket.
His gun was missing.
The state police immediately treated the scene as homicide.
Charles became their primary person of interest.
Laurel became both suspect and possible victim.
Evan remained missing.
I stood beside the road while forensic technicians worked under portable lights and tried to understand how quickly alliances were collapsing.
Martin had been part of Arthur's death.
Or maybe he had been set up to take the blame for it.
He had hunted us through the Blue Room tunnels.
He had fired at us.
He had helped Laurel threaten Hannah's child.
I did not mourn him.
But dead men could not explain why they had done anything.
That made his death useful to Charles.
"You should not be here," Priya said for the fourth time that day.
She stood beside me wearing borrowed hiking boots that looked ridiculous with her suit.
"Neither should you," I answered.
"I am your attorney."
"This is a crime scene."
"Exactly."
"Where my client keeps wandering."
Elias approached carrying a paper evidence copy Captain Brooks had authorized him to review as a consultant.
He pointed to a printout from Martin's vehicle GPS.
"He came from the Bluebird Motel."
"Then drove directly here."
"Arrival time 11:23 a.m."
"Estimated time of death between 11:30 and noon."
"Charles took Evan from the motel before that," I said.
"Maybe he came here too."
"Maybe."
Elias looked toward the cabin.
"But why?"
The ridge was already crawling with police.
The Blue Room had been secured.
The ledgers were gone.
The original will was with the court.
What remained here worth killing over?
I remembered Charles in the jail interview room.
Ask why Arthur brought a tape recorder to Miller's Ridge the day he died.
"The recording," I said.
Elias looked at me.
"Arthur's recording."
"Charles thinks it is still here."
"Or thought you would find it."
"Maybe Martin found it first."
Captain Brooks joined us.
"We searched him."
"No tape."
"Then Charles took it."
"Possible."
Brooks looked tired.
"But we have another problem."
I almost laughed.
That phrase had become our unofficial motto.
"The lab processed fingerprints on the medical tubing found in Grant's coffin."
"Partial print belongs to Kevin Rusk, the funeral technician."
"Expected."
"Second partial belongs to Charles Voss."
My breath caught.
"He touched it."
"At some point."
"That plus the motel recording is enough to arrest him."
"If we find him."
"His phone is off."
"His home is empty."
"His office staff says he left without explanation."
"Private plane?"
"Grounded."
"Bank accounts?"
"We obtained emergency holds."
"So he is still nearby."
Brooks nodded.
"Probably."
I looked toward the old hunting trail.
"And Evan is with him."
A trooper hurried over.
"Captain."
"We found something in Hale's car."
He handed her a clear evidence bag containing a folded photograph.
It showed Arthur Whitaker standing beside the ridge overlook nineteen years earlier.
Laurel stood behind him.
Charles stood farther back near a pickup truck.
Martin was nowhere in the frame.
The photograph had been taken only minutes before Arthur died according to the handwritten time on the back.
More important, Arthur was holding a small silver tape recorder in his right hand.
"Who took the picture?" I asked.
Elias turned it over.
A name was stamped faintly near the corner.
W. BELL.
Elias swore.
"Walter Bell."
"Who?"
"The old caretaker."
"His son Amos still owns property near Cosby."
"Grant mentioned a caretaker box in the video," I said.
Elias nodded.
"Walter was the one who left the photo of Laurel in Arthur's truck."
"Maybe he took more than one."
Captain Brooks immediately ordered a team to locate Amos Bell.
We found him before sunset.
Or rather, he found us.
As we returned to the cabin, an old green pickup rolled slowly through the police checkpoint.
The driver was seventy-four, narrow-faced, with a white beard and hands stained by engine grease.
He asked for Elias by name.
"I heard Walter's name on the scanner," he said.
"Thought it was time."
Elias stared at him.
"Time for what?"
Amos looked toward me.
"You Grant's widow?"
"Yes."
"You look like he said you would."
That stopped me.
"You knew Grant?"
"Last year."
"Came asking about his daddy."
"Same questions you folks are asking now."
Amos opened the passenger door of his truck and pulled out a rusted ammunition box.
"Walter died eleven years ago."
"Before he went, he told me if another Whitaker ever came asking about Arthur, give them this."
My hands shook as I took the box.
Inside were old photographs, a pocket notebook, and three microcassette tapes.
Elias stared.
"Arthur's recorder used microcassettes."
Amos nodded.
"Walter found it under the overlook two days after Arthur died."
"Sheriff never knew."
"Why didn't your father turn it in?" Brooks asked.
Amos laughed bitterly.
"Because Sheriff Tolland was taking envelopes from Charles Voss's daddy."
"Everybody in the valley knew it."
"Walter figured evidence would disappear just like everything else."
I held up the tapes.
"Did Grant listen to these?"
"Only one."
"Why one?"
"Because he got scared."
That did not sound like Grant.
Amos continued.
"He listened maybe five minutes, went white, and said he needed to get his son away from Laurel before he heard the rest."
My skin prickled.
"What was on it?"
"I don't know."
"Walter told me never to play them."
Elias found an old microcassette player in the cabin storage room.
We gathered around the dining table.
Captain Brooks recorded the playback separately for evidence.
Tape one began with wind noise.
Arthur's voice came next.
"September seventh, 2007."
"Meeting Laurel Dane at Miller's Ridge."
"She claims she has information about Charles Voss and Martin Hale diverting money through Ash House Development."
I looked at Elias.
Ash House.
The encrypted archive on Grant's card.
Arthur continued.
"If Laurel is telling the truth, Charles has used Whitaker partnership access tunnels to hide drums from the old Bluebird chemical cleanup."
"If she is lying, then she is trying to drag me into whatever game she is playing with Grant."
Laurel's younger voice appeared.
"Turn that thing off."
"No."
"Then I'm leaving."
"You called me here."
"Because Martin is going to kill me."
Arthur sounded skeptical.
"Why?"
"Because I know where the Bluebird records are."
"And because Charles thinks the baby is his."
My stomach tightened.
Evan had not been born yet.
Even then, paternity had been part of the conflict.
Arthur asked, "Is it?"
Laurel answered after a long silence.
"I don't know."
Elias paused the tape.
We stared at one another.
Laurel had told Charles one thing and Grant another for seventeen years.
Maybe she truly had not known.
Maybe she had used uncertainty as leverage over both men.
We resumed.
A vehicle approached in the recording.
Arthur said, "Is that Martin?"
Laurel answered, "No."
Her voice sounded frightened.
"It's Charles."
The tape clicked off.
Tape two began seconds later.
Charles's younger voice was unmistakable.
"You brought Arthur?"
Laurel snapped, "You said Martin was coming after me."
"I said he might."
Arthur interrupted.
"What is Ash House?"
Silence.
Then Charles said, "You need to leave, Arthur."
"Not until you tell me why money from my family's partnership is paying Bluebird cleanup invoices."
Charles laughed nervously.
"Because your father signed contracts he never understood."
Arthur's voice hardened.
"My father has been dead fourteen years."
"Do not put this on him."
Then another engine approached.
A door slammed.
Martin's voice entered the recording.
"What the hell is he doing here?"
Laurel said, "This was Charles's idea."
Charles shouted, "No, it wasn't."
The argument exploded.
All four voices overlapped.
Arthur accused them of using the tunnels to hide toxic-waste records that could expose decades of fraud.
Martin accused Charles of stealing money from Ash House.
Laurel screamed that she wanted out.
Then Arthur said one sentence that silenced everyone.
"I already sent copies to the federal prosecutor."
On the tape, Charles whispered, "You stupid bastard."
A struggle followed.
Footsteps scraped on rock.
Arthur shouted.
Laurel screamed, "Martin, stop!"
Then came a sound like someone falling against stone.
The tape went silent except for wind.
Hannah covered her mouth.
"Martin pushed him."
Elias did not answer.
He looked at the tape player.
"There is more."
We played tape three.
For five seconds, only wind.
Then Arthur groaned.
He was still alive.
The recorder had fallen near him below the overlook.
Above, voices carried faintly.
Laurel was sobbing.
"You killed him."
Martin shouted back.
"He grabbed me."
"He slipped."
Charles said, "Both of you shut up."
Then a new voice appeared.
A fifth person.
Male.
Older.
Calm.
"Nobody calls an ambulance."
Elias went rigid.
Captain Brooks looked at him.
"You recognize that voice?"
His face had gone pale.
"Yes."
"Who?"
Elias stared at the recorder as though a ghost had spoken from it.
"Sheriff Raymond Tolland."
The corrupt sheriff from nineteen years ago.
The man Charles said could bury evidence.
The man Martha feared.
I looked at Elias.
"Is he still alive?"
"Yes."
"Where is he?"
Elias swallowed.
"He is the current Blount County district attorney's father-in-law."
The same district attorney's office that fought to keep me jailed.
The same office that had treated planted evidence as fact.
Captain Brooks immediately reached for her phone.
Before she could dial, every light in the cabin went out.
The generator died too.
A second later, gunfire shattered the front windows.
We dropped to the floor.
Priya screamed.
Brooks drew her weapon.
Troopers outside shouted.
More shots came from the tree line.
Elias grabbed the ammunition box and pushed it beneath the heavy dining table.
"They're here for the tapes!"
Glass exploded above us.
I crawled toward the hallway.
Then my prepaid phone vibrated in my pocket.
One message appeared.
It was from Evan.
DO NOT GIVE THEM THE TAPES.
CHARLES ISN'T THE ONE SHOOTING.
May you like
A second message followed.
TOLLAND IS.
