Eye for Eye

by J K Franko

  Susie dropped her bags in the foyer and tossed the car keys in the key bowl. She could hear Roy and company laughing in the kitchen. Before joining them, she decided to quickly flip through the mail.

  She stopped when she reached a large manila-colored envelope. It was addressed to her, from a law firm in Austin, Texas.

  She ripped it open. Inside, there was another smaller envelope. Her name was written on it in blue ink. She recognized the handwriting instantly.

  She detoured to the study, where she closed the door, leaned up against it, and read.

  July 12, 2018

  Dearest Susie,

  I’m dead.

  If you are holding this letter, it’s because that’s what’s happened. I asked my lawyers to send it to you as a part of my last wishes. I asked that it be sent unopened, but you can’t trust anyone these days. So, I can’t tell you everything I’d like, but I think you’ll understand, all the same.

  I hope that this letter finds you happy. You deserve to be.

  I have to say that I’ve enjoyed my life. I’ve been fortunate to have found love, and to have been loved in return. You know what I mean.

  There are obviously things that I would change about my life—things I did early on that probably kept me from enjoying your love and friendship as much as I could have. But that’s all water under the bridge.

  I just wanted to send you a note to tell you that I love you. That I will always love you, no matter where I am.

  I’m glad that I was able to help you out when you needed it.

  And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for returning the favor. You and Roy both. I can’t imagine all that it took. But it’s made a big difference in all our lives.

  If you can, keep an eye on Kristy for me. She’s not like us. She’s fragile. And on Tom. He means well, and he tries hard. But he’s no Roy.

  Well, that’s it. I’ve never been much of a writer. You know that.

  Big kiss, girl. Be good. And sorry for all the headaches.

  I hope I went in my sleep. I always thought that’s how I would want to go. Not that I deserve to. But it would be nice, you know?

  Love always,

  Deb

  It was a joke. A sick joke. It had to be.

  Susie wiped the tears from her eyes.

  Susie crossed the room, opened the safe, and pulled out her burner laptop. She opened the TOR browser and searched “Debra Wise obituary.”

  9/17/2019

  Debra Wise. Mother, wife, friend. Debra was taken from us unexpectedly. She was a loving mother ....

  No details as to how.

  Susie refilled the search bar “Debra Wise dead Austin” and hit ENTER again.

  9/12/2019

  Alleged Rape Victim’s Mother Found Shot

  A woman found shot dead in her car outside the Austin Animal Shelter this morning has been identified by police as Debra Wise. Police suspect the victim was killed in a robbery gone bad.

  Mrs. Wise was the mother of Kristy Wise, who was allegedly assaulted by Joe Harlan Jr., son of State Senator Joe Harlan, in 2015. Harlan Jr. was tried for the assault and acquitted.

  Harlan Jr. later went missing while in Miami, Florida on business. His whereabouts remain unknown, though he is presumed dead.

  Mrs. Wise was found dead in her car by an officer on patrol. She was not known for her love of animals, and police refused to comment on what the mother and wife was doing at the shelter.

  Wise suffered a single gunshot wound to the head that police say killed her instantly...

  The story went on, but the rest was unimportant. Deb was gone. Susie was stunned, and she broke down.

  She cried as she had for Camilla. Deep, heart-wrenching sobbing. A part of her was missing, gone.

  Poor Deb...

  Susie read the letter again. It had been written shortly after the whole Harlan thing. Well over a year ago.

  Had Deb intuited that something was going to happen? Or was there a prior version that she’d updated after Harlan?

  For Susie, it felt like someone had torn another chunk from her. As if she had lost another member of her family.

  Their relationship had always been long distance. They’d never been able to be friends, or more, the way normal people were. That had been impossible after Joan, at least for Susie. Yet, in their own way, they had been closer than they might have been otherwise. Closer friends than most people could hope to have in a lifetime.

  Susie carefully folded the letter.

  She took it and the burner laptop, and put them back in the safe. She put the letter in the lockbox where she had kept Bareto’s hospital band and the photo of her and Deb at camp.

  All the box contained now was the letter from Deb.

  As she was closing the safe, Susie paused. Something seemed wrong. A bit off. She wasn’t quite sure what.

  She stood there looking at the contents of the safe thinking. And then she saw it. Or, better said, she didn’t see it.

  Roy’s Glock 26. The handgun that always sat on the center shelf in the safe. It wasn’t there. It was gone.

  Her legs buckled underneath her, but she caught the wall for support. After a few moments, she moved over to the bar and poured herself a scotch. She drank it all in one gulp. Then, she pulled her mobile phone from her purse and collapsed on the sofa.

  She opened her calendar and navigated to 9/12/2019—the day Deb was shot.

  Roy Traveling — Austin

  She left her seat and made for the kitchen. She would ask him. That was all. She’d know. Just by how he reacted.

  As she entered the kitchen, she hesitated. Roy was standing on the other side of the island. David Kim and Rosa Pérez were there with him, drinking beer.

  David and Rosa had started dating shortly after his interview regarding Harlan’s disappearance. It was a complication, to be sure.

  Rosa was laughing at something one of the two men had said.

  David saw Susie first. “Hey, TV lady!” He smiled.

  Roy looked up at her and smiled, “Hey, babe.”

  She looked at him. His face registered that she’d been crying. It also seemed to her that he knew why.

  She could ask him.

  He might tell the truth. He might lie.

  She thought she’d be able to tell the difference. Then again, would it matter? Deb was gone. Water under the bridge. The damage was done. Susie couldn’t get her back.

  If he didn’t want her to know, he would never tell. That, she knew. But could she figure it out? Could she see through him? Before Harlan, she’d have answered yes, definitely. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

  She had seen him in action. Roy was not a stumbler. He was a planner. If he’d done it, he’d planned it. And if he’d planned it, there’d be no proving it.

  Deb was gone, but Roy was still here and no one would take him away from her. Not for Harlan. And not for Deb.

  Because of all of Roy’s Rules for Murder, he knew the most important one.

  No singing bones.

  EPILOGUE

  Now you know how the whole mess began. Well, at least you understand the background. You see, it didn’t end with Deb’s death. That was just the beginning.

  For the rest of the story to make sense, I need to tell you a bit about me. My involvement in all this began innocently enough. Just another day at the office. A pretty average day, in fact. A Thursday. I always reserve Thursdays for new patients. It was time for my three o’clock appointment, and in walked Susie Font. Veronica Rios had referred her to me.

  It was just a few months after Camilla died. Susie was struggling to deal with Camilla’s death. She was sleeping over eighteen hours a day. She was neglecting herself and her marriage. She was blaming herself. She was blaming Roy.

  She was a mess.

 
Clinically, she presented anxiety, empty mood, and feelings of hopelessness, coupled with pessimism and irritability. In lay terms, she was a mother grieving the untimely loss of her child. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  Diagnosis—Adjustment Disorder with mixed anxiety and depression, ICD: F43.23.

  I told her at the time, filching from Lewis Carroll—one of my favorite authors—Susie, you’re entirely bonkers. But, I’ll tell you a secret. All the best people are.

  She laughed through her tears. It seemed to make her happy. I seemed to make her happy.

  We connected.

  She was distraught. But, under all the pain, there was a tough, resilient woman. I could tell. There was still a sense of humor in there, fighting the depression. She was self-aware. She was reflective. She knew that she needed help and she was open to guidance. In short, there was hope and a clear path to adjustment and resumption of normal life activities.

  And so began our work together. We met regularly—thrice per week initially. At my suggestion, she started meditation exercises. I spoke to her doctor, with her consent, who prescribed some medication. Light stuff—Xanax—to take the edge off.

  She tried it, but told me that she didn’t like the way it made her feel. She didn’t use it much. I found out later what she did with the leftovers.

  She fought the depression. She also tried to communicate with her husband, Roy, to open channels.

  I was very impressed with Roy. He was supportive. Very concerned. Open to any solution. I was pleased by his devotion to her. He was extremely diligent. Followed up on everything we discussed. They even attended a few group sessions with other grieving parents. We made progress. Slowly at first.

  Eventually, we made breakthroughs. Bit by bit, Susie stabilized. She seemed more content. She left her job in television. She took up advocacy work to help her cope with the loss of Camilla. To make her feel that she was doing something for her daughter. She called it “vocational therapy.”

  After almost three years of working together, I felt that we were coming to a point where we could begin to reduce the regularity of our meetings.

  That’s when I started to see another side of Susie. I don’t know if she was initially reticent to share everything with me, or if she was simply toying with me. Seeing if I could—when I would—figure it all out.

  She started dropping small clues, hints, during our sessions. A little here. A little there. As I started to piece it together, well, at first, I couldn’t believe it. When I was pretty sure, and prepared to confront her, she beat me to the punch.

  She confessed. She told me that the peace she had found—and the stability I believed I had helped her achieve—was the result of her having orchestrated the murder of Liam Bareto.

  She was a bit vague at first. She told me that she had connected with “a friend”—someone in “that sort of world,” and that she had arranged it all. I was shocked. I couldn’t imagine her taking such drastic steps. I didn’t press for details, though in the end she told me everything.

  At the time, naively, I told Susie that she should consider surrendering herself to the authorities.

  She laughed at me. It was not a Lewis Carroll kind of laugh.

  She was also quick to remind me of my oath, and my obligation to maintain all of our discussions confidential, as they’d all been had in the context of Susie seeking medical treatment—mental health treatment.

  Don’t forget that Susie trained as a lawyer. She made it perfectly clear to me that she was aware of her rights, and my duties as a psychologist.

  I refreshed myself on the law, just to confirm what I already knew. She was right. She had confessed a past crime. I was prevented by the law, and my oath, from disclosing anything.

  In fact, I was obligated not to.

  I did, however, adjust my prior diagnosis of Susie to include a moderate amoral personality disorder. ICD: F60.3

  Even then, I believed, maybe convinced myself, that what she’d done to Bareto was situational. And in my professional judgment at the time, given the circumstances, Susie didn’t appear to present an ongoing danger to herself or others.

  I missed the boat on that one.

  Literally.

  I clearly recall Susie and Roy’s trip to Bimini about two years after she confessed to the Bareto killing. It wasn’t long after the third anniversary of Camilla’s passing, shortly after the interview she did on Roni’s radio show. It was a time that I thought might be challenging for Susie.

  You see, patients recovering from trauma sometimes relive the incident at certain trigger points. A trigger can be a similar situation or event. Sometimes even a smell can recall a past trauma. Obviously, the anniversary of a traumatic event can be a major trigger.

  When Susie told me about her plans, I thought the vacation in Bimini was a good idea. Time to disconnect. To heal.

  Susie passed that anniversary without incident of any sort that I could detect. None that she shared with me, or that was apparent in our sessions.

  At that time, I thought that her mental health was strong. While the Bareto confession was disturbing, I had concluded that what she’d done was contextual, and that Susie had—through our work together—moved on. I believed that we might begin to cut down on our sessions, maybe even stop altogether. Although, if I’m perfectly honest, there’s no doubt that a part of me just wanted to wash my hands of her.

  In retrospect, I think that in some way I must have been telegraphing this to Susie. Just as she had the first time I’d considered reducing our time together, Susie once again had additional information to confess.

  It was at this point that Susie told me all about Joe Harlan Jr. This time, I did ask her for specifics, and she didn’t hesitate. She walked me through it all in detail.

  Needless to say, this second confession was really discouraging. I felt like I was useless to her, medically. The Bimini murder was committed while she was under my treatment. She killed Harlan after I had determined that she was not a threat to others. Was I even doing her any good?

  About a week after Susie’s big Harlan confession, I received a visit—unannounced—from Roy. He was very pleasant. He told me that Susie was really happy with me and with our work together. He said that he had seen tremendous improvement in her, in their relationship, and in their life as a whole. He asked me to keep up the good work, and said that he believed that Susie “should continue to benefit from my support for years to come.”

  He also told me that he was interested in “a bit of therapy” himself. He said that he had found our previous joint sessions—his and Susie’s—very helpful and thought maybe he could benefit from more regular “contact.”

  Something made me think that it wasn’t a good idea to say “no.”

  And so, my work with Roy began soon after. In our early sessions, he complained mainly of work-related stress. We discussed career, marriage, family life. All very generic.

  Once he got comfortable with me, he opened up.

  He told me that he didn’t want to talk about his youth, and that he thought a lot of what I did was “bullshit,” but that he was trying to keep an open mind. He went on to share that he was having anxiety issues related to killing Harlan. He described having what sounded to me like a panic attack at a restaurant.

  As I slowly and carefully delved into Roy’s past, I concluded that many of his issues stemmed from his parents’ divorce and the loss of his twin sister. Relationships between twins are by default extremely close. Roy lost Joan just as he was becoming a teenager, and then lost his parents shortly after as a result. Two terrible traumas at a critically formative moment.

  We delved further into this. Bit by bit, I felt that we made progress, slowly healing these past wounds.

  And that’s when things took a turn for the worse.

  I was stupefied, speechless when Roy shared with me that Susie
was involved in his sister Joan’s death. He told me how he had learned this in a face-to-face meeting he’d had with Debra Wise in Austin. When I tried to explore the subject further, he asked me to “let it be”—for now. He said that he was still “processing.”

  As you can imagine, I worried about the potential impact that this “processing” might have on their marriage. I really worried about what Roy might do vis-à-vis Susie.

  Then, Susie sprung on me that Deb Wise was dead, and that she (Susie) believed Roy had killed her. She even had me Google Mrs. Wise’s obituary, and then shared with me the calendar entry on her phone showing that Roy was in Austin at the time. She also told me about the missing gun.

  I obviously didn’t tell Susie what Roy had told me about meeting with Deb, but what Susie shared was consistent with Roy’s confession to me regarding how he’d learned the details of Joan’s death.

  For me, this had strayed way beyond the bounds of normality—not to mention morality.

  These two killers were now keeping secrets from each other. Pretty nasty secrets. I was worried that they might “hurt” each other—physically I mean.

  And, of course, I started to fear for my own life. I was, after all, the sole custodian of their respective secrets. The only so-called loose end.

  At that time, right after Deb’s death and her revelation regarding Joan, the position that Susie and Roy had put me in began to weigh very heavily on me. My own anxiety increased exponentially.

  Without divulging names or inappropriate details in any way, I discussed my feelings and impressions, and the impact of all of this on my own well-being, with my therapist. I explained that I was not comfortable treating two active murderers.

  I wanted out.

  In the end, we (my therapist and I) reluctantly agreed that the best course of action was to continue to maintain my physician-patient relationship with both.

  This conclusion rested on two points.

  The first was about professional ethics. I was more familiar with these two people than another physician could hope to become without significant investment of time and development of trust. My therapist thought I should stick it out since I was the only one with any chance at making headway and hopefully preventing further killings. While I didn’t disagree, that standing alone wasn’t enough to keep me involved.