by Alina Adams
"I wanted to do a piece on Rachel."
"I know. She told me."
"I don't understand," Bex said. "Why were you all living like this? Why all the secrecy?"
"It's none of your business."
He had a point. But, if 24/7 let trivialities like that stop them, they'd never put anything on the air outside of name, rank, and USFSA number.
"Were you dating Rachel back when she was skating with Robby?" Bex asked. "Was she cheating on the Asian guy with you, and that's why you two had to run off and get married?"
Craig stared at her blankly. "What Asian guy? What are you talking about?"
“Toni Wright said Rachel Rose was dating some Asian guy that her parents and Robby didn't like her seeing, because he was distracting her from her skating."
Craig began to laugh. He laughed so hard that it turned into a cough and he had to sit down on the couch to compose himself. The cough went on and on until he practically gagged. Bex was afraid he was going to choke. Before he told her what was so damn funny.
Finally, he managed to croak out, "For your information, Ms. Bex Levy, crack researcher, I happen to be the Asian guy."
Bex gulped. One of the goals of her life was to be as politically correct as possible. She always referred to African-Americans and Hispanics in her notes and insisted the announcers do likewise on-air. She always made sure they knew which ethnic republics all of the former Soviet-bloc skaters were from so that they didn't accidentally call a Latvian a Russian. And she insisted her announcers use "he or she" when making general, nongender specific statements. Bex worked so hard. And here she'd messed up so badly.
"I—I'm sorry. I guess I assumed... I have no right to assume, I know that, it's wrong of me. All people don't look the same, of course, and I really should be more sensitive to—"
Craig asked, "Did Toni say Rachel was dating an Asian guy-"
"Asian-American. I know I should have said Asian-American."
"Or did she say Rachel was dating a guy with an Asian name?"
Bex hesitated. And she wondered when she would get into the habit of hearing what people actually said, instead of just what she wanted to hear. She said, "I think Toni said, 'Asian name.'”
"Hiroshi," Craig offered helpfully. "Was it Craig Hiroshi?"
"Maybe. She actually didn't say what it was." Bex heard a distant bell go off in the back of her head and sincerely hoped it wasn't the start of a concussion from her smacking her face against the door. She put two and two together enough to ask, "That place where you worked..."
"My mom and dad."
"Really?" The un-PC question slipped out before Bex could properly censor herself. She was immediately sorry. But, clearly not so sorry that she didn't add insult to blurt by adding, "You look nothing like either of them!"
For a moment, she was afraid Craig would go off on another Camille-worthy laughing jag. "I'm adopted," he explained. "Jenny and Michael Hiroshi adopted me when I was eight."
"Oh. I see."
"So you can relax. I'm not really Asian. Or Asian-American. So no offense taken."
"But, why did they say all those horrible things about you when I came to their store, then?"
“To throw you off track. Make you think I was a major loser who took off all the time for no reason, so there was nothing to be suspicious about."
"Oh," she repeated. "They did a nice job. I really thought you were pretty lame."
"Yeah, they're great. Not a lot of people would take a risk adopting a kid as old as I was. And I was in foster care before that, which made it even riskier. But, hey, it all turned out for the best. That's why I have all sorts of legal documents in two names. Craig Hiroshi, and Craig Hunt. Convenient, no? Especially for a life on the run."
"But, why are you on the run, that's what I don't understand. Was it because of Rachel's parents? Were you afraid they wouldn't approve of your getting married?"
"Rachel's parents' idea of disapproval was to frown in unison and maybe cross their arms. I think we could have handled that without too much lifelong trauma."
"Then it was Robby. It had to be Robby. I saw the way she was looking at that tape I made of him. Robby beat Rachel just like he did Felicia, and she couldn't take it anymore. Her parents wouldn't let her quit skating and so you two had to run away to protect her."
"He raped her," Craig said.
"What?" Bex froze in her tracks. For someone who saw as many Lifetime TV movies as she did, it still embarrassed Bex how easily she got flustered by the brutality of the real world.
"Robby never hit Rachel. Isn't that funny? Not only because she was a better skater than Felicia, but because he had her on this pedestal. He thought she was some perfect princess put on earth for him to stare at and obsess over. He would have left Felicia and their marriage in a fingersnap if Rachel ever even suggested she might be interested. He never laid a finger on her. Until he got tired of waiting for her to dump me and fall into his arms. So he raped her. After a midnight practice session, in the dressing room at the rink. Rachel always suspected that their coach heard her screaming. But he didn't do a thing about it. In a way, that's actually what soured her on skating more than the actual attack. She could have gotten a new partner. Lots of women go on with their lives after being raped, and Rachel was the strongest person I ever knew. She could have survived the assault. But to know that her coach heard and didn't do anything to help. That's what killed her spirit."
"And Jeremy..." Bex prompted. It was obvious, but she still needed to hear Craig say it.
"What about Jeremy?"
"Jeremy," Bex couldn't quite bring herself to say the incriminating words. So she settled for something obvious. "He's thirteen years old. And a great skater. And he's blonde, Craig. I mean, he's really, really blonde."
Craig sighed. He looked up at a standing Bex from where he was sitting on the couch, his shoulders slumped, one hand covering his mouth to control the coughs that periodically recurred.
"Yeah," Craig said softly. "Jeremy is really, really blonde."
"Does he know?"
"No. And he doesn't need to."
"Does Robby know?"
"Are you insane?" Craig leapt off the couch and all but flung himself into Bex's face. The man wasn't just invading her personal space, he was sucking up all the air in it, too. "Why do you think Rachel and I did all this? You think we like living like fugitives? You think we enjoy lying to our kid and moving all the time and not being able to tell him why?"
"But, it's not like Robby could take Jeremy away from you." Bex had to take a step back. She knew it put her in a weaker position, but bargaining strength wasn't her primary concern at the moment. "The man is a criminal. No court would give him custody of a little boy."
"And, of course, Robby Sharpton is so law-abiding, a court order would just do the trick, no sweat." Craig turned away from Bex in disgust. "Get real."
"But how do you know Robby would even be interested in Jeremy? Or in finding Rachel? When I interviewed him, he didn't even mention her name until I brought it up. He was a lot more interested in talking about Felicia and that part of his life."
"How do I know?" Craig asked. "Well, let's see, how about this? How about the fact that, the week he got out of prison—the first week—Robby started calling around, looking for Rachel. Not Felicia—who he'd actually been married to and who he'd gone to prison over, but Rachel. He was so not interested in Rachel that he called our house, asking to see her. That's when Jeremy and I moved away. Before that, we were living a more or less normal life. Not exactly publishing birth announcements in Skating Magazine, but more or less normal. After Robby called, though... we couldn't let him know about Jeremy. Rachel and I thought it would be better if I kept him with me because Robby knew what Rachel looked like, and if he ever saw her with a child, he'd make the connection right away. But, he barely knew me, so it wasn't as risky. We moved to Connecticut. My parents helped us out a lot. And the three of us could still see each other. We'd come u
p here once in a while, especially in the summer, when Jeremy was out of school. And then there were all the trips we could take, thanks to Rachel's agency. Not very likely we'd run into Robby or anyone he knew on an African safari. It was the perfect plan," Craig said, "if Jeremy's kindergarten class hadn't taken that damn trip to the ice rink."
Oh, yes. The ice rink. Bex had almost forgotten that's where this all began. Was it only a few days ago that Toni called to say that Jeremy was the most talented young skater in America? And that Bex would never get the chance to see him?
She said, "That's why you didn't want Jeremy going to Nationals. Too many people who could recognize him. Or at least recognize that he reminded them of someone they once knew."
"That would be a big 'duh,' Ms. Levy. But, actually, there was only one person I was afraid would recognize him. Especially if 24/7 insisted on putting Jeremy on television."
"So why let him skate then at all? Why take such a huge risk?"
"Because he loved it. Because being on the ice made him happier than I'd ever seen him anywhere. And because I loved my son. I wanted to see him happy. It was selfish of me, I know. I should have been stronger, I should have said no earlier. But, I didn't. I caved. Because I liked seeing him smile. And because I'd already screwed up his life in plenty of ways and, just once, I wanted to do something that really, truly made him happy. One day, when you have children, Ms. Levy, maybe you'll understand."
"But, you did build one safeguard into the system, didn't you?" Bex guessed. "You hired Toni to be his coach. Because you knew Toni didn't produce champions."
"That would be another 'duh,' Ms. Levy," Craig said. But, this time, there was definite respect in his voice. And then he shrugged. "Not that it worked anyway. Turned out Toni was a great coach. She's just never been given the chance because the good kids would usually leave her. Well, Jeremy stuck around, and I'll be damned if she didn't coach the hell out of him. Even you said he could medal at Nationals this year, didn't you?"
"Yes, I think he could."
"Great. Terrific. That's really great to hear. I'm sure Toni was glad to hear it, too. She definitely got her money's worth, calling you down to offer an opinion, didn't she? And I really hope you're pleased with yourself, too. Because you know, Ms. Levy—may I call you Bex?"
"Um, sure...." Why was Craig suddenly being so friendly? And why was he advancing on her again, eyes flashing an anger that a more poetically inclined researcher might have described as an almost uninhibited madness?
"Because, Bex, you do know that my wife's murder is utterly, thoroughly, totally, and one hundred percent your fault."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“My fault?" Bex croaked, hoping mightily that her strangled query was managing to sound like an indignant question, rather than a guilty repetition of the fear that had been sloshing around her brain since she'd first read about Rachel on the sports ticker.
"What do you think prompted Robby to go after Rachel?" Craig demanded. "Why now? It's been eight years since he last tried to contact us. Do you really think he would have, all of a sudden, remembered his grudge against Rachel if you hadn't stirred all of this up last week?"
"Wait a minute, wait a minute, hold on." Bex may have lacked the ability to stop herself from leaping to conclusions based on minimum evidence, but she certainly could recognize the syndrome in others. "Where are you getting your information? Why are you so sure that Robby killed Rachel?"
"Who else could it have been? Do you think my wife had enemies lurking in the shadows? That this was some sort of, what, travel agency revenge killing? It's obvious, Bex. You reminded Robby Sharpton of Rachel's existence, and he tracked her down and killed her."
"Why?" Bex asked the obvious. "You said it yourself, it's been years since Robby's tried to contact Rachel. He's built a life for himself. He has a home; he's stayed out of trouble. Why would he suddenly want to go after Rachel now? You said he didn't know about Jeremy, so what could Rachel have possibly had that he wanted? And, more to the point, why would he ever want to go after Rachel? It's not like she pressed rape charges against him. It's not like she even told anyone what he did. What threat did she pose to him, that he'd need to kill her?"
"Well, to start with, he's a nut," Craig snapped. "How's that for a motive? The guy likes to hurt women. That's a fact. He beat Felicia so badly, she ended up in the hospital. That is also a fact. What motive did he have for that, Bex?"
"I—I don't know," she admitted. Then, as was her wont when facing a question to which she didn't know the answer, Bex changed the subject. "But you can't compare Felicia's situation to Rachel's. They were married, after all. Married people... get on each other's nerves."
“To the point of broken bones and jail terms?"
"Sometimes," Bex stubbornly insisted. Confident in the knowledge that, on this point, at least, her Lifetime movies squarely backed her up. "But Robby hadn't seen Rachel in years, right?" A thought occurred to Bex. "Or had he?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Had Robby and Rachel been in touch?"
"Of course not!"
"How do you know?" Bex was making it all up as she went along, but it made a heck of a lot of sense in her head. She hoped the theory would carry over when words met sound. "I mean, you and Rachel lived apart. You didn't know everyone she spoke to or had contact with."
"Are you out of your mind, Bex? I just told you, the reason my wife and I lived apart, the reason we taught our son to lie about pretty much his entire life, was because we were trying to stay away from Robby Sharpton."
"That's what you say," Bex pointed out.
"Excuse me?"
"You told me your side of the story. About Rachel and Robby and how you two ran away to keep him from Jeremy. But how do I know it's true? What proof do you have?"
Craig stared at Bex, dumbfounded. "You expect me to prove my life to you?"
That would be very nice, actually. It would save Bex a lot of legwork.
"Well..."
"My God, you have a lot of nerve!"
"Thank you," Bex blurted out, before she had the chance to censor herself. Frankly, one of her biggest problems since taking this job had proven to be Bex's seeming lack of nerve. After all, she could barely stand up to Gil, or even Toni, most of the time.
"Just get out of my house." Craig marched over to the door and flung it open. "Get out and leave us alone. I think you've done enough damage."
Bex took a step toward the door. It was instinctive. Someone told her to get out, she got out. She liked to think of it less as cowardice and more as good manners. But, on the other hand, she'd just been accused of possessing an excess of nerve. Shouldn't she live up to the moniker?
Bex said, "I have a few more questions."
"Get out before, God help me, I throw you out."
"You promised Jeremy—"
"Not to yell at you anymore. I don't remember any pledges about physical violence."
"And Robby was the one with the problem?"
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Bex knew she'd gone too far. It was one thing to bait and quarrel with a man on the edge. It was probably another to accuse him of being capable of the sort of violence that he claimed had just been visited on his wife.
She expected him to come at her. To lunge physically, or at least to explode into a barrage of words one couldn't say on television or probably around someone who worked on it.
But Craig did neither. He simply squeezed both his fists until Bex could see the blue veins on the backs of his hands pulse with such fervor, she feared they'd pop and hemorrhage all over the rug. He stared at her without moving, seemingly without breathing. Bex stared back, rooted to the spot in a combination of terror and curiosity. She'd obviously hit a raw nerve. The question was: Would it lead to an informational gusher?
Craig took a deep breath. No, that wasn't right. Craig forced himself to take a deep breath. Even as his entire body stretched taut to reject it.
His voic
e shaking despite the rest of him remaining deathly still, Craig demanded, "What do you want from me? What do you want me to say? My wife is dead, Bex. Do you understand that? She's gone. Fourteen years ago, she and I gave up the lives we had—now, granted, hers was a lot more glamorous than mine, but I was doing okay; I was going to college, I had plans for the future, I was going to be an electrical engineer, believe it or not, make my parents proud. But, none of that mattered ultimately. When it came down to making a choice, we both gave up our respective lives without a second thought, because the life we wanted to live together, as a family with Jeremy, was so much more important than any life we could ever live apart. That kind of attachment probably isn't a healthy way to live, is it? I'm sure there are all sorts of books being written now, on the subject of having your own life and your own space and not getting lost in being part of a couple or a family. Well, we never read those books. Our lives may have been strange, but we were happy. We were happy, Bex. That's also a fact and, frankly, I don't give a damn if you believe me or not. Rachel and I were together, and we were happy. And now, Rachel is gone. She is gone and she is never, ever coming back. And you know what? I have no idea what to do with myself now. If it weren't for Jeremy, I couldn't think of a single reason to even get up in the morning."
Bex didn't know what to say.
But, then again, when had that ever stopped her from speaking? She asked, "And you're sure Robby Sharpton killed your wife?"
"Of course I'm sure. Hell, Bex, you've been stalking—"
"Researching. I've been researching."
"Fine. Researching. You've been researching us and this whole sorry tale for days now. You tell me: Who else could have possibly had a motive for killing my wife?"
"Well," Bex hesitated, wondering if the question was meant to be rhetorical, but realizing that her need to show off what she'd learned would eventually supersede any other instinct or doubt, and so she might as well cut to the chase and give in to it. "There's Felicia, for one."
