“When he finished up at Lefty’s, he drove out, circled back to the gap on that lonely road, carried her body the rest of the way until he found a suitable spot. Maybe he stumbled upon a natural depression, maybe he dug one. But he buried her and stacked those rocks on top. It was dark, so he missed that.” He pointed to the remnant of ruffle. “As hiding a body goes, he chose a good spot. If that cloth had been dull in color, I would’ve missed it.”
“Good work, Thatcher.”
“Knowing what you’re likely to find under those rocks, it doesn’t feel good. Not good at all.”
Bill waited a beat before continuing to theorize. “On his way back into town, Gabe’s conscience grabbed hold.”
“Or terror of being caught.”
“Either way, he realized the magnitude of what he’d done and headed to his mistress for solace. Then what, Thatcher? Did Miss Blanchard know he’d killed Mila, or not? Did she calm him down and coach him on what to do next, what to say and how to perform when questioned?”
“Mrs. Kemp doesn’t think so.”
“She could be lying. She may know all too well that Norma was complicit.”
“Could be.”
“But you don’t think so?”
“If Norma had lived, maybe her sister would’ve lied to cover for her. But why would she lie for her now?”
“To protect baby nephew Arthur from disgrace? Hell, I don’t know.” Sighing, he covered his face with both hands and pressed his middle fingers into his eye sockets, his weariness evident. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
“Two things you know,” Thatcher said.
Bill lowered his hands and looked across at him.
“One. Norma Blanchard can’t be held accountable even if she masterminded the murder. Second thing, you’ve finally got a piece of evidence. It’s not a decomposed body, but that apron trim might be enough to bring Driscoll to his knees.”
“He’s proven to be mule-headed.”
“Won’t hurt to try.”
Bill took the strip of cloth with him as he entered the cell block. Thatcher followed him to the last cell, where Driscoll was reclined on the cot, eyes closed, pale hands clasped over his stomach. “Unless you have a defense lawyer with you, go away.”
“You’ll want to see this, Gabe.”
Thatcher and Bill waited him out, and his curiosity got the better of him. He opened his eyes and levered himself up on his elbows.
Bill dangled the strip of red cloth. “Recognize this?”
“No.”
“Thatcher did.” Bill explained how Thatcher remembered seeing the ruffle on Mila’s apron.
Driscoll shrugged. “She wore an apron every day of her life.”
“In the kitchen while baking shortbread,” Bill said. “Around the house as she was dusting the furniture. But why would she wear one to Pointer’s Gap?”
Mention of the landmark sparked a stunned reaction. His gaze darted to Thatcher, then back to Bill. “What was he doing out there?”
Bill ignored the question. “He found this caught in a pile of rocks. What do you know about it, Gabe?”
“Nothing.”
“Explain to me how a ruffle off Mrs. Driscoll’s apron got stuck between two rocks all the way out there in no-man’s-land.”
“Why are you asking me? Why don’t you ask him?” He came off the cot and charged the cell bars, shoving his hand through two of them and grabbing Thatcher by his necktie. “Do you really think he just wandered out there and accidentally found this? Where’s your common sense, sheriff? He knew where to find it, because he buried Mila’s body out there. It was him all along. Don’t you see?”