A troubling thought occurred to me, and it made me weak in the knees. “Whoever attacked me last night obviously feels threatened because I’ve been asking too many questions. Other than Bridget getting the money, who else could have benefited from the lawsuit?”
Bob shrugged. “Believe me, I’d love to hear any ideas you might have.”
A surge of adrenaline rushed through me. “What about Kyle?” I said. “He was the gym teacher at the school, so he probably knew Bridget. Kyle was also in love with your wife. He wanted her, and the only way that would happen is if Rebecca divorced you. So he came up with a plan to tip the scale in his favor.”
Bob looked at me, bewildered. “Are you saying that Kyle put Bridget up to it? Why would she agree to that?”
“Maybe she harbored resentment because you kicked her off the team. You embarrassed her in front of all her friends,” I said.
Bob stared at the palms of his hands. “Jesus, I never considered it before. I mean, Kyle is a slime-ball, but I never would have thought he’d stoop that low.” He looked up at me with pleading eyes. “But, how can we prove it after three years?”
“Well,” I said, looking at Carter. “We can always pay him a visit and demand he take his shirt off.”
Bob said, “You think Kyle is the one who attacked you last night?”
“There’s only one way to find out,” I replied.
Chapter 21
It was almost 4:00 when Carter and I arrived in Newburyport.
Parked across the street from the condo complex, Carter and I watched unit 6 for a few minutes, trying to discern if the Lamberts were home.
“Do you know what kind of car Kyle drives?” Carter asked me.
“No, and I have no idea what car Rebecca drives either.”
“Well,” Carter said, opening the driver’s side door. “There’s no point in waiting around. Let’s go find out if they’re here.”
We rang the doorbell and waited. A few seconds went by and no one answered. “Maybe they’re still at work,” I said. “It’s only four.”
We were about to go back to the car, when the door opened and a woman smiled at us.
“Hello,” she said pleasantly.
“Hello,” I said, trying to match her sunny disposition. “Are you Rebecca Lambert?”
“Yes.” When her gaze fell upon my face, she winced slightly, but tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed that I resembled like a crash test dummy. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Sarah, and this is Carter. We’re sorry to bother you, but would you have a few minutes to speak with us?”
Rebecca Lambert was a beautiful woman in her early forties, with honey-blonde hair, green eyes, and a voluptuous chest that had probably been enhanced recently. I got the impression she liked showing off her assets, judging by the low-cut blouse she wore. “What’s this about?” she asked.
I showed her my credentials. “It has to do with your ex-husband, Bob.”
As she studied my license, she cocked an eyebrow. “Private investigators? What has Bobby done?”
“Where is your husband, Kyle?” I asked.
“Kyle is at work.” She glanced at her watch nervously. “He should be home soon.”
“Did he tell you I stopped by yesterday, and that he and I had a little chat?”
She shook her head. “No, he hasn’t mentioned it.”
“May we come in?”
Rebecca invited us into her house, a bit reluctantly, and gestured to the sitting area where I had chatted with Kyle the day before.
Once we were all settled, Rebecca folded her manicured hands in her lap and said, “Is Bobby in some kind of trouble?”
“This has to do with the lawsuit that happened three years ago,” I replied.
Rebecca inhaled a sharp breath. “How do you know about that?”
I paused to frame my next question, but in the end, I just decided to be blunt. “Do you think your husband molested Bridget?”
She looked away. “Honestly, I don’t know what to believe. Bobby and I were married for over ten years, and I thought I knew him.”
“You were having marital problems,” I said. “Even before the lawsuit, right?”
She nodded.
“Was Bob ever violent toward you?” I asked.
“No, but we fought all the time. He can get really angry when he doesn’t get his way.”
“But he never hurt you? Not once?”
“Never. Which is why I was so surprised that he molested that girl. I guess I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe Bridget had lied about the whole thing?” I asked. “She could have been retaliating for Bob kicking her off the soccer team.”
Rebecca seemed a bit flustered by the question. “Why would she lie about being raped? I mean, to come up with a story like that? Besides, I hate to admit it, but I met Bridget one time during one of the negotiation meetings with the lawyers. She didn’t strike me as being too bright. Certainly not bright enough to pull off a scam like that.”
“I agree with you,” I said. “Which is why we think she had some help.”
Rebecca furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”
“Your husband Kyle was the gym teacher at the high school at the time. We think he might have convinced Bridget to bring allegations against Bob, and probably coached her every step of the way.”
Rebecca opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing.
“Look,” I said in a soothing tone. “I know that you and Kyle were having an affair months before the divorce. He was in love with you. He wanted you to leave Bob, so he could have you all to himself. He needed Bob to do something awful to make you want to leave him.”
She shook her head. “Are you crazy? Kyle would never do something like that.”
“Love makes people do crazy things,” I replied. “But think about it. Kyle’s plan worked because you did leave Bob, didn’t you? But I have a feeling deep down that you know Bob didn’t molest that girl; otherwise, why would you give him custody of your only daughter?”
“Kelly and I have never been close. I guess I’m not much of a mother because I never wanted to be one. Having kids was all Bob ever wanted. He wanted a big family. But after we had Kelly, I knew it was a mistake. I realized that being a mom wasn’t my thing. Anyway, when we got divorced, she demanded to live with her father.” A hint of sadness stirred in her emerald eyes. “She hates me for leaving him.”
“Did you ever tell your daughter about the lawsuit?”
“No. That was part of the deal. Bob said he’d grant me a divorce if I promised to never tell our daughter about the lawsuit.”
Carter cleared his throat and addressed Rebecca. “Ms. Lambert, the reason we’re here is because of Kyle. Can you account for his whereabouts last night between the hours of nine and eleven o’clock?”
Rebecca stiffened. “He was home with me all evening. Why do you ask?”
Carter gave her an impatient glance. “C’mon. You don’t need to protect him. Just tell us the truth.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” she said, her voice getting louder. “He got home from work yesterday around five-thirty. We went out for dinner, got home around eight-thirty. We watched a movie in bed until eleven.”
Carter and I exchanged a worried glance.
When I turned back to Rebecca, I said, “Do you see my face? Someone broke into my apartment last night and beat the crap out of me. Whoever it was must have been very upset that I’ve been asking questions about this lawsuit.”
Rebecca lifted her chin indignantly. “Well, I can promise you it wasn’t Kyle. He was with me all night.”
“Did you fall asleep during the movie? He could have left for an hour and you’d never know.”
She blinked in agitation. “No. I mean, yes, I fell asleep, but just for a bit. Certainly, I’d know if he’d been gone for any length of time.”
“Did you notice any marks on his body this morning? O
n his shoulder or his chest? Did you find any traces of blood in the sink or shower? Tissues in the trash with blood on them?”
“No, of course not,” she said, clearly annoyed. “And frankly, I don’t like these insinuations you’re making. My husband would never, and I mean never, hit a woman. It’s ludicrous.”
“I’d really like to take your word for it,” I said. “However, your testimony won’t really matter once the police get the results back from the blood he left at the crime scene. If convicted, attempted murder could land him in jail for twenty years.”
Rebecca swallowed hard. “Look, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Whoever did that to your face, I swear it wasn’t Kyle.”
“How can you trust him? He didn’t even mention to you that I came here to visit him yesterday. I highly doubt he’d forgotten to tell you.”
“Maybe he didn’t want me to worry about it,” she said, but I could tell by the hollowness in her voice that she only half believed it.
At that moment, we all heard the front door open and the sound of keys being tossed on the counter.
“That must be Kyle home from work,” Rebecca muttered with a frantic expression.
“You have a choice,” I told her in a low voice. “You can ask him about last night yourself, or Carter and I will do it. What do you want to do?”
When Kyle walked into the sitting room, he stopped in his tracks when he saw me sitting on his couch. He was wearing the same style warm-up suit with sneakers. He was about to say something, but instead, turned to look at his wife. “What’s going on here, Rebecca?”
She stood up and rushed over to him. “Sweetheart, I’m sure this is all a big misunderstanding, but did you go out last night after nine o’clock?”
“You know that I didn’t,” he said. “We were watching a movie in bed, remember?”
“Yes,” she replied. “But these people are convinced that you did that to her face. And they want me to ask you if you have any wounds on your chest.”
Kyle turned away from his wife, and his white sneakers squeaked as he took a few steps toward me. He leaned over to get a better look at my injuries. “How could you possibly think it was me who did that to you?” he said calmly.
I looked him in the eyes. “Because you were the one who convinced Bridget to file the lawsuit, right?”
Kyle laughed. “That’s the most absurd thing I ever heard. How could I possibly convince anyone to do something like that?”
“I’m not exactly sure, yet,” I said, staring into his eyes. “But you had motive because you were in love with Rebecca. You wanted her to leave Bob. Apparently, you were willing to ruin Bob’s life to get what you wanted.”
Kyle turned to his wife. “You don’t actually believe what this woman is saying, do you?”
Rebecca shook her head no, but there was something in her eyes that said maybe she wasn’t so sure. “Maybe you should take off your shirt,” she said to him. “Prove these people are wrong about you.”
Kyle blinked at her in complete shock. “You don’t believe me?”
“Of course, I believe you, honey,” she said, reaching her hand out to him. “But they don’t.”
Kyle turned back to Carter and me and pointed to the door. “I want you both to get out of my house, right now.”
“Sweetheart,” Rebecca said to him in a sweet, motherly voice. “Just take off your shirt and show them that they are wrong. And then they’ll leave and never bother us again, okay darling? Please?”
Kyle didn’t seem to hear his wife’s pleading as he took another step toward me. “Why are you trying to turn my wife against me? What did I ever do to you?”
“Maybe you should listen to your wife,” I said. “She wants this to end.”
Kyle didn’t seem to know what to do as he stood there in a daze. For a second, I thought he might try to make a run for it. If he did, Carter was there to grab him, and Kyle probably knew it. Finally, Kyle rolled his eyes and started to unzip the jacket of his jogging suit.
I held my breath. The room was quiet as all eyes pointed to Kyle. I noticed his expression was more placid than it should have been.
I was so convinced that his exposed chest would reveal the gash where I’d stabbed him with the letter opener, and the bite marks on his shoulder. But when Kyle removed his undershirt, I nearly choked on my own saliva.
No marks, no wounds, no bruising of any kind. Just a muscular chest and perfect, tanned skin. I thought maybe he’d used some make-up to disguise the marks, but I soon realized that wasn’t the case. He was not the man who attacked me.
Rebecca was the first to speak up. She was clearly relieved as she bounced over to her husband and threw her arms around him. “I knew you were innocent, honey. I never doubted it for a second.”
Kyle seemed very proud of himself as he tilted his head to me. “I suggest you leave now. And don’t ever bother me or my wife again, hear me?”
Carter and I didn’t say a word as we got up and walked to the door.
* * *
“Shit,” I said to Carter as we drove back to Bridgeport. “I was so positive that Kyle was our man.”
“Maybe he still is,” Carter said. “Maybe he hired someone to rough you up.”
“You really think he’d do that?” I said. “It would have to be someone he trusted with his life.”
“Or someone who has the same goal of keeping the truth hidden.”
“We need to find Dana Clark, the supposed witness listed in Bridget’s testimony.”
Carter pulled over to a fast food burger joint and parked. “I’m starved. Let’s eat, and I’ll make some calls. Maybe Dana still lives in the area, if we’re lucky.”
Chapter 22
The last known address for Dana Clark led us to a small apartment building on the south side of Bridgeport near a cemetery. It was almost six-thirty when we rang the doorbell. A frail-looking woman appeared behind a screen door. “Yes?” she asked. Her voice sounded like a wounded bird with a lisp.
“Hello, ma'am,” Carter said in his official-sounding tone. “We're looking for Dana Clark. Does he live here?”
The woman slowly shook her head. “Nope. He hasn't lived here in years.”
“Do you know where we can find him?” Carter asked.
“No idea. He moves around a lot.” She wiped her hands on her baggy sweatshirt. “Who wants to know?”
“We just want to talk to him,” Carter replied. “He's not in trouble or anything.”
The woman narrowed her eyes and chuckled. “Can’t fool me. That boy is always in trouble. In fact, the last time he stopped by, he stole a hundred bucks from my purse.”
“Are you his mother?” I asked gently.
She looked at me with her beady eyes, probably wondering how I got the shiner. “Yes,” she finally said. “I’m his mother. But if he owes you money, I won't be settling any of his bills. That boy's on his own. I wouldn't even bail him out of jail, should he find himself there. And he probably will at some point. The boy needs to be taught a lesson if you ask me.”
“What about his friends?” I asked. “Do you know any of their names?”
She rubbed her bony chin and shrugged. “He belongs to a boxing club somewhere in town. That boy is obsessed with boxing. Even broke his nose a few times, thinks he’s Muhammad Ali or something.”
“Wait,” I said, feeling a jolt of electricity run up my spine. “Did you say Dana had a broken nose?”
She bobbed her head up and down. “Yep. That’s right.”
“Would you happen to have a picture of Dana?” I asked.
The woman regarded me with curious eyes. “Sure, I guess I do. Hold on, I’ll go get it.”
When she returned and handed me the framed photo, I took one look at his face and let out a breath of satisfaction. “Well, would you look at this, Carter?”
The photo showed Dana Clark, aka Bridget’s boyfriend, holding up a trophy. He had a towel around his neck and some blood on his face, as if h
e’d just been in a boxing match.
“It’s Bridget's boyfriend,” I said. “I remember he had a crooked nose when I met him yesterday.”
“Bridget Charmaine?” the woman asked.
“Yes. How long has she and your son been together?”
“Since high school, I ‘spose. Maybe even eighth grade. Why?”
I handed the photo back. “Does the name Kyle Lambert sound familiar to you, ma’am?”
Her eyes lit up with recognition. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Mr. Lambert was Dana’s boxing coach in high school.”
I practically reached out and kissed the woman. “Are you sure?” I asked.
“Of course I’m sure,” the woman said. “It’s all Dana ever used to talk about back then. Heck, Mr. Lambert was like a God to him. Taught him everything he knew.”
I looked at Carter and smirked. “How much you wanna bet, Dana used me as his punching bag last night?”
Carter nodded and exhaled a sharp, agitated breath. He turned to the woman and asked, “Ma’am, do you have any idea where Bridget and your son are staying?”
She shrugged. “Your best bet is to check the trailer park. Last I heard, they were in number twelve. But that was months ago, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they were somewhere else by now.”
“Thank you, Ms. Lambert,” I said. “We really appreciate your help.”
* * *
The only trailer park in town was a dreary-looking compound called Hamlet Village, which was basically made up of half a dozen rows of trailers with weeds for lawns. Because of the damp weather, nobody seemed to be outdoors.
We found number 12 and parked out front of the shabby trailer with a rusted awning.
I pointed to the motorcycle in the yard. “That’s the bike he rode yesterday when he picked Bridget up from work. He must be here, or at least nearby.”
Carter checked his holster and opened his car door. “You should stay here,” he said. “Things might get ugly if this guy decides to test me.”
Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 3) Page 21
