by John Hart
Life is a torturous journey, Jackson, and I don’t know if I can handle any more pain. But I’ll never regret the day we met, and when you’re ready to talk, I’m ready to listen. Maybe some good can come of all this. I hope so, but I know too well the cruelness of fate. No matter what happens, remember this—every day I thank God that you’re alive.
I read it three times, and fell asleep with it on my chest.
When I opened my eyes again, I felt ten times better. It was late, dark outside, but someone had turned on the lamp in the corner. I saw Mills in the chair, and I managed to sit up in bed before she looked up from the book she was reading.
“Hey,” she said, getting up. “I hope you don’t mind, but Jean has been here around the clock and was exhausted. I told her I’d stick around.” She stood, looking uncertain. “I thought you might have some questions.”
“I guess I should say thanks,” I said. “For saving my life.”
If possible, Mills looked even more uncomfortable. “And I owe you an apology.”
“Forget about it,” I said, surprising myself. “The past is dead. I don’t intend to think about it too much.” I gestured at the chair next to the bed. “Sit down.”
“Thanks.” She sat and put her book on the table. I saw that it was a mystery, and for some reason that struck me as funny, her being a detective and all.
“I really don’t know what I want to hear,” I told her. “I haven’t had much time to think about any of this.”
“I have a couple questions,” Mills said. “Then I’ll start at the beginning and tell you anything you want to know.”
“Okay.”
“Where did you find your father’s gun?” she asked, and I told her about the creek, about my nighttime search down the throat.
“I sent a team through that tunnel,” she said, visibly upset. “They should have found it.”
I explained how I’d found it wedged deep in the debris-choked crevice, but I refused to tell her how I knew to look there. She pushed, of course, but I wasn’t going to give Max to her.
“Somebody tipped me off, Detective. That’s all I can tell you.”
When finally she let it go, she did so as a favor, her way of making up for the harm that she’d done to me. But moving the conversation forward was awkward; letting go was not easy for Mills.
“So you did what you did to protect Jean? Because you thought she might have been involved?”
“That’s right.”
“But why? Why would you think Jean killed him?”
I thought about her question. How much could I give her? How much did she really want? Most importantly, was I still the guardian of Ezra’s truth? I had come to terms with what had happened, with how my mother passed from this place. But would the truth serve any good purpose? I had to ask myself: Would Jean sleep any better? Would my mother’s soul?
“Jean was not at home after she left Ezra’s. I went there looking for her.”
Mills interrupted. “She went for a drive. She was upset and went for a drive. Then she went to your house to talk things over. She got there in time to see you leave.”
I nodded. It was the simplest explanation, but it had never occurred to me. “Jean has not been right for awhile, Detective. She was angry, unstable. I couldn’t take the chance.”
I would keep Ezra’s truth, but not for him. Some truths are best left alone; it was really that simple.
Mills was clearly frustrated. “There’s a lot you’re not telling me, Work.”
I shrugged. “Not as much as you think, and nothing that will affect your case.”
“Was Jean the real reason you wanted to visit the crime scene?” she finally asked, and in her eyes I saw that she already knew the answer. I’d gone to the crime scene for one reason only; and, in spite of what I’d told Douglas, giving Jean details was not it. And now, safe on the other side of everything, I allowed myself a very small smile.
“No.”
Mills did not return the smile. She knew that I’d worked it out in advance and she knew why. My manipulations had caused her great embarrassment and could have cost her much more—the case, her reputation, her job. But I saw that she understood. I’d gone to the crime scene for one very specific reason—to hamper my eventual prosecution. I’d been willing to take the fall for Jean, but I hadn’t wanted to go to prison unless I was forced to. I’d figured that if it went to trial, I could use my presence at the crime scene to confuse the issue—maybe hang the jury, maybe get an acquittal. While no guarantee, it had been something.
“I had to do it,” I said to her. “When Ezra never came back, I eventually figured out that he had to be dead. I thought that Jean had done it. I couldn’t let her go to jail.” I paused, thinking about Ezra’s long absence and the dark thoughts that haunted me during that time. “I had eighteen months to think about things.”
“You had it planned out—from that first day when Douglas called you into his office. The day we found his body. That’s why you pushed Douglas to let you onto the crime scene.”
“Plan is too big a word. I just figured that it couldn’t hurt.”
“You know what I think?” she asked. “I think you’re a better lawyer than Ezra ever gave you credit for.”
“I’m no lawyer,” I said, but Mills didn’t seem to hear me.
“You’re a good brother, too. I hope Jean knows what you were willing to do for her.”
I looked away, embarrassed.
“Let’s talk about how you saved my life,” I said.
“All right. I’ll start there, and if something occurs to you, then stop me.”
“Okay.”
She leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees. “I was coming to arrest you,” she said.
“Because of the gun?” I asked. “Because you identified me?”
For a moment, she looked startled, and then angry. “Hank Robins told you. That little bastard. I knew he was sniffing around, but I thought I’d kept that information bottled up pretty tight.”
“Don’t hold it against him, Detective. Not everyone thought I was guilty.”
Mills looked pained by the tone of my voice. “Point taken,” she said. “But it’s funny how things work out.”
“How so?”
“If we hadn’t identified you, I wouldn’t have gone there to arrest you. You’d have bled to death on your office floor.”
“A close thing,” I said.
“They often are.”
“Who identified me?”
“Just some guy out fishing. He was about a hundred feet upriver, sitting on an old bucket and waiting for something to bite. He didn’t want to identify himself because he’d been drinking all night and didn’t want his wife to know.”
“A bad witness,” I said, wondering if he had also witnessed my despair, seen the barrel pressed so hard under my chin. I tried to read Mills, to see if she knew, but she was inscrutable.
“A bad witness,” she agreed, her eyes shifting away from my face. And I knew that she knew.
“And Barbara?” I tried to keep my face straight and my voice level, but it was hard. For good or bad, I’d spent ten years of my life with her; I couldn’t pretend this wasn’t killing me.
“We arrested her at the country club. She was poolside, having lunch with some of her friends.”
“Glena Werster?” I asked.
“Yeah, she was there.”
“Glena Werster has a black Mercedes.”
“So?”
“Vanessa Stolen was run down by a black Mercedes.”
Suddenly, Mills was a cop again. “Do you think Ms. Werster was responsible?”
“Do I think she would put herself at risk to help one of her friends? No. Their friendship was a parasitic thing; Barbara used Glena for her prestige and Glena used Barbara like a dishrag. What I do believe is that Barbara wanted Vanessa out of the way, and she was too smart to use her own car.”
“Do you think Ms. Werster could have been aware of this?
”
“I think it can’t hurt to ask.”
“I intend to,” Mills said.
The thought of Glena Werster trying to deal with Detective Mills made me smile. “I wish I could be there,” I said.
“You don’t care for Ms. Werster?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then I won’t go easy on her,” Mills said in total seriousness.
“Will you let me know?”
“I will.”
“Then let’s get back to Barbara,” I said.
“At first, she acted tough, you know, angry. But by the time the cuffs went on, she was crying.” Mills showed me her teeth, and I recognized her animal grin. “I enjoyed that part.”
“You always do.”
“Do you want me to apologize again?”
“No,” I said. “Go on.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time with your wife.”
“Interrogating her?”
“Discussing things,” Mills said.
“And?”
“And she refused to confess. She said I’d made a grave mistake. She threatened to sue. The same innocent act I’ve seen a hundred times. But then she learned that you were alive, and something in her seemed to break.”
“She confessed?” I asked.
Mills shifted in her seat. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”
“What then?”
“I mean she broke. She’s incoherent.”
I tried to absorb this. “Is it an act?”
Mills shrugged. “We’ll see, but I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“She babbles. She lets things out, little pieces of information no sane person would tell the cops. We’ve pieced it together from what she’s said. The will, her affair with Ezra. And we found the tapes, along with the money and the jewelry.”
I hesitated, but had to ask. “Is that common knowledge?”
“Her and Ezra? I’m afraid so.”
A silence stretched between us as I thought about what Mills had said. Eventually, she broke it. “Frankly, I’m surprised she didn’t destroy the tapes. They were pretty damning.”
“She loved him,” I said. “In some sick, twisted way I’ll never understand. But she did.” In my mind I saw her face, and the way her eyes seemed to glow.
“It takes all kinds, I guess.”
I thought back to the night this all started, the night my mother died. “So it was Barbara who called Ezra that night, after we left the hospital.”
“Actually, it was Alex.”
My jaw may have dropped, but Mills continued evenly.
“She knew about the fight between Jean and your father; she knew what it was about. She called Ezra. She offered to leave town for fifty thousand dollars. She said she would disappear, leave Jean alone. The mall is next to the interstate. She told him to meet her in the parking lot with the cash. She’d get on the road and leave Salisbury forever. I believe he went to the office for the cash, his gun, too, probably. Then he paid her off and she left. That was the last time anybody saw him alive, except for Barbara, of course.”
“I can’t believe Alex would do that.” Take his money. Leave Jean. “None of that makes sense to me.”
“She didn’t spend the money. She didn’t want it, not like any other person would. She just wanted to show Jean the kind of person her father was. She wanted to drive them apart. And it would have worked, too, I bet, but it wasn’t necessary.”
“Ezra disappeared and that was that. Alex had what she wanted. Namely, my sister.”
“Free and clear,” Mills said.
Except for me, I thought.
“So after Alex left, did he call Barbara or did she call him?”
“A lot of what I believe is just theory right now, but it seems to fit, based on things that Barbara has said and the information that I’ve collected throughout the investigation. Here’s how I see it. The night your mother died, the three of you were at Ezra’s house after you left the hospital. Ezra got the phone call, which we now know was from Alex; he left to get money from his office and to meet her near the interstate. Jean left right after he did, which is, in part, why you thought she might have been responsible. If he went to the mall, Jean could have followed him. You checked her house and found that her car was gone. It makes sense, assuming she had a motive.” Mills looked hard at me. “It still troubles me that you won’t explain what you think that motive might have been. . . .” I returned her measured gaze and said nothing. “But I guess I’ll have to let that one go, as well.
“So, Ezra went to his office and collected fifty thousand in cash from his safe. Maybe he got the gun there. Maybe it was in his house or in his car. We’ll never know. But he meets Alex at the mall and pays her off. Alex leaves, satisfied that her plan has worked. Now we have Ezra at the mall. This is about the time that you left home and went to Stolen Farm—let’s say one in the morning, maybe a little later. I don’t think Ezra would have called your house, knowing that you were probably there. That means that Barbara called him, shortly after you left, I would imagine. She wanted to talk to him about his wife’s death or about the will. Maybe she just wanted a tumble. I don’t know that part yet. But let’s assume Ezra gets the call while he’s at the mall. . . .”
“She loved him,” I said.
“You said that before.”
I rolled my shoulders. “Maybe she thought that he would take her if she left me. Maybe she saw a window of opportunity with my mother gone. Maybe she wanted to talk to him about that.”
Mills studied me for long seconds as my words dwindled. “Are you okay to talk about this?” she asked.
“I’m okay,” I said, but I wasn’t.
“All right. For whatever reason, they meet at the mall. Ezra has just finished manipulating Alex out of his life. His wife is dead. My guess is that he wanted a clean slate and told your wife as much. I think that he called it off, told her that it was over and that he was going to change the will back to the way he wanted it. He’s done with her, right? So your wife gets her hands on the gun somehow. He couldn’t have seen that coming. She orders him into the closet and shoots him dead; puts a second one in his head to make sure. She closes the closet door, walks out of the empty building, and tosses the gun into the storm drain. Then she gets into her car and goes home, arriving there well before you do. By this time, Jean is at home with Alex, knowing that you left your house on some mysterious errand. There’s no one there to see Barbara leave and then return; so that when Ezra goes missing and then turns up dead, Jean assumes you were involved. Or maybe she didn’t assume that, at least not until his body turned up. But then you gave me a false alibi, one that Jean knew to be factually inaccurate. She thinks back to the night in question and draws a reasonable conclusion.”
I was already nodding to myself. “It makes sense.”
“It would have looked something like that. Exactly like that? Who knows? Only Barbara can tell us for certain. But she won’t. I don’t know if she even can. In time, maybe . . .”
“What about Ezra’s car?”
“Stolen, probably. Barbara would have wanted the body discovered in due course so that the will could be put into probate. The car would have eventually drawn some kind of attention, so she left it there. She kept Ezra’s office keys in order to enter your office at night to try to retrieve the tapes. The car keys were probably in the car, an invitation to whoever stole it.” Mills showed her teeth in a brief smile. “It must have killed her—these past eighteen months—knowing that all that money was in reach if only someone would find the body.”
“There’s still one thing I don’t understand.”
“What’s that?” Mills asked.
“If Barbara was in this for the money, why did she try to kill me? She can’t inherit if I’m dead. So why didn’t she take the money and jewelry from the safe and just leave? Why put herself at risk by sticking around if she had nothing to gain?”
For the first time, Mills looked genuinely
pained, and she stared at her folded hands for a very long time.
“Detective?” I’d never seen her this hesitant. Finally, she looked up, and there were shadows in her eyes.
“It’s true what you told me, isn’t it? You never read your father’s will.”
“The only time I saw it was when you showed it to me.”
She nodded and looked back down at her hands.
“What?” I asked.
“Barbara did convince Ezra to increase the amount of money left to you in trust. She was telling the truth when she told you that. Here’s what she didn’t tell you: There was an unusual clause in the will. It must have been Barbara’s idea. According to Clarence Hambly, your father had it inserted into the will about six months before he died. This would have been after they started sleeping together, Ezra and Barbara. But Ezra changed his mind. Hambly says that he intended to have the clause removed. Maybe he understood what an incentive it could be.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I think your father came to sense just how dangerous your wife could be. I don’t know this, Work, but I feel it. I think at the end he understood. He saw that it put you at risk. Your father asked Hambly to draw up new documents; they had scheduled a meeting so that he could sign them. Barbara killed him before he could make the change official.”
“What did it say, this clause?”
I heard Mills’s breath, and when she looked up, she was the most human I’d ever seen her. Her voice was flat, but I saw that this hurt her. “In the event of your death, the fifteen million would go into trust for any offspring you had. Barbara would be the executor of that trust and would have almost unlimited discretion in how to use the money.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, but then I did. “Barbara’s pregnant,” I said.
Mills could barely look at me. “She was pregnant, Work. She miscarried yesterday.”
CHAPTER 35
Douglas stopped by once; he hung in the door until I saw him, then offered a smile that played more like a grimace. The skin was loose beneath his eyes and under his chin. He looked like hell. He tried to apologize, and explained that it was just his job, nothing personal; but he shied from my eyes, and, unlike Mills, he didn’t mean a word he said. He’d sunk his teeth into me and liked the taste of it. I’d seen it in court, and in the way he smiled when the bailiffs put the cuffs back on me. Any regret was born of embarrassment, and the knowledge that another election was just around the corner. For even in Rowan County, no voter liked a fool, and the papers had crucified him. He told me that he wouldn’t prosecute me for attempting to destroy evidence, then looked away and said that, nonetheless, it was his duty to report my behavior to the state bar. We both knew that such a report would result in my eventual disbarment. But the thought of that didn’t bother me in the least, and he looked surprised when I told him not to worry about it. When he attempted another smile, I suggested he have a nice day, then told him to get the fuck out of my hospital room.
