by Dianne Emley
Alex said, “It could have been planned.”
Mrs. Hayword’s direct gaze turned fiery. “You’ve just proved my point, Detective. If Jared had planned to murder his teacher and kill himself, he would have left a note. He would have probably put it in his pocket so it would be found. I know my son. He did not do what you say he did. Detective, unless you have anything constructive to discuss, you should both leave.”
Alex’s hand reflexively went to his head and he drew his fingers through his hair in a nervous gesture. Mrs. Hayword was probably close to Alex’s mother’s age. Her attitude toward Alex was slightly condescending. Nan had worked with Alex long enough to know that he sometimes let his own family dynamics encroach on his work.
She tried to salvage the interview. “Mrs. Hayword, we have Jared’s cell phone. It might contain information useful in the investigation. Would you please give us his password?”
“I will give you his password, but you won’t find anything incriminating. Somebody murdered my son and I want to know what you’re going to do about it.”
“Just so that we’re sure, do you mind?” Nan signaled Alex to hand over Jared’s cell phone.
Mrs. Hayword took it, typed in a password, and started scrolling through Jared’s text messages. “Setting up meetings for his chess club and academic decathlon. Mom, remember I have Dr. Jean today. Jared wasn’t big on email. He mostly texted, as teenagers do these days. Look through it if you like.”
Nan had been glancing at the messages over her shoulder. “We’ve seen enough. Thank you.”
Mrs. Hayword scrolled through a few more texts, powered off the device, and set it on the dining room table.
Nan said, “Why don’t we all sit down and have a conversation?”
“Yes. Of course.” Mrs. Hayword vaguely gestured toward the living room and went to a chair that matched the one where her daughter was sitting, next to the fireplace. The chairs faced an antique camelback sofa upholstered in a delicate golden damask fabric with a lily pattern. In front of the sofa was an oval captain’s-style coffee table made of different types of dark wood and with brass fittings.
By the formal, too-large furniture in this small house in a scrappy neighborhood, the solicitous attention Caroline paid her mother, and Mrs. Hayword’s bristly somberness, which felt entrenched, Nan judged that the family’s lifestyle had endured a dramatic downturn.
Mrs. Hayword started to sit but again straightened. “Can I get you something? Coffee, tea, water? It’s no trouble.”
After both detectives declined, she lowered herself onto the chair, crossed her legs at the ankles, and loosely laced her hands on her lap.
Nan sat on the sofa beside Alex. She looked at a family photo portrait hanging above the fireplace. In it, Mrs. Hayword, Jared, Caroline, and a man—Nan assumed he was Mr. Hayword—were all wearing white shirts and blue jeans and casually posed against a light gray background. Nan guessed the photo was about five or six years old, judging by the ages of the children. There was a joy and freshness in Melissa Hayword that was absent now. She’d aged more than the handful of years that had passed since the photo had been taken. Her husband had been tall, square-jawed, and attractive, falling short of handsome but earning points with Nan for looking solid and steady, and in that, reminding her of her love, Jim Kissick. Just thinking about losing Jim filled Nan with despair. As she again looked at Melissa Hayword, who’d now lost both her son and her husband, she made a silent vow to do whatever she could to get to the bottom of what had really happened in that ravine in Lower Arroyo Seco Park.
Nan heard an electronic tinkling sound.
Alex reached inside his jacket for his cell phone, looked at a text message, and quickly put the phone away.
Nan dug inside her jacket pocket, hoping she’d left a business card there. She found one. Alex took one of his cards from his jacket pocket and got up to give both cards to Mrs. Hayword.
Nan rested her hand on the sofa arm and discreetly ran her fingers over the golden fabric, which she decided was silk. “Mrs. Hayword, when did you last have any contact with Jared?”
Mrs. Hayword looked at the business cards and set them on the occasional table. “About five this evening. He texted me that he was going to play chess with his school friend Noah Scanlon. I texted back, Okay. See you at dinner.”
Alex took out a small spiral pad and a pen and made notes.
Mrs. Hayword said, “We usually eat around seven. At seven-fifteen, when Jared hadn’t come home, I called Noah. He told me that Jared hadn’t been there and that they hadn’t made plans to meet. Jared didn’t answer his cell phone or respond to my text messages, which wasn’t like him. I called the Pasadena Police at nine P.M. to report my son missing.”
Nan said, “Mrs. Hayword, tell me about Jared’s relationship with Erica Keller.”
“Mrs. Keller was Jared’s favorite teacher. They shared a love of literature and writing. He planned on studying journalism at Yale. It was hard for Jared to start a new school in his senior year. He had a quiet nature anyway and so he mostly kept to himself. Certain kids picked on him. Called him names. Someone put a paper bag of dog poop in his locker. Jared didn’t want me to make a big deal over it. He said it would only make things worse, but I insisted that we meet with Principal Rivers. She dealt with the troublemakers and Jared said that things had improved.
“Then Mrs. Keller reached out to Jared and invited him to eat lunch in her room, where the cool kids hung out. She encouraged him to submit an essay to a journalism contest and he won. It really boosted his self-esteem and his profile with his classmates. But”—she added with a sad laugh—“he still wore long sleeves to cover the scars on his wrists.”
Nan identified with that since she used to wear high-necked shirts to cover the long scar on her neck. “Was there any indication that Jared and Mrs. Keller’s relationship was more than student and teacher? That it had become romantic?”
“Absolutely not. I would have known if there was something more going on between them. He couldn’t keep a secret from me.”
Nan thought that Jared had kept his plans to slit his wrists in their bathtub from his mom and he’d also lied about going to his friend’s house earlier that evening. She set her thoughts aside, giving Jared the benefit of the doubt. She remained unconvinced that Jared was a murderer.
Mrs. Hayword said, “Tell me about this place where Jared and Mrs. Keller were found.”
Alex said, “It’s a secluded ravine. Schoolkids go there to drink and smoke pot and whatever. They call it Stoner Glen.”
“Stoner Glen?” Caroline, who’d been sitting rigidly and staring straight ahead, shot up from her chair. “My brother wouldn’t voluntarily go anyplace called Stoner Glen. He didn’t drink or smoke pot or do drugs or hang around with people who did.”
Alex said, “We found a quantity of Xanax tablets in Jared’s jeans pocket.”
Mrs. Hayword gaped at him. “Prescribed by his doctor for anxiety. Jared had just gotten his prescription refilled.”
“You’re on a mission to demonize my brother.” Caroline took out her phone and swiped the screen. “Look at what he texted me earlier this week. Does this sound like someone who’s about to murder his favorite teacher and kill himself?” She handed the phone to Caspers. He silently read the message, looked at the accompanying photo, and handed the phone to Nan.
With the text message was a photo of the Spanish colonial tower and dome of Pasadena City Hall set against a blue sky with puffy clouds. Nan remembered that morning a few days ago. The sky had been especially pretty after a late spring rainstorm had blown through during the night. She stood and returned Caroline’s phone to her.
Caroline read the text message aloud. “Come visit soon. Pasadena’s beautiful. There are so many things I want to show you. Life can be good. That’s the little brother I knew before all the dark days. It’s total bullshit that he killed himself and murdered Mrs. Keller.”
Alex scooted forward and clasped his
hands together, as if apologizing in advance for what he was about to say.
Nan looked at him apprehensively.
He said, “Jared’s message does sound optimistic, but suicide victims often feel calm and peaceful before they…complete the act. They have made the decision and are settled with it and are even happy.”
Mrs. Hayword’s tone was caustic. “Detective Caspers, I’ve already asked you to please do me the courtesy of not lecturing me about the habits of suicide victims. I knew my son. Talk to Dr. Yamamoto. She’ll confirm that Jared was doing great.”
“I don’t freaking believe this.” Standing in front of the fireplace, Caroline reached out her hands in the direction of Alex as if she could strangle him. “You cops. Sworn to protect us. Bullshit! My mom and I will not go through this again.” She jutted her index finger toward Alex and Nan. Her voice was choked with tears. “Jared was murdered. You police…Don’t you dare take the easy way out again.”
She stomped toward the hallway, raising her hand to stop her mother, who’d started to come after her. “I’m okay, Mom.”
Nan asked, “Mrs. Hayword, who would want Jared dead?”
“The same people who murdered my husband. Please excuse me for a few minutes.” Melissa Hayword followed her daughter down the hallway.
Chapter 11
Alex muttered under his breath, “The same people who murdered her husband. Now we’re into conspiracy theories?”
“We need to hear what she has to say, Alex.”
He took out his cell phone and read through some texts, ignoring Nan, who glared at him.
She said, “Why are you badgering Mrs. Hayword and Caroline? It’s cruel. It doesn’t even seem like you.”
“Because Jared murdered Erica and killed himself. That’s what happened and they need to accept it.”
“Alex, why do you keep hammering away at that when we haven’t followed the evidence? Who tased Erica Keller? Does Ryan Keller have an alibi? What were Jared and Mrs. Keller even doing at Stoner Glen? Not to mention what’s up with our own command staff—Tovar and Wales hovering, and Beltran coddling Ryan Keller and trying to keep me off the case.”
Alex again nervously ran his hand through his hair. “Let’s talk about this later. We’re through here, right? Let’s get out of here.”
They heard a door in the hallway open and close.
Nan said to Alex, “We’re not through here. I’ll do the talking.” Her phone buzzed. She took it from her jacket pocket and read a message from Emily: Home. All good. Went to Smitty’s. Had the mac and cheese. Now shower and bed. XO.
Nan wasn’t surprised that Emily had ordered one of her go-to comfort foods at the popular grill. She typed a response: Great. I’ll be home soon. She sent the text and put her phone away.
Mrs. Hayword returned and sat in the same chair as before. An antique bronze-and-glass clock on the mantel chimed twelve times. Conversation was suspended, and they all gazed somewhere else, not at one another, until it stopped.
Nan turned on the sofa toward Mrs. Hayword. “How is Caroline?”
“She’ll be fine. Thank you.”
“Please tell us about the circumstances of your husband’s death.”
Mrs. Hayword gazed at the portrait above the fireplace. “His name was John. Everyone called him Jack. His official cause of death is suicide by gunshot. He was an assistant U.S. attorney in the Reno, Nevada, district office. Jack spearheaded a big case in Silver Spur, Nevada—a postage-stamp-size desert town about fifteen miles outside Reno. He closed down an illegal gambling ring and also shut down Silver Spur’s tiny police department, which had provided the gambling ring with protection and muscle. The town’s law enforcement was taken over by the Washoe County Sheriff’s Office. Jack sent a lot of people to jail and made a lot of enemies. After the indictments and during the trials, Jack received death threats, and there were threats against me and the kids. The kids had police escorts to and from school. Reno PD stationed officers in a patrol car in front of our house. Jack and I talked about relocating, but we loved our jobs. I ran a nonprofit literacy program. The kids loved their schools and friends, and so we stayed. After the last trials ended, about four years ago, life returned to normal—or so we thought.”
She looked bitter. “We should have moved. They could have killed Jack anywhere, but it would have been harder to make it look like a suicide if they weren’t familiar with our house and Jack’s routines. And I’m convinced they had an in with the medical examiner, bribed him to conclude that Jack had killed himself.”
“None of us has a crystal ball,” Nan said.
“You’re right, but it’s hard not to blame myself, especially after what’s happened to Jared.” Mrs. Hayword pulled the folded tissue from the cuff of her sweater and pressed an edge beneath one eye and then the other.
Nan quietly asked, “What happened the day your husband died?”
Mrs. Hayword took a deep breath. “It happened about a year after the last Silver Spur guilty verdicts came in. It was near Valentine’s Day. A normal weeknight. I’d gone to bed around ten. Jared and Caroline were asleep. Jack was in his pajamas and robe and working in his office downstairs. He often worked until late at night. He was one of those people who didn’t need a lot of sleep.
“In the morning, I woke up at my usual time. Jack wasn’t in bed. He often got up earlier than me and was careful not to wake me up. I got my robe. Saw that his robe was missing from the back of the bathroom door. I went downstairs. The coffee hadn’t been made, which was unusual. We always set up the coffee the night before so all Jack needed to do was press the button to brew it. Through the kitchen windows, I saw the newspapers were still on the walkway. That was strange too. I headed outside to get them and found out that the front door was unlocked.”
As Mrs. Hayword relayed this past horror, the only emotion she showed was occasionally pressing her lips together. Otherwise, she spoke in a near monotone, looking from Alex to Nan, as if she’d told the story many times before.
“I looked around for Jack and called for him. The garage door was open and his car was gone. Then I got worried. I went back into the house and saw his wallet and cell phone in a pewter tray on a counter near the back door, where Jack always took out the things in his pockets when he came home. The kids were up by then and moving around upstairs. I didn’t want to worry them, so I brought in the newspapers, made coffee, and told them that their dad had an early meeting. When they left for school, I started making phone calls to Jack’s office and his friends. A good friend of Jack’s stayed on the line and told me to turn on the local TV news. I did and saw that a thoroughfare about five minutes from here was closed due to police activity. That road passes beneath a railroad trestle. Stopped across two lanes on the northbound side was what looked like Jack’s silver Mercedes. The reporter said that the driver was dead from what appeared to be a self-inflicted gunshot wound. The police hadn’t revealed that information. It came from someone who’d been stuck in traffic and went to see why the Mercedes was blocking the road. Jack’s friend offered to come over. I accepted his offer. Shortly after he showed up, the police came to the door and told me that Jack had committed suicide.”
Both Nan and Alex leaned forward, engrossed in her story.
Mrs. Hayword continued. “It’s ridiculous to think that Jack killed himself. All his friends and colleagues said that he was not depressed. Jack’s habits and behavior hadn’t changed. He played golf on Saturdays with his buddies. He went on Sunday evening bike rides with Jared, their father-son time. Our marriage was sound. We were financially secure. Caroline was about to graduate from high school and was heading to Stanford. The four of us were going to drive to California and move her into her dorm at the end of summer. Our family was in a happy place.
“I told the Reno Police that Jack was murdered because he took down that Silver Spur ring. Those are dangerous men who had access to people who could make a murder-for-hire look like a suicide. But they concluded it was a s
uicide, closed the case, and stopped talking to me. Now the same thing is happening with Jared.” She uncurled her hands in her lap, empty palms open as if she had nothing more to offer.
Nan asked, “What gun was used?”
“That’s another thing that makes no sense. It was a Smith and Wesson revolver that had been reported stolen from a home in Las Vegas two years earlier. I’d never seen that gun before. I have no clue why Jack would have had it. He’d bought a Ruger for protection during the bad days of the Silver Spur case. He had a concealed carry permit. I hired a private investigator to dig through all of Jack’s cases, but I had to let him go after Jared’s suicide attempt. Jared was in a residential mental health facility for months. With medical bills and everything, I couldn’t afford the big house in Reno on my salary alone. I didn’t want it anymore, frankly. I have family in Pasadena. I bought this house as a short sale.”
Nan heard Alex’s cell phone again ping with an incoming text. When he began texting a reply, she leaned back and crossed her legs, stealing a glance at his phone, and saw that he was texting with Lieutenant Beltran. She returned her attention to Mrs. Hayword. “Why would the people who allegedly murdered your husband come after Jared years later?”
“Jared was investigating his father’s death. He’d already written an essay about his dad’s death and its effect on our family, and it won first place in a contest run by the Pasadena Star-News.” Mrs. Hayword lit up with pride.
“Quite an accomplishment.” Nan smiled.
“First place,” Mrs. Hayword repeated. “Mrs. Keller encouraged him to submit the essay and she’d helped him with it. The top essays were printed in the paper. It raised Jared’s profile with the kids at Coopersmith. They respected what he’d gone through and thought his dad was a hero. Jared’s essay didn’t have big revelations about his dad’s case. He wanted to take it further, test his chops as an investigative reporter, and find out what had really happened to his dad. Mrs. Keller told him to go for it.
