Ian’s pallid face patched with crimson, and his breathing became heavy as he once more looked at the empty space. “Like you said, I had good reason to hate him, and I did hate him. I still do. I’m glad he’s dead, and I hope his death was painful – like all the pain he caused me.”
Emory said, “So you killed him.”
“I didn’t kill him!” Ian pounded his fists again.
“Fine.” Emory produced from the bag another hermetic glass storage jar – filled with dark granules.
“What’s that?” Ian asked.
Emory gave him a like-you-don’t-know glare. “Potassium permanganate. Can you guess where we found this?”
“Was that in my bedroom too?” When Emory nodded, Ian told him, “I’ve never even seen this stuff before. What is it?”
“You’ve never seen potassium permanganate before, yet it’s used at your family’s water factory.”
“It is?”
“We also found the tea that you laced with potassium permanganate, poisoning Mr. Roberts.”
“No, no, no! I didn’t do it! I’m thirteen! I can’t even drive yet. How did I get to his house to poison him?”
“You seem to get by pretty well on your bike. Mr. Roberts’ house is 5.2 miles from yours. The snow had been plowed from all the roads leading there, so you could’ve easily biked there in thirty to forty minutes.”
Ian pointed a skinny finger at Emory. “Wait a second. You said you found this picture in Mr. Roberts’ house?”
“Yes. Why, where did you think I found it?”
“On his classroom wall. He has a picture from every science fair for the past twelve years on his wall. The event always takes a group shot of every team and gives it to the teacher. I never saw any of them in his house.”
Sheriff Rome asked, “You admit being in his house?”
Ian huffed and opened his hands. “My sister used to drive me home from school. Sometimes she had to stop by Mr. Roberts’ house on the way to pick up something or drop something off.”
“Like what?” Emory asked.
“I don’t know. Things for skating. Sometimes he had a new skating dress delivered for her, or she’d have new music for a routine. Things like that. I used to go into the house with her until I stopped speaking to him, and then I’d just wait out in the car. I never saw pictures from any of the other science fairs up in his house, just at school. Did you see any others?”
Emory shook his head. “This was the only one.”
“You see? I’m being set up!”
Emory was silent for a moment as he thought about the dust that Jeff had noticed – or lack of it. This frame was the only one on the dresser without a layer of dust. Maybe it was planted.
“Can I see your phone?” Ian asked with his left hand held out. When Emory didn’t move, the boy explained, “That deputy took mine. Please. It’s important.”
Without replying, Emory stood up and walked around the table to Ian. He pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocked it and handed it to the boy.
As Emory monitored him, Ian found the website for the local newspaper, the Barter Ridge Fountain, and searched for a specific date. Within a few seconds, he found an article about the science fair he was supposed to attend, and at the top of the article was the picture from the frame. Ian handed the phone back to Emory. “Anyone could’ve printed that picture and planted it at Mr. Roberts’ house to throw suspicion on me.”
Emory walked back to his seat and showed the picture to his father. He was beginning to doubt Ian’s guilt. “Let’s move to the third crime scene.”
“There’s three?” Ian asked.
“Your house, where your stepmother was poisoned.”
“Why would I want to hurt Pristine? She’s my friend. When all that happened with Mr. Roberts, when he accused me of cheating, she was the only one I could talk to who was sympathetic. She’d listen to me go on and on about how embarrassing it was and how much I hated him. She understood.” Ian let out a little laugh. “Most people sort of glaze over when I start talking about science, but not her. She let me explain every little detail of my experiment and how great my science project would’ve been if I had been allowed to go to the fair.”
Emory told him, “Ian, we did find some evidence that points to you in your stepmother’s attempted murder.”
“Did you find strychnine in my room?” Ian asked, confident of the answer.
“How did you know about the strychnine?” the sheriff asked.
Ian huffed at the sheriff. “I was in Pristine’s hospital room when the doctor told her that’s what poisoned her.”
“No, we didn’t find any in your room.” Emory placed a large plastic baggie containing shards of glass onto the table. “We did find the pieces of your stepmother’s broken crystal glasses in the trash, and when we dusted them for fingerprints, we found three sets on some of the pieces – hers, the maid’s and yours. My understanding is that only Pristine and the maid were allowed to touch her crystal, so how did your prints get there?”
CHAPTER 41
SEATED ON A bench in the deputy room of the sheriff’s station, Jeff responded to a text from Virginia about a potential new client who wanted to meet him the next day. He texted that the Algarotti case was closing, so he would be able to make the meeting. Resting on his lap was a “Wanted” flyer of Scot Trousdale with his mug shots, a physical description and the number to call with information concerning his whereabouts. Each time Jeff sent a text, he would stare at the face on the flyer while he waited for Virginia’s response.
He looked up from his phone and saw Wayne seated next to Deputy Harris with their eyes glued to the computer monitor. He grinned to himself. Probably looking at porn. He glanced over to Deputy Loggins, who was on a contentious phone call, presumably to his wife.
Jeff looked again at the flyer, at the mug shots of Scot Trousdale. Hmm. He got a pen from Deputy Loggins’ desk, and when he sat down again, he began drawing on Scot’s face. He drew a moustache and continued until he had a full beard. Once he was done, it struck him. “I do remember him!”
Jeff’s words were drowned out by the front door slamming open. Victor Algarotti stormed inside, and his eyes shot around the room like heat-seeking missiles. “Where’s my son?”
Surprised to see him, Jeff threw himself into Victor’s path to take the full impact of his wrath. “Victor, what are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” The man belted out an angry laugh. “Taking a break from all the damn phone calls I’ve been fielding since five this morning – nonstop calls from reporters and paranoid clients who keep asking me if their water has been drugged. No matter what I said, more than half of them canceled their service. Now on top of desperately trying to save my company, I get a phone call telling me my son’s been arrested! Jesus, I had to ask my wife to take a taxi home from the hospital this afternoon because of all the shit I’ve been forced to slog through today! I swear if Scot weren’t locked up, I’d kill that asshole for doing this to me!”
During Victor’s tirade, Deputy Loggins had hung up his phone and joined Deputy Harris and Wayne in approaching the angry man.
“Speaking of Scot Trousdale,” Deputy Harris began. “Mr. Algarotti, I need to inform you that he is no longer in our custody.”
Victor appeared unfazed. “I don’t care who has him – you or the TBI – as long as he never takes another breath of freedom for the rest of his miserable life.”
“You don’t understand,” said Deputy Loggins, glancing at Deputy Harris like they were both in a race to put their spin on the story of why the accused was no longer in their custody. “Scot Trousdale escaped.”
Victor’s face lost all expression. “Didn’t you have him locked up?”
Deputy Harris interjected before Deputy Loggins could explain, “We’re still trying to figure out how he did it.” He pointed to Wayne. “We’re working with the TBI to find him.”
Wayne assured him, “We have a solid lead we’re
following and should have him back in custody soon.”
Victor threw both hands to his head. “This is unbelievable. You guys are idiots!”
Wayne came to Deputy Harris’ defense. “With all due respect, they’re not the ones who hired a Walter White wannabe. You are! And then you let him talk you into renovating your factory so he could build a secret drug lair.”
Victor glared at Wayne and defended himself against part of his accusation. “The renovation wasn’t Scot’s idea. It was mine. Actually, Pristine’s the one who realized we needed to modernize that area. I can’t be blamed because Scot perverted the job I gave him to oversee. Now where is my son?”
Deputy Harris told him, “He’s being questioned right now.”
“For what?” asked Victor.
“You don’t know?” asked Deputy Harris.
“The sheriff said he didn’t want to go over it on the phone and to just get down here.”
“I hate to tell you this, Victor,” said Jeff. “I figured out – and the TBI agrees with me – that Ian is, in fact, responsible for your daughter’s murder.”
“What?”
“Rick Roberts’ murder and the attempted murder of your wife.”
“That’s impossible! He’s just a kid.”
“Victor, I assure you I haven’t made a mistake. All the evidence I’ve gathered…” Seeing a rising anger on Wayne’s face, Jeff amended his train of thought. “With some help from the TBI, is irrefutable.”
“That’s insane. Where is he?” Victor stepped away from the others and looked around the room.
Wayne intercepted him. “You can’t join them right now. I need you to stay out here and wait.”
“Like hell!” Victor shouted, sidestepping him.
Jeff blocked him this time. “Victor, I need to talk to you in private.”
“What could you possibly have to say to me after that ridiculous accusation?”
Jeff motioned toward the water cooler. “Please.”
Victor relented and headed to the cooler, and Jeff waved the others off. “Victor, I realize it’s not an outcome that any of us wanted, but we have reached the conclusion of this case.”
“My son did not murder his sister!”
“I’m sorry, but you will need to come to terms with that. Speaking of terms, there’s the matter of the reward.”
Victor took a step back and sized him up. “Are you kidding me? You’re just as responsible for my current troubles as Scot is – you and that TBI agent and that damn security guard. I don’t believe for one second that Ian did what you say, and even if I did, I’m not giving you a reward. As a matter of fact, you’re fired!”
“You can’t do that! You promised a reward for finding your daughter’s killer, and I delivered!”
Victor jabbed Jeff’s chest with his index finger. “Sue me!”
Back in the interrogation room, Emory repeated the question, “Ian, how did your fingerprints get on the crystal?”
Ian hunched over the table as he sighed. “I took a glass and hid it in Margaret’s house. I knew Pristine went through her stuff all the time.”
Sheriff Rome asked, “Why would you frame her for stealing?”
“She saw something she wasn’t supposed to, and I…couldn’t look at her anymore.”
“What did she see?” Sheriff Rome asked.
“Something private, and I’m not going to say what, so don’t ask.”
“That’s okay.” Emory reached inside the burlap bag. “I think I know.”
Ian fidgeted in his chair, eyes dropping from Emory’s face to what his hands were doing. “You don’t…” His voice trailed off, and his face flushed when Emory presented at least two dozen photos he had printed from the boy’s computer. He placed them on the table one by one so that all were visible at a single glance. Each photo showed a different angle of his nude, sleeping father in various stages of exposure.
Emory pointed at the table. “Do you recognize these pictures?”
Ian’s mouth opened, but no sound came forth. The same reaction befell Sheriff Rome, who was seeing the photos for the first time.
“These pictures are from your computer.”
Ian slapped his hands to the sides of his head, his fingers clutching at his hair. His eyes pierced the empty table space between his elbows. “I didn’t put them there. Someone else must’ve done it. I swear it!”
Emory, however, was not done. He reached back into the burlap bag and pulled out three plastic baggies, placing them on the table so that they were above the photos from Ian’s point of view. Each of the baggies contained one pair of used large men’s underwear. “I found these in the footlocker in your bedroom.”
Ian looked at Emory and then at Sheriff Rome, whose shock was still very much apparent. He whispered to Emory, “I’ll tell you everything, but in private.”
The sheriff scooted up from his chair so fast, he almost knocked it backwards. Without another glance at Ian, he told Emory, “That’s okay. I’ll wait outside for you to finish.”
Even before the sheriff had reached the door, it flew open and Victor, red-faced with forehead veins on the verge of exploding, barged in. “I demand to know what makes you think my son…” His eyes moved from Ian to Emory and the sheriff and then to the table – scrolling from the jar of calcium carbide to the framed picture to the shards of glass and coming to rest on the unframed photos and the baggies of underwear.
Sheriff Rome grabbed Victor’s arm. “You shouldn’t be in here now.”
Jeff bounded into the room. “I tried to keep him out.”
“What is all this?” Victor pulled his arm free and stood behind Ian’s right shoulder.
Ian’s breathing intensified, shaking his entire body. He kept his tear-welled eyes focused on the empty space between his elbows, afraid to look at his father.
Victor picked up a picture and looked at the men in the room, his face a flurry of confusion. “Where did these come from? Who took these pictures?”
Sheriff Rome again grabbed his arm, with greater force this time, and he took the picture from him. “I need you to leave the evidence alone, Victor.”
“Evidence? That’s not evidence. That’s me!” He looked down at Ian. “Why are you showing these to my son?!” He swept the pictures away from the boy with his forearm.
Victor grabbed the back of Ian’s chair and turned him around to face him. He crouched to level his eyes with his son’s. “Ian, what’s going on here?” He grabbed both of the boy’s arms. “Ian!”
Ian kept his face down, tears dripping from his eyes.
Jeff hurried to Ian, and Sheriff Rome tried again to pull Victor away. Hearing the commotion, Deputy Loggins ran into the room and helped drag Victor from the room, leaving Jeff, Emory and Ian alone.
Jeff asked Ian, “Are you okay?”
The boy lifted his head to face Jeff. His tears had stopped flowing but not before leaving behind frosty dark eyes. He turned to Emory and swore, “I’ll never forgive you for this.” He faced Jeff again. “Either of you!”
Jeff stumbled backed. He held up his index finger and told Ian, “Hold that thought.” Nodding toward the door, he asked Emory, “Could I speak to you privately for a sec?” The two men exited the room, closing the door behind them. “Okay, before you start having to chant, ‘The power of Christ compels you’ in there, I need to ask you a favor.”
“I’m kind of busy right now, and that’s from The Exorcist, not The Omen.”
“Whatever. Both were devil children. I need your car keys.”
“Why?”
“Once Victor found out who we were charging with Britt’s murder, he refused to pay me the reward. I’m going to see if I can wrangle it out of Pristine. Maybe she’ll be grateful enough that we captured the person who tried to kill her.”
“Fine.” Emory handed him the keychain from his pocket. “Good luck.”
“Do you want me to see if I can rustle up a crucifix before you go back in there?”
&
nbsp; Emory patted him on the arm. “Go.”
“Thanks.” Jeff hurried off.
Emory clutched the doorknob but paused for a moment to think how he should approach Ian now that the interrogation approach he had planned had been slaughtered all to hell. Empathy. He returned to the interrogation room wearing his most empathetic face. He reclaimed his seat and clasped his hands on top of the table. Preceded by a sigh, he said, “I am so very sorry. I would’ve never allowed your father to see any of this. My only intention was to help you.”
From the moment Emory returned, Ian had kept his eyes closed with his head bowed. In a whisper, the boy repeated Sheriff Rome’s words from earlier. “No good deed goes unpunished.”
Emory was taken off-guard by the remark, but he was quick to regain his composure. “Ian, I’m not judging you. I just think that your infatuation with your father has caused you to make some bad decisions. I think you were jealous of your sister’s relationship with your father, particularly how close they became after your mother’s death. Perhaps you felt shut out.”
Ian glared at him. “I didn’t kill my sister.”
“I know it’s difficult to come to terms with. You’re scared. You need to realize that your motive is something that everyone on a jury would completely understand and empathize with. You don’t even need to have a brother or sister to see why you might want to kill one. Sibling murder is as old as Cain and Abel.”
Ian grabbed the front of his own shirt. “Am I here? Do you see me? Do you hear me? I did not kill my sister!”
“Ian, I want you to know that I understand you better than you think.” He pointed at the boy’s chair. “I’ve been right there where you are.” Emory’s face twisted with emotion as he found his next words difficult to say. “The first time you kill someone is always the most difficult. It oils the trigger to your impulses, making them easier to release.”
Emory closed his eyes and hardened his face. “After Britt, the revenge you sought against Mr. Roberts evolved from something you wished to something you planned and executed.”
Murder on the Lake of Fire Page 24
