In Hope's Shadow

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Back at their desks, the last thing Seth said was, “The kid may have the innocent act down, but he still looks good for this. Given that the victim accused him. Sort of a voice from the grave.”

  Ben grunted. Unfortunately, Seth was right. That still didn’t mean Ben wouldn’t be checking up on other neighborhood teenagers who may have held a grudge against the man no one liked, as well as talking to any family he could track down. Damn it, they might even find Rowe actually did belong to something like the Eagles Club or Veterans of Foreign Wars and therefore had, if not friends, at least friendly acquaintances. People who knew more about him and his history.

  And no, Ben told himself, he wasn’t considering other possibilities besides Joel Kekoa to placate Eve.

  * * *

  EVE WASN’T ENTIRELY surprised when she heard the intercom buzz that evening, or that it was Ben who wanted to be let in.

  She pushed the button to release the front door lock, then waited for his knock.

  “Hope this isn’t too late,” he said when she opened her door.

  It was eight-thirty, long past dinnertime, but she hadn’t been thinking about getting ready for bed yet.

  “No, this is fine.” She backed away, feeling too tense for a kiss, assuming that’s what he intended. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “Thanks.” He followed her to her small kitchen, leaning a hip against the counter and watching as she operated the coffeemaker and took down two mugs. When she didn’t say anything, he did. “I spent the evening canvassing Clement Rowe’s neighbors.”

  “Are you going to tell me what you learned?” she asked, trying for polite.

  “Nothing that’s any help to Joel.” When she whirled around to face him, he shook his head. “Nothing bad about him, either.”

  “In other words, a big, fat nothing.”

  “No, I tracked down other teenagers who live nearby, but none sent up a flare for me. The neighbor who lives directly behind Rowe’s house had a squabble with him last month over a fence. Sounds like they almost went to court over it, but the neighbor decided the headache of digging in to claim the extra six inches of ground he thinks is his wasn’t worth hiring a lawyer, so he swore a lot, moved his fence posts and made sure the slats blocked all view of his backyard from Rowe’s side.”

  “That was mature.” When defending territory, people rarely were, from what she’d heard. Think how many wars had been fought over not much more than that six inches of ground.

  “Mostly, people shrugged and sounded tolerant. The guy was cranky and considered a little loony. Parents warned their kids to stay away from his yard.”

  The coffeemaker burbled, but she ignored it. “What about Rod Carter and his family? Did you talk to them?”

  “Of course I did.” Ben’s face was unreadable. “They’re shocked. Carter showed me where the sports equipment is stored in the garage. Snowboards and skis on an overhead rack, plus an inflatable yellow raft for the river.”

  She nodded. Joel had told her about some good times he and Rod had had, floating down the river when it was low midsummer.

  “He’d built a crude bin that held everything from an ancient lacrosse racket—no,” he corrected himself, “Carter called it a stick and said he played in college—to balls, bats, tennis rackets, mitts.” Ben shrugged, his eyes watchful. “Front door key works on the side door into the garage, too.”

  “And you know I didn’t have Joel give back the key the night I removed him from the home, even though I should have.”

  “I do know that, but it really doesn’t make any difference, Eve. The kid might very well have several. You can’t tell me in three years he hasn’t lost a key, then found it later after Rod had already made him a replacement.”

  She couldn’t argue, since she’d thought the same thing. At least Ben hadn’t said that Joel had made copies specifically so he could get back in the house when he no longer lived there.

  “Gavin was really cooperative. He was out with friends Sunday evening. And, yes, I confirmed that. Once he was home, nobody in the house heard anything unusual overnight. Which isn’t surprising, since their garage is on that side of the house.”

  “Joel’s is the only bedroom that has a window looking out at Mr. Rowe’s house.”

  “Right. It’s a good possibility there wasn’t any noise to be heard if the killer got in the first swing before Rowe could get out a shout.”

  She crossed her arms. “So you’re confident Joel did it.”

  “I’m still investigating, Eve.”

  “But?”

  “Events have been building toward this. Every step of the way, Rowe accused Joel and only Joel.” His voice was hard, his logic relentless. “You tell me, Eve. If the other boy was pulling all that crap, why didn’t Rowe suspect him? What possible motive would Gavin have to go after the neighbor, given that they hadn’t had any major conflict?”

  To give herself a moment, she turned to pour the coffee. She was disturbed to see that her hand trembled.

  Finally, she drew a deep breath and faced Ben again, struggling for calm. “There are any number of reasons he could have had it in for Joel that weren’t based on anything Joel did. You know that. Mr. Rowe might have been prejudiced.”

  “Joel is Hawaiian, not black.”

  “You think that is a meaningful difference to the kind of person who judges on the color of your skin?”

  “You mean, there are people who don’t like Hispanics, either.”

  “News flash. There are plenty of people who don’t, Ben.” She didn’t dare pick up a mug and offer it to him. “You’re surely not that naive.”

  “No,” he said slowly. “I’m not.”

  “It’s also possible somebody made sure Mr. Rowe believed it was Joel who did all those things.”

  “You don’t mean ‘somebody.’ You mean Gavin.”

  Eve lifted her chin. “Yes. Why won’t you listen to me? Behind that charm, Gavin is sly at the very least.”

  “Do you have some evidence to back up that assertion? Or did you catch some fleeting expression on the kid’s face?”

  The fact that the answer would have been option number two didn’t negate her certainty.

  “I have two degrees that are focused on working with troubled children. On top of those, I’ve held my current job for almost five years. I know teenagers. Give me some credit here.”

  He gusted out a breath, bent his head and kneaded the back of his neck. When he straightened, his expression held weariness but also resolve.

  “Eve, I have to ask myself if your own history isn’t influencing you.”

  She froze.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I can’t help seeing echoes of your family. In a big way, Joel became the outsider once his foster father remarried. Gavin is the biological child.” If she’d thought him relentless before, that had been nothing. He held her gaze, his very blue eyes implacable. “Joel is darker-skinned than everyone else in the family. Anyone looking at them would know he’s adopted or a foster kid. In contrast, Gavin is blond, handsome, favored by his mother.” He paused. “Are you sure you’re not identifying unconsciously with Joel and seeing Hope in Gavin?”

  Everything she’d felt for this man crashed and burned in that instant. He had been judging all along, seen her as the misfit who resented the beautiful blonde daughter who belonged. She’d been fooling herself to so much as dream that he could feel anything lasting for her. She was such a jarring contrast to his beautiful blonde, blue-eyed daughter and his own gilded looks.

  Something changed in his face when he saw her shrink back, but she didn’t know or care what he thought. “Eve...”

  She might have remained speechless if rage hadn’t risen to overcome the pain. It enabled her to straighten her shoulders, to stare him down. “You
really believe I could be so shallow, so vengeful, I’d want an innocent boy to be accused of a brutal murder because he’s blond?” Except for the bite at the end, every word had been icy cold.

  Lines deepened on his face. “We’re all unconsciously influenced by things that have happened to us. Damn it, I had to ask!”

  “No, you really didn’t. Now I’m asking you to leave, Detective.”

  “Eve, don’t do this.”

  She didn’t let her gaze waver. “You’ve worn out your welcome.”

  “You’re misunderstanding me. This wasn’t about us.”

  “Oh, yes, it really was.”

  “I hurt your feelings, and I didn’t mean to.”

  Eve actually laughed. The sound wasn’t pretty.

  He flinched. “All right. I’m going, but we’ll talk again once you’ve cooled off.”

  He backed out of the kitchen doorway and she stalked past him, going straight to the door, which she opened. Ben grabbed his jacket off the back of the sofa, hesitated, then left without another word.

  She closed the door, locked the dead bolt and put on the chain. Back in the kitchen, she dumped out the coffee, unplugged the machine and turned out lights as she went to her bedroom.

  Not until she took out her toothbrush and made the mistake of looking at herself in the mirror did she break down.

  * * *

  WHAT DID I DO?

  The lights in her window went out. Stunned, Ben sat in his SUV outside Eve’s apartment building and tried to understand how he could have been such an idiot.

  Of course Eve wouldn’t identify with a boy like Joel to the extent of blinding herself to his viciousness. Of course she wouldn’t hate another boy—a sixteen-year-old kid—only because he was fair-skinned and blond like her sister.

  He closed his eyes, remembering how gentle and funny and natural she was with his own daughter, who bore more than a passing resemblance to Hope when she was snatched. He’d seen Eve hug Bailey, the way they’d teased each other, the warmth he hadn’t expected between them.

  He’d heard the way she talked about her “kids,” with affection, patience underlying even exasperation. She’d expressed worry about one girl she saw as a train wreck waiting to happen, frankly admitted that one boy had committed arson even though she kept fighting in his corner. She was too smart to delude herself about Joel if she had seen anything to give her so much as a qualm.

  She’d asked him once why he believed Officer Pruitt’s gut feeling instead of hers. Ben had no idea what he’d answered, but now he thought, I know Eve, and I don’t really know Ed Pruitt. They both wore a badge; he hadn’t heard anything bad about the guy, but he’d automatically taken his side instead of hearing what Eve was trying to tell him.

  This wasn’t the first time he’d sabotaged his relationship with her, but the agony in his chest told him there’d be no comeback this time. He couldn’t blame her. He’d just accused her of indefensible behavior. Why would she forgive him?

  A car pulled into the parking lot, the headlights sweeping over Ben’s SUV. Staring straight ahead, he was barely conscious of it passing him and turning into a slot not far from Eve’s car.

  Being this honest with himself felt like stripping off a few layers of skin. He did it anyway.

  Was he conflicted enough about where things were going with Eve that on a subconscious level, he’d actually been trying to sabotage the relationship?

  He groaned. Why would he do something that stupid? Because he really thought, with Nicole sending different signals lately, that he could get her back?

  Or he was afraid to fall in love again? Afraid to trust anyone not to hurt him, the way Nic had?

  Had believing he still loved Nicole felt safe to him, in some twisted way?

  He shook his head at that, even as he accepted the possibility. Maybe he’d liked to think of himself as steadfast. Or—shit—if he ever really made himself examine his marriage, he might start to wonder whether she’d ever loved him at all. Or had he just fulfilled her need for someone to give her what she craved—utter devotion?

  A sound broke from his throat. He sounded like a big-eyed puppy, endlessly loyal despite the occasional kick.

  Truth was, he’d accused Eve of being unconsciously influenced by her history, when he might be the one who really had been.

  Nice thought.

  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a minute. Where did he go from here?

  To his empty apartment, now filled with memories of making love to Eve on that sofa, her cooking with him in the kitchen, showering in his bathroom.

  Slowly, his mind cleared despite the pain in his chest, the knot in his belly.

  All right, if he believed in Eve, that meant he had to take what she’d said seriously. He needed to flip everything he thought he knew about Joel Kekoa, Clement Rowe and Gavin Shaffer upside down. Consider other possible motives. Other scenarios. For example, how did the bat get into Joel’s locker? Kids carried backpacks to school, not long, mysterious objects wrapped in black plastic. Could either he or someone else have put it there completely unseen?

  Not likely. So why hadn’t he been asking questions at the high school?

  Because, whatever I told myself and Eve about the investigation being ongoing, I did believe I’d already arrested the killer.

  Incredulity and disgust felt like a hard slap in the face. Damn, that’s what he’d been doing tonight: if he could undermine Eve as a credible character witness, his own opinion would be justified. And, hey, he’d be saved a lot of hassle pursuing this investigation.

  Ben refused to believe he was that man, but he had to prove it, to himself if not Eve.

  * * *

  A LOCAL AND very successful criminal attorney, Vivian Wilson had defended another boy on Eve’s caseload who had been accused of a crime, and gotten him off, too. Eve had been impressed with her dedication, a courtroom style that was about logic instead of theatrics, and the fact that she didn’t talk down to kids. What’s more, she’d just plain liked Vivian, who was model-thin and close to six feet tall. The one time they’d walked out to their cars together, Eve had had to scuttle to keep up with her long, confident stride, but could forgive her her stature.

  Since then, they’d had coffee a couple of times when their paths crossed at the courthouse, but maybe because both were so busy, hadn’t pursued a friendship.

  Vivian managed to fit her in that morning. She listened when Eve told her about Joel and agreed immediately to represent him, insisting she would do so pro bono. She then asked a million questions, jotting down notes on a yellow legal pad. Occasionally, without explanation, she circled a particular note and drew an arching line linking it to a previous note. From upside down, the lines began to look like a spider web.

  “I have an appointment in about ten minutes,” she said finally, “but right after that I’ll go over to juvie and talk to Joel. Then I’ll get in touch with the DA handling the prosecution and, of course, the investigators.”

  Eve grabbed her bag and rose to her feet. “I can’t thank you enough. Joel might have gotten lucky with a court-appointed attorney, but he might not have, too.”

  “I hate to admit it, but it’s a crapshoot,” Vivian agreed. “Frankly, unless the investigation turns up some better evidence than it has so far, I don’t foresee any difficulty in getting him released. Of course his fingerprints were on the baseball bat! It was his. Anyone at all could have put on gloves and used it to kill the victim. Evidence that Joel had been in the victim’s house, now, that would be a lot harder to explain when he denies ever entering.”

  “I spoke to the detective last night, and I think he’d have said if they’d found anything like that.” It was her first reference to having talked to Ben last night, and would be her last.

  Vivian held out her han
d. “Let’s talk later this afternoon. I may have new information for you.”

  They shook, and Eve departed, feeling a whole lot better where Joel was concerned. For herself...well, that was another story.

  Numb was the best she could hope for.

  * * *

  LOCKER ROOMS ALL smelled alike. Given the typical high ceilings and concrete floors, they sounded alike, too, with the clang of metal lockers, running showers, and voices calling across the cavernous space.

  Ben had taken a seat in the football coach’s office, one of several that opened off the boys’ locker room. Duct tape had been used to cover several slits in the vinyl of the chair. Coach Keefe’s own desk chair wasn’t in much better shape, but he wasn’t using it anyway. Instead, he half sat on his battered metal desk, one foot swinging, his beefy arms crossed, using the elevation to glare down at Ben.

  “You ever come out to a game?” he asked.

  “Yes, in fact, I have. I’ve made it to several home games each of the past couple years.”

  “Then you’ve seen Joel play.”

  “He’s in a class of his own at this level,” Ben acknowledged.

  “Yes, he is.”

  The glower hadn’t lessened. Ben suspected it served well to control hormone-ridden teenage boys.

  “Do you know what his greatest weakness is?”

  If Eve were to be believed, Joel didn’t have one. “No, I don’t,” Ben said politely.

  “He’s not aggressive enough.”

  Ben had to blink at that.

  “You heard me,” Coach Keefe growled. “Kid has all the physical ability in the world. He was blessed with the size to play pro ball if he wants. But the truth is, he worries about hurting someone. He knows every other player on the field is smaller and weaker. We’ve come a long way, but he still pulls back. I’m hoping at the college level he can let loose.” He shook his head. “I’m telling you flat out, there is no way Joel Kekoa took a baseball bat to a man’s head. It’s not in him.” His tight-jawed glower said, And that’s all I have to say.