Bad Memory Page 18

  Jessica parked right in the middle of the clearing, nose facing out toward the hundred-foot drop. In roughly the same position as Lucas and Megan had met their violent ends, from what she could tell from the crime scene photos. She climbed out of the truck and just stood there for a moment, the midday sun hot on the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and tried to soak up the atmosphere. The air smelled musky and earthy, almost like rainfall, despite the heat. A hawk flapped its heavy wings somewhere overhead and unleashed an almighty earsplitting screech.

  Jessica thought of the screams that would have ripped apart the silence here on a July night more than thirty years ago and shivered.

  She opened her eyes and looked around. Imagined what this spot would have been like in better times. Horny teenagers, intoxicated by booze and lust. Car windows steamed by heavy breaths and wet kisses. Gently rocking fenders acting as do-not-disturb signs. Devil’s Drop should have been remembered fondly as a place where you came of age, where you made silly mistakes or moments of magic, where you took that next tentative step toward adulthood. Not someplace where your life was ended by the sharp point of a blade before you’d even had a chance to grow up.

  Jessica walked slowly toward the plunging drop that gave the former make-out spot its name, her sneakers disturbing the dust, a hand raised to protect her eyes from the sun’s harsh glare. The drop itself was a large sandstone syncline, dipping deep in the center before the layers of sedimentary rock formations rose upward again on the other side of the canyon. She reached the edge and looked over. Glimpsed reedy weeds, and ragged ruts and ledges, and craggy, sunbaked stone. Her stomach lurched, just as it had done the first time she’d peered over Pryce’s balcony at Los Feliz Towers, and she quickly took a step back.

  She heard a noise behind her.

  It was a sharp crack that tore through the peaceful silence, as loud and unexpected as the report from a shotgun.

  Jessica spun around and saw Pat McDonagh standing in the clearing, hands on his hips, watching her. He was around forty feet away. Even from that distance, she could see he was sweating heavily, like an enthusiastic but inexperienced hiker who’d just completed a particularly tough trek.

  “Sorry—didn’t mean to scare you, Jessica,” he called out. “Especially with you standing so close to the damn edge.” He kicked roughly at the ground, sending a puff of dirt into the air. “Must have stood on a twig or something.”

  She walked toward him. “It’s fine, Pat. You didn’t scare me, just startled me a little.”

  “Trying to get a feel for the place?” he asked when she’d reached him.

  “Something like that. I’ve never been up here before.”

  McDonagh smiled, but his eyes remained stone cold. “I’m guessing you’re still carrying out your little investigation, huh? Those Hunter women still filling your head with nonsense?”

  “Yes, I’m still trying to find out what happened here in 1987, if that’s what you mean.”

  “You already know the full story, Jessica. Everybody knows the full story.”

  Jessica thought of Tom Lucchese and his claims that the sheriff’s department not only knew about his involvement in the Devil’s Drop murders but had gone as far as covering it up at the request of his rich daddy. She wondered what else she—and everybody else—still didn’t know about what really happened that Fourth of July.

  “Maybe,” she said. “We’ll see.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means my investigation isn’t over. Not by a long way.”

  “It’ll be over on Friday when they stick a needle in Rue Hunter’s arm and she finally gets the punishment she deserves. Sure, it’s a sad story, but it’s also a pretty straightforward one. A girl had a lot more alcohol and drugs than she could handle, killed her friends, then robbed their dead bodies. That’s all there is to know.”

  “Maybe,” Jessica said again. “It’s just that some things don’t really add up as far as I can see.”

  “Oh yeah? What things exactly?”

  Jessica hesitated, unsure whether she should push McDonagh just a little bit on Rue Hunter’s ride the night of the murders. Decided she could ask the question without mentioning Tom Lucchese’s name or that she’d already spoken to him.

  “Rue didn’t have a car,” she pointed out. “In fact, she didn’t even have a license. So I can’t help but wonder how she managed to get to Devil’s Drop all by herself? I’ve just driven the trail myself, and it seems to me it’d be pretty tough to navigate in the dark and on foot. Especially if wearing inappropriate footwear or no shoes at all.”

  “She was able to make her way back to town on foot after murdering two people,” McDonagh shot back. “We have a witness who spotted her walking barefoot along the highway, covered in Megan and Lucas’s blood.”

  “I guess,” Jessica said. “I just figure it’s way tougher hiking up a hill than it is to make your way back down.”

  “People do crazy stuff when they’re full of drink and drugs. Trust me on this one, Jessica. Rue Hunter acted alone. No one else was there that night.”

  Jessica held his gaze for a long moment. “You know why I’m here. What brings you to Devil’s Drop today?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes I come up here to think, other times to plink a few tin cans and let off some steam. No one here to bother me, other than the hawks.”

  Jessica had first learned how to fire a gun herself at the shooting range on West Twentieth Street while growing up in New York. After what happened in Eagle Rock, she’d decided to sharpen her skills again and regularly shot a few rounds at the range over in Silverdale. She didn’t plan on adding Devil’s Drop to her shooting spots.

  “Where’s your cruiser?” she asked.

  McDonagh pointed behind him, farther up the trail.

  “I’m parked there. There are a few nooks just wide enough for a single vehicle if you know where to look.”

  “This place doesn’t bring back bad memories for you?”

  “Nah, not anymore. It’s quiet and peaceful, and usually there’s no one else around. I like it here, despite its past. All that bad stuff was a long time ago.”

  Jessica nodded. “Okay, then I should let you get back to your contemplation or your shooting. Whatever it was that brought you out here today.”

  He smiled. “I wasn’t hinting for you to leave. There’s plenty of space for both of us.”

  “I have to get back to town anyway.”

  “You have a date with Dylan?”

  “No, I have a date with a locksmith.”

  “A locksmith? Why?”

  “I’m having a new lock fitted on the trailer.”

  McDonagh frowned. “Have you had a break-in?”

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Was anything stolen? You should come by the station and make a report.”

  “It’s fine, Pat. Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch you later.”

  Jessica made her way toward the Silverado. She climbed inside and backed slowly away from the cliff’s edge. As she rolled the truck toward the rough trail that would take her back to the highway, she saw McDonagh in her rearview mirror, still standing on the same spot, watching her drive away. She had no idea how anyone, let alone the person who had discovered the bodies, could enjoy solitude or find any kind of contentment in a place where lives had been taken in such a violent way.

  Devil’s Drop gave her the fucking creeps.

  Jessica pressed her foot harder on the gas, felt the big tires crunch over twigs and leaves and dried wildflowers, her butt bouncing on the seat, as the truck careened down the steep incline.

  Suddenly she wanted to put as much distance between herself and Devil’s Drop—with its ghosts and secrets—as she possibly could.

  29

  JESSICA

  Jessica met with the locksmith, picked up the new keys, and felt a whole lot better about sleeping in the trailer.

  Sylvia would be provided with the
spare, of course, but Jessica had decided against telling her landlord the real reason for the new locks. If someone had been inside Jessica’s Airstream, it meant they’d also been snooping around on Sylvia’s land when she’d likely been home alone. Jessica didn’t want to alarm the woman. She’d come up with a story about snapping her key off in the lock and how it was time for a security upgrade anyway. Sylvia wouldn’t care as long as Jessica was picking up the check for the replacement. She’d also suggest a better hiding place than the plant pot for the new key.

  Jessica then spent a few hours at the agency catching up with other jobs that had been left languishing in her in-box while she’d been focusing on Rue Hunter. They were both basic background checks. The first was an employer requesting the lowdown on a new employee; the second was a fledgling relationship in which the woman wanted to know about any dirt on her new man.

  True love for you right there, Jessica thought.

  She was just finishing up the reports when the door opened, and Ed bustled into the office. He spotted her behind her desk, and, this time, his smile was as bright as the Hawaiian shirt he was wearing, his mood clearly improved since the visit from McDonagh the day before.

  “Hey, Jessica.”

  She peered at the green-and-purple monstrosity he’d teamed with his cream slacks.

  “Let me guess. Mangosteen?”

  Ed grinned. “Very good.”

  “Haven’t seen it before.”

  “It’s new. You like it?”

  “Like is a very strong word, but it’s certainly eye catching. Or maybe I mean eye watering. What’re you doing here anyway? Isn’t it a little late for you to be at the office?”

  Ed nodded toward the paperwork in his own in-box.

  “Work’s starting to pick up again. Thought I’d grab some files to look over at home later. How’s the Hunter case? Found anything interesting?”

  “I found out whose car left the tire tracks at Devil’s Drop the night of the murders.”

  Ed’s bushy gray eyebrows shot up to meet his receding hairline.

  “Really? Who?”

  “Tom Lucchese.”

  Ed frowned. “The rich kid?”

  “That’s the one.”

  He whistled. “No need to ask how he managed to cover it up. I’m guessing his daddy’s checkbook had something to do with it.”

  “You reckon the cops were on the take?”

  “Holten? I don’t think so. The guy had a lot of integrity, as far as I could tell. Pat, on the other hand, has always been a little more willing to bend the rules if there’s something in it for him.”

  “We’re talking about more than bending the rules, though, Ed. We’re talking about the murder of two teenagers.”

  Like a kid slipping on a Halloween mask, Ed was suddenly wearing the same serious expression as yesterday when McDonagh had stopped by the office.

  He said, “That’s why you need to be careful where the sheriff is concerned, Jessica.”

  “I will be,” Jessica said. “Cross my heart.”

  “Have you managed to track down the Lucchese kid?”

  Jessica smiled. “He’s not a kid anymore. I met with him last night. He owns a small casino in Vegas.”

  “Like father, like son, huh? What’s the connection between Lucchese and Rue Hunter? Bit of an age gap between them. Wouldn’t have figured them for friends back then.”

  “He claims he didn’t know her. Says he picked her up outside Cooper’s when she asked him for a ride. According to Lucchese, she was wasted, and he was just trying to be a Good Samaritan.”

  “Do you think he was involved with the murders?”

  “I really don’t know, Ed. That’s what I’m trying to find out. But time is fast running out for answers, at least as far as Rue Hunter is concerned.”

  “Did you find out about the clothing discrepancy?”

  Jessica shook her head. “I’ve got a request for a phone call with Rue pending with the prison.”

  They were both silent for a few moments.

  Then Jessica asked, “What did you know about the Luccheses?”

  “What do you mean?” Ed asked sharply.

  Jessica frowned at his tone. “The usual stuff. What they were like, who their friends were, if they were popular around town.”

  “They were popular with anyone hoping to land a job at the new casino complex, which was most folks around here. I don’t think many people actually liked Bruce as a person, though. To put it bluntly, the guy was an asshole. Hundred Acres’ answer to Gordon Gekko. Typical eighties yuppie businessman. He liked to get his own way, and he liked to own nice things, and he was happy to show the color of his money to get whatever the hell he wanted.”

  Jessica remembered Tom Lucchese using almost the exact same words to describe his father.

  “What about the son?” she asked.

  “As I said, like father, like son. A rich asshole who liked nice things, just like his daddy. A guy who cared more about possessions than he did about people.”

  “What happened after the casino and hotel complex fell through? Where did the Luccheses go? What did they do next?”

  “Last I heard, the family moved back to Vegas, although I had no idea the son went on to open his own casino there.”

  “Why did the Hundred Acres casino project fall through? Was it a direct result of the murders?”

  “Partly, yes. Investors began to pull out almost immediately after what happened to Megan and Lucas. Bruce and his remaining financial backers did try to carry on with plans for the development for another six months or so. The diggers moved in, and foundations were laid, and everything appeared to be back on track for a while. Then a body was found on the land where the new complex was to be built.”

  “Holy shit,” Jessica said.

  “Exactly,” Ed said. “I guess people started to believe the whole project was cursed, which isn’t ideal for a casino where patrons are relying on good fortune. The corpse proved to be the final nail in the coffin for Lucky by Lucchese and, in many ways, for the town as a whole.”

  “Tell me about the body,” Jessica said. “Who was it? What happened?”

  “The guy had been in the ground for a long time. Not much left of him other than rotting bones. Turned out to be some drifter from Arizona, a small-time criminal, who’d disappeared sometime in the late seventies. I don’t think they ever did find out who whacked him.”

  “And here was me thinking nothing interesting ever happened in a place like Hundred Acres.”

  Ed winked saucily. “There’s always something interesting happening in small towns. You just need to know where to look.” He picked up the files from his in-box and tucked them under his arm. “I’m outa here, kiddo. See you tomorrow?”

  “Sure, thing, Ed. See you then.”

  She heard Ed’s car start up outside and drive away; then she opened her laptop and pulled up a Google search page. Jessica didn’t hold out much hope of finding any information on the mysterious drifter online, considering how much time had passed since both his death and the discovery of his body. But there was no local newspaper in Hundred Acres where she could search through old back copies, so she thought the online search was worth a shot anyway.

  She typed the words Hundred Acres and dead body and drifter and Arizona and tapped “Enter.” She found one hit that was relevant. It was an article published a little over ten years ago in the newspaper that served a small town in Arizona called Calhoun. A local woman had issued a fresh appeal for information on the unsolved murder of her brother. The man’s name was Clayton Manners, a forty-one-year-old salesman and petty criminal who had traveled the West Coast selling cleaning products. He’d been reported missing in the spring of 1979, and his body was eventually discovered on the site of a new casino being built in a desert town in the Antelope Valley in December 1987.

  According to the sister, the last known sighting of Clayton Manners was in a bar in Southern California, located just six miles fro
m where his body was later found buried in a shallow grave. He’d spent the evening drinking whiskey, shooting pool, and chatting with a number of women.

  Eyewitnesses described Clayton Manners as wearing blue jeans and a black-and-white plaid shirt the night he disappeared.

  30

  JESSICA

  Jessica should have been able to sleep more soundly after the new lock was installed on the trailer. Instead, she’d endured another restless night filled with dreams of decaying yellow bones wrapped in blue denim and black-and-white plaid.

  What she couldn’t understand was how Rue Hunter’s own nightmares for the last thirty years had been haunted by a man wearing identical clothing.

  Jessica kicked off the bedsheets and had strong black coffee and a cigarette for breakfast. After showering, she dressed in gray skinny jeans, a black tee, and Converse sneakers, then drove the ten minutes to the station. She pulled into the lot next to McDonagh’s cruiser just as her cell phone pinged with a text message. It was from Dylan.

  Hey, my dad said you’d had a break-in at the trailer? Why didn’t you tell me? Are you okay?

  Jessica sighed and tapped out a response.

  It’s no big deal. Nothing was taken.

  Dylan replied immediately.

  Even so, I’m worried about you. Maybe you should move in to my place for a while?

  There it was. The dreaded next step. Moving in together. The offer may have been presented as a solution to her safety and security issues, rather than an acknowledgment of how they felt about each other, but the end result was the same.

  Jessica had had two long-term boyfriends in the past—one while at college, the other when she lived and worked in Blissville. The second one had broken her heart, and there had been no one serious since. Sure, she’d had flings, and she’d definitely had some kind of feelings for Matt Connor. She’d then hoped that what she felt for Dylan might develop into something more over time. Now Jessica knew it wouldn’t.