Page 98 of Justice Delayed

“You deliberately set me up to take the fall for Jesse’s disappearance so I wouldn’t say anything about the map and mining?”

“I…” Before Smith could answer, someone knocked on the door. “Come in.” He stood as the door opened.

Melender turned her head to see her uncle step into the shed.

* * *

Quentin avoided Melender,who was perched on a pile of fertilizer bags, her hands wrenched behind her back and her feet tied together with a plastic zip tie. Instead, he focused on John Smith. He’d known John for more than three decades, a man always in the shadows. A man you called to fix your problems. How Quentin wished he’d never called John the night Jesse died. But the thought of Ruby learning what her daughter had done drove him to make a choice that continued to haunt him.

“Quentin.” John consulted his phone. “You cut it a little close.”

“I’m here now.” Quentin didn’t move from his position near the shed door. “Why did you take Melender?”

“I’m just following your orders.” John’s tone held a mocking note.

“I never said—”

“You said she needed to be taken care of.”

Quentin couldn’t disagree, but that was before police dug up his rose garden. “It’s over, John.”

“It is not over.” John pointed a finger at Quentin. “I will not be left holding the bag on this mess. You are in neck deep too.”

“You’re right.” Quentin’s admission sailed right past John, as the other man continued his tirade.

“You’re the one who wanted to make it look like Jesse disappeared.”

Memories of that night flooded Quentin’s senses. He could almost hear Jillian asking why her daddy was crying.

“You’re the one who came up with a plausible tale to spin to throw suspicion off of your other children.” Each word John said twisted the knife in Quentin’s gut.

The coldness of his plan hadn’t seemed that stark to him as he pushed down his grief over Jesse’s death. Jared’s panic and Jillian’s cries had only fueled his calmness. He put out fires constantly in his line of work. Keeping his head in the midst of this family crisis had been second nature. Gazing down at Jesse’s lifeless body in his crib, the story of what might have happened unspooled in his mind until it became what actually happened, supplanting the truth with a more palatable lie.

“You’re the one who suggested putting the blame on your niece.”

He couldn’t have Jillian grow up knowing she’d killed her baby brother by accidentally smothering him with his blue bunny. While his older son had his share of problems, Quentin wasn’t about to let his own flesh and blood go to prison on a drug charge or child neglect. In the end, the decision to sacrifice a niece he barely knew had been easy—it had seemed like the only way to keep what remained of his family intact.

John stared straight at him. “And you’re the one who picked out the burial place for your son.”

A burial place now being disturbed by shovels. Quentin bowed his head. Every word John said pierced his heart, but instead of fear or anger, relief was the emotion that rose to the top. He’d kept company with this secret for nineteen years. Letting go brought a relief sweeter than he’d ever imagined. His phone buzzed. Automatically, he pulled it out of his pocket to see a text from Jillian.

Dad, where are you? You’ve got to come home. Now. They found something in the garden. Won’t tell us what it is, but Mom’s falling apart.

“Bad news?” John’s tone indicated he couldn’t care less if it was.

“No.” Quentin looked at the man as the last vestiges of self-preservation evaporated like the morning mist on a mountain top. He drew in a deep breath to gather the courage to put the unimaginable into words. “They’ve found Jesse.”

“What?” Melender’s voice came out in a whisper. “Where?”

Quentin finally turned to his niece. Strands of her long, blonde hair had escaped her braid and bunched around her face. Sorrow infused his entire body. “They found Jesse’s grave in our rose garden.”

* * *

In the hospital café,Brogan stared at Livingston. He couldn’t quite comprehend what the detective had just told him after Carstairs had stepped away to confer with a colleague. “They found human remains in the Thompson’s rose garden?”

“Yes, but not an adult’s.” Livingston’s mouth settled into a grim line. “An infant’s.”

“Jesse.” Brogan stated the obvious as more pieces of this intricate puzzle slipped into place.

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