Lot’s return to Sodom

by Sandra Brannan

  He slid a picture of himself with Char and Michelle, the first picture I’d seen of Char other than my peek at one from her childhood through the Freeburg’s window. I recognized the young Michelle, her eyes haunting, and Coach Vincent with his easy smile.

  An icy chill skipped along my spine as I stared at the girl with the black curls, a girl who looked a bit too much like the one I saw teetering on high heels Monday wearing a red bikini. I gasped and brought the picture closer, trying to determine if the girls were one in the same.

  Coach Vincent touched my wrist. “Liv? What?”

  I swallowed hard and laid the photograph on the table between us. “Nothing. It’s just hard for me to accept that Michelle is gone. Nice picture. Can I keep it?”

  Shaking his head as he slid the photo back in his wallet, he answered wearily, “No, sorry. The agents asked me to bring any photos I might have.”

  “One more thing before you go,” I said, clearing my mind of the image of the girl with Noodles. “How would I go about finding Char? Who are the friends that help her hide?”

  Coach Vincent slid out of the booth and smoothed out his suit jacket. “If I were you, I’d start with all the girls on her volleyball team. They’ve been working together the entire summer so they can be ready for junior varsity.”

  Another piece fell into place. A common link. “As freshmen in high school? On Mr. Schilling’s team?”

  “COME ON IN,” SAID the man with a smile as wide and perfect as Liv’s. Streeter instantly recognized the family resemblance.

  After introductions, Jens offered, “Do you gentlemen need anything to drink? Water, pop? Gosh, it’s almost five. Would you rather have a beer?”

  Bly waved his hands. Streeter said, “Thanks, we’re good.”

  Jens offered them a seat in his living room. “Agent Shankley said he’d be sending someone over today to talk with me. Told me not to go anywhere, but I went up to my mom’s this morning on the way back from the morgue and picked up my sister.”

  “Your sister? Is she here?” Streeter said a bit too eagerly, wondering if the sister was Liv.

  “No, she’s on the loose with my truck. Probably because she would be concerned I’d take off and miss you guys. Agent Shankley told me that I was under suspicion and not to do anything stupid.” Jens’s grin was sad. “So here I am, not doing anything stupid.”

  “All day?” Bly said, shaking his head and cutting his eyes toward Streeter.

  Streeter detected resentment behind Jens’s solemn face. “I’m sorry about that. We didn’t know. And let me ease your mind. You are not our primary suspect.” Streeter glanced at Bly, who was arching an eyebrow. “But we do have to ask you some questions, to be thorough.”

  “I understand,” Jens said, staring at his folded hands. “Everyone’s a suspect.”

  Streeter studied the room of the house, which was old and small, but smelled fresh and breezy. The space was clean, neat, not the least bit pretentious for a congressman’s son. Humble. Jens’s resemblance to Liv, the easy smile, the strong, lean body, and the mischievous eyes, made it difficult for Streeter to think of him as a potential suspect, despite Roy Barker’s accusation. Knowing his objectivity had, on occasion, faltered when his personal life was involved, Streeter had to concede that Jens Bergen was still a suspect.

  “Starting with Sunday evening, tell us from your perspective what you know,” Streeter began.

  Jens told the agents what happened at Barker’s Market, which matched up with the story Roy Barker had told them earlier plus the information Roy called to tell Bly about as an afterthought. Jens also described his time at the morgue with the Freeburgs and Agent Bob Shankley earlier that morning. He volunteered that, in their investigation, they would learn he was at the Nemo General Store on Monday morning from five until seven, supervising a small concrete pour, and no, it was not typical for the manager of the ready mix division to perform such a task, but because they were so busy, the dispatch supervisor requested his help, which he did from time to time.

  As Jens told his story, Streeter not only listened, he watched. He was looking for telltale signs of tension and deceit, nervousness and omission. His instincts were usually correct. And his instincts told him that Jens as murderer was only a remote possibility.

  Streeter flashed back to Liv’s home near Fort Collins, Colorado, the one he and Lisa Henry converted to a makeshift headquarters during the De Milo murder case. He couldn’t shake the image of the rocks that Liv had collected and neatly placed by the photo of her family atop her dresser, racking his brain to recall which rock represented Jens. Jens Bergen appeared to be straightforward, honest, and genuinely kindhearted, just like his parents. He was even a bit soft-spoken, which surprised Streeter, given Jens’s imposing stature. Streeter would later convince himself that his assessment of Jens had nothing to do with his opinion of the Bergens in general, or Liv in particular. He could certainly be objective, impartial. No problem.

  Jens was saying in a voice as soothing as warm milk on an icy evening, “She told her parents she wanted to move back in with them because her lease expired and to save money for college, but that wasn’t the whole story.”

  “She didn’t plan to go on to medical school?” Bly asked.

  “No,” Jens said, shaking his head a little and pushing his long, lean fingers through his short brown hair. “I mean, yes and no. Michelle was about to complete her degree in premed. But she had lived like a church mouse and saved up every extra penny she earned since she moved out of the house her senior year. She had paid off nearly all her student loans as well as saved up enough money to get started at medical school.” His smile seemed empty and waned as quickly as it had appeared. “She had more money than most of us. Michelle got by on very little, rarely pampered herself. She saved and invested with a purpose. She was going to make a difference.”

  “Ambitious,” Streeter concluded, watching as Jens’s chest filled with pride.

  “She is,” Jens said, sporting a proud smile, which quickly dissolved into a sorrowful frown. “Was.”

  Streeter hadn’t seen the pain in Jens’s eyes until that moment when he lifted his chin from his chest.

  Jens added, “I just can’t get used to the fact that she’s gone.”

  “It isn’t easy, Jens. I know. My wife was murdered,” Streeter said, offering him a nod of reassurance. Bly rubbernecked at the comment and Streeter realized that this was the first time he had ever said the words aloud. He cleared his throat and added, “Would you consider Michelle responsible?”

  “Very responsible and very remarkable,” he answered, regaining his wide-eyed optimism. His eyes were not the unusual sea green of Liv’s, but blue, and brilliant nonetheless. “She is much older than her years. Very mature. Almost hauntingly so. She cares so much about others. Sorry, cared.”

  Streeter knew how difficult it could be for a loved one to refer to the deceased in any other way but present tense. A rather convincing sign that the person had nothing to do with the death.

  “Did she ever go out partying on a whim, just to let her hair down?” Bly asked gingerly.

  Jens furrowed his brow. “Not at all. She never indulges herself that way. She’s too practical. The only impetuous act I know of that Michelle ever committed was when she left home before she graduated. She had not told me as much, but hinted that her parents were not at all pleased with her decision to move out on her own. She was only seventeen at the time.”

  “Why did she move out?”

  “She said she and her mom were arguing a lot. Char was just three, and Michelle felt she had to give her mom space.”

  “Interesting. Most seventeen-year-olds want space for themselves, not to give space to others,” Streeter said. “Then why did she move back in with them after being on her own for nearly a decade?”

  “She was serious about saving money and she was worried about Char. Her sister is fourteen going on twenty-one, which bothered Michelle a lot. Char occasionally spe
nt the night at her older sister’s apartment, sometimes the whole weekend. Classic teenager, yes. But you’ve met the Freeburgs—I can’t say that I blamed Char. Those people are totally vacant. Michelle’s apartment a safe haven from her parents. For Char, too, which I never quite understood.”

  “What didn’t you understand?” Streeter pressed.

  Jens glanced warily at him before explaining, “Why would Michelle ever move back home to help Char, when Char had used Michelle’s apartment as a getaway? I don’t know. I tried to talk to Michelle about her obsession with Char, but she was relentless in trying to protect her.”

  “Would you say she was overly protective of Char?” Streeter urged.

  Jens became studious, staring at his hands and flicking at one of his fingernails. He hummed in a low, monotonous note as he thought. Streeter suspected Jens wasn’t so much searching his mind for possibilities as searching his heart for the right decision about sharing with him and Bly what he knew.

  “I’d say she was,” he finally answered.

  “You mentioned they would argue,” Streeter said, deciding to give Jens more time to volunteer whatever information he was withholding. “Would Char’s visits have been upsetting enough to Michelle that she would behave irrationally herself?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Would she scream, yell, throw things, fight with her sister—slap, pull hair, cuss, that sort of thing?” Bly asked.

  Jens’s face collapsed into repulsion. “No, not at all. Michelle wasn’t at all like that. She would never fight. She was more of a ‘flight’ type person when it came to conflict.”

  “Have you ever seen Michelle react violently?” Streeter asked.

  “Never,” Jens said quickly. “Even when she and Char would argue, Michelle was always calm, cool, totally in control of her emotions. The only time I’d ever see her get worked up was against an injustice done to someone. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. When I said she’d argue with Char, it was more like debating, discussing, explaining another viewpoint. She would never have been physical with Char. The closest I ever saw her come to losing control of her temper was Sunday night.”

  “What was that about?” Streeter asked.

  “It was about a guy Char was dating, but again, Michelle didn’t share much with me.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  Jens recounted, “Michelle was angry about Char dating an older guy. Someone their parents didn’t know about and wouldn’t approve of.”

  “Was it common for Char or Michelle to argue with their parents?” Streeter asked, still trying to figure out how the Freeburgs concluded their girls were “trouble” or “problems.”

  “I’d say Michelle often disagreed with them, but was respectful. Frank and Arlene saw Michelle’s disagreement with them as synonymous with being a difficult child. Michelle was just honest about her opinions. When Char disagreed, she was not respectful about it. Not in the least.”

  “I sense you don’t like Char all that much,” Streeter pressed.

  “It’s not that. And I don’t blame her for reacting the way she does with the Freeburgs, considering their total disconnection from reality. From her. But sometimes she can be a bit … spoiled. And she has so much more going for her than to grow up to be like her parents,” Jens said unapologetically.

  “So, Michelle would argue with Char about being spoiled?”

  “No, she would try to convince Char to be more respectful to her parents. They would argue about Char’s willful independence leading her too far into wild ways with her friends, Michelle trying to teach Char the difference.”

  “What kind of wild and who were the friends she’d spend time with? Do you have names?”

  Jens shook his head. “I don’t know names. But it would be easy to figure out. They all play volleyball together. Char would brag about them trying marijuana for the first time, cigarettes, beer. She was only twelve when she started hanging with the wrong crowd, feeling the peer pressure.”

  “Normally, school sports teams are considered the good crowd,” Streeter observed.

  “True, but in this case, I think a few bad apples spoiled the whole bunch. Michelle tried to keep her cool about it but warned Char about the trouble she could bring on if she wasn’t more careful. Michelle told me she was concerned that her parents couldn’t … or wouldn’t handle Char. I think those were the words she chose.”

  “What do you think she meant by ‘wouldn’t’?”

  Jens wilted against the couch, his long lean legs bent at a prefect right angle with his feet planted firmly on the carpet beneath him. To Streeter, Jens resembled JFK Jr. only taller and with a much handsomer face, if that were possible.

  He buckled his brow and answered, “I guess I really can’t say, other than to couple my observations with speculation from the things she told me about her parents. Frank and Arlene adore their sons. Odd, considering their total disregard—my observation, not Michelle’s—for their daughters. But not so odd when you consider that Arlene will do anything and everything to please Frank. And Frank—again my opinion—feels threatened by strong women.” He chuckled. “I can’t even imagine either of those women living their lives conceding to Frank’s every whim like Arlene does. Maybe it’s a generational thing. I wouldn’t know, since my parents were nothing like them. Brian and Frankie Jr. can do no wrong. But when it comes to the daughters, they give up before anything is started. I’ve only met Brian and Frank Jr. a couple of times, always around their parents. They’re nice men. Just a bit too eager to please ol’ mom and dad.”

  Bly’s eyebrows arched. Streeter suppressed a grin.

  Jens’s cheeks flushed. “Okay, not that being eager to please parents is a bad thing. I’m just overly protective of Michelle.” His bright eyes dimmed and he lowered them toward the carpet.

  “How so?” Streeter encouraged him to continue.

  “I remember one family barbecue this spring when I first met them. Michelle and I were out back by the grill where Frank, Arlene, and Brian were sitting. Frankie Jr. had excused himself to go to the bathroom. A little while later Michelle said she was going to the car to get some sunglasses, and when she returned, Frankie Jr. was with her, looking guilty as hell. So plain to me, a complete stranger, I thought the whole family would be asking what had happened. They didn’t. I could tell Michelle wasn’t happy. Arlene asked them if they’d seen Char. Frankie Jr. said he hadn’t. Michelle said she had seen her out front. Arlene went out to the front porch and found Char drinking a beer and blamed Michelle for it.”

  “Had she given it to her?”

  “No, Frankie Jr. had, along with some weed he’d been smoking. Michelle jumped on both of them, but mostly Bubba—that’s what she called her oldest brother—for being a bad influence on his baby sister. Arlene went to her room crying, and when Frank came back from checking on her, he asked us to leave. Michelle and me. Apparently, her mom thought Michelle was responsible for Char’s behavior. Frankie Jr. flashed us an apologetic smile when we left, offering no explanation or defense for Michelle. After all, how could he be culpable? He was their shining star. Their precious son, the naval hero. The good boy.”

  “Sounds like there’s some serious sibling rivalry going on in that family,” Bly concluded, easing back in his chair.

  “Not really,” Jens said. “Oddly, that was right after Michelle had decided to move in with them. Michelle thought her dad had asked her to leave the house, but while she was downstairs packing up her things, he came down and told her that she should just get out of the house for a couple of hours until her mother calmed down. I don’t know why Michelle put herself through all that. I guess for Char’s sake. She was hoping to get her straightened out. So I don’t know if I would call it sibling rivalry.”

  “At least not on Michelle’s part?” Streeter asked.

  “Where the rest of the family was concerned, there was always some tension when it came to Michelle and Char. I can kind of see Char’s side of things a
little bit. It was like she had two mothers and three fathers, being as young as she was.”

  “You think that’s why she has a tendency to run away?”

  “Michelle wouldn’t say why Char ran away this time, but I’d guess it’s for the same reason she always runs away. Michelle believed it was her fault on Sunday night. All she said was that she and Char had a big falling out over one of Char’s boyfriends.”

  “Were you there?” Streeter asked.

  “No,” Jens said, shaking his head. “But keep in mind, Char’s always doing this, running away from time to time. She’s never gone for more than a few days.”

  “So the argument between Char and Michelle was Sunday night?”

  “Yes. Between eight and ten.”

  “What did this boyfriend do or not do that bothered Michelle so much?”

  “Michelle said she followed them when Char took off with the guy. He pulled up to a drive-through liquor store, bought beer, then drove up to Dinosaur Hill—kind of the local make-out spot. If that didn’t set her off, you could imagine how cool Michelle was. What really got under her skin was that this guy was old, in his forties or fifties, and Michelle knew him.”

  “Who was he?” Streeter asked.

  “She wouldn’t say. Said he’s known around here and was afraid of what I might do. I told my sister to ask Char. She’d know who.”

  “Your sister? What does she have to do with this?”

  Streeter’s expression must have signaled something because Jens’s eyes visibly shifted into a deeper sadness. “Oh no. I asked her to find Char for me, so I could know what happened to Michelle that night. I’ve put Liv in some kind of danger, haven’t I?”

  Streeter’s stomach fluttered at the mention of Liv’s name. So she was the sister staying with Jens.