by Shari Lapena
“I keep imagining them, Mom strangled, and Dad’s throat slit, him stabbed over and over, like Irena said.” His voice holds a tremor. He turns his glazed eyes to her. “Imagine how much that must hurt.”
She grasps his hand tightly on the table. She feels slightly sick. “Try not to think about it,” she urges. “You can’t think about that. It’s over. They’re not feeling any pain now. We have to look forward. Things will be better now, for us.” She doesn’t plan on saying it, it’s not really appropriate, but it just slips out. “Once you get your inheritance, we won’t have to worry about money anymore. Think how much better everything will be.” He nods silently. Encouraged, she leans forward a little and in a softer voice says, “Maybe we can travel, like we’ve always wanted to. I know we never really could before, when you were working for your dad—but this could be a new beginning for us.”
He puts his other hand on top of hers and says, “Yes, a new beginning.” He kisses her. It’s a sweet moment; but he breaks off the kiss, sits back in his chair, and says, “But—”
“But what?”
“What if Dad changed his will?” Dan says, looking worried now. “We always thought the three of us got all of it in equal shares. What if Audrey gets half, like she says? Or what if I get nothing at all? After everything I’ve done, after everything I’ve put up with all these years?”
“Fred wouldn’t do that,” she assures him. But it gives her a fright. Would he, though? She thinks back to that dreadful Easter dinner.
“And there will be an investigation,” Dan says. “The police will come here, asking questions, digging into our family. It’s going to be awful.”
He seems so agitated, Lisa thinks. “You just have to get through it, Dan. You’ll all get through it. And I’m here for you.”
But his face remains unsettled. “I’m going to call Walter,” Dan says. “I don’t care about the optics.” He stands up and leaves the room.
A thought scurries across her mind, like a rat scuttling in a corner out of sight. Something that hasn’t occurred to her until now. The night of the murders. He’d gone out again, afterward, for a drive. And he’d been gone a long time. She’d lain in bed, awake, waiting for him, but she eventually fell asleep. What if the police ask them about that?
The sound of the front door opening makes her jump. She exits the kitchen and sees Jenna in the hall. She hadn’t left with the others after all. “Dan’s calling Walter about the will,” she says. Then she turns and hastens up the stairs toward Dan’s office, Jenna quickly following.
16
Ted is only moments behind Catherine, following in his own car. He’s grateful for the time alone. There’s so much to get his head around. Fred and Sheila dead. A murder investigation. His wife lying to the police. Why would she try to hide that she went back over there that night? Why wouldn’t she just say so? Her parents were obviously fine when she left them.
So why doesn’t she want anyone to know?
He parks in the driveway and lets himself in the house. Catherine is waiting for him in the living room, sitting on the sofa, her eyes downcast.
He stands still at the entry to the room and says, “Catherine, what is it? What’s going on?”
“Sit down,” she says.
He comes in and sits down on the sofa beside her, looking at her in concern.
“I—I think I might have made a mistake,” she says. She’s gripping her hands tightly; the composure she showed at Dan’s house is deserting her. “The detectives asked me if I had any contact with my parents after we left the dinner on Sunday night, and I told them no.”
“Why would you do that?” He doesn’t understand.
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head as if she can’t understand it herself. “It was a knee-jerk reaction. I just said no. I guess—I guess I didn’t want them to see me as a suspect.”
He stands up now in consternation and looks down at her. “Catherine—that’s ridiculous. Why would they suspect you? It was a robbery.” She looks up at him, and she’s more distraught than he’s ever seen her.
She says, her voice rising, “You weren’t there when they told me. The way they looked at me, as if they were suspicious.” She starts talking faster, rushing her words. “They’re going to think it was one of the family, they’re going to suspect all of us, sooner or later, because of the money. I didn’t want them to know I went back over there that night—it would look . . . bad.”
He shakes his head. “It doesn’t look bad. You wanted to talk to your mom. You have to tell the police.”
“No, I don’t.” She looks at him a bit wildly. “I can’t tell them now. Not after I lied to them!”
“What if they find out anyway?” he protests, genuinely worried now. “That will just look worse.”
“So, what, I tell them I just forgot that I went over there that night? That it slipped my mind? Tell them that everything was fine, I spoke to Mom and left? What if they don’t believe me?”
“Catherine! Why wouldn’t they believe you? Think of what you’re saying! You can’t honestly think they would suspect you of murdering your own parents!”
She gets up then and walks nervously around the room. She finally turns to him and says, “Irena told me something, at the car when we were leaving. She wanted to give me a heads-up.”
“What? What did she say?”
“She said the detectives seem to think it might be someone my parents knew.”
“Why would they think that?” he asks, concerned.
“She overheard them say they thought it looked personal.”
Ted says, “She told us that they thought it was a robbery gone wrong.”
She pauses. “She said they seem to be very interested in the inheritance.”
His mind, unbidden, turns automatically to Dan. Surely . . .
She fastens her eyes on him, and she looks deadly serious. “I don’t want those detectives to know I was there that night. And Dan and Jenna—they can’t know I went over there that night, that I kept it from the police.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t trust them,” she says, averting her eyes.
* * *
• • •
after audrey is gone, Ellen Cutter sits in the kitchen for a long while, staring at her cup of coffee, thinking about the murders. Now, she gets up and pours her cold coffee down the sink. It’s so dreadful that the Mertons have been murdered that she can hardly come to grips with it. She’s never known anyone who’s been murdered before. It’s something that happens to strangers on the news.
It’s nice for Audrey, of course, that she’s going to be rich. She didn’t have to go on about it quite so much, though.
Ellen’s mind turns to Catherine Merton, who is one of her daughter’s closest friends. What a shock this must be for her and her siblings. They will all be wealthy now, although not quite as wealthy as they expected.
Ellen wonders if Rose has heard the news. She picks up the phone to call her.
* * *
• • •
at the aylesford police station, Reyes and Barr establish a team to handle the Merton homicides. The two detectives will get some help from patrol division, but the investigation will fall mostly to them. It’s not a big department. Reyes assigns a small team to search the area surrounding the Merton house for any sign of discarded bloody clothing from the killer, or the ligature used on Sheila Merton. They will gradually widen the search to include the nearby Hudson River, wooded areas, local dumpsters. They put out a police bulletin about the pickup truck they are trying to locate.
They review all the background information on the family they can find, but there isn’t much. Fred Merton was an extremely successful businessman, and he and his company have been covered extensively in the media. But there’s very little about the family. They seem to have been very private.
Reyes wonders what secrets they might have.
17
Reyes and Barr get into Reyes’s car and drive to one of the nicer parts of Aylesford, a suburb of doctors, lawyers, and executives, with large detached homes on tree-lined streets. It’s upscale, but it’s no Brecken Hill.
“Rich people,” Barr says. “They never think they have enough. They always want more.”
“Know a lot of rich people, do you?” Reyes says, smiling.
“Not really, no,” she admits.
He pulls up on the street outside the home of Dan and Lisa Merton. It’s a comfortable two-story house of yellow brick, well maintained, as all the properties here are. A garden of shrubs and spring flowers runs along the front of the house beneath a large window looking into the living room.
Reyes and Barr walk up to the front door and knock. The door is opened by a petite, attractive woman with brown hair and brown eyes.
“Lisa Merton?” Reyes asks.
She nods, looking apprehensive. Reyes produces his badge and says, “I’m Detective Reyes, and this is Detective Barr. May we come in?” He can hear a television on somewhere.
“Yes, of course,” she says, drawing back and letting them in. She turns her head and calls, “Dan!”
Dan Merton appears in the front hall. He’s of medium height and build, with receding black hair. Very average looking. Right behind him is a woman, probably in her midtwenties, tall and slim and dressed all in black. She’s rather striking.
Reyes holds up his badge once again and repeats the introductions. “You’re Dan Merton?” Dan nods.
“I’m Jenna Merton,” the other woman volunteers.
She doesn’t look anything like her older sister, Reyes notes, who in contrast is quite conservative. He remembers the pearls around the older sister’s throat, showing beneath the white doctor’s coat. Jenna has a slash of purple in her black hair and dramatic eyeliner. There are no signs of that makeup being ruined by recent tears. “May we sit down?” Reyes suggests.
“Of course,” Lisa says, flustered. She leads them all into the living room, where they each take a seat—Reyes and his partner in the armchairs, the other three sharing the sofa.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Reyes begins. He takes a moment to regard them carefully. Dan Merton seems tense. His sister less so, but she’s watching him as carefully as he’s watching her. “We’re investigating the murder of your parents,” Reyes begins.
Dan says quickly, “We want you to catch whoever did this horrible thing as quickly as possible. I still can’t believe it. I mean—we’re all just devastated.”
Reyes notes the curious echo; that’s what the cleaning lady had said.
“We just have a few questions,” Reyes says, “for now. As I’m sure you know, we’ve already spoken briefly to your sister, Catherine.”
“Of course.” Dan waits, poised to answer, as if he’s on a quiz show.
“Did your parents have any enemies that you know of?” Reyes asks, looking from Dan to Jenna and back again.
“Enemies?” Dan repeats nervously. “No.”
“Please consider the question carefully,” Reyes says. “Your father was a wealthy man, a successful businessman, I understand. Might he have angered someone?”
Dan shakes his head. “My father’s business was completely above board, detective. I would know—I worked there. I was practically his right-hand man. And besides, he was retired; he sold the business several months ago.”
“I see,” Reyes says. “Do you know if anything was bothering either of your parents recently? Did they seem worried about anything?”
Dan shakes his head, his mouth turned down in a frown. “Not that I know of.” He looks at his sister.
“How would I know?” she says, shrugging. “I didn’t see them that often.”
“It’s just that your mother had recently started taking antianxiety medication,” Reyes says. They look back at him in apparent surprise. “No idea why that might be?” Dan and Jenna shake their heads. “The last time you saw them was for Easter dinner on Sunday, is that right?” Reyes asks.
“Yes,” Dan says. “We were all there. Me and Lisa, Catherine and her husband, Irena, and Jenna and—what was his name again?”
“Jake,” Jenna says.
“What time did you leave that night?” Reyes asks.
Dan says, “Catherine and Ted left first, around seven. Lisa and I were right behind them, and I saw Irena come out after us.”
“And you?” Reyes says, turning to Jenna.
“We left a couple of minutes later,” she says.
Reyes notes the lie. He knows she didn’t leave until after eight o’clock. He lets it go, for now. “Any of you see them or talk to them after that?” They shake their heads. “And nothing struck you as being out of the ordinary that evening?” He adds, “They were likely murdered sometime later that night.” Nothing is said, but Reyes can feel something change in the room. He’d bet dollars to donuts something was off that night.
“Nothing happened at Easter dinner?” Barr presses.
She must sense it, too, Reyes thinks.
“No,” Dan says, frowning again, shaking his head. “Just a regular Easter dinner. Turkey and pie.”
“Same as ever,” Jenna agrees.
Reyes glances at Lisa. She seems frozen in place, her gaze locked somewhere in the air between him and Barr.
Reyes lets a long silence stretch out until everyone but he and Barr is uncomfortable.
Dan says, “Anyway, it said on the news that it was a robbery that turned violent—that their money and jewelry were stolen. Isn’t that what it was?”
“That’s one possibility,” Reyes says.
Then he asks them about the money.
* * *
• • •
irena sits in her favorite armchair in her small bungalow as evening falls, her fat tabby cat on her lap, a secondhand Anthony Trollope novel open facedown and ignored on the arm of the chair. She can’t concentrate on the book. She can’t think about anything but Fred and Sheila, the human carnage on the kitchen floor, sticky with Fred’s blood. She’d washed that floor too many times to count over the years. The kids used to play on those tiles while she baked cookies.
What a good thing that we can’t see the future.
She can’t stop thinking about them, those children she brought up while Fred and Sheila couldn’t be bothered. What will happen to them now? Of course the kids will be suspects. There’s a lot of money at stake. As long as they all keep their mouths shut and don’t start pitting themselves against each other, all might still be well. It’s important that the detectives don’t find out what things were really like in the Merton family.
It was always a dysfunctional household, but she stayed because the kids needed her. She had been there, watching over them, protecting them. Guiding them, trying to help them be better.
And now she has interfered with a murder scene.
* * *
• • •
once they’ve seen the detectives to the door, Jenna, Dan, and Lisa stare at each other for a moment without speaking, as if nobody wants to be the first to voice an opinion. They need to dissect what just happened. They return to the living room.
“God,” Dan says, striding across the room. “I need a drink.” He pours himself a glass of whiskey at the credenza that serves as a bar. He turns his head to ask, “Anybody want one?”
Jenna and Lisa both say no. He comes back to the sofa and slumps onto it, and Lisa sits down beside him.
Jenna throws herself into an armchair—the one recently vacated by Detective Reyes—and says, watching her brother, “They have to do their job, you know. They have to ask questions.”
“Fuck!” Dan says.
“What’s wrong, Dan?” Jenna asks.
“They obv
iously think it’s one of us. All that about how much money Dad was worth and who gets it.” When he picks up his glass his hand is trembling slightly.
Jenna glances at Lisa—she’s noticed it too.
“They’re probably going to think it was me,” Dan says. “It won’t matter that I’m completely innocent! Everyone knows how Dad sold the business out from under me, ruining my life. They’ll find out soon enough. And they’ll find out—” He stops suddenly.
“Find out what, Dan?” Jenna asks. She darts another look at Lisa, whose face is pale.
He hesitates and then admits, “That we don’t have any money.”
Jenna is surprised to hear this. She studies him for a moment before saying, “Well, you’re unemployed. Of course times are tough right now. Anyone would understand that. You can’t actually be broke. You must have savings. They’re not going to think you’re a murderer.”
He shakes his head, agitated now. “It’s worse than you think. Before Dad sold the company and I lost my job, I made an investment. Most of our savings are tied up in it and I can’t get the money out for another six months, I’ve tried. And the rest we’ve spent, to live on.” He adds, “We’ve been living off credit cards.” Then he takes another drink, finishing off his glass and slamming it down onto the coffee table.
Lisa seems to shrink deeper into the sofa, and Jenna notices that she doesn’t look well.
Dan turns to his wife miserably and says, “I’m sorry. I’m such a fuckup.” Then he clutches his head in his hands.
18
On Wednesday morning at 9:00, Aylesford Police hold a press conference about the Merton murders. It’s a sunny spring day, and it’s held outside, in front of the station.
Interest is strong. Not only the news outlets are present, but many people who live in the area have come in person to hear what he has to say. Reyes suspects that they are hoping to learn that an arrest is imminent. They’re going to be disappointed.
