Funeral for a Friend

by Brian Freeman

  “Who’s that?” Maggie asked.

  “His name’s Adam. Adam Halka. He owns a motel near the freeway.”

  Maggie froze where she was. “Adam Halka knew Denise? And you think he knew Andrea, too?”

  “Well, I assume so. Adam would have been at Denise’s house all the time, so he must have known her sister, too.”

  “Why was Adam at Denise’s house?”

  “He was her boyfriend,” Kathy said. “They were hot and heavy for years, going back to high school. Most of us figured they’d get married after college, but Denise was the restless type. She dropped out of UMD after a couple of years and decided to join the Air Force instead.”

  “Do you remember if Adam was at the party that night?” Maggie asked.

  “I have no idea. But let me put it this way, I hope not.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Didn’t Stride tell you about Denise and Peter Stanhope having sex? That would have driven Adam crazy if he saw it happen. Although who knows, maybe that’s one of the reasons Denise did what she did. To shove it in Adam’s face.”

  “Are you saying Denise cheated on Adam at the party?” Maggie asked.

  Kathy shook her head. “Well, technically, no. Denise was a free bird at that point. You see, we were at a concert earlier in the evening, and Denise and Adam had a big fight. Big fight.”

  “What were they fighting about?”

  “Denise was going into the service in a couple of days, so she told Adam they were over. She broke it off with him right there in front of everybody. He was mad about it. Seriously mad.”

  27

  “You again,” Denise said, seeing Stride on the doorstep at Andrea’s house. “If you’re looking for my sister, she’s not here.”

  “Actually, I have a few more questions for you,” Stride replied. “I stopped by your place and found out you were here. It’s better if Andrea doesn’t hear this conversation, so it’s just as well that she’s out.”

  “Interesting. Well, come on back. I imagine you know the way.”

  She led him through the house that he knew too well. The strange thing was that he could hardly remember himself in this place, other than a few isolated moments like photographs. He could remember Andrea. He could remember the house itself. He knew he’d lived here for three years, getting up every morning, eating, reading books, going to sleep in bed next to his wife, but he had no actual memories of doing any of those things. His time here had left no footprints.

  Denise sat at the kitchen table with a beer in front of her. Before sitting down, he looked around the room, still trying to remember any moment or conversation with his ex-wife that had lingered in his head. Any image of himself with her that was meaningful enough to remember. But he had nothing. He went over to the suncatchers on the window and traced the outline of one with his fingers.

  “They’re lovely, aren’t they?” Denise said.

  “They are.”

  “Andrea tells me they come from a secret admirer. She doesn’t know who.”

  He looked at her. “What?”

  “She says they arrive anonymously. I told her it’s a little strange.”

  “That is strange,” Stride agreed.

  “Well, she says it’s probably a former student. I get the feeling she sort of likes the mystery of it.”

  Stride sat down at the table. “I want to talk about the night when Andrea was assaulted.”

  Denise swigged her bottle of beer. “I’ve told you everything I remember.”

  “Actually, you left something out,” Stride said.

  “Oh? What?”

  “Adam Halka.”

  Denise stopped with the bottle at her lips. She put it back down on the table. “Ah. Adam.”

  “One of my police colleagues talked to a friend of yours from back then. She said you and Adam were an item.”

  “Oh, more than an item,” Denise acknowledged. “Adam and I started dating when I was a sophomore in high school. He was my first … well, my first everything. First boyfriend, first lover. I assume I was his, too. You never know with guys, but I don’t remember him being very experienced. When you’re that age, you throw the word love around pretty easily, but Adam and I thought we were in love. We were joined at the hip throughout high school. After graduation, we got engaged. I went to college, and Adam didn’t, but my plan was to marry him after I got my degree. Ah well, best-laid plans. Over the next couple of years, I came to the conclusion that I didn’t like school, didn’t like Duluth, didn’t like my parents, and didn’t like Adam.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  Denise shrugged. “When you’re twenty, do you need a reason?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Why do you care about Adam?” she asked.

  “Because I hear you broke up with him on the night that Andrea was assaulted,” Stride said.

  Denise pushed the bottle around the table with her thumb. “Yeah, I think that’s right. I guess it was the same night. So?”

  “So that detail was worth mentioning,” Stride replied. “He wasn’t on your list of people we should talk to, but if anyone is likely to remember that particular night, it’s Adam Halka. That was the night his fiancée dumped him. People don’t forget things like that.”

  “We were kids. I doubt he’s still pining for me.”

  “When did you last talk to him?”

  “Adam? I don’t know. It’s been ages. I’ve been in the Air Force or in Miami for most of my life. Whenever I came back home for a visit, it’s not like I made it a priority to look up my old boyfriend. I think I bumped into him when I came back for my twentieth reunion at Denfeld, but that was already more than a decade ago. I don’t think we exchanged more than two words. Neither one of us was feeling nostalgic.”

  “Did you talk to him seven years ago when Andrea made the accusations against Devin Card?”

  “No. Why would I? Andrea was keeping it a secret.”

  Stride nodded. “Tell me what happened with Adam that night.”

  “There’s not much to tell. A whole bunch of us went to a concert. I broke up with Adam while we were there. I’m not proud of how I did it. I knew I was going to end it with him, because I was heading off to the service in a few days. But I figured I’d do it when we were alone. I didn’t really plan to do it in front of all our friends. It just worked out that way. He started pressuring me about long-distance and saying why not get married before I left, and finally, I just dropped the bomb. I said it was over. I gave him the ring back. I think I may have said something about him putting it back in the Cracker Jack box where he found it. I was a real peach back then, I’ll tell you.”

  “How did Adam react?” Stride asked.

  “How do you think? Not well.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He stormed off. I don’t know where he went. He didn’t come back to our seats.”

  “Did you see him again that night? Did he go on the party crawl?”

  “I remember seeing him a couple of times, but we didn’t talk. He was pissed.”

  “How pissed?”

  “Furious. I can’t blame him. I was a bitch.”

  Stride leaned across the table. “So the party where you ‘put on a show’ with Peter Stanhope. Was Adam there to see it?”

  Her face darkened. “I don’t remember.”

  “Denise,” he murmured, because he could hear the lie in her voice.

  She drank more beer, and then she got up from the table, obviously upset with herself. “Okay. Yeah. He was there. Why the hell do you think I was willing to do it, Stride? It wasn’t just for the money. I wanted to shove it in Adam’s face that I was done with him. I wanted to humiliate him. I told you, I was a bitch. I was also drunk and probably stoned.”

  “So the man you just dumped watched
you have sex with another man in front of all your friends?”

  “That’s right,” Denise snapped.

  “Was Andrea there? Did she see it, too?”

  Her chin sank into her neck. “Yeah, she did. I didn’t know that. She just told me about it. Apparently, that’s why she started hooking up with Devin, if you want the truth. She was jealous of me. She wanted to be just like her big sister. Like I’m such a great role model.”

  “What about Adam?” Stride asked.

  “What about him?”

  “Did he know Andrea?”

  “Of course, he did.”

  “Did he see her at the party?”

  Denise shrugged. “I have no idea. You’d have to ask him. Why, do you think Adam is the one who saw Devin assaulting her?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m thinking,” Stride said.

  “Then what—” Denise began, but she stopped in midsentence. Her lower lip quivered as she understood Stride’s implication. Her eyes widened with a look of horror. “Shit. Oh, no, that can’t be. Not Adam.”

  “Where’s Andrea?” Stride asked. “I need to talk to her.”

  Denise sat down at the table again, as if it was too much effort to stand. Her whole body was trembling now. “She went to the DECC. She’s going public. She’s planning to confront Devin at the town hall.”

  * * * * *

  Devin Card studied the camera feed from inside the convention center. Early attendees had begun to wander into the ballroom, and in two hours, when the town hall began, more than a thousand people would be squeezed inside, with hundreds more in the overflow space. There were a few chairs for disabled guests, but otherwise, the venue was standing room only. The people coming in now were the party faithful, invited to provide him with a cheering section. They’d be crowded near the front. But others would be there, too; the protesters always showed up, waving signs and jeering. The same posters drew his eyes at every event, paid for and distributed by his political opponents.

  Rapist!

  Resign!

  A wide stage had been assembled at the front of the ballroom, adjacent to the arc of windows that overlooked the bay and the city’s lift bridge. The microphone was there, where Card would face the crowd, with staff and security pushed out of sight to either side of the stage. It would be just him alone under the hot glow of the overhead lights. Cameras would be recording everything, taking note of every question and answer, every reaction, every word.

  “This is going to be ugly,” Peter Stanhope murmured as he stood next to him.

  “Politics is always ugly.”

  “This is worse. It’s politics and rape. That’s a volatile combination. I was outside earlier, and it’s getting pretty hot on the street. I’d feel better if we were screening people for weapons.”

  Card shrugged. “No. If I look scared, I lose.”

  “If someone shoots you, you lose, too.”

  “I’m not worried about that. Right now, I’m more worried about the woman. The media are all saying she’s going to be there. Do you think it’s true? Or is it a hoax?”

  “I can’t be sure. No one is releasing her name yet. This may just be a strategy to unnerve you before the event.”

  “Have your contacts inside the police told you anything?”

  Peter shook his head. “They’re playing it close to the vest.”

  “I know we said it would be better if she came forward, but not this way.”

  “Well, I’m sure she realizes that, too. If we know who she is in advance, we can dig up information and get it out to the press. If she stands up and starts accusing you here, she gets the first news cycle all to herself.”

  “Who the hell is she?” Card asked, shaking his head.

  “She could be anyone. A girl with a grudge against you? We weren’t exactly choir boys back then.”

  “No. We weren’t.” Card turned away from the cameras. “You know, you should have told me about Ned Baer seven years ago, Peter. About meeting him. About him looking for a bribe.”

  “You were better off not knowing,” Peter replied. “If anything went wrong, I needed you to be able to say honestly that I hadn’t told you a word about it.”

  Card put a strong hand on Peter’s shoulder, which he did whenever he wanted to remind Peter who held the real power between the two of them. “We said we weren’t going to talk about this, but I have to know. Were you involved in his death? Did you kill him? Or did you have him killed?”

  “Is that really the kind of person you think I am, Devin?”

  “I think you’re loyal. I think you’re the most loyal friend I’ve ever had.”

  “I am,” Peter replied, “but I wouldn’t take loyalty that far. Not even for you. I had nothing to do with his murder.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it.”

  Peter said nothing else, and the Congressman waited with curious anticipation on his face. “You’re not going to ask me the same thing?” Card asked finally.

  “No. I’m not.”

  “Because you’re afraid of the answer?”

  “Because I don’t want to make you lie to me,” Peter said.

  “Well, I’m not lying. I didn’t kill him, either. I had nothing to do with it.”

  “I never thought you did, but I’ve always been willing to let you have your secrets, Devin.”

  Card glanced at the video feed again. “Secrets like this woman?”

  “You tell me. We’ve already admitted who we were back then. Sometimes things went too far at the parties.”

  “I have no recollection of doing anything like what she said,” Card told him. “I truly don’t believe I would have been capable of that.”

  Peter heard the subtle change in his story, the lack of an actual denial. “I wouldn’t phrase it like that out there.”

  “I know.”

  “We can try to block her, you know. We can screen questions, try to figure out who she is.”

  Card shook his head. “You know that will never work.”

  “This is an ambush, Devin. You won’t see it coming until it hits you. What are you going to do?”

  “There’s only one thing I can do,” Card replied. “I have to let her talk.”

  28

  Serena found Alice Frye where she always was, in the garden behind her house on Morgan Street in the flat lands above the city. Birches and maples made a ring around the yard, creating a private nook where Alice tended to her herbs and flowers. She had a small cottage behind her house, where Serena had seen her every other month for the last few years.

  Alice was a therapist, well into her seventies. She was a pixie-sized widow with short dark hair and an endless supply of adrenaline. She had a deep reservoir of sexual anecdotes that always sounded shocking coming out of her sweet elderly mouth. Serena had heard more slang words for male genitalia in Alice’s cottage than on the streets of Las Vegas. For all that, Alice was also smart, sensitive, and not shy about pointing out uncomfortable truths. Serena liked her.

  She had tried therapy several times in her past, mostly with bad results. She didn’t like to trust anyone with her secrets. However, after she and Jonny had broken up in the wake of his affair with Maggie, she’d tried again, at the suggestion of a woman she was living with in Grand Rapids at the time. The woman had recommended Alice, and Alice had kicked off their first session in the little cottage by asking flatly, “Okay, my dear, who put whose cock where?”

  Right then, Serena knew the two of them were going to get along.

  She’d told Jonny very little about her time in therapy. She’d never suggested that he join her. The sessions were for her and her alone. She’d talked a lot about him in the early days, but very quickly, she’d gone on to other parts of her life. Alice had taken her through her teenage years in Phoenix. They’d talked about Maggie. They’d talked
about Cat and Serena’s new role as a mother. With Alice, Serena had found a way to confront many of her demons. Even though she felt more in control of her problems, she still liked the validation of coming to Alice’s place every other month, even if all they did was share stories about their sex lives.

  Alice looked up with surprise as Serena came around the back of the house. She was on her knees in her flower garden, talking to the purple hydrangeas that had won ribbons at the state fair.

  “Serena,” Alice said, looking apologetic. “Did we have an appointment? I don’t have anything on my calendar.”

  Serena smiled and shook her head. “No, I just stopped by.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, things are fine. I was hoping to get your opinion about something. It’s related to a case I’m working on.”

  The therapist put down her gardening tools, stripped off her gloves, and rubbed her hands together. “Oh, I get to play Dr. Watson today. How exciting. Well, come on, come on, let’s get to it.”

  Alice sprang to her feet with an agility that belied her age. She wiped the dirt from her knee pads and practically bounded in her muddy boots toward the little cottage near the trees. She unlocked the door and let the two of them inside, threw open all of the windows, and plopped into a wheely chair at her desk. By habit, Serena took her usual place on the sofa. The cottage was small, barely twelve square feet, decorated more like a children’s playhouse than a therapist’s office.

  “Your husband has been in the news lately,” Alice said, putting half-glasses on her face and fiddling with a shiny gray stone on her desk. She had a collection of polished rocks that she gave to patients to hold during their sessions, all inscribed with different words of encouragement. Determination. Grace. Love. God. Memory.

  “Yes, he’s in a difficult situation,” Serena admitted.