Page 36 of Silent Ridge

Before she can disconnect I say, “By the way, what did your mom say about Michael Rader? Did she have any contact with him after that one time?”

Silence fills the line as she thinks for a moment.

“No. At least I don’t think she did. But he scared her.Reallyscared her. She said you would know more about him than she would.”

Monique was right about that. Except I had run from Michael Rader. I’d never faced him. And then I never tried to find him again. It’s my fault that Monique is dead. I have to own that.

I ask one more question. “Can you give me a better description of Michael Rader? Any little thing your mom might have said.”

“She said you might have a better description than she did. She was pretty shook up after talking to him. All she could think of was that he might come after me and Sebastian.”

“That helps. I’ll be in touch. If you feel unsafe, you should call me.”

She promises and we disconnect. I hand Ronnie the phone number to store in her phone.

Just in case.

Ronnie looks at me expectantly. She’s still standing at my desk. I say, “He works at a prison. She can’t remember which one, but she thinks her mother said the women’s prison in Gig Harbor. He’s in his forties.”

“That’s great. Do you want me to call them?”

“Can you see if you can find a directory first? Maybe you can find something about the prison that will mention him in a news release or other activity.”

“Good idea, Megan.”

Of course it’s a good idea. I’ve been doing this since you were shopping for expensive clothes or getting your hair styled.

Thirty-Three

Ronnie went home at the end of the shift. Sheriff had gone to some Civitan thing and wasn’t going to be back. Nan left after looming over my desk, asking if we were getting anywhere with the murder. I told her an arrest was imminent. I figured I’d see myself quoted on the news tonight.

I went home, where I changed into jeans and a Washington State University T-shirt.

I slip my shoulder holster on. I take a kitchen chair and shove the back under the front doorknob. I would put salt on all the window ledges—salt is supposed to repel ghosts—but I don’t think it would keep the ghost of my past outside. I’ve learned from experience that if someone wants in your house, they will find a way. I’ve done it myself. I also know that no matter how hard you try to keep the past out of your mind, it will come back. Through dreams, or worse, through people.

With a box of wine on the edge of my desk, I fill a plastic Solo cup nearly to the rim. The box of tapes and the player are already out and waiting for me. The little spools on the cassette tape look like greedy eyes, hypnotizing me, drawing me in.

I am getting nowhere with this case. My gut is telling me it is someone very close to Alex Rader. Each clue points to the same person: Michael Rader.

It’s evening, and I imagine Ronnie is settled in, having a drink herself. Or watchingThe Bachelor. I don’t watch much television except for the news. It’s all delusion and lies and I already have enough of that in my life.

I decide to phone Ronnie.

“Megan. I was just thinking about calling you.” She sounds excited.

“Did you find something?” My heart beats harder.

“I found a news article involving someone named Kim Mock. He apparently was arrested and charged with murdering a Megan Moriarty almost twenty years ago. He was killed in prison. But the interesting thing is there is a newspaper photo of him being transported from jail to prison. Guess who is transporting him?”

“Michael Rader,” I say.

“Not only that, but when Mock was killed in prison, Michael Rader is the corrections officer who found the body.”

Of course, I already knew this. I knew Michael had Mock killed by other inmates—or did the job himself—because Moriarty’s family began questioning if the police had arrested the right guy.

“That’s great, Ronnie. We’ll get into it more in the morning. Take some time off and chill. We’re going to be busy getting all the paperwork together.”

My phone dings.

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