Fifteen Years of Lies

by Ann Minnett

  Cagey old gal, Sam thought. "And we don't have a body."

  Alice whirled around to talk to Chet Stanhope. She introduced Dee to him, explaining she needed some help with representing the two women, and Chet had agreed. “Meet your new attorney,” she said. His new client shook her head. Refusing his services? The old guy and Lark both talked to Bennett, but Alice interrupted them to say, “… long term payment plan.” Then the attorneys conferred, and jointly approached Fain and Sam who could have parroted what they’d say.

  Sam sighed, envisioning his Wednesday ski trip shot to hell.

  Chet Stanhope said, "We need to speak with our clients."

  "By all means." Fain gestured around the corner and down the hall. "We aren't using Interview #1 or #2." Fain’s posture stiffened.

  Chet took Diedre Bennett into the room on the left, and Alice and Lark entered the one she'd sat in for the past couple of hours. Sam noted they spoke to their clients separately—whatever that meant.

  * * *

  Alice slid her canvas briefcase onto the interview room table. "What the hell?"

  Lark paced nervously. "Dee won't talk to Chet, you know."

  "Sit," Alice said, doing the same. "We'll see. Now tell me what you've confessed to."

  Lark inhaled deeply. "What time is it?"

  "Eight-thirty."

  “I’m exhausted.” She had been grilled by Detective Fain, or Sorensted and another deputy she didn’t recognize for the past two hours. "I torched Rob Whalen's house last Wednesday night."

  "Why, may I ask, would you torch his house?" Alice retrieved a legal pad and pen from her case.

  "Long story, Alice."

  "Okay, let's just go over what happened last Wednesday."

  Lark squirmed. "We thought he—"

  "Who?"

  "Rob Whalen. We thought he had been one of Dee's rapists back in college."

  "We'll get to why you thought that later," Alice said. "What happened Wednesday evening when these alleged crimes occurred?"

  "Dee and I drove up to his place to confront him." Lark had told this half-truth at least three times now, so it flowed easily.

  "You thought he raped her. Okay. The two of you drove out there at night and alone to confront him." Her features remained unexpressive, but her voice conveyed utter disbelief. When Lark nodded, Alice said, "Go on."

  "He didn't like us being there and started yelling." Lark focused on what he had done that night, leaving out the part about Zane holding a gun, Mason, Nora, and Rob being tied up. "He was drunk and lunged for me. We struggled, and Dee pulled out a gun and shot him."

  Alice hadn't written down anything yet. She simply stared.

  “A gun.”

  “I didn’t know she brought it.” Lark paused, then continued in Alice’s silence. "We panicked." Much like she panicked semi-lying to her friend and attorney. "Dee had a bad cold and was sort of delusional, so I put her out in my car while I figured out what to do."

  "She waited for you in your car." Alice stared.

  Lark’s discomfort blossomed under Alice’s scrutiny. "Rob wasn't breathing."

  "Okay."

  "He had fallen partway onto the couch, you know, so I pulled his legs up and stretched him out." Lark twisted her hands in her lap under the table. She couldn't keep them still.

  "Alone, you did this."

  "I'm pretty strong, Alice." I wouldn't believe me either, she thought. "Anyway, I started the fire to cover for Dee. You know, to make sure no one would know she shot him."

  "And you started the fire how?"

  "I set a fire on the rug in the living room with coals from the stove."

  "No gasoline or accelerants?"

  "No! I knew the fire marshal would be able to tell if I did that." Lark had read plenty of murder mysteries. "I wanted it to look like an accident."

  Alice shook her head slowly. She removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Then what?"

  Lark's gut clenched. She turned aside and doubled over. She spoke looking at the toes of her good boots—scuffed from crawling on Rob Whalen's floor to start the damn fire. Alice's geriatric Mary Janes appeared nearby, but Lark didn’t raise her head.

  "He made a sound when the fire caught." A warm hand rested on Lark’s shoulder blade. "Alice, I think I burned him alive."

  Alice handed Lark tissues. There was a knock on the door, and somber Chet stepped in.

  "I need to speak with you, Alice," he said in monotone.

  Would Dee dare to speak with this intimidating man?

  Once alone, Lark sat up and studied her pitiful image in the one-way mirror. She hated the defeat in her own eyes and turned her body away from her reflection.

  Alice returned minutes later. "Chet and I have spoken with the deputy, and we’re all quite confused." Alice slipped her pristine note pad into her case. She pushed her glasses up. "They're releasing both of you for the night."

  "What does that mean?"

  "You're free to leave," Alice explained, "but Chet and I are concerned about your friend. She shouldn’t be left alone, and frankly, I’m worried about you, too.”

  "They aren’t arresting us? But we confessed."

  “Lark, there’s no body. Think about what that might mean.”

  “Someone took him?”

  Disappointment clouded Alice’s face. “Think again.”

  “He’s alive?”

  “Yes,” Alice said. “They think he’s alive.”

  “He might come after us.”

  “He knows where you live—maybe where Dee lives. You should come home with us for tonight.”

  “Your husband okayed it? I mean, I’m surprised.”

  A smile played at Alice’s creased lips. “It was Chet’s idea. He’s not as mean as he looks. Anyway, we need to talk to both of you either tonight or early in the morning, and they want you back here at ten tomorrow."

  The changing scenario made no sense. They had tried to kill him, but he’s alive? A shiver ran up Lark’s back.

  "You two can spend the night in our house. That will give me time to confer with Chet, and we can speak with both of you in the morning."

  "Why?"

  "Truthfully," Alice said, sitting across from her client. "Chet's concerned about Dee going home alone." She paused to let it sink in. "You worry me a little, too."

  "We expected to be locked up," Lark said. "We didn't bring anything with us. Nothing to change into." But already her body had relaxed if only a shred. Someone she trusted volunteered to protect her despite the evil things she had done.

  "We'll take care of it. Where’s Zane?"

  “He’s at a friend’s house. Safe.”

  Alice rose from the table and opened the door. Dee and Chet waited in the hallway. Dee appeared confused and weary, but Chet stood tall and protective. The big deputy approached the four, speaking to the attorneys, "We expect them here by ten."

  Chet then said more words than Lark had ever heard him speak: "We'll be here with bells on." He guided Dee toward the exit.

  The towering deputy said, "Have a good evening."

  Lark jerked around to look at him. “Really?”

  Before she spouted something caustic, he added, "Figure of speech." He showed the grace to look embarrassed and added, "See you tomorrow."

  He scrutinized her. She felt transparent and didn't comprehend what it meant, but he appeared less threatening out of uniform.

  Lark strapped her bag across her body and walked out behind Alice. She could feel Sorensted watching her. She didn't turn around, but she wanted to.

  Outside, Chet and Alice maintained control. Alice would drive Dee home in the Corolla to pack a bag. Lark would drive her own wreck home, pack a bag and wait for Chet to pick her up after collecting Alice and Dee.

  They might as well have been in jail.

  * * *

  "Coffee's on," Alice said through the closed door at 6:30 the next morning.

  Dee and Lark had shared one guest room with two twin b
eds rather than separating for the night. Lark showered first because Dee didn't want to face the two lawyers by herself. Lark packed her overnight bag and took it to the kitchen while Dee got ready.

  "I'm worried about work," Lark said upon entering the kitchen. Chet and Alice sat on the bench section of their breakfast nook. Papers littered the table.

  Alice said, "Don't be. Remember? Our office is one job you can skip, and I let Scott know he'd have to clean his own tanning beds this morning." She adjusted her glasses. "That’ll be good for him."

  "I'll just text Sky." She didn't want to get caught in a long phone call just yet. "Dee will be here in a minute."

  Their house phone rang. Alice answered, "Alice Stanhope." She turned her back, said “yes” a couple times and clarified "ten o’clock." Alice hung up as Dee timidly joined them. On her way to the table, Alice said, "That was Christy Fain. They want to meet at Whalen's place instead of their office. Ten o’clock."

  "Help yourself to coffee, Dee," Chet pulled out a chair next to him. "Alice and I have learned quite a bit since last night. We have a few questions.”

  Lark didn't like the sound of that. She and Dee exchanged a glance.

  Alice placed a plate of bagels and tub of cream cheese on the table and sat next to Chet. "Right," she said, adjusting her glasses. "We don't know what you're hiding, but we're certain you haven't killed anyone."

  The two friends watched and listened as the couple laid out the facts of Whalen’s strange case. Chet began. "One. Rob Whalen didn't die Wednesday evening…"

  Lark grabbed Dee's hand.

  "… and how do we know, you ask?" Chet grinned whitened teeth which Lark hadn't noticed before. Of course, she hadn't been his client before but his employee. "We know because he arrived at North Valley Hospital around 3:00a.m. Thursday morning to be treated for a self-inflicted gunshot wound."

  Dee shrieked and Lark said, "No way."

  Alice’s eyebrows arched. "He walked out around noon on Thursday."

  Lark's body turned electric. "He's going to come after us."

  "Calm down," Chet said. "Hear us out. Two. Whalen's home only partially burned on Wednesday night."

  Lark recalled how difficult it had been to get the fire going.

  "In fact, the Olney and Trego Volunteer Fire Departments put out the fire quickly and called off the county’s response. They said the place wasn't even smoking when they left the scene at dawn Thursday." Chet removed his readers and chewed on an ear piece. “You’re lying to us. Why?”

  Alice added, "The fire marshal checked it out Thursday morning and declared the fire questionable, what with all the ammunition going off." She shot Lark a suspicious glare. "Of course, that's another story, right?"

  Dee remained weirdly still. Lark opened her mouth to explain then clamped it shut.

  "Anyway," Chet said, "the fire was cold when he examined the home on Thursday."

  "We’re in the Twilight Zone." Lark wanted a cigarette desperately. "This can't be real." She looked from Chet to Alice and back.

  "But there's a three." Chet rapped his fingers on the table in a drumroll. Lark was seeing a whole new side to Alice's showboat husband. "Whalen claimed his dog from the shelter last week. Before he left town, he stayed true to his story that he shot himself accidentally.” He sat back, triumphant. “What do you have to say about that?”

  Alice ignored his grandstanding. She leaned on her forearms and gazed into Lark's eyes. "Now, what are these bullshit confessions about?"

  CHAPTER 29

  Sam kicked at a snow drift on the north side of Whalen's shed. It had snowed six or eight inches in the previous week, but not since Rob Whalen had chained the gate and abandoned the property. Aside from a broken window pane and two holes in the front door, the cabin appeared unharmed. The snow, trampled.

  A white SUV parked beside the steel gate on the road—hopefully carrying the attorneys and alleged perpetrators.

  The two women and the older couple stepped carefully through the snow around the gate and approached him near the house.

  Alice spread her arms, gesturing at the mostly in-tact cabin. She stated the obvious, "Deputy Sorensted, these women didn't kill Rob Whalen. Why, they didn't even burn down his home."

  Sam eyed the fireplug female lawyer. He turned his gaze on Lark, wearing a purple toboggan hat. Pulled down on her forehead like that, her eyes looked like Hershey’s Kisses.

  "And Alice, don't forget," Chet added, rubbing his gloveless hands together in the cold. "There is no body, there is no person to make accusations, and it appears a man has destroyed his own property with no intent to defraud his insurance company."

  Lark leaned against Sam Sorensted's car and smoked a cigarette. She had a haughty attitude, and Sam wondered what she was thinking.

  On the other hand, Dee looked bewildered, shuffling toward the cabin steps. "But I shot that man right in there." She pointed at the front door. "I shot him and he bled."

  Sam said, "It's your word against Whalen's." He extracted his notebook from his coat pocket and scrolled through the notes he had taken in the hospital the second time around. Reluctantly, Sam put on his reading glasses and read aloud. "I interviewed Whalen at eight a.m. Thursday morning. He wrote out a statement and signed it, describing how he had accidentally shot himself in the side. His 9mm was found on the floor of the cabin around 2:00a.m. Thursday morning." Sam stomped his feet—he should have worn his wool socks. "He apologized for taking up my time and county resources. He even offered to reimburse the county’s costs."

  Lark coughed. "Oh, that's our boy, all right." She stepped on the glowing cigarette. "He's more than willing to dole out cash to buy people off."

  "Lark," Alice said, "don't say another word. And pocket that cigarette butt."

  Sam wondered what “buying people off” meant but had to let it go. He recapped his second interview with Whalen, omitting the dog shelter incident. He then asked the women to recreate the choreography of Wednesday evening for his notes, and they’d let the matter go. Lark pantomimed the scene on the trampled snow about twenty feet this side of where it supposedly occurred. He turned to Dee and asked, “Why did you bring a gun Wednesday night?”

  “To protect my friends.”

  “Friends?” Sam said. “Who else was here beside you and Lark?”

  Seemingly flustered, Dee looked to Lark, but Chet answered loudly for them. “It isn’t uncommon for a single woman living in Montana to carry a gun.”

  "And where's the gun?" Sam asked.

  Neither attorney stopped Lark from answering. "I threw it in Whitefish Lake, north end." Her body stood defiant, like she might break in the cold.

  "Who owns it?"

  “Me.” And Lark told him the story of young Zane's curiosity and why she had given it to Dee.

  To Dee, Sam said, "But you pulled the trigger?"

  “Yes.”

  Chet took over. “Really, this is pointless now that we know Rob Whalen was alive after our clients last saw him.” He guided them both to the warm SUV. Once the doors slammed shut, Chet turned to Sam and said, "Obviously, our clients thought they harmed the man, but this loner manipulated the situation to leave no traces and disappear."

  Sam stomped his boots, ready to warm up in the car. He said, "I can't argue with that, but this is too confusing to dismiss out of hand. I’ll have to report it to the higher-ups and see what they say." He zipped his jacket against the chill of inactivity and stiffening winds.

  Alice Stanhope said, "I'd say you have proof of only one broken law." The woman adjusted earmuffs and rubbed her gloved hands together.

  Sam said, "What's that?"

  "Burning out of season without a permit." She turned toward her car.

  "Good one." Sam could tell she was chuckling by the jiggle of her shoulders.

  Sam approached the idling vehicle and motioned for Chet to lower the driver’s side window. He bent to peer into the car at Lark in the back seat, saying, “I’m not sure what happened here,
but a man you thought you killed—even by accident—was wounded and took all the blame. I don’t know why, but there’s a chance he could come back to settle a score.”

  The color rushed from Lark’s face. He wished he could comfort her, but both women needed to understand the possible danger.

  Lark nodded thanks to him, their eyes holding contact until Alice said, “Thank you, deputy.” And the SUV eased away.

  “Any idea where Rob Whalen might be?” Alice pointed the question to Lark in the back seat.

  “Honestly, no idea.”

  The foursome traveled without speaking further until the SUV rumbled over the cattle guard past Logan Creek. Alice spoke up again. “Lark, I think you should stay at Dee’s house until this blows over.” Alice and Chet exchanged a significant look.

  “Absolutely,” Dee said. “He doesn’t know where I live. At least, not yet.”

  Lark pondered the ominous possibility of Rob’s return.

  “Alice, I have proof that Rob raped Dee.”

  Alice turned abruptly in her seat.

  “That night, in his house. I took some things.”

  Alice nodded encouragement to continue.

  “I found an envelope with eleven unmatched earrings inside.” Lark took Dee’s hand. “And Dee identified one as hers. Alice, he’s a rapist who takes trophies.”

  Chet kept his eyes on the road but said, “A serial rapist.”

  “And I have Rob’s blood on my clothes from that night.”

  Alice straightened her shoulders. “Where are these items?”

  “At my house.”

  “We’ll pick up this evidence, secure it, and handle next steps. Alice reached over her seat to pat Lark’s knee. “You might have stopped a serial rapist from striking again.”

  “But Alice… if they catch him…” Their car passed the rebuilt mailbox where the deer had been killed—site of the first time she met Rob and Raven. “He’ll say what really happened that night.”

  Alice said, “What do you mean what really happened?”

  Lark squeezed Dee’s fingers. Dee gripped back. “Our friend Nora was there. And Zane with his friend.”

  “Good God Almighty,” Chet said, slowing to forty-five in the city limits. “Who wasn’t there?”