Tumbled Graves. Brenda ChapmanЧитать онлайн книгу.
they took the break in Mallorytown. The lights of two vehicles were ahead of him, both in the left lane. He could barely make out their tail lights through the darkness and rain. Still, it was comforting to know they weren’t the only fools on the road. Thunder split the sound barrier directly overhead and seconds later fork lightning lit up the sky like fireworks.
“Dad!” Jed’s voice came out a high pitched shriek, nearly making Walter swerve into the other lane. “Dad! Pull over! Somebody’s lying on the road.” Jared lifted an arm and punched his finger on the glass. “On the side of the road.” He turned horrified eyes toward his father. “They’re just laying there, Dad. They could be dead.”
“Are you sure?”
“I know what I saw. You have to pull over now, Dad.”
“Maybe it was just some garbage or road kill.”
“It was a person!” Jed’s voice had risen to frantic.
Walter had been doing forty so it didn’t take much to gear down, especially since they were on an incline. He eased the rig onto the shoulder as far over as he could get. He set the air brakes and turned to face his son.
“You’re sure about this, Jed?”
“I know what I saw.”
He put on the four ways. “Okay, but you stay here. There’s no use in two of us getting drenched.”
“I want to come with you.”
“Stay here. Have your phone ready to call 911.”
Walter reached around behind him until he found his raincoat. He put it on, pulling the hood over his head.
“Give me the flashlight in the dash.”
Jed opened the glove compartment and reached around inside. He handed over the flashlight, his face grim in the dashboard light.
Walter turned it on, keeping the beam pointed at the ground. He double checked for oncoming headlights before opening his door and jumping out of the cab. His face and jeans were soaked before he hit the ground.
He checked again that no traffic was coming before racing to the back of the trailer and moving as far onto the shoulder as he could. The rain and wind pummelled against him but he had a wrestler’s body and was a match for even these elements. He plowed forward, head bowed and chin tucked, keeping his balance as he ran down the incline toward the place where Jed had yelled for him to stop. Even at that, he nearly stumbled over the woman. The feel of his boot jamming into her made him curse and jump back. He stood for a second, breathing heavily, arcing the flashlight along the road and over the grassy slope as far as it would cut into the blackness of the woods. Anybody could be out there.
He pointed the beam to his feet and crouched down beside her, careful to keep one eye watching down the road for approaching headlights, straining to hear over the wind. She was wearing a black shirt and blue jeans, rolled on her side, one arm straight out, the fingers spread wide. Her feet were bare, her legs twisted at unnatural angles. He pushed back her long tangled hair to find the back of her neck. Her hair was a soggy mass and cool to his touch. He couldn’t find a pulse. When he pulled his hand away the flashlight beam lit up crimson blood on his fingers.
He squatted on his haunches for a moment more, the rain pouring down his face, trying to make sense of it. Then he took out the oil rag that he kept in his pocket and wiped his hand before slowly pushing himself to his feet. He backed away, careful not to disturb the scene any more than he already had. Shock was setting in and made him feel outside his body. He’d like nothing more than to get back in his truck and tell Jed that it was just a deer on the road. Carry on to the Mallorytown rest stop and have burgers and maybe get Jed to talk about where he planned to go to school in the fall. The talk was long overdue. The woman was dead. She wouldn’t know the difference.
He started back up the road, the wind pushing him along this time toward the flashing lights of his transport. The door to the cab fought him as a strong gust of wind blew it wide open. He climbed into the cab and wrestled the door shut behind him. Then he sat for a moment, collecting himself, hands on the steering wheel.
“Dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Was it anything?”
He turned his head sideways and looked at his son’s face, so young and untested in all the things that could beat a man down. Now was the time to put the truck into gear and get back on the road. Walter inhaled a long draught of warm air from the truck cab into his lungs. He let it out slowly and nodded in Jed’s direction.
“Hit 911, Son, then hand me your phone.”
Jed’s eyes widened before he looked down at his phone. Walter swallowed the lump in his throat at the sight of his boy’s bowed head, blond hair sticking up like duck down above the nape of his neck. He’d missed the better part of his kids’ lives, telling himself that he was making a good living for his family by being on the road. Telling himself they were better off with him gone most of the time. Sometimes he’d even convinced himself. Jed and his sister had gotten used to his comings and goings, never questioning why he wouldn’t find a job in town. His wife had covered for him. She’d kept him tied to them with some invisible, endless string even during those long stretches when he’d taken extra runs, trying to ease something in himself that wouldn’t be eased. Lying to Jed now would cross some dangerous line that Walter knew he’d never be able to uncross. It would break the string that held him fast. The kid had seen what he’d seen. The body on the side of the road would haunt his dreams even if Walter made him believe for this moment that he’d been mistaken.
He took the phone from Jed and spoke to an officer on the desk. They’d have to wait around and talk to police when they arrived. He’d have to fight his way through the rain and wind again and light some flares.
So much for making Montreal before sunrise.
Walter reached over and rested his hand on the back of his son’s neck. “Text your mother and tell her we’ll be spending the night at a motel in Kingston. I got a feeling we’re going to be a while.”
Chapter Nine
Rouleau stood from his crouched position near the dead woman. They’d closed off the highway and erected a tent and hooked up lanterns with enough light for photos and a thorough first inspection. Rain pattered on the plastic material like a kind of hypnotizing background music. He signalled to Fiona Gundersund to take over and ducked outside the protective awning, stepping around a puddle and over to where Paul Gundersund stood talking on his cellphone. After a few seconds, Gundersund tucked the phone into his pocket and pulled his hood down over his forehead.
Gundersund spoke first. “The driver who called it in doesn’t know anything. It’s definitely Adele Delaney on the side of the highway. The question is how she ended up here.”
“Fiona says that she was killed somewhere else. Are you okay breaking it to the husband?”
“I wouldn’t mind waiting for Stonechild. She seemed to get along with him better than the rest of us. I found him a bit odd, to tell you the truth.”
“You can’t wait for her to get here. As it is, she’s not going to be thrilled that I didn’t call her, but no point three of us standing in the rain.” Rouleau squinted through the slanting downpour at a woman walking toward them. The darkness had thinned somewhat as dawn neared. If only the rain would let up. Rouleau recognized the woman as she got closer. He’d seen her from a distance at a news conference in city hall the week before. He turned so she wouldn’t see what he was saying. “A reporter’s here already. You’ve got to tell Delaney before this gets out.”
Gundersund stared over Rouleau’s shoulder. “That’s Marci Stokes from the Whig. Word is she was a foreign correspondent in the Middle East for an American news outlet until a month ago.”
“Kingston isn’t exactly a hotbed of excitement. I wonder why she took a job at the paper.”
“To