The Closer He Gets

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Her expression changed.

  “She told me that her father had molested both her and her younger sister. That...caught my attention, since Sheila was raped.”

  “Oh, no,” she whispered. “I never knew that.”

  “My parents might have wanted to keep it from me, too, but I found her body.”

  “I’m so very sorry,” she murmured. “And I do see why you’re asking about Duane, but I can assure you it couldn’t have been him.”

  “Detective Nolte told me you’d said he was home in bed with you every night.”

  She blinked at that. “I vaguely remember him saying something in passing about seeing Duane out late at night. I thought it was odd.” Her cheeks turned pink and she wrung her hands. “If he’d asked me directly for...well...an alibi for Duane, I would have told him the truth. But it wasn’t information I was volunteering to anyone.”

  He waited, certain she meant to tell him.

  “We were having some marital difficulties, you see,” she said with apparent difficulty. “I had begun to suspect there was another woman because—” Her blush deepened. “Well, we weren’t having relations. At all. I even wondered if he was gay and couldn’t tell me.

  “Eventually he did admit to having cheated on me, although I never found out with whom. Of course, I had no idea then of his perverted tastes... If he preyed on other young girls, I’m not sure I want to know. I hate him enough already.”

  “I understand,” Zach said gently.

  “What I’m leading up to is that he agreed to attend a church retreat with me. The focus was on strengthening marriages. It was that weekend, at a small resort on Guemes Island. My sister kept the girls so we could go. You probably know how limited the ferry service is to Guemes. But even if that wasn’t true...there is simply no way he could have left without my knowing.”

  Zach was dumbfounded enough to recognize that, in his eagerness, he’d reasoned ahead of the facts; something he knew better than to do.

  It shouldn’t be a surprise that Duane Womack wasn’t the only pedophile who had had something to do with the Murphy family. Yet, despite knowing Duane’s taste for girls entering puberty, Zach had still let himself believe he had found his man.

  He made a last-ditch effort. “It’s been a lot of years. You’re certain it was the same weekend?”

  “Yes. We were on the ferry when Duane turned on the car radio to the news and we heard about the murder. We were both so shocked. He told me your parents were among his clients and what a nice family you seemed to be.”

  “I see.” He smiled crookedly. “Then I can only apologize for asking questions that must remind you of times you’d rather forget.”

  She rose when he did. “But you had to ask.” At the door she squeezed his hand. “I hope you do find the man who did that. The very idea that he got away with it!” Her ferocity reminded him that she knew quite well who had hurt her daughters, and that she, too, lived with the knowledge she’d failed to protect them.

  He thanked her and, feeling curiously numb, went to the truck, aware of Tess watching. She unlocked the door and he got in, sitting there for a minute and staring straight ahead.

  Finally he made himself tell her. “It wasn’t him.”

  “What did she say?”

  Zach repeated the gist.

  Tess listened, little lines creasing her forehead.

  “Well,” she said sturdily, “that’s one more name you can cross off your list.”

  He nodded. “This is how investigations go. You find a promising lead and then it doesn’t pan out. You back up and try another route.”

  When he still didn’t move, Tess asked, “Are you okay?”

  Honestly? He didn’t know. Numb wasn’t quite right for what he felt. A sense of failure? Maybe. He’d told Tess the truth—this was standard in an investigation. But this wasn’t a standard investigation, not when the victim was his sister.

  He made himself fire up the engine, even as his frustration built, filling him until there was no room left. Man, he hated dealing with so many emotions he hardly understood. It was like getting punched over and over, never knowing where the next blow was coming from. He was reeling from this latest one.

  But sometime in the silent drive back downtown, Zach formed a resolve that hardened until it felt like a rough-sided chunk of cement in his chest.

  It was past time Bran admitted what he knew instead of playing along for his own reasons. Time they found out what being brothers actually meant.

  Wasn’t it convenient, Zach thought, that he’d be seeing Bran tomorrow?

  * * *

  THE NEXT EVENING Tess insisted on cleaning up after dinner to give the two men time to talk. Conversation over the meal had been labored, probably in part thanks to her presence. Truthfully, she didn’t yet feel comfortable with Bran and had been disappointed that Paige wouldn’t be accompanying him. Without help from another woman, her every effort at being chatty had dwindled into an awkward silence.

  Zach was being unnaturally quiet and, as far as she could tell, his brother was not a real outgoing guy. Or maybe some underlying tension between the brothers spilled over into everything that was said and unsaid. She didn’t know, but once they’d finished their pie, she’d had enough.

  She had just turned off the water with the intention of leaving the casserole dish to soak when she heard Zach’s voice from the living room, raised in what sounded like anger.

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  Clutching the hand towel, Tess stood utterly still. Did she want to intervene? Or should she flee into the backyard?

  But—what a shock—she was too nosy to do either. She sidled toward the living room, stopping just out of sight of the two men.

  I’ll listen only long enough to find out what’s wrong, she told herself. Okay, justified to herself.

  “Believe what you want.” Bran’s cool voice had chilled.

  “So you completely lacked curiosity. You never once said, ‘Hey, Dad, did you suspect anyone’?”

  “You think he wouldn’t have told the police? Get real.”

  “I think you’re a police detective, which makes it a real oddity that you never looked at her killing as a cold case. I mean, here you are, right in town. Just didn’t occur to you, huh?”

  A protracted silence ratcheted up Tess’s worry. But there were no thuds or grunts, so they weren’t going at it physically. What were they doing, glaring daggers at each other?

  “I was...trying to honor what I thought Dad wanted,” Bran said, his voice altered almost beyond recognition. It was slow and heavy. “I think he was afraid—” He stopped.

  “Of what? That if the lid came off the can, the cops would be looking at him again?”

  I shouldn’t be listening, she thought, but her feet didn’t move.

  “That it was one of Mom’s bed buddies!” Bran yelled. “That he’d be humiliated if it got out, that she’d be destroyed if she understood it was her fault Sheila died! Don’t you get it? He loved her even after everything.”

  Heart pounding, Tess began backing away. But then she did hear a thud, as if one of the men had thrown something.

  “Oh, screw this!” It was Bran again, sounding enraged. “You’re on a vendetta against Dad, aren’t you? Why have I been bothering to help? Believing in Dad would mean you have to admit how bad you screwed up. And you can’t do that, can you?” He spat out an obscenity. Moments later the front door opened and slammed closed.

  Tess scuttled back to the kitchen and turned on the faucet as if she was just finishing up. But when Zach didn’t come to the kitchen, she couldn’t stand it another minute.

  “Zach?” she called.

  There was no answer.

  She went to the living room but found it empty. Bedroom? Bathroom?
He wasn’t anywhere.

  Oh, heavens—had he followed Bran out?

  Tess hurried to the front door and flung it open, expecting the worst, but Bran’s Camaro was gone and she didn’t see Zach, either. She called his name softly and was answered by silence.

  Had he followed Bran and the two had agreed to go to a bar or something? He’d have told her, wouldn’t he? And...the front door had been unlocked. He had left it unlocked after all his lectures to her.

  Her disquiet grew until her stomach cramped.

  The man she knew was passionate, yes, but also strong, determined, calm under stress. He’d been a rock for her. And now he was either crumbling or—

  Looking out at the empty front yard and the dark street and sidewalk, she thought back to their past few days. Her terrified awareness of the faceless figure out front, followed by a missile exploding through the front window. Zach yelling, racing after Hayes or whoever it had been. Then the scene after the movie the very next night.

  She had tried to joke about it. Now Tess’s heart cramped at the memory of what he’d said, and of his oddly distant, resigned tone.

  We can’t get away from it, can we?

  Maybe his mood didn’t have anything to do with finding out his cold case investigation had to move on from Duane Womack. Maybe what was really getting to him was his forced realization that his role of protector wasn’t going to be as short-lived as he’d imagined.

  If being stuck with her had begun to chafe, it was no wonder his temper was short.

  And, no, she would not let herself cry. She might be totally wrong about what was going on with him. And if she wasn’t? Well...he’d done a lot for her, but he hadn’t promised to grow old with her.

  She could only pray he didn’t suspect how she felt about him.

  Suddenly aware of how frighteningly vulnerable she was standing there in plain sight of anyone, Tess hastily retreated inside, closed the door and turned the dead bolt.

  She didn’t exactly look forward to letting him back in.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “SO, WHAT DID you do today?” Tess asked as she spread the napkin on her lap. As conversational openers went, it wasn’t brilliant, but she was scraping the bottom of the barrel here.

  It was the next day and she had come home from work to find Zach’s truck already in the garage. The moment she’d stepped in the house she’d smelled dinner cooking and saw that his hair was damp from a shower.

  Zach glanced at her. “Doyle stopped by and I gave him a key. He says they can start Wednesday or Thursday.”

  “Are you having him go ahead and plumb the second bathroom upstairs while he’s there?”

  “Yeah. That’ll be the most time-consuming part of the job.” He shrugged. “I bought new windows. Today I replaced about half of them. Picked up paint samples, too.”

  “For the exterior?”

  He nodded. “I can see a few clapboards that need replacing, but most are in good shape. I might be able to do that work and paint next weekend. How was your day?”

  Apparently he was going to make an effort. They were on a roll.

  “Truthfully, pretty boring,” Tess said. “Greg and I have talked off and on about closing on Monday as well as Sunday. I think I’m going to push for us to do it. More often than not, we both end up working six days a week and I’m tired of it. Mondays are the slowest for us, and I have to believe people will come a different day instead of going to a competitor.” She made a face. “Anyway. I filled my day browsing manufacturer’s catalogs and chatting with a few people I know aren’t ready to actually buy yet. If ever. They just like to dream.”

  And don’t we all, she thought wryly.

  “So you were alone a lot.”

  “More than sometimes,” she admitted, waiting for him to grumble. When he didn’t, she decided to tiptoe into what had become a delicate subject. “Did you think any today about where to go with your investigation?”

  He took a bite, his expression not changing. “No.”

  O-ka-ay. Tess wasn’t about to push it. She nodded and continued eating. Let him make a stab at conversation.

  “Tess... About last night.”

  On any topic but this one.

  “Forget about it.” She pushed back from the table. “I’ll put coffee on.”

  Zach hadn’t moved when she eventually returned. It didn’t look as if he’d even taken another bite. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “You already apologized. That’s enough.”

  Turbulent blue eyes met hers. “It was inexcusable.”

  “We all go off the rails once in a while. Now, can we not talk about it?”

  He’d been gone an hour and a half last night. He had taken a long walk, he said, which she’d had no reason to doubt. And, yes, he’d had to ring the doorbell. When she’d let him in, he had been gasping for breath. “I suddenly realized—” puff, puff, puff “—that I didn’t remember locking.”

  “Or mentioning that you were going out.”

  “God, Tess. I’m sorry.”

  “I’d have reason to complain if I were paying you for twenty-four-seven bodyguard services.” Sounding composed had taken some serious effort. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed. Please lock up behind you.”

  When he had appeared in the bedroom a short while later she’d kept her back to him, hoping he couldn’t tell her whole body was rigid.

  He’d been smart enough not to reach for her.

  This morning they had both gone about getting ready for the day without exchanging more than a few words. “Excuse me.”

  “Would you like scrambled eggs if I make some?”

  “No, thank you.”

  That made her, and probably him, too, feel exceedingly awkward this evening.

  She went back to the kitchen to pour the coffee then cleared the table as he watched, brooding.

  Once the dishwasher was loaded, she retreated to the living room and turned on the TV instead of returning to the table where he still sat. There had to be something worthwhile on, she thought desperately. She found “Antiques Roadshow” and settled down to watch—or, at least, to pretend to watch. Thank goodness the show filled the silence.

  Zach stalked into the living room and tapped the power button on the TV, which went dark. He glowered at her. “Damn it, Tess, we have to talk about this.”

  “No, we really don’t. You were mad at Bran, you needed to cool off.”

  “And I left your house wide open.”

  Fine, she thought. He wanted honesty? She’d be honest.

  “Yes, you did.” She met his gaze square-on. “I dropped from your radar. But I think I mostly dropped from it several days ago. It’s been pretty clear to me that you want out of this protector gig.” When he started to open his mouth, she shook her head fiercely. “Your feeling that way is understandable. This crap is going to go on and on and on. Maybe till death do us part.”

  He winced. It felt like a stiletto into her heart.

  “It’s not that.” His fingers raked his already disheveled hair. He took a couple of paces away from the television then back. “I’ve just been hit by a lot lately.”

  He had, and she knew it, but her temper flared, too. There was a great excuse for hurting other people. Not.

  “Haven’t we all.”

  He snorted. “Your little sister wasn’t murdered. You’re not hitting one dead end after another, trying to figure out who did it.”

  “My father had a stroke and it’s only a matter of time until he has another one. You have a mother.”

  He looked stung. “Do I? After I asked which of her screw buddies might have raped and murdered Sheila?”

  “You have a brother, too,” she said quietly. “One you’ll lose if you keep on like this.”<
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  “Lose? I haven’t had him since he chose Dad over me.”

  Tess blinked, shocked out of her hurt feelings. “Zach, you were boys. He wasn’t choosing your father over you. He chose him over your mother.”

  “Bullshit!” He was breathing hard. “We could have stayed together.”

  This wasn’t going anywhere good and Tess knew it was her fault as much as his. She’d been foolish enough to hope he could free himself from his past. She should have known better. Was it even possible?

  “Has it occurred to you that maybe it has been too many years since she died?” she asked softly. “That you might not find her killer?”

  “No.” He sounded implacable. “Failure’s not an option.”

  “Zach, you might fail. You have to know that.” Once upon a time he’d admitted as much.

  Now he stared incredulously at her. “You think I should quit. Is that it?”

  “I didn’t say that. But you need to wonder whether this hasn’t become some kind of obsession.”

  The taut lines of his face told her how angry he was. “I’m looking for justice. It’s my job!”

  “But it’s not your job.” Saying all this might not be the right thing, but if his swings in mood and surliness had to do with his investigation and not her, it couldn’t be healthy for him. “It’s a...quest.”

  “I’m a detective.” He took the few steps needed to bring him to the coffee table, only feet from where she sat. He loomed over her, glaring down. “I’ve spent years developing the know-how and skills to get to the point where I could nail the creep who killed my sister. And now you’re saying...what? Let it go?”

  “I don’t know.” Tess hugged herself.

  “Well, I do. Nothing will stop me, including this shit with Hayes.” His stare could have blistered her skin. “Do you understand?”

  She shivered. “Yes. I certainly can’t stop you.”

  “What are you asking? For a big gesture here to prove you’re everything to me?”

  “I’m not stupid enough to do that.”