CHAPTER 87 SHERIFF ELLIE

87

Sheriff Ellie

ELLIE WAS HALFWAY TO the room at the back of the house when Buck gripped her shoulder and held her still. "Before you go in there, I need to know you can keep an open mind, because everything I'm about to show you is going to make you question some things, a lot of things . You're not gonna believe it at first, rightfully so—I sure as hell didn't—but I need you to stow that part of your head, the part that tells you what's real and what ain't. The part that tells you certain things can't possibly be real under no circumstance. When you do doubt me, I want you to think about that girl who looked like Emily Pridham and what you just witnessed on my front stoop."

"I don't know what I saw, Buck."

"You know what you didn't see, and that was a girl dying like she should from multiple shotgun blasts. That's the part you gotta grab on to and hold tight."

Mason Ridler tapped the side of his forehead. "Prepare to have your mind blown."

Buck released Ellie's shoulder and gestured toward the room.

She stepped inside.

The space wasn't very large, only about twelve by ten, but the lack of furniture made it appear bigger. There was no bed, no dressers. There was nothing but a card table in the center with a single folding chair on one side. Aside from an overflowing ashtray and hundreds of water stains from cans or bottles on the brown Formica top, the table was empty. It was clear to Ellie that Buck spent a significant amount of time at that table, in that chair, and when she saw the walls, she understood why.

Every inch was covered—maps, printouts, newspaper clippings—all of it tied together behind an intricate pattern of multicolored strings fastened with thumbtacks.

"Jesus, Buck. Do I want to know how long you've been at this?"

"How long you think?"

"Since Emily."

"Since Emily," he agreed.

Riley and the other kids returned to the room but stood silently in the corner. While Mason, Riley, and Evelyn watched Ellie, the younger Harper child was looking at the walls. Ellie got the impression that he not only understood what it all meant, but he somehow was building on it. Connecting dots beyond whatever theory had taken Buck years to construct. The boy's eyes were darting back and forth, following the strings, studying the text and pictures. She could only imagine what was going on in his head, but she was fairly certain she wouldn't be able to keep up.

Buck stepped over to the first of several maps, this one of Hollows Bend. "What do you think of our crime rate here in the Bend?"

While Ellie knew it was no laughing matter, she couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle at that one. "Damn near perfect, up until today. I'm fairly certain our select board will be pushing to replace me if there's anything left of this place come tomorrow."

"This ain't your fault, Ellie. Get that thought out of your head; the guilt will eat at you. I know that better than anyone." He gestured at the map. There was a single thumbtack marking a place near where they stood. "Best I can tell, we got one major crime on the books, what you would consider felony level , and it wasn't a crime, because I didn't kill my Emily, regardless of what everyone thinks. That means not a single major crime in the Bend over the past fifty years. Not one."

Ellie opened her mouth, ready to argue that point, then promptly clamped it shut. He was right. They've had their share of D&Ds, but aside from Buck, those were mostly tourists who let the fun get a little ahead of them. A few marital spats that amounted to nothing more than loud arguments. She had several missing persons over the years, her father had, too, but those always turned out to be slip and falls up here on the mountain—horrific, to be sure, but accidents. She had a few runaways on her docket, but angsty teenagers running from home was hardly a crime, certainly not felony level. Until today, the Bend had been a quiet place.

He walked her over to another map. This one covered all of New England, from the uppermost point of Maine down to the bottom of Connecticut. Unlike the first map, this one was covered in thumbtacks. So many points had been marked, Buck had switched to straight pins in some places just to fit them all in.

"That's every felony in New England over the same period, fifty years."

Studying the map, Ellie expected Boston to be bad—large city, concentration of people—she imagined if you did the math and divided the crimes by the general population, it wasn't as bad as it looked, but it looked bad. It was some of the other states that surprised her—Vermont, Maine, Rhode Island—the mountainous regions just outside Hollows Bend and rural New Hampshire were hotbeds of crime.

"A lot of this is opioids, right? Drug related?"

Buck nodded. "A good portion, sure. But you've also got plenty of murders, rapes, theft. We're standing in the oldest part of the country, and people have been treating each other like shit from the moment we hopped off the boats. Go back further, and the Native Americans weren't much better. Some of the nastiest wars between tribes took place right here in these mountains. New England's soil is rich with their blood. Originally I tried marking them all, went back to the beginning of written records, but there was too much. Figured I'd need a bigger map to go down that rabbit hole."

With that, he took her to a third map. This one covered all of North America. It, too, was covered in pins. As Ellie studied it, one thing was very clear—with the exception of California, the bulk of the crime was concentrated on the East Coast, the northern East Coast. New England. There was a logical explanation for that. "Like you said, this is the oldest part of our country. Settled first with the largest population. It makes sense for it to be heavier here, then lessen as you branch out to more remote places. Crime follows people."

Buck nodded at that but remained facing the map. "That's very true, but you ain't seeing it yet. Look closer."

Behind her, Evelyn shuffled her feet. "Don't feel bad. We stared at that map for about five minutes, and only Robby figured it out."

"That's not true, I got it," Mason shot back. "Got it before you."

"Both of you pipe down, let her concentrate," Buck ordered.

Riley said, "Take a few steps back, Sheriff. It's easier to see if you don't stand so close."

Ellie was about to tell them all she didn't have time for any of this but shuffled back instead. She was nearly against the opposite wall when she understood.

Mason whistled. "Oh, there it is. She got it."

Ellie narrowed her eyes, squinted slightly. "That can't be right."

"It's right," Buck insisted. He pointed at the wall on his right. There were dozens of file boxes stacked nearly floor to ceiling. "All the records are right there. Every one of those pins ties out to a real crime."

Ellie stared at the map for nearly a minute, then shifted back to the one of New England. It was easier to see on that one now that she knew what she was looking for. From the outer edges of the map to the center, the concentration of pins grew thicker, became solid lines when she squinted, with a blank spot at the very center where Hollows Bend was located marked by the single red thumbtack representing Emily Pridham. When Ellie squinted further, the illusion thickened—she was looking at concentric circles radiating out from the center. She was looking at some sort of bull's-eye, with her town in the middle.

"I got a cousin who lives down in Florida. Calls me whenever they got a hurricane coming their way. Sends me pictures. That's what this reminds me of—a hurricane with an eye at the middle, a calm spot."

"Calm, up until today," Ellie heard herself mutter.

"Someone shoved a stick in the eye, and it's bleeding."

Ellie didn't want to buy into this, but it was hard to argue with the data, and she had no reason to doubt what Buck was telling her. He'd done his homework. Something was off, though. She took a closer look at the map of New England, then returned to the one of the Bend and surrounding area. "Town isn't the exact center, is it."

"No. The exact center is about a hundred yards from where I lost Emily. Near the old Pickerton place."

"You need to tell me what happened that day. Every bit of it."