by Jolie Day
“That is an interesting conclusion,” she heard him say on the other end. “But I have to disappoint you. Neither you, nor your sister have enough grit or spunk to kill anyone, or even to have someone killed. You two are princesses and you have been spoiled your entire lives. Something like vengeance wouldn’t cause either one of you to get your fingers dirty, and the truth only becomes interesting to you when your own head is on the line.”
“Just like you,” replied Mira. “You are only interested in this truth, since your own life is in jeopardy.” His breathing was the only connection between them. “Vengeance is not passionate, it’s stupid,” she heard herself say. She and Connor seemed to have switched roles. “And neither my sister, nor I are scared of getting our fingers dirty, you arrogant bastard.” She heard a weirdly satisfied laugh on the other end of the line, but she shook it off. “What do you want, Connor? Why don’t you just say it like a man, instead of sending me expensive and meaningless gifts that I don’t want.”
“I want the exact same thing as you: the truth.”
Mira’s heart was beating furiously, as if she had just finished a marathon. “So, what are you suggesting? And don’t tell me that you hadn’t thought about exactly what you want before you called me.” It was a shot in the dark.
“You know me better than I thought. Alright then. Let’s find out together what actually happened that night, seventeen years ago.”
She was completely speechless. What had gotten into her sister and Connor, where they now both tried to rip open old wounds at the same time? If it was up to her, the past could stay where it was, forgotten and ignored, buried somewhere deep and never to be talked about again. “And how do you think that would work?” Mira should have ended the conversation. What Connor suggested was absurd and it made her even more suspicious of him. Suzanne would have said that he would want to monitor and control their investigation, and her, by pretending to be a partner in this research and clinging to her every move. And then there was the gunshot. Only someone completely crazy or a very desperate individual would create an attack on themselves. Was Connor such a person? He had been determined that the shot had been aimed at him. On the other hand, he had saved her. Or had this also been part of his plan to earn her trust?
She shook off her paranoid thoughts. It was good and made sense to be careful with regards to Connor Carmichael, but if Mira wasn’t careful enough, she knew that she would see him in almost every shadow.
“That’s easy,” Connor said then. “We will begin by collecting objective facts. I am sure that you have access to all the files that your lawyers have, even though it might take some persuasion for them to release them to you. Then you will hand them over to me.” Mira was just about to tell him how insane his plan was, when he continued: “Obviously, I will offer you the same courtesy. We will then compare our memories from that particular night. This should help us form a pretty clear picture. It will give us a great starting point from which we can then systematically go on further.”
“This all sounds too good to be true,” she carefully replied. “So, why do I have the feeling that — with all of your seemingly open honesty — you are still hiding something from me?”
“Because you are not only beautiful, but also smart,” Connor answered so quickly that Mira didn’t think she had heard him correctly. “How long would you need in order to get hold of the files? It’s Saturday now, but I am almost certain that your lawyers can be persuaded to have all the documents ready and copies made for you by Monday afternoon. How about we meet on Monday evening at 8pm for dinner? I will have you picked up by 7.30pm at the Hyborn Hotel.” And then the call ended. He hadn’t even given her a chance to accept or decline his proposition. You wait, Mira thought, and she felt how her lips curled up into a smile. You may have had the last word today, but this won’t be happening any longer.
Later when she was in bed and had her nose pressed into Mister Knister, she realized what he had also said to her earlier: Because you are not only beautiful, but also smart. She fell asleep with this sentence in her ear and his voice in her head.
Chapter 12
Suzanne called early the next morning and asked Mira to drive out to Nightingale Manor without her. “I think I must have caught a virus or something and I don’t want to risk getting mom sick,” she said. “I am so very sorry, sweetie.”
“No problem,” Mira reassured her, and wondered how much of yesterday’s conversation with Connor she should tell her. She was just about to start, when her sister excused herself quickly and hung up. The next task on her agenda was a phone call to George Lacroix. She remembered her father’s lawyer very well, as he had fought for her and Suzanne back then — more than was necessary in his profession and more than was required of him. Back then, he had lived with his wife in Westlake, one of the quieter areas of Los Angeles. Soon after Mira had finished her first year at the Swiss boarding school, uncle George had retired and given his law office to his son George Jr.
Mira was unsure whether she should call him or if it would be better to go and visit him personally. His address was listed in the telephone book and it was still the same as it had been back then. A quick phone call would be the easier solution, but a short visit would be a more sensible option if she really wanted the files by Monday afternoon. Westlake wasn’t too far from where she was anyway, and was actually on the way to Nightingale Manor.
Los Angeles hadn’t really changed that much. The ugly HOLLYWOOD sign still sat on that hill overlooking the city, people seemed stressfully busy even on a Saturday, and the traffic was just horrible. Instead of calling herself a cab, she had decided to walk for about half an hour in George’s direction and she took a good look around her. The famous Sunset Boulevard seemed shabby to her. Too many stores had an abundance of colorful and cheap products for sale nowadays and the typical smog made an otherwise beautiful California autumn day, very unpleasant. The smog should have reminded her of London, but instead it only reminded her of the sad fact that she had returned.
She should give herself some more time to settle back into her hometown. However, that would prove difficult, given all the things she had had to do in such a short time already, even if she disregarded all of today. She almost felt like she couldn’t breathe and that she was falling from one extreme mood to the next, without being able to do anything about it. On the other hand, her mother’s impending death didn’t seem to touch her half as much as she had anticipated and what she would deem normal for a caring daughter. If she were to compare the feelings she had experienced seventeen years ago when her father had died, with what she felt when she looked at her dying mother today, then she would be filled with shame for her coldness and lack of feelings. It wasn’t that she had just shrugged off thoughts of her mother’s death, but there were constantly other people meddling in her thoughts. Suzanne was one of them — her big sister, whose love and care she had always taken for granted. Russell, whom she had never liked and still couldn’t stand — and yet she was suddenly able to relate to his point of view. Luke had been a welcome distraction, but would there be room for more?
Even now that she was alone with her thoughts, Mira shied away from thinking the name of the man who had taken her mind, her body, and her heart hostage.
Connor Carmichael.
Why did she think about him so often? What had prevented her from flat out denying him his rather demanding plan?
She dodged a woman with two full grocery bags and blushed slightly when she noticed that she had thought about Connor almost with the same obsession as Suzanne. Obviously the reasons were completely different in both cases — Suzanne wanted to see him suffer, while she… what was it that she wanted?
Clarity, Mira thought as she waved down a taxi. I want clarity about him. In a way, her sister had been right. Her past and current situations were intertwined with that one fateful night when their father had died. And Connor had played a role — if not the deciding role — in the events that had des
troyed her family seventeen years ago. Only when she knew what had really happened, would she be able to truly settle in L.A. or to move on. Otherwise she would forever be the scared little girl who needed someone to care for her, despite her excellent degree in a subject that was mainly characterized by mathematical precision and tough-ass calculations.
It hurt, but the truth was undeniable. Mira had to do everything in her power to find out who had killed her father and to solve his murder. Maybe it would even help her to feel things normally again. To love her mother, who had turned into a living corpse. To have more patience for Suzanne, who was clearly overwhelmed and exhausted. Maybe even to have respect for Russell, who had helped them both. Not that it mattered, but he didn’t have to do it. And maybe there was even a slight chance that she herself would turn into a person capable of taking responsibility for herself and possibly even being able to have a real relationship.
The cab stopped in front of a red brick house. Mira immediately recognized this house as that of “Uncle George” and “Auntie Lynn”. The cedar tree in front of their home had grown and in their carport, a rather big SUV was parked, instead of the old-timer she remembered. Other than that, not a lot had changed. Even George Lacroix hadn’t changed that much after all these years. His white mustache, sparkly blue eyes, and pleasant voice had remained unchanged. When he pulled open the door, he blinked once and then said her name, half surprised, half excited, and then he opened his arms. There was no hesitation in this gesture and Mira, who had decided just two minutes earlier that she needed to grow up, let herself fall for one very precious moment.
“Finally, here you are,” George then said and stepped aside to hold the door open for her. “I have waited to see you again for such a long time and now I can hardly believe it. You have grown up so much.”
These simple words loosened a knot deep inside of her, something that Mira didn’t even know she had. Ten minutes later, she sat at their kitchen table, patted her tears dry, and looked out into the garden, where two Beagles were trying to steal a ball from each other. “Do you like dogs?” Uncle George didn’t wait for her answer, but instead got up and walked over to the glass door, which he opened and then whistled loudly. Both dogs came running immediately and when they first saw Mira, they stopped in their tracks. Their tails were stiffly raised into the air and very carefully, which is something Mira only knew from cats, the duo slowly came closer to the stranger in their kitchen. “Washington. Lincoln. Sit!” George ordered them and waved to Mira to come closer. Uncle George handed her two little cookies. “They will do anything for treats,” he winked at her, “and it is the best way to introduce you to them. Otherwise they won’t leave you in peace,” he explained. “So why don’t you tell me why you came to see me? I assume that your visit wasn’t borne out of sentimental reasons.”
Mira lowered her head and started stroking the larger of the two dogs behind his ears, to hide her own embarrassment. “Well, that is true,” she said when the dog was done having his ear scratched and he and his buddy had disappeared back out into the garden. Uncle George left the door ajar, before returning to the kitchen table and sitting down next to her. “I need the files about my father’s murder. Not just those about the court case, but also everything else with regard to the business back then.”
His hands were shaking as he lifted the cup of tea up to his mouth. He tentatively took a sip. Mira waited patiently, despite her pulse racing. Why was George nervous? And what about his greeting earlier, when he had said finally, here you are, as if this had been an event that had a much bigger meaning to it than just a polite visit with an old friend. “Why?”
This question didn’t surprise her. Mira had prepared for it during her ride in the cab and she had come up with a bulletproof answer. She wanted to say that she wanted to write about the company’s history, but now, as she looked into his wise blue eyes, she knew that she would not be able to lie to him and that he would probably know if she did.
“I want to finally know what happened back then,” she explained quietly. Her fingers were playing nervously with her teaspoon.
“Is Russell giving you problems?”
This question stopped her in her tracks. “Not any more than you would expect from a macho man like him. Why do you ask? I don’t understand the connection.” Her stomach turned slightly.
He pressed his lips into a thin line and focused on the wall behind her. “You do remember that your dad and I weren’t just involved in the business, but that we were also friends, right?” Mira nodded. “When he died, I first thought about handing over your father’s business dealings to another lawyer, because it had affected me personally and very deeply. By that, I don’t mean in business terms, but more because I knew your mother and the both of you very well.” Mira didn’t want to interrupt him, so she just focused on holding his gaze without saying a word. “However, when it turned out that they had found a main suspect, who had been in your house at the time of the murder and who also had a plausible motive, I decided against it. I was absolutely convinced that Connor Carmichael would be pronounced guilty and punished quickly. At least, that was the impression I got from the prosecutor and the police.” He sighed and suddenly he seemed ten years older. “Then I had my first doubts. The murder weapon disappeared from the evidence room. No gunshot residue was ever found on Carmichael’s hands. And despite an extensive search in all areas, the police never found any gloves that he could have worn. Finally, a witness appeared, whose reputation was absolutely inviolable and who swore that at the time in question, he and Carmichael had been watching a football game together in front of the TV.”
Mira’s head jerked up. That was impossible! Connor had carried her to bed, shortly after her father had been shot!
“From thereon in, everything went downhill,” George continued. He didn’t seem to notice her anxiety. “His defense attorney tore your sister’s testimony apart, even though she had seen him right there in your house. And on top of that, his sleazeball of a lawyer didn’t even hesitate to also connect your father and his business with the mafia and money laundering. He couldn’t provide the necessary evidence for his claims, but it had been enough to persuade the jury anyway. Carmichael was set free, even though it had only been due to a lack of evidence. I am so very sorry, Mira.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she replied automatically. Her mind was spinning. Even though, Suzanne had only just left her teenage years behind her, she had still protected Mira. It had been her best attempt to try and keep her little sister out of this investigation. She had lied and said that it had been she who had seen Connor when he left their father’s home office. Mira’s hands were now also shaking. It had been a mistake that they hadn’t told the police the truth back then and it was possibly the reason why Connor had not been convicted.
Mira felt cold and she wished that she could turn back the time. If only she had demanded to be allowed to give her version of the events of that night. But you were only eight years old, her inner voice of reason determined. Suzanne had been seventeen and with Russell she had had a grown up by her side. Breathe, she reminded herself, don’t forget to breathe. Her main focus right now was to get hold of the files. “And you have waited all these years for me to come and see you and talk to you about this? Does this mean that you will help me?”
“Yes, that is what it means — for as long as I can.”
“Are you sick?” She reached out to hold his hand and squeeze it, but he just shrugged.
“Oh no, it’s not that. I am obviously not that young anymore and I will only be here for a short while longer, that is what I meant.”
“What will Lynn say about this?” she asked and thought about the curvaceous brunette who must have been a few years younger than George. She had always hated the term ‘auntie’. Mira had always liked George much better than her.
“I assume that she will just shrug her shoulders and immediately start an affair with her tennis trainer.” At first, Mira thought
that he was making a joke, but then she saw the deep sadness in his eyes.
“Good,” she said and blushed dark red. “I’m sorry, obviously I didn’t mean ‘good’. I meant let’s get started.”
“I know what you meant,” he said calmly and got up. “Follow me.”
From behind, George Lacroix looked exactly like what he was — a tired old man. However, if you saw his face with its lively expressions, you could easily forget that he had possibly exceeded the big 70 a while ago. She did the math. Her dad had been in his early forties when he died. Given the huge age gap, it seemed almost strange that these two men had been such good friends, Mira thought as she followed George through the hallway into his study. The first thing she noticed was a stack of papers, almost a foot high, on his desk.
George really had expected her. She saw numerous boxes clearly labelled “Jack Dumont” and it seemed that he had collected everything he could about this case. She walked slowly into the room, as if she were in some kind of trance, and she suddenly realized that all these files contained not only her father’s life, but the lives of her entire family. Connor should be pleased, she thought absentmindedly.
She swallowed hard to clear the lump in her throat and turned towards George. “Why have you never given these files to Suzanne?” she asked. George leaned heavily on the edge of his desk and looked her straight in the eye.
“Your sister,” he replied slowly and with a voice that sounded as coarse as sandpaper, “… lied back then. I could not prove it, but to me her words sounded rehearsed. She was not able to name any details, but instead she just kept repeating the exact same words, that it must have been Carmichael.” Mira watched as he wrung his hands. “I asked her hundreds of times to just tell me the truth. I told her over and over again that a false testimony would make her guilty and I implored her to do the right thing, so that justice would prevail.” Sometimes, due to his pompous way of speaking, it became very apparent that George Lacroix had been an attorney once. “But she was adamant that she had seen Carmichael come out of your father’s room with bloody hands.” Had Connor’s hands been bloody? She couldn’t remember. Surely if that had been the case, then her pajamas would also have been bloody, and the police would have noticed that?
