There had been episodes of irrational behavior as the result of lingering post-traumatic stress, but none so terrifying as what occurred on the occasion of Tucker’s fourth birthday. That awful day when she left Roy and Tucker napping to run last-minute errands, only to come home and find Tucker locked in a closet, and Roy pacing the house with a loaded gun, drunk, and raving about shelling from the enemy. When she tried to reason with him, he angrily informed her that she was a fucking idiot if she didn’t realize they were at war in a country where even the women and children carried weapons. Couldn’t she see that he had secured their position to save her and their home? It took every ounce of her strength and diplomacy to convince him to hand over the key to the closet and scoop Tucker, eerily quiet, alarmingly covered in blood, into her arms.
Weary by then, and sobering, Roy slumped to the floor. He allowed her to take the gun, his old Colt service revolver that he’d carried in Vietnam, and to bring Tucker around the corner to Anna’s, where they found he was bleeding from a cut on the heel of his bare foot. When Emily asked how he’d gotten hurt, he only stared at her, eyes stunned, uncomprehending. He didn’t speak again for six days.
The single saving grace that came out of the whole ordeal was that it frightened Roy badly enough that he finally sought help. It wasn’t until after his six-week stay in the VA hospital that Emily found out Tucker inadvertently set off the whole tragic sequence of events when he wakened before Roy and went into the bathroom for a drink. It was the sound of the water glass exploding against the tile floor when it slipped from Tucker’s small hand that jerked Roy upright. Caught in the throes of one of his war dreams, the nightmare came with him as he rose, terrified, into an altered reality.
For him the house was a battleground, Tucker the enemy.
To this day, Emily couldn’t bear to think what might have happened had she not come home when she did. She would have taken the children and left Roy then, and he knew it. He stopped drinking entirely. He packed away his collection of guns, only getting them out again, years later, when Lissa and Tucker expressed an interest in learning to shoot. As a family, they took every recommended step, and eventually they mended. Normal life resumed.
A new normal, Emily thought now, scarred by a feeling that, as parents, she and Roy had failed Tucker, failed to protect him, to keep him safe. She flattened her palm on his back, remembering the awful days when he hadn’t spoken, remembering, too, the sore number of weeks that passed before he would stay even for a moment in the same room with his dad. Tucker’s trust had been broken, and it had made her heart ache, watching Roy work to regain it, watching his hope fade a bit more each day that Tucker didn’t reach out to him. They hadn’t forced it; they’d been advised to give it time. And then one day, Tucker wasn’t a little boy anymore, and Emily realized he wouldn’t ever reach out to either Roy or her in the way that small children do again. They were out of time.
She rubbed a circle between Tucker’s shoulder blades. “Maybe I’m wrong, and it isn’t Revel who’s calling your dad. She did tell me she was going back to Oklahoma, where her folks live. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Emily didn’t know why she was saying any of this when she knew perfectly well Revel was the caller, and while Revel had made a promise about leaving Texas, Emily had no real hope she’d kept it.
Tucker didn’t look as if he believed it, either. He said he didn’t really care anymore what Revel did.
“The trouble with people like her is that when you give in to them, it’s only the beginning.” Emily repeated a line from the lecture Joe had given her when she’d called him for advice after Revel made a second, nerve-jangling demand for more money. He’d gone with her to meet Revel, and flashed his badge at her, warning her not to contact Emily or Tucker again or there would be legal consequences, all of which was completely false. Even Emily knew Joe acted outside his authority. He claimed it was nothing, but Emily was still angry at herself and at Tucker that Joe had put his career in jeopardy for them.
She wanted Tucker to know this, to know the cost of his actions to others.
But neither Tucker, nor Lissa for that matter, knew much about Joe. Emily’s friendship with him was hers, her island of peace, the ribbon of sanity she could hold fast to through the hard times, the times of calamity. It didn’t diminish her love for Roy; in fact, she thought it might make it possible.
She met Tucker’s gaze again. “Let’s just hope she’s gone, okay?”
Tucker blinked up at the porch ceiling. “Yeah, because I’m dead if Pop finds out about this on top of everything else. He’ll never give me another chance.”
He sounded so despondent Emily put her hand on his knee. She felt an urgency to ask, to press: What about Jessica? Who do you think killed her? Will the police be back? What are you going to do with yourself? She wanted to have it out once and for all, but she knew that nothing with Tucker was ever once and for all.
She surprised herself when she opened her mouth and all that came out was that she hoped he wouldn’t leave again. “At least, if you do,” she added, “I hope you’ll stay in touch. It’s scary when you disappear, Tucker.”
He said he knew it and promised he’d do better.
“I feel as if our family is falling apart,” she said, and she was sorry for it when her voice caught, when tears stung the undersides of her eyelids.
Tucker slipped his arm around her shoulders. “It’s not, Mom. We’re fine, okay?”
Emily hugged herself. “You mean everything to me, you, Lissa, Evan and Dad.”
Tucker tightened his grasp. “I know,” he said. “Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen to our family.”
Emily felt an urgency to put her arms around him, to gather him into her embrace and hold on to him, but she resisted it, still aggravated and worn out, and even when a small, wise voice in her brain advised her she would regret it, she sat with her arms folded.
7
THE NEXT MORNING when Lissa fainted, it happened suddenly. She sat down on the side of the bed to tie her bootlaces, and the next thing she knew she opened her eyes to find herself lying facedown on the floor. It took her a few moments to realize that she had passed out—for the second time in as many weeks. She rose slowly onto her knees, blood throbbing on the right side of her face, black dots eating the margins of her vision. She was thankful she was alone. Evan had left for work, and Tucker wasn’t coming by with the floor tile until later.
Checking the clock, she didn’t think she’d been out long, less than a minute, she guessed. Still, it wasn’t as easy to ignore this time. If Evan were here, he’d probably take her to the emergency room, and maybe he’d be right. Using the mattress, she levered herself to her feet and went into the bathroom. The pain in her head was hot and searing, and she fumbled through the contents of the medicine cabinet, finally finding the Advil, helping herself to three.
Cathy, the receptionist at Dr. White’s office, was new and seemed only superficially interested when Lissa explained she’d been a patient from the time she was six and that she was suffering recently from continual headaches. It wasn’t until she mentioned fainting dead away that Cathy perked up.
“When?” she asked.
“A little while ago. It wasn’t for long, and I feel okay now. Maybe a bit woozy, but I haven’t had anything to eat yet.” Not since the cake last night, Lissa thought, which, unlike the hamburger and fries, she had managed to get down for her mother’s sake.
“Is this the first time?”
“No,” Lissa said. “It happened one other time, week before last. It was nearly the same experience. I got out of bed and keeled over. My husband was with me. He said I wasn’t out more than a minute.”
“Can you come in later this morning? Say around 10:45?”
Lissa said she would be there.
Evan was already out at the site when she called to s
ay she’d scheduled the appointment. She didn’t mention that she’d passed out again. He’d only worry, and she might as well wait until she knew something definite. “I’m going to come in to the office, but I have an errand to run first, if you won’t miss me for another half hour or so.”
“I always miss you, babe,” he said.
“Uh-oh. What did you do?” she teased.
He laughed. “I’m just glad you made the appointment. Tucker and I had a plan to drag you there if you didn’t.”
“Not necessary.”
“What’s the errand?”
“Diane Merrill called and asked me to drop by.” It wasn’t implausible as invented stories go. Lebay-Winter was building Diane and Doug Merrill’s house, and the Merrill’s were also friends. Diane was a close enough friend that she would cover for Lissa if she asked.
“Is there a problem?” Evan asked.
“No, I don’t think so. They got the tub install done yesterday. She wants me to look at it.” Lissa bit her lip; she hated lying, but Evan would argue if she told him the truth.
“Why? Because it’s butt ugly?”
Lissa laughed. “I guess that means you aren’t going to be happy when I tell you I ordered one just like it for our bathroom. Black porcelain with gold fixtures. I’m thinking of repainting the walls, too. A nice dark shade of red? What do you think?”
“You’re a funny girl,” Evan said. “Tell Diane hi for me. Maybe she and Doug will want to get together later this week. We could grill steaks or something.”
“I’ll ask,” Lissa promised, but by the time she got into her truck she’d forgotten all about the Merrills. She didn’t give much of a thought to whether or not she ought to be driving, either. She felt fine; she would be fine, she had to be.
* * *
At the Lincoln County sheriff’s office, when Lissa said who she was and that she was there to talk to Detective Sergeant Garza about her brother, Tucker Lebay, the duty officer, a woman this morning, picked up her phone and spoke to someone—Garza, Lissa guessed—and then said Lissa should follow her. They went through the door behind the duty desk into a cavernous room crammed with an assortment of battle-scarred desks. A row of tall, metal filing cabinets was pushed against a far wall, blocking most of the natural light that came through the only windows.
Phones rang in discordant harmony. Overhead, wire cages housed light fixtures that buzzed and sputtered.
The room smelled vaguely of mold and sweat, of burned coffee and stale fast food, with an undercoating of fear, of boredom and hopelessness. Lissa’s pulse hammered in her ears. She wondered how anyone could stand working here, day after day, up to their neck in other people’s despair.
Garza walked out of a cubicle in one corner to meet them, and the duty officer muttered something unintelligible, and left.
“What can I do for you this morning, Mrs. DiCapua?” Garza dropped into her desk chair.
Lissa perched on the edge of the only other chair, a wood-seated relic that looked as if it had come out of the schoolroom. “I came to talk to you about my brother.”
Garza sat back and crossed her arms. She was dressed again in gray, a suit jacket over a starched white oxford shirt. Her chin-length dark hair was neatly tucked behind her ears. Besides the skirt and low heels, the only concession to her sex was her lipstick, a shade of deep red-brown, the color of mahogany.
“I don’t want to cause trouble for Tucker.” Lissa kept Garza’s gaze, trying to get a read on her mood, but the detective was as inscrutable this morning as she had been yesterday. Lissa had no clue how to play this, how to get across what she needed to, whether she even could.
“You and your brother are close?”
“He’s a good guy. But sometimes he doesn’t exercise the best judgment.”
“How do you mean?”
“I didn’t really come here to talk about him.”
“But you just said—”
“I know.” Lissa touched her right temple; the pain was centered there and fanned out behind her eyes. Her mouth felt dry. She wondered about asking for some water. Suppose she passed out again? Suddenly, she didn’t know why she had come, what she hoped to accomplish. “I didn’t know Jessica, but I knew Miranda, and I just wanted you to know that Tucker really loved her. He wouldn’t have hurt her. I thought maybe he didn’t explain it.”
“Were you and Ms. Quick friends? Did she confide in you?”
“Not friends exactly. We lived in the same neighborhood, but she was younger, Tucker’s age. My parents know her parents, though. When she and Tucker were in high school, Miranda was at our house a lot. Her folks still live a couple of streets over from ours, but you must know that.”
“Did she ever mention a man named Todd Hite to you? Did she ever say he threatened her?”
“You’re talking about the stockbroker. He did threaten her. It was in the paper. They quoted him, saying something like, ‘I’m going to get that bitch,’ only the word bitch was edited out. He thought she cost him his job and his broker’s license, that’s what the article in the paper said. But he was just blowing off steam, wasn’t he? Isn’t that what the police said? Isn’t that why you people cleared him?”
“We haven’t cleared anyone.” Garza’s gaze was penetrating. “Were you aware that Ms. Quick was working with us at the time on that case, involving Mr. Hite?”
“Really?” Lissa was taken aback. She said, “I heard that, but I—” She faltered to a stop. She couldn’t imagine Miranda in the role of an infiltrator.
“You didn’t know.” The tilt of Garza’s head, her narrowed eyes, suggested disbelief.
“No, it’s hard to believe.”
“What about your brother? Did he know?”
“When we talked about it he—” Lissa broke off, feeling set upon, somehow under fire. She had a sense there was some game being played, but only Garza knew the rules. She decided to turn the tables. “Was Todd Hite involved with Jessica?” she asked. “Is he a suspect now, in her murder, too?”
Garza bent forward, leaning her weight on her elbows. “These women were strangled, Mrs. DiCapua. Do you know what the experts say about strangulation? That there’s a sexual element to it. It’s a very personal way to kill someone.”
“So it’s true what they said on television. Jessica was strangled the same as Miranda.” Lissa straightened.
“Mr. Lebay’s relationships with these women were sexual, right? You would characterize them as personal, wouldn’t you?”
“What are you getting at?”
The detective waved her hand as if her meaning was of no consequence. “Your brother— So far he seems unable to account for his whereabouts on either occasion when these women were murdered.”
“He was in Austin when Jessica was killed. He has receipts.”
“Really? He didn’t mention those. Have you seen them?”
She hadn’t, she realized, but that didn’t concern her as much as the fact that Tucker hadn’t mentioned them last night when Detective Garza questioned him. “He was probably so stressed he forgot to tell you.” It was the only explanation she could think that made any sense. “But he has them,” she added.
“So he was in Austin when Ms. Sweet was murdered and in Dallas when Ms. Quick was murdered, but he’s got no witnesses. No one can vouch for him. And so far it appears he was the last person to see either of these women alive.”
“Have you questioned the band members he was with in Austin this past weekend?”
“We will if we can find them.”
“What do you mean? He’s given you their names and their phone numbers. Maybe I should contact them myself.”
“I would advise against that. Leave the investigating to the professionals—”
“My brother didn’t hurt these women, Detective.” Li
ssa persisted even though a part of her was appalled that she would continue to talk in the face of Garza’s apparent circumspection, if not her outright suspicion.
“Do you know that when we asked him if we could get a look inside his car yesterday, he told us it was in the shop for repairs?”
“It is. It broke down on the freeway when he was coming back from Austin.”
“You know this for a fact?”
“I know that’s what he told me, and I believe him.”
“We asked Tucker to bring the car by here when the repairs were done, we’d get a look inside then, but he refused. He told us to get a warrant.”
“That is his legal right, isn’t it?”
Garza nudged the edge of the desk blotter with a considering fingertip. “We’d like to see a little more cooperation, is all. You can tell him that, if you like.”
Lissa stood up, shouldering her purse. “I can see I wasted my time coming here, that you’ve already made up your mind. But just so you know? If you arrest Tucker, if you so much as bring him in here again, we’ll get a lawyer. We’re not letting you people grill him for hours on end like you did last time.”
“Who said anything about an arrest, Mrs. DiCapua?”
“Thanks for taking the time to talk to me, Detective Sergeant Garza.” Lissa headed for the door.
“My pleasure. I appreciate you coming in. Say—”
Lissa paused, turning to face Garza, brows raised.
“One more thing before you go—you don’t happen to know where your brother’s car was towed, do you?”
“Didn’t Tucker give you that information?”
“I wondered if you knew, Mrs. DiCapua.”
“I don’t. I’m sorry,” she said, and wondered why she apologized.
“Oh, no worries.” Garza’s smile was still in place, enigmatic, and lasted just enough longer to deepen Lissa’s alarm and her regret over the impulse that brought her here.
Safe Keeping Page 7
