Dear Daughter (39 page)

•   •   •

“Hurry up,” I said to Leo.

He made a soothing noise as he operated the French press. “You can’t rush greatness, Jane.”

“Just because you know my real name now doesn’t mean you have to use it all the time,” I said.

I was standing as far away from Leo as I could. Rue was over in the corner, looking a little lost and a little pissed. Bones, meanwhile, was rummaging happily through a bowl of kibble at my feet, oblivious to it all.

Rue opened her mouth. I held up a finger. “Leo first.”

He took a breath. “The day we met—on the highway—I was not, as you guessed, planning on arresting Walt. The two of us, we had kind of a deal. Sometimes he’d do a little work for me; sometimes I’d do a little work for him. He’s kind of like a snitch, but one who gets all his information by hacking into other people’s email accounts.”

He paused to pour the coffee.

“I guess he’d been staying with a buddy of his over in Pine Ridge—I hadn’t seen him in so long I was beginning to hope he might never come back. But then one day he called me up and told me he was stuck on something and asked if he could use the station’s computers to finish it off. I said sure, but he had to tell me what the job was first—that’s my idea of due diligence, I guess.”

“And he told you he was looking for me.”

“That’s a nice way to put it.”

“Did he tell you why? Was it for the reward money?”

Leo hesitated. “I didn’t get that impression. That’s why I put him in jail when I figured out who you were the next morning.”

“What, to protect me or something?”

“I value my life too much to do that. But with him asking about you and you asking about Tessa Kanty—I mean, I
am
a cop. I wasn’t
not
going to be curious.”

“So you were just controlling one of your variables.”

“Well, I knew I wouldn’t be able to control you.”

Rue held up her hand. “Can I ask a question now?”

I steeled myself. “Shoot.”

“You’re Janie Jenkins?”

“Thanks for starting with an easy one. Yes.”

“Which means that Tessa was Marion Elsinger?”

“Yes.”

Leo set down his mug. “Wait, what?”

“Tessa’s her mom,” Rue explained. “The one she was supposed to have killed.”

I frowned into my coffee. “If we’re going to get into details we should probably ask Kelley and Renee over, too. I don’t want to have to explain this a second time.”

Rue came over to stand next to me. “I never believed you did it,” she said.

“That makes one of us.” I tapped my foot in an anxious rhythm, trying to think things through. “Okay, but here’s the fucked-up part. Those pictures on Walt’s phone—those are all pictures of my mother—Tessa, Marion, whatever you want to call her.”

Leo let out a long, low whistle. “I knew Walt had a thing for Tessa, but Jesus.”

“Does that mean Walt knew who your mother was all along?” Rue asked.

“It means we need to go talk to Walt.” I threw back the last of my coffee. “And we’re going to need a hammer.”

•   •   •

When we walked into the police station, Billy was making a paper airplane out of a blank incident report. In his cell, Walt shot to his feet.

“Hi, Billy,” I said.

“Good morning, Miss Parker—uh, hey there, Chief. Rue.”

“If you fold the paper at the front a few more times you’ll concentrate the center of gravity and make it more stable,” Leo said.

“I have no idea what you might be referring to, Chief.”

Leo’s smile was short-lived. “Billy, would you mind giving us a minute?”

“Oh, sure, of course—”

I put my hand on Billy’s shoulder and pressed him back into his seat.

“Actually, Leo, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask Billy a question or two.”

Leo shrugged. “Go for it.”

I perched on the edge of Billy’s desk. “How well did you know Tessa Kanty?”

Billy glanced at Walt. “Uh, well, that was a long time ago—”

“She was your babysitter, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“And
so
beautiful, I heard. I doubt a little boy could forget that.”

“If it’s Tessa you’re interested in, you should probably ask Walt. I mean, he was the one who—”

Walt slammed a hand against the bars. “Shut up, Billy.”

“He was the one who
what
?” I prompted.

Billy swallowed. “He had a crush, that’s all.”

“Oh, Walt,” I said. “So you
do
have a heart.”

Walt pressed his face against the bars. “I’ll show you a heart, you—”

“Billy,” Leo broke in, “I think you can leave now.”

“Copy that.”

As soon as Billy stepped outside, I walked over to the desk nearest Walt’s cell and set my bag on top. I pulled out the phone, the laptop, and the hammer, arranging them as neatly as I had Stanton’s sterling place settings.

Leo was keeping a close eye on Walt; he pulled Rue behind him, shielding her with his body.

I stroked the top of Walt’s computer. “You were the one who helped Tessa disappear last time, weren’t you?” I said. “That’s how you knew who she was—how you knew who I was.”

“No. I knew who you were because I know a bitch when I see one.”

Leo took a step toward Walt; I waved him off.

“Forging a new identity is an impressive feat for a twelve-year-old boy, genius or no,” I said. “I didn’t even realize they had computers back then.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

I picked up the hammer, weighed it in my hand. “Well, there are other ways.” I tapped the cover of Walt’s laptop once, twice, three times. With each tap, Walt’s mouth tightened.

“Like I said, everything on there’s backed up.”

“Oh, okay, then you won’t mind if I do this.” I lifted the hammer—

He threw himself against the cell door. “No!”

I kept the hammer poised over the computer. “Why do you have so many pictures of my mother on your phone?”

Walt swung around to face Leo. “Don’t you know what she is? She’s a murderer. She killed Tessa—are you going to let her just get away with that?”

I rapped the desk with my knuckles. “Eyes on me, asshole. I want answers. Were you stalking her? Were you obsessed with her? If you helped her get away, then you were the only one who knew how to find her—was it you I heard in her closet that night?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Where were you the night of her murder? I mean, I’m sure Leo could find out for me, but it would be too late for your computer here. And don’t try to bullshit me. I’ve spent hundreds of hours in interrogation rooms. I
will
know if you’re lying.”

“You never give up, do you? Ten years later, and you’re still claiming you’re innocent.”

“That actually kind of depends on your answer.”

“No, it doesn’t. There is
no question
who killed your mother. Face facts,
Janie
. I have a 180 IQ, and even I can’t see how anyone else could have done it.”

I set down the hammer. “I beg your pardon?”

“I
said
—”

“No, that was actually more a figure of speech, I totally heard what you said—because you’ve said it before, haven’t you? Or written it, anyway.”

His mouth snapped shut.

I stomped my foot. “Oh my
god
, I should’ve fucking
known
that was a fake name. I mean, a crime blogger called
Trace
? I am
such
an idiot.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying all along.”

I swept the hammer off the desk so I couldn’t throw it at Walt’s head.

“You want to explain what’s going on here?” Leo asked.

“This guy’s been harassing me for years,” I said. “In fact, I’m pretty sure there’s no one on earth who hates me more—and considering Oliver Lawson’s still alive, that’s really saying something.”

“So he didn’t kill Tessa?” Rue asked.

I recoiled, the full implications only just hitting me. I’d known this man for ten years: His rage wasn’t the kind you could fake. He truly believed I was responsible for my mother’s murder, and he truly believed I deserved to be punished for it.

“No, he didn’t kill her,” I said as soon as I could tolerate the agony of acknowledging it. “Not unless he has an even worse memory than mine.”

Walt snorted. I looked over at him. I’d be damned if I didn’t at least get some useful information out of him. “How’d you raise all that reward money? I know that it didn’t come from you.”

“Anonymous donations. You’d be surprised how far people are willing to go to make your life miserable.”

“It would be hard for anything to surprise me after this week.” I leaned across the desk and peered at Walt, running my fingers along the edge of the laptop. His eye twitched. “What’s on this computer, anyway?” I asked.

“It was a present from your mother. She sent it to me when she heard I got kicked out of college.”

“Bad news, buddy: She gave presents to all sorts of men she didn’t care for.”

He shook his head. “Forget it. I’m not listening to you. Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie.”

I took the two steps to his cell and grabbed ahold of the bars. “Why are you so sure I killed her?”

“Were you not listening at your own trial? You had motive, you had opportunity, you said—in public—that you wished she were dead. There was gunpowder on your hands. Your fingerprints were on the gun. Your fucking DNA is under her
fingernails
.”

“No,” I said, “it wasn’t. The crime lab—that evidence was mishandled. Those results were falsified.”

“They weren’t falsified, they were
exaggerated
. I hacked into the original chemist’s files and managed to restore the lost data, and you know what? It was still a partial match. Do you even understand what that means? I mean, I suppose I
could
explain how alleles and genotypes work—if I thought you could understand it—but the logline is this:
You did it
.”

A scream and a yell, and I don’t know who was responsible for either. All I know is that Leo picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, and even after we closed the door behind us, even after we were halfway down the block, I could still hear Walt’s voice trailing after me.

“
You did it
.”

•   •   •

Leo and Rue took me to straight to the bookstore. As soon as we got there, Kelley wrapped me in a blanket and brought me a glass of water, while Leo and Renee conferred in a corner. Rue was sitting next to me on the couch.

“Walt’s full of shit,” she whispered.

I squeezed her hand.

“Do you think Leo’s telling them who you are?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. I summoned up the memory of one of Kelley’s smiles just in case I wouldn’t be seeing it again.

“I can hear you guys,” Renee said. “And no, Leo’s not telling us who you are, because he didn’t have to.”

“Jesus Christ,” I burst out. “Is there anyone who doesn’t know?”

Renee gave me an arch look. “Frankly, you’re lucky you came at a time when everyone’s pretty drunk.”

I pulled the blanket around my shoulders. “How did you know it was me?”

“Obviously we knew right away that you weren’t who you said you were—even academics have nicer clothes than you do. But it was Kelley who figured it out.”

“When we were looking through the police blotters,” Kelley said. “You took off your glasses and pushed back your hair. And . . . well . . . I’d just seen a picture of you on one of those celebrities-without-makeup blogs.”

“That fucking picture from St. Barts,” I muttered.

“If it means anything,” Kelley said, “I think you look better without makeup.”

“I think you could do with a little blush,” Renee said.

“But why didn’t you tell anybody?” I asked.

Renee reached over and flicked me on the forehead. “Dummy. It wasn’t our secret to share.”

I shuffled my feet on the floor, trying to ground myself against the unfamiliar sensations that were buffeting my insides. “In that case, there’s one more thing I suppose I should tell you,” I said. “Tell you
and
Leo, actually.”

“That sounds ominous,” Kelley said.

“Just you wait,” Rue said.

“It’s only like the thirtieth worst thing about me. I think they can take it.”

Renee and Kelley and Leo waited expectantly.

“I think Mitch Percy is my father.”

Three jaws dropped.

Renee recovered first. “Yeah, no, Rue’s right, that’s pretty fucking bad. I mean that in a highly supportive way, of course.”

“How did you find out?” Leo asked.

“Tessa kept a diary,” I said. “She doesn’t come right out and say who it is, but it’s pretty clear.”

Kelley was frowning at me.

“What?” I asked.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before,” she said. “Do you still have that book I gave you?”

I pointed at my bag on the other side of the room. “Yeah, it’s in my purse.”

“Save some time and just get another copy,” Leo said. “It’s a jungle in there.”

Kelley slapped his arm and grabbed the book out of my bag. She opened it up and came over to sit with me and Rue. She pointed at a sepia photograph of a small, unsmiling woman.

“Here,” she said.

The woman’s nose was narrow and sharp, her eyes turned up at the corners. Her hair was pulled back into what looked like a chignon, but I could guess what it would have looked like if it was down—it would have looked a lot like mine. Take away the hairdo and the dress, and we could have been twins.

“I’m sorry,” Kelley said. “If anyone else had ever bothered to read my book, we might’ve figured this out sooner.”

“Who is this?” I asked.

“Abiah Percy—Mitch’s great-grandmother.”

I handed back the book and leaned against the sofa. “Well, that settles that.”

So now I knew: Mitch was my father.

If someone had written just those words on a piece of paper and sent it to me in jail, I might have welcomed the information. But this knowledge was part of a package deal. I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t seen the kind of man my father was.

No wonder I’d turned out like I did.