Page 75 of Dead Mountain

Helen shrugged. “I guess. Gordy. Luke.”

“Do you know of any animosities inside that group? Jealousy, competition, anything like that?”

“No.”

“Is there anything Rodney might have told you, or you overheard or learned about somehow, that could shed further light on what happened?”

“No.”

Corrie pressed a little. “Or perhaps there’s something you’ve remembered, or that’s happened, since the first times you were questioned?”

“No. I told the cops everything. If you haven’t found him, then get back to looking and stop bothering me.”

“Back then, you didn’t tell us you were pregnant,” Watts said, hazarding what Corrie felt certain was a guess.

The woman turned from Corrie back to him. “It wasn’t relevant.”

“It must have been relevant to you. And to Rodney. And, I’d assume, his parents. So what happened?”

Briefly, the woman’s face went blank. “Nothing happened.”

“Did you get an abortion? Have a miscarriage? Give the child away?”

“That’s none of your business!”

“Unless you faked it,” Watts went on, his eyes turning toward the ceiling as if watching a celestial tableau unfold. “Faked it so he’d stay with you. And then, after the tragedy, it didn’t matter anymore . . . until it did.”

Corrie opened her mouth, then abruptly shut it again. Watts wasn’t just being aggressive, she realized, and he wasn’t fishing either—there was method here, and she should let him play it out.

It seemed Helen had instinctively realized the same thing, because she kept silent as well.

“After the dust settled,” Watts went on, “you meant something to the parents, Harry and Ruth. They saw you and especially the unborn child as a connection to their son.”

Hearing no denials, he went on. “And then, for whatever reason, the child went away. But even after that, you kept the link to Rodney’s parents alive. They felt sorry for you, especially Harry. And he gave you money.”

Helen sat up. “That’s—!” She stopped, evidently forcing herself to keep silent.

“It wasn’t much. Maybe a one-time gift, more likely a stipend. You played on his conscience—his fatherly mix of guilt and grief. Pretty soon, you had a nice little income stream. But then Ruth died. And Harry met Melody Ann. And when you met her, you realized the game was up.”

“You can’t prove any of that!” Helen said.

“No, and we don’t intend to. It’s on your conscience—not ours.”

She abruptly sat back in the chair and buried her head in her hands. No sound emerged; no sobs racked her shoulders. Corrie, a little taken aback by this sudden reversal, didn’t know if she was crying or not.

“There’s no way to undo what you’ve done,” Watts said, his tone suddenly milder, wistful rather than accusatory. “No way to make amends. I don’t think you have anything to offer us, which is too bad. I mean, if you did know something that might help and finally bring closure to the family and honor to your boyfriend’s memory, it could be a small step toward healing.”

And with this he prepared to rise.

“Wait,” she said, face still hidden.

Watts and Corrie exchanged glances.

“He told me never to tell anybody.”

“Not tell anybody what?” Watts asked.

For a time, the woman said nothing more. Then, just when Corrie expected Watts to start playing bad cop again, she spoke. “He once said he knew a way into the bunker.”

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