LACEY
Uh-oh.
LACEY points, and KELLY turns to see ANNA break away from a group of girls and come toward her. KELLY groans.
KELLY
Now what?
ANNA
Your sister went to see my dad this morning.
KELLY looks surprised, even though she is trying not to show it.
KELLY
So?
ANNA
My dad’s offering a reward for information leading to the arrest of Martin’s killer.
KELLY
I heard.
ANNA
Your sister went to see him. She told him that she couldn’t help him.
KELLY
What’s that got to do with me?
ANNA
It’s your birthday in a couple of days, isn’t it?
KELLY
Yeah. So?
ANNA
Martin was going to ask you out. He really liked you.
KELLY
(looking uncomfortable)
He never said anything to me about that.
ANNA
You liked him, didn’t you?
KELLY nods.
ANNA (CONT’D)
A lot?
KELLY
(softly)
Yeah.
ANNA digs in her pocket and brings out a small box.
ANNA
I went shopping with Martin before he died. He wanted to get something for your birthday. And he made me go with him because he wanted to buy you the perfect thing. But he wouldn’t listen to any suggestions I made. He ended up buying this.
ANNA hands the box to KELLY, who opens it with trembling fingers. Nestled on cotton batting in the small box is a delicate chain with a little gold charm—it’s a dolphin. KELLY smiles.
ANNA (CONT’D)
He said it was because you’re a swimmer. Because you’re a good one.
KELLY
It’s perfect.
KELLY stares into the box for a moment, then replaces the lid and holds it out to Anna. anna shakes her head.
ANNA
He bought it for you.
KELLY hesitates. Finally she slips the little box into her pocket.
ANNA (CONT’D)
Your sister is letting Martin’s killer get away with murder.
KELLY
Maybe she’s telling the truth. Maybe she really didn’t see anything.
ANNA
Maybe? It sounds like you don’t believe her any more than I do.
KELLY eyes Anna with suspicion, torn between believing her and feeling that she should support her sister, no matter how unworthy of support she might be.
ANNA (CONT’D)
She knew how Martin felt about you.
KELLY
So?
ANNA
Did she tell you she knew?
KELLY doesn’t answer.
ANNA (CONT’D)
I didn’t think so.
KELLY
Just because she might have been angry at Martin, that doesn’t mean she would let his murderer go free.
ANNA
What if she knew that what happened was her fault—and she knew who did it and was terrified that if she opened her mouth, he would come after her?
KELLY
What do you mean, her fault?
ANNA looks at Lacey. Then she pulls Kelly down the block where no one else can hear what she says.
ANNA
(dropping her voice)
I know Martin was into smoking weed.
KELLY
I know. I also know you knew he got busted for it.
ANNA is stunned.
KELLY (CONT’D)
But you gave Tegan a hard time because the cops went to your house and said that to your parents. You made it sound like it was all a great big lie.
ANNA
Did your mom know Tegan was into weed?
KELLY
(reluctantly)
No.
ANNA
My parents were destroyed when the cops showed up at my house and told them that Martin had been shot. Shot! What kind of people shoot people? What kind of people get shot?
KELLY
(to the camera)
Gangsters shoot people. Most people who get shot are leading what the cops call high-risk lifestyles, which is just a diplomatic way of saying if you hang around with people who have guns, don’t be surprised if one day one of them shoots you.
ANNA
He just liked to smoke up now and again. Is that such a crime? Okay, so maybe technically it is. But all this stuff about dealing—yeah, so maybe Martin bought a little more than he needed for himself. But that’s because people bugged him. They knew he knew who to get it from. But when he got busted—he did what they told him. He did a program. He got out of it. It wasn’t easy, you know. He got a lot of pressure from kids who were used to him having stuff. Like your sister. He really tried to stick to his promise. He said he didn’t want to disappoint you.
KELLY stares at her, slightly stunned.
ANNA (CONT’D)
I told him to stay out of it too, but it mattered more to him what you said. I think he was relieved to have someone like you in his life. He wanted a reason, a good one, for when his friends pressured him. And, anyway, I think he was getting scared.
KELLY
What do you mean?
ANNA
The cops tried to scare him when they busted him. They said the drug scene was getting fierce—they said there were new players, more ruthless ones. But I think he already knew that. He told me once that the new guy he bought from scared him. He said he’d been wondering if it was worth it. But he had all those friends, and he was their connection. That’s the only reason he didn’t quit earlier. He needed you on his side, Kelly. He needed someone who believed in him and who supported him.
KELLY
Do you know who his connection was?
ANNA shakes her head.
KELLY (CONT’D)
Did you tell the cops what you just told me?
ANNA
Yeah.
(hesitates for a moment)
He was through. And then Tegan started in on him.
KELLY
What do you mean?
ANNA
She must have called him a dozen times. He told me. She kept saying, just one more time. One more time. Martin’s a good guy—was a good guy. If you ask me, he was too nice. He tried too hard to make everyone happy.
KELLY
Are you saying he was killed because of Tegan?
ANNA
Think about it. The cops can’t come up with anyone who had a motive for shooting Martin—except his drug connection. But he wouldn’t have had a drug connection anymore if it wasn’t for your sister. And who knows what really happened that night. Who knows if it even happened the way she said it did. She was the only witness. A lot of things could have happened, but nobody will ever know unless she decides to cooperate with the cops.
KELLY is silent. She looks stunned, as if she is having trouble absorbing this new information.
ANNA (CONT’D)
You have to help me, Kelly. You have to turn up the heat on her. You have to tell her that you know she was the one who pushed Martin to buy drugs that night. You have to make it clear to her that nothing is going to change until she does the right thing. You can’t let Martin’s killer get away with it. You can’t.
TWENTY
Tegan
The one good thing about a crappy day—you can tell yourself that things can’t get any worse, and ninety-eight times out of a hundred, you’re right. The other two times out of a hundred? Well, here’s how my crappy day unfolded:
After paying a visit to Mr. Genovese, I went to school, where nobody except teachers would look at me, much less talk to me. And the whole time I was there, I couldn’t stop thinking about all those people who had left posts on that website; people who didn’t even know me but who thought I was the lowest f
orm of life on the planet—a coward who refused to avenge her friends’ deaths. After home form, I found myself walking around with my head down. What was the point of looking at people who were only going to look away from me? I stared at my toes, I stared at the floor, I stared at my desk, I stared at my textbooks and notebooks. I was focused on the interlocking cement blocks that made up the broad walkway in front of school when two mirror-shiny shoes appeared right in front of me.
“Tegan?”
This is where my day pulled a two-percenter—it took a turn for the crappier.
It was Mr. Deacon. His smile came across like a muscle spasm, like he hadn’t planned it, like it had happened involuntarily. There was no real feeling behind it that I could see.
“I’d like to buy you a soda,” he said, his voice as smooth as a freshly paved road, easing the way for me to say yes. Did he think I was brain-dead? The last time I’d seen him, he had practically accused me of being in league with the killer.
“No, thanks.” I didn’t even try to sound polite. Why should I? I tried to circle around him, but he blocked my way.
“Please? There’s a little place just over there.” He pointed to a café across the street from school.
“I hate that place,” I said. At least, I did now. Martin liked the lattes over there. He always ordered a huge bowl. Lately I’d been going with him. But remembering Martin wasn’t the only thing that made me never want to go there again. The café was also a place where kids from my school hung out.
“Name the place then,” Mr. Deacon said. “It’s important, Tegan. We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“I thought you might like an update on what’s been happening.”
An update?
I glanced around.
“How about over there?” I nodded at a tiny greasy spoon with grimy windows. There was no chance I’d run into anyone from my school there.
He stared at the place. I was sure he was going to reject it, and then we’d have to negotiate. I wanted to hear whatever news he had, but I didn’t want to spend any more time with him than I had to. Besides, if there was news, I could always get it from Detective Zorbas.
But he didn’t reject my suggestion. He nodded, and we set off across the street. He had his phone out by the time we got to the door.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to take this. I’ll be right in.”
I hadn’t heard his phone ring, so I guessed he had it on vibrate. I pushed the door open and stepped onto worn, cracked linoleum. The place didn’t look like much— tables without tablecloths, mismatched chairs, the menu items displayed in faded artwork over the counter on a back-lit sheet of plastic. The only customers were a couple of old men at the back of the place hunched over bottles of beer. I grabbed a table as far as possible from both the window and the beer drinkers and waited for Mr. Deacon.
He came through the door a moment later and looked around with the curiosity of an anthropologist. I ordered tea. He followed my lead, and we sat in silence until it was delivered in little metal teapots that leaked when you tried to pour them.
“So?” I said when he still hadn’t said anything.
The door to the restaurant opened and he turned. A man and a woman came in. They both stopped and gazed around, open-mouthed, until they located Mr. Deacon. The woman’s nose wrinkled in disapproval.
“No way,” I said, standing up.
Mr. Deacon grabbed my wrist and held me.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I didn’t think you’d agree to talk if you knew they were going to be here.”
“You were right.” I tried to pull free, but his grip was too strong.
“You owe it to them to talk to them, Tegan.”
Mrs. Carson slipped her hand through her husband’s arm and he led her to our table. He pulled out a chair for her and dusted it with a handkerchief he produced from his pants pocket. She sat gingerly on the edge. A waitress appeared, but Mrs. Carson waved her away without a word. No way was she going to touch anything in this place.
Mr. Carson fixed me with piercing gray eyes that were just like Clark’s.
“I’m going to come right to the point,” he said. “I’m not here to offer a reward. Maybe some believe in bribes to get people to do what they should be doing in the first place, but I don’t. I’m here to put it to you plainly. You witnessed my son’s murder. For whatever reason, you are insisting that, although you couldn’t have been more than a couple of feet away from the killer, you saw nothing. If it were up to me, you would be charged with obstruction of justice, but apparently that isn’t an option. So I’m just going to put the facts to you. Fact one, my son did not do drugs.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but he cut me off.
“Yes, I am aware that there was one time when he came home under the influence,” he said. “He experimented. All young people experiment. But that was that. It never happened again.”
The way Clark had told it, his parents had screamed at him for a solid hour because of what had happened to his brother Scott. Scott had experimented with drugs too. But the experiment had turned into a more-or-less permanent state, which, coupled with an expensive car, had led to a crash and a spinal-cord injury. Scott was never going to walk again. He didn’t talk very well either.
So when Clark came home giggling like a fool and reeking of weed, Mr. Carson had forbidden him to associate with Martin. They had a huge fight over that. Then Mr. Carson brought out the big guns—he promised that he would disinherit Clark if he ever touched drugs again. Mr. Carson must have been quite a piece of work. He must have been one of those guys who never makes a threat he doesn’t intend to keep, because Clark caved. He said it wasn’t worth it to have to pass a sniff test every time he got home. In return, his father gave way on the issue of Martin. Neither of his parents liked Martin, but Clark never stopped being his friend. He did stop using drugs though—not that it killed his party life, because alcohol was a whole different story. Mr. Carson had nothing against alcohol. In fact, he figured that since kids are going to drink anyway, they might as well do it at home, on the theory that it would lead to responsible drinking. Clark’s parents scolded him when he got drunk, but it was nothing like the way they acted about weed. Not even close. The time he got totally wasted and drove his car into the stone wall around the property, his father actually said to him, “Well, that’s something you won’t ever do again.” Clark said his mother freaked out—what if he’d been killed or, worse, permanently disabled like his brother? What if he’d killed someone else? But did they refuse to buy him a new car? No. Did they restrict his right to drive? No. Did they cut off his supply of alcohol? Uh-uh. It was business as usual.
They also didn’t freak when Clark racked up speeding tickets, and once—it was amazing it was only once— a ticket for reckless driving when he kept weaving through traffic on the highway to get ahead, get ahead, get ahead. He always wanted to be out front, and he never cared who he cut off or freaked out while he did it. If someone flipped him the finger, he returned the gesture and left them in the dust. But that probably wouldn’t have mattered to Mr. Carson, if he had known about it. He probably would have said that Clark was just blowing off steam.
“Fact two,” Mr. Carson said, “my son did nothing to bring this on himself—except maybe exercise poor judgment in deciding, against the advice and wishes of both his mother and myself, to continue his association with Martin Genovese. Fact three, it was Martin Genovese’s involvement with the drug trade that led to my son’s death.”
Fact?
“I thought that was just a theory,” I said. “I thought the police weren’t sure.”
Mrs. Carson stared at me like I was a slug on one of her prize roses.
“It’s their only avenue of investigation,” Mr. Carson said. “You tell me what that means. Fact four, you were in that car. It is within your power to provide the police with some kind of investigative lead. As I say, there’s nothing the police c
an charge you with because, they tell me, there’s no solid evidence that you are engaging in obstruction. But I promise you this, young lady. If you don’t do something to assist the police in arresting my son’s killer, I can and will make your life very unpleasant. You know what I do, don’t you, Tegan?”
What he did?
“You mean, for a living?”
He nodded.
“I know you own some companies.” Everyone knew it.
“Do you know which ones?”
I shook my head. Clark had said something once about a holding company, which, when I asked, he said was a company that owned other companies. He’d mentioned a couple of names that I sort of recognized too, although I wasn’t sure what they did. Plus there was a bakery that Mrs. Carson had started up. It got a lot of press because all of the profits that didn’t get plowed back into the business were donated to charity.
She Said/She Saw Page 9
