by Wendy Tyson
“Chase had been screaming?”
King shook his head. “No. They found Chase on the ground. He was already dead.” King swallowed, hard. “It was the kid who was screaming.” He closed his eyes. “For his mother.”
Megan remembered what Eloise had said. The boy’s father was in prison, mom was deceased. Megan felt bile rise in her throat. “Oh, Bobby.”
“Sad, right? Heartbreaking. Problem is, he was covered with the victim’s blood.”
Megan frowned. “That doesn’t necessarily make him guilty.”
“No, it doesn’t. But take a troubled kid with a family history of domestic violence, add an isolated setting, and give him the means—access to the murder weapon—and the opportunity, and you have a problem on your hands.”
“You need motive too, Bobby. Why would Dillon want to do that to a man he barely knew?” Her face contorted in horror. “Could it have been self-defense? Have you asked him?”
“That’s the other thing.” Voices could be heard on the other side of the door, and King lowered his own. “The kid won’t talk.”
“Won’t say anything until he has an attorney? Or won’t talk at all?”
“Just won’t talk.” King’s young face sagged. “It’s like he’s comatose. Just stares out into space, silent.”
“Shock?”
A curt nod. “He’s at the hospital now being evaluated. We’ve asked for a psychiatric evaluation. It will take time.”
Megan let all of this sink in. Dead businessman in Winsome for a charitable deed. Troubled teen at the scene of the crime, screaming for his late mother. A killer? Or an unfortunate witness?
“Where was the staff? The other people from BOLD?”
King said, “They were up at the campsite involved in their own groups’ activities when this happened. No one was paying much attention.” King pulled a beefy hand through limp blond hair. “Denver will be back any minute, and I’ll share some of this with him. But I want Denver and Eloise Kent to know I’m not the enemy here, Megan. This kid looks guilty. And maybe he is. You didn’t see him in that hospital room.” He shook his head as though ridding himself of the memory. “This big kid rocking like a child. If I know Eloise, she will fight me tooth and nail to protect Dillon’s confidentiality. She’s stubborn. I want the truth, not a scapegoat.” His gaze was beseeching. “I’d appreciate if you’d help me get through to them.”
“I can’t convince Eloise to do anything she’s uncomfortable with. She’s a pediatrician. Her concern will be for Dillon, Bobby. You know that.”
“I’m just afraid in her effort to protect him, she’ll make things worse.”
Megan understood. Bibi could be the same way with Megan’s father, Eddie—so determined to protect him that her actions hurt him in the end. “I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”
The door handle jiggled, and King hopped out of the chair. “She needs to know we’re on the same side. I want him protected too. From the media. From those who will assume guilt.” The door opened. King turned in the direction of the entryway, and said, “And from himself.”
Six
Denver was quiet during the drive to his aunt’s home. Eyes on the road, jaw rigid, hands wrapped around the steering wheel so tightly his fingers were white sausages, he maintained a speed that would have him losing his license if any police in Winsome were monitoring the roads. Megan sat beside him, resisting the urge to speak. She knew he needed his space. She also knew she didn’t have the right words. How do you express sorrow in a situation like this? Denver would be blaming himself—right or not.
Denver pulled up to the old farmhouse, parked next to Eloise’s three-year-old BMW, and jammed the 4Runner into Park. With the vehicle still running, he sat back and let out a long breath. Megan studied her hands, the side of the barn, the hills in the distance—the same hills that delineated the edges of Lyle Lake.
Unable to stand his silence any longer, she finally said, “None of this is your fault, Denver.”
“Ta, Megan. I wish I could agree.”
“How are you to blame?”
He turned to face her. No reproach, only sorrow. And exhaustion. “Aunt Eloise asked me if Dillon should be involved. I said yes, let the boy take part. I assured her he would be fine.”
“She would have sent him anyway? It sounded like a great opportunity. Mentoring? The possibility of college tuition? How could she say no?”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t like that. Dillon didn’t want to go. She urged him to go, because I told her I thought it would be good for him. Because Chase and Xavier and Jatin were my friends, she listened to me.” He put his head in his hands. “And when Chase called and told me Barb had approached him, I urged him on too. ‘It’s in my backyard,’ I said. ‘I’ll get to see you,’ I said. And now the bloody bastard is dead.”
Seeming to realize what he just said, his eyes widened. “I don’t know what happened out there, Megs, or why, but had I not gotten involved, Chase might still be alive, and Dillon would not have been anywhere near him.”
Megan sat next to Denver for a long while, in silence. When she spoke, it was with firm conviction. “Denver, stop. This line of thinking is unproductive. One, your aunt is a pediatrician fully capable of making informed decisions. Had she felt this was a bad idea for Dillon, she wouldn’t have sent him. I’m certain of that.” And she was. Dr. Kent was a stubborn woman. She’d lived alone much of her life, and she was accustomed to being the boss. “Two, the Chase I met at the restaurant was an opportunist. He was going to do this, one way or another. Winsome, PA or Walleye, Kansas, he was going.” Megan pulled Denver’s face gently toward her. “Don’t fool yourself into thinking that Chase—or any of them—came here for you.”
Megan watched Denver’s eyes close, his face relax. Hard truths, but he needed to hear them. When he opened his eyes, they were clearer.
“I only met Dillon a few times, mostly during dinners at Eloise’s house or when I was over to see to the horses, but the boy seemed shy. Kind. I watched him with Eloise’s colt, the one who startles, and Dillon was gentle, even when he thought no one was looking. A gentle giant.”
Megan nodded.
“I don’t think he killed Chase. Why would he? He didn’t even know him.” Denver turned off the ignition, and the interior of the SUV started to warm up immediately. “But if not Dillon, then who could have done something so heinous?”
Megan opened the vehicle door. She paused to collect her bag. I guess that’s the question, she thought. Who wanted Chase dead? And why?
Eloise was on the phone in the kitchen when they walked into the home’s large center hall. She barked something into the receiver before ending the call abruptly when she saw Megan and Denver. She placed her cell on the kitchen island’s marble top and greeted them with a half-hearted hug.
“I guess you heard.”
Denver nodded. “I had to make a statement at the station.”
Eloise frowned. “What did they ask you?”
“How I knew the victim, his whereabouts and itinerary while in town, where I have been the last six hours. The norm, I would imagine.”
“Surely they don’t suspect you.” Her tone was indignant.
“Just doing their jobs.” Denver glanced around the large, immaculate kitchen. His eyes fell on a man’s coat draped over one of the stools at the marble-topped island. “Someone here?”
“I’m afraid that belongs to Dillon. I was packing up some of his belongings for the hospital before his agency called.”
No hint of emotion in her voice, which concerned Megan more than histrionics would have.
“Is someone from the school going to visit him at the hospital?” Megan asked. “I would think they have a staff psychologist, someone who could talk with him. This had to have been very traumatic.”
“They do, Dr. Star. And he will visit event
ually, when the dust settles. I’m afraid it’s about to get much more traumatic.” Eloise sat heavily on one of the stools. Her voice remained flat, but Megan could see the flush creeping along the edges of her ivory skin, the tremor in her hands. “The police suspect him of murdering your friend, Denver.”
“We got that sense from Bobby.” Denver’s voice had the ring of alarm. “Have they arrested the boy?”
“No, nothing like that. He’s at the hospital being treated for shock. He’ll have a psychiatric evaluation. A youth defender is being assigned.” Her shoulders slumped. “He’s nearly catatonic, so I don’t know what they think they’re going to get out of him.”
Denver shot Megan a concerned look. “Eloise, how are you? This has to have been traumatic for you as well.”
“Do you really think my comfort matters right now?” Her tone was sharp, and Megan took an involuntary step back. “I’m sorry,” Eloise said immediately. “I don’t quite know what to do. What does one do to help a boy in this situation? I can stitch up wounds, treat pneumonia, diagnose viral infections, but this type of emotional pain? It’s not so easy to cure.”
Her voice trailed off. Denver put an arm around her. “I imagine you do what you would do in any health crisis situation in which there is no obvious cause. You treat and monitor the symptoms. In this case, once the shock has been addressed, the symptoms will be emotional. If what you say is true, he’ll feel embattled and alone. Support and friendship will be the tonics you can provide.”
Eloise nodded. “How did you get so wise?”
“I was lucky enough to have a good aunt in my life.”
Eloise picked up the jacket. She held it to her face and took a deep breath, looking distracted. “When Dillon first arrived, I wondered what I was going to do with this kid. He’s not much of a talker. He’d walk around looking morose, picking at his food, remaining largely in the shadows. He likes to read. And play video games. That’s about it.” She stood. Once at the window overlooking the barn, she turned. “Then I saw him with the horses. They listened to him. Even that wild little filly, the headstrong one that threw you, Denver. She let him ride her.”
Eloise put on the faucet and ran the water for a moment, holding two fingers under the spigot. She was lost in thought. Without washing or doing anything else, she shut off the water and dried her hand with a small towel.
“The clinical part of me says he could have done it. Violent father. Deceased mother, with whom he was very close. Who knows what he witnessed in that house. Pent-up anger, they’ll say. All those months of ‘yes, sir,’ and ‘yes, ma’am,’ and he finally broke. Maybe that Chase Mars did something to upset him. Maybe Dillon had a psychotic episode, though he has no history. Maybe he confused Chase with his dad.”
“Or maybe he didn’t do it,” Megan said.
Both Denver and Eloise turned to her.
“Yes,” Eloise said softly. “The other part of me says that’s right. I’ve gotten to know Dillon, perhaps as much as he’d let anyone in. I don’t think he’s capable of an act of violence against anyone or anything.”
Denver studied his aunt. After a pause, he said, “I’m sorry I urged him to go. If he hadn’t—”
Eloise laughed. It was a bitter, high-pitched laugh, full of malign amusement. “Denver, I love you, but let’s be clear. I wanted your opinion, of course, but if I didn’t think he should go, he wouldn’t have gone. Period. So don’t blame yourself. This is on me.”
“This is on whoever did the act,” Megan said. “Period.” She looked at Denver. “What about the others? Barbara, Xavier, Jatin…have you connected with them?”
“Just by text.” Denver leaned against the island. “They’re being questioned by King and his officers. I think Xavier is still there. Dillon was his charge, so I imagine King wants to understand why Dillon was off by himself in the first place.”
“They’re teens, not first graders,” Megan said.
“True. But it was a mentoring event. And these kids have special needs.” Denver shrugged. “That’s the last I heard. Obviously, the rest of the event has been called off. My friends are all staying at the Bucks County Inn, so I’ll connect with them there later.”
The phone rang, startling Megan. Eloise picked up the cell and stared at screen. With the same maddening calm, she answered.
“Dr. Kent.” A long pause. “Oh, I see. So soon?” Another lengthy silence. “That’s fine.” She clicked off.
“Dillon?” Denver asked. “Is he responding?”
“On the contrary. That was his social services agency. They’re placing him in the psychiatric unit. They feel that’s the best place for him right now, all things considered. They want me to bring his clothes to the hospital.”
“We can take them over,” Denver said. “Or at least go with you.”
Sadness shadowed her features. “That would be nice,” she said before disappearing into that center hall.
Seven
Winsome’s closest hospital was six miles away, a distance Denver once again covered in record speed. Megan sat in the back, next to a medical kit and a box full of leashes, treats, and dog toys. Denver was of the habit of stopping to rescue stray and lost dogs and cats, and he kept everything from small cages to extra towels and blankets in his vehicle. Today he made room in the rear for Dillon’s belongings, which amounted to one small suitcase and a duffle bag of books and comics.
At the hospital entrance, they were greeted by a stern-looking woman in a beige suit. She let them know Dillon was on the fifth floor but reiterated three times that he was not allowed visitors.
“No problem,” Eloise said. “We’re simply bringing him his belongings.”
The nurse on the fifth floor was warmer but just as adamant. “You can leave everything here,” he said. “I’ll make sure Dillon’s agency gets the belongings when they arrive.” He glanced toward a uniformed officer standing guard by Dillon’s hospital room. “Technically he’s under police custody. I don’t think we can let you in there.”
“I’m his foster mother, and a doctor as well.”
The nurse smiled apologetically while tapping on the clip board he was holding. He was a tall man, well over six foot, and he loomed over even Denver. “You understand procedure.”
Megan and Denver exchanged a look. Megan hoped this wouldn’t get ugly. There’d been enough ugly for a while.
“Can you call Chief Bobby King of the Winsome Police Department?” Megan asked. “I’m certain he will okay a brief visit.”
“I don’t think so.” He glanced back at the uniformed officer. “We have our orders.”
“Please?” Megan said. She held the nurse’s stare. “He’s a kid. I know he’s not responding. Maybe seeing Dr. Kent will help.” The nurse’s expression softened, and Megan said, “Just a call. We have Chief King’s cell number. I can call him for you.”
The nurse glanced again at the officer. “Fine. Give me the number. I’ll call.”
Megan obliged, and the nurse walked away to make the call, his back to them. Moments later he came back looking chagrined. “The Chief said it was fine. But as part of Dillon’s medical team, I’m saying only you—” he looked at Eloise, “—and only for five minutes, tops.”
Eloise didn’t wait for him to change his mind. She thanked him and strode into Dillon’s hospital room. Megan watched her disappear from view.
“Thank you,” Megan said.
“I feel bad for the kid,” the nurse said. “He’s had a parade of officers and doctors in there. Maybe seeing someone who cares about him will make a difference.” He squinted at Denver. “But I heard what happened.” He shook his head. “Crazy world.”
“What did you hear?” Megan asked.
“I can’t talk about the patients.” The nurse flushed. “I just heard what was on the news. Someone was murdered.” He shrugged a shoulder in the direction of
Dillon’s room. “And this patient is in police custody.”
Megan knew exactly what he was implying. “That could be for his own protection,” Megan said. “He was a witness. When he becomes responsive, they may want someone here to take a statement. It doesn’t mean he had anything to do with what happened.”
The nurse didn’t look convinced. He glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’m afraid time is up.”
Before he could evict Eloise from Dillon’s room, Megan heard voices coming from the room. It was Eloise—and a lower voice. Dillon’s voice.
The nurse’s eyes rounded in surprise. He beelined for the door. Denver held up a hand. “Can’t you give them some time?”
“I have strict instructions.” He didn’t have to say more. The uniformed police officer, an older man with a bushy mustache, had heard the boy’s voice as well and was entering the room.
I guess that will end any conversation on Dillon’s part, Megan thought.
Seconds later, Eloise was back at their side. Her eyes were watery, but her mouth was pressed into an unyielding line. “You go,” she murmured. “Leave me here. I’ll get King or someone to drive me home.”
“What did he say?” Denver asked.
“Nothing of consequence.”
The tear on Eloise’s cheek said otherwise.
Camilla was a welcome distraction.
“She looks good.” Denver was kneeling in the small pig’s pen. “You’re doing a fine job of caring for her, Bonnie.”
Bibi looked away, but Megan could see the edges of her mouth turned up in an almost-smile.
“Let me see you, little lassie.” With a gentleness that belied his strength, Denver picked up the animal. He looked her over and placed her back on the ground. She squealed, then ran in circles, small tail waving. Denver smiled, bringing out his dimples. “She’s a cute one. What will you do with her?”
“The owner will turn up,” Bonnie muttered.
