by Merry Jones
‘And wrist. And frostbite. And—’
‘What do you need to ask, Detective?’
‘I want to go over everything again. Tell me what happened. From the start.’
The start? What was the start? Harper sighed. Hadn’t she already told Rivers everything? She must have. Why couldn’t she remember?
Rivers was waiting. Hank watched her.
She thought back, saw herself in the fraternity, hiding in the armoire. Then suddenly, the memory kicked in and she grimaced, almost gagged. ‘I was next door.’
‘Next door?’ Hank’s eyebrows furrowed. ‘Why?’
‘Mr Jennings, please,’ Rivers scolded. ‘Let her talk.’
‘Sty and Evan came home and I couldn’t let them see me, so I hid in that big old armoire.’
Rivers raised her eyebrows.
‘But someone was already in it. Dead. I think it was Sebastian.’
‘Who?’ Hank scowled.
‘I told you about him, Mr Jennings. The college kid from Elmira who disappeared.’
Hank looked from Harper to Rivers. ‘Hoppa. You found him? Dead?’
‘Mr Jennings, we need to focus. I’m trying to find out the facts. You can ask your wife questions later.’
But Harper was distracted by Hank’s question, worried that he was upset. ‘I didn’t tell you about this because I didn’t want you to worry—’
‘But need to tell. Said no secrets—’
‘Both of you. Stop. Mrs Jennings, continue.’
But Harper had forgotten what she’d been talking about. Why was her mind so scrambled? Why couldn’t it thaw out like her poor throbbing toes? Hank sat beside her, his hand on her arm. She stared at it, felt its reassuring weight, and closed her eyes, straining to remember what she wanted to say.
‘Take your time,’ Rivers urged. ‘Hypothermia messes with your thought process. It can fog up the memory. Just tell me what you can.’
Harper nodded, opened her eyes, trying to relax and let the memories surface. And recalled Lou, rushing out the door. Where had he been going?
‘Mrs Jennings?’ Rivers leaned forward, resting her elbow on her knee. ‘What happened after you got into the armoire?’
Oh, the armoire? Harper remembered the stink of the cold corpse, its limp slipperiness as she lay on top of it. But Rivers didn’t need to hear about that; Harper skipped ahead to waking up in the loft of the barn, shivering, head pulsing, wrists and ankles taped together. She told how she’d freed her hands with a nail. How Evan had held his knife to her skin, promising to kill her. How she’d head butted him out of the loft and he’d fallen to his death.
‘Where is this barn?’ Rivers asked. ‘Do you have any idea?’
Harper blinked. Where was it? She’d left Evan’s body there, could see him splayed on the floor, neck broken. She remembered driving away, and Sty jumping onto the truck, popping out the window, lungeing, choking her. She touched her throat, remembering his arm crushing it, her effort to breathe, and then her wild steering as she’d floored the gas pedal, turning and swerving. She remembered all that. But getting to the main road, had she gone left or right? And how many times had she turned? She had no idea, had been thinking only about surviving. Breathing. And after she’d finally thrown Sty backwards and knocked him out, she’d driven around dazed, unable to feel her frozen feet and hands, turning the feeble heater up, following unplowed single-lane roads for who knew how long until she’d found a wider road that had led to another that had miraculously taken her to Route 13, from which she’d found her way home.
So, no. She didn’t know where the barn was. Her pulse was too rapid. She rested for a moment before going on. Before telling Rivers about the second body, the one they’d left in the Jeep.
When she finished, Harper leaned back in the bed, drained. Rivers thanked her. Hank kissed her cheek and presented a box of chocolates. She looked at it, unable to reconcile candy with her memories. But she thanked him, offered some to Rivers and Hank, helped herself to a butter cream. It melted slowly on her tongue, its startling sweetness reminding her that it was almost Christmas. She and the baby had survived. And Hank had come home.
Vivian arrived as they were winding up the interview. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, but she’d showered and dressed in a big bright red sweater and dark leggings. Her hair was freshly washed. Harper was relieved; apparently, Vivian wasn’t trying to kill herself.
‘You look nice, Ma.’
‘I look like shit.’
‘Feeling okay?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be? Lou will be back in a day or two. I told you.’ She picked up the box of chocolates, examined the selection. ‘No caramels?’
Rivers’ phone rang. She excused herself to take the call.
‘Toffee?’ Hank suggested.
‘No toffee. I like them chewy.’ She put the box down.
‘So where’d Lou go? Really.’ Harper asked while Rivers was out of the room.
‘I told you.’ Vivian bristled. ‘He had to go somewhere but he saw you were involved with the detective and the ambulance, and he didn’t want to interrupt. He said to say merry Christmas.’
‘Where’d he go?’ Harper repeated.
Vivian shifted in her seat, crossed her legs. Eyed the box of chocolates again. Picked it up, selected a nut cluster. Bit into it.
‘Ma.’
‘Harper, my God. Where Lou goes is Lou’s business, isn’t it? He went to visit some people, that’s all I know.’ She popped the rest of the candy into her mouth. ‘Now can we please talk about something else? Like when you’re coming home? It’s Christmas tomorrow and we have presents to open.’
Rivers came back into the room, her head down. She didn’t sit. She crossed her arms, took a firm stance and a deep breath. Everyone stared at her.
‘What?’ Hank asked.
‘The call I just got.’ She paused, directed her gaze at Vivian. ‘I’m afraid it’s bad news.’
Harper’s unbandaged hand went to her belly. Hank clasped her shoulder.
‘Ma’am? Your car is a Toyota Camry?’
Vivian’s blood drained from her face. Her hand covered her mouth.
‘There’s been an accident.’
Harper tried to concentrate but heard only phrases – her mother’s car. A crash, a fire. The driver trapped, burned, a gold chain around his neck. Lou’s suitcase in the trunk. Dead at the scene.
Vivian didn’t move. The light slowly went out of her eyes, and her skin turned gray. ‘No,’ she said. ‘You’re mistaken.’
Rivers paused. ‘I’m sorry, Ma’am.’
‘Oh, Ma. I’m so sorry.’
Hank went to Vivian, leaned his crutches against the wall, sat beside her, held her hands.
Vivian seemed startled at the attention. ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘It’s a mistake.’
‘The tags are registered to you, Ma’am.’
Vivian’s gaze fell to the floor, then rose to Rivers again. ‘But it can’t be.’
‘Ma. He was driving your car. They said he was wearing your Christmas present—’
‘Lou was in the car?’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’
‘Lou?’
‘Well, he was pretty badly burned.’
‘I want to see him.’
‘No, Ma – you don’t.’ Harper had seen burned bodies, didn’t want Vivian to be haunted by the memory as she was.
‘It’s not true,’ Vivian insisted. ‘It can’t be. We were supposed to go away.’ Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she didn’t move. She stayed in the chair, repeating that the body wasn’t Lou’s, that he wasn’t dead, that it was a mistake, until Harper asked Hank to call a doctor, and Vivian refused, insisting, despite everyone’s concerns about her driving, on going home.
Christmas was funereal. Harper came home from the hospital to find Vivian sloshed beside the tree, which mocked them with its happy decorations, its piles of brightly wrapped presents. The house was quiet. Ominous. Uneasy. Harper tried to nap, could
n’t. Sat and watched as Hank replaced the dining-room window, not even asking where he’d gotten the new glass. They ordered Chinese for dinner, but hardly ate. Barely spoke. Vivian didn’t even come to the table, kept asking how she could go on, what she would do without Lou.
By nightfall, Vivian was almost comatose with drink. Hank helped her to the guest room, deposited her on the bed. Then he lay beside Harper, his hand draping her belly, and fell instantly asleep. Harper ached to join him, but she couldn’t relax. She kept thinking about Lou’s sudden death. And Vivian’s fragile state. And something else: Sty. How had he gotten away? Where was he?
She watched for his silhouette at the door, listened for his footsteps deep into the night. When she finally drifted off, she found herself back in the loft, then wandering in endless snow. At one point, she woke Hank with a sharp kick, meant for an assailant in her dream. After that, she didn’t sleep.
The next day, Hank hobbled on his crutches between Harper and Vivian, not certain who needed attention more. Finally, he called Leslie. Under the circumstances, she agreed to meet with Vivian, even though it wasn’t her policy to see a patient’s mother.
Vivian went first. When it was Harper’s turn, she felt surprisingly uncomfortable. She went into Hank’s study, sat on the sofa, poured tea, didn’t speak.
‘Harper,’ Leslie watched her. ‘How are you doing?’
‘What did she say?’ Harper hadn’t planned to ask that. The words just popped out. ‘My mother – what did she say?’
‘You know I can’t answer that.’
Of course she couldn’t. ‘But she’s not suicidal?’
‘What makes you ask that?’
‘Because. In the past, when guys left her, she’s tried to kill herself. Once with pills. Once with the exhaust from the car – and that guy wasn’t even good to her. So, I’m worried.’
‘I don’t think you need to worry.’
‘She hasn’t stopped crying in two days.’
‘She’s in mourning.’
‘Trust me, the only life Vivian is mourning is the one she thought Lou would give her. She feels sorry for herself, as if his death is just one more awful thing that’s happened to her. It’s not about Lou. Trust me, she hasn’t given a moment’s thought to what he went through.’
Leslie paused. ‘In the past you’ve told me that your mother has trouble empathizing. That thinking about others isn’t her strong suit.’
‘But they were in love. Inseparable. And Lou burned to death.’ Harper had seen death by fire in the war. Even now, could smell searing flesh, hear silent screams. ‘Why isn’t that driving her crazy?’
‘People do crazy in different ways. Besides, he might have been unconscious from the crash,’ Leslie offered. ‘Maybe he didn’t suffer.’
Harper nodded. ‘But maybe he did.’
Leslie didn’t argue. ‘You’ve been through a lot this week.’
Harper shrugged.
‘Any flashbacks?’
‘Not flashbacks. Dreams. About Sty. He comes for me, ambushes me. He tries to take the baby – with a knife.’
Leslie nodded. ‘And in the dreams, do you fight back?’
‘This isn’t about how I handle nightmares. Leslie, Sty is real. He’s out there, and he knows I know what he’s done. That I’m a threat. Those boys weren’t just standard-issue delinquents – they talked about murder as if it were a hobby. Something to do for fun. And Sty’s free. He got away because I was careless—’
‘You were suffering from shock and hypothermia. You had a concussion—’
‘I left him unguarded.’
Leslie sipped tea, waiting a beat. ‘You were the victim, Harper. You were kidnapped. Wounded. Half frozen to death. But even so, even in this situation, you refuse to concede that you weren’t in control. So let me ask: Why do you feel the need to insist that Sty’s escape is your fault?’
‘Because it was.’ The baby did a somersault; Harper’s hand went to her middle.
‘No. I think this is about your control issues. We’ve talked about it before. You can’t tolerate having no power. But here you are, powerless. You can’t help Lou. You can’t help your mother or the kids Sty and Evan killed. And you can’t stand that. For you, being powerless is unbearable. I think you’d rather accept blame for Sty’s escape – and punish yourself for it with nightmares and worry – than admit you lacked the power to stop him.’
Harper glared, didn’t like Leslie’s assessment. ‘Not everything is because of my personal hang-ups – the issue is that he’s still out there. And he might show up . . .’ She stopped because there was a knock on the door.
Hank stuck his head in. ‘Sorry. Rivers here. Talk now. News.’
Still unopened Christmas presents scattered the floor, and lights still blinked on the tree. Vivian had parked herself in the wingback. Leslie rescheduled, and Harper and Hank sat on the sofa. Rivers was on the easy chair, leaning forward as if ready to sprint.
The news was big. They’d found the abandoned barn several miles south-west of Trumansburg.
‘We have Evan’s body. It was just as you described.’
Harper nodded, touched the wounds on her jaw and ear. Saw Evan fall, heard the thud of his landing.
‘We also found the crashed Jeep with a body in it. And the armoire down the hill, buried under a mound of branches and snow.’ Rivers looked at Harper. ‘A body was inside. The dead have been identified as two missing students. Sebastian Levering and Steven Mills.’ She let those facts sink in for a moment. ‘Sebastian had been dead for several days, but the medical examiner could determine from his remains that he’d had a rough time before he died. Beaten. Bones broken. Mutilated.’
A chill ran through Harper’s body. She saw the glitter of Evan’s knife, felt it gliding along her jaw.
‘Motive?’ Hank scowled. ‘Why?’
He said more, but Harper didn’t hear it. A contraction grabbed her, taking away her breath and attention. She held onto Hank’s arm, aware of voices but not words. When it eased, she’d lost track of the conversation.
‘What’s the difference?’ Vivian knit her brows. ‘Why is that important?’
Rivers eyed Vivian. She paused, cleared her throat. ‘Well, Ma’am, since the autopsy showed cause of death to be head injuries and the lungs were clear of smoke, we can conclude he was dead before the fire. That might give you some solace.’
Harper let out a breath of relief, felt a tear well up, hung onto Hank.
Vivian nodded, dabbed at her eyes. ‘I suppose.’
‘Also, his remains are ready to go. We weren’t able to locate any immediate family, so—’
‘No, I’ll take him. I was his family.’
‘Then you can have him picked up—’
‘He told me he wanted to be cremated.’
‘That’s up to you, Ma’am.’
Harper’s mind see-sawed between thoughts of Lou crashing and Sebastian being mutilated. Damn. She heard Evan whisper that he would cut her to pieces, and the crack of her forehead slamming his. She closed her eyes, saw the white burst of an explosion, felt her body fly through searing hot air, slamming onto the roof of a burned-out car – no. She had to toughen up, not revisit every bad moment of her past. The cut on her jaw itched; she wasn’t aware she was clawing at it until Hank grabbed her hand, whispering, ‘Stop.’
‘. . . to check him out, we had some surprises.’
Vivian stiffened. ‘What surprises?’
Wait, Harper was lost, had again missed part of the conversation.
‘Well, for example, Lou wasn’t who he said he was. His real name was Ed Strunk. Did any of you know that?’ Rivers’ eyes bored into Vivian’s.
Vivian’s were blank, revealing nothing. ‘What?’ Her voice was low and gruff.
‘Actually, at various times, he used various names. Turns out he was a small-time player with the mob—’
‘Lou?’ Vivian snapped. ‘Not possible.’
‘Fact is, over time, your boyfrien
d worked for a long list of mob bosses. Money launderers. Loan sharks—’
‘No way. Detective, you’re wrong.’
‘His last known job was as a bagman for Wally Cobretti. Ever heard of him?’
‘Me?’ Vivian looked shocked, insulted. ‘Of course not!’
‘I’m asking because this Cobretti guy’s got a bad temper; he’s been known to go after people who cross him by going after people close to the people who cross him, if you follow. And Cobretti is not happy with Ed – or should I say, Lou. Which might put people in this room in harm’s way. Because, according to our information, your boyfriend was skimming Wally’s pot for quite a while. To the tune of over a quarter million.’
‘Dollars?’ Vivian gasped. Her eyes got wide, and she covered her face with her hands. ‘Impossible.’ She began to weep, reached for a box of tissues.
Harper watched, speechless, recognizing her mother’s technique. She’d seen it often, could almost predict each expression on Vivian’s face: shock, indignation, horror and hurt. The sequence was familiar, well practiced. And completely fake. It was her mother’s way of dodging confrontation or blame. So what was her mother trying to dodge?
‘He ever mention large sums of money? Or bank accounts?’
‘No. Lou wasn’t rich. I didn’t love him for his money.’
‘So you have no idea what he did with it?’
‘How could I? I didn’t know he had it – I still don’t believe it.’
Rivers went on. ‘Well. I wanted to give you a heads-up. Tomorrow’s news will have a story about Lou’s mob involvement and the missing money.’ She looked at Vivian, then Harper. ‘Speculation is that if the crash hadn’t killed your boyfriend, Cobretti would have.’ She paused. ‘Assuming, of course, that the crash wasn’t Cobretti’s doing.’
Vivian sucked air, appalled.
Hank’s arm slid around Harper’s shoulder, pulled her close. She leaned against him and studied her mother, convinced that nothing Rivers said had surprised her. That Vivian had known about the mob, the money and Lou’s past all along.
And she was right.
As soon as Detective Rivers left, Harper cornered her mother.
‘The truth, Ma. Out with it. You knew about Lou, didn’t you?’
