Don't Believe a Word

by Patricia MacDonald

  ‘Do you think DeShaun is the only wronged husband in Flynn’s life? He did the same thing to my father. And who knows how many others?’

  ‘He’s not like that,’ said Lizzy. ‘Our love is something so powerful … it’s a once in a lifetime thing. We both feel it.’

  ‘I pity you,’ said Eden. ‘You believe that. You’ll see.’

  The two women stared at one another, and then Lizzy looked away, her shoulders slumped. She knows I’m right, Eden thought. But she didn’t say a word.

  ‘I don’t suppose …’ said Lizzy. ‘I guess you wouldn’t want me staying here while you’re here.’

  ‘You’ve got that right,’ said Eden.

  ‘All right. I’ll leave. Although I don’t know where to go,’ Lizzy lamented.

  ‘Surely you have a friend,’ Eden said.

  ‘I’ll just go back to the hospital,’ said Lizzy. ‘I’d rather be near Flynn anyway.’

  ‘You do that,’ said Eden. ‘Sleep in a chair.’ She followed Lizzy through the maze of cardboard boxes to the front door of the house.

  Lizzy turned, as she opened the front door. ‘It’s more complicated than you think, Eden. I adored your mother. And your stepbrother. So did Flynn. Believe me, neither one of us would ever—’

  ‘Pardon me, but I could never believe you,’ said Eden. ‘Now please go.’

  She watched the girl disappear into the evening gloom, then locked the door behind her. No, you can’t stay here, Eden thought, reliving her conversation with Lizzy in her mind. How could you even think anything else? she wondered. She went back into the dining area and sat down at the table in the dismantled room. She was hungry, but didn’t want to eat. Thirsty, but she thought she might gag on anything she tried to swallow. She knew she should get up and try to find herself something in these cabinets, but instead, she sat, rooted in place.

  Suddenly, her phone rang, startling her again, and she hurried to answer it.

  ‘Ms Radley?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eden.

  ‘This is Detective Burt. Where are you?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m at Flynn’s house. I’m staying here tonight.’

  ‘Well, I have something I want to discuss with you. I wonder if you could come down to the station? I’d come out there, but a lot of things are happening, all at once,’ he said apologetically.

  Eden thought about it for a moment. She did not know if it had any bearing on Flynn’s attempted murder, but she wanted Detective Burt to know what she had found out about Flynn and Lizzy. And she did not want to spend any more time than necessary in this gloomy house. She could stop somewhere and buy herself a sandwich while she was out. ‘Okay, sure. I’ll be right down.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting,’ he said.

  The police station was abuzz, as if it were the middle of the day. Eden announced herself to the desk sergeant, and then took a chair to wait. She did not have to wait long. Detective Burt came out the doors leading to the offices, and greeted her.

  ‘Thanks for coming in, Ms Radley,’ he said, offering her a chair in another room, not his office. This room was unfurnished, except for a square table and a few chairs. A laptop computer sat on the table, along with a half-empty bottle of water. The windows had bars.

  ‘Eden,’ she said.

  ‘Please, sit, Eden,’ he said.

  Eden sat down, and Burt sat down across the table from her. The detective was in his shirtsleeves, though he still wore his tie. His face looked haggard, and his eyes, weary. But he seemed to still have plenty of energy for his investigation.

  Eden looked across the desk at him. ‘So why did you want to see me?’

  ‘Ladies first, Ms Radley. Eden. Tell me what’s on your mind.’

  Eden took a deep breath. ‘Well, since you insisted that I remain in Cleveland, I decided to stay at Mr Darby’s house in his absence. I figured that while I was there, and had the opportunity, I’d take a look at his computer.’

  Detective Burt raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? Do you even have permission to be there?’

  ‘His assistant let me in,’ said Eden.

  ‘The Iranian girl?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know that she’s Iranian, but yes, Aaliya. In fact, it was her idea that I stay there.’

  ‘I don’t want you doing anything illegal,’ he warned.

  Eden ignored his caution. ‘On Flynn’s computer I found photos dated a couple of days ago. They don’t leave much to the imagination. It seems that Flynn Darby is having an affair with a researcher from the Cleveland Clinic who often worked in my mother’s home while she was alive.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Jacquez, Lizzy Jacquez. Her husband is an intern at the Cleveland Clinic, named DeShaun. It occurred to me that he may have found out about them, and decided to go after Flynn. Mrs Jacquez insists that her husband was in the hospital doing surgery when Flynn was shot. I hope that’s true, but …’

  Burt frowned, and tapped his pen against his lower lip. ‘We can easily check on that. And you think this affair was going on while your mother was alive?’ he asked.

  ‘Lizzy gave me some song and dance about them not acting on it while my mother was alive. She seemed sincere. But so did Flynn when he insisted he had nothing to do with my mother’s death. Honestly, I don’t know what to think anymore. I just know that I’m not satisfied with the answers I’ve received.’

  Detective Burt sighed. ‘And I admit I feel a bit badly about that. More and more I’m beginning to wonder if I was hasty in dismissing your concerns about your mother’s death. That case is still closed. Technically,’ he said. ‘Although, in fact, the shooting of Flynn Darby now casts everything into a different light. My experience tells me that this murder attempt on Flynn Darby is related to the deaths of Tara and Jeremy Darby. It would just be too coincidental that the crimes are unrelated.’

  Eden nodded. ‘That makes sense, doesn’t it?’

  Detective Burt shrugged. ‘Luckily, as long as the victim is still alive, we have an eyewitness. Flynn Darby himself. We will question him as soon as he regains consciousness in hopes that he can identify his assailant. In the meantime, we were expecting the gun to tell us much of what we need to know.’

  ‘And did it?’

  He reached over to the laptop and tapped on it. Then he turned it to face Eden. ‘I’ll show you something. Take a look at this,’ he said.

  Eden frowned as the screen was suddenly filled with a blank-walled, nondescript room much like the one she was sitting in. There was the sound of coughing, and much rustling and throat clearing.

  A man dressed in a dark windbreaker and gray pants, his head cut off by the frame, was led to a chair and told to sit down. He did so, and his wrinkled, bespectacled face came into view. His crewcut white hair made the top of his head look as if it was melting into the dingy white wall behind him.

  ‘That’s Michael Darby,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ said Burt.

  ‘This is Detective Armand Fabian of the Robbin’s Ferry, New York police department. We are conducting an interview with Mr Michael Darby as a courtesy to the Cleveland, Ohio Central Police. All right now, Mike … Mr Darby …’ said the disembodied voice outside the screen. ‘As I said, we have asked you to come here as a courtesy to the Cleveland Police. They have recovered a gun, suspected to be the weapon in the shooting this morning of your grandson, Flynn Darby.’

  Eden studied the aged face. It showed absolutely no emotion at the mention of Flynn’s name as a shooting victim. The old man sniffed, and blinked behind his glasses. Otherwise he was impassive.

  ‘Had you heard that Flynn was the victim in a shooting?’

  ‘They called the house after it happened. So yeah, we heard.’

  ‘How’s he doing?’ asked Detective Fabian, a note of sympathy in his voice.

  Michael Darby looked back at him belligerently. ‘Still living,’ he said. ‘Otherwise, I don’t know anything.’

  ‘Okay now, Mr Darby. A few
hours after the shooting, the gun which was used to shoot your grandson was recovered in a storm drain.’

  The old man gazed at the detective coolly.

  ‘We were surprised to discover that the weapon was registered to you, sir. Can you explain how that gun, which was your service revolver when you were on the Robbin’s Ferry police force, turned up in Cleveland, Ohio, this morning?’

  Michael Darby stared at the detective who was questioning him. His complexion, pale to begin with, turned ashen. He blinked rapidly, but his gaze was not fixed on Detective Fabian. He seemed to be looking into the past, or into his memories, trying desperately to make something in his memories compute.

  ‘Mr Darby? Did you hear what I asked? How did your gun end up in Cleveland?’

  ‘Well, I certainly didn’t bring it there,’ said Michael gruffly.

  To Eden, it sounded like an excuse. It sounded as if he was playing for time. But why? As if in answer to her question, the detective spoke again.

  ‘No. We know that you were not in Cleveland this morning, sir. The home health aide who comes in to care for your wife twice a week reported to us that she saw you and your wife in your home at the time of the shooting.’

  ‘Like I said. I didn’t shoot him,’ said the old man bluntly.

  ‘No, sir. We’re not accusing you of that. What we want to know is how that weapon came to be in Cleveland.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Michael Darby cried. ‘Why are you asking me? How would I know?’

  ‘It’s your weapon, sir. Of that, there is no doubt. Who better to know its whereabouts?’

  ‘Jesus,’ he murmured, as if stunned, and trying to absorb this piece of news. Then he looked at the detective defiantly. ‘He musta took it with him.’

  ‘Who took it, sir?’ asked the voice of Detective Fabian patiently.

  ‘Flynn. My grandson. I haven’t seen that thing in over twenty years. Maybe twenty-five.’

  ‘We have paperwork here signed by you saying that you turned it in when you retired. But the weapon was never actually recovered.’

  ‘I might have meant to but I forgot,’ he said in a wheedling tone.

  ‘So you’re saying that you failed to turn in your weapon when you retired, and you have not seen it since.’

  ‘I have not seen it. That’s right,’ said Michael Darby, nodding.

  ‘Did you report it stolen?’

  Michael Darby screwed his face up angrily. ‘You know I didn’t. Why are you asking me these questions? Everybody knows me here. Anybody here can tell you, when I say I haven’t seen it, that means I haven’t seen it. I didn’t report it stolen because I didn’t know it was stolen. I had no reason to look for it. But that would be just like Flynn. To steal something like that. Just to bust my chops.’

  ‘Did you ever ask him if he took it?’

  Darby seemed to be gathering his customary bluster. ‘I told you. I didn’t know about it. If I had, I woulda asked him. I woulda hit him in the head if I thought he took it.’

  ‘Could anyone else have taken it?’

  ‘Like who?’ the old man demanded.

  ‘I don’t know. Was your house ever broken into? Anyone staying with you who might have taken it? You have an aide who comes in twice a week.’

  Michael Darby looked at the detective warily. Then, he smiled, though his eyes remained cold. ‘That cow wouldn’t know which end the bullet comes out of.’

  ‘So you’re certain it was your grandson who took it?’

  ‘Who else could it be? How else would it get to Cleveland?’ he cried defiantly.

  ‘Let me remind you, Mr Darby, that you are responsible for that firearm. You never returned it to the Robbin’s Ferry police, so you were in possession of it illegally. Now, that weapon has been used in the commission of a felony.’

  Michael’s belligerence seemed to dwindle away. ‘I know, I know,’ he said. ‘I’m an old man. I’m forgetful, all right. It was an oversight.’

  ‘Nonetheless, you could be charged—’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ Darby yelped.

  ‘We certainly can,’ said the detective.

  The old man contorted his face into an aggrieved expression. ‘Look here. My wife and I are trying to make do on a cop’s pension. Someday you’ll find out what that’s like. If I’m not there at the house, somebody has to come in full-time and help her out. She can’t manage on her own.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s difficult,’ said Detective Fabian.

  ‘It’s way more than difficult,’ Michael Darby insisted. ‘I can’t afford to be separated from her.’

  ‘All right, Mr Darby. You’re free to go today. But we may call on you again for further information. Thank you for coming down to the station.’

  The old man shook his head and muttered something unintelligible.

  The video feed abruptly stopped.

  Eden sat back in her chair and stared at the blank screen. ‘That’s just the way he was when I met him. What a horrible old man.’

  ‘There’s something not right in his story about the gun,’ said Burt. ‘He strikes me as the kind of guy who would take his gun out every day and admire it. I find it hard to believe that he didn’t know his gun was gone. Did you notice how uneasy he seemed? I don’t think he was saying all that he knew.’

  ‘I had the same impression,’ said Eden, surprised that the detective seemed to be soliciting her opinion.

  ‘So did Fabian. But, for the moment, that’s where it stands.’

  ‘Do you think that Flynn had the gun?’

  ‘He must have. For whatever reason, his grandfather decided not to report him for stealing it.’

  ‘That seems like the kind of thing he would enjoy. Reporting his grandson for that,’ Eden observed.

  Detective Burt shook his head. ‘There’s no love lost between those two. But why he didn’t report him … I don’t know … yet.’

  ‘So whoever it was that shot Flynn must have taken the gun from him,’ said Eden.

  The detective shrugged. ‘He might have given the gun to someone. Or someone stole it from him. Someone he knew.’

  Eden immediately thought about the people who visited Flynn in his house recently. Lizzy. Aaliya. Herself.

  ‘He never reported it missing either. Did he ever mention a burglary to you? A break-in?’ the detective asked.

  Eden shook her head slowly. ‘No … But then again, we’re not exactly close.’

  ‘Did your mother ever mention him having a gun?’

  ‘She wouldn’t have said that to me. But I can’t picture her welcoming a gun in the house. That just wasn’t her style.’

  ‘A lot of questions,’ Burt admitted.

  ‘So he was shot with his own grandfather’s gun,’ Eden said.

  ‘Yup.’

  Eden shook her head. ‘You’re right. None of this seems like a coincidence.’

  ‘No. I just need to figure out how these crimes are connected. By the way, in light of this information, and the results of the gunshot residue test, we no longer consider you a suspect, and if you wish to return home we won’t stop you.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Eden. ‘Thanks for letting me know that I am free to go.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Detective Burt. ‘Thanks for bringing me this information about Mr Darby. When there’s a sexual affair involved, you automatically have new suspects.’

  Eden immediately thought of DeShaun Jacquez, who was a victim in all this, and had been kind of her. She hoped his alibi would hold up. ‘I hope it will help.’

  ‘The more information the better,’ he said.

  ‘I just wish …’ said Eden.

  The detective looked at her with raised eyebrows.

  ‘I wish you would reopen that investigation. Into my mother’s death. There are so many questions. I no longer think that Flynn was responsible, but I still don’t believe it was a suicide.’

  Detective Burt smiled at her. ‘I promise you, I will go over everything again, with what we now know in
mind. And I will let you know.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Eden. ‘That’s all I ask.’

  ‘Your mother has quite a champion in you,’ he said admiringly.

  Eden marveled at the irony of this, given her long estrangement from Tara. ‘Maybe so,’ she said. She got up from the chair and slung her pocketbook over her shoulder. ‘I’d better get going.’

  ‘Will you leave right away?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll spend the night here. Leave in the morning.’

  ‘Try not to get in any trouble between the time you leave here and the time you get to the airport,’ said Detective Burt.

  ‘I think I can manage that,’ said Eden.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Before she even opened the door, Eden could smell something delicious being prepared in the bistro. She was starving when she left the police station, and on her way home she was trying to decide what to do about dinner when she received a call from Marguerite.

  ‘I heard about Flynn being shot. How is he doing?’

  ‘Holding his own, apparently,’ said Eden.

  ‘Any progress since we talked?’ Marguerite asked.

  ‘Quite a bit has happened.’

  ‘Have you eaten? Come over here and tell me about it.’

  ‘Are you at the restaurant?’ Eden asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll be over right away.’

  As she drove to Jaune, Eden realized that she had several reasons for wanting to go there, not the least of which was the wonderful food. She was glad that Marguerite had called. She was still plagued by a nagging question which arose from her last conversation with her. She waited at the front of the restaurant for Marguerite to appear, but this time she was greeted by a pale young girl with long, dark hair and a perfectly oval face. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

  ‘Actually, I’m looking for Marguerite. She’s expecting me.’

  ‘She’s in the kitchen tonight. My dad is home with the flu.’

  ‘You’re Marguerite’s daughter?’

  ‘Amalie, her oldest,’ she said, nodding. ‘I can tell her you’re here.’

  Eden frowned. ‘I don’t want to disturb her.’