Deadly Little Sins (25 page)

All Dr. Harrow wanted was money.

Travis Shepherd may be dead, but he still scares me more than Dr. Harrow ever will.

Dennis isn’t happy with me. He doesn’t even say hi when we meet outside the station on Sunday morning—just sighs and checks over his shoulder to make sure he doesn’t have an audience.

“Thanks for doing this,” I say once we’re in his car.

“Not sure I had a choice.”

What is he talking about? Does he think I’ll try to blackmail him over how he helped Anthony and me without his boss’s permission last year?

I think back to our conversation at his desk a couple weeks ago, when I told him he owed me, and that his boss wouldn’t be happy about Dennis helping us off the record.

Okay, so technically I may have hinted about the
possibility
of blackmailing him. But I would never actually do it. I’m not Alexis.

Dennis flashes his badge, and I have to show my ID and a copy of my birth certificate, and sign an affidavit. Dennis coughs—I look up to see the guard glaring at me from the other side of the glass. No doubt she noticed I didn’t actually read the affidavit. I sigh and look it over while Dennis checks his phone.

I slide the paper beneath the glass. The guard eyeballs it and presses a button. The gate gives an earth-shaking buzz, and Dennis motions for me to follow him through the metal detector.

By the time we’re in the holding room, I have to put a hand on my wrist to steady my pulse. Dennis’s voice is in my ear.

“You don’t have to do this.”

And that’s what makes me realize that I don’t want to do this. Dr. Harrow will be behind glass, and I’ll talk to him through a phone, but what if I have to pass by other inmates on the way in? What if they look at me and say things?

There’s another buzzing noise, and a guard opens the door.

“Harrow?”

I’m frozen. Dennis nods. The guard eyes me. “This way.”

My stomach dips when I see Dr. Harrow behind the glass.

He has a patchy beard. The area beneath his eyes is swollen and gray. I wonder if it’s because he can’t sleep in here—if it’s because he has a roommate and he has to stay up every night to watch his back.

It’s what he deserves.

Harrow nods to Dennis. “Who’s he?”

“Adult supervision,” Dennis says. He taps my shoulder, telling me to sit. I do, and he hands me the phone. I clear my throat.

“Anne.” Dr. Harrow’s voice is breathy, and I notice all the extra weight in his face. “I’m so sorry for what I tried to—what I did to you.”

I will myself to stare straight into his eyes. “Don’t be. I’m the one who’s still here.”

Dr. Harrow’s knuckles whiten as he grips the phone. Dennis shoots me a warning look.

I take a breath. “I know about the tape recorder in Goddard’s office. You were monitoring him.”

Harrow’s eyes flick to Dennis. “I was.”

I set my free hand on the table. “Why?”

“I wanted to know if he suspected me.…” Harrow’s voice trails off, but he doesn’t need to complete the thought. He wanted to know if Goddard suspected that he had something to do with Isabella’s murder.

“On the tape,” I say, “did he mention anything about Plymouth Reform School?”

Harrow leans forward on his elbows. “What if I told you that you’re not the first to come here and ask me that?”

She was here.
“A young woman with red hair?” Harrow nods.

“When?” I ask.

“The spring.”

I have to speak around the lump in my throat. “And she wanted the tape?”

Harrow nods. “She didn’t say why. But when I said I couldn’t get her the tape, she asked if Goddard had said anything about Plymouth and the school records.”

“What records?”

“The ones he hid instead of turning over to the state.”

Dr. Harrow’s wolfish smile returns: the smile of a man who collects secrets and waits for their value to grow, like stocks in a portfolio.

“You already knew about the records,” I say. “Did Goddard tell you about them?”

“No. I found out like I did with everything else.” Harrow smiles. “Talk less. Listen more. You’d be surprised what you overhear.”

“That’s not all, though.” I lean forward and lower my voice. “I spoke to Raymond Nesbitt.”

Harrow’s expression darkens. “Did you, now.”

“Yes, I did. And I know that you had no reason to pay him to stay quiet about Plymouth unless Goddard asked you to do it.”

“I’d appreciate your discretion,” Harrow snaps. “They can use anything in this conversation against me.”

“No offense, but you’re serving seventy-five years. The only way you’re getting out of here is in a body bag.”

Harrow’s hands curls into a fist. Dennis leans forward and whispers in my ear. “Don’t antagonize him or he won’t give you what you want.”

“Sorry,” I say into the phone. “You have really great genetics, obviously, so maybe you’ll get out.”

I can practically feel Dennis cringe behind me. Harrow’s lips slide into a smile.

“So maybe the headmaster did ask me to make a generous monetary gift to Raymond Nesbitt.”

“But if you knew where the records were this whole time, why didn’t you use them to
your
benefit?” I ask.

“Why would I risk it all for an apple when I already had an entire tree?” Harrow says.

He’s talking about Senator Westbrook, who has double Goddard’s money and half his brains. Point taken.

“Goddard’s not your boss anymore,” I point out. “Why not expose his crimes?”

“Attempting to extort that old bastard from prison isn’t worth losing my outside time.”

“But you told Natalie where to find the records,” I say. “Why?”

“Goddard screwed me. I figured I’d let her screw him. And she just had this quality about her. You can’t help but like the girl. We had similar interests.”

Money. So that’s what Natalie wanted from Goddard and Roe. The whole time, she wanted to extort them.

“Is that all, Miss Dowling?” Dr. Harrow asks.

“Would Goddard have Natalie killed to cover up the truth about the annex?” I ask.

Harrow gives me a wry smile. “I think you know the answer to that.”

I hang up on him.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-FIVE

“Anne,” Dennis says when he drops me off in front of the school, “I think it’s time to let me take it from here.”

“So
you’re
going to send a cavalry to interrogate Benedict Goddard in his hospital room?” I ask.

Dennis’s face says everything. Of course the Wheatley Police Department would never dream of doing such a thing. “
Anne.
Definitely do not do that.”

“Okay.”

An hour later, I’m on the T with a potted Gerber daisy, en route to Massachusetts General Hospital to accuse a dying old man of murder.

If there’s a hell, I’m most certainly going there.

I sign in at the front desk with a fake name and head up to the fifth floor with my visitor’s pass.

Private suite or not, there’s no masking the smell of hospital—bleach, urine, and lukewarm mashed potatoes.

I don’t know what I expect Goddard to be doing when I get to his room, but it’s not sitting in an armchair by the window, watching the news.

He looks up at me, recognition flitting across his face. “Miss Dowling. How unexpected.” He mutes the television. “What a lovely daisy.”

I set the pot down on the table but don’t let it go—I don’t want him to see how badly my hands are shaking. “I’m sorry to hear you’re not well.”

“You don’t have to pretend that’s why you’re here.” Goddard’s voice has changed. “Sit. Please.”

I eye my options—there’s a free armchair close to Goddard. Too close to Goddard. I sit on the edge of his bed.

“So this is why you resigned,” I say quietly.

“No. I wasn’t diagnosed until August.” He eyes me carefully. “I didn’t resign. I was asked to step down as headmaster.”

This is news to me. “By who?”

Goddard laughs—or at least he tries to. It comes out as a silent guffaw. He puts a hand to his chest. “Your surprise is charming. But naturally, you’d think the headmaster is the most powerful person at Wheatley. Are you aware of how you wound up back at Wheatley?”

A chill slices through me. “No. I’m not.”

“I believe you’re acquainted with Lee Andersen.” Goddard coughs. “Michael Andersen’s son.”

Lee Andersen, Isabella’s stalker. “Yes.”

“Mr. Andersen voted against your expulsion,” Goddard says. “Coincidentally, it was after Dean Tierney called a private meeting with him to discuss his son’s unsettling behavior toward female students.”

The chill is back. Or maybe it’s just that cold in here.
Tierney
was the one behind my expulsion being overturned? She actually
blackmailed
Michael Andersen into voting in my favor?

“The headmaster is merely the puppet, and the board of trustees pulls the strings.” Goddard’s IV drip beeps. “The headmaster is simply the figurehead. Or in my case, a scapegoat. Never mind that I wasn’t headmaster when Matthew Weaver was murdered. I employed Lawrence Tretter for seventeen years without knowing the truth. And that’s what they blame me for—not seeing what was in front of me. But as I say, sometimes we only see what we want to see.”

A chill passes through me. Is that why I see Goddard as Natalie’s killer—because I want to?

“My attorney was not happy I woke him in the middle of the night to get you out of the administration building,” Goddard says.

“How did you know I was there?”

“You tripped the silent alarm I set on the back door,” he says. “I had to leave behind sensitive information, in case I was served a subpoena in Dr. Harrow’s case. I couldn’t risk it getting into the wrong hands.”

“The records. But they already had gotten into the wrong hands.” I level with him. “Tell me about Natalie Barnes.”

I expect him to reach for his call button. Get a nurse to drag me out of here. But instead, he folds his hands in front of him, and says, “What would you like to know?”

“How did she get hired?”

“Diana Upton’s resignation was unexpected. I instructed Dean Tierney to hire the first candidate with a BA who could string two thoughts together.” Goddard meets my eyes. “Jessica—Natalie—slipped through the cracks when our institution was weakened.”

“You didn’t recognize her.”

“Of course not. I’ve had hundreds of students over the years.” His expression darkens. “But none that ever regarded me so vehemently they tried to
blackmail
me.”

“She was going to go public with the truth,” I say.

“No. She wanted fifty thousand dollars to destroy the records she stole from me,” Goddard says. “I understand you were quite fond of Ms. Cross. But you have to understand that the woman you knew was a lie. She came back to Wheatley solely with the intention of extorting me and disappearing again. And she did a very poor job of it. But I suppose greed makes people stupid.”

Dr. Harrow in the woods with the knife.

“Isn’t that why you covered up the truth about Plymouth?” I ask. “Your own greed?”

Goddard’s eyes flash. “The opposite. I had no use for money. I have plenty of money. There will come a time in your life, Miss Dowling, when you are too old to care about riches and too young to accept fading into oblivion. That’s when you’ll care about your reputation. Your name. What people will say about you when you’re gone.”

Goddard pauses, tracing the armrest of his chair. “The annex was for my father. Did you know that my father went to Wheatley, too? He was the first in his family to finish high school.” He looks out the window. “My father built a life for me from the bottom up. The annex was about
his
legacy, not mine.”

“Touching story,” I say. “What about the part where you caused the families of the missing Plymouth boys pain and suffering?”

Goddard snaps his head toward me. “Families? Those boys had no
families.
No one was looking for them, and that’s a tragedy which falls outside the realm of my responsibility.”

“You knew they were there,” I say. “You just didn’t care about the truth.”

“Ms.
Barnes
didn’t care about the truth either,” Goddard says. “She only wanted to profit from it.”

“What did she do with the records?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “You’ll have to speak to my attorney.”

Because he’s the one who killed her.

I fly down the stairs because I don’t want to wait for the elevator. I call Dennis’s cell.

“Nathan Roe,” I say into the phone, wheezing. “Goddard’s attorney. He represented Wheatley in the Plymouth land sale. They hid the school’s records together, and they killed Natalie to stop her from telling everyone.”

Dennis is silent. “Forensics pulled apart the car with the body.”

I stop in my tracks. “Is it her?”

“We still don’t know. The body … was in bad shape. Before it was burned.”

My stomach lurches. “I’m telling you.
Goddard
did it, with Roe. I know it.”

“Anne.” Dennis’s voice is sharp. “We’re awaiting confirmation on the car, and then the cops are going to Lucas Barnes’s house later to question him. I need you to stay away from Goddard until then, okay? He’s old, and he’s sick, and if you go around accusing him of murder, it’s not going to end well for you.”

I hang up on Dennis and start heading in the other direction. I’m not going back to Wheatley.

I’m going to Luke Barnes’s.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-SIX

Luke is the last thread. If I pull at it, everything will unravel.

I need him out in the open, so I enter 310 on the buzzer outside the apartment. There’s silence for a moment. Then Luke’s voice. “Yo.”

“We need to talk.”

A pause. “Who is this?”

“I’m a little offended you don’t remember me. I thought we connected.”

More silence. I picture Luke, leaning against the wall next to his intercom. Debating whether or not he should ignore me or call the cops.