The Long Way Home

by Andrew Klavan

  “I am,” she said softly. “I do.”

  “Never stop. Okay? Never stop believing it. No matter what happens.”

  “I won’t.”

  I took her into my arms and held her against me. “You were right,” I said, my lips against her ear. “You were right and I was wrong. The stuff I feel for you—I didn’t make it and it isn’t mine to throw away. And I won’t. I can’t.”

  “I can’t either. And I won’t, Charlie. I promise.”

  “No matter what happens.”

  “No matter what.”

  When I got to school that morning, the police were waiting for me.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  An Incredibly Stupid Plan

  When Beth was finished telling me about that, we sat together holding hands. As the chill air blew through the parlor window, a smell of autumn leaves came to me from outside. The smell brought a touch of memory with it. That happens a lot, I’ve noticed—smells bring memories and memories bring smells. For a moment, as I breathed in the scent of the fallen leaves, I felt as if I could almost recall the days Beth and I had had together. All the stuff she was telling me about—I felt it was there, in my mind, just beyond my reach. I felt if I could just concentrate hard enough, it would all come flooding back to me. But the harder I tried, the further away it seemed.

  Then the smell was gone and the memory was gone and I let out a long breath and shook my head.

  “What?” said Beth.

  “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” She was still here anyway. Beth was still here, still looking at me that way—the same way she must’ve looked at me on the path that day. “Why did you believe me?” I asked her suddenly. “When I told you I didn’t kill Alex. I mean, the police had fingerprints, they had DN A, they had bloodstains. Why did you believe I didn’t do it? I mean, maybe I’m just a really good liar.”

  “You probably are a good liar when you want to be,” she said. “But it wasn’t that. It wasn’t that I believed you. It was that I knew you. I mean, we hadn’t been together very long, but in some ways I knew you better than I’d ever known anyone. It was like . . . like we’d always known each other . . . like . . .”

  “Like we were two computers running the same software,” I said.

  She smiled and I smiled.

  “Right,” she said. “I mean, I’m not gonna say you could never kill anyone, Charlie. You could kill someone, I think. If it was a war or something or if someone was trying to hurt someone you loved and there was no other way to stop him. I think you could kill someone then. But you couldn’t murder anyone. Or maybe it’s not that you couldn’t—you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t just kill someone for no reason or because you were angry at him or anything like that. You might feel like it, but you wouldn’t let yourself. It just isn’t who you are.”

  I shook my head. “I wish I knew that.”

  “I wish you did too. I think you did know it once. I think you just can’t remember it, that’s all.” She reached out and put her finger on the corner of my mouth, as if trying to push it up and get me to smile again. “It wasn’t just me, you know. Rick and Josh and Miler—they all knew you were innocent. Your parents knew. Your sister knew. Your karate teacher—Mike. He came to the trial a lot. So did Mr. Sherman.”

  “Mr. Sherman? I always thought he hated me.”

  “He didn’t hate you. He just disagreed with you, that’s all. But he knew you weren’t a murderer. He stood by you the whole time. You guys really became close.”

  “We did? Go figure. I guess you never know who your friends are until there’s trouble. Tell me more. Tell me about the trial.”

  “It was weird. It happened really fast. Everyone said so . . .”

  She was about to go on, but just then there was a noise downstairs: the door opening.

  Instantly, I was on my feet. I was at the door, crouched in a fighting position. I gestured to Beth to be quiet.

  But the next second, I relaxed. It was the guys. I could tell just by the way they came galumphing up the stairs like elephants. After another second, I could hear their voices too.

  “Don’t drop it.” That was Rick, trying to whisper and whispering so loudly they could’ve heard him in the next town over.

  “Hey, do you want to carry it?” That was Miler, loud-whispering back. Then, just before they came into view on the second-floor landing, he spoke more clearly in what was possibly the worst Russian accent I’ve ever heard. “We are comink to find you, younk lovers. No more kissy-kissy face, da?”

  I rolled my eyes. “What an idiot.”

  There they were. Miler first, then Rick behind him. Miler was swinging a plastic shopping bag in his hand. Rick had what looked like a laptop computer case strapped over his shoulder.

  Miler went on making kissing noises as he came toward the door. “Mwah, mwah, mwah. We are not being, I hope, interrrrrruptink anytink?”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” I said.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in prison?”

  “I’m a fugitive. What’s your excuse?”

  “I’m a senior. My first period is lunch. Then I have PE. Then I wave at the stats teacher for credit. Then I have my driver take me to the Savoy for afternoon tea.”

  “The school finally figured out they couldn’t teach Miler anything,” said Rick, coming up behind him. “They’re just keeping him around ’cause we’re used to him, like the stuffed lion at the basketball games.”

  They came into the parlor and set their packages down on the floor.

  “Has this man been bothering you?” Miler asked Beth. She laughed.

  “What’s all this stuff?” I said.

  Rick planted himself cross-legged on the floor in front of the laptop case. He opened it. “This,” he said, “is the stuff we need for Josh’s incredibly stupid plan.”

  “For instance, here’s a cell phone with two-way capabilities,” said Miler. “Because Josh doesn’t have a remote headset for his computer.” He brought the phone out of the plastic bag and tried to hand it to me.

  I wouldn’t take it. “I can’t use a cell phone. The police can trace them in about ten seconds.”

  “Not this one. It’s not registered to you and it’s disposable. Just like the drug dealers use.”

  “Great. If drug dealers are doing it, it must be good. Man, this really does sound like an incredibly stupid plan. What is it?”

  “Voilà,” said Rick—only he pronounced it Voy-la. He had set the laptop up on the floor now and pressed the Power button. The machine had obviously already been booted up and in sleep mode because it came on right away. The monitor winked on and . . .

  “You gotta be kidding me,” I said.

  But they weren’t. There on the monitor was Josh. It was a live webcam shot of him sitting behind the wheel of his mom’s black Camry, driving down the road.

  “Josh knew this house picks up the hot spots from the mall,” said Rick. “How he knew, I have no idea, but he knew.”

  Miler flipped the cell phone open and spoke into it. “Calling Agent Dipstick. Calling Agent Dipstick.”

  On the computer monitor, Josh put his finger to his ear as if he had a headset on. It must’ve been a pretty small headset, though, because I couldn’t see it. It must’ve been like one of those hearing aids you stick inside your ear.

  “I hear voices,” Josh said. “Must be aliens.” I couldn’t see his microphone either, but it must’ve been there because his voice came back over the two-way’s speaker, loud enough for all of us to hear.

  “Give me that,” I said to Miler. I took the two-way from him. I knelt down in front of the laptop so I could see Josh more clearly. I spoke into the phone. “Josh, what do you think you’re doing? Where are you going?”

  I could see Josh on the monitor, steering the car with one hand and touching his headset with the other. I could see him glance over at the seat, blinking through his big glasses, when he talked back to me. I guess that’s where the webcam was. “I’m dri
ving to Wyatt High School,” he said.

  I felt a twinge inside me. Wyatt High School—that was where Alex used to go. “Why are you going there?”

  “Because you can’t, my friend. If you go to Wyatt High School and start asking all kinds of questions, you’ll get arrested. So I’m going instead. I figured I’d start with the two kids who witnessed Alex’s murder. Bobby Hernandez and Steve Hassel. They were in middle school then, but they moved up this year. I’ll talk to them; you watch me on the webcam, and that way, you can tell me what questions you want to ask. Then I’ll ask and you’ll be able to hear the answers. I’ll even be able to clip the webcam to my shirt or something so you’ll be able to see who I’m talking to. Good plan, right?”

  “Amazing,” I said into the phone. “Only listen. There’s a new plan. In this plan, you turn your car around and drive home and then go to school.”

  “I went to school already. I don’t have another class till two. I’m a senior, remember?”

  “All right, then don’t go to school. Stay home and watch cartoons on television. Just don’t go around asking questions about Alex’s murder.”

  “Why not?”

  My voice rose. “Because it’s dangerous, Josh, that’s why. I told you guys: this isn’t a game. It’s not a television show. There are real people really trying to hurt me. Really bad. And they’ll hurt you too.”

  “Well, what’s your plan?” said Josh.

  “Well . . .”

  “Weren’t you going to go around asking people questions?”

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  “And where were you going to start?”

  I had to admit it. “I was gonna start at Wyatt too, but . . .”

  “So it’s the same thing,” said Josh. “Only I’m going to do it for you so you don’t get caught.”

  “But . . .” I began—then nothing. I knelt there like an idiot, trying to think of an argument. Finally I said, “It’s too dangerous, Josh.”

  “It’s a lot less dangerous for me than it is for you,” Josh answered right away. “In fact, it’s not really that dangerous for me at all. If someone stops me or asks me what I’m doing, I’ll just tell them I’m writing an article about Alex’s murder for the school paper. You know, a kind of retrospective.”

  “But . . .” I said again. This was so frustrating. Josh was making really good arguments and I had no answer for them—but I still didn’t want him out there taking the risks that were meant for me. I turned to Rick, then Miler, looking to them to help me out here.

  “We had the same problem,” Miler told me. “Josh’s plan is incredibly stupid—but it’s actually the least incredibly stupid plan any of us could think of.”

  I looked to Beth now, hoping she’d suggest something. Sitting on the picnic blanket, she only lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

  “This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen,” I said.

  “Yeah, life can be like that sometimes,” said Josh through the two-way.

  “Josh . . .” I said through gritted teeth. I think if Beth hadn’t been there, I’d have said a lot more.

  “Look,” said Rick. “You have to give the man credit where it’s due. It really is safer for him to ask questions than it would be for you. And with all this spy stuff, at least we’ll be able to keep tabs on him.”

  I covered the two-way with my hand so Josh couldn’t hear me. “Why didn’t you go?” I asked Rick. “You’re twice his size.”

  “Yeah, but Josh actually is the editor of the school paper, so we thought his alibi would pan out. Also, it’s his spy stuff.”

  I sighed. I uncovered the two-way. “All right,” I said. “We’ll try it this one time. But if you get killed, Josh, I’m gonna personally kick your butt into the middle of next Tuesday.”

  I could see him on the monitor, turning the steering wheel again. I could see the scenery change through the driver’s window as he went around a corner.

  “I’m not gonna get killed,” he said. “I’ll just go to the high school, chat with Hernandez and Hassel, and leave.”

  “No,” I said. “Not them.”

  “Come on, Charlie,” said Josh. “I’m telling you. It’ll be safe.”

  “Yeah, all right, all right, but still—not Hernandez and Hassel. They’re just witnesses. They don’t really know anything; they just saw stuff. And they already told what they saw to the police. Plus, they testified and talked to the media too. We’re not gonna find out anything from them we can’t find out by reading the newspapers.”

  Rick made a face at Miler. Miler made a face at Rick.

  Coming over the two-way, Josh said, “I didn’t think of that. That’s pretty smart. All right. Who should I talk to then?”

  I’d already thought of that—I’d thought of it a few days ago when I was planning to come here.

  “The night Alex died, he was hanging out with two friends at the Eastfield Mall. I know because they came up to me and gave me a hard time about talking to Beth. They acted like they were going to start a fight with me, and they only stopped when Alex called them off.”

  “Right. You said all that at your trial,” said Josh. “And those two guys testified too.”

  “I know. I have a newspaper story with their names in it. The thing is, they were Alex’s friends. They knew what he was into, who he was talking to. They knew what he was planning to do that night.”

  Rick spoke up, sitting cross-legged next to me. “Wouldn’t the police have talked to them, too, same as the witnesses?”

  “Yeah,” I told him. “But maybe they didn’t ask them the right questions or maybe they didn’t follow up on the ones they did ask. See, once they found the knife and the DN A and everything, they were sure I was the one who did it. Maybe they figured there wasn’t any need to find out anything else after that. It’s possible they got sidetracked, that’s all.”

  Once again, Rick and Miler exchanged a look. Miler shrugged. Then Rick shrugged. “I guess it’s possible,” he said.

  Josh’s voice came over the two-way. “Well, I guess we’re going to find out. Here we are.”

  We all turned back to the laptop again. On the monitor, Josh was spinning the steering wheel to guide the Camry into a parking space. Through his window, I could see parts of the high school going by in the background.

  “All right,” said Josh. “I guess this is it.”

  He sounded excited, as if this was an adventure. That worried me. He should’ve sounded scared, as if this was dangerous. Because it was dangerous. I mean, I was scared, and I wasn’t even there.

  “You got the names of those kids?” he said.

  Beth handed me my little sheaf of news stories. I paged through them until I found the names.

  “Paul Hunt and Frederick Brown.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Hunt

  Wyatt High School is a pretty rough place. It’s in a rundown section of town—the section Alex had to move to after his dad left. A lot of the kids who go to Wyatt have really hard lives: no fathers, not enough money, sometimes violent homes and stuff like that. They have a big problem at the school with booze and drugs. They also have a big problem with gangs—a lot of the kids belong to them. A couple of times, the police have had to rush to the school to break up fights on the field out back. These weren’t just schoolyard punch-outs either, they were full-scale melees with knives and baseball bats and so on.

  The idea of skinny, pale-faced, geeky Josh with his big glasses and his goofy smile wandering around asking these kids questions didn’t make me feel any better about the situation. But there he was.

  Josh spent some time fumbling around in the car getting his spy gear all hooked up. He was wearing slacks and a checked button-down shirt with a tan windbreaker over it: sort of the official geek uniform. He hooked his webcam up to the collar of his windbreaker. We couldn’t see it, but he told us it was made to look like some kind of medallion so it wouldn’t be so noticeable. He hooked his microphone up to his shirt collar near
his mouth, under the windbreaker so no one could see it. Then he pulled a watch cap down over his head. It was a little warm to be wearing a watch cap, but it hid the earpiece. Finally, he strapped a laptop case over his shoulder. He had to carry it with him so the webcam and mike would work.

  Now he stepped out of the car.

  In the empty parlor of the Ghost Mansion, with the cool air blowing in from the graveyard through the broken window, Beth and Rick and Miler and I crowded around our own laptop, watching the monitor intently. We couldn’t see Josh, but we could see whatever was in front of him. At first, as he climbed out of his mom’s Camry, the scenery swung around wildly in this kind of sickening way. We caught tilted, pixilated glimpses of the parking lot and the school’s grassy backfield and the school building itself—which was one of those old-fashioned brick buildings with the clock tower and the white cupola up top.

  Then Josh started walking and the picture steadied. It still kind of bumped around with his footsteps, but at least it didn’t swing back and forth anymore.

  Josh narrated into the microphone under his breath. “Here I go, moving across the field . . .”

  “We can see that, Josh,” said Miler. “You’re wearing a camera on your shirt.”

  Josh ignored him. “I’m looking around now to find someone I can talk to . . .”

  “Dork,” muttered Miler with a sigh.

  As Josh turned to look this way and that, we got a pretty fair view of the field. We could see that even now, about an hour before lunchtime, there were a lot of kids out there. I guess they were mostly seniors who didn’t have many classes to go to. Some of them were playing basketball on the paved court to one side of the field. Some of them were kicking a soccer ball around in the grass. A lot of them were just standing in clusters, talking and sneaking cigarettes and looking shiftily this way and that as if they wanted to make sure there were no teachers nearby. I knew they weren’t allowed to wear gang colors at school, but I’m pretty sure some of these kids were gangsters all the same.