by Ava McCarthy
Jodie turned to go. Novak jerked to his feet.
‘Wait!’
She shook her head, moved away.
‘Listen to me Jodie, you need to hear this.’ Novak’s voice grew urgent, louder. ‘Ethan is still alive.’
6
Jodie froze. Then slowly, she turned around.
Novak was on his feet, his chair kicked back. Beneath the rumpled shirt, his frame was stocky, the bedraggled hair and stubble giving him a wild, mountain-man look. She shook her head.
‘You’re crazy.’
‘Didn’t you ever wonder about the bullets?’
She shook her head again and turned away. His voice rose over the racket in the room.
‘They said four shots had been fired from the gun, but you only took two. Didn’t you ever wonder about that?’
Jodie halted, keeping her back to him. ‘So maybe I fired more, I don’t remember. Does it matter?’
‘You swore in court you only fired two. Should’ve been seven rounds left in the gun, so why were there only five?’
‘Maybe I only started with seven bullets.’
‘You said you loaded a full magazine. Nine rounds.’
Clack-snap. Nine bullets loaded.
Jodie squeezed her eyes shut, driving the memory away. Then she spun round to face him. ‘What the hell does it matter how many shots I fired? However many it took, Ethan is dead.’
‘The prosecution claimed you fired a round into the gas tank of the car.’
‘I don’t remember doing that. Why the hell would I do that?’
‘To finish him off in the explosion, is what they said.’
‘I know what they said, but Ethan was already dead. I shot him, for God’s sake. Point blank range. There was blood, it hit my face—’ She clamped her mouth shut, inhaled deeply through her nose.
‘You may have shot him,’ Novak said. ‘But you didn’t kill him.’
She opened her mouth to object, but his gaze had moved past her, his expression guarded. She flicked a look over her shoulder. The Officer in Charge was scowling in their direction, motioning at them to sit down. Jodie glanced back at Novak, intending to wrap things up, but he cut across her.
‘Ethan was in Belize less than two weeks ago and I can prove it.’
The skin on Jodie’s arms puckered. Novak’s eyes burned into hers. She checked on the Officer in Charge who was now striding in their direction, and with a twinge of misgiving, she stepped back to the table, yanked out her chair and sat down. Novak took his seat opposite hers, but before he could speak, she leaned forward and said,
‘This is pointless. I don’t know who was in Belize, but Ethan is dead. His body was in the car.’
‘That wasn’t his body.’
‘Oh, come on.’
‘I’m serious. The body wasn’t his. Did you identify it?’
‘No, I didn’t identify it, the fire in the car made that impossible. But I didn’t need to, the dental records confirmed it was Ethan.’
‘Yeah, the dental records. I’ve got a theory about those.’
‘A theory? Jesus.’ Jodie flopped back against the chair. ‘This is the basis of your story? A theory?’
‘Come on, humour me a second.’ Novak shoved a hand through his wayward hair. The brown curls looked tough and springy; irrepressible. ‘Let’s back up a bit. How much do you really remember about the last moments in the car?’
‘I went over all this in court, you said you were there.’
‘Please, bear with me. How much do you remember?’
Jodie rolled her eyes. ‘Not much. I know I took a second shot, but after that, nothing.’
‘Why two shots?’
‘I explained all that. The first shot was for Ethan, the second one was supposed to be for me.’ She indicated herself with a sweeping flick of her hand. ‘Obviously, I missed.’
‘Maybe you didn’t.’
She squinted at him, and he went on.
‘Maybe you had to change your plan. Maybe when it came to it, you needed that second bullet for Ethan. Because you knew the first one hadn’t killed him.’
‘The gun was inches from his head.’
‘But the car was speeding, swerving all over the road. You said in court you were flung around, thrown from side to side, so how can you be sure your shot was accurate?’
For an instant, Jodie was back in the car: lurching, pitching; her head dazed, the Bentley screeching, spinning out of control.
A cold sweat settled on her skin. It wasn’t possible. She’d killed him, she knew she had.
Novak said, ‘So where was Ethan going?’
‘Boston. The airport.’
‘On his way to New York, that’s what you said, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know for a fact he was going to New York?’
Jodie paused. ‘If you put it like that, I suppose I don’t. New York is just what he told me.’
‘Did you know there are no flights to New York that time of night?’
Jodie frowned. ‘No. No, I didn’t.’
‘It was a business trip?’
‘I assumed so. But he never told me much. Look, Mr Novak, Ethan had a lot of secrets. More secrets than we’ll ever know about.’
‘Yeah, I’m getting that.’
He broke eye contact, and scratched his stubble for a while. He seemed to have trouble forming his next question. The cacophony of families echoed around them, punctuated by the clunkety-clunk of cans being dispensed from the vending machine. Eventually, Novak said,
‘How many other cars did you see on the road?’
‘One or two. Not many.’
‘What? That can’t be right. On the fourth of July?’
Jodie raised a brow at the argumentative tone. ‘I can see that’s not the answer you wanted. But it was late. Most people had gone home.’
He drummed his fingers on the table. Jodie checked over her shoulder at the clock on the wall. Time was almost up. Some families were already getting up to leave, preparing for the long ride home. Chairs rumbled against the floor, and a low-level wailing started up. The sound of children and mothers parting.
Jodie’s throat constricted. Her mind flicked back to the mannequin in the art room, to the stash of pills that would bring an end to everything. Instead of the usual release, the notion stirred up a worm of unease. She shifted in her chair.
‘You said you could prove Ethan was still alive.’
Novak nodded. ‘He’s come up in a fraud case I’ve been investigating. Actually, he first came up three years ago, but then he conveniently died.’
‘Came up how?’
He hesitated, his expression wary. A journalist protecting his story. Then he went on.
‘We can go into the details later. Bottom line is, he’s heavily implicated. Along with his buddy, Sheriff Caruso.’
She flashed on the sheriff’s fleshy face, his dark, hard eyes. ‘That’s no surprise. Where does Belize come into it?’
‘I’m getting to that. One of my contacts called me. About a bank account I’d linked to Ethan three years ago, an offshore account in Belize City. It’s been dormant ever since Ethan died, but six weeks ago it suddenly became active. He’s started moving money around.’
Jodie sat back. ‘Activity on a bank account? That’s all you’ve got? That could have been anyone. It doesn’t prove a thing, it’s absurd to think that was Ethan.’
‘That’s what I thought.’ He clasped his hands in front of him, his knuckles tense. ‘So my contact got me a photograph.’
Her stomach jolted. She stared at Novak, who wasn’t quite meeting her eyes. Every muscle in her body felt rigid, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Eventually, she managed,
‘Aren’t you going to show it to me?’
He scraped a hand over his cheek. She could see some kind of debate chase back and forth across his face, and from the tremor in his frame, she guessed it had sent his leg jiggling. He finally seemed to make up his mind, a
nd reached into his jacket pocket, drawing out a single photograph. Jodie’s mouth felt dry. He held the photo close to his chest, still unwilling to part with it.
‘This was taken from the security camera in the bank.’ He peeked at it, like a poker player unsure of his hole card. ‘It’s a little grainy, you may not recognize him.’
Jodie swallowed hard, waiting for him to hand it over. When he didn’t, it occurred to her he was as anxious as she was. She squinted at him.
‘You’re not sure, are you?’
‘Of course I’m fucking sure.’
She studied the taut line of his jaw. ‘No, you’re not. But you badly need it to be him, don’t you?’
He shrugged, avoiding her eyes. ‘It’s just a story.’
But the sheen on his forehead spoke of desperation. The guy had more riding on this than he was prepared to say. Slowly, Jodie held out her hand, aware that her pulse was hammering. He gave the photo one last look, then slid it across the table.
She picked it up. Looked at it. Her breath caught in her throat. Nausea rolled in the pit of her stomach, and she shoved her knuckles against her lips, fighting the urge to fling the photo back across the table. She made herself study it long and hard, just so she could be sure.
It was a half-body shot in gritty-looking monochrome. The man’s image was over-magnified, his outline defined by small, pixelated blocks. Jodie scrutinized the longish dark hair, the jaded face, the hint of stubble on his chin. Not wild stubble like Novak’s, but groomed, designer-style. And above it, the sculpted, buttoned-up mouth that looked so much like Abby’s. A chill skittered through her.
‘It’s him, isn’t it?’ Novak’s eyes were fastened on to hers.
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. All around her, the babble of voices roared and faded.
Novak leaned forward, bending low across the table.
‘I need to know. Is it him?’
She gave a brief nod, her fist still pressed against her mouth. Novak exhaled a long breath. Then he hiked his chair in closer and jabbed a finger at the photo.
‘See the date? In the bottom corner? That was taken less than two weeks ago.’
Jodie shook her head. ‘That’s a mistake. A fake.’
‘That date is genuine. Frankly, I wouldn’t know how to fake it, and my contact has no reason to lie.’
She shook her head again. Managed a whisper. ‘It’s impossible. His body—’
‘There was another car. There had to be.’
Jodie frowned, dazed. ‘What?’
‘Ethan’s car had overturned, hurtled into the ditch. Why? Because he’d swerved to avoid another vehicle.’
‘He was speeding, I’d shot him—’
He waved that aside. ‘The guy in the other car was dead or hurt or something, it doesn’t matter which. So Ethan just switched places.’
Jodie’s brain felt sluggish. Novak rushed on.
‘He dragged the guy into his own car, maybe even switched clothes, then shot him in the back of the head. He pulled you clear, along with his own jacket and ID to make sure that stayed intact. Then he fired a round into the gas tank to incinerate the body, and took off in the other car.’
Novak sat back, his arms spread out in a hey-presto gesture. Jodie kneaded her forehead, trying to process the information, sifting out the feasible from the far-fetched and wondering how to tell the difference.
She stared at the photo of Ethan and clenched her teeth. Novak dragged a hand through his hair and got ready to drive the point home.
‘Look, it explains the two extra shots from the gun. Ethan was the one who fired into the gas tank, and the other bullet was for the guy in the car.’ He started counting things off on his fingers. ‘Ethan’s finances were threatening to come crashing down, you were going to leave him, Abby was gone, you’d contacted the DA and accused him of murder. What better way to solve all his problems than to disappear? He was never going to get a better opportunity.’
‘But the dental records—’
‘Zach Caruso.’
‘The sheriff?’
‘Sure. He was in charge of the investigation, he’d plenty of opportunity to falsify evidence. I bet if we dug around, we’d find his grubby prints all over this.’
‘But why?’
‘You’re forgetting he was heavily involved in the same fraud as Ethan. Maybe Ethan contacted him later that night, strong-armed him into it. Threatened him with exposure if he didn’t cooperate.’
Jodie’s head felt log-jammed. Her eyes flicked back to the photo. Was Ethan really alive after all this time? While her Abby was still dead? The queasiness in her gut swirled some more. She glanced at Novak, who was watching her closely, and shook her head again.
‘You said he pulled me clear of the car. Why would he do that? Why didn’t he just kill me too?’
‘Because you were the clincher. A witness to his death. Think about it. You’d recover from the crash believing you’d shot him. Your letter to the DA would predispose the authorities to believe it too, not to mention prove the case against you. Ethan knew you wouldn’t deny it. What better way to convince people he was really dead than have you admit to the police that you killed him?’ He glanced at his surroundings. ‘Plus, I guess he got to punish you by sending you in here.’
A shiver twitched down Jodie’s spine, sending ripples along her arms that made her hands tremble. She slapped the photo down on the table, shoved it away. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.
Novak narrowed his eyes.
‘What, you think he wasn’t capable? He wasn’t devious enough to pull off a stunt like that? Or ruthless enough? You think he didn’t have the cunning to spot his chance and cook up a scheme to exploit it?’
Jodie squeezed her eyes shut, the simmering nausea threatening to come to the boil. She whispered, ‘He was a liar, not Houdini.’
‘He was a twisted, clever, conniving man, and you know it.’
He grabbed her hand, and her eyes flew open. He jammed the photo between her fingers, clenching his hands over hers. He thrust the photo up close, his hands warm and rough.
‘Look at him. Look at him! He’s alive, you know he is. Look at him and tell me he’s not capable of doing this.’
Ethan’s face filled her vision: the sculptured bone structure, the dark brows, the familiar smirk nudging his tired lines into folds.
‘I stayed there in the boat until it was all over … you’ll never see her again.’
She shut her eyes, shook her head. Tried to drive Ethan’s voice away.
‘You’ve brought this all on yourself, Jodie … If it wasn’t for you, Abby would still be alive.’
She choked back the urge to scream, every cell in her body clenched tight.
‘No one can prove anything.’
Jodie snapped her eyes open. Something icy stole over her, and she felt her jaw lock down tight. She stared at the photo. Novak was right. If anyone could have pulled off a conjuring trick like that, it was Ethan.
He was still alive.
Impossible! She’d killed him!
But her gut felt cold.
The bastard was still alive.
She lifted her chin, gave Novak a long, steady look.
‘If he’s alive, then where is he now?’
He released her hand. ‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. You know his friends, habits, contacts, family. I wanted you to help me track him down.’
Slowly, Jodie nodded. ‘I see.’
Possibilities formed and shifted in her head. Something stony and primitive hardened inside her, crystallizing the answer to the cardinal question: what’s worth living for, what’s worth dying for?
Eventually, she said, ‘Okay, Mr Novak. If he’s really alive, I’ll help you find him.’
And when she found him again, she would kill him. For good, this time.
7
‘Anyone ever break out of here, Dixie?’
Jodie stared at the horizon through the chain-linked fence, and figur
ed she already knew the answer. Beside her, Dixie was stamping her feet to keep warm.
‘Are you crazy? Have you taken a look around here lately?’
Jodie shrugged and blew on her hands, her breath clouding up around her like a facial steam bath. The view through the fence resolved into a mesh of diamond shapes, a bleak jigsaw of stretching, snowy scrub land.
She glanced at the snarls of razor wire above her, the jagged barbs spiking out through crusts of snow.
‘Hasn’t anyone ever tried?’
‘Sure, they’ve tried. Some of ’em died trying.’
‘And the rest?’
‘They just got caught. Got thrown in Seg, with a few more years added to their sentence.’
Jodie nodded, her gaze drifting back out to the horizon. It was mostly obscured by maple trees and phone cables, all burdened with a heavy load of snow. Behind her, she knew the guards in the tower were watching.
Dixie stomped her feet some more, and squinted up into Jodie’s face. Her round amber eyes looked watery from the cold.
‘Why the sudden interest?’
Jodie shrugged again. ‘No reason.’
‘Bullshit.’ Dixie hugged her chest for warmth, her plump shape bundled into so many layers she had trouble bending her arms. ‘With you, there’s always a reason.’
‘The ones that got out, how did they do it?’
‘How in hell do I know?’
‘Come on, you must have heard something. Did they dig tunnels, overpower the guards, or what?’
‘Who the fuck knows? Ask Momma Ruth, if you’re so interested. Thirty-two years, she’s seen everything in here.’
An officer hollered at them to keep on moving. Slowly, Jodie turned away from the fence and resumed her circuit of the yard. Her feet scrunched through the cakey snow, and Dixie’s footsteps padded after her.
‘Hey, Picasso, what’s this about?’
Jodie didn’t answer. Her glance flickered over the guard tower as they passed, the air traffic control of the prison yard. Except these guys had sniper rifles. A light shiver rippled down her spine, and she quickened her pace.
