Two weeks shy of her thirteenth birthday, Darby had been at home reading A Separate Peace for her English class when her mother entered the living room and in a calm, clear voice, as though she were just popping in to tell her dinner was ready or just to say hello, announced that her father had been shot and rushed to Boston for emergency surgery.
Then, almost as an afterthought, her mother added, ‘Before we leave, I should go next door and feed Mr Birmingham’s cat.’ Sheila McCormick, still oddly calm, turned and walked away without any urgency.
Her mother’s parting words and mannerisms were obviously crazy given the circumstances. It wasn’t until much later that Darby realized the root cause: her mother was in shock. In that moment, though, Darby wasn’t thinking at all about her mother because she too had gone into shock. All the light had been sucked out of the room, and her body felt like it had been packed in dry ice. Coldness spread through her, like a spill. She couldn’t speak or move.
But her mind, strangely, was alive and in overdrive, sprinting like a medic through a warzone to reach the wounded soldier screaming to her from across the battlefield. There has to be a mistake no there’s not Big Red is dead no he’s not my father will get through this no he won’t yes he will he’s strong and tough and he was a Marine but what if he doesn’t make it?
Now she was sitting in another room, this one boxy and overheated, with a Federal agent who, with his perfect hair and smile and chocolate puppy-dog bedroom eyes, looked like some pretty-boy actor from a soap opera. Those eyes were full of mourning, but not for Coop. The man was mourning the failure of whatever had brought him here to Montana.
Covington put his hands on the back of the chair and, gripping it, bent slightly forward. He spoke in a low voice. ‘Car accident. Happens a lot on this particular stretch of road, I’m told, especially in the winter. They’re waiting on the crane.’
‘Crane,’ she repeated flatly.
‘The SUV is at the bottom of a ravine. They need a crane to pull it up.’
‘But it’s Coop’s SUV. The one he rented.’ Why did she say that? Of course the SUV belonged to him; why else would he have told her?
‘Yes. They ran the plates.’
‘And the body?’
‘Buckled in the driver’s seat. White male. That’s all I know at the moment.’
That doesn’t mean it’s Coop, she told herself.
Another voice said: It doesn’t look good.
She blinked and kept blinking, Covington coming back into focus and standing next to her now, working on her restraints. Three quick turns of the handcuff key and she was free.
‘Four days,’ Darby said. ‘Four days and you’re telling me no one saw him.’
‘It’s an isolated area, and there’s been a lot of snowfall. The SUV got buried. Only reason it was found was because snowmobilers were out late this afternoon and saw it on their way home and called it in.’
‘I’ll do it,’ she said.
‘Do what?’
‘Identify the body.’
‘We don’t know if it is, in fact, Cooper yet.’
‘But if it is, you’ll need someone to identify him – the sooner, the better.’
Noel sighed. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ he said.
‘His mother and his sisters live in Boston. I don’t want to put them through that – and I’m already here.’
Again, Covington took in a deep breath. This was the part where he would put up a fight – a gentle fight, given the circumstances, but a fight nonetheless. Yes, he wanted someone to identify the body as soon as possible in order to get things moving, but he wouldn’t want her anywhere near the crime scene even if it were nothing more than a simple car accident, because if she got even the slightest whiff of what was going on here in Montana, the case Coop couldn’t tell her about, Covington knew she wouldn’t let up. The smart play was for him to do everything in his power to keep her as far removed as possible.
So she was surprised when he said, ‘Are you sure?’
No. ‘Yes,’ she said, and felt her throat close up.
‘Okay,’ he said softly. ‘First thing tomorrow, I’ll drive you –’
‘No. Tonight.’
Noel thought about it for a moment. Nodded.
‘What about the charges?’ she asked.
‘Dropped – provided you call your lawyer and tell her to hold off on releasing the video and pictures. We also want the originals.’ Covington reached into a jacket pocket and came back with her iPhone.
Rosemary had tried to call her several times over the past few hours. Darby’s hands were steady as she dialled Rosemary’s private number.
He’s not dead, she told herself, listening to the phone ring on the other end of the line. Not until I see the body.
Rosemary answered on the first ring. ‘Darby, thank God. I’ve been calling you for hours.’
‘I’m with Noel Covington from the Bureau.’
‘I spoke to him and the other one, Bradley.’ Darby could hear the smile in Rosemary’s voice. The woman’s whole day – her life’s mission – was structured on finding ways to become a boil on the collective ass of law enforcement. The more powerful the players involved, the more excited she got.
‘Hold off releasing the stuff I gave you.’
‘Did they threaten you? If they did, tell me right –’
‘Coop’s been missing for four days. They just found his SUV. Some sort of car accident. That’s all I know.’ Darby swallowed. Cleared her throat. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’
‘No, you’ll call me tonight,’ Rosemary said, her voice strangling on tears. ‘You want me to come out there, I will.’
‘I’ll call you.’
‘You sure?’
No, Darby thought. I’m not sure of anything. Not any more.