You'll Miss Me When I'm Gone (16 page)

Spencer still had his head down as he turned the corner and started toward Luke's town house—a Spanish-style two-story with an attached garage, a small yard, and a common wall with another town house just like it. Apparently, the neighbors were in Europe for a few months. Spencer hadn't met them yet.

He stared at the fallen brown leaves scattered along the sidewalk in front of him. He had no idea what was waiting for him at Luke's place. His aunt had sounded so strange on the phone. He had an awful feeling that she'd told Luke the truth—and he hadn't taken it well at all.

Spencer glanced up as he approached Luke's place. Two cars were parked in front of the town house. One of them, a police car, blocked the driveway. Spencer abruptly stopped and stood on the sidewalk, frozen for a moment. His first thought was that his aunt and Luke had been killed—and the police had discovered their bodies. Was that why Aunt Dee had sounded so strange on the phone? Had someone been holding a gun to her head the whole time they'd been talking?

His heart racing, Spencer hurried toward the town house. He told himself there would be more police cars here if anyone had been murdered. Certainly, there would have been an ambulance.

Still, the police were here, and they had to have a reason. Had someone phoned the police with a tip about the baseball hat?

Near the front walkway, he passed the parked squad car. A cop sat at the wheel with his window open. Spencer heard him muttering into a mobile device.

He made a beeline to the front door. It wasn't locked.

Spencer was shaking and out of breath as he stepped into the front hallway. He saw four people standing in Luke's living room—almost as if they were waiting for him. He heard some static-laced gibberish on a speaker phone.

It took him a moment to focus on everyone in the room. He saw a thirty-something East Indian woman in a tan pantsuit. Her black hair fell down to her shoulders. Next to her was a guy in his mid-twenties with light brown hair and a ruddy complexion. He wore a badge on the lapel of his blue suit jacket, but he looked like a computer geek. Luke stood by the coffee table with his arms folded and a cold, somber expression on his face. And there was Aunt Dee in a black pullover and jeans. As her eyes met his, she looked so sorry and sad.

“Spencer, honey,” she said in a strained voice. She nodded at the other woman. “This is Detective Talwar, and she'd like to talk with you . . .”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 

S
pencer looked as if he'd stepped into a trap. Wide-eyed, he stood in the foyer, staring at the four of them. He reached back to check his backpack—as if making sure he still had it on him.

Andrea couldn't help remembering that hot July afternoon six years ago when her traumatized young nephew was staying with her in Washington, DC, after the violent deaths of his parents. He'd told her that the robbery story was all a lie. He'd admitted he and his friend, Garrett, had shot Viv and Larry. Andrea phoned her father, asking for him to recommend a good criminal lawyer. When her father wanted to know why she needed an attorney, she told him, “Because Spencer's in trouble.”

He'd gotten a lawyer friend to come over to Andrea's place and talk with them. It turned out to be the last thing Martin A. Boyle ever did for his grandson. He never uttered a word to the boy again.

The balding, forty-something attorney had been caught on his day off. So for the interview with Spencer, he had on a sweater and khakis. He recommended that they phone the police at once. Andrea remembered waiting for the police to arrive—with the lawyer and eleven-year-old Spencer sitting in the living room of her Forest Hills apartment. The police buzzed the intercom and a minute later, knocked on her door. Spencer started trembling. He looked so frightened and helpless—as if he were about to be hauled in front of a firing squad. It was almost impossible to think of him killing her sister and Larry. Andrea recalled wanting to hold and hug him—and assure him that everything would be all right.

That was how she felt now.

Spencer looked so bewildered and scared. He closed the front door and then stepped toward them in the living room. “Hello,” he said, nervously nodding at the tall, handsome Indian woman.

“Hello, Spencer,” she said with a perfunctory smile. “I'm Detective Maya Talwar, and this is Deputy Ken Marston.”

He reached out to shake her hand, but when the detective didn't respond, Spencer awkwardly backed away.

Andrea knew just how he was feeling. Detective Talwar had done the same damn thing to her. Since the moment the detective and her assistant had—without warning—shown up at Luke's door, Andrea hadn't been able to breathe right.

That had been almost two hours ago. Andrea had tried to be cooperative and accommodating. She'd gotten coffee for Detective Talwar and a Diet Coke for the deputy.

Though the sweet smell of her patchouli perfume filled the living room, Detective Talwar barely cracked a smile. She and Deputy Marston sat in matching easy chairs across from Andrea and Luke on the couch. Detective Talwar didn't waste any time explaining in her crisp East Indian accent the reason for their visit. The police had examined Jill Logan's phone records and found a call to Andrea at 12:03 p.m. on the day before the Logans were killed. Another call was recorded that same day at 9:12 p.m., from Andrea to Mrs. Logan.

While the deputy took notes, Andrea told them practically the whole story. The only detail she omitted was that the Logans knew about Spencer's time at the psychiatric institution. Even without that vital, potentially explosive piece of the puzzle, her account seemed to be a disturbing revelation for Luke—especially the fact that Reed had been paid by his late, estranged wife to bully Damon.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, squinting at her. “I can't believe it . . .”

“Well, neither Reed nor his mother would deny it,” Andrea explained. “And Reed sort of inadvertently admitted to Spencer that Evelyn had paid him to harass us. He's the one who keyed my car, broke the window, and left that dead squirrel on our front stoop—practically the same things that started to happen to the Logans last week.”

Luke frowned at her. “And you've known about this since Friday? For God's sake, why didn't you tell me?”

Andrea squirmed on the other end of the sofa. “You were so busy with rewrites. I didn't want to bother you. I thought I could work it out with Mrs. Logan . . .”

“That's crazy,” Luke muttered. “You should have said something. I mean, if Damon found out Evelyn was paying someone to abuse him, then that would explain why he became so unhinged. I can't believe you've kept this to yourself. My God, what else haven't you told me?”

Andrea felt her stomach lurch. Should she tell him now—right here, in front of the police? They probably already knew about Spencer's history.

His head down, the deputy furiously scribbled notes while Detective Talwar glowered at the two of them with disapproval. “Ms. Boyle, you mentioned earlier that someone was harassing the Logans in the same manner in which you were harassed at your Ballard apartment. And you say someone broke into the Logans' house on Thursday afternoon and emptied out a shelf in their refrigerator?”

“That's right,” Andrea said.

“We don't have a record of this incident at the Logans' on Thursday,” Detective Talwar said, frowning. “We don't have an account of any disturbances at the Logan house.”

“Well, I'm not surprised,” Andrea said. “I think Mrs. Logan was afraid if they reported it and pointed a finger at us, we'd tell the police Reed had done the same things to us in August. The ironic thing is, Spencer and I had no idea Reed was the one who had harassed us—not until he confronted Spencer at school on Friday afternoon.”

Andrea couldn't tell if she was getting through to the detective. “That's why I phoned Jill Logan on Friday night,” she continued. “I urged her to call the police the next time they had an incident at their house. I thought that, together, we could figure out who was behind all this.”

“Why so generous and understanding?” the detective asked, her head cocked to one side.

“Pardon me?” Andrea asked.

“Once you found out that Reed was the one who had caused you so much heartache back in August, why didn't you just go to the police yourself?”

Luke turned toward her. “I don't understand that either,” he said. “This kid made your life miserable for nearly a month. He made Damon's life miserable. You knew about this on Friday, and you didn't tell the police. You didn't even tell me . . .”

Crossing her arms in front of her, Andrea sighed. “Well, I put myself in Jill Logan's place. She was trying to protect her son. I knew what she was going through.”

“All right,” Detective Talwar said. “Let's go back to this confrontation at school between Reed Logan and your nephew on Friday. By the way, when does Spencer usually return home from school?”

Andrea glanced at her wristwatch and realized she was supposed to have picked up Spencer fifteen minutes ago. The detective allowed her to phone him. When Andrea spoke to him, it was obvious he knew something was wrong. But the poor kid had no idea what was in store for him.

While waiting for Spencer to arrive, Detective Talwar asked—just as a formality—where they were between eleven on Friday night and four in the morning on Saturday. Deputy Marston stopped scribbling and looked up from his notepad.

Luke explained that after returning home from play rehearsals at eleven-thirty, he'd gone to bed at one. He'd noticed Spencer had turned off the light in his room at around the same time. Andrea confirmed that. She'd fallen asleep shortly after one-thirty.

But she lied to the detective and her deputy. She told them she'd stayed up until three-thirty in the morning, working on a manuscript.

It was a little white lie, and no one would know the difference. Luke had been asleep. He couldn't refute her. Andrea knew she was taking a slight chance, but she didn't want anyone thinking Spencer might have gotten up at one-thirty in the morning to sneak out of the house to murder the Jordans. She knew he couldn't have killed Reed and his parents. So if Spencer needed an alibi, she was providing one for him.

When Spencer had finally come through the door, he'd looked so nervous. Once they'd gotten past the somber introductions, Detective Talwar suggested that he sit down.

Spencer nodded obediently. He took off his backpack and his jacket. Sitting in the middle of the couch, he set the pack on the floor—by his feet. He clutched his hands together in front of him.

Andrea sat back down again—along with everyone else. She resisted the impulse to put her arm around Spencer. “Detective Talwar is investigating the deaths of Reed Logan and his parents,” she said. “I've told her everything we know . . .”

“Specifically, I want to ask about your altercations at school with Reed,” Detective Talwar explained, studying him up and down. “But before we get started on that, I need to clear up something. You're registered at the high school as Spencer Murray, but you are, in fact, Spencer
Rowe
. Is that correct?”

Spencer nodded once again.

“Spencer legally changed his name a few months ago,” Andrea said, taking hold of his arm. She could feel him trembling. “I have all the paperwork if you want to see it, Detective Talwar.”

She glanced past Spencer—at Luke. He was staring back at her with a slight frown on his face. She couldn't quite read his expression.

Talwar nodded at the deputy and held out her hand. He gave her the notepad. She flipped back a few pages. “And you are the same Spencer Rowe—from Fairfax, Virginia—who shot and killed both his parents back in 2009. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Spencer murmured.

“Is it true you lied about the murders at first and tried to make it look like a robbery?”

“He was barely eleven at the time,” Andrea interjected. “Is this really necessary?”

Spencer turned to Luke on his right. “I—I'm sorry, Luke,” he murmured.

Luke gave a somber nod—more an acknowledgment than any indication of forgiveness. If he was angry, he wasn't showing it yet.

Andrea stroked Spencer's arm, but she was looking at Luke as well. Her eyes searched his. “I didn't want you to find out about it like this.”

Luke cleared his throat and turned toward Detective Talwar. “I think Andrea has a point,” he said calmly. “This line of questioning doesn't seem necessary. Spencer has paid his debt to society. He spent five years in hospitals and juvenile detention centers. He's been rehabilitated. He's a good kid. I don't see what his past record has to do with the murders on Friday night.”

Andrea stared at him. “You know?” she whispered.

He glanced at her for only a moment. Then he turned to the detective again. “If it's any help, Detective Talwar, I got an anonymous text Thursday night. It's not the first one I've gotten since my son's death. But this one said, in effect, ‘I think you know some of these people,' and there was a link to a
Washington Post
story from September 2009. It was an article about Spencer's confession to the murders in Fairfax.”

“My God,” Andrea said under her breath. Somebody had gotten to Luke before her.

“Anyway, I think Andrea is right,” he went on. “Someone out there is trying to stir up trouble for us. There's every indication this person might have known my wife—at least, if it's the same person Evelyn hired to break into Andrea and Spencer's apartment in Ballard. If it's true she paid Reed Logan to do her dirty work for her, then maybe she paid this other person, too.”

“That's an interesting theory,” Detective Talwar said, a bit condescendingly. “But right now, I'd like to focus on young Mr.
Rowe
here. And I'll determine what line of questioning is necessary.”

“I was just going to say that I'd be happy to give you complete access to my wife's financial records and personal notes—if that's any help,” Luke said. “I want to cooperate in your investigation. But I'm not going to sit here and keep still while you ride roughshod over this boy.”

Talwar handed the notepad back to her deputy, and then she got to her feet. She gave a phony smile. “I think we'd be better off conducting the rest of this interview with Spencer at the precinct station.”

“Well, I'm coming along with you,” Andrea said, standing up.

“That's not really necessary,” Talwar said. “We can arrange for his transportation back here.”

“No, it's necessary,” Andrea replied. “He's not yet eighteen. He shouldn't be questioned by the police without a legal guardian or a lawyer present. And I'm his legal guardian.”

Spencer and Luke got to their feet. As he put his jacket back on, Spencer looked down at his backpack. He seemed uncertain about what to do with it.

Andrea took hold of his arm again. “You can leave your bag here,” she said. Then she looked at the detective. “Do you want us in the police car with you—or can we follow you in my car?”

“We'll drive you,” the policewoman said.

“Then I'll follow you there—and drive you back,” Luke volunteered.

Spencer opened the front door for the detective and her deputy. Andrea grabbed a heavy sweater from the closet. Luke put on his jacket.

Once she saw Talwar was out of earshot, she touched Luke's shoulder. “Thank you for this,” she whispered. “I hate that you found out about Spencer that way. And you've known since Thursday? My God, why didn't you tell me?”

“I wanted to ask you the exact same thing,” he replied in a cold tone. “You should have let me know a long time ago, Andrea.”

He pulled away from her and then stepped outside. He looked down at the ground while waiting to lock the door after her.

With tears in her eyes, Andrea stood in the foyer for a moment. She felt sick, disgusted with herself. But there was no time to analyze it—or beg Luke's forgiveness. She knew she had to hold it together for Spencer.