“The other guy you came in with? He’s in the next room,” the cop said. He pulled the faxed papers from the backpack. “Are you Michael and Marianne Rhones’s daughter? Anne Marie Rhones?”
“Yes,” I said. “Well, I was. My dad changed our names.”
“You’ve been missing a long time.”
“Eighteen years,” I said. “Wait. How do you know I’ve been missing?”
“Your mom’s case was big news in this state,” he said. “Then when you and your dad disappeared, it made headlines again. Your family raised money and offered a reward. They searched for you and your dad for a long time. Three years ago there was even fifteenth anniversary local media coverage.”
“There was?”
“You can look it up online.”
This astounding news had a strange effect on me. I pictured the quarter--mile radius of my former life—-the tiny bubble of my existence—-expanding to encompass Dekker’s family, and the family I’d never known I had, and this cop and the whole state of Colorado.
“You up to giving me a statement?”
I was, and I did. It was the second time in two weeks I’d been interrogated by police. This time, though, I had a lot more to tell.
The cop scratched his balding head.
“So you’re the one who beat the sh—-the crap out of Mr. Bellandini?”
“Yes sir,” I said. “Dekker was in restraints, so he wasn’t able to assist much.”
The cop shook his head. “Mr. Bellandini is not a small man.”
“No sir,” I said.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. He set it on a tray next to my bed. “If you think of any other details, please give me a call.”
I took the card. “You’ve got to go up to the tailings pond at the Black Star mine. It’s full of sulfuric acid,” I said. “We think that’s where Mitch disposed of Randy’s body. And probably my mom’s.”
“Already done,” he said.
I was breathless. “Did you . . . find him?” I knew they wouldn’t find her, not after all this time.
The cop nodded. I started to cry. Randy was a bad guy. But I didn’t wish him dead. Everything that had happened welled up in my eyes and ran over.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll be back soon.”
He left the room and I let myself cry about everything. I didn’t quit until I was done, spent and exhausted.
A nurse named Sally came in the room and checked my blood pressure. “How are your feet?” She lifted the blanket and took a look.
“They feel like they’re against hot coals.”
“First--degree frostbite,” she said. “You’re not going to lose any toes, but they’re going to hurt for a while. You’re also suffering from mild hypothermia and dehydration.”
“I also pulled my left calf muscle pretty severely.”
“Yup. It was very swollen, so we wrapped it up. When you get home you may want to visit an orthopedist.”
Home. That word. What did it mean now?
Sally walked around to the left side of my bed and touched the bandage I hadn’t noticed on my arm where I’d dug out the microchip. “We had to give you a few sutures here.”
I nodded. “Is Dekker okay?”
“He’s going to be fine.” She held up a little yellow piece of paper with a phone number written on it. “He said you’re to call this number.”
She dialed it for me and handed me the receiver.
After two rings, a professional--sounding voice answered. “George Engle.”
“This is Petty Moshen.”
“Hi, Petty,” he said, his voice more friendly now. “How are you doing? How’s Dekker?”
“We’re both going to be okay,” I said.
“Good,” George said. “I’m not going to take up too much of your time right now, but I wanted to ask you a -couple of questions.”
“Okay,” I said.
“What exactly did you take from Keith Dooley’s office?” He said the name with some contempt, and it made me smile.
It all seemed so long ago, another lifetime, although only a week had passed.
“I didn’t take anything that belongs to Mr. Dooley. I took my dad’s laptop, a photo album with pictures of my family, some letters, my mom’s necklace, and an envelope with what I think is a psychiatric evaluation in it.”
“Is that the envelope you left at Curt’s?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Curt opened it. I told him he wasn’t supposed to, but he did anyway. It wasn’t a psych eval. It was ten blank sheets of paper. It was a bluff.”
I should have been angry but I wasn’t. I was relieved. Dad was just trying to keep me safe, I knew that now. I believed it. I was grateful for it.
“Curt said you also took all the firearms out of your house. Everything in the house is part of the trust, so legally speaking, none of that is your property. But I’m confident I can persuade old Dooley to drop the theft charge because of the conflict of interest in regards to Randy King. Getting the will overturned is a formality.”
“What about the—-” I turned my face away from the nurse and cupped my hand over the phone receiver. “—-murder charge?”
“The what?”