Page 38 of Inside Silence
Maybe that’s why I didn’t put up much of a fight when I was being run out of town.
But I’m back now, and the years away have given me a chance to grow out of a reputation that crippled me, and gain a better sense of self-worth. Not only do I have something to prove, but I feel I have something to offer. To Silence, but mostly to Savannah.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when I notice the church doors opening and the congregation spilling into the parking lot.
I recognize several church-goers, including an old school buddy of mine, Roy Battaglia, with what I assume is his family. It sure looks like he’s done well for himself. I hear he has his own business, installing home security systems, which is pretty ironic, seeing as he and I did more than a few break and enters in our youth. Guess we both landed on our feet, but he went a step farther and appears to have established himself as one of Silence’s upstanding citizens in the past fifteen or so years.
I watch as he helps his wife and daughter into a nice Cadillac Escalade parked about twenty feet from my truck. Might be nice to say hello, but before I have a chance to get out of the truck, the rain that has been looming all morning starts coming down, and not just a little. Roy scrambles to get in his vehicle and is already pulling out when I catch sight of Tate, standing in a crowd of people seeking shelter under the portico over the front entrance.
I start the truck and make my way around the parking lot, pulling up right in front of the group. I can feel every eye fixed on me and do my best to ignore them as I focus on my daughter.
Leaning over, I open the passenger side door for Tate, who is trying to stay dry by covering her head with a stack of papers she’s holding.
“What’s all that?”
“Some permission forms you need to fill out, and a schedule for upcoming events for the rest of the year.”
“Okay…I’m guessing you had a good time?”
She flashes a bright smile at me.
“It’s really cool, Dad. It’s like a choir and dance group with a band, and they make these reels for TikTok or Instagram to help them raise money to build a school in Burundi. Get this, last year they raised over three thousand dollars!”
I don’t have the heart to tell her three thousand is only a drop in the bucket of what would be needed to erect a building—even in Burundi, I imagine—instead, I grin at her enthusiasm.
“Sounds like a worthy cause. Tell me more.”
She does, all the way home. About the young guy running the program, who apparently is a sheriff’s deputy, and about other kids in the group. She rattles off names I don’t recognize, except maybe one; Naomi Battaglia. I’m thinking that might be the pretty blond girl I saw getting in the back seat of my old friend’s Escalade. His daughter.
I’d forgotten how small the world can be in Silence, Washington.
Tatum’s normally timid voice sounds excited and much more confident than I’m used to. I know she loves music, and she has a pretty voice—I’ve occasionally heard her sing along to her favorite tunes in her room—but I wasn’t aware she’s this passionate about it.
It’s a good thing. She’s settling in, and as a result I’m beginning to feel some solid ground under my own feet again.
It feels good.
Now, if only Savannah didn’t have this murder case taking up all her time, perhaps I could convince her to spend some of it with me.
Fuck, I hope she’ll give me this second chance.
Chapter 12
Savvy
* * *
I drop my head in my hands, frustrated and overwhelmed.
It’s been nine days since Franklin Wyatt’s body was found floating in Watts Lake, and I have made little headway in tracking down his killer.
Then yesterday afternoon, Ben Rogers’s remains were found in a dried-up creek bed in the woods behind the mobile home community where he lived. Aside from a traumatic head injury to the back of his skull, which probably would’ve been lethal on its own, the man looked like he had been severely kicked and beaten. There was damage all over his body, including several obvious broken bones.
Other than the fact we haven’t seen many violent deaths in Edwards County, and now we suddenly have two in short succession, there really isn’t anything obvious connecting them. That doesn’t mean there isn’t—it could be we simply haven’t found it yet—but I have to work these murders as separate cases.
I don’t have enough manpower and there aren’t enough hours in the day for me to do either of these victims justice. It sucks, because it means I’m going to have to call in help from the CID, the State Patrol’s Criminal Investigation Division.
“I heard about Ben.”
