The Wicked Hour

by Alice Blanchard

  “But it would mean that his psychopathy lay dormant for most of his life,” Natalie argued. “According to Sheriff Dressler, no other students have gone missing from the conservatory—only Lily Kingsley. There haven’t been any reports of date rape cases involving female violinists. No rapes, no murders. We’ve been trained to look for patterns, and I see a pattern emerging, but it only started six months ago. First Lily, then Morgan. So the question becomes—what happened six months ago that triggered this?”

  “Unless there are other violinists who’ve gone missing that we don’t know about yet.”

  “Right,” she hedged.

  He narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

  “I keep thinking about Bella. Not that she fits the pattern. She doesn’t.”

  “It was determined years ago that Bella Striver ran away from home.”

  “That’s the consensus,” she responded vaguely.

  He frowned. “Okay, Natalie. But what?”

  She told him about the Polaroid pictures taken of Bella in supposedly different locations, and what they revealed about the cracks in the wall.

  “Max Callahan told you this?”

  “It could be the same wall, which means we need to reopen the case.”

  “Fuck, Natalie.”

  “But like I said,” she told him, “Bella doesn’t fit the pattern. She doesn’t look like the other victims and she never actually went to the conservatory. Plus, it would mean there was a twelve-year gap in the perp’s psychopathy. Twelve long years in between Bella’s disappearance and what’s happening now. It feels like trying to fit the wrong-sized piece into the puzzle.”

  Luke’s upper lip curled away from his teeth. “Swinton and his lawyer are due at the station in fifteen minutes. I want you to go talk to our prime suspect, Natalie. See what he has to say. And find out if he ever treated Bella Striver for a wrist injury.”

  46

  Natalie walked into the interview room and tried to gauge Russ Swinton’s mental state. He didn’t seem nervous, so much as tired. His eyes were bleary. He had his attorney with him. Shadows drifted across the floor. The days grew shorter in November.

  She was glad Russ had representation. He would need protection because she and Luke were going to add up all the missing details and memory lapses. Russ would have to stay on message. The way the system worked, the truth didn’t always come out and justice didn’t always prevail.

  Introductions were made. The attorney’s name was Tim Hooks, and he emphasized the esquire at the end of his name. Everyone took a seat. Natalie began the interview.

  “We found human remains in the park,” she said. “Identified as Lily Kingsley.”

  Russ turned his glassy eyes on her. His face was raked with sadness.

  “What’s the question?” the attorney asked.

  “Were you in the park at any time since last Friday when you judged the Monster Mash contest?”

  “No,” Russ told her. He didn’t flinch or look away.

  “At any time, did you place the remains there?” she asked.

  “Certainly not.”

  “The bartender at the Village Idiot told us you had a couple of drinks on Sunday night,” Natalie said. “But you said you only had a nightcap.”

  “A nightcap or two,” Russ responded dully. “I don’t remember exactly. I had a few drinks at the party also…”

  “You don’t have to explain,” Hooks told him quietly. “Just answer the question, yes or no.”

  “Perhaps it was two drinks.”

  Natalie didn’t get it—why would Russ kill a young patient in such a gruesome fashion after all these years of hiding behind a mask of normalcy? She could’ve understood date rape or abduction, but not homicide. Not the way those body parts were staged.

  “Lily Kingsley had an appointment with you at the conservatory clinic about a year ago. You treated her for wrist strain. You sent her to a physical therapist and saw her for a follow-up appointment a couple of months later. And yet, when I asked you recently, you said you didn’t remember treating her.”

  Russ slumped in his chair and looked at his hands.

  “It’s okay,” his attorney told him. “You can answer the question.”

  When he looked at her, the muscles around his eyes twitched a little. “I’ve seen thousands of patients over the years … I don’t remember every single one.”

  “You don’t remember Lily Kingsley?” Natalie repeated. “I find that hard to believe, because she disappeared six months ago from the conservatory, and it was all over the news. Your colleagues must’ve mentioned it.”

  “I’ve never been particularly good with names and faces. They all become a blur after a while. I remember their files, though. If you showed me her file with a description of her injuries, I might’ve remembered.”

  “You lied several times about Morgan,” Natalie said. “Why?”

  Russ lowered his eyes. “I was embarrassed.”

  “Is that it? Because you told me you went home directly after the party,” Natalie reminded him, “but then, later on, you said you went out for a drink. Then you changed it to two drinks. What is it?”

  He looked up. “I had a couple of nightcaps.”

  “Why would you lie about that?”

  “Like I said, I was nervous.”

  “So you know how bad this looks?”

  “Yes.” He sighed resignedly.

  “And you have no idea what happened to Morgan Chambers that night?”

  “No.” He rested his shaky hands on the table.

  “Do you know anything at all about her disappearance?”

  “I swear to God, I’d never hurt her, for crying out loud,” Russ blurted.

  “Just answer the question,” Tim Hooks said.

  Natalie felt sorry for him. It was unfair, what she was doing—trying to trip him up, to catch him in another lie. So far he was guilty of having a midlife crisis and dating a young patient, and that was creepy enough, but it wasn’t a felony. “What else can you tell me about the party? About Morgan?”

  Russ folded his hands on the table. “She seemed upset that the record producer didn’t show up for the party. I went to refresh her drink, and when I got back, she was gone. Someone told me she called an Uber.”

  “Who told you?”

  “An employee.”

  “And how long did you stay after she left?”

  “About half an hour.”

  “The tapes show you leaving ten minutes later.”

  “That could be.” He shrugged. “I don’t like parties when I’m alone.”

  Natalie decided to take a different tack. “You were a judge in the contest. Did you know any of the other finalists?”

  “No.”

  “Did the judges mingle with the finalists, before or after the contest?”

  “Mingle?” He shook his head, perplexed. “No.”

  “Did you notice any strange behavior? Anything the other contestants might’ve said or done?”

  He chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. “No.”

  “Did they all accept the judges’ final decision?”

  Russ glanced at his attorney, then told Natalie, “I don’t understand.”

  “Just answer the best you can,” his attorney advised.

  “Well,” Russ said, “you could see the disappointment on some of their faces. But nobody threw a tantrum or acted out, if that’s what you mean.”

  “So if we talk specifically about the party, is there anything else that stands out?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He leaned forward and blurted out, “I didn’t hurt her. You know that, Natalie. I’ll admit I tried to cover up a few things out of humiliation and embarrassment. I mean, look at me. I’m a middle-aged guy dating somebody decades younger than himself, and that was a mistake. I won’t repeat it. I’m a doctor. I’m trained to save lives. That’s all I’ve ever known. Why would I hurt anyone? I liked Morgan a lot. She was a del
ightful young lady. You’ve known me your entire life, Natalie. You know I didn’t do this. I’m completely innocent.”

  “Russ, that’s enough,” his lawyer told him. “Is there anything else, Detective?”

  She decided to lay it all out there. “As a doctor, you’re at risk for chemical dependence and substance abuse. It’s been statistically proven. Have you ever had access to illicit drugs like GHB or ecstasy?”

  “What?” He drew back. “No, certainly not.”

  “He’s answered all your questions,” the attorney said. “We’ve cooperated fully. I think we can conclude our meeting here.” By interrupting, Swinton’s attorney was only trying to prevent his client from sticking his head in a noose.

  “One last thing,” she said. “Did you ever treat Bella Striver for a wrist injury?”

  “Who?” he said, looking befuddled.

  “I’ve told you about my friend Bella who went missing on the night of my high school graduation,” she said angrily. “I’ve mentioned her at least a couple of times. You don’t remember?”

  “He said he doesn’t remember,” Tim Hooks said, gathering up his paperwork and briefcase. He stood up. “Let’s go, Russ. Thank you, Detective.”

  Natalie was heading back to her office when her phone rang.

  It was Dennis the dispatcher. “Someone named Poppy Chambers says she needs to talk to you.”

  47

  The day was getting chilly. Clouds were beginning to congregate along the horizon. Natalie recognized Poppy Chambers sitting on the sandy shore of the lakefront, bathed in a golden late-afternoon light. Her face was taut and moist, a few strands of hair sticking to her cheeks. She wore a pale blue parka, embroidered jeans, and blue Chucks.

  “What’s up?” Natalie asked, approaching the girl.

  “I’m honoring my dead sister,” she said solemnly.

  Something was burning on the surface of the lake less than twenty feet away—it looked like a child’s toy boat, little flames leaping from the hold.

  “I built a papier-mâché ship and put Morgan’s old violin inside,” she explained. “Like the Vikings used to do. They honored their dead by putting them into long ships and lighting the ships on fire, then watching them drift out to sea.” Poppy gave her a wary look. “Are you going to arrest me?”

  Natalie smiled. “I’ve got a better idea.” She sat down beside the girl on the gritty sand and said, “Let’s watch it drift together.”

  Poppy hugged her knees to her chest, mesmerized by the orange-yellow flames reflected in the water. It seemed to relax her.

  “Is that really your sister’s violin?” Natalie asked, remembering that some of these instruments cost thousands of dollars.

  Poppy shook her head. “Not the one she had as an adult. But the cheap one Dad bought us when we were kids. Toddlers have a tendency to bang instruments around, so this is the dinged-up violin we both started on. My father’s not going to miss it, and besides, it belongs to us … Morgan and me.”

  “Sounds like a fitting tribute.”

  Poppy stared at the flickering boat, while Natalie studied the girl’s undisciplined hair. Her bracelets and geometric jewelry clanked and jangled whenever she moved. She was reminded of Ellie, and a wave of sadness washed over her.

  “Did you drive down here all by yourself?”

  Poppy nodded. “Just me, myself, and I.” She stared at the small boat with its cargo of a child’s violin, now burning steadily, orange flames leaping and reflecting off the surface of the lake. “They cremate the bodies and float them in India, too,” she said. “Except they don’t say a person is dead. They say she’s attained a position in Vishnu, which is the land of the dead. Sort of like heaven. Do you believe in heaven?”

  Natalie tensed a little. She couldn’t help thinking about Grace, so slim and athletic, poised on the cliff above the lake, ready to jump. Ready to leap and perform a perfect swan dive. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

  “But you believe in something, right?”

  Natalie nodded—at least she wanted to believe. “I’m glad I could share this moment with you.”

  “I read about your sister,” Poppy said with soft insistence. “She died in this lake.”

  It stung like an insect bite. Natalie could feel her face flushing. “Yes, she did.”

  “Are you over it yet? The grief? Because they told me there were seven stages of grief, and that once you’ve gone through all the stages, you can finally get on with your life.”

  Natalie struggled to answer the question. Her grief was still painful—it felt like sparks spitting from a fire. The truth was she could feel her own sorrow in the way her body moved under her clothes, like a dog twitching to run away, its coat rippling with anxiety. The truth was that grief was never quite done with you. It returned whenever you remembered even the smallest detail. Actually, small details were what grief was composed of.

  “I’m doing better,” Natalie lied, trying to be positive. “You’ll get through it.”

  Poppy nodded hopefully. A few minutes later, she began to cry. Her shoulders shuddered. Her sorrow descended like fog coming off the lake. Natalie hesitated before resting a careful hand on the girl’s back. The bones of her spine were as fragile as a bird’s. Again, Natalie thought of Ellie.

  Poppy wiped the tears off her face and whispered, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want…”

  Natalie listened to this earnest, heartfelt recitation rising into the golden sky. She could almost believe that Morgan, Grace, and Willow were up there somewhere, smiling down at them. He leadeth me beside the still waters. She listened to the words, perhaps for the first time. What waters were still?

  They watched as the little boat’s flames flickered out with a crackling sound as it sank into the lake. Poppy smoothed her locks back in place, then said in a clear voice, “I’m going to end up with all the Easter eggs.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The girl sneered, her face growing ugly. “Morgan didn’t have the guts to do whatever it takes to succeed, whereas I’m willing to crawl through broken glass. That’s the difference between us. She wanted a soft landing.”

  It concerned Natalie—this bitterness, this hardness in someone so young.

  “You have to be tough to be in this business,” Poppy went on. “Hard-nosed. Thick-skinned. There’s a joke going around the music department. What’s the difference between a pizza and a violin?”

  Natalie shook her head. “I give up.”

  “A pizza can feed a family of four. A violinist can’t even feed herself.”

  She laughed—it was funny. “How sad,” she said.

  “But true.”

  Natalie’s phone buzzed, and she turned it off, but it reminded her that she had a million things to do. They would have to track Russ’s movements from the bar, see if he’d ever visited the park, find out if he’d once treated Bella for a hand injury, and search his cabin in the Adirondacks.

  The girl lay down on her back and gazed at the cumulus clouds gathering overhead. “Morgan came home from school once complaining about a low A-plus. She was upset because it wasn’t a high A-plus. She wanted to be perfect all the time. I kept telling her, nobody’s perfect. If you think that way, you’re going to fail. Because you’re setting the bar too high for yourself. But she wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “It’s good you understand that,” Natalie said evenly.

  “Dad kept setting the bar higher and higher for Morgan. He was … how can I say this without … he was hard on her. He humiliated her in front of the class more than once. If anything, a lot of the source of her stress came from feelings of inadequacy. But Dad respects me because I’m not afraid to stand up to him and challenge his beliefs. Morgan wanted his approval more than anything. She wanted the approval of all the adults in her life. I learned from her failures—what not to do.”

  Natalie looked at her. “So your father…”

  “He’s fine.”

  “But you just s
aid he humiliated her.”

  Poppy laughed. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “What way?”

  “Just … never mind.”

  Natalie was used to witnesses backtracking. People often blurted out the truth, and then felt guilty about it. We all got used to our comfortable delusions.

  “Did Morgan ever mention Dr. Swinton to you?” she asked.

  “Only that he was a judge in the contest, and that he was super nice to her. She called me once when she was here. She said she got invited to this cool party, which she was really excited about. She couldn’t wait to meet all these cool people.”

  “When did she call?”

  “Sunday morning, I think.”

  “Did she mention any names?”

  “She said Hunter Rose was hot. It was his party, I guess. He’s that software guy, right?”

  Natalie nodded. “Yeah.”

  “She was so excited that she went out and bought an outfit she couldn’t afford. Most of her credit cards are maxed out. She said she was going to hook up with this musician guy after the party. She called him the fiddle player.”

  “Hollis Jones?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Anyway, she said he had lots of connections and knew all the ins and outs of being in a folk band. She said there was this record producer she wanted to impress, too. One of the judges. He was going to be at the party. She was excited about meeting all these interesting people. She said it was a great opportunity to advance her career. She sounded so happy, but then…” Anguish constricted her throat.

  Natalie waited a beat before asking, “Anything else?”

  Poppy scratched her chin. “She said some guy was going to show her his Stradivarius. I think it was the record producer … she couldn’t wait to play Vivaldi on it. Can you imagine getting your hands on a real, honest-to-God Strad?”

  “Are you sure it was the record producer?”

  “Maybe the fiddle player. She had so much going on.”

  “What else did she say about the fiddle player … Hollis Jones.”

  “Just that they got together on Saturday and smoked some weed.” The tears had dried in sticky tracks down Poppy’s face. “She said they had a good time, and she could almost imagine them doing concerts together, you know? Dueling fiddles. Ugh. I mean, Morgan used to hate the idea of becoming a fiddle player, but then she can get a crush on a guy in like … two seconds.” Poppy shook her head disapprovingly. “I can’t imagine playing a duet in a folk band. Jesus.”