Indefensible

by Pamela Callow

  She bit her lip. “Okay.”

  A flush rose in Penelope Barrett’s cheeks. She threw a look at Tabitha Christos. Do your job. Protect Lucy’s interests. But they all knew it wasn’t Lucy’s interests Penelope was trying to protect. It was Nick’s.

  Ethan held Lucy’s gaze. “What did your brother do by accident?”

  Lucy hesitated.

  “It’s okay, Lucy,” Tabby said. “We’re not here to judge your brother. We just want to know what happened.”

  She swallowed. “He accidentally took some money from my dad’s bank account.”

  Penelope Barrett’s eyes widened.

  Accident, my ass, Ethan thought. He tried not to show his skepticism.

  “And what did your dad do?”

  “He was really mad. He flew up to Toronto and told my brother he had to pay it back.”

  “When was this?”

  “In June.”

  “Was it a lot of money?”

  “Um…six hundred dollars.”

  Lucy’s grandmother’s eyes were fixed on Lucy.

  “So how did your dad expect your brother to pay it back?”

  “He told him he could crew for him on his boat this summer.”

  “So your dad was going to hire him?” Bribe him, more like it. Only way to get his kid on his “yacht.”

  “Yes. But Nick got a job instead. He earned all the money back.” Lucy stated this accomplishment with obvious pride, ignoring the fact that Nick had owed the money because he had “accidentally” stolen it.

  “Did he give the money to your father?”

  “Yes. But my dad got really mad.”

  All these “really mad” episodes of Randall’s weren’t reflecting too well on him. Penelope Barrett frowned. Ethan wondered when Lucy would figure that out. “When was this?”

  Lucy finally seemed to realize what the questions were leading to and she shrunk in her hoodie. “Yesterday.”

  “When you arrived.”

  “Yes.”

  Alarm flashed through Penelope Barrett’s eyes. But she held her tongue. Ethan suspected that she now was in information-gathering mode. It was obvious that some of Lucy’s admissions about Nick were revelations to her. He could tell she wanted to know as much as they did about what had happened at Cathy Feldman’s house in the hours before Elise Vanderzell’s death.

  “Tell us about the trip, Lucy. You drove from your home in Toronto to Halifax?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long did that take you?”

  “Two days. We stayed overnight in New Brunswick.”

  “Why didn’t you fly?”

  “My mum said she wanted to bring the car. It was easier to carry all our stuff and she was planning to do a lot of day trips.”

  “Did your mother do all the driving on the trip?”

  “Yes. Nick isn’t old enough to drive yet.”

  “Was she excited about her vacation?”

  Spending it in Halifax with her angry ex-husband and thieving fifteen-year-old son? Sounded like paradise. At least the weather had been good.

  “Sort of,” Lucy said. “She said she needed some time to recuper—”

  Tabby and Ethan exchanged a glance. Now they were getting somewhere. Tabby said, “Recuperate?”

  Lucy nodded.

  Tabby leaned forward. “From what?”

  Pink tinged Lucy’s cheeks. “She’d had some kind of thing done a few weeks ago and she’d been feeling sick ever since.”

  “You mean a medical procedure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you know what it was?”

  Lucy shook her head. She looked down at the table. Something that embarrassed her, Ethan thought. He wrote: Check with M.E. Two weeks ago: Cosmetic surgery? Breast implants? Elise was a woman in her forties. She could have had some kind of procedure for perimenopause. He remembered his mother had gone through something like that. He added to his notes: Or OB/GYN.

  Could the procedure have made her depressed? Or subjected her to hormones that caused mood swings?

  “So you go to Cathy’s house. What happened then?”

  “My dad came.”

  “Were you happy to see him?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “And what happened?”

  “They got in a fight.”

  “Who?”

  “My mum and dad.”

  “Why?”

  She looked away. “Because that’s what they always do.”

  “Was there a reason this time?”

  She shrugged, then picked at the edge of her sleeve. “My mother put Nick in a camp because he didn’t want to go sailing with my dad.”

  “So who got angry first?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “What did your father do?” Hit your mother? Smack your brother? Throw your mother off the balcony in the middle of the night?

  “He got in his car.”

  “And?”

  “My mother stopped him. They had another argument.”

  “What about?”

  Lucy shook her head, tears trembling on her lashes. “I don’t know,” she whispered. She swiped the sleeve of her hoodie across her cheek again.

  “Okay, Lucy, tell us what happened after your dad left.”

  “We were supposed to go out for dinner. But Mum was really upset. We ordered takeout and then she went to her room.”

  Tabby glanced at Ethan. “What did you do?”

  “I unpacked. We went and checked out this fountain. It had bubbles in it…” Her voice trailed off.

  “And then what did you do?”

  Lucy shrugged. “I watched some TV. Then I went to bed and did some writing.”

  “Writing?”

  She flushed. “I keep a journal. It’s kind of stupid.”

  “I kept one, too, when I was your age,” Tabby said. “It helped relax me.”

  Lucy nodded, her gaze inward looking. “Me, too.” Ethan wondered if she’d let him read it.

  “Did you go to sleep after that?”

  “Mum came in and kissed me good-night.”

  “How did she seem?”

  Ethan leaned forward. Depressed? Agitated? Suicidal?

  “Okay. She told me we could go to the waterfront and take a cruise tomorrow.” Her lip trembled again. She wiped her sleeve over her mouth. “Then I went to sleep.”

  “You’re doing a great job, Lucy. I know how hard this is for you.” Tabby patted Lucy’s sleeve. “We just have a few more questions. It’s really important you think hard about them, okay?”

  Lucy straightened in her chair, bracing herself for the moment she’d been so obviously dreading since she’d walked into the room.

  “When did you wake up?”

  “In the middle of the night.”

  “What woke you?”

  “I heard a noise. A—” she closed her eyes “—a thud.” She shuddered. “And it sounded like some people were running. Down the stairs. I didn’t know what to do. It was dark. So I turned on my light and looked into the hall. Nick’s door was open. I was going to go down the hallway and then I heard Nick shouting.

  “What did he say?”

  “‘Mum’s been hurt!’” She covered her face with her hands. Penelope Barrett leaned toward her, face stricken, and rubbed her back. “‘Mum’s been hurt!’” She looked up at Tabby. “I ran to the stairs because Nick’s voice was coming from downstairs. Then he shouted at me to call 911.”

  “And did you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where did you find the phone?”

  “I didn’t know where the phones were.” She glanced sheepishly at Ethan, as if she thought a police detective would judge her harshly for her lack of investigative skills. “I have an iPhone. So I ran back to my bedroom and called them.”

  “How did you remember the address?” Tabby asked. “You’d just arrived.”

  “I had the address in my backpack. That’s where my phone was. I was just lucky, I guess.”

 
“No. You were very smart,” Tabby said with a gentle smile. “Then what happened?”

  Lucy looked down at her hands. “I ran downstairs to find Nick and Mum.”

  “What did you see?”

  “Not much. It was dark in the house. And I had taken out my contacts.” She seemed embarrassed by this admission. “I almost fell. But the front door was open so I went outside.” She sighed deeply, her breath catching in her throat. “I could hear Nick’s voice. But I couldn’t see him. I ran down the walk but his voice got fainter. So I ran into the backyard.”

  “And what did you see?”

  She was almost in a trance now. “I saw Nick. He was kneeling on the ground. He was holding Mummy. I ran toward them. I thought she’d passed out or something, outside. But when I got close…”

  She buried her face in her hands again. Sobs shook her shoulders. Penelope put an arm around her back and stroked her hair. “Lucy, I know how hard this is for you,” Tabby murmured. Lucy raised her face. Her eyes were so anguished Ethan felt tears prick the back of his lids. This kid had really loved her mother. And what a way to find her.

  Lucy swallowed. “She was dead. I could tell. Her eyes…” She choked on another sob. “Her eyes were wide open.”

  “Did you see anyone with your brother?” Ethan asked. Despite his attempt to soften his voice, it jarred the silence in the room.

  Lucy threw him a startled glance. “No.”

  “Was your dad there?” he asked.

  Penelope Barrett’s face tensed.

  “No. I told you, he’d gone.” Lucy pulled at her cuffs, her fingers agitated.

  “Did he come back?” Tabby interjected, throwing Ethan a warning glance. He got the message and leaned back.

  “No.”

  “Did you call him after you found your mum?” Tabby asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And what happened?”

  Ethan watched Lucy closely. So did Penelope Barrett. They all knew no one had been able to reach Randall Barrett.

  “He didn’t answer his phone.” Lucy’s voice wobbled. As if remembering how scared she’d felt when she couldn’t reach her father.

  “Did you have his cell phone number?”

  She flashed Tabby an indignant look. “Yeah. But he didn’t answer that either.”

  “Did you leave a message?”

  “Yeah.” She glanced away. “I asked him to come.”

  “And did he?”

  “He came to Grandma Penny’s house.”

  Penelope Barrett nodded.

  “Later.” Ethan’s eyes searched Lucy’s.

  “Yes.”

  “Did he tell you why he didn’t answer the phone?”

  “He said he’d turned it off.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “He told me he was upset and needed some time to think.” Lucy threw Ethan a defiant look even though it had been Tabitha who’d asked the question. “He also said he was really sorry.”

  Tabby said, “I’m sure your dad feels really badly about missing your calls, Lucy.”

  “He does.” Her eyes welled with tears again. She looked at Tabitha. “Can I go now? I feel kind of sick.”

  Tabby patted her back. “Of course. If I or Detective Drake have any more questions, can we talk to you again?”

  Lucy nodded. Ethan stood. Penelope Barrett and Lucy followed him out of the room, exhaustion weighing their steps. It had been a grueling interview. Ethan glanced at the clock. Eleven forty-five. And they were just getting warmed up.

  22

  Saturday, 11:51 a.m.

  Kate unlocked the door to Randall’s house. Both dogs rushed in and headed straight to Charlie’s water bowl. Alaska got first dibs. Once he finished, Charlie lapped up the rest.

  Kate glanced at the clock. It was just before noon. The morning had gone quickly. She’d been lost in thought ever since Nat’s phone call.

  Randall had not been home when his ex-wife fell to her death. Where had he gone?

  He could have been on his boat. That was where he was found, ninety minutes later.

  But why hadn’t anyone been able to reach him?

  Her gaze returned to the phone that sat on the counter. There had been seven calls to Randall’s number last night. When had they been placed?

  And by whom?

  And had anyone left a message?

  As soon as the thought crept into Kate’s mind, she recoiled. Checking his messages would be a violation of Randall’s trust in her. And yet…

  Was one of those Toronto numbers from Elise’s cell phone? Had she left a message?

  Part of her yearned to know what Elise might have told her ex-husband. And part of her knew that she would always regret knowing.

  You don’t want to know, Kate whispered to herself. You don’t want to know.

  She glanced at the clock. Randall would probably be at the station for a few more hours. And who knew what demands would be placed on him by his family. And his firm. Nina had already been calling.

  If Kate put Charlie in her crate now, she might be in there all day. The Lab seemed to sense her indecision, because she turned a soulful gaze on Kate. Then she plopped herself next to Alaska.

  “Okay, fine, you can come over to my house.” Kate found a notepad and pen by the computer and wrote out a quick message for Randall to call her when he came home.

  It seemed like a mundanely domestic thing to do. Eighteen hours ago, she’d been fuming as he left the elevator without a goodbye.

  Now she was looking after his dog, roaming his bedroom and leaving Post-it notes in his kitchen.

  She hurried out the door, Alaska at her heels, Charlie in tow, and locked it behind her.

  She didn’t want to get too comfortable.

  23

  Saturday, 12:03 p.m.

  Nick had been sitting in the isolation chamber, as he’d nicknamed the holding room that sat apart from the in terview rooms. He had never felt so alone.

  Get used to it.

  The room had some kind of retro tacky table set that was probably not really retro but just really old.

  Nick stared at his iPhone. There were at least five instant messages waiting for him. The number on the inbox increased the longer he stared. They were probably from Will. He was setting up a Facebook page about Nick’s mother. Or Steph. She’d surprised him. He thought they were over. She’d been pretty clear about that. But she’d sent him two IMs and they were really nice.

  A week ago if he’d gotten those IMs from Steph, he’d have been stoked. He would have grabbed his hockey stick and whacked pucks for hours in the net at the end of his driveway. Then he would’ve biked over to her house and spent the evening hanging with their friends, grateful he was back in the gang.

  But it wasn’t a week ago.

  It was today.

  He was exhausted.

  Numb.

  His chest and limbs felt frozen. Thick, dead flesh that had no feeling in them. He could poke himself and feel nothing.

  Nothing at all.

  But deep inside him, under all the deadness, was a burning, fiery core. Like an erupting volcano at the bottom of a cold, unmoving ocean. It spewed a molten anger. It snaked through his veins, pushing the blood through his body, igniting his nerves with an inextinguishable rage.

  He had read about teens who preyed on other teens. About teens who killed their parents. Their siblings. Their girlfriends.

  They had always seemed alien.

  Inhuman.

  But he realized now that they were flesh and blood. Just flesh and blood that had been putrefied from an inner rage, a poisonous jealousy or just plain evil. He understood.

  Because he was now one of them.

  He turned off his iPhone and put it in his pocket.

  He was on his own now.

  Until the job was done.

  “Nick? Could you come with me, please? We have some questions we need your help with.”

  Nick stared at the detective. He was a good-looking
guy. Looked as if he played sports. Maybe even hockey. Nick’s hockey coach had always told him, “Look in their eyes. You’ll know if they’re playing for keeps. If they are, let the fuckers think they’re going to win. Then show ’em how delusional they are.”

  This detective was playing for keeps.

  So was Nick.

  He gave the detective a brusque nod and got to his feet. He was about the same height as the police officer. He sauntered by him and walked into the interview room.

  His gaze immediately fell on the woman who sat behind a fake plywood-topped table. She came toward him, her denim-clad hips easing around the chairs, her full lips smiling at him. Her blouse was really fitted and he couldn’t help himself when his eyes darted down to skim her chest. He felt his heart jump. She was gorgeous. Like, really hot. He just imagined what the guys on his team would sa—they’re not your team anymore. That thought stopped him cold.

  “Nick, I’m Tabitha Christos. You can call me Tabby. Like the cat,” she added with a smile. Knit-Wit and Purl-head suddenly popped into his head. How Purl-head would drape himself across his neck. And Knit-Wit would bat his hockey puck along the kitchen floor.

  He’d never see them again.

  He swallowed, hoping Tabitha Christos and the detective hadn’t seen the tears that pricked his eyes. Tabitha held out her hand. “I’m a youth worker.”

  A youth worker?

  Was he already under suspicion?

  That would really screw up his plans.

  He took her hand, barely shaking it before dropping it as if he’d just touched a dead fish.

  She led him behind the table. “Please sit down.” He noted his chair was facing not only a video camera but also the detective.

  He could not let them see what he was thinking. He was so tired, though. So wiped.