by Jon Redfern
“Emily?” Irene Bourne’s voice flew up the stairs. “Emily, are you all right?”
Emily sprang up. She brushed her wet face with the palm of her right hand.
“Mother, do not butt in. Go away and shut up!”
Billy heard Irene Bourne retreat into the back part of the house.
“Have you got any idea how hard it is to live with my mother?”
Billy remained silent. He waited.
Emily began to shift on the bed. She took in a breath. She looked at Billy, and then she looked away at the window. Her eyes seemed to go blank for a second, and then they refocused.
“I was supposed to be there. That’s all. To be his witness.”
Billy took out his notebook.
“What’s that for? What are you doing?”
“I need to write things down, Emily. I need to get things straight.”
“Are you serious? Are you trying to show off or something?”
“I’m a police detective, Emily. This is what police detectives do.”
“That’s cool. I mean it. I mean I saw this stuff on TV. But I didn’t know you really did this stuff.”
“Why were you supposed to be there, Emily?”
Tears rolled down the girl’s face. “Darren and I planned it. He said I could come and watch him. We had a secret. I promised him I’d never tell anyone. I promised. But now what’s the use?”
“It’s not your fault, Emily.”
“Darren begged me not to tell.”
“You liked him a lot, didn’t you?”
“We were friends. We trusted each other.”
“Take the tissue, Emily. Take your time.”
“Was Darren shot? Did somebody stab him?”
“It was a hanging, Emily. Somebody cut him with a knife. Not badly. And, as I said, his arms were tied.”
“You know, Cody and Darren had this pact. They told me never to tell, and I didn’t. They made it at Christmas. The Satanic stuff guided them. They told no one.”
“Were you a witness when Cody hanged himself?”
“Darren and I were stoned. We watched him. Darren was so happy for Cody.”
“You promise me you’re telling the truth, Emily?”
She shot a hard look at Billy.
He quickly reacted and said to her, his voice gentle, “I’m not your mother, Emily. Just tell me the truth.”
“I am. I swear.” She cried again for a moment, then wiped her eyes.
“Who were you calling on the phone earlier this morning?”
“Did my mother tell you?”
“Yes, Emily. I think she was concerned.”
“Sure.”
“Who was it, Emily? Please.”
“Just Dr. Massenet.”
“Who is he?”
“She. My therapist. She told me anytime I needed to talk she would listen. Her stupid answering machine was on last night. Most of the night. So I called her this morning, too.”
“Did you know Darren had died when you called Dr. Massenet this morning?”
“No.”
“Did you tell your therapist about your secret plan? That you were going to be Darren’s witness?”
“Sort of. I phoned her. . . . Yes, I told her Darren and I had a secret. That I was going to be his witness.”
“What else?”
“I couldn’t tell her any more. I was so upset with Darren. He . . . he betrayed me. Dr. Massenet told me I should always share my feelings with her. So I did. I tried to share them.”
“Darren betrayed you?”
Emily’s mouth tightened. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Is it true you were on the phone all day yesterday?”
“Did my mother tell you that?”
“Yes.”
Billy waited, expecting Emily would shut down completely.
“He was supposed to call me. He promised to send me the signal. I thought he was still alive and. . . . He didn’t want me there.” She picked up a pillow from her bed and flung it violently to the floor. “He promised. He said I was the only person he wanted there. I didn’t want him to die. But he said it was okay because of the sacred book. He was going to go to Cody. He was going to be at peace.”
Emily’s eyes blinked furiously. Her breathing sped up, her face flushed. Billy reached out to help her sit forward. He believed she was having a severe anxiety attack, even if her behaviour seemed exaggerated.
“Let me get your mother.”
Emily stopped so fast she choked for air, momentarily paralyzed, caught between her own tumultuous feelings and her deep distrust of her mother. Billy held her hand. Regaining composure, Emily lifted her face towards his. “I’m okay. I’m okay.” Calmed by her own voice, she backed against the headboard to realign herself.
“You were trying to call Darren, then. Yesterday. All day.”
“All day. There was no answer.”
“Did you call anyone else?”
“You mean Dr. Massenet? No.”
“So, help me, Emily. You knew Darren was planning to go to Satan House some time this weekend to perform a ritual. As Cody had done before him. A suicide ritual.”
A look of pained memory crossed Emily’s pale face. She seemed all too aware that Billy was speaking of death and loss, of a morbid but romantic game made up by two teenage boys.
“The Thanatopsis gave them the idea. Cody planned it.” Emily inhaled as if she were suddenly beginning a terrible ascent into a dark forest. Her voice became quieter as she went on, set back into her throat to hide the very sounds she was making. “He undressed and chanted and did a dance, in circles, around one way, then back. Three times, chanting a song.”
“Do you remember the words?”
“Funny words. Cody learned them in the book. Mene Mene Tekel. Darren made me learn them, too, though I told him I didn’t want to be in their ritual. Darren said I could just be a witness. To honour him and Cody and to remember them forever.”
Her voice trailed off.
“Do you think this was right, Emily? Do you think it was right to witness this and not tell anyone?”
“I guess.”
“When Darren didn’t give you the signal, what did you do?”
“I waited. I thought he was going to do it on Friday night, late. So I called his house a few times, but there was no answer. Then it was really late, and I got so scared I called her. Sheree Lynn. I tried to call her at Satan House, but no one picked up the phone. I had to find out if Darren was over there. If Sheree Lynn answered and told me where Darren was, then I’d know things were all right. By the time I phoned her at her stupid boyfriend’s place, I was so tired I don’t know what I said.”
“Did they do it? Did Darren go?”
Emily blinked, and a vacant stare overcame her. “Did Sheree say anything to you when you finally got hold of her?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Try, Emily.”
“I don’t. Honest.”
“Did you try to call anyone else this morning?”
“Like who?”
“Any of your friends? Anyone who might have known Darren?”
“No.”
“And you didn’t know about Darren’s death until your mother told you?”
“I didn’t believe her at first. I thought she was lying. Till you got here. When you got here, I knew it was true.” Emily lapsed again into her vacant stare. She held it for a second before she recovered. “I wish I had known. Really! I can’t believe he was murdered.”
“Do you know who took this Polaroid, Emily?”
Emily carefully took hold of the picture Billy pulled from his pocket. She stared at the one with Darren in a leather coat. “Can I please have this one? Please?” Emily pressed the picture to her chest.
“Not right now, Emily. I need it as evidence. Do you have any idea who took it?”
“Piggy Blayne Morton.”
“Did you know him?”
“I hated him. He picked on
Darren all the time. He once said to Darren — right in the hall by home room — he was going to really punish him if he hung out with Cody.”
“Did you ever see Blayne hurt Darren? Did he ever say anything else about threatening him?”
“Oh, God. You don’t think it was him, do you? Blayne?”
“We don’t know, Emily. We have no proof as yet.”
Emily seemed to brighten. The idea of Blayne Morton as a killer sharpened her resolve. “Cody told me Blayne was always following Darren. Wouldn’t leave him alone. He took that stupid camera everywhere. He was always so mad at everybody. I thought he liked Darren, but Cody said Blayne was calling him names all the time.”
“Can I ask you a big favour?”
“You mean like a friend?”
Billy smiled. “Well, no. Like a detective.”
Emily’s face became curious. She wrinkled her forehead and leaned forward. “Like what?”
“Is that blue book by your table your telephone book? Your private numbers?”
“I never let my mother near it.”
“Here’s my favour. You can say yes or no. You can choose.”
Emily grabbed the book from the table and held it open. “What do you want?” she asked eagerly. Her mood had changed. She was like a child at a party ready to play musical chairs.
“Count out how many private numbers you have. The numbers of your friends.”
Emily drew back. “Why?” she asked.
“Please, just count for me. Don’t show me, you don’t have to show me names.”
Emily began flipping the pages. “Eighteen,” she said finally.
“How many of those names do you think knew Darren Riegert? Just guess.”
Emily looked again through the six pages of names written in small green letters, many printed with happy faces dotting the letter i. “None. They’re all girlfriends, and most of them I don’t see anymore. They’re snobs and bitches. Darren didn’t know them. He was afraid of most people, did you know that? He was scared they’d hurt his feelings.”
“Thank you, Emily.”
Billy wrote quickly and then shut his notebook. “You going now?”
“Yes, Emily.”
“Did Darren look okay? Was he okay?” Emily’s voice trembled.
“He looked at peace, Emily.”
As he went downstairs, Emily closed her bedroom door. Billy heard the click of the lock.
Irene Bourne was standing alone in the entrance to the blue family room.
“Well, Inspector?”
“Your daughter admitted she and Darren Riegert were present when Cody Schow committed suicide. She also knew that Darren had planned to do the same ritual and that she was to be a witness.”
“She must be lying.”
“I believe her, Mrs. Bourne. She seems sincere.”
“Of course, there’s no reason for her to lie to you. She isn’t really one to make up stories. She is much more prone — at least around me and her father — to say nothing at all.” Irene Bourne’s face suddenly became thoughtful.
“Your daughter was calling Dr. Massenet this morning. She said. . . . ”
“She’s our therapist. A pleasant and helpful person. She must have a lot of patience dealing with. . . . Emily could’ve stopped him, Inspector!”
Irene Bourne sat down. The idea of her daughter witnessing a death struck her forcefully.
“She could’ve helped him. Oh, my God.”
“Help is a difficult concept in this situation, Mrs. Bourne. Emily said Darren and Cody Schow had some kind of pact. I must insist you call Dr. Massenet this afternoon and have her come by. Your daughter is in a state right now where she could commit serious harm to herself. There should be some professional intervention, as soon as possible. I need your assurance that you will follow through on this as soon as you can.”
“Sharon Riegert warned me to make sure my daughter was safe. It’s all so sordid and ugly.” Irene Bourne stood up. She was agitated; she rubbed her hands together. “I will call Dr. Massenet right now.” Then she paused. “My daughter is responsible. Will she be charged, Inspector? For witnessing Cody’s death and not acting? God, the news won’t sit well with Jack.”
“I’ll need to get a formal statement, Mrs. Bourne. But it can wait until later this week. The Schow case has been closed for months, as you know, but with Darren’s death we will have to re-open the files. There was no evidence of foul play, but Emily’s presence is suspicious. We’ll need corroboration from Dr. Massenet. To find out how much Emily has confessed to her. Or made up. Your daughter said she was stoned when she saw Cody hang himself.”
“I knew there were drugs.” Irene Bourne did not look into Billy’s face as she spoke these last words.
“For the meantime, I’ll report this conversation as part of my investigation of the Darren Riegert case. I can let you know when Chief Bochansky wants Emily to come in for more questioning.”
Irene Bourne managed a thin smile.
“Call Dr. Massenet and tell her about what went on this morning. It’ll help keep things clear if she knows you have met me.”
“Absolutely, Inspector.”
“I must make a call to headquarters.”
As Billy punched in the number on his cell phone, Irene Bourne sat down at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands. The rush of running water in the pipes of the house from someone flushing a toilet upstairs reverberated through the thin walls like river rapids. Billy could hardly hear the dispatcher on the other end of the line.
“Inspector, we’ve got a counsellor here. A Mr. Barnes,” the dispatcher explained.
“Speak up, sergeant, sorry.”
“It’s the counsellor, sir, Mr. Barnes. He’s brought in a young student — the Darren Riegert case.”
“Okay.”
“Chief suggested you should come straight over when you’re done.”
“All right. Tell the chief I’m on my way.”
Billy clicked off. Irene Bourne was already standing in the front hall. She opened the front door.
“Let me know, Inspector,” she said in a quiet voice, “if I can do any more to help. I can cope for now, at least, knowing what Emily has seen. You see, it was right after Cody’s death that she began acting up. She never told me what she saw or did. I wish I could . . . well, I can cope, as I say.”
“Goodbye, Mrs. Bourne.”
The sun burned the hard surface of the concrete driveway as Billy put the Pontiac into reverse. He drove slowly, trying to remember the street names that led out to the entrance to Tudor Acres. He turned at Windsor, ended up at Oxford, and finally found the exit. He shook his head. He stopped, pulling the Pontiac to the curb, and wrote down in his notebook as much as he could remember as cars swooshed by on the four-lane ring road leading into the city centre. Did he believe Emily? He had no reason not to. His knee began to ache. This was not a good sign. Pain like this always came with fatigue and was the first sign of mounting frustration. A killer was on the loose. Evidence was scarce. And all he could do was wait.
It had been a bitter night for Justin Moore. A toss-and-turn marathon granting him no more than a fitful hour or two of sleep. He’d spent the evening alone drinking too many rum and Cokes and had fallen fully dressed into his bed, half sick but wired. When sleep finally came, nightmares of Yianni hounded him. Now as the hot noon sun bombarded his bedroom, Justin had to get up and face whatever the new day would bring.
He struggled into the shower. Later, he put on his khaki army shorts and a plaid cotton shirt and went downstairs to the dining room, where his mother had laid out a freshly cut orange for him on one of her Spode plates. Aileen Moore believed in formal meals at all hours of the day. Mid-Sunday was no exception. Justin’s head was splitting.
“Well, sleepy head. You still want breakfast? I’ve got bacon all ready warming in the oven.” His mother had poked her head around the swinging door that led to the kitchen.
“Just coffee, Mom.”
/> Justin lowered himself into his chair and scowled at the oozing cluster of orange triangles. He sighed. Maybe Yianni would cut a deal. Perhaps give him another week if he could show up with a few dollars on Saturday and maybe a gift. But what? A bottle of whiskey? He knew Yianni would want something more.
Aileen Moore came into the dining room carrying a cup of steaming coffee and the phone.
“It’s for you.”
Justin hesitated before speaking. His mother sat down opposite him and lit a cigarette.
“Go on, dear. I won’t listen in.”
The voice on the phone was quiet and hesitant.
“I really need to talk to you.”
“What about?”
“Let’s say it’s very serious, Justin.”
“Look, Karen, you agreed. You gave back the ring. We agreed. . . .”
“I know. But something’s happened. It’s important.”
“Look, I’ve got a lot of. . . .”
“Can you pick me up for coffee? Please, Justin.”
Justin sighed. Thinking over how his life was going, he figured Karen’s crisis, if that’s what it was, could not add much more of an edge to his own problems.
“I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”
When he finished his coffee, Justin listened to his mother try to persuade him to cut the back lawn, but he managed to put her off for a few hours. He took the Olds and drove along Baroness for twelve blocks, then went east onto a side avenue. Cars swooshed by him, their sound punctuating the litany of words echoing in his head: cash, Yianni, cash, police. Karen’s house sat at the end of the street. Justin slowed the Oldsmobile as new words and accusations broke into his consciousness: You deal to minors. What if the police ask about Darren and Cody?
The front porch of Karen’s bungalow needed paint, and the pillars holding up its arched roof were leaning. The Oldsmobile’s engine whined as Justin pulled to a stop. Karen ran out the front door and down the crumbling concrete steps. She was wearing jeans and a pink T-shirt, and her hair was tied back in a scarf as bright as a school banner.
“Let’s get out of here.” Karen slid into the front seat of the car.
Justin jammed the Oldsmobile into drive.
