On the way, the sheriff called to report there’d been no return call from Stingy to Ray’s phone, indicating he probably knew about the murders. As far as she was concerned, he’d just moved into the role of prime suspect.
* * *
Clare had woken on many a Sunday feeling much worse than she did now, but the combination of drugs she’d taken the night before left her body hazy and suppressed. She wasn’t sure it would answer her commands. She slid out of bed and managed to put a robe on, but it seemed to take a long time to do. It wasn’t only the physical component that made her sluggish. She was still gobsmacked by the murders, as if she’d just heard the gunfire moments before. Maybe coffee would help.
She drank her first cup standing at the sink, slurping at the hot liquid. Her mind was a blank. She became more unsettled when she moved to the kitchen table with a second cup. Her life was completely altered, as if a color film had turned into black and white. Everything looked different. Her life as a lawyer hung in the balance—if it was discovered she was at the scene, her career would be over and she’d likely be charged with withholding evidence, at the very least. Her new relationship with Freya—or whatever it was—would not only be over, but Freya would hate her for not coming forth immediately with what she knew. She’d hate her for being a drug user. Freya was already trying to ignore things like her blackout night of drinking in order to keep what they had together intact. She wouldn’t overlook something as big as this. She hadn’t really been in the mood to make love last night, but she succeeded in getting Freya’s attention away from her association with Ray Barnes.
And Elizabeth. She couldn’t stand thinking about how Elizabeth would view her if she were discovered. Her opinion meant something to Clare, but she was unsure what. That was a therapist’s territory, one she would leave unexplored. She imagined the look in Elizabeth’s eyes once she knew. Condemned, exiled, rejected. There’d be no comfort from anywhere.
The second cup of coffee was having no effect. It was as if she was bolted to the chair. Her brain lit up when she realized she still had some of the meth that Henry had given her. Her speed stash was completely gone, and surviving the day in her present condition seemed impossible. The meth wasn’t as scary as she thought it’d be. Taking a measured dose made it seem medicinal. It made her hyper alert, filled with energy, able to focus, and decidedly more optimistic than she now was. She went into the living room and reached under her couch for her pillbox. A little packet of folded paper was wedged into one of the compartments and she carefully took it out. Then she found a credit card and a dollar bill and went to work cutting it into two lines. She rolled up the dollar bill and bent over the coffee table to snort them up, then fell back against the couch and waited to feel the impact, which was almost immediate. It sparked something in her brain and a wave swept through her body that was so good she almost immediately wanted to do more. But she wouldn’t. She sat for a few more minutes enjoying the rush, then got up to get dressed and head into work. She didn’t want to waste the meth on a Sunday of doing crossword puzzles and puttering. She’d apply it toward working on her brief, which would also distract her from her worries. It seemed like an elegant solution. Plus, there was Elizabeth’s dinner that night where she had to be functional. Meth was not the demon drug she’d imagined.
Her cell phone rang just as she’d gotten up to take a shower. She picked up when she saw it was Henry calling.
“Have you heard?” she said.
“Yes.”
“That Ray, Bobby and whoever that woman was were murdered last night?”
“I know. It’s unbelievable.” His voice was hushed.
She sat back down and thought about having a cigarette for the first time in five years.
“I don’t understand,” Henry said. “How are you still alive?”
“Because I was in the bathroom. Having to pee saved my life. The fact that you left early saved yours.”
There was a pause. “Jesus. Tell me what you know.”
Clare filled him in on what happened but kept to herself that she’d seen the gunman leaving the scene. She didn’t want to expose herself should Henry have anything to do with it. She knew it wasn’t him she saw leaving the scene. He was more solidly built than the man she saw. “I called it in anonymously from a pay phone. No one knows I was there.”
“That’s good, Clare. We’d both be up shit’s creek if you told.”
“Do you think I’d tell them you were there too?”
“Of course not. I’m more worried about them finding out who owns the home.”
“Right, I hadn’t thought of that. Public records should tell them pretty quickly.” Clare knew enough about real estate law to know that.
“I may be okay. The property is in a private land trust. They shouldn’t be able to see who the beneficiary is.”
“I don’t think that’s right. I think they can subpoena the information.”
“Fuck. I need to go. Keep your mouth shut.” He hung up.
As they’d talked, Clare had become more unsure of Henry’s part in the murders. Had he left the party early knowing someone was going to come in and kill everyone in the house? Did that mean he intended for her to be killed as well? He didn’t seem surprised when she answered his call, but he was a cool dude. He seemed capable of playing many roles. She was equally unsure whether Henry would give up her name should the property records reveal him as the owner of the property and he was brought in for questioning. She was sick to her stomach.
She got up to shower and again the phone rang. It was Freya. Clare stared at the phone but couldn’t bring herself to answer. She would sound like someone whose neck was under the guillotine. The ringing stopped and shortly afterward a text message popped up. Clare—wanted to let you know I’ll be busy with work for the foreseeable future. I’ve been thinking of you, missing you. At least we can see each other tonight at the Nelsons’.
Some part of her reacted warmly to Freya’s words, but it was fleeting. She couldn’t imagine there was anything left to their story. There was no place in her new world for dating a cop and living in fear she’d find out Clare’s true story. She didn’t reply to Freya’s message.
Chapter Twenty-two
Clare walked the few blocks to the Nelsons’ house for the dinner party, hoping the brisk air would break the deep funk she’d fallen into. The streets were nearly soundless, and she could see families gathered together behind brightly lit living room windows. It made her think of family and friends, love and support, things she was in short supply of. Freya’s Jeep was in front of the house. Despite her state of mind, she was thrilled at seeing her again. Henry’s Volvo drove down the street toward the house and she hurried to the front door. She didn’t want a private conversation with him. Her nerves couldn’t stand it.
Hank greeted her at the door and led her into the living room. Elizabeth, Ben, and Freya were sitting in front of the crackling fireplace. They all rose to greet her. Elizabeth leaned in for a hug and the others followed suit. Elizabeth’s hug was warm, Freya’s circumspect, and Ben’s more enveloping. Were these her friends? The start of community? It was all false, based on a version of herself that didn’t exist, like the Wizard of Oz pulling levers to create an illusion of control, when she was really desperate and alone.
Henry walked in just as Hank was offering her a drink. He threw his coat over a chair. “I’ll have a beer, Dad.” He joined the standing circle, a confident smile on his face, his body relaxed, hands in his pockets. He seemed entitled, as if the heir had arrived for a good fawning over. He greeted everyone with equal charm. When he turned to Clare though, he did not meet her eyes. They greeted each other politely and Elizabeth smiled as they talked, as if she especially wanted them to be friends. Hank got the drinks sorted and they sat in a semicircle and chatted about the weather and the ISU basketball team, an area passion that mystified her.
“I hate to bring up something unpleasant,” Elizabeth said, “but has everyone
heard about the triple homicide last night? Hank ran into the sheriff today and he told him about it.”
“That’s right,” Hank said. “He said it was some sort of ambush involving drug dealers. It’s like something out of the movies.”
“Except it’s here in our backyard. I find it very disturbing.” She turned to Freya. “Do you know anything about it?”
Clare took a peek at Henry, who was peeling the label off his beer bottle. He looked bemused, of all things. Her stomach was lurching like a drunk at two in the morning.
Freya looked at Ben, who shrugged. “Ben and I were at the scene last night.”
“That must have been intense,” Henry said. She marveled at his ability to speak at all.
“It was. Sorry I can’t tell you more, but we don’t know much at this point.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth said. She turned to Clare. “Had you heard about this?”
She suddenly found it hard to swallow and she could feel Henry’s eyes on her. “No, I hadn’t heard a thing. I wouldn’t have imagined there was such a large drug operation in the area.” If only she could swallow. She felt like she was going to fly apart. She took a drink of her wine and forced it down. Everyone was looking at her.
“Drugs are a real problem around here,” Hank said. “Meth is all over the place. The rural population seems particularly vulnerable to it.”
Elizabeth had a serious look on her face. “It worries me. It’s terrible for Money Creek’s reputation. Let alone dangerous. I don’t like the idea of desperate addicts coming into town to rob people.”
“That hasn’t happened, so far,” Freya said.
Hank took a sip of his whiskey. “Here’s the other thing. The sheriff told me an anonymous source called in the homicide, probably a witness who doesn’t want to be identified.”
“A lot of questions could be answered if we got hold of that person,” Freya said.
“But we have no leads on that. We’re waiting for forensics to process the bottles and glasses to see how many people were there,” Ben said.
Clare felt the color drain from her face. She’d forgotten the beer bottles. What an idiot she was. There were a few with her DNA all over them and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. Luckily, and somewhat miraculously, she’d never been arrested, so her DNA wouldn’t be in any database. She was standing on a cliff with her toes over the edge. She looked at Henry, who was in the same boat. His jaw was clenched.
“I hate this,” Elizabeth said. She looked anguished. “I hate drugs and drug people. It’s a scourge.”
“I think we got that, Mom.” Henry drained his beer.
“There’s no need to be sarcastic, Henry.” It was the first time she’d seen Hank with a dead serious expression. An awkward silence followed, with Freya, Ben, and Clare all staring into their drinks.
Elizabeth stood. “Let’s move into the dining room. I’ll put supper on and we can find something else to talk about.”
The dinner conversation flowed easily. Clare tried to contribute, but it was as if she had lockjaw. Freya looked at her a couple of times with a question on her face, and she forced herself to smile back. She was paralyzed by the number of landmines in front of her.
* * *
Henry unlocked the apartment door and slammed it behind him. Evan popped up from the living room couch.
“What’s the matter?” He looked anxious as he faced Henry. An episode of Ice Road Truckers was on the television.
“Nothing’s the matter.” Henry took off his long coat and hung it in the closet. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you slammed the door, man. Scared the shit out of me.” He followed Henry into the kitchen and took two beers out of the fridge.
“Sorry. I just came from my parents’ house. You know how it is with family.”
Evan’s face fell. “You know I don’t.”
Henry winced. He knew Evan had grown up in group homes and a variety of foster homes. He’d done remarkably well in school for someone with his background and had gotten a full scholarship to Money Creek College. But there was no one to be proud of him. He sat across the table from Evan.
“Mine drive me crazy. I usually feel worse leaving there than I did going in.”
“Your parents are cool. Why can’t you see that?”
“You’re not their son. They look totally cool from the outside, but behind doors it’s another matter.”
“How bad can it be? At least you have parents,” Evan said. He started rolling a joint.
Henry let it drop and got up from the table. “I’m beat. I’m turning in.”
“It’s like eight o’clock.”
Henry looked at him with a steady gaze. “I’m going to relax in my room. Is there a problem with that?”
Evan raised his hands. “No problem. I’m going to smoke a joint if you want to join me.”
“Good night, Evan.” He grabbed another beer and walked down the hallway to his bedroom. When he closed the door, he let out a breath of relief, as if he’d just beached a small ship during a Category 4 hurricane. He was safe, for the moment. He took off his cashmere sweater and corduroys, his hundred-dollar T-shirt and brogues. He flopped on the bed in his underwear and tried not to cry. Everything he’d built was crashing down around him. His business was in a state of limbo following the death of his two partners. He didn’t have all the contacts they did with meth suppliers, or with the dealers who supplied them with other drugs for resale. His job had been to operate the town/gown side of things, selling directly to townspeople and Money Creek College students. Stingy operated the rural business and reported to Ray and Bobby. Henry also contributed capital for expenditures, including the purchase of legitimate businesses. He handled the accounting. Stingy would bring him bags of money, which he and Evan would count and distribute back to the partners. He concentrated on the areas assigned to him and ignored the day to day operation of the entire enterprise. How was he going to step into the breech?
There was the very real question of whether he’d even be around to start putting things in order. It was only a matter of time before it was discovered that Henry was the owner of the house where the murders occurred. Did that give them enough to arrest him? If he said that persons unknown must have broken into his house, would they have anything else on him? What about the DNA on the glasses left in the house? He’d had several beers. But his DNA wasn’t in any database. Would they make an arrest simply to get a swab from him and see if it was a match with the beer bottles? If so, he was sunk.
He thought of Clare at the dinner party that evening. She was trying to maintain composure, but he could see the tautness in her face, the rapid movement of her eyes. Freya kept looking at her in what he thought was a proprietary way, as if they had a special connection. That was worrisome. If Clare decided to confess to Freya, his life would be ruined.
He needed a plan and he needed it fast. The only one he could come up with involved running. Taking what cash he had and getting out of town. It was a pretty awful plan. The sheriff and state police would immediately know he had something to do with the murders and the manhunt would begin. Maybe he could wait. The DNA might come to nothing, and they might buy that he was ignorant of anyone using his house. He might be able to let things cool down for a while and then get the operation up and running. If he did run, however, he intended to take Clare with him. There was a good chance she’d be ready to go. She clearly was suffering under the strain of what she witnessed and withheld from the police. A life on the run would probably seem better than that.
Chapter Twenty-three
Freya hung up the phone just as Ben came in carrying coffee and bagels from Bean There. She smiled as she took a cup from him.
“Stingy has surfaced.”
“No shit?” Ben sat in his chair and started slathering on cream cheese.
“He showed up at Olie’s Ham and Egger and Deputy LeBeau spotted him there. That was him on the phone.”
Ben didn’t
look up from his bagel. “Is he scooping him up?”
“I told him to ask Stingy to come in for questioning and if he refused, arrest him.”
“We don’t have enough to arrest him.”
Freya uncapped her coffee and stirred in some stevia. “That’s true, but I’m not going to let him slip through our fingers. We can hold him for twenty-four hours.”
Ben chewed for a bit. “What do we have on him?”
“It’s all circumstantial. He went to ground after his DUI arrest for fear he was going to be killed by the drug cartel, but that’s an assumption. Then he emerged after the murders, which points to him thinking it was safe to be seen. That leaves a motive of killing them to ensure his own safety.”
“And taking over their business”
“It’s not enough to interest the prosecutor, but at least we’ll get to question him.”
Twenty minutes later, Stingy sat in the interview room and glared at Freya and Ben. “I don’t appreciate you ruining my breakfast.”
Freya grinned. “And you think we care about that?”
“You have nothing on me. I don’t know anything about any murders on Saturday night.”
“We have enough to question you, and the first thing I want to know is why you went into hiding after being released on your DUI charge?”
Stingy shrugged. “I wasn’t hiding. I have a quiet life. Why were you following me?”
“We know from two of your meth suppliers you’re trafficking drugs,” Ben said. “The two men who were killed Saturday also are drug dealers and you worked for them. Do you know Bobby Hughes or Ray Barnes?”
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