Hard Truth

by Mariah Stewart

  “No.” Billie shook her head firmly. “I thought he’d run away. I wouldn’t have blamed him for that.”

  She looked Lorna directly in the eyes and told her bluntly, “I do not deny that I was harder on my kids than I should have been. There were times when I hurt them bad, and I will have to face God with that. He knows how sorry I am for any pain I caused them when I had them. I guess maybe that’s why He took them away from me. Mary Beth always said she didn’t believe that God did things like that, but still. If you don’t take care of what you have, you lose it, that’s what my momma always used to say.” She cleared her throat. “I think about the times I hurt them, and the times I had them so scared, they could hardly breathe. I was a different person back then. I drank too much and I worked too much and I slept too little. I had two jobs and I still had no money and no life. I was fifteen years old when I had Jason, twenty when Melinda was born. And their father left me here with them when she was just a year old. I was left high and dry with two small kids, barely old enough to legally buy a drink.”

  Billie took a deep breath.

  “I was a lousy mother, I’d be the first to admit that. But I didn’t kill my kids.” She paused, then added, “I swear it on Mary Beth’s memory. I did not kill my kids.”

  Brad opened the door again, and this time stepped into the room. “Lorna, I have to ask you to-”

  “Yes, yes. I’m leaving.” Lorna stood up. “May I come back to see you?”

  “I don’t know where they’re going to take me from here,” Billie told her.

  “I’ll find you.” Lorna turned to leave, then looked back over her shoulder. “Thank you. For… for all the things you said.”

  Billie nodded, then turned her face to the door, where her lawyer stood. Lorna walked past him into the hallway.

  “You were in there a long time,” Chief Walker noted as she passed. “What did you talk about?”

  “A lot of things.” Lorna paused, then said, “You don’t really believe she killed Jason, do you?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Did she tell you she didn’t?”

  “Yes, she told me she didn’t. Didn’t she tell you the same?”

  He waved his hand. “Everyone says they didn’t do whatever it is they’ve been arrested for. I never expect anyone to admit to anything anymore.”

  The phone was ringing in his office, and he went in to answer it. A second later, he closed the door behind him.

  “She didn’t kill him,” Lorna said to Brad when they reached the lobby.

  “She convinced you of that?”

  “What evidence do you have?”

  He raised his eyebrows almost to his hairline. “I’m sorry, I thought that was business school you went to, not law school.”

  “Is that your way of saying it’s none of my business?” she asked softly, trying not to sound as if she was challenging him, which she had no right to do.

  “We know that she was physical with her kids. She didn’t deny that she’d been the cause of those broken bones he’d had. We know that she did think he killed his sister, and that she had questioned him about it on more than one occasion. She told me that. So what would stop her from trying to beat it out of him? She’d beaten him before, she said she did. Maybe that last time, things just got out of hand. I think it was an accident, I’ll give you that. I don’t think she intended to kill him, but I think she killed him, all the same.”

  She started to say something, and he cut her off.

  “The last time they questioned her, years ago, they felt very strongly, my dad and the DA did, that she had a hand in whatever it was that had happened to her kids. Back then, they didn’t even have a body. Now we do. It shows signs of abuse that she admits to. The night that Jason Eagan disappeared, he’d been drinking with a couple of guys out at White Marsh Park. He was dropped off at three in the morning and was seen walking up his front steps. No one has reported having seen him since that moment.”

  “That doesn’t mean his mother killed him.”

  “She admits she got into an argument with him that night after he came home. She admits everything, except the actual murder.” Brad folded his arms over his chest. “It’s good enough for the DA, Lorna. I’d think it would be good enough for you, especially since Melinda was your friend.”

  “I don’t know, Brad. I just don’t see it.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

  His radio squawked and he responded.

  “Accident out there at the intersection.” He started to the door. “It’s gonna cause a major traffic jam. You might want to take one of the back roads home.”

  Lorna stood in the lobby for a long minute, then followed him outside. She got into her car and fished around in the bottom of her bag for her keys, then remembered they were in her jeans pocket. When she started the ignition, the radio came on. She snapped it off, wanting silence, and drove home mechanically, without thinking where she was going, and got caught in the traffic jam Brad had warned her about.

  Lorna sat behind a dark red pickup while the injured were loaded onto gurneys, her mind still trying to process everything Billie Eagan had told her.

  That Billie and her mother had, over the years, become friends.

  That Mary Beth had taken Billie in and given her a place to live. That she’d made sure Billie had food to eat and medical care, and the support she’d needed to overcome her addictions.

  That Mary Beth had believed in Billie’s innocence.

  Had she? Or was Billie just trying to find a sympathetic ear?

  She was still debating that point when Brad waved her through the intersection.

  5

  When Lorna was in line to pay for her coffee at the mini-mart the next morning, a hand reached past her from behind and plunked down two quarters.

  “ County Herald.” The man attached to the hand held up the newspaper for the clerk to see and turned to go on his way, but not before Lorna caught the headline.

  “One large coffee?” the clerk asked.

  “And one Herald,” Lorna said.

  She picked up the paper on the way out of the store and folded it, carrying it under one arm till she reached the car. Once behind the wheel, she opened the paper and scanned the front page.

  Callen Cops Catch Killer! screamed the caption over the picture that sat right on the fold. In it, Billie Eagan was being led from her house in handcuffs, looking confused and tired. The story reiterated the disappearances of both of her children and the “facts” that led to her arrest.

  This isn’t right, Lorna told herself as she pulled out of the parking lot. It just doesn’t feel right.

  She read through the item again when she got home. She’d thought about Billie for much of last night, and had come to the conclusion that if her mother had been convinced of Billie’s innocence, there must be something there. But how to convince Chief Walker of that, without any evidence to the contrary?

  And how to begin going about looking for something that could help Billie? Lorna wasn’t a lawyer, as Brad Walker had pointed out, and all she knew about investigating crime she’d learned from watching CSI and Law & Order, and her newest favorite, Medium. There were no psychics in Callen, that she was aware of, and she knew no sleuths to call upon for advice.

  Not quite true, she reminded herself as she sipped her coffee. There is Regan Landry…

  Regan, who had shared a flat in London with Lorna and six other girls one summer long ago, and who, following in the footsteps of her famous father, was making a name for herself as a major writer of true crime fiction.

  While it had been years since the two women had seen each other, they had stayed in touch. Most recently, Lorna had written a letter of condolence when Regan’s father had been murdered last September. Regan had responded with a note and had sent her business card with her phone numbers… Where had Lorna put that?

  Lorna went through the business cards in her wallet, then through the electronic phone book o
n her computer. She finally found Regan’s card stuck in the back of her Day-Timer. She debated with herself whether to call.

  Maybe first talk to the public defender, she thought. See what he’s thinking. Maybe there are motions he can file, something he can do to get Billie out on bail, if nothing else. At nine a.m. she called information for the county courthouse, and when she got through to the switchboard at the number given, she asked to be connected to the PD’s office. After a series of transfers, Joel Morgan answered his extension.

  “This is Lorna Stiles,” she told him. “I’m a… a friend of Billie Eagan’s. I was there at the police station yesterday, when you went to speak with her.”

  “What can I do for you, Ms. Stiles?” His voice was curt and crisp.

  “Well, I was wondering what’s going to happen next, for one thing. Is Mrs. Eagan going to be transferred to the county prison, is she-”

  “She’s already there. They moved her last night.”

  “Oh.” Lorna was taken aback by the news, though she didn’t know why she would be. She knew there weren’t facilities at the Callen police station to hold a prisoner overnight.

  “Was there something else?”

  “Is she going to stay in prison? I mean, don’t you usually arrange for bail, or file something to protest the charges?”

  “I can’t get her bail, because she has no guarantor for the funds. As far as ‘protesting the charges,’ I’m not sure what that means, frankly.”

  “I mean she’s innocent. What are you doing to prove that?”

  There was silence, then a chuckle.

  “Everyone is innocent, until proven guilty.” The sarcasm was blatant.

  She decided to ignore it.

  “My point exactly. What are you doing to prove her innocence?”

  “I spoke with Mrs. Eagan at length last night. She has no alibi for the night her son disappeared, the night the police assume he was killed. She has admitted to me and to the police that she and her son argued that night, that the argument turned violent. She stopped short of an out-and-out confession, but that might come, who knows?”

  “Are you serious? She didn’t kill Jason.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “She told me.”

  “She told me as well. But I don’t know that there isn’t more she’s not saying, frankly.”

  “You’re her lawyer. Aren’t you supposed to believe in her?”

  There was silence on the line for a long moment, then he said, “I’ll be getting copies of the original police documents-the reports that were filed following the disappearance of her daughter, and those that were made after the son disappeared as well. I’ll look over the statements that were taken at the time, and then I’ll decide where to go from there. Now, unless you have some information that might be relevant to her defense…”

  “How much is her bail?”

  “What?”

  “Her bail. What was it set at?”

  “One hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Isn’t that a lot of money?”

  “She’s a suspect in a murder case.”

  “How much money has to be put up?”

  “Seven to ten percent. It’s basically a guarantee that the bail will be paid if she skips.”

  “So if I can guarantee that she won’t skip, they’ll let her out?”

  “I can talk to the bail bondsman.” He paused. “You’re willing to bet that she won’t run?”

  “Yes. Can you arrange that?”

  “Give me a number where I can reach you.”

  Lorna gave him the numbers for her cell phone and the house.

  “I’ll wait to hear from you,” she said, then hung up.

  She walked outside, wondering where she’d get the money from, if in fact Billie Eagan decided to leave town.

  She wondered, too, how hard the public defender was going to work on Billie’s behalf. He hadn’t sounded that interested, frankly, in proving her innocence. He’d actually sounded as if he believed in her guilt.

  Lorna didn’t have enough money in cash. Maybe they’d take something in collateral. Her eyes fell on her SUV. A shiny black eight-month-old BMW-her first new car in over seven years.

  What do you think, Mom? What would you do?

  The phone rang, and she ran back into the house to grab it. It was Joel Morgan, telling her where and how to post the bail for Billie Eagan. She took the information, called the bail bondsman, and made the arrangements.

  Then, before she changed her mind, she called the number on Regan Landry’s card. She was just about to leave a voice message when Regan picked up.

  “Hello?”

  “Regan, it’s Lorna Stiles.”

  “Lorna! How are you?” Regan sounded genuinely pleased to hear her voice. “I almost didn’t pick up, the caller ID has another name on it.”

  “Palmer. My grandmother’s phone. I guess my mother never took Gran’s name off the listing. I don’t know that I was even aware of that.”

  “Oh, you’re at your mother’s?”

  “I’m at the farm, yes. My mother passed away last month, and I’m here to try to get things in order.”

  “Oh, Lorna. I am so sorry. Had she been ill?”

  “Yes, for almost two years.”

  “I am so very sorry. I know what it’s like to lose a parent at this stage of your life. It’s hard, isn’t it?”

  “Very.”

  “I appreciated the letter you sent after my dad died. I wish I’d known about your mother.”

  “Thanks, Regan.”

  “But you aren’t calling to tell me about that, are you?” Regan asked gently.

  “No, actually, I called to ask you for some advice.”

  “Anything. Shoot.”

  Lorna told her about Billie Eagan’s situation.

  “So, you believe this woman is innocent?”

  “I do.” Lorna heard the conviction in her voice, and added, “Apparently my mother believed it, too.”

  “Are you sure? You have only Mrs. Eagan’s word for that, right?”

  “True enough. But I think Mom would have. I doubt she’d have done so much to help this woman if she believed Billie had murdered her son.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “I need to find the truth.” Lorna took a deep breath. She hated asking for favors, especially from an old friend she hadn’t seen in years. But she could think of no one else with experience in this area. “I guess I need some guidance, Regan. I know that you investigate old crimes, and then write about them. I’m wondering if maybe this is the type of thing you look into.”

  “Actually, it would be, under normal circumstances. Right now, though, I’m working on a tight deadline and running late on a book that I should have finished a week ago. If I weren’t tied up, I’d be more than happy to delve into this for you. I am so sorry I’m not in a position to help you out right now.”

  Lorna felt her heart sink. “That’s all right, Regan. I knew it was a long shot. I just couldn’t think of anyone else to talk to.”

  “Well, let’s think this through for a minute. What you want is an investigation, right? You need to look into the old case. You need to find out what happened that night this woman’s son disappeared.”

  “I suppose I’d have to start there, yes.”

  “Have you considered a private investigator?”

  “No, I haven’t. But I could.” Lorna frowned. “How would you go about finding one that’s reputable?”

  “I have a friend who’s in the FBI. Maybe he knows someone. Would you like me to ask?”

  “Regan, I hate to put you to all that trouble.”

  “Oh, no trouble at all.” Regan laughed. “Actually, I was trying to think of an excuse to call him. You’ve given me one.”

  “Anything to help a friend.”

  “If I hang up right now, I might even get him before he leaves for lunch. Can I call you back at this number?”

  “Yes, but let me give you my ce
ll number as well.” Lorna waited while Regan found a pen, then gave her the number.

  “Great. Let me see if I can get in touch with Mitch. I’ll call you back.”

  “Regan, I really appreciate this. Thanks so much.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. Talk to you later.”

  Lorna hung up and slid Regan’s card into her wallet, which was, she decided, a better place to keep it. It was a miracle she hadn’t lost it, a miracle that she had stuck her Day-Timer in the car. She still wasn’t sure why she had, or when, for that matter.

  Serendipity, her mother would have said.

  She pulled the elastic band from her hair and then swept it up into a ponytail again, securing the loose ends tightly to keep them off her neck. It was another hot day. The ancient window air conditioner she’d found in the attic barely worked, but it cooled enough so that she could sit in the dining room and work. And for now, that was all she needed. She poured herself a cold drink, set it on the table next to her laptop, and went to work on a billing statement. She was midway through it when the phone rang.

  “Lorna, Regan. Listen, Mitch has a friend who might be able to help you. He’s a PI-Mitch knows he’s licensed in Maryland, he’s not sure about Pennsylvania, though. The PI’s a former FBI agent who went out on his own a few years back, formed his own agency. Anyway, Mitch thinks he’s still in business. I took the liberty of giving Mitch your name and phone number, I hope that’s okay. If Mitch can get in touch with his friend, he’ll ask him to contact you. So if some strange man calls, just ask him if he’s a friend of Mitch Peyton.”

  “What’s his name? The investigator.”

  “Oh, it’s Dawson. T. J. Dawson. Let me know if he calls, okay, so I can tell Mitch?”

  “Will do. Regan, I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Thank me after you find the information that you need,” Regan said. “Thank me after you’ve proven that this woman did not kill her son.”

  6

  “Lorna Stiles?”

  “Yes?” Lorna was out of breath from running to answer the phone before her mother’s old message came on the answering machine. She made a mental note to change it.

  “T. J. Dawson. Mitch Peyton asked me to call.”