When David Died: A True Story

by John Locke

  “Okay. By the way, you’re welcome.”

  “If your story’s true, I shouldn’t have to thank you.”

  Michael says, “Lock my apartment when you leave, and don’t bother returning the key. I’ll change the locks when I get home.”

  “Fine.”

  Jess says, “I’ll help you pack your stuff.”

  “Thanks.”

  As we enter the elevator, she laughs. “Omigod, Nicki! You were amazing!”

  “You stole my panties?”

  She grins. “Yup. But didn’t you love the way I wove it into that story about Daddy?”

  “Very impressive. But those are my favorite pair. I spent weeks looking for them.”

  “Next time we meet I’ll wear them and we can swap.”

  “You mean with whatever I’m wearing that day?”

  “Yup.”

  “In other words, I’ll always be short a pair.”

  She laughs. “Exactly.”

  We exit the elevator, walk to the room, and I hold the key card in front of the door knob till it clicks. Once inside I say, “You stopped me from telling them about us. Why?”

  “If I admitted I loved you they’d think I stole your panties, not Daddy.”

  “You’re not upset what this blatant lie will do to his reputation?”

  She laughs again. “I’m sorry. Are we still talking about the forty-two-year-old man who hanged himself and was found naked, covered in jizz, with his hand on his erect penis while watching babysitter porn? You think it matters if the insurance company thinks he stole your panties?”

  “Good point. Wait. Babysitter porn? What’s that?”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know. But the panty story bolsters the accidental death claim, and let me tell you, it’s a lot of money.”

  I smile at her use of the word bolster, and recall her saying pronouncement earlier this morning. She’s truly quite intelligent, and I remind myself to never talk down to her. But she’s brought up an interesting point I’ve been wondering about, so I ask: “How much is the death benefit, exactly?”

  “Four million.”

  “Instead of two?”

  “No. Four million extra for accidental death. Eight million in all.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yup, I’m rich. Aren’t you glad we’re a couple?”

  “Absolutely! But I’d be just as glad if you were dirt poor.”

  “Right answer!”

  “You think your mom will let us keep seeing each other?”

  “How’s she gonna stop us?”

  “Lots of ways. And since we’re breaking several laws, we’ll need a private way to talk.”

  “Like Snapchat?”

  “Like throwaway phones.”

  “You mean like drug dealers use?”

  I nod.

  “Where can I get one?”

  “Anywhere: drug stores, gas stations, discount stores.”

  “Can’t the cops trace them by matching the purchase to surveillance videos?”

  “Possibly, which is why you’ll pay a total stranger to buy it for you while you wait from a distance.”

  “Sounds like you’ve done this before.”

  I dig into my suitcase and show her my throwaway phone.

  She grins. “This is gonna be awesome!”

  I tuck the phone back in my suitcase, then pull her to me and we share a few moments of intimacy that leaves us wanting more. Then we gather my things, pack my suitcase, and head to the elevators. When we get to the lobby four people are waiting for us: Alison, Michael, and Police Detectives Broadus and Rudd.

  “If there’s nothing pressing,” Broadus says, “we’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “About David?” I say.

  “Bingo.”

  “I’ve told you everything I know.”

  He rolls his eyes. “That may be the biggest lie I’ve heard in my entire career. A career filled with liars.”

  “Is that how you got so good at it?”

  Detective Rudd stifles a laugh.

  Broadus says, “How about we go somewhere and have a private chat?”

  I look at Michael and Alison but feel Jessie staring at me from the side. “Anything you’ve got to say can be said in front of the Thornes. It’ll save me the trouble of repeating it to them after you leave.”

  The detectives exchange a look, then Broadus says, “You’re gonna want these questions to remain confidential as long as possible.”

  I smile. “Ask whatever you want. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  Broadus shrugs. “Fair enough. Let’s start with the comment you made to me yesterday afternoon.”

  “Okay.”

  “You said you only met David Thorne once, approximately three months ago, in a coffee shop.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then how did your nude photos wind up on his cell phone?”

  15.

  “THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE!” I say, but my words are punctuated by a vicious slap to the side of my face delivered by Jessie Thorne that causes me to spin forward so abruptly I lose my balance and stumble into Detective Rudd’s arms. As he helps me regain my posture, I say, “Thanks for the vote of trust, Jess.”

  “Thanks for fucking my father and lying about it,” she responds, icily.

  I can’t even imagine what Michael must be thinking, and have zero desire to see his face. But I am studying Alison’s, and note she doesn’t appear to be overly surprised.

  God, I hate getting slapped! I’ve been punched, struck with objects, had my face pushed against walls, and lots worse. But nothing stings more than a hard slap. The moment of impact is like multiple bee stings, and within seconds the nerve endings in the entire area are screaming for relief, giving the whole side of your face the feeling it’s swelling like a balloon. Add to that the ringing it causes in your ears, the headache, the involuntary tearing from the eyes, and you’ve got all the ingredients for a lousy half-hour.

  But the tears are the worst.

  Even though they’re a natural response, they make you look like a wimp. Like you can’t handle a slap from a 15-year-old girl. I want these bastards off my face, but wiping them would mean I’d have to acknowledge them. And I’m supposed to be tough.

  Broadus says, “Would you like to see them?”

  “What?”

  “The naked photos.”

  I take a deep breath. “Yes, please.”

  He hands me the phone and I swipe the screen as I view them one after the other.

  Michael says, “Jesus, Nicki, how many are there?”

  I hand the phone back to Broadus, saying, “I don’t know, Michael, I didn’t count them just now. But you should know the exact number. You’re the one who took them.”

  Broadus, looking genuinely surprised, says, “May I show them to Michael?”

  “Why not? He’s seen them many times, I’m sure.”

  I don’t know if Michael realizes we’re all staring at his face as he flips through the photos, but what’s interesting—and a compliment to me—he doesn’t stop till he’s viewed the last one. He hands the phone back to Broadus, who says, “You took these photos?”

  Michael nods.

  Jess says, “Then how did they get on Daddy’s phone?”

  “Good question,” I say. “Got an answer for us Michael?”

  “I guess he must have gone through my phone and saw them and forwarded them to his.”

  Jessie hugs me. “I’m so sorry, Nicki.”

  “It’s okay. Just one more example of your brother destroying my life.”

  “Fuck you!” Michael says.

  “Yeah. Fuck me. And you sure did, didn’t you? You begged me a thousand times to let you take those pictures, and when I finally agreed you promised no one would ever see them because of your privacy setting. And now we learn your father’s been staring at them for God knows how long, not to mention these detectives and half the police department.”

  Rudd says, “Miss Hill
, I can assure you—”

  “Oh, shut up, Detective. I know how these things work. Within days these pictures will be all over the Internet because of your leering incompetence. Yesterday David Thorne accidentally hanged himself, or committed suicide. Either way I doubt it’s part of your job description to find out why, but that’s exactly what you’ve chosen to do. And for some reason you came to the instant conclusion he and I must have been having an affair. Well, we weren’t. And even if we had been, what difference does it make to the police? The man clearly wasn’t murdered. Meanwhile, you’ve taken every opportunity to undermine my relationship with the family to the point I’m no longer welcome in their home.”

  “Poor Nicki,” Michael says, holding up his thumb and index finger like it’s the world’s tiniest violin. “You know what this is, Nicki?”

  “You, masturbating?”

  Everyone laughs, including Alison.

  “Fuck you, bitch!” he snarls.

  “Never again, Michael.”

  Jessie says, “Can I wait with you till your taxi shows up?”

  “Thanks. I’d like that.” I look at Broadus. “Anything else, Detective?”

  He says, “Actually, there is. In fact, we’re just getting started.” He looks around, notices the furniture grouping by the large window where we sat a half hour ago. “How about we sit over there?”

  “Not enough chairs.”

  “Detective Rudd and I will stand.”

  As we take our seats Broadus says, “You quit your job last month.”

  Michael says, “Not true. She called her boss yesterday before we left town.”

  “She may have told you that,” Broadus says, “But she did quit her job. Correct, Miss Hill?”

  I shrug. “Not last month. Two weeks ago. Is that a crime?”

  Michael says, “You called them yesterday before we left. I heard you.”

  “I faked it.”

  “You quit your job?”

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  I look at Detective Broadus. I know where this is going, I just don’t want to say it. So he says it for me: “Nicki recently came into a large sum of money.”

  If you could see the looks on the Thorne family’s faces you’d laugh. But I’m not laughing.

  “How much money are we talking about?” Michael asks.

  Broadus says, “One-point-two million dollars.”

  16.

  ALISON SAYS, “WHETHER Nicki came into money or not is her business. She and Michael are no longer engaged, so I’m not sure why you’re involving us in—”

  Her face suddenly contorts and turns an angry shade of crimson.

  “You fucking bitch!”

  Jess says, “Jesus, Mom! What’s your problem?”

  “You want to know my problem? I just realized why we’re part of this discussion. It’s because David—your father—gave Nicki the money. Am I right, Detective?”

  “Indeed you are, Mrs. Thorne. That’s very perceptive.”

  Michael jumps to his feet, tries to attack me, but Jess gets between us in the nick of time. Detective Rudd works him back in his chair and places a hand on Michael’s shoulder to keep him from trying it again.

  “Care to explain, Miss Hill?” Broadus says.

  “If you’re asking why David Thorne cashed out his Index Fund investment and had it transferred to my personal account, I can only tell you what he told me. But why should I?”

  “Because it looks like blackmail.”

  “To whom?”

  “The police.”

  “Are you saying David killed himself because I was blackmailing him?”

  “Not yet. Not officially. But you have to admit it seems plausible.”

  “If I blackmailed him, and he paid the money, why would he kill himself?”

  “Maybe you wanted more.”

  “If that were the case, wouldn’t he have left a note to explain his actions?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Fine. Yes. He would have left a note. And he wouldn’t have been naked, with his hand on his dick, watching porn at the time of the hanging.”

  Alison winces at my mention of the position of David’s hand. I’d like to say that remark just slipped out in the heat of the moment, but my choice of words was quite calculated. I won’t be called a fucking bitch by Alison on the basis of pure conjecture, so I purposely hit her where it hurts. What David was doing at the time of his hanging is a very sensitive subject to her. Apart from the embarrassment, it tells the world their sex life wasn’t what it should have been. Autoerotic asphyxiation is awfully extreme behavior for a wealthy guy from the estates of Lexington who has a dream life, dream wife, and perfect family.

  What I’m about to say won’t make a bit of difference to the detectives, since they’ve already made up their minds. But having been accused of something I didn’t do, I should at least put forth a defense, so I say: “I didn’t quit my job because of the money. I quit because my boss kept trying to put his hands on me. I didn’t tell Michael because I was afraid he’d go there and make a scene.”

  Naturally, Broadus completely ignores my response. Instead, he points to the bank of elevators and says: “A few minutes ago you stood right there and told us you’ve got nothing to hide. Still feel that way?”

  “Of course. It’s the reason I keep answering your questions truthfully instead of hiring a lawyer.”

  “Then tell us why Mr. Thorne deposited $1.2 million into your checking account.”

  “He was paying me to break up with Michael.”

  “What?” Michael says.

  “He wanted me for himself.”

  Michael recoils in horror, starts coughing uncontrollably. Meanwhile, Alison’s eyes have narrowed to angry slits. Only Jess remains calm, waiting for my explanation, and so I offer it: “I never slept with David and never agreed to. But when I met him at the coffee shop that day, instead of trying to talk me into going back to Michael he told me he’s loved me from the day we met and wanted to be with me. He said as long as Michael and I were together he didn’t allow himself to tell me. But after I broke off the engagement, he felt there might be a chance. I had no idea he felt that way, and never understood how it could have happened till today.”

  “What happened today?”

  “He had naked photos of me.”

  “And your panties,” Jess says.

  “Her panties?” Broadus says.

  “Daddy stole a pair of Nicki’s panties last March. He was obsessed with her.”

  I continue: “The day we met, David kept trying to talk me into dating him and said he was going to send me a huge sum of money to prove how serious he was. He said if I promised to give him a month I could keep the money even if things didn’t work out between us. I told him I couldn’t date him under any circumstances because not only was he Michael’s dad, but also Alison’s husband, and she and I were extremely close. At least we were. But David had the money wired to my account anyway, and when I got the notification from the bank, I told him it didn’t matter. I refused to date him, and that’s the truth.”

  “Worked out nicely for you,” Alison says. “You made a cool $1.2 million for doing nothing.”

  “I didn’t keep the money.”

  “What?”

  Broadus says, “What did you do with it?”

  “Surely you’ve checked.”

  “We haven’t gotten that far yet.”

  “Well, when you do, you’ll find I gave it to Michael.”

  Michael looks up. “What are you talking about?”

  “When I turned your dad down, it destroyed him. I said I was flattered by his gesture, but I couldn’t keep the money. I told him I was going back to you, and he was…I won’t say pleased, but…pacified. He said he wanted me to keep the money and use it for our future. So I thought about it, but that didn’t seem right because, what if we broke up again? So I asked your dad where the money came from and he told me about the index fund, and so I set up a
n account with that same company and put your name on it.”

  “You put $1.2 million into an account for me?”

  “Actually, I put one million in your account, and put the rest in our joint checking account so you’d have enough money to pay the gift taxes.”

  The stars in Jessie’ eyes say it all: she’s found her soulmate.

  Michael’s less impressed. He asks Broadus, “How can I keep her from taking the two hundred thousand?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She just broke up with me, and the money’s in our joint account. She’s obviously going to take it.”

  “Wow,” I say. “Seriously Michael? Every time you open your mouth it proves I made the right decision to leave you.” I reach into my handbag, hand him my checkbook for our joint account. “Here, Michael. The money’s yours. I’ve always considered it yours.”

  Jess looks at her brother like he’s turd on toast: “She’s right Michael. You really blew it this time. Congratulations! You’re officially the world’s biggest asshole.”

  Broadus says, “Miss Hill? If you want to change any part of your story, now’s the time.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because we’re going to check everything you said.”

  “Please do.”

  Alison says “Nicki, I owe you an apology. If all this checks out as I’m sure it will, you’ll have earned my respect, even as David has proven himself to be a total bastard.”

  “Thanks Alison. I’ve always loved your family, even David. I’m just sorry for everything that happened.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Jess says, and everything’s cool till Broadus asks, “Who called whom?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A few minutes ago you said David wired the money. You told him you were going back to Michael, and David said to keep the money and use it for your future together.”

  “So?”

  “How did that conversation take place? Did you call him or meet him?”

  “I—he called me.”

  “Really? Because we checked his phone records, and your number doesn’t show up anywhere.”

  “Maybe he erased it.”

  “Maybe. But you know what he didn’t erase?” He looks around. “Anyone?”