For the next five miles, they drove in silence, without even the radio on. The only sound in the car was the cold north wind vibrating against the windows. Jill looked lost in her thoughts, and Kay wondered if she should even be driving.
Then Kay said, “I’ve been reading that Web site.”
Jill glanced at her almost like she’d forgotten she was in the car. “What?”
“That Web site. I’ve been reading it. I think there are some things on there about me.”
Jill smirked. “For sure?”
“No, not for sure. But I’m pretty sure. A former friend . . .” Kay wondered if she should mention it was the same woman who had the affair with Mike. Maybe later.
Jill’s gaze stayed on the road. “Yeah, well, I know for sure there are things on there about me. Names me. People I thought were my friends.”
“I know. I should stop reading it.”
Jill nodded. “Could make you go insane.”
Kay sighed and stared out the window. “I once said something really bad about someone.” She felt Jill’s attention, but she couldn’t stop looking out the window. “I once had a good friend. She was married to my husband’s best friend. We did everything together. The boys would go do their thing and we’d hang out, talk for hours. But I was always bothered by . . . the way she dressed.”
“Dressed?”
“Yeah, low-cut blouses. A lot of low-cut blouses. I made a remark one day, offhandedly, to some people who knew her. It got back to her. She never spoke to me again.” Kay bit her lip, trying to keep the tears from coming. “For a long time I blamed her. Thought she should dress differently. But I realize now . . . I’m the one that judged. My hang-up about how she dressed came from my own past, my own hurts.” A certain heaviness lifted as she spoke. “One sentence changed my whole life. One sentence.”
Jill reached over and took her hand. “It’s okay. We all make mistakes.”
Kay looked at her. “I’ve even judged you for how you dress. And I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”
Jill laughed and squeezed her hand. “I know I dress like I’m eighteen. I guess I just felt Mike pulling away, imagining what pretty woman he was interested in, and I thought if I tried to make myself look younger, I might win his affection back.”
Kay slumped into her seat. “See? A person never knows another’s motivations. How could I sit there and judge you for a tight tank top and not know what you’re going through?”
Jill pulled into the large parking lot of the county jail, parked, and turned to Kay. “It’s okay, my friend. Right now, how I look in a tight tank top is the least of my worries.”
Kay stared at the building. It wasn’t as tall as she’d imagined. They got out of the car and walked through the front doors. An officer behind a large black desk greeted them. They signed their names, emptied their pockets, and were led through several gated corridors until they came to a room with plastic tables and chairs. The floors looked warped and smelled like cheap Pine-Sol. One yellow sign alerted them to the wetness on the floor. They both stepped carefully toward the nearest table.
They huddled together on the far side of the room so they faced the door, their knees bumping each other with any small movement.
Kay glanced around, noticing the cameras and monitors. “I’m nervous.”
“Me too.”
“How’s Natalie handling all this?” Kay asked, hoping to take her mind off the idea that she might very soon be staring into the eyes of a cold-blooded killer.
Jill shrugged. “Okay, I guess. She doesn’t talk about it much. Hates school. I don’t blame her. I don’t know how to help her.”
The sound of a large metal door opening, then shutting, caused the women to sit up straighter. Kay could hardly breathe. She wanted to seem calm and cool, but she was certain she was not looking anything of the sort.
A tall, thin shadow crossed over the hard concrete. But the man who followed the shadow wasn’t tall or thin. He was built much like Damien, with broad shoulders, a wide chest, and decent arm muscles.
Kay had seen his mug shot in the paper. He was clean shaven but looked disheveled in the picture, wild-eyed and scared.
This morning, though, even in an orange jumpsuit, Mike Toledo seemed pulled together as if he were wearing an expensive suit. He sat down with confidence, staring at Jill while acknowledging Kay with a small smile.
“This your lawyer?” he asked, a joking kind of smirk on his lips.
“This is my friend. I asked her to come with me.”
Kay expected protest, but Mike simply regarded Kay with unassuming eyes, as if pondering the reasoning but not questioning it. He then focused on Jill. “I’m glad you came. I wondered when you would.”
“Or if,” Jill said.
“Baby, you don’t think I did this, do you?”
Jill glanced at Kay, who could only widen her eyes with anticipation of the answer. “I don’t know what to think. I know you had an affair. Don’t even try to deny it. The police already told me that much.”
Mike looked down. “I did.”
“How could you? Especially after I forgave you for Cindy.”
“It was a mistake. A terrible mistake.”
Jill paused, pushing a tissue to the bottom of her nose. “I knew you were having an affair. I knew it. I even confronted you.”
“This woman meant nothing to me. Absolutely nothing.”
“And neither, apparently, did Frank Merret.” Kay knew it came out of her mouth, but it was as if someone else spoke. There was no mistaking it, though. Both Jill and Mike stared at her. She tried to hold his steady, piercing gaze without falter. It was taking every ounce of her courage.
Mike slowly returned his attention back to Jill. “I can’t discuss this. You know I can’t. My lawyer has advised me not to talk at all, to anyone. It only protects you. The less information you have, the better.” He leaned forward, his fingers touching the top of the table lightly. “How’s Natalie?”
“How do you think she is?” Jill’s tone was harsh enough that he pulled his cuffed hands off the table. “You’ve created a nightmare for us. And all you can think about are your legal rights?”
“I’m trying to think of all of us, trying to figure out things. I know this is a mess. But we’ll get through it.”
“There is no longer a ‘we.’ We are over.”
Mike glanced between the two women. Then his stare landed on Kay. “Is this your idea? Putting thoughts in her mind about leaving me?”
Kay’s breath caught in her throat.
Jill slapped her hand against the table. “This has nothing to do with her. This is between you and me, and I’m telling you that we’re done. Whether or not you killed that officer is up to the court to decide, but I’m not going through this anymore with you. We’re over.” She trembled from head to toe. Only Kay could see her hands, now tucked on her lap, shaking as if she’d plugged herself into an outlet. But the resolve in Jill’s eyes was undeniable. And apparently unusual, judging by Mike’s expression.
Suddenly, though, Mike’s startled eyes turned scathing; his hot gaze drifted back and forth between Jill and Kay. “Well,” he said, his voice smooth and calm, “I suppose when I get out of here after I’m proven innocent, we’ll have to all three get together again. Talk through the facts. Clear up any . . . misunderstandings.” He parked his stare on Kay. Then he grinned. “Right?”
Jill grabbed Kay’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“So soon?” he sneered.
Kay and Jill made their way around the table. Kay thought the protocol was that the prisoner left first, but they were already at the door, ringing the buzzer to be let out.
Mike turned in his seat. “Jill, wait. Please. Let’s talk. Just you and me. Why do you need her here anyway?”
“She’s my friend!” Jill barked, ringing the buzzer again. The door swung open, and a guard appeared in the doorway.
Mike’s menacing eyes followed them.
“I wasn’t aware you had any friends.”
Kay took Jill by the shoulder and ushered her out the door, then glanced back.
Mike leaned against the back of the chair, raised both hands, and waved.
* * *
“Shut the door,” Edgar said.
Damien studied Captain Lou Grayson, who stood near Edgar’s desk. “Did you find any evidence linking Toledo to Frank’s murder?”
Grayson glanced at Edgar, who gave a slight nod. Damien thought they were both acting weird.
“This is off the record for right now,” Grayson said, “but yeah, we got the warrant, got in, and found some good stuff. But even better, our guys found a gun wrapped in a sack, thrown in a Dumpster about a mile from his house. We’re running tests for a match, but it looks promising. He was denied bail.” He urged Damien to sit. “But that’s not why we’re here.”
Damien sat down. There was something in the air that surpassed the typical office tension that accompanied a busy day.
Grayson reached down and pulled out a folder from a briefcase that leaned against Edgar’s desk. He dropped it onto the edge of the desk as if everyone should focus on it.
Instead Damien stared at Edgar, tried to read his face, but it remained expressionless. “What’s going on?”
Edgar cleared his throat. “Frank’s no longer on their radar for the Web site.”
Damien sucked in a relieved breath. He smiled, nodding, eager for more information.
Edgar’s attention drifted past Damien to Grayson.
“Damien, we’re going to just come out and say it. No beating around the bush,” Grayson said, his tone suddenly more formal. “We have reason to believe you’re the one behind the Web site.”
29
“What?” The question rushed out with too much air, making it sound like he’d whispered it. Damien felt small sitting in the chair, Grayson towering over him, Edgar’s eyes narrow and critical. “What are you saying?”
“Are you the one behind the Web site?” Grayson said.
Damien’s fingers curled toward his palms, his fingernails embedded in his flesh. “What are you talking about?”
“Answer the question,” Edgar said.
“First you accuse Frank, the most honest man we know, who can’t defend himself because he’s dead, and when you can’t prove that, you turn to me?” Damien jumped out of his seat, causing Grayson’s hand to snap to his holster and Edgar to flinch. “You have got to be kidding me!”
“Sit down,” Grayson ordered. “Now.”
He’d known Lou for years, and never once had he talked to him this way. His tone didn’t have a hint of familiarity. Damien glared at Edgar, whose gaze dropped to his desk.
Damien lowered himself into his chair slowly, his stare boring into Grayson. “What makes you think it was me?”
From the folder he’d set on Edgar’s desk, Grayson pulled out a clipping from a newspaper. He turned it around and showed it to Damien, who took it and looked it over. It was a crossword puzzle. His crossword puzzle. Filled in.
“You published this puzzle this week. Yesterday, in fact. Is that correct?” Grayson asked.
Damien nodded. A chill crept down his spine. He was starting to understand where this was going.
“We found the answers particularly interesting. They seem to send a clear message.” Grayson took out another copy of the clipping. “If you read from left to right, we have words and phrases like important work, must continue, and this one in particular caused some alarm bells to go off: let their words kill them. Not so cleverly disguised to be read backward.”
Edgar looked terrified, as if he were sitting across from Hannibal Lecter.
Damien released his fingers and crossed his legs. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was not good, but there was no need for him to act guilty and afraid. He smiled. “Yeah, I can see where this looks bad.”
“No kidding.” Grayson grabbed a nearby chair sitting against the wall of Edgar’s office, plopped himself into it, and was now eye level with Damien. It felt rehearsed, like somewhere in a textbook he’d read that if you sit across from a suspect and lean forward four inches, he’ll confess everything. “Talk to me. Why did you decide to start the Web site?”
Damien rolled his eyes. “Give me a break. I did not start the Web site. I was trying to send a message to the person behind it. I wanted him to start up again, to prove that Frank was not responsible.”
“Interesting,” Grayson said, sounding not the least bit convinced. “Any reason you chose a crossword puzzle?”
“Why not write an editorial?” Edgar asked, a softness in his eyes indicating he really did want to know the reason.
Damien glanced at Edgar, then at Grayson, then down at his hands. He couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. “The person behind the Web site contacted me.”
Grayson’s skepticism hung in the room like heavy, intrusive cologne. “Really.”
“Really. He sent me a crossword puzzle. Here, at the office. When I solved it, it spoke of the Web site and for this person’s need to continue.”
“Except he hasn’t continued, has he?” Grayson asked.
Edgar looked furious. “Damien, why didn’t you report this? You should’ve told me!”
“I know. I know,” Damien said. “I should have. I just thought since the person sent it directly to me, I could reach him, try to convince him to stop.”
Grayson held up the crossword puzzle. “This doesn’t sound like you want him to stop.”
Damien shook his head. “I know how it looks. After Frank died, I wanted to clear his name. I wanted to prove he wasn’t the one doing this. I thought if the person would start up again, that was a surefire way to clear Frank.”
Grayson had a pretentious expression that begged to be slapped right off him.
Damien stood and went to the door. “I’ve got the original crossword the person sent to me.”
Grayson and Edgar followed him out, Edgar hurrying to catch up with him. “You’re in a boatload of trouble. You should’ve reported that to me.”
“And to us,” Grayson said. “We could charge you with hindering an investigation.”
Damien remained quiet. What else could he say?
They arrived at his desk. Damien sat in his chair to better reach his briefcase, where he’d last put the crossword. It was buried between all kinds of useless things he kept in there. Behind a bulging green folder, he fished around for the thin, red one but felt nothing except vinyl.
Pushing his chair back, he knelt beside the the briefcase. With both hands, he removed three bulky folders in the way, tossing them hastily onto his desk. He stared at a wide-open space. No red folder.
“It’s gone,” Damien breathed. “It was here; I swear it. It was here.” He looked at Edgar. “Did you take it?”
Edgar’s eyes widened. “No.”
“Maybe I should’ve asked, ‘Did you write the original?’”
“That’s ridiculous!” Edgar cast a disapproving look at Grayson.
“Really? Is it? Because as I see it, the only thing prospering from this stupid Web site is the newspaper.”
“Prospering? The only thing this Web site has done—” Edgar’s gaze lifted like he was trying to ward off anger—“is make me understand how very few friends I have at this place.” He turned and walked off.
Damien stared at the carpet. So that was why Edgar was acting so weird? He’d been hurt by it too? When was this going to end?
Grayson crossed his arms. “You’ve just become a person of interest.”
* * *
Kay studied the Monopoly board, fingering her money.
“Mom, hurry up,” Hunter complained. “You’re taking forever.”
“It’s a game of strategy,” Jenna said, but she didn’t seem really present in the conversation.
Kay noticed Jenna staring at the mantel, at the eight-by-ten photo of Frank with the kids three Christmases ago. It had snowed ten inches that year, the fi
rst white Christmas either kid had experienced. They were outside for three hours and built four different snowmen.
Hunter sighed, toying with his silver car. “I thought Dad was coming home for dinner tonight.”
Kay tried to smile, but she was worried. He had said he would be home early. When he didn’t arrive, she’d called his cell phone. He answered and didn’t give her time to speak. “I can’t talk. I’ll be home later.” Click. She tried texting him an hour ago, but no reply came. She drew a card but barely paid attention to it.
“He’ll be here when he can. Your move, Hunter.” She caught Jenna’s eyes, trying to look deeply into them, wondering what was going on behind that pretty face.
Jenna only smiled faintly, blinked peacefully, and reassured her with a pat on her wrist. She pointed to Kay’s money. “You’re really bad at this.”
Kay laughed. “Yes, well, that’s why your father handles all the money.”
Hunter punched his hands into the air as he passed Go safely. “Sweet!”
The back door opened and Damien appeared, looking as haggard as if he’d walked all the way home from work.
Kay stood and greeted him. She took his briefcase and coat. “What’s wrong?” she asked, trying not to sound urgent in front of the kids.
Damien stared at Kay, then at each of his children. He observed the table for a moment and looked at Kay. “You’re not winning.”
“I never do.”
As though every move he made was an effort, Damien pulled out the chair at the head of the table and sat down. He folded his fingers together and stared at them as if they might do the talking.
Kay glanced at Jenna, then at Hunter, who both looked equally perplexed.
“Is it about Frank?” Hunter asked.
Damien shook his head. “I’ve become a person of interest in the Web site case. They think I’m doing it.”
“What?” Kay gasped, though her hand hit her mouth trying to stop it. “What in the world? Why would they think that?”
Damien didn’t answer at first. It looked like he was overcome by emotion but trying to hide it. “I made a bad judgment call.”
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