Victim Rights

by Norah McClintock

  “You thought you were helping her out,” Dooley said, even though that probably hadn’t been even close to the reason she had done it. “How did he take it when he found out about her and Parker?”

  “I think he felt bad about that.”

  Dooley could see that.

  “But not the way you think,” Ellie said. “See, that’s the thing about Nevin. He can be really sweet. He heard about Beth going upstairs with Parker—everybody heard about it. And he saw how upset she was the next morning. But instead of ignoring her, the way I know I would if I found out some guy I had a crush on had gone and slept with another girl, he went and sat with her on the bus. He tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t say a word. She just kept staring at Parker. After a while, Nevin got up and went to sit somewhere else. I switched seats to talk to him. He said she made a mistake, that’s all.”

  “A mistake?”

  “By sleeping with Parker. He said a lot of girls made that same mistake. He said they found out the hard way that Parker wasn’t the kind of guy you could count on.”

  “Did he say that or did he say that Beth said that?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s what everyone was saying. Everyone knew about it. And I guess Beth took it hard.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She looked surprised. “Well, she pressed charges. She went up to his room with him, holding his hand, and as soon as it became obvious to her that he’d got everything he wanted and wasn’t interested in her anymore, she accused him of rape.”

  “You think that’s what happened?”

  “Isn’t it?” Her eyes were wide, innocent. “Nevin said maybe she was practicing what to say to you, you know, in case you heard about it.”

  Dooley’s first reaction: How would I hear about it? I don’t know any of these people. Then it came to him: Nevin. Nevin hadn’t wasted a minute. He’d come straight to the store to tell Dooley.

  “Wasn’t he mad at Parker?” he said.

  “Nevin?” More surprise. “No. Nevin and Parker are friends. Nevin would do anything for Parker. He knows how it is. You think that’s the first time Parker has taken some girl up to his room at a party? Nevin even covered for him a couple of times.”

  “Covered for him?”

  “One time, there was this girl who was seeing another friend of Parker’s. But you could tell she was also interested in Parker. Rachel says she got close to Parker’s friend just so she could have a chance at Parker. We were all at a party together, and this girl was making eyes at Parker. The next thing, I see that the girl has dragged Parker into his father’s den and Parker is winking at Nevin. Nevin was on the boyfriend just like that, keeping him occupied until Parker and the girl came back. It was the last time I saw the girl. But Parker’s friend? He’s still Parker’s friend. I don’t think he ever knew what happened.”

  He looked at Ellie again, at the sad little Nevin-struck look on her face. Had she even listened to what she had just told him? Didn’t she see what kind of pandering opportunist she was stuck on? Jesus. These guys, Parker and Nevin, they had something that dazzled women. Was it just the money or was it something else? And Parker, well, he seemed to have the same effect on guys as he had on girls. It wasn’t every guy who could screw some other guy’s girl and get away with it. There had to be some advantage to it, but Dooley couldn’t see it. Except for with Nevin. Good old Nevin. He had heard the same thing everyone else had. He’d heard that Beth had gone willingly with Parker. He’d drawn the same conclusions as everyone else: that she’d been upset when she found out that all Parker had been interested in was fucking her. He’d seen his opportunity. He had tried to comfort her on the bus. He’d gone to see her all those times in the hospital—Nevin, in there nice and tight with Beth’s mom. The little weasel had even come to the store to tell Dooley. He’d wanted Dooley to know what had happened. He probably loved it that Dooley knew he was right there at Beth’s elbow, comforting her, helping her pick up the pieces. And never once had Beth told him to get lost. She probably didn’t even know about that visit to the store. Dooley hadn’t mentioned it, and he was willing to bet that Nevin hadn’t, either.

  “Thanks for coming by,” he said to Ellie. “Thanks for talking to me.”

  He put some money on the table to pay for his Coke and her coffee.

  On his way to the restaurant door, he pulled out his cell phone. Cassie’s mother had a class list. Cassie would be able to tell him how to get in touch with Annicka. He was scrolling through calls, looking for her number, when his uncle called.

  “Where are you, Ryan?”

  Shit. He had forgotten he was supposed to stop by his uncle’s dry cleaning store.

  “I’m sorry. I got hung up—”

  “I need you at home. Right now.”

  FOURTEEN

  Dooley’s uncle didn’t go into details. He said he needed Dooley at home. He said, “Right now.” And that was that.

  Dooley stood outside the restaurant for a moment, staring at his phone. What was his uncle even doing at home? Why wasn’t he at the store where he was supposed to be, where Dooley was supposed to have met him? Something must have happened.

  Dooley hurried home.

  His uncle’s street was quiet, as usual. Nothing looked out of place.

  The house was quiet, too.

  “Hello?” Dooley called.

  “Up here,” came his uncle’s voice.

  Dooley climbed the stairs cautiously. He peeked into his uncle’s study. He wasn’t there. Then into his bedroom. He wasn’t there, either, but, boy, the place was a mess.

  “I’m in the bathroom,” his uncle called.

  Dooley’s stomach clenched. What was he doing in there?

  Straightening out the place, it turned out. Dooley’s eyes went to the tub. There was blue stuff in it and on the tiles around it.

  “What’s going on?” Dooley said.

  “The police were here. With a search warrant.”

  Jesus, Randall hadn’t been kidding.

  “What did they want?”

  “They were looking for clothing,” his uncle said. “They sprayed the place with Luminol.”

  Dooley knew what that was about. He was as up on his CSI as anyone. They were looking for traces of blood.

  “Did they find anything?”

  His uncle went still. His eyes drilled into Dooley’s.

  “Is there anything to find?”

  “No,” Dooley said quickly.

  “Then why did you ask the question?”

  “What I meant was—”

  “They asked me about the night that kid was killed, Ryan.”

  Dooley went numb all over.

  “They asked me when you got home. They asked me if I noticed anything unusual.”

  Jesus. He couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to. His whole body had turned to ice.

  “I’m not going to lie to the police for you, Ryan. You understand that, right?”

  Yeah, he understood. He wondered if the inside of the washing machine was blue. He wondered if he had got that little bit of blood off the jeans he had been wearing that night. He wished he’d thrown them out.

  “Where were you that night, Ryan?”

  Dooley looked down at the gleaming white of the bathroom tile. He was pretty sure his uncle had his best interests at heart. But his uncle had spent most of his life as a cop, and cops had a skewed view of best interests. They kept mixing them up with their own strait-jacketed notion of justice, as in, if you did something you shouldn’t have, it was in everyone’s best interest, including your own, to come clean about it. If you had some reason you thought you couldn’t or shouldn’t come clean, well then, you were simply wrong. If you said you needed to buy time, they assumed you were talking about time to get out of town or time to figure out how to get out from under it. It never occurred to them that you might have a nobler cause in mind.

  He met his uncle’s steely eyes.

  “I can’t tell you,” he said.
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  “Did you have anything to do with what happened to Parker Albright?”

  Dooley couldn’t blame his uncle for the question, but, still, the apprehension on his uncle’s face stung more than he would have imagined.

  “I already told you I didn’t.”

  The answer didn’t satisfy his uncle.

  “Why did you wash your clothes in the middle of the night that night?”

  “They’re not going to find anything tying me to Parker, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  His uncle seemed to have grown an inch.

  “That is not what I’m worried about.” His eyes burned into Dooley’s. “Randall has you in on it. He’s not going to let up until he’s got you where he wants you. If you had anything to do with it, Ryan, it would be in your own best interests to step forward.”

  See?

  “I didn’t kill Parker Albright.”

  His uncle’s fist slammed down onto the faux marble counter-top. “Jesus H. Christ!” he said. “Don’t dick around with me, Ryan. I deserve better than that. He already has Beth. He has her confession. But he thinks you were involved. He can practically taste it. You think you’re going to put one over on him, is that it? You think you’re going to outsmart a guy who’s put away dozens of murderers? You think you’re that smart, Ryan?”

  His uncle had moved so close to him that every word sent a rush of hot air against Dooley’s face.

  “I’m going to ask you one more time. Did you have anything to do with the death of Parker Albright?”

  “No.”

  His uncle searched Dooley’s eyes, hunting for what he had been taught were signs of deceit. He didn’t look satisfied.

  “They took a couple of pairs of black jeans.”

  Not just jeans, but black jeans. How did they know Dooley had been wearing black jeans that night?

  “They were looking for a blue sweatshirt.”

  That brought Dooley up short. They must have talked to people who were at Parker’s party. How else would they have put together his outfit that night?

  “They didn’t find it, Ryan,” his uncle said. “You know anything about that?”

  Dooley was glad he’d ditched the sweatshirt. He wished he knew more about trace evidence, specifically, blood. If you ran a pair of jeans through the washing machine twice on the hottest possible cycle, would there be any way they could find blood—assuming, he reminded himself, that there had been any blood on his jeans in the first place?

  “Do you, Ryan?” His uncle sounded tense, impatient.

  “I don’t know what sweatshirt you’re talking about.”

  “They said they’re going to your school. They’re going to search your locker, see if it’s there.”

  Dooley had to bite his tongue to stop from saying, It isn’t.

  “Where were you that night, Ryan?” his uncle said.

  “I can’t tell you.” He almost wished he could. Despite everything that had happened since he’d come to live here, it mattered what his uncle thought. It mattered more and more what other people thought, too, even though he knew he had no control over that. He was tired of being the notorious fuck-up, the guy you steered a wide circle around, well, unless you were some dickhead who thought he was tough. Then, maybe, you might make a show of standing up to him—see, I’m not afraid.

  But if he came clean to his uncle up here in his sparkling white bathroom, it wouldn’t go the way he wanted it to go. He needed more time.

  “You have to trust me,” Dooley said.

  His uncle kept staring at him. He was breathing hard, which told Dooley he was furious. He had got used to demanding answers from Dooley. He had also got used to getting them. But this was different. This was Beth.

  “I need a favor,” Dooley said.

  His uncle laughed, a short, bitter explosion: You’ve got to be kidding.

  “I need to talk to Beth, but I don’t know if they’ll let me.”

  “And you want me to find out?” His uncle’s tone made it clear that he thought Dooley had some nerve.

  “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

  “Right,” his uncle said. “I can see that.” He threw down the cleaning rag he’d been using. That, more than almost anything else, gave Dooley a measure of precisely how angry his uncle was. “I got called away from the store to deal with this. I have to get back. I’m assuming you can fix your own supper.”

  Dooley started to nod, but his uncle was already out of the bathroom. Dooley heard his heels hard on the stairs. He slammed the front door on the way out, something he was always yelling at Dooley for doing.

  Dooley stood for a moment, looking at the blue in the bathtub and trying to put himself in his uncle’s head. But all he saw was his uncle’s rage and frustration, and he didn’t have time for that. He pulled out his phone and punched in Cassie’s number.

  “Is there a phone number and address on your mom’s list for Annicka Charles?” he said.

  Annicka didn’t just dress Goth. She lived the life. Dooley found her at the second of a number of places that Cassie had suggested—a no-alcohol place that catered to under-age kids. In this case, kids who dressed in black, dyed their hair to match, and seemed addicted to piercings and tattoos. Dooley wondered what effect Annicka had on her parents, who, presumably, were shelling out big bucks for her private-school tuition.

  She was hard to locate at first. The place was gloomy, which was a factor. But it was the relentless sameness of the kids in the place that was the real stumper. It was like trying to find Waldo in a room full of Waldo clones. Then he became aware of a kid looking at him. Staring at him.

  Annicka.

  She stood up. He started toward her. She headed for the exit at the back of the black-painted room. He quickened his pace. She disappeared through the door.

  Shit.

  He ran, grabbed the door, and yanked it open.

  Annicka was leaning against a dumpster across the alley from the exit. She was lighting a cigarette.

  “There’s no way I’m going to talk to you in there,” she said.

  It was almost as if she had been expecting him.

  “You know why I’m here?” he said.

  “It’s about Parker, right?” She drew in a lungful of smoke and then blew it out in two streams through her nostrils.

  “Everyone I talk to says the same thing—that Beth and Parker were holding hands when she went into the house with him. But no one actually saw that. No one except you.”

  She sucked on her cigarette again.

  “You saw them, right, Annicka?”

  “Yeah. I saw them.” She had sharp little eyes that held his.

  “You saw the two of them holding hands?”

  “Actually, Parker was holding her by the wrist.”

  By the wrist. That wasn’t the same as holding hands. Dooley’s pulse began to race.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking,” Annicka said. “He wasn’t dragging her up there or anything. He just had her by the wrist and was ahead of her on the stairs. He was telling her about some pictures he had taken. She went up there with him because she wanted to.”

  Jesus, what the hell was going on? Had Beth wanted to be with Parker or not? Had she known what was going to happen or not? Had she flirted with him all week or not?

  “He’s a pig,” Annicka said. “But she didn’t know it. Not when I saw her, anyway.” She drew on the cigarette again, as greedily as Dooley used to knock back the beers or pull on a joint. “Some of the girls I know talk about her. Rachel is the worst. She’s a total skank herself, but she makes Beth out to be some kind of psycho freak on account of something that happened to her when she was a kid. Something about her dad.”

  Dooley knew all about that.

  “But she seemed nice enough to me. She never gave me a hard time or anything, you know, on account of all this.” She waved her free hand at the stud in her nose and the rings in her eyebrows. “I don’t think Parker was even interested
in her, at first. I mean, she’s pretty and all, but it’s not like Parker has to go chasing girls, you know what I mean?”

  Dooley could imagine.

  “Ellie asked Parker if she and Beth could switch teams. She made out that it was all about helping Beth, but everyone knows she has this thing for Nevin. I guess she thought if she could spend the whole week working with him, he might notice her. Parker wasn’t going to do it for her, though. It’s not like he ever feels he has to do a favor for anyone, especially some girl he thinks is pathetic. You’ve met Ellie?” Dooley nodded. “She’s kind of mousey. She hangs out with Rachel, who basically gets off on ordering her around.”

  “But he agreed to the switch,” Dooley said.

  “Yeah. After Monique—you know her?” Dooley nodded again. “After Monique told him that you were the guy who was involved in that whole thing with Win.”

  Winston Rhodes again. Dooley hadn’t seen him since last fall, but all these kids knew Rhodes and knew what had happened to him.

  “That made you famous all over my school,” Annicka said. “Right after it happened, everyone was asking Beth about it. And about you.”

  Dooley wondered if that had anything to do with why she had never introduced him to any of her school friends.

  “Monique’s dad and Win’s dad went to the same school. They lived two blocks from each other their whole lives. That’s how Monique knows so much about you.” She crushed her cigarette butt under the heel of one knee-high-laced boot. “Is it true what you did to that woman?”

  Dooley didn’t answer.

  “Monique told him about you because she didn’t want him to let Beth on his team. She hates Beth. She can’t believe Beth’s boyfriend is the guy who ... She’s known Win her whole life. They’re friends. She thought if Parker knew Beth was seeing you, he’d say no, for sure. He wouldn’t want the hassle.”

  “But he didn’t say no.”

  “You should have seen Monique the next morning when Parker stopped by the table where she and Ellie and some of the other girls were sitting, and told Ellie that he’d spoken to Mr. DeLisle and it was okay, she and Beth could switch. For the rest of the week, he poured on the charm with Beth. It was so obvious what he was doing.”