Too Close to Home (32 page)

THIRTY-SEVEN

I
DON’T GET IT,” I said.

Ellen reached out and touched my arm, and said, “Just let me tell the rest of it, okay?”

“Go ahead,” I said.

“I asked Conrad what he was up to, why he was telling Brett his book was crap when I knew he thought it was brilliant. And I knew Elizabeth had read it and liked it, and then it hit me, what he was planning to do. So I asked him whether he was planning to pass off Brett’s book as his own.”

“What did he say?”

“About what you would expect. He was offended, outraged, said I was losing my mind. But I kept pressing him, and finally he starts hedging a bit, says he wasn’t going to rip off the book. But maybe he could make some sort of deal with him. Tell Brett that because he was so young, just a student, no publisher would ever look at his stuff, but if he fronted the book for him, he could help him get published, and they could share the royalties. Or maybe he could buy the idea from Brett, make him a cash offer now, get him to sign something, relinquishing the property. He was spouting all kinds of nonsense, but I could see it in his eyes, that he’d made up his mind that he wanted this kid’s book, that it was his ticket to finally getting some recognition at Thackeray.

“I pressed him on what he’d told Elizabeth. Had he told her, I asked him, that Brett was the author of the book, and he said, not exactly. I told him I couldn’t believe that he was even considering something like this, especially after telling Brett his book was no good. The fact that Conrad would do this, it made me wonder . . .”

“Wonder what?” I asked.

“I just . . . I just wasn’t sure.”

“Were you thinking then that Conrad might actually kill him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I don’t know what I was thinking. But then he came out from around his desk, he came right up to me and said, ‘Don’t screw this up for me, Ellen.’ He was holding me by the shoulders, and he looked so, I don’t know, it was as though something had come over him. He just had this look. It scared me.”

I’d seen that look that day in the shed, when I confronted him with the news of the missing computer, and what was on it. And I’d seen it earlier this evening, when he’d gotten so angry at Illeana.

“But he didn’t scare me so much that I wasn’t prepared to do something about it,” she said, and shook her head sadly. “If only I’d just left it alone.”

“What?” I said. “What did you do?”

She put her hands over her face, like she was steeling herself for the rest of what she had to tell.

“I got in touch with Brett. All the students have these cubbyholes, so I left him a note, told him to meet me downtown the following night, at Kelly’s.” Where I’d had pie with Barry, where single mom Linda had last seen Sherry Underwood. “I was thinking we should meet off campus, where it was less likely we’d be seen. I said in my note it was really important that I talk to him about his book. He barely knew who I was, just that I’d been working with Conrad. We’d said hello a couple of times, but that was it. But I felt I knew this kid because Conrad had spoken about him so often, and when I saw him walk out of that office, humiliated and destroyed, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I felt, because I’d been having a relationship with Conrad, that somehow I was complicit, and I hated that feeling.”

“So you met?”

“I went to Kelly’s at nine, not knowing whether he’d show up or not, not even sure he’d seen my note. But about five after, he came in, carrying a small backpack and his laptop, and I waved because I wasn’t positive he’d connect me to the name on the note, but I didn’t have to, he knew who I was, and he sat down across from me in the booth.

“He looked terrible. He was such a sweet kid. Frail looking, as if a strong wind would carry him away, you know?” Now she was beginning to tear up. “He was such an innocent. I mean, the way he wrote, he was so mature, but he was still a babe in the woods, you know?”

Softly, I said, “Go on.”

“He took out my note, put it on the table, asked me how I knew about his book. And I told him that Conrad was a friend of mine”—she didn’t look at me when she said it—“and he’d told me about the book, about how good it was.”

“That must have surprised him.”

“Yeah, it did. He said, ‘Well, he sure didn’t tell me anything like that. He told me the book was a pile of shit.’ I told him it
wasn’t
a pile of shit. He said I hadn’t read it, that I didn’t know what I was talking about, and I told him that someone who did know what was good, a literary agent from New York, was very impressed with it. He was dumbfounded. ‘How did some New York agent get my book?’ he wanted to know. And I told him Conrad had given it to Elizabeth Hunt to read.”

“He must not have known what to make of that,” I said.

“He kept saying he didn’t get it. Why would Conrad crap all over his book if he actually liked it, and had shown it to an agent? And then it was like a switch got flipped, and he looked at me, his mouth half hanging open, like he’d figured it out but couldn’t bring himself to say the words.”

“You said them for him.”

“I said to him, ‘Brett, I think Conrad wants to pass your book off as his own.’ And then he started to argue with me, he said that was impossible. He said Conrad Chase was his favorite professor, the best professor he’d ever had, there was no way he’d do something like that. I asked him whether Conrad had proposed any sort of arrangement with him, maybe to help him write the finished version, a sharing of royalties, anything like that, because I thought, okay, I’ll at least give Conrad the benefit of the doubt, he had mentioned those things to me. But Brett said no, Professor Chase hadn’t discussed any of those things with him.”

“The son of a bitch,” I said. This time, Ellen didn’t give me a look to shut up.

“Yeah,” she said. “But Brett kept saying I must be wrong, that Conrad wouldn’t betray his trust. The whole reason he’d shown the book to Conrad was because he trusted him, trusted his judgment. But the longer we sat there, the more Brett started to realize he’d made a huge mistake, started to accept that what I was telling him was the truth.”

“At least,” I said, “he knew that his book wasn’t bad. That those things Conrad had told him, that he was lying, that he had his own agenda.”

Ellen nodded, half shrugged. “Yeah, but it didn’t seem to matter. He was so crushed, he couldn’t see the good news in all of this. He started to cry, and then he just started pouring his heart out to me, about how his father had died the year before, how it was just him and his mother, how he was so mixed up, that he was gay, that he couldn’t tell his mother about it, and how he thought he’d found in Conrad someone he could trust and talk to.”

“Jesus,” I said.

“And what I wanted to say, but didn’t, was that I felt some of that, too. That I’d been sucked in by Conrad, as well, by his personality, his supposed confidence, his intellect, and that I’d made a terrible mistake. That I’d put my marriage at risk for someone this shallow, this self-centered, this monstrous.”

“Would it have made you feel better,” I asked, “if you’d put your marriage at risk for someone better?”

She bit her lip as she looked at me. “I deserve that.” She wiped away some tears from the corners of her eyes, and continued. “I told Brett he couldn’t let Conrad get away with this. He had to tell others about his book, maybe even send a copy to Elizabeth Hunt. I’d vouch for him, I said. I asked him who else had read the book, and he put his arm around his laptop like it was an infant, and said no one. He’d given Conrad a copy of the book on disc, but no one else.”

“So there was only one other copy,” I said. “On the laptop?”

“That’s what I thought at the time. But when you told me about what Derek and Adam had found on that computer, from Brett’s mother’s house, that was the first time I realized he must have had a copy of it on his home computer as well. And it was the first Conrad ever realized there was another copy of the book around.”

“And yet,” I said, “you’ve helped him. You gave him the disc. You’ve helped him cover up for this. I don’t understand.”

“I’m nearly done,” Ellen said. She rested her head in her hands a moment before continuing. “Brett wasn’t angry about what Conrad had done to him. He was too hurt to be angry. He said everybody was just out to fuck him over. That was the story of his life. He said he didn’t give a shit about his fucking book, Conrad could have it for all he fucking cared. Nothing mattered anymore, he said. And he got up suddenly and left Kelly’s.”

“What did you do?”

“First, I didn’t know what to think. He was so upset, I didn’t know whether it was better to leave him alone or go after him. I decided to go after him, in case he decided to do anything foolish.”

“What, did you think he might kill himself?”

“I didn’t really think about that. I was just worried about him. So I got up and ran after him, and when I got out of the diner I didn’t know which way he’d gone, then I caught sight of him, heading north, where the road goes over the falls.”

“Okay.”

“I ran after him, called out to him, but he was ignoring me, really hunkered down. So I kept running, and caught up to him, on the bridge, about halfway across, I grabbed his arm and told him to stop.”

“And he did?”

“Yeah, he looked at me, and it was pretty dark there by then, but I could see that he’d been crying pretty hard. There wasn’t anyone around, no one walking on the bridge, hardly any traffic. I asked Brett if he was okay, wanted to reassure myself that he wasn’t going to do anything crazy, because he’d always struck me as this sensitive, moody kid, you know?”

I waited.

“He said yeah, he was going to do something. He was going to let Conrad get his wish. He could have his fucking book. Brett said he didn’t give a shit anymore. And he slid the strap of his laptop case off his shoulder and took a step toward the railing, and I could see what he was going to do. He was going to throw his computer into Promise Falls.”

“What?”

“I shouted at him, ‘No, don’t!’ I told him that the laptop was his proof. Of course, I realize now, he still had proof, on his computer at home. I guess this was just an angry gesture, a way of expressing how betrayed he felt. But I didn’t know that, I was telling him he was the one who’d written the book, that he couldn’t get rid of the laptop, but he wasn’t listening to me, and I was thinking, he can’t do that, he can’t let Conrad get away with this, and as he let go of the strap, and the computer went over the railing, I went for it.”

I think I was holding my breath at about this point.

“I reached out beyond the railing for the strap, and I thought I had it, I just touched it, but it slipped from my hand, and dropped onto that ledge that runs along the side of the bridge, on the other side of the railing. The strap had caught on a bolt, the laptop was hanging there.”

“Jesus Christ,” I said.

“I was trying to reach for it through the railing, but Brett was walking away, he said he didn’t give a shit, but I was determined to get the computer. So I tried reaching over the railing instead of through it, and I still couldn’t reach it, so I swung a leg over.”

“No,” I said, as if I could stop her now, years later, from doing something so dangerous.

“I thought if I could stand on the ledge, hold on to the railing with one hand, I could crouch down and grab the strap.”

I was slowly shaking my head with belated worry.

“I got it, and wrapped it around my wrist, and somehow, as I was trying to stand back up, I slipped a bit, my foot went off the edge, my head dropped below the top of the railing, and I guess I screamed. That’s when Brett, who’d nearly walked off the bridge by this point, turned around, saw what I was doing, and started running back.”

“Go on.”

“I had the laptop strap tight around my wrist, but the computer had dropped down below the ledge and caught on something, so I couldn’t move my arm up, couldn’t stand up, and was barely holding on to one of the railing posts with my other hand. Brett saw the fix I was in, he was shouting ‘Hang on! Hang on!’ while he was swinging his legs over the railing to help me, but he did it too fast, and when his feet landed on the ledge, he lost his balance.”

Ellen stopped. With her elbows on the table, she made a cradle for her face with her hands and began to sob.

“Ellen,” I said. I shifted my chair closer, put a hand on her shoulder. “Ellen,” I said again.

“You see, he went to reach for me, to help me, almost instinctively. But he hadn’t taken a moment to steady himself. And then I saw it in his eyes, as he realized he was teetering in the direction of the falls,” she wept. “He tried to reach out for the railing, and he almost had ahold of it, but he was such a slight boy, he had such small hands.”

Ellen looked away for a moment. “But the momentum was carrying him away. He couldn’t get a grip. And then he was gone.” She looked at me with her red, puffy eyes. “And you know what?”

“What?”

“He never even made a sound. He just slipped away into the roar of the water. I never heard him hit the bottom.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

S
OMEHOW, I pulled myself back onto the bridge,” Ellen said. “I think I must have been in some sort of shock, I don’t know. I still had the laptop. I looked down, hoping for some sign of Brett, but there was nothing. I ran to the end of the bridge, where there’s that set of stairs that goes all the way to the bottom?”

She looked at me and I nodded. I knew the stairs.

“I ran down there as fast as I could, looked all along the water’s edge, and I knew in my heart that no one could survive a fall like that. Not with all the rocks at the bottom of the falls. And then I thought I saw Brett, part of him, his back and one of his legs, on a rock, the water falling down on him, and I knew he was dead.”

She stopped. “I’d done such a horrible thing.”

“You were trying to do the right thing,” I said. “What happened was an accident, plain and simple. You did do the right thing, warning him about Conrad, what he was going to do. For all you know, Conrad was planning to do him in himself. Maybe, if you hadn’t followed Brett out to the bridge, he might have taken his own life. Thrown himself off along with the laptop.”

“If I hadn’t followed him, I think he’d still be alive.”

I would have said more to try to assuage Ellen’s feelings of guilt, but I sensed there was still more to the story. “What happened after?” I asked.

“I didn’t know who else to go to,” she said, “except Conrad.”

“You should have come to me,” I said.

“God, I wanted to,” Ellen said, her eyes pleading. “But where would I have started? You didn’t know, at this point, that I had been . . . seeing Conrad. To tell you about this would have meant, ultimately, confessing to everything, and, Jim . . .” She reached out and touched my arm. “I didn’t have it in me.”

I nodded.

“But I felt I had to tell someone, and that had to be Conrad, because what I’d done, I’d done because of him—not
for
him—but because of what he was going to do. I’d fucked it all up royally, but I was angry at him, I wanted him to share the blame, because he was the one who’d set this in motion. I went to his house. He had a place just outside the college where he lived alone, not the house he has now, of course. I just walked in through the front door and found him at the kitchen table, marking papers. I threw the laptop right in front of him, and he said, ‘What the hell is this?’

“I told him what had happened. How I’d tried to warn Brett, told him how his professor had betrayed him, and Conrad was getting red in the face, like he was going to explode. And then I told him what had happened, how Brett had tried to throw his own computer over the railing, how I’d gone after it, nearly falling to my death, how Brett had died trying to save me.”

“And his reaction to all that?”

“When I got to the part where Brett was dead, Conrad suddenly changed. He went into this kind of dead calm. He asked me if I was kidding. He asked me if that computer was Brett’s, whether it had Brett’s book on it. I assumed so, but hadn’t actually checked, so Conrad took it out of the pouch and opened it up and had a look and he didn’t say anything, but I could tell he was scrolling through something, and he was nodding, and then he closed the laptop. And all he said was, ‘I’ll look after this.’”

“He knew then he could get away with ripping it off.”

“I knew that’s what he was thinking. And I told him so. I said, ‘If you get that published under your name, I’ll let the world know what you’ve done.’ And he said to me, he grinned, he flashed me that fucking grin of his, and said, ‘And shall I tell the world how I got all the existing copies of this book? Shall I tell the world how it is that the actual, so-called writer of this book is unavailable to claim authorship? Shall I tell the world how you pushed him off Promise Falls, how you did it for me?’”

“He couldn’t have expected people to believe that.”

“That’s what I told him. I said, ‘Go ahead and try that story, but I think people are going to believe me when I lay everything out for them. And then he said, ‘What will they think when they find out you left the scene? Left Brett Stockwell to die without calling the police?’”

I must have made a face. “That wasn’t going to look good for you.”

“I know. But even that I thought I could explain. That I was in shock, which I was. I’d nearly died myself. I’d take my chances, at any rate. I knew that what Conrad had on me was potentially damaging. I could accuse him of stealing that kid’s book, but he could turn around and say he’d never meant to do that, that I’d acted on my own on his behalf—”

“Like Illeana did,” I said.

“Yeah, a bit like that. His story would be that I’d pushed Brett Stockwell off that bridge as a gift to him, so he could steal the book and get away with it.”

“It’s far-fetched, but someone might have believed it.”

“I was so confused,” Ellen said. “I was scared. And I was ashamed. I was afraid that if people believed Conrad’s story, what would that do to me? To us? And our son? We’d all be dragged into it.” She shook her head resignedly. “Coming for ward, exposing Conrad, it would have meant you finding out that we’d had an affair. It was over by the time you found that note, but by that time it was too late to come forward, to tell the truth about what Conrad had done. My silence had the effect of confirming his version of events.”

Ellen reached out and touched my arm. “I love you,” she said. “I love you now and I loved you then. I stayed quiet, hoping you’d never find out about any of it.”

I got up, walked around the kitchen, braced myself against the kitchen counter, looking down into the sink. “So all these things I’ve been trying to do these last few days, to show what Conrad had done, you sabotaged them,” I said, “because it would find its way back to both of us. You didn’t want me talking to him, you wanted to do that yourself. You got the disc back from Derek’s lawyer and gave it to him.”

“More or less.”

“And Albert Langley, he must have known what Conrad had done years ago, to have tipped him to the computer Derek and Adam were messing around with.”

“Yeah, Conrad confessed his sins to Albert. Not out of guilt, but to cover his ass, in case of any unexpected developments. When the book was about to come out, he started getting paranoid, went to Albert to talk it over, wanted to know if someone should accuse him of plagiarism, what were his options? Could he sue? He swore Albert to secrecy, which he didn’t exactly have to do, with Albert being his lawyer and all. Albert told him to ride it out.”

“And Albert must have known that the only other person who knew was you,” I said.

“I suppose,” Ellen said. “All these years, Conrad and I, we’ve had this sick hold on each other. When his book came out and the reviews were fabulous, and it made him rich, I had to smile through the whole thing. I wanted to quit, leave Thackeray, get away from him, but he said he wanted me to stay here, that I was doing a good job, that we could put this behind us. I think he was afraid that if I ever left, got out from under this thumb, I’d find the courage to expose him. He said I’d never get a job anywhere else, that he knew people. Maybe he couldn’t write his own book, but I believed he could make up some lies to tell anyone else I might want to work for.”

Ellen took a breath, then, “Anyway, Conrad never told Illeana what he’d done, about Brett and the book, so when she got wind of something this week, that you were supposedly trying to destroy her husband’s reputation, it didn’t much matter to her at that point whether it was true or not. She just didn’t want it coming out and ruining her perfect life with the college president. And so she got her brother and another goon to get that disc back. When Conrad found out, he went mad, couldn’t believe what she’d done, and he called me, spelled it all out for me, said if I identified her brother in the lineup, not only would things unravel, but that Illeana’s people were very dangerous. He told me they’d kill Derek if they had to.”

“Jesus, what a mess.” I sat back down at the table, took her hands in mine. “If I’d been you, I’d have done the same thing. I wouldn’t have fingered Illeana’s brother. Better to cut our losses now.”

“You remember what I said the other day?” Ellen asked. “When Derek was arrested, when he was in jail, and I said we were being punished? It was for the terrible things I’ve done, for letting that boy die.”

I squeezed her hands. “No,” I said. “No.”

What I couldn’t bring myself to say was, if we were being punished for that kind of thing, then I was going to have to shoulder some of the blame as well.