False Front (19 page)

Well, at least he knows the difference between me and a little girl, Charley thought. ‘Yes, sir. Her name is Ruby.’

‘She seems very upset. Why don’t we go up to your place and talk to Kara?’

Charley was irritated that she couldn’t get an answer to her simple question about Mr Bryson but gave in to the policeman’s request, thinking it might be the only way she’d learn what happened. She turned away from him and headed to the elevator.

The officer followed her in and asked, ‘Which floor?’

Charley didn’t answer – she just hit the button and stared at the closed doors. When they reached the apartment door, she noticed that Mr Bryson’s door was open again and the dreaded yellow tape blocked off that section of the hallway. Bile rose into her throat at the sight of it. She’d hated yellow ever since that day.

Charley slid the key into the lock but before she could turn the knob, the door jerked open. Kara, with disheveled hair, wearing a terrycloth robe, stood just inside. ‘Where have you been, Charley? Don’t you know better than to go traipsing off with Ruby without saying a word?’

‘Somebody killed Mr Bryson!’ Charley shouted at her.

Kara turned toward the policeman. ‘Officer?’

‘Can we step out into the hallway?’ he asked.

Kara put a hand behind each of the girl’s backs, gently shoved them inside and pulled the door shut behind her as she joined the officer in the hall. Neither noticed when the door creaked open a crack. They had no idea that Charley was listening to every word.

‘Your neighbor, Jim Bryson, jumped from his window this morning. I don’t know where she got the idea that someone killed him. He left a suicide note – he’d lost his job, his father died and his girlfriend dumped him – all in the last month.’

‘Ohmigod!’

‘The older girl told me he was her friend and I just didn’t know how to explain a suicide to her . . .’

‘Yeah. How do you do that? Thank you, Officer. I’ll handle it now – not quite sure how. Wish me luck. I sure don’t want to traumatize those girls anymore.’

‘Was their mother really murdered?’

‘Yeah. Three years ago. They’re still dealing with it. It hasn’t been easy – they found the body.’

‘Oh, man,’ he said. ‘Well, best of luck. Sorry to have to put you in this situation.’

Kara took in a deep inhalation, exhaled loudly and turned the knob, surprised to see that the door was not shut tight. The moment she stepped in, though, she knew why.

‘It’s a lie!’ Charley yelled. ‘Mr Bryson was a nice man. He was my friend. He wouldn’t kill himself – it’s a lie. He wouldn’t leave me like that.’

‘Charley, I am so sorry—’ Kara began.

‘Tell me the policeman is a liar and I’ll believe you’re sorry,’ Charley interrupted.

‘Oh, Charley, the truth often hurts more than any lie. But you need to accept it no matter how much it hurts.’

‘I hate you,’ Charley said and rushed out of the living room and into her bedroom. She grabbed her phone and called the other woman who was a constant in her life, Lieutenant Lucinda Pierce – Lucy. The investigator who solved her mother’s murder and became a friend, confidant and the woman she most wished could take her mother’s place.

‘Oh, Lucy. I need you. I need you real bad.’

THIRTY-SIX

O
nly two miles separated the justice center from the Spencer’s luxury apartment building but the traffic was beastly that morning – stopping, starting and seeming to go nowhere. Lucinda tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, suppressing the desire to turn on a siren and peel out around them all. Abuse of privilege, she kept telling herself. She knew others did it all the time but it was a personal matter and she was loath to take advantage of the fact that she was law enforcement.

She had no idea what caused Ruby’s distress but she knew that it always boiled up anxiety in Charley. The traffic was so maddening. Finally, she pulled into the parking garage, wondering what the cause of the commotion in the front of the building was and if it was connected to Charley’s need to see her. Waiting for the elevator was torturous but she knew it would get her up there faster than pounding up all those flights of stairs from the lower parking level to the tenth floor.

Lucinda was startled to see the yellow crime scene tape blocking off the hallway just past the Spencer apartment. She instinctively knew that it had something to do with Charley’s problem. Should she cross the line and check out what was happening? Or check on Charley first? Making a quick decision, she hit the doorbell and Kara whipped open the door and stepped into the hall.

‘Our neighbor across the hall committed suicide this morning – jumped from his window onto the pavement. I was still asleep when Charley took Ruby down to the lobby to see what was happening – and they did. Ruby isn’t speaking and Charley is refusing to believe he killed himself. Their father is going to kill me when he gets back,’ Kara said, speaking as quickly as possible.

Lucinda started to respond when the door pulled open again. ‘Lucy!’ Charley cried out. ‘The police are lying.’

‘Let’s talk inside,’ Lucinda said, pushing gently on the young girl as she walked across the threshold. ‘OK, Charley, why do you think they are lying?’

Charley pointed at Kara. ‘She believes them. I don’t want to talk around her.’

‘All right, Charley. Let’s go up to your room.’ Lucinda shrugged apologetically at Kara.

The babysitter smiled softly and mouthed,
Don’t worry about it
.

Walking into Charley’s bedroom that morning, she noticed how much it had changed in the last couple of years. It was no longer the refuge of a child. The stuffed animals still lined the shelves above her tousled bed but not one of them lay on the sheets or pillows – she used to sleep with two or three of them for comfort. On the walls, where pictures of cartoon characters once hung, were photos of Johnny Depp as a pirate, Justin Bieber, Miley Cyrus, Lady Gaga and others Lucinda didn’t recognize decorating the wall along with a poster covered with photographs of protein crystals and another one with a collage of Janis Joplin photos. She’s growing up, Lucinda thought as she was hit with a wave of emotion that was a blend of pride and anxiety.

‘OK, Charley, why do you think the police are lying?’

‘Because Mr Bryson liked me. He told Daddy that seeing my smile made every day worthwhile. So he couldn’t have killed himself.’

‘Well, sometimes the things adults do don’t make sense to kids – or even to other grown-ups.’

‘But he didn’t. Someone killed him. Just like Mommy. Someone killed him. You’ve got to find out who did it. You’ve got to put them in jail,’ Charley wailed.

Lucinda wrapped her arms around her and held her tight. She felt the trembles of Charley’s small body, heard the hiccups mixed with her sobs and felt a damp spot forming on her shirt where Charley’s little head rested. ‘Please, Lucy, please. You have to help Mr Bryson.’

Lucinda let Charley cry herself out. Then she held her out at arm’s length and said, ‘Charley, I’m going across the hall. I’ll talk to them. I’ll look at what’s in his apartment. And then I will give you an honest answer. I’ll give you my professional opinion, OK?’

Charley sniffled and rubbed the back of her hand across her nose. ‘OK, Lucy.’

‘You trust me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will you believe me, no matter what I say?’

‘But, Lucy . . .’

‘Charley . . .’

‘I’ll try. No matter what. Even if I don’t like it.’

‘OK, sweetie,’ Lucinda said and kissed her on the forehead. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

Across the hall, Lucinda read the suicide note detailing all the bad news that had befallen Jim Bryson. She looked at the balcony for any indication that someone else had forced him over the railing. Instead she saw a table with an overflowing ashtray, a bottle of Glenlivet, three-quarters gone, and a crystal tumbler with less than half an inch of whiskey.

She looked down at the sidewalk below where one foot stuck out from beneath the blanket thrown over his body. ‘He was barefoot when he jumped?’

‘Yeah,’ a detective told her. ‘His shoes with socks stuffed inside are sitting beside the sliding glass door.’

‘No doubts that it’s a suicide, then?’

‘None at all. I’ve run into a fake suicide once before and I’m always suspicious. Nailed the husband on that one. But here? Nothing even closely resembling anything else. I sent someone to see his mother who said he’s been very distraught for the last few weeks. He called her yesterday evening and told her he loved her. She thought the outpouring was just a by-product of his sorrow – now she’s beating herself up for not dropping everything and driving into town to see him. She said her son had a long history with depression and suicidal ideation and she should have known it was serious. Is there something you know that I don’t, Lieutenant?’

‘No, Sergeant. I just have a sad little girl who doesn’t want to believe that Bryson took his own life. I’m not sure if she feels his death was a personal affront or if she’s just feeling guilty that she did nothing to stop him.’

‘Not much a little girl could have done in a case like this.’

‘No,’ Lucinda said. ‘But that is something she is too young to understand.’ And every time anyone dies suddenly, Charley will probably instantly suspect murder – the pain of her mother’s death will never completely go away. Just as her own hadn’t, Lucinda thought. She closed her eyes and sighed.

‘Lieutenant? Are you OK?’

‘Not really. I’ve got to explain suicide to an eleven-year-old. Not a pleasant or easy task.’

‘Wish you luck,’ he said.

‘Thanks,’ Lucinda said as she exited the apartment and walked slightly down and across the hall. She went straight to Charley’s bedroom.

Charley, startled, looked up at her. ‘Well, who did it?’

Lucinda exhaled with force. She sat down on the girl’s bed and patted a spot beside her. ‘Come sit with me, sweetie.’

‘No!’ she said, shaking her head from side to side. ‘You believe their lies. You’re part of the cover-up.’

‘Oh, Charley, there’s no cover-up. Please come and sit here,’ she said, patting the mattress again. ‘C’mon. Let me tell you what I learned.’

Charley stood for a moment with her arms folded, looking out the window. Then she slouched over to the bed and sat down. Her body was rigid and she would not look at Lucinda.

‘I read his suicide note, Charley.’

‘I saw a show on TV. Somebody faked a suicide note when they killed someone and fooled the police.’

‘That was a typed note, wasn’t it?’

Charley finally looked at her with a furrowed brow. ‘I think so.’

‘This one was handwritten. It looked like all the other writing in the apartment.’

‘Well, it was a really smart killer. He learned to forge his handwriting before he murdered Mr Bryson.’

Lucinda sighed. ‘No, Charley. There are certain distinctive quirks about a person’s handwriting and they were all there in the note. No one could get it that perfectly.’

‘But I never saw him cry.’

‘You brightened every day for him, Charley. You gave him a little bit of happiness each time he saw you. But so much had gone wrong in his life recently. He just did not see any other way out. He’s been battling depression all his life. Do you know what depression is?’

Charley shook her head. ‘Sort of.’ Then she bent over double and sobbed. ‘I should have been better. I should have been nicer. I should have spent more time with him.’

‘Charley. Charley,’ Lucinda said and put an index finger under her chin and turned her face up to hers. ‘Listen to me, Charley. There was nothing you could do. You couldn’t get his job back. You couldn’t fix his relationship with his girlfriend. You couldn’t bring his father back to life. It was out of your hands. But you should be proud of yourself. You brought a little bit of sunshine into his life. The time he spent with you was a break from his sorrow. His mother said he’d been battling depression all his life. This isn’t on you – not in the least little bit.’

Charley shook her head. ‘It is my fault. It’s everybody’s fault.’

‘In a way, yes. But in another way, it’s no one’s fault. Suicide is a sad thing. It always devastates the people left behind. Those who loved that person never forgive themselves. But they should. I’m sure Mr Bryson was trapped in a circle of darkness where he could find no way out.’

Charley’s face squeezed tight. ‘If he only asked, I would have given him my flashlight.’

Lucinda wrapped her arms around the little girl she loved so much and wished as hard as she could to protect her from every pain that waited along the arc of her life.

THIRTY-SEVEN

J
ake’s stomach dropped when he turned into the O’Hara’s driveway and saw dust hanging in the air over the dirt road. Someone had recently been in or out of the farm. He feared Seth had left in a fit of anger and hoped Martha would know where he went.

Before he cut off the engine, Martha ran outside. ‘You’re too late!’ she shrieked. ‘He’s gone. He’s gone. Ohmigod! I don’t know what he’ll do.’

Jake stepped out of the car and placed his hands on her forearms. ‘Martha. Start from the beginning.’

‘Someone called.’

‘Who?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Do you know what that person said to Seth?’

‘I only know what Seth said after he hung up. He said that Todd Childress was bragging about killing Dylan.’

‘What?’ Jake said. Murder did not fit into the picture he had formed thus far.

‘I asked him how? But Seth said it didn’t matter. It was time for him to pay.’

‘Did he go to Todd’s home?’

‘I think so. But maybe he went to the school. But he grabbed ammunition and got another rifle and shotgun to replace the ones you took from his truck last night.’

‘Any handguns?’

‘No. I checked. It’s still in the drawer by his night stand.’

Jake found it difficult to believe the deputy hadn’t secured all the firearms in the O’Hara house after that incident. ‘OK. I’m going to go to Todd’s and if he’s not there, I’m going to the school. Stick close to the phone. If we end up in a hostage situation, I might need you.’