by Ellen Hart
“That you’re a pedophile? That you’re sexually attracted to little girls?”
“Eli, no, that’s—” He sputtered, not quite able to finish the sentence.
“Are you upset because you’re a piece of slime, or because I found out?”
John Henry’s eyes blazed with anger. “How dare you talk to me that way? I have never, ever, been attracted to children.”
Eli wanted so badly to believe him. “Then how do you explain all these images? If I turned this over to the police, you’d be arrested, prosecuted. You’d probably spend the rest of your life in jail.”
Now horror filled his father’s eyes. “You know me, Eli. You know I’m not like that.”
“What I know is that you were never faithful to my mother. You cheated on her the entire time you were married.”
“That’s … absolute nonsense,” John Henry stammered.
“You think she didn’t know? She hid it, but she knew, and it nearly killed her.”
That silenced his father. After a visible struggle, he said, “I don’t believe you.”
Eli backed the rolling chair away from his dad. He needed to put some distance between them. “I remember once, I was probably eleven or twelve, I saw Mom watching you as you came into the kitchen for breakfast. You were always so perfectly dressed. A while later, as I was getting ready to leave for school, I found her watching me with the exact same look of revulsion on her face. In that moment, I finally grasped the reason for the most painful part of my young life. Mom was always so close, so physically affectionate with Tori, but she was never like that with me. I wanted her to love me so bad. I spent my childhood thinking I wasn’t good enough, that there must be something about me that was fundamentally unlovable. At times, I figured if I just tried harder, got better grades, did more chores, that she’d change. She never did, Dad, because … when she looked at me, she saw you.”
His father’s mouth dropped open.
“I think it’s why I’ve always had such a terrible time with women. Maybe I want them to fill a hole that can’t be filled. When I first met Harper, I warned her. I said that I didn’t do relationships, I took hostages. She laughed, thought it was hilarious. It wasn’t.”
“But Harper adored you.”
Eli swallowed a couple of times. He hadn’t planned on getting into any of this, but now that it was all coming out, he figured he would tell his dad the truth. “She had a bad scare. For a week or so, she thought she was pregnant. When she finally said something to me, I was elated. I’d been hoping she’d get pregnant. I thought that if we had a child together, it would bind her to me. That she’d never leave. But when she found out she wasn’t pregnant, she told me it was over. She wasn’t happy and planned to move out. She told me she’d realized I was too much for her. Too needy. Too controlling. Too pushy. Too desperate.”
“I had no idea.”
“Just something more to toss on Eli’s pile of shame.”
Initially, his father had seemed shaken. Now, as he moved over to a chair and sat down, his face hardened. “You blame me for your romantic problems? Believe me, son, you’re capable of ruining relationships all by yourself. You’re an adult, Eli. You can’t blame Mommy and Daddy anymore. And in case you’re interested, my marriage to your mother wasn’t exactly a bed of roses.”
Eli felt they were spinning their wheels. He’d attacked his father and his father had fought back. The main issue was still on the table: John Henry’s porn stash. “I took some screen shots of your online photo album.”
That sobered his father again. “You don’t actually believe that toxic sludge belongs to me.”
“How else did it get there?”
John Henry moved to the edge of his seat. “I don’t know. But it’s not mine. I swear on everything I hold dear.”
“The police may have a different take.”
The words startled John Henry. “You’d really turn me in? I’m your father, Eli. I love you.”
“Do you?”
“Look at everything I’ve done to help you. When I learned you were dealing drugs—on Facebook, no less—I was the one who had the page scrubbed. I made sure you got out of town before that thug dealer of yours could hurt you. I sent you to rehab, paid for it and then for you to stay in Glendale. I brought you home, set you up in that house. I gave you your job back.”
It was all true. Eli felt his resolve begin to falter.
“It’s not mine,” his dad all but screamed. “I’m not that kind of man. You know that. Have you ever seen me behave inappropriately with a little girl? I was unfaithful, yes. Uncaring at times. Selfish. But I’m human, Eli, not a monster.”
In Eli’s opinion, people called each other monsters when they wanted to distance themselves from a bad behavior. The truth was, monsters were all too human. They lived inside business suits, overalls, and pretty dresses. They were the quiet boy next door. The friendly neighbor who attended church every Sunday. If only people came with warnings: Monster inside. Keep away.
“What are you going to do with that file, Eli?” asked his dad.
Rising and tapping out a cigarette from a pack of Camels, Eli lit up, taking a deep drag. He thought for a long moment, blowing smoke into the air, then said, “Afraid I’ll have to get back to you on that one, Dad.”
38
Peter entered the gallery that afternoon, looking for Eli. He milled around with the other customers for a few minutes, hoping he would appear. When he did, coming through the double doors from the warehouse, Peter tried to catch his attention, but Eli never looked his way. Instead, he headed for the rear door into the stairwell. Charging past the reception desk, Peter caught him on the landing between the first and second floors, grabbing his lapels and shoving him against the wall.
“What the hell?” said Eli, pushing him away.
Peter came at him again. “You’re guilty, man. You murdered Gideon. And you made me an accomplice by getting me to ask Rashad out for a drink. You knew I wouldn’t refuse my dealer, the keeper of all blow.”
Eli tried to push him away, but Peter was bigger and far more aggressive.
“Now I find out you might be mixed up in another murder. Your ex. Harper.”
“You’re crazy, man. Get the hell away from me.”
“And then there’s George Krochak.”
This time, Eli was able to fight Peter off. Breathing hard, he bent over and wiped a hand across his mouth. “Who the hell is George Krochak?”
“Don’t play dumb. You’re good at that, but it doesn’t work with me anymore. George is Marlo Wise’s husband. He found that tote bag you brought with you to Gideon’s condo the night you were supposed to meet with him. Except there never was a meeting, was there?”
As Eli straightened up, a glimmer of fear flashed across his face. “You’re crazy, man.”
“You planned to rob him. Problem was, you never counted on him being home. You murdered him in cold blood because he saw your face, knew what you were up to. It’s not a theory anymore, man. It’s the truth.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” Eli yanked his suit back into place.
“How do you explain the bag? It was there in the living room with JHC on the front, your card in the inner pocket. It was photographed. You can’t deny it away.”
As Eli raked has hands through his hair, his expression changed from anger to puzzlement.
“George is in the hospital fighting for his life. That’s right. He’s still alive. He came to the gallery last Saturday morning. You met him, you got scared.”
“You’re full of it.”
Peter pushed him against the wall again. This time Eli didn’t fight back. “If you even think about hurting Kit, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” said Eli through gritted teeth. “Go home. You’re in way over your head. Go back to England and leave us the hell alone.”
“I might just do that,” said Peter, bringing his face close to Eli’s. “But before I do, I m
ight have to talk to the police, tell them what I know.”
“You perjured yourself, asshole. I’m sure they’d love to hear all about it.”
“Yeah? Maybe I can get myself a deal. After all, my dad’s a famous defense attorney. I would think he could figure out a way to buy me a little immunity.” Peter let go of Eli. “You stay away from Kit or I will personally throw you to the wolves.”
* * *
By six, that evening, Jane and Cordelia were halfway through the security footage from the Finnmark’s lobby. Jane’s father had tasked one of his paralegals to find it and set it up for them on a computer in one of the cubicles at the law office. Jane and Cordelia sat hunched together, close to the screen. Jane refused to fast forward. She wanted to see every second of the video.
“This is like watching paint dry,” mumbled Cordelia.
“If Eli’s going to appear, it better be soon,” said Jane. “Peter said he waited there for forty-five minutes. That he’d used the lobby phone next to the elevators several times to call up to Gideon.” This security footage had begun taping at four thirty PM and ran for three hours. “Eli should be there by now.”
Cordelia snapped her bubble gum. She was about to blow a bubble when she pointed and said, “Is that him?”
“Too tall,” said Jane. “And his hair’s too light.”
A lot of people had walked through the lobby, but few were sitting on benches or seemed to be standing around, waiting. And nobody had used the phone.
“He’s got to be there,” said Cordelia. “Unless he has a secret cloak of invisibility.”
“Or unless he lied about the whole thing.” Jane kept watching. Another ten minutes went by. Then another.
When the time stamp turned to six, Cordelia sat back and tossed her gum wrapper at the screen. “Didn’t Peter say Eli was home by six fifteen?”
“Nobody had a stopwatch.”
At a quarter to seven, Jane admitted defeat and turned off the footage. Cordelia had already called it and was doodling on an envelope while energetically humming the national anthem. “He never appeared,” said Jane. If Eli was the man on the security video in the parking garage, he wouldn’t have any need to sit around the lobby, as Peter had been told, because there was nothing he needed to wait for.
“Kinda figured out it was a dead end half an hour ago. Like I said before, Kit and Eli used Peter. He was their patsy … or, in the modern Russian espionage terms all the rage these days, he was a useful idiot.”
Jane thought about that. “I have another interview tonight. This one’s with Brittany Daniels, Kit’s best friend from high school. Want to come along?”
“Sure,” said Cordelia. “But I can’t. I have to be at the theater by seven. You think this friend will have anything important to tell you?”
As Jane rose and lifted her coat off the back of the chair, she said, “You never know unless you try.”
“Always the optimist.”
“Not always.”
* * *
Brittany, a petite woman with straight blond hair, invited Jane into her kitchen, where she was folding clothes. The remnants of the evening meal, a half-eaten pan of lasagna, sat on the counter. “I have two kids,” she offered, resuming her seat at the table. She nodded for Jane to take the one opposite her.
“How old are they?”
“Chapman’s six. Dakota’s three. They’re amazing. Sweet. Silly. Constantly on the go. I’m busy every minute of the day. When Larry gets home from work—he’s my husband—he plays with them, gives them their baths, and gets them ready for bed while I pick up the living room, finish the day’s laundry, and start dinner. He’s a good father. I’m lucky.”
Jane took out her pad and pen.
“Are you going to record what I say?”
“I usually take a few notes. Is that a problem?”
“No, it’s okay. You said you wanted to talk about Kit.”
When Jane had called Brittany to schedule the meeting, she gave the usual explanation.
“First, tell me something,” said Brittany. “Do you think Kit had anything to do with that poor man’s murder?”
“We’re looking at a number of people who knew him.”
Brittany took a minute to digest the comment. “I haven’t seen her in years, but I’ll tell you what I can.”
Jane had been under the impression that Kit and Brittany were still close. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Oh, gosh. Maybe five years ago. We ran into each other at Southdale.”
“Were you still friends at that time?”
“Sort of. Like, we weren’t enemies, but we didn’t see each other all that much. We stayed fairly close for a few years after high school, but by then I knew she wasn’t the kind of person I wanted in my life.”
“Because?”
“I don’t know how to say this. There’s something wrong with her. I’ve seen her do things that scared the bejesus out of me.”
“Such as?”
“You really want to hear this? I’ve never told anyone before.”
“I do,” said Jane. “I’d like to get a better picture of who she is.”
“Okay. You asked for it.” She put the folded kids’ clothes into the empty laundry basket, set it on the floor, then lifted a basket of towels onto the table and began to fold them. “So, in high school, Kit liked to shoplift. I guess her mom didn’t make a lot of money from that hair salon, so she’d steal things like makeup, cheap jewelry, candy bars, whatever she felt like. She even stole a Cross pen once from a stationery shop.”
“She never got caught?”
“Never, which both surprised me and didn’t, you know? She was really good at it. I think she saw it as entertainment. A game. I’d see stuff in her purse, and I just knew she’d stolen it. Beyond that, she’d, like, form these opinions of people that didn’t have much relation to the truth. If she liked you, all was great. If she didn’t, watch out.”
“Can you give me an example?” asked Jane.
“The big one our senior year was Keri Patterson. Jeez, I’ll never forget that day. Kit was dating Conor Beck. He was on the golf team, not a jock, but nice looking. Athletic. Kit saw Keri with him one day after school and decided that Keri was trying to put the moves on him. I’d seen them together a couple times, but they just seemed like friends to me. One afternoon, toward the end of the school year, Kit and I and a few others were on our way up the stairs when a bunch of people were coming down, Keri among them. If I hadn’t been looking down at just the right moment, I never would have known what happened. Kit stuck out her foot, like, really quick and tripped Keri. She went tumbling, hit her head hard and broke her nose. I think she had a pretty bad concussion because she was out of school for almost a week. People assumed she’d tripped. I think Keri thought that, too.”
“Did you ever say anything?”
“And risk Kit’s fury? No way.”
“Did you ever see her hurt anyone else?”
“Not then.”
“Later?”
“Well, the guy she said she married? Dave Stokes?”
“She didn’t marry him?”
“She just wanted the wedding presents. I mean, she was sleeping with him. I think she convinced him that they could pull it off—get all these gifts and then tell everyone they’d eloped. But they never did. They drove down to Rochester for a night and then came back. She had a ring that looked really impressive. When I asked her about it, she grinned and said, ‘Target. Nineteen ninety-five.’ And then she took it off and threw it at me.”
“Did something happen to Dave?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t have any proof. I remember Kit would tell him to jump and he’d ask how high. The poor guy was totally whipped. They were together for less than a year, but during that time I’d stop by their house sometimes. One day, maybe, oh, seven months after the pretend wedding, I remember I asked her how things were going, if Dave had found a job. She said she hadn’t seen him in a cou
ple of weeks. She figured he’d left her, taken off for greener pastures. She didn’t seem all that sad about it. She’d just started waitressing at a new place. Mostly she wanted to talk about that. Only thing was, when I went to the bathroom, I noticed Dave’s shaving kit was still there, shoved over to the side. On the way back to the kitchen I walked past an open plastic storage box. His pocketknife, his worn brown-leather cowboy boots with the squared-off toes, and some of his clothes were all jumbled together inside it. Why would he leave all that behind?”
“Do you have a theory?” asked Jane.
She hesitated. “This is hard to say, but yes. Kit often bragged that she was a great problem solver. In this case, Dave was the problem. She never wanted anyone to know they weren’t married. And I think she was royally sick of him. He spent most of the day lying on the couch, watching TV and drinking beer. I don’t know how he managed to pay half the rent, but he did. The only time I ever remember hearing about him standing up to her was when he told her the apartment was half his. I assumed she’d asked him to leave and he’d refused.”
“You’re saying—”
“That she got rid of him. I don’t know how. I don’t know where or when. I’d occasionally see his brother at the coffee shop where I worked. He always acted really puzzled when I’d ask about Dave. He confided that he and Kit had divorced quietly. Said his mother would get a postcard from Dave every now and then from different parts of the country. Apparently, one time Dave said he was on his way back to Minnesota, but if he was, he never got here.”
“Nobody’s seen him? For how many years?”
Brittany looked up, doing the math in her head. “Eight. I mean, it’s not like he was close to his family. Kit always seemed to be attracted to loners. But if he’s still alive, you’d think someone would have heard from him.”
The story left Jane with the sickening sense that her gut reaction to Kit was accurate: She was dangerous. Peter had no idea who she was or the depth of the pit he’d fallen into.
39
