“So, you just—won’t do anything?” I practically sputter. “There was a group of men in ceremonial robes ten seconds away from murdering me and tossing me out into a cornfield. The same men who are responsible for Lakyn Monroe's death, as well as the deaths of however many people are out in that field where she was. Not to mention Andrew Eagan, whose death means Xavier Renton is still sitting in prison for something he didn't do.”
“Emma, I understand you're upset. I am too. If there was something I could do right now, I would. But you know that I can't. I need you to think clearly on this right now and understand that we have to follow procedures.”
I know we do, but it doesn't make it any easier. I hate standing here in the building where Dean and I were not an hour ago and feeling as if the answers have just slipped through my fingers.
“So, what now?” I sigh.
“We'll keep the building under surveillance,” Noah tells me. “I’ll make sure it's constantly watched, so if anybody tries to go inside, we'll see him.”
“How about the men? Sterling Jennings. Lorenzo Tarasco. Mason Goldman, also known as Eleanor Goldman. The warden. Are you going to keep track of them if they show up?” I ask.
“Emma,” Sam says. “We can't put surveillance on them. You know that. Even if we wanted to bend the rules a bit, these are all well-known and respected members of the community. No jury in the whole county will take our word over theirs. If we want to take these guys down, it’s got to be an absolutely iron-clad case. We can’t afford to cut any corners. And as of right now, they aren't technically under suspicion for anything. We can't just harass them. We have to wait.”
“Or get a warrant,” I reply. “If we can get a warrant for the temple, we'll be able to open any door we want.”
“We can try,” Noah says. “I'll see what I can do.”
The next day, I walk into the hotel room and kick off my shoes mid-step. Without slowing down, I walk into the bathroom and turn the faucet on full blast. Pressing the heels of my hands into the counter, I lean over the sink and take a deep breath. I fill my hands with water and splash it into my face a couple of times.
“How did it go?” Sam asks, coming to the door of the bathroom.
I snatch one of the hand towels off the metal bar attached to the wall beside the sink and press it against my face as I walk past him back into the main portion of the hotel room. Tossing the towel onto the bed, I start to undress. I just want to be in something comfortable right now.
“He's still there,” I say.
“I know,” Sam says.
I look into his eyes, shaking my head. “He's still there, Sam.”
“I know,” he repeats, his lips pulled tight in sadness.
“He didn't do anything. We know who murdered Andrew Eagan and why, and yet Xavier is still sitting there in that screwed-up facility under the thumb of those awful cultists. He still has people tell him when to get up in the morning and when to go to bed at night. When he can eat. If he's allowed to go outside his cell.”
“He won't be in there forever,” Sam says.
“He can't be,” I say. “They have to give him a new trial. With a new judge. They need to let him out.”
“What did he say when you told him what happened?”
I let out a sigh and go to the dresser for a pair of stretch pants and an oversized long-sleeve t-shirt.
“He told me the apple on a tree doesn’t mind the time it takes to ripen. Makes for a better apple pie.”
“What does that mean?” he asks.
“That he's been waiting this long already. He can keep waiting,” I say. “But I'm not willing to let him keep waiting. Not if there's anything I can do about it. I promised him I would do everything I can to get him out of that place and get him a new trial as fast as possible.”
“And when he does get his new trial?” Sam asks. “The lawyer has to prove there is sufficient new evidence to even start the trial. But after that, he has to create an effective enough case to convince people the courts got it wrong the first time. That’s not something that happens too often. How is he going to prove he wasn't involved in Andrew's death and that it was actually Lorenzo Tarasco who did it?”
“That's what we have to figure out next,” I say.
Chapter Two
Eight weeks later …
Another bone comes up from the dirt. It wasn't buried. Not formally, anyway. From the way it was positioned and the grass and weeds growing around it, it looks as if this is one of the bones that was just scattered throughout the cornfield.
Thinking about it makes my skin crawl. Not because I have a problem with the bones. But because I have a problem with the way they were treated. These were once people. They aren't props or ancient remnants. No more than a handful of years ago, they were living, breathing human beings.
Until someone took them and tossed them out among the rows of corn to be forgotten. Now I know the real benefit of the cage that was put over Lakyn Monroe's body.
It wasn't put over her while she was still alive. That had been my first thought when I first saw it. I thought someone had caged her and left her out to die of exposure and starvation. But the cage was too lightweight, too weak to hold a human being inside. It was put in place after she was already dead. And after weeks of watching the forensics team collect and unearth bones and remnants of who these people once were, I understand why the cage was there.
It protected her. It kept the animals away and stopped them from tearing her apart and scattering her throughout the field the way the others were. For many of them, parts of their bodies will never be found. They've been taken far away and will never be seen again. It's entirely possible there will be people who we will never be able to identify because too much of them has gone missing.
We may not even know how many are here.
But we know who she was. We found all of her—at least, what was left—because of that cage. I don't understand how it came to be there. I described it to Xavier, but he didn't have an explanation for me. Not even one that I couldn't understand. According to him, she should have just been discarded the way all the others were. But someone had a different idea.
And because she knew her minutes were numbered, she used the very last grains of sand counting of her life to leave a message detailing where she was going. Her final gift was making sure we knew where to look for her. And because of the cage, we found her.
And because of her, we found the others.
And we keep finding them. It's been two months now, and the excavation is still going on. It hasn't been continuous. Autumn storms and red tape have slowed progress. It's infuriating. Every day that goes by, I watch more people come up from the field and have to keep waiting. I know who did this. And there's nothing I can do.
“Explain to me again why we haven't been able to get back into the temple, Detective,” I tell Noah, as he wipes dirt from his forehead with the back of his arm.
“Because we haven't gotten a warrant, Emma. You know that. We have to have a search warrant in order to go inside and open any of those doors. Right now, there is no clear-cut evidence that anybody who is inside that temple did anything wrong. Unless you want to get technical and count you and your cousin for breaking in,” he replies.