Chapter CI

There is no end of explaining to be done when bodies are involved, but I had experience of it, for better or worse. The first call I made was to Moxie, because we were going to need a lawyer. The second call, on Moxie's instructions, was to Curtis Cobbold, his legal contact in Gretton. Cobbold said he'd be with us as soon as he could get his pants on. The third call was to Angel's cell phone, alerting him to the imminent arrival of the police. The fourth was to Sabine.

Finally, once everyone was on point, I called 911.

ALINE MICHAUD SPOKE TOpolice only when the Michaud family lawyer arrived at the house, and then to claim, not wholly incorrectly, that a trio of armed men had entered her property and she, out of fear for her life, had first ordered them to leave before opening fire when they did not. Upon being informed that her sister and brother were dead, she stopped talking.

Louis, Angel, and I gave our take on events, leaving out nothing. Sabine was also interviewed. While three of us were guilty of criminal trespass, we contested Aline's version and denied that any warning had been given before the shooting started. Had the situation remained that way—Aline claiming trespass, and her sister dead at our hands—we might have ended up behind bars, given Becker and Nowak's antipathy toward me. But once a Mincey warrant had been produced, the police were able to enter the house in which Eliza Michaud had been shot. There they uncovered the bodies of three males from beneath a thin layer of dirt, one recently deceased from gunshot wounds, the other two dead for at least a day or more. All had been stripped of identification, and the shooting victim was missing most of his head, but they were later identified as Lars Ungar, Maynard Vaughn, and Mattia Reggio. Survivors of the blasts at the Hickman camp testified that Antoine Pinette and another man, Barry Dresser, had witnessed someone they believed to be Ellar Michaud fleeing the scene of the explosions and had gone after him, despite Pinette being grievously wounded. Dresser's remains were subsequently found hidden under branches on the Michaud side of the creek with a hole in his neck.

All this unfolded over many hours. It was while I was sipping a cup of lukewarm coffee in an interview room at the Piscataquis County Sheriff's Office in Dover-Foxcroft, waiting for Moxie and Cobbold to get back from contesting threatened criminal charges and an imminent appearance before a judge, that Erin Becker arrived. By then I was tired, filthy, and had lost track of time, while Becker looked fresh and sharp in her business suit. She entered alone, taking one of the two chairs across the table from me.

"Should I get Moxie in here?" I asked.

"This isn't an official conversation," said Becker. "And it says a lot for your predicament that you're currently in need of not one but two lawyers."

"Any conversation in a room with recording facilities is official, and a man can't have too much legal representation."

"Would you be happier speaking in the parking lot?"

"I'd be happier speaking in the parking lot with a lawyer present."

"I'm amenable. Give me a minute to make the arrangements."

She left. When she returned, Moxie was with her, barely managing to hide his curiosity. My jacket was returned to me and Moxie and I followed Becker outside, where she lit a cigarette.

"You want one?"

We both declined. Her expression suggested this was a failure of character on our part, if one of many.

"We found a child's body with the others in the basement," she said. "We think it's Henry Clark, although that's not conclusive. Identifying the remains is going to take a while, but details have already been leaked to the press. We're preparing for a flood of references to a house of horrors."

"What does Aline Michaud have to say about it?"

"She claims she had nothing to do with the old house," said Becker, "and her brother and sister were the only ones with access. Naturally, we're disinclined to believe her. I have no doubt we'll find her DNA in there if we look hard enough, and we'll be looking very hard. As of now, we haven't officially ruled out a link between the Michauds and Colleen Clark."

Moxie opened his mouth to object, but Becker waved it closed with her cigarette.

"You did hear the word ‘officially,' right? The charges against your client will be dropped as soon as we have a clearer picture of what's been happening in Gretton, but the attorney general has advised against any precipitous action."

"Because he thinks that you and he can still come out of this ahead," I said.

"The mystery of Henry Clark's abduction solved, at least three other murders closed, and who knows how many other disappearances explained?" said Becker. "That represents a significant result, politically and legally."

"You were prepared to burn Colleen at the stake for a similar result," I said.

Becker drew long on her cigarette and regarded the burning tip, like a pyre in microcosm.

"Now she's going to step down so Aline Michaud can take her place. The issue to be addressed is whether there's any advantage to be gained by immolating you and your friends as well. On that, opinions differ. The attorney general believes you should be prosecuted, and not only for criminal trespass. He feels he can make a charge of manslaughter stick for the death of Eliza Michaud, and is even optimistic about second-degree murder."

"That man has his head up his ass," said Moxie. "I'd sooner vote for Satan."

"Which is the point, isn't it?" I said to Becker. "Nowak won't be attorney general for much longer. Everybody is about to move one rung up the ladder."

"Precisely."

"And you don't want to be the person responsible for prosecuting men who helped track down a family of killers."

"I'd prefer not to be placed in that position. Magnanimity would be the smarter move."

"And what would be the price of this magnanimity?" asked Moxie.

"Silence when the charges against your client are dropped, even if a thank-you would be nice. In return, Mr. Parker and his friends lose another of their collective nine lives, but no more than that. They'll still have their liberty, which would count as a legal miracle under the circumstances."

"Do I have time to consult with my clients?"

"Sure," said Becker, "if it makes you feel better, but you know you'll take the deal."

"And Colleen Clark?"

"No ‘I told you so' from your office, no statements to the press about the persecution of an innocent woman, and no civil suits against the Portland PD or the AG's office. You'll receive a quiet, low-key apology, and you'll accept it. Then she'll be left to mourn her child undisturbed."

"I'm not sure that qualifies as a comfort."

Becker tossed her cigarette butt under a car.

"No," she said, "I don't suppose it does."

AS BECKER PREPARED TOescort us back inside, I asked Moxie to give me a moment alone with her.

"If you're trying to get more than I've already offered, save your breath," said Becker.

"I got more than I expected. I have no quarrel with you."

"Then what is it?"

"Stephen Clark."

"What about him?"

"He admitted to having an affair with a woman he identified as Mara Teller, but whom we now know to be Eliza Michaud. Stephen Clark was born not far from here. He grew up in this county, and I may have someone who can confirm that he and Eliza had a sexual encounter when they were younger. How could Clark not have known who she was when their paths crossed again decades later?"

"You may have someone? What does that mean?"

"It's hearsay, admittedly, but I was told that Clark might have screwed one of the Michaud sisters in the parking lot of a bar in Gretton."

"Presumably while intoxicated?"

"Nevertheless," I persisted.

"Could you identify every woman you slept with when you were young, especially if you'd been drinking?"

"I know you'll find this hard to believe," I said, "but there weren't that many. Plus, I never claimed to be sleeping with any of them behind my wife's back and my dead child didn't end up buried on their property."

"Stephen Clark broke down when told that his son's body might have been found," said Becker. "He's under sedation. He says he made a terrible mistake with the Teller affair."

"Which is the understatement of the year. What if it wasn't a mistake?"

"You're alleging collusion in the abduction and murder of his son. Why would he do that?"

"I don't know."

And I didn't. I had only suspicions.

"We'll see what we can find," said Becker.

But they would find nothing.

ANGEL, LOUIS, AND Iwere released from custody within the hour. Sabine Drew had left a message to say that she was still at the Gretton lodgings. Although I wanted only to sleep, I knew I wouldn't be permitted to until we had spoken. Along the way, I got in touch with Adio Pirato, and told him about Mattia Reggio.

"He was always among the best of us," said Pirato, "though I know you wouldn't consider that to be a very high bar."

"I may have done him an injustice," I said, "and contributed to his death."

"Matty always went his own way, and he died doing the right thing. Don't take that away from him. Does Amara know?"

"The police have been to see her."

"I'll head up there this evening. And I appreciate your taking the time to call."

He wished me a good day, and hung up.

AT THE INN,Sabine was waiting, looking distressed.

"I asked the police to let me enter the house," she said, "but they told me they couldn't do that."

"Nobody outside the investigation will be allowed in until they've finished clearing it of bodies," I said, "and maybe not even then, not for a while. Ultimately, it will be torn down, and the grass left to grow over it. If enough time goes by, the woods will reclaim the land and nobody will ever be able to locate the site again."

"And the Michauds' property, what will happen to it?"

"They have some distant relations who might be able to lay claim, but it'll be sold one way or another. Hickman might try to buy it out of spite, though I doubt anyone will want to settle on it, or not until a lot of years have passed."

"You know," she said, "it won't die just because the house is gone."

"What won't die?"

"Whatever made its home in that place. Whatever poisoned the Michauds. I don't know that it can die, not like we do. Perhaps the best we can hope for is that it will be forgotten, and in being forgotten it will fade away."

"Do you think the Michauds gave Henry Clark to it?" I asked. "Is that why they took him, along with whatever other unfortunates might have ended up buried in there?"

"Yes, I do."

"Why?"

"Who can tell?" said Sabine. "Why did the ancients make sacrifices to their gods? To avoid angering them, and receive blessings and protection in return. What does the surviving sister say?"

"That she didn't know anything about it and it was all the work of her siblings, but that won't hold up under stress. Forensics will connect her to the house, which will put pressure on her to change her story. Should she reconsider, and decide to open up, we may learn more about their motives."

"She won't ever tell the full truth, whatever happens," said Sabine.

"Why not?"

"I doubt she could even explain to herself. She believed, and it was enough for her that she did."

Sabine stared out the window. I could feel her straining to reach the Michaud property.

"Why do you want to enter the house?"

"I want to comfort Henry," she said. "The best of him, the soul of him, is still in there."

"And the thing you say is with him?"

"It's already retreating, going deeper. It doesn't like strangers moving through its spaces. It prefers being alone with its dead."

"Soon they'll take Henry away from that place," I said.

"Good. There'll have to be an autopsy, won't there?"

"Yes."

"I hope he'll be gone before that happens." She stared at her hands. "Do you think his mother would like to say goodbye to him?"

I felt my eyes grow hot.

"Yes, I think she'd like that very much."