Ollie Clark—Friday, June 28, 2019
Mom had always had plans to turn the girls’ room into a guest room once Birdy left for college, but it had been years since Ollie slept there, and she’d never shared the queen bed with Eli. The guest room had been for those weird and rocky years after the trial, when she finished college and moved away, and before that morning on the beach. Since then, when Ollie came up, she slept at Eli’s apartment.
Brad and Harper dropped Eli off there last night on their way home so he could pack some stuff and then drive back up, in case either he or Ollie wanted a car. It probably hadn’t been a restful night for him, either, in this impersonal and strange room that barely had enough space for the matching furniture, but at least Cindy hadn’t tried to ask Ollie to stay but Eli to go or something.
Dad wasn’t religious, but it was clear he didn’t think his daughter should spend the night with someone she wasn’t married to. Or maybe that was just because it had always been Eli.
The guest bathroom situation was weird, because the only upstairs bathroom in the house was through the master bedroom. Part of Dad’s home renovations as a new widower included upgrading the Michigan basement with its random toilet in the middle of the floor to a finished room that was never used and a three-quarter bath, which meant there wasn’t actually a bath at all. At least there was a shower, even if they had to go down a couple of flights of stairs to use it, so she waited for Eli to come back up before taking a set of clothes down and pretending like a shower was a full reset. Dad probably hadn’t slept well last night, either.
But come on, what was there to do? Whatever Len Wilcox thought he’d found, whatever the police thought they’d found … those were done deals. They had it, and they wanted to use it to taunt Dad, which Ollie wanted to say wouldn’t work—can’t taunt a man with something if he’s not guilty—but Mom and Birdy were always going to be sore spots. Police interrogations liked jabbing at sore spots.
Even then, what could he really do to himself? Ollie couldn’t see him actually assaulting a police officer. Telling them to keep Wendy’s name out of their mouths, maybe, or going off on the two guys who’d laughed them off after the assault, sure, but you couldn’t get arrested for yelling at an officer. Right?
Seriously, they were supposed to be over this. Sean Kelly came along and it was all wrapped up in a bow. Arnie Dubrowski wasn’t even worried. He’d wanted to talk to them in person and go over what the likely next steps would look like, but none of those steps involved And then he gets an alibi so I can dump you without a qualm. They weren’t Arnie’s case anymore, so why was Len Wilcox still clinging like a leech?
Okay, she knew the answer to that question. A true crime writer with his first book deal about a serial killer was one thing. A true crime writer who personally solved a cold case was another. What sort of man felt that smug and confident playing with other people’s lives?
Eli was in the kitchen when she came up, getting the coffee going, but first she had to take her pajamas upstairs before anything else. The Clark house really wasn’t built for guests. When she got back down Eli had a mug poured for her and the milk already added. “Thanks.”
“I figure we could probably use some hi-test this morning. Is there a game plan?”
“Get through the day.” She scooted into her usual seat, the one further in with her back to the wall. “If they can keep him forty-eight hours before charging him, they will, right? So nothing’s going to happen until tomorrow.”
“Except I might scream if Tom Petty keeps running through my head.”
Ollie grinned a little wickedly. “I heard if you get an earworm, you’re supposed to go through the entire song, start to finish.”
“I wouldn’t trust your source.” He sat down across from her. “That sounds fake.”
“We could pack some more.”
“Leave the house and risk being seen? How many messages have Roger and Len left you, by the way?”
Ollie shrugged. “My phone’s still upstairs.”
“I wish I had your self-control.”
“I didn’t plug it in last night. How many do you have?”
“Multiples. Not just from them. Pretty sure we could have a free destination wedding if we allow someone to film it exclusively. All expenses paid for us and up to twenty guests.”
“Twenty guests? Do we get to pick the destination?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t read that close. Maybe. Why? What would you consider?”
“None of them. I’m just curious.”
Eli pulled his phone out. “You should charge yours, though. In case someone actually needs to get a hold of you.”
“Deborah’s got the house number and Cindy’s number.”
“What if the police want to ask you some questions? What if,” he continued before she could respond, “your answers to those questions make them pause?”
“Like what? I could tell them exactly the same thing I told them ten years ago. He was with me that night.” But she got up and scooted out from behind the table. “I expect you to be making me some sort of breakfast when I come back.”
Eli shrugged. “I don’t know where anything is in this kitchen.” But he got up all the same and started with the fridge.
Phone call, Katrina Olson and Lieutenant Samuel Johnson, June 28, 2019
KO: Hey, Sam. I’ll get you the paperwork, but I thought you’d want to know ASAP.
SJ: The gun?
KO: The gun. We didn’t get any from the gun itself—no wonder, if it’s been buried that long, not wrapped up or anything—but we got a good one from the shell.
SJ: … the shell.
KO: Yeah, I guess it was protected. Good clear thumb print. You still there?
SJ: There was a shell still in the gun?
KO: They didn’t tell you it was loaded?
SJ: No, they just told me—what about the print on the shell?
KO: Kurtti’s. And you said it was actually buried on his property?
SJ: … yes. Close to Clark’s.
KO: Right, well. I can’t even begin to speculate on the story behind all that, but … sorry I don’t have better news.
SJ: Not your fault. Just doing your job.
KO: Right, well … let me know if there’s anything else.
Bury the Dead 25 – coming April 25
Rebecca Frost 