Summit Lake Page 14

  “Probably does, but no one seems to know where it is.” Kelsey put her pizza down. “Becca had her journal two hours before she was killed, when she was studying at the coffeehouse in town. But there’s no record of a journal listed on the evidence report, and when I had the opportunity to poke around the Eckersleys’ house, I saw no sign of it.”

  “So where is it?”

  Kelsey shrugged. “Someone has it. Either the state authorities found it and kept it off the evidence list, or . . .”

  “Or what?”

  “Or whoever killed her took the journal because he knew how damning it would be.”

  “If the police found this journal, why would they hide it?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe for the same reason we’re about to snoop around the county building looking for an autopsy report they won’t publish.”

  “What’s your boss say about all this?”

  “He’s interested, just not excited about my approach.”

  “I thought you said this is exactly what your magazine publishes. Shouldn’t he be salivating over a homicide with potential cover-ups?”

  “Oh, he is. Trust me. He’s just mad about the timing. He sent me here to get me out of the way for a while. Tie me up with a fluff piece for a couple of weeks. At least, I thought he did. He’s mixed on the fact that I’ve actually stumbled onto something.”

  “Yeah?” Peter said. “Why does your editor want his star reporter out of the way?”

  Kelsey took a sip of beer and unknowingly crossed her arms, shaking her head. “That’s a story for another time.”

  “I’d like to hear it sometime, because I did some investigating on my own and understand you’re a pretty big deal. You’ve got a best-selling true crime book, and you’ve got quite a following for your Events pieces. So why would your boss waste your talents on a fluff piece?”

  “It’s a long story. Let’s just say he wanted me out of the office for a while.”

  “You get along with him?”

  “Yeah,” Kelsey said. “I love him.”

  Peter took a bite of pizza and raised an eyebrow.

  “Not like that,” Kelsey said. “He’s seventy years old. I love him like a father. Hate him the same way sometimes.”

  Kelsey was still sitting with her arms crossed. Peter pointed at her half-eaten pizza slice. “You don’t like it?”

  “Too nervous.”

  Peter looked out the window at the Government Center across the street. The building was mostly dark besides a few stray lights on the third floor. He dropped his pizza on the plate and wiped his mouth. “Ready, then?”

  Kelsey nodded. “As ready as I’ll be tonight.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Peter paid the bill and together they walked across the street, leaving the car in the restaurant parking lot. The Government Center campus was lighted by yellow halogen as they walked along the sidewalk to the front of the building. He pulled the card key from his pocket and inserted it into the slot. The red light changed to green and Peter swung the door open. Kelsey took a deep breath and followed him inside.

  They walked past the elevators and entered the stairwell. The three flights caused Kelsey’s pulse to elevate more than it already was. Peter pulled the stairwell door open, the handle making a loud clinking noise. Everything, from their footsteps to the door handle, was intensified when set against the stillness of the empty building.

  “Okay,” Peter said. “He told me 3C.”

  They walked down the hallway. A glass wall stood to their left, through which they could see the dark workspace of a government office. A large reception area with chairs behind a chest-high counter. Beyond that, cubicles with a few computer monitors still glowing. When they came to suite 3C, Peter again inserted the access card and listened for the lock to disengage. Kelsey looked down the hallway one last time before entering. 3C was a private office with a single desk and computer. Peter sat behind it and Kelsey crouched down next to him. He touched the mouse and the computer came to life. He entered the password his friend had supplied to access the system, then entered: ECKERSLEY, BECCA.

  A low tone sounded and then a message: INVALID ENTRY.

  Peter looked at Kelsey.

  “Here,” Kelsey said. “Try this.”

  She pulled the keyboard toward her and typed: ECKERSLEY, REBECCA ALICE.

  A higher, more pleasant ring sounded. Then a box appeared, asking for a password. Peter typed it from memory and a second later Becca’s full autopsy and toxicology report blinked onto the screen.

  “Don’t print it,” Kelsey said. “That will definitely leave a footprint. Probably entering the file has lit up a red light somewhere. You read, I’ll take notes. Go.”

  Kelsey pulled out her notepad. Peter read from the screen.

  “Official cause of death: suffocation. The trachea and larynx were collapsed by trauma, and this prevented oxygen from getting to the lungs. Said trauma determined to be caused by manual pressure to the neck. Most likely from someone’s hands. No lacerations to the neck, or other indications of tightening objects such as belts, ropes, or ligature.”

  Peter waited a second while Kelsey scribbled.

  “Go.”

  Peter read through some incidentals they had previously covered in the partial autopsy report while Kelsey took shorthand.

  “Okay,” Peter said. “It speaks here more extensively about the vaginal damage that confirms rape.” Peter scrolled down the screen. “Here. Page four. We haven’t seen this. Evidence sequestered from the body and turned over to police: semen, hair (head, facial, and pubic), fibers (wool—coat or gloves), skin shaving from seven fingernails.”

  Peter scrolled further. “DNA sequestered from all samples match each other, indicating one attacker. See toxicology. Hold on.” Peter clicked on another screen and the toxicology report popped up. “Okay, it looks like they took DNA samples from Becca’s father and brother and three cousins. No match on them.” He mumbled a minute as he read quickly and flipped between screens. “Okay. It looks like a construction crew who had worked in the house was also sampled—five men, no matches.”

  “So no DNA matches at all?”

  “Not on the toxo report.”

  “No other DNA taken—like a husband?”

  “Not listed on this report, no.”

  From down the hallway, the elevator chimed and they both froze. They left the door to suite 3C cracked, and Kelsey grabbed Peter’s arm when she heard the elevator doors slide open. Quickly, Peter stood and went to the office door. He twisted the handle and silently pulled the door fully closed. He stood still and placed his ear to the wood. Kelsey was next to him with her ear, too, against the door. Their faces were inches apart and their breathing heavy. They tried to control their lungs and listen. They finally heard a muffled conversation and then whistling, which after a minute faded away.

  Peter placed his finger across his lips: “Shh.”

  He grabbed the handle and pushed the door open, sticking his head into the hallway. Kelsey did the same, just below him. They saw a janitorial cart down the hall, with mop handles sticking up and rags hanging from the side. They both retreated into the room.

  “Hurry,” Kelsey said.

  Peter rushed back to the computer and scrolled through the rest of the autopsy. “There’s more internal findings. Greater detail about the subdural hematoma.” He spit out some facts about brain swelling and blood patterns. Stomach contents that helped narrow the time of the attack. Semen location in the upper vaginal canal indicated Becca never stood up after the attack. He clicked screens back to the toxicology report. He quickly read through some final notes, then stopped.

  “Huh.”

  “What?” Kelsey asked, looking up from her notepad.

  “Here’s the toxicology report and blood work they did on Becca.”

  “What is it? Don’t tell me she was doped up.”

  “No, not a trace of drugs in her system. Just human chorionic gonadotropin.”


  “What’s that?”

  “hCG.”

  Kelsey blinked her eyes. “The pregnancy hormone?”

  CHAPTER 19

  Becca Eckersley

  George Washington University

  April 7, 2011

  Ten months before her death

  Everyone in Milford Morton’s class was required to retake the exam. The decision brought protests from the innocent students, and a few belligerent ones were allowed to skate quietly away. The faculty knew the ones who argued most and whose parents became involved were probably innocent, while the ones who protested least and kept their parents in the dark were guilty as sin.

  For Jack, he was given a failing grade and not allowed to retake the exam. This, too, was a strategic decision by the faculty, since close scrutiny of his transcripts revealed Jack had taken more hours than required during his freshman and sophomore years, and a failing grade in Milford Morton’s Business Law class would still leave him with the necessary requirements for graduation. The failing grade would dirty his transcripts and slash his grade point average, however, which might affect his life after graduation. Most importantly, it would demonstrate a visible punishment while allowing the university to graduate the status quo of low-income students and avoid unwanted attention from groups who would pounce and attack in a very public way if a poor kid from Wisconsin had been booted from the university months before graduation, when everyone knew most of the students cheated on the exam.

  Jack wasn’t sure exactly what the ordeal would do to his acceptance letter from Harvard, and for the first day or two after his verdict came he decided not to look into the matter. He came home from the library in the early evening, three weeks since his meeting with the dean, to find Brad at the kitchen table, a torn envelope in front of him along with a letter folded in thirds. Jack slowed as he entered the apartment. He knew from the look on Brad’s face what it all meant, but had to ask.

  “Well?”

  Brad faked a smile. “Rejected!” Brad said in a strange voice meant to hide his sorrow, but which did just the opposite. “Just like everything else in my life,” he mumbled to himself.

  “Shit. Penn?”

  Brad nodded.

  “Screw Penn,” Jack said. “You’ve got others out there.”

  Brad stood up with pursed lips. “No, Jackie Boy. That’s the last of ’em. All the Ivies passed.” His eyes widened in feigned excitement. “Oh, but I got into U of M. Can’t wait for the ‘Thatta Boy’ from my old man on that one. He’ll be real proud of his state-educated boy. I’ll be a real hit at all his friggin’ Who’s Who parties, with all his friggin’ judge friends.”

  Jack’s voice was quiet. “Everyone passed?”

  “It’s a proud day in the Reynolds family.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You’ve been a little out of touch, Jack. You and Becca.”

  Jack didn’t touch that comment. Or mention that swallowing the bullet for their little adventure had most likely cost Jack his own ride to Harvard. Instead he said, “So take a year off, find an internship.” Jack’s words hung in the air, untouched and unnoticed. “I thought U of M had a good program, that’s why you applied.”

  “It was my backup, and I only applied because my counselor forced me into it.” Brad slid his arm through the loop of his backpack. Then he looked at Jack. “It’s actually a shitty school that would give my father a goddamned heart attack if I attended.”

  Jack watched him walk slowly out the door, not closing it as he left. He heard Brad’s footsteps mechanically descend the stairs. Jack took out his phone and dialed Becca’s number.

  “Hey, major issues over here.”

  “What’s wrong?” Becca asked.

  “Apparently Brad got rejected from every law school he applied to, except Maryland. Never told anyone, unless you or Gail know.”

  “He hasn’t talked to me in two months, and I’m sure Gail doesn’t know anything about it.” There was a pause. “Everywhere?”

  “All the Ivies.”

  “And we were all just out celebrating our acceptances.”

  “He didn’t seem too concerned that my acceptance will probably be rescinded. But either way, somebody’s gotta talk to him, he’s a mess.”

  “I’m coming over.”

  “He took off.”

  “Where?”

  “No idea. Just threw on his backpack and left.”

  “I’ll call his cell,” Becca said. “And if he won’t talk to me, I’ll get Gail to call him.”

  “Let me know.”

  Gail and Becca sat on one side of the booth, Jack on the other. Burgers and sodas covered the table. It was a strategy meeting on how to help their friend, who they were sure felt like the world was falling on top of him.

  “I say we just go to your place and wait for him,” Gail said. “He has to come home eventually. Midnight, two in the morning, doesn’t matter. We’ll all just stay up and wait for him.”

  “He won’t like the ambush,” Jack said. “Has he been talking to you lately?” Jack asked Gail.

  “Yeah.”

  “Doesn’t screen your calls like he does to Becca and me?”

  Gail smiled. “He’s not pissed at me, and until today every time I’ve called him he’s answered. He’s been a little distant lately, and I guess I figured it had to do with . . . you know, you guys. But now I know it’s because he’s been shouldering this burden without telling anyone.” Gail stirred her Coke. “I thought he had a contact at Penn, through his father or someone.”

  “I remember him saying something like that,” Jack said. “Guess it didn’t come through.”

  “Try him again,” Becca said.

  “I’ve texted him three times in the last hour. He knows I’m looking for him.”

  “Okay,” Becca said. “So we wait at the apartment. Then what?”

  “Then we get all this shit out on the table,” Gail said. “This is so stupid. We were all best friends a few months ago, now no one talks to each other.”

  “That’s not all our fault,” Becca said.

  “No,” Jack agreed. “But some of it is. And Gail’s right, we’ve got to get this stuff out there and talk about it. Then we’ve got to support Brad, who feels like his life just ended. And most of that comes from his friggin’ father, who puts more pressure on the kid than anyone. And it’s so crazy that Brad hates the man one second and then can’t stand the thought of disappointing him the next.” Jack shook his head. “Whatever. Let’s go wait for him.”

  They paid the bill and left the restaurant. It was a cool April night as they walked back to Jack’s apartment, with winds blowing off the Potomac and carrying the scent of salmon and crabs. Jack’s phone vibrated in his pocket from an incoming text message. They were at the base of the stairs to his apartment complex.

  The girls started up the stairs as Jack fished the phone from his pocket. The text was from Brad.

  You took her from me, Jack.

  But I guess she was never really mine.

  “Is it Brad?” Becca asked from the top of the stairs.

  Jack hesitated for a second, then shook his head. “No, mass text from a professor about a paper due next week.”

  The girls stood at the top of the stairs as Jack read the message again. After a minute, the girls were restless.

  “Hey, Jackie Boy,” Gail said from the landing in front of his apartment. “Let’s go, it’s chilly out here.”

  Jack looked at the text one last time, studying it before sticking his phone in his pocket. He wanted to shoot a text back to his friend. Something to acknowledge Brad’s pain, or his own presumed betrayal. He slowly climbed the stairs, thinking of how to respond. He stuck the key into the lock and pushed open the door. As he did, a fragmented series of images came to him, played in his head like a movie clip, black-and-white with static particles. The look in Brad’s eyes earlier in the day as he left the apartment. Brad’s rejection letter sitting on the table. His w
ords . . . Rejected! Just like everything else in my life. Before the door was fully open, Jack knew what waited on the other side. A message back to his friend would not be possible.

  Becca screamed. Jack stood like a statue in the doorway. He never looked at Brad’s face, or if he had his brain blocked the blood-red, bloated image from his memory. But stained forever in Jack’s mind was his friend’s feet, limp and slowly twirling twelve inches off the ground, an overturned chair lying still on the floor.

  PART III

  HELLO, I DETECTIVE

  CHAPTER 20

  Kelsey Castle

  Summit Lake

  March 12, 2012

  Day 8

  A cottony framework of snow-white clouds ripped and pulled their way across the sky, stretching over the lake and toward the horizon like a ceiling to the world. In the distance an opening formed, as though solvent spilled from heaven had burned a hole in the clouds, and through it shined vibrant yellow rays of morning sunlight that landed on the waterfall and ricocheted off the granite. The water glowed orange as it fell. Kelsey stared at the mysterious scene. The morning falls.

  She woke early with Becca’s pregnancy causing her imagination to run wild with possibilities. So many questions formed in her head that sleep was again elusive. Now she stood at the bottom of the falls with a good burn in her legs and all the questions about Becca Eckersley organized in her mind. Her gaze traveled to the origin of the falls, where two boulders stood on top of the cliff and flanked the water as it passed between them. The force of the water had probably eroded the rock face over time, Kelsey figured, until eventually the stream swelled and a small trickle sweated between the stones. Years later, the relentless pressure forced a gap in the rocks until finally the weakest portion fell away and allowed the stream to pour from the edge of the cliff. Over time, the endless flow rubbed smooth the rocks to create a shuttle through which the water passed freely before falling down the mountain. The evolution of such a magnificent setting was amazing. Kelsey stared at the falls and knew no matter how complex, all mysteries could be traced back to their genesis.