Chapter 30

30

August 2000

At 4:00 p.m. Agent Santos pulled into the parking lot of St. Mary's Church. Many unique locales had been used for command centers over the years, but a church was something new.

Santos stepped through the main doors into the entryway and was met with the familiar scent of the churches from her childhood. The woodsy, smoky smell of frankincense and myrrh resin that had permeated the red carpet and the stone walls.

Instead of crossing into the nave, Santos took the steps that led down to the basement. In just a few hours, Randolph had managed to set up quite an impressive command post: computers, printers, phones, radios, and local maps.

Sheriff Butler and several deputies sat in folding chairs at a table that had been set up in front of a whiteboard. Agent Randolph stood, dry-erase marker in hand, jotting down notes in his neat print.

"What have we got?" Santos asked, pulling up a chair. "What happened with the possible sighting in Nebraska?"

"Dead end," Randolph said, shaking his head. "Two teens. Kid swiped his parents' truck to take his girlfriend to Lincoln for the day. He panicked when he saw the state trooper and took off. There have been no other sightings of the truck," Randolph added.

"Okay. What else do we have?" Santos asked.

A deputy named Foster spoke up. "Backgrounds on Kevin and Margo Allen came up clean. Mom said she was home with her two younger kids during the murders, and the dad said he was at his house with his girlfriend. The girlfriend confirmed this."

"No custody dispute in the divorce?" Randolph asked.

Foster shook her head.

"Both parents did seem genuinely distraught," Santos agreed. "And they are being fully cooperative. What else?"

"We've run a list of local sex offenders, and two deputies are running them down," Randolph said. "We also have several officers going door-to-door in the vicinity of the Doyle home and interviewing the residents to see if they heard or saw anything."

"How about you, Sheriff?" Santos asked.

Sheriff Butler described his conversation with June Henley and Jackson's curious behavior. "I think it's worth a follow-up, but Jackson Henley is just a messy drunk. I don't see him getting violent, and to my knowledge, he hasn't had any kind of conflict with the Doyles."

"That brings us back to the two missing teens," Santos said. "What do we know about Ethan Doyle? What was his relationship like with his parents?"

"We've never had any domestic calls out to their home," Butler said, "but Ethan did get questioned by the police concerning a fight he got into with some other teens."

"And there was that call from Kurt Turner about Ethan stalking his daughter," Foster added.

"Yeah, that's right," Butler said. "Dad was mad because Ethan wouldn't stay away from his daughter. He kept showing up at the house, calling. A deputy was sent over to talk to Ethan about keeping his distance. No charges were ever filed."

Santos shared what she found in Becky Allen's bedroom. "It could just be a schoolgirl crush, but Becky did have some kind of feelings for Ethan. Could they have run off together?"

"Josie Doyle hasn't said much yet," Sheriff Butler relayed. "She's still at the hospital getting checked out. But from what she told us at the scene—Becky Allen was just as frightened as she was. They were both running toward the cornfield when they were separated."

The group heard footsteps and turned to see Deputy Levi Robbins walking toward them. "Sorry I'm late," he murmured, taking a seat.

"So maybe Ethan Doyle and his parents fought," Randolph suggested. "He killed them, shot his sister, and then either killed the Allen girl, or took her with him."

"I'd hate for that to be true, but it sounds plausible," the sheriff said. "What did you find out from the Cutter boy?" he asked Levi.

Levi shook his head. "We need to bring him in and conduct a formal interview." Levi explained how he had pulled Brock over not far from the Doyle home around 1:00 a.m.

"He said he was at a movie with his cousin," Levi said. "I tracked down the cousin, and at first, his story matched Brock's, but when I pressed him for details, it all fell apart. He didn't see Brock at all last night. The kid lied."

"Could be he's protecting his friend," Sheriff Butler said, rubbing his eyes wearily.

"I don't want to get tunnel vision here," Santos said, pushing her chair away from the table. "But it's looking like Ethan Doyle is at the top of our suspect list. Levi, keep an eye on Brock Cutter, see if he leads us to anything."

She turned to Sheriff Butler. "We need to follow up on Jackson Henley but in the meantime you can introduce me to Josie Doyle. See if she has anything new to add."

The door opened, and Dr. Lopez stepped into the room with Sheriff Butler and two strangers.

"Josie," Dr. Lopez said, "how are you doing?"

"Okay," Josie said, looking uncertainly at the man and the woman with Sheriff Butler.

"Your arm will be sore for a while. We'll give you some pain medication and you should be sure to keep the wound dry. But the good news is that you don't have to spend the night here. You can go home with your grandmother in just a little while."

Josie looked at her grandmother, startled. They were going back to the house? She didn't know if she could ever go back there. Josie thought of her bedroom and all her prized possessions. Her Discman and CDs. Her 4-H medals and collection of glass animal figurines that sat on the windowsill. An image of her father lying on her bedroom floor, face gone, flashed behind her eyes. Miserably, she looked to her grandmother.

Caroline patted Josie's hand as if reading her mind. "You're going to our house," she said.

Josie nodded, taking this in. Of course, she wouldn't be going back to the house. Her parents were dead. She and Ethan couldn't live in their home by themselves—they were orphans.

The sheriff cleared his throat and removed his stiff brown hat. He looked at Josie over his hawkish nose. "Josie, glad to see you are doing okay," he said. "This is Agent Santos and Agent Randolph from the DCI in Des Moines. They're investigating the...what happened at your house last night. They'd like to talk to you for a few minutes."

To Josie, they didn't look like police officers. They weren't wearing uniforms. The woman wore black pants and a matching jacket.

Josie looked to her grandmother, who nodded her approval. "Okay," Josie said, shifting in the hospital bed.

Dr. Lopez took her leave, and Agent Santos pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed so close that Josie could smell the oil used to clean her sidearm. Sheriff Butler and the other agent stood with their backs against the wall to observe. Caroline stayed where she was, next to her granddaughter.

"I know you've been through a lot, Josie," Agent Santos said kindly. "And we wouldn't be here if it wasn't important. I just have a few questions for you right now, okay?"

Josie nodded.

"Tell me about your brother, Josie," she said.

"Ethan?" Josie asked in surprise. "Do you know where he is?"

"No, I'm afraid not," Agent Santos said, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "But that's where we need your help."

"Me?" Josie asked. "I don't know where he is. Maybe he got scared and hid like I did. My grandma said people are looking in the cornfield."

"Yes, yes, they are," Agent Santos said. "We've got people out looking, but we want to make sure that we don't miss a spot that Ethan might be. Where are some of his favorite places to go?"

"I don't know," Josie shrugged. "He spends a lot of time in his bedroom."

"Anywhere else?" Agent Randolph asked from his position by the door. "A certain friend's house? A girlfriend, maybe?"

"Ethan doesn't have a girlfriend," Josie said automatically, leaving out Kara Turner. That hadn't ended well.

"We already know about Kara," Santos said, and Josie blushed at getting caught in a lie. "Where does Ethan spend his time?"

"He likes to go fishing at Grandpa's pond and at the creek," Josie said. "He does that most days." Agent Santos wrote this down in a little notebook she produced from her pocket. "Any friends he spends time with?"

"Cutter," Josie said. "He hangs out with him sometimes."

"Ethan and Brock are good friends?" Agent Santos asked.

"Kind of," Josie said. "My mom and dad don't like Ethan hanging out with Cutter. He's kind of wild."

"Wild in what way?" Agent Santos asked.

Josie lifted her shoulders. "He skips school, and he drinks a lot, I think," she explained. "He's kind of creepy."

"Creepy how?" Agent Santos asked.

Josie chewed on a thumbnail. The way Cutter looked at Becky, the way he touched her. It was hard to put into words. "He kept touching Becky, trying to get close to her. She didn't like it."

"She told you that?" Santos asked.

"Not really. But I could tell," Josie said.

"I heard Becky had a bit of a crush on Ethan," Santos said.

"No," Josie said automatically. "I don't think so. She never said anything to me."

"You're doing great, Josie," Santos said. "Just a few more questions for right now. Can you think of anyone who might be angry with your parents? Want to hurt them?"

Josie's first thought was no. Everyone liked her mom and dad. She'd never heard her mother share a cross word and her father made people smile with his gentle teasing. Agent Santos's direct stare made Josie squirm in the hospital bed.

Josie could really only think of one person who had been so angry, so enraged with her parents, but she couldn't say Ethan's name out loud.

"My dad didn't like Brock Cutter's dad," Josie said abruptly.

"Because of the trouble Brock and Ethan got into?" Santos asked.

Josie nodded. "And they just didn't like each other." She didn't quite know how to explain it. Josie wanted her mother. Her mom would know what to do, help Josie find the right words. Sensing her distress, Josie's grandmother jumped in.

"Randy Cutter was quite angry with my daughter and her husband over a parcel of land," Caroline explained. "It got pretty ugly at the time. William bought a piece of farmland that Randy thought should have gone to him. It came to blows, lawyers got involved. When several of their livestock were found dead, William was sure Randy Cutter had something to do with it. Could never prove it, though. Things seemed to have calmed down over the past few years, but things haven't been the same between them since."

"And this was over land?" Santos asked.

"We don't get many homicides around here," Sheriff Butler said, "but when we do, they can usually be traced back to one of two things—infidelity or land disputes."

This was interesting, Santos thought. The Cutter name was coming up again and again.

"We found your brother's gun in the cornfield this morning, Josie," Santos said in a low, serious voice. "Not far from where you said you were hiding." Josie looked down at her bandaged arm. "Can you think why his shotgun would be there?"

Josie shrugged.

"Josie, I know this is hard," Santos said. "But is there any chance that your brother was the one who could have hurt your parents and chased you into the field?"

"No," Josie exclaimed, her eyes filling with tears. "He wouldn't do that, he wouldn't."

"We have tests to show whether a gun has been fired recently. What do you think that test is going to tell us about Ethan's gun?"

"He didn't mean it," Josie cried. "He wasn't aiming at us. He shot into the air."

Agent Santos and Agent Randolph exchanged glances. "You saw your brother shoot his gun yesterday?" Randolph asked.

"Yes, but he wasn't shooting at anyone," Josie insisted. "My arm hurts," she said, looking at her grandmother for help.

"That's enough for now," Caroline said firmly. "The doctor said Josie could go home."

"We'll talk more later," Agent Santos said. "Get some rest, Josie."

Santos and Randolph stepped into the hallway to find Sheriff Butler waiting for them.

"Two dead parents, a girl with a shotgun wound and the boy's missing along with his truck and a thirteen-year-old girl," Santos stated. "It's not looking good for Ethan Doyle."

Sheriff Butler shook his head. "I've known that family for a long time and I know how it looks, but I'm having a hard time believing Ethan did this."

"How many murders did you say you deal with in a year?" Agent Randolph asked. There was no rancor in his voice, but Butler knew when he was being talked down to.

With the lowest murder rate in the state of Iowa, his county had little experience in dealing with crimes of the nature that took place the night before, but his department worked hard and did their jobs.

"Not many, but I do know the people in this county, and I don't peg Ethan Doyle as a murderer," Butler said. He rubbed his eyes as they walked toward the hospital exit. Agent Randolph went to get the car while Santos lagged behind.

"You okay?" Santos asked as they stood in the blinding sun.

"Yeah," Butler said. "It's not like we don't see bad shit around here, but when kids are involved..." he trailed off.

"I understand," Santos said. "If Ethan Doyle did this—this community will never be the same."

The radio on Butler's hip squawked. He toggled his microphone, "This is Butler, go ahead." A muffled voice came through the speaker, but the message was clear.

"Sheriff," the voice said. "Just got a report from the Allen house. Margo Allen said they received a phone call from someone claiming to be the one who has their daughter."

Butler looked to Santos. "We'll get someone over there right away to see if we can trace the number in case they call back," she said. "Do the same for Josie's grandparents."

Butler relayed the message to dispatch while Santos called for more tech help.

"Could be pranksters," Butler said as Randolph pulled up with the car.

"Yeah, but we can't take that chance," Santos said. "If it isn't the killer, at least we'll catch the sick asshole playing games with the family."

Butler checked his watch. "Ethan and Becky have been gone for about eighteen hours now."

"We'll find them," Santos said. "I just hope they're alive."

"What's next?" Butler asked.

"We keep searching, asking questions, following up on any tips that come in," Santos said. "And tomorrow, we bring in the dogs."

Josie's ride from the hospital to her grandparents' house was made in silence. Her arm ached and her stomach churned. Images of her mother's and father's bodies flashed behind her eyes. They came to her in snapshots, brief but vivid. In Technicolor. Josie begged her grandmother to pull the car over and Caroline swung the car to the side of the road.

Josie opened the car door, gingerly stepped across the gravel to the edge of the ditch, and stood cradling her injured arm. She took big swallows of air until the nausea passed. The Queen Anne's lace bobbed their white heads, and Josie snapped one from its hairy stem, rubbed it between her fingers, and pressed the tiny crushed flowers to her nose. They smelled like the carrots that grew in her mother's garden.

Josie got back in the car, and her grandmother dug into her purse until she found a small wrapped disk of peppermint candy. She handed it to Josie and then went in search of another one. "It helps with upset stomachs," she said. Together they unwrapped the red-and-white candies and slid them between their lips. The crinkle of cellophane and soft sucking sounds filled the car. After a few minutes, Caroline pulled back onto the road. She was right; the candy did help, but only a little.

By the time they got to the house, it was nearing 8:00 p.m., and the sun was melting into the horizon. Orange sherbet sunsets, Josie's mother had called them. Just one mile down the road was her own house, so close, yet she knew that it would never be home to her again.

Night came flooding in so quickly and the house was dark and still. Caroline came to the car's passenger side, opened the door, and held out her hand. Josie took it gratefully. Together they went through the back door and into the mudroom. Matthew's shoes and boots were lined up in a neat row atop a rubber mat and brass hooks on the wall held his barn jacket and an oversized cardigan that Caroline wore on cool summer nights.

A wave of despair settled over her and she began to cry. Great, gulping sobs that came from an unnamed place deep within. Startled, Caroline pulled Josie onto her lap, though she was much too big. Josie pressed her face into her shoulder and cried. They sat there for a long time, Caroline rocking Josie back and forth on her lap like she did for Lynne when she was a little girl.

When Josie stopped crying, Caroline wearily led her up the steps. "We'll have you sleep in here," she said, opening up the door. It was a cozy room, recently painted a soft sage color, outfitted with a twin bed and a table with Caroline's sewing machine atop it.

Gauzy white curtains framed the window, and Caroline went over to pull down the plastic shade, but not before Josie saw a strange car sitting in front of the house.

"Who's that?" Josie asked.

"Just a deputy. He's going to sit outside the house tonight," Caroline said offhandedly as she began to fuss with the bedcovers.

"Just as a precaution, honey. They do that sometimes."

"But why? Are they afraid the bad guy is coming back? Why would he come here?" Josie asked, pulling aside the shade to take another look.

When her grandmother didn't answer, Josie turned from the window. When she saw the look on her face, Josie understood. The deputy was there for her. They were worried that whoever killed her parents was going to come for Josie. "Don't worry, you're safe here," Caroline said.

Josie climbed into the bed. The sheets smelled of bleach and were cool to the touch. They felt good against her sore feet.

Josie's mind wandered then to dark and lonely places. Her parents were dead. What could they be thinking? Were they happy she was safe at her grandparents' house or did they think she should have done more to try and save them? Did they think she should be with Ethan and Becky, wherever they were?

Then it struck her. Josie's parents, from here on out, for the rest of her life would be looking down on her. They would know her every move, each thought. They knew what she was thinking at that very instant—that she was glad that the deputy was sitting outside in the dark. That a small voice in Josie's head kept whispering, Ethan did it . That she thought her own brother had murdered her parents and probably Becky because of something as stupid as being grounded. That Josie would be dead, too, if she hadn't been a step faster than Becky and made it to the field.

Josie opened her eyes. Black shadows danced across the ceiling, and she listened to the unfamiliar creaks and groans of the house settling in for the night as she waited for sleep. It didn't come. Josie heard the squeak of the door as her grandparents peeked in on her. And later, she thought she heard the soft cries of someone weeping but it could have been the hot wind blowing through the fields.

After a while, Josie slipped from the bed and peeked out the window. The deputy was still there. But there was something else. She stared hard into the dark. What was it? A flicker of light? A shift in the shadows?

It was in the dark, Josie thought, where bad things happened.

She turned on the small lamp next to the bed and crawled back beneath the covers. Sleep came for her then, uneasy and fraught with nightmares.