“Why did she need to go down there?” It’s still the older trooper speaking.
“She was looking at the place we plan to bury my wife, who passed on Sunday,” Ash tells them. “Ms. Herrera was helping with the arrangements.”
His voice cracks once again, but I have no way of knowing if it’s mainly from grief or distress or fear. Could my father-in-law actually be a murderer? I try to push away the thought.
“You weren’t surprised when she didn’t stop in before she left.”
“There was no need to. We’d finished our work and we planned to speak again tomorrow morning.”
The troopers nod, their faces still stony. They inquire who else is here on the property, and after Ash goes through the list, they ask me to direct them to the crime scene, along with the housekeeper, and the two paramedics.
“I should accompany you, too,” Ash announces. “This is my property, and I can answer your questions.”
“No, the rest of you need to remain in the house,” the trooper tells him. “Detectives from the state police are on their way.”
“I’ll get the housekeeper,” Gabe interjects, and I realize that he doesn’t want the troopers going into the kitchen and collecting her in front of Henry. He darts off and returns with Bonnie less than a minute later. As she and I depart with the police, I glance behind me, trying to make eye contact with Gabe so that he can give me a reassuring look. But instead he’s staring off into the distance.
As if reading each other’s thoughts, Bonnie and I lead the troopers and paramedics around the building, avoiding the house, then along the side of the boxwood grove and gardens and down the wide expanse of lawn.
Though the air is damp, the rain continues to hold off. Bonnie’s put on a zippered cardigan since I saw her earlier, but I’m still in only a long-sleeved T-shirt. I shiver, but it’s less from the weather and more from my nerves.
Pretend you’re in a play, I tell myself.Own the stage, own the room, stay in control.
On the way, the troopers ask us a few more questions:Did you notice anyone else in the vicinity when you were down here or hear anything suspicious?No, Bonnie and I say in unison.Did either of you have any contact with Jillian Herrera earlier today?Again, no.Is there any other way to gain access to where we’re going?Bonnie mentions an old logging road that cuts through the woods and ends not far from the stream. I’ve never heard of it before, but I’m relieved to learn another detail supporting the idea of an outside perpetrator.
We’ve reached the first meadow by now and one of the troopers asks if we have much farther to go. I give an estimate of under ten minutes and describe the rest of the route ahead. As we hurry through the wildflowers, their colors dulled from the lack of sunshine, I try to picture Jillian coming through here earlier. Was it right after she left Ash in the study? She must have looked at the sky and grabbed a slicker. I wonder again if she and Ash hiked here together. And then...
Finally, when we reach the end of the second meadow, Bonnie freezes in her tracks, as if she can’t bear the idea of witnessing the scene again.
“It’s to the left and then a few hundred feet,” I tell the troopers. “She’s between the stream and an old bird blind.”
Thankfully, they instruct us to remain where we are before they start heading to the spot, followed not far behind by the paramedics, lugging their equipment.
“Come on, get the hell outta here,” one of the troopers shouts a few seconds later. Not to a person, I realize, but to the vultures. I feel bile in my throat again as I picture the birds pecking at the head wound. There are sounds of movement next, the troopers traipsing through the grass and then the murmur of instructions being given into a cell phone or radio.
“You doin’ okay, hon?” Bonnie whispers.
“Um, yeah. You?”
“Hanging in there. I mean, what choice do we have?”
Within a few minutes, two more troopers, a male and a female, come tramping through the meadow behind us, and we point them in the right direction, though the man returns a minute later, announcing that he’s going to escort me and Bonnie back to the house.
“Can you tell us if she’s definitely dead?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says grimly. “I’m sorry.”
We start the return journey. Part of me can’t wait to be in the house again, but then I remind myself that there’s no comfort waiting for me there.
The trooper leaves us at the back door, reminding us not to go anywhere until we’ve been interviewed. Inside the kitchen we find Jake folding napkins on the island, silent and bug-eyed, clearly a little rattled, but also revved up, I suspect. This might be the biggest excitement he’s had all summer.
Gabe and Henry are there, too, parked at the table. Henry’s riveted by something on his iPad, and Gabe assures him that he’ll be right back, then ushers me into the dining room, making sure the door swings closed behind us.
“Is it definitely her?” Gabe asks.
“They didn’t let us near the spot this time, but whoelse? What’s happening here?”
“You just missed the two detectives. They’re out front now, waiting for one of the troopers to escort them to the scene. And apparently a forensics team is arriving any minute.”
