Matthew got out of his car, leaving his briefcase behind, and walked toward the Golf as Lloyd got out, underdressed in just a pair of jeans and a ratty T-shirt.
“Hi, Lloyd,” Matthew said, trying not to smile nervously.
Lloyd looked suddenly surprised, as though he wasn’t adequately prepared for what he wanted to say. He shut the car door behind him and said, “Stay away from my wife.”
Matthew couldn’t stop himself from smiling, the words exactly what he had expected.
“What the fuck you smiling about?” Lloyd said. His face was flushed.
“I’m smiling because you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I know everything. I know what you’ve told my wife, and she’s going to tell the police everything. You’re fucked. I’m just here now to tell you to stay away from Hen, or you’re in even bigger trouble than you already are.”
Matthew felt a familiar sense of calm and elation come over him. He walked steadily toward Lloyd with purpose, watching Lloyd’s eyes shift back and forth, panicking, trying to decide what to do. When he was a step away Lloyd swung at him, a slow haymaker, hitting him inexpertly on the upper third of his left ear. Matthew grabbed Lloyd by his T-shirt—for some band called Scruffy the Cat—then put his right foot behind Lloyd’s legs and pushed him backward, holding on to the T-shirt so that he wouldn’t go down too hard on the pavement. Once he was on the ground, Matthew kneeled on his chest, pushing Lloyd’s right arm down and using his other hand to press against the side of Lloyd’s face. This left Lloyd’s left arm free, and he grabbed hold of Matthew’s neck, scratching at the skin just beneath his hair. It didn’t hurt that much, and Matthew thought that Lloyd had probably clipped his nails recently and how that was a good thing. He leaned harder on Lloyd’s chest, being careful to not break anything, until Lloyd passed out from lack of air.
Matthew stood, breathing heavily, pressing his hand against his neck where Lloyd had scratched him. It felt like a minor scratch, slightly sticky where the skin might have broken, but it wasn’t too bad. He took two big gulps of air, then bent and pulled a hair from Lloyd’s head. Lloyd’s eyelids fluttered, and he began to cough. All Matthew would have to do was lean again on his chest, stay there this time, until Lloyd passed from this world to the next. It would be so simple and so satisfying. But instead, Matthew pocketed the hair, got back into his Fiat, and drove it around to the front of the school, parking in his usual spot. It was twenty minutes until his first class began.
Chapter 33
Hen had nearly called 911 about five times in the hour since she’d discovered Lloyd was missing, but each time she stopped herself, imagining the conversation.
Ma’am, how long has he been missing?
Just a few hours.
Is there any reason you can think of that he might have left? Had you two had a fight?
Yes. I found out he’s been having an affair for the past year.
Don’t you think, ma’am, that that might have something to do with the fact that he’s missing?
Well, let me tell you about the serial killer who lives next door . . .
Instead, she forced herself to make coffee and to eat a piece of toast, then went to the porch with her mug and her phone, telling herself she’d wait. He’d show up soon, even though part of her believed something really terrible had happened.
She was on the cusp of calling 911 again when she decided to call Detective Martinez in Cambridge instead. She’d mentioned his name to the local detectives investigating Scott Doyle’s death and figured that maybe he’d been updated. If he hadn’t, then she could tell him what was going on. His phone rang about six times, and just as Hen had decided he wasn’t going to pick up, there was a click and then his voice saying, “Hi, Hen,” almost as though they were old friends.
“Oh, hi, Detective,” Hen said. “Do you have a moment to talk?”
“I do. What’s up?”
“Did you hear about Scott Doyle, the man who got killed at the Rusty Scupper in New Essex?”
“Yeah, I definitely did. Couple of detectives each called me about it from there. Said you were an eyewitness and that you’d mentioned my name.”
“I saw the whole thing.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“It was Matthew Dolamore. I saw him as clearly as I’ve seen anyone, but that’s not exactly why I’m calling you.”
“Okay,” the detective said.
“Did you hear the rest? How I have a previous arrest for stalking a fellow student in college and claiming she’d attempted murder?”
“I did hear about that.”
“And that Matthew Dolamore and his wife now have a protective order out against me?”
“I’d heard they were going to apply for one.”
“Well, it got approved. Not that it’s stopped Matthew from coming to me. We’ve been talking, the two of us. And he’s told me everything. He told me how he killed Dustin Miller, and he told me how he killed Scott Doyle. He’s telling me because he thinks it’s safe, he thinks no one will believe me.”
“When did he tell you all this?”
Hen told him about their three meetings and everything that Matthew said, including the strange way in which he’d mentioned his brother the night before. She knew, as she was saying it, how crazy she must sound, but she kept going, telling it exactly as it had happened.
“I don’t suppose you taped any of these conversations?” the detective asked.
“He patted me down the first time we met. He’d thought of that as well. No, I didn’t. Look, thing is, what I’m worried about now is that my husband’s missing.”
“Your husband’s missing?”
“Since this morning. I told him everything I just told you last night, and I got up this morning and he’s gone, and the car’s gone, and his cell phone is here. I’m worried he went after Matthew himself. I’m kind of freaking out, if you want to know the truth.”
“Okay, Hen, calm down. When was the last time you saw him?”
“He was here last night. When I woke up he was gone.” Hen decided that it wasn’t the best time to talk about Lloyd’s infidelity. “I was going to call 911, but I know that he’s not officially missing at this point.”
“No, it’s good that you called me first, Hen.”
She didn’t like the way he kept using her name; it reminded her of times she’d been hospitalized, times when a counselor or a therapist was trying to make a connection with her. It made her feel like he was coddling her the way he’d coddle an insane person.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” she said.
“I don’t know what to believe,” he said after a pause. “That’s the best I can do for you. But it doesn’t look good for you, I have to say. From what I heard, he has a pretty solid alibi for the night of Scott Doyle’s death.”
“From his wife.”
“Yes, from his wife.”
“She must be lying for him. She’s his wife—doesn’t that make you doubt her alibi? Just a little bit?”
“She could be lying, yes. But so could you, and that’s the problem. You have a history of lying in a similar situation.”
Hen, realizing that this call was futile, almost hung up. But she took a deep breath and said, “Okay. We don’t need to have this argument. I know how it looks, and I know how I look. But for the record, I just want to tell you that Matthew Dolamore has killed several people, including Dustin Miller and Scott Doyle. I know this for a fact. I know that my testimony will never matter, but there has to be other evidence. There has to be.”
“Okay, we’ll—”
“And one more thing. Check out his brother. He said his name was Richard. Matthew claims that they both got messed up by their parents, but that Richard kills women, not men.”
“He told you that his brother has killed people?”
“No, actually, he didn’t say that. He seems to think his brother is like him, and if he started to kill people, he would kill women, not
men. That’s what he told me. He seemed worried, like maybe his brother had actually done something already.”
“I’ll look into it, Hen, okay?”
“You’ll call me if anything changes, or if you find out anything?”
“Of course. And you can call me again if you think of anything else, and let me know if your husband doesn’t show up.”
As he was saying the words, Hen watched as a gray Golf came down the street, slowly pulling into their driveway.
Deciding not to mention this to the detective, she said, quickly, “Thanks for listening to me, Iggy,” using the name he’d asked her to call him, even though it sounded strange in her own mouth. She hung up.
As Lloyd got out of the car, Hen went and stood at the edge of the porch, watching him through the screen. All the worry she’d had about his safety had suddenly dissipated, and now she was just angry again. Angry at his affair. Angry that he’d made her worry about him this morning.
“What the fuck?” she said, as he took the stairs up toward the porch.
“Sorry, I . . . I, uh, left suddenly.”
“You didn’t take your phone. I was freaking out.” Lloyd had come through the door now, and Hen saw how pale he was, how scared his eyes looked. “What happened? You okay?”
“I followed him. I followed Matthew to his school, just because I wanted to talk with him . . . Can we go inside? I’m so cold.”
Once inside, she saw the way he was holding his right hand, trying to flex it, and she asked, “Did you two fight?”
Lloyd told her the story, how he had followed Matthew to Sussex Hall, and how Matthew had incapacitated him.
“Where? In the parking lot?”
“It was at the back of the main building. He drove there and parked, I think, because he knew I was following him.”
“You hit him first?”
“I did, although I think I hurt myself more than I hurt him. He was so calm. He just pushed me to the ground and kind of sat on me, and I . . . I thought I was going to die. Everything went black, and I thought he was killing me, and all I could think about . . . all I could think about was you.”
He was crying again, and Hen, despite not really wanting to do it, put her hand on his back and told him that it sounded scary. “Do you want to try and talk to the local police?”
“No. I don’t. It wouldn’t do any good. I was the one who followed him, and I was the one who hit him first. All he’d say was that he was defending himself. No, I’ve been thinking about it. I think we should just leave here. I’ll call my office and tell them I’ve had an emergency and need to take some time off. We could get in the car and drive somewhere. What about up to Maine? We could go back to that place in Bar Harbor and spend a week. Work on our marriage. What?”
Hen was shaking her head. “I don’t know, Lloyd. We’d still have to come back here. Besides, I don’t know yet if I want to work on our marriage.”
“Then we’ll get separate rooms and at least we won’t be here. I know I sound like a coward, but I don’t care. I now believe he’s dangerous—”
“Right, you now believe he’s dangerous because you experienced it yourself. You didn’t believe it when I told you I literally witnessed him killing someone. You weren’t suggesting a vacation then.”
“I’m not suggesting a vacation, Hen. I’m suggesting that you and I go away to protect ourselves. And while we’re away we can figure out what’s going on between us.”
Hen noticed Vinegar on the couch, licking a paw and cleaning an ear while they argued. He saw her looking at him and stopped what he was doing, stared back at her, then yawned.
“I have work,” Hen said. “I have deadlines still for this book, and I need to get to my studio.”
“Fuck that,” Lloyd said.
“You can go if you like. In fact, I think you should. It would make the most sense. Besides, it would be good for us to spend some time apart.”
“I’m not—”
“Lloyd, I don’t know if I even want you here. At all.”
“You can’t make me leave, not with him living next door. I’ll move into the guest room if you want. I don’t need to talk with you. I get it that you’re pissed at me. I’m pissed at me. But I’m not leaving, not till he’s behind bars.”
“Who knows if that will ever happen?” Hen said. “I’m not a reliable witness. Neither are you. He has an alibi. He’s our neighbor, for better or for worse, right now.”
“Then we’ll move,” Lloyd said.
Hen was suddenly exhausted. Just the thought of it—the thought of trying to save this marriage, the thought of trusting Lloyd again, the thought of looking for a new place to live, a new studio—it all exhausted her beyond comprehension. “What do you think, Vinegar?” she said to the cat. “Want to move?”
He started cleaning his other ear, flattening it back against his skull with his paw.
“I’m not talking about moving right now, but eventually, if he’s never arrested. But I still think we need to leave and go on a trip. Right now. It’s too dangerous. You’re coming with me, Hen. I don’t care if you don’t want to do it yourself. You need to do it as a favor for me.”
“As a favor for you?” Hen said, laughing. “Okay, this conversation is officially ended. I need to go to the studio and get work done. You can stay here, or you can go to work, or you can drive up and watch the leaves change in Maine. I don’t care either way.”
“If you’re going to the studio, then I’m going with you.”
“That’s not going to happen, Lloyd. Sorry, it’s not. You’re going to be in a lot more danger staying here than I’m going to be in at my studio.”
Lloyd lowered his brow. “What do you mean by that?”
“I just don’t think he’s going to hurt me. We’ve gotten to know each other. Trust me on this.”
“I actually do think you’re losing your mind, Hen. I think there’s something seriously wrong with you. Are you taking your meds?”
“Fuck you, Lloyd. Why don’t you go to Joanna’s house and stay there. Call her up and have her come get you. I’m going to the studio because I have work to do.”
She walked into the kitchen and grabbed the car keys off the wall. Then she stood for a moment, thinking about what Lloyd had just said about her losing her mind. So many of the large emotional moments of her life related to her mental health, but this wasn’t one of them. Even though some of the symptoms were the same—racing thoughts, paranoia, a sense of dread—she knew what she knew. This is real, she wanted to tell Lloyd. I know exactly who Matthew is, and my condition has nothing to do with it.
She went back out to the living room, wondering if Lloyd would try to physically stop her, but all he said as she passed by him was “I’ll be here when you get home.”
As Hen went out the door, she said, “I really hope you’re not.”
Chapter 34
With Lloyd’s strand of hair still in his chino pocket, Matthew drove toward Country Squire Estates. It had been a long, miserable day of teaching, but he had gotten through it. One thing about spending your day with teenagers was that they were so consumed by their own internal dramas that they were oblivious to the fact that the adults had problems of their own. There were exceptions, of course. Katrina Benedict, motherly before her time, told him that he looked tired. “There’s something going around, Mr. Dolamore. Are you achy?” And Jason Khoury was the only one who noticed the red welts toward the back of Matthew’s neck, just under the hairline. He asked Matthew if he was okay.
“I woke up with it,” Matthew said. “Probably had a nightmare and scratched myself.”
It wasn’t rush hour yet, but the traffic was heavy along Route 2A. He’d already swung by Gifford’s Farm, the closed ice-cream stand where he’d buried Michelle’s keys and phone. He knew how reckless it was to visit there in daylight, let alone go back to Michelle’s apartment complex, but he was determined to leave evidence that implicated Lloyd Harding, even if it didn’t stick. He�
��d pulled his car in behind the shuttered ice-cream place, relieved that there was no one else there, and after twenty minutes, he found the spot where he had buried Michelle’s keys and phone. It took him so long to find them he began to worry that maybe he’d imagined the whole thing, that he truly was losing his mind, but then he found the slightly loose rock and unearthed the keys. Holding them, his stomach twisted, and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick again. But the feeling passed and he got back into the car, the palms of his hands sweating and his mouth drying up.
Country Squire Estates was set about a hundred yards from the road, behind a line of pine trees. Matthew had already exited off Route 2A and was about to turn into the parking lot when he saw the two police cruisers parked close to the entrance to Michelle’s building. Even from a distance he could see a line of yellow police tape between the cars and the building. A uniformed officer stood by one of the cruisers, talking on his radio, and a small group of residents had gathered nearby, all talking. Matthew pulled into the lot of the Whole Foods market that was adjacent to the apartment complex, finding a spot and parking the car. He needed a moment to just think. He was too late, obviously, and wouldn’t be able to plant the hair. Part of him was relieved, mostly because it meant he didn’t have to enter that chamber of horrors again, didn’t have to smell all that spilled blood, but also because soon, one way or another, it would all be over. The important thing now was to get to Richard. He didn’t know what he was going to do when that happened, but he knew he had to see him before talking with the police. He needed to make some decisions.
Before She Knew Him Page 22
