The Importance of Being Kevin

by Steven Harper

  “Yesterday I told Wayne. He’s the new stage manager at the play. And I told Peter Finn.”

  “Peter Morse,” Malloy said.

  I took a shaky breath. “Yeah.”

  “Was that before or after Les died?”

  “Just before. He got really mad and went over to Les’s apartment. That’s why that lady saw him over there.”

  Malloy nodded. “Did Peter beat Les up?”

  I was freaking out and scared, but I wasn’t going to answer that one. “I wasn’t there, so I can’t say.”

  “Why did Peter get so mad when you told him?” Malloy pressed. “I thought you two barely knew each other.”

  “We didn’t,” I stammered. “I mean, we didn’t then, but now we… we’re….”

  “Is Peter your boyfriend, then?” Malloy said.

  Jesus. “You can’t tell anyone,” I blurted. “His family—”

  “They don’t know.”

  “They know. It’s just… they don’t like it, and they’re being shitty about it.”

  “I see.” She was scribbling in a notebook. “Where did you get the phone, Kevin?”

  Here I lied. I didn’t want Peter to get into any more trouble than he already was. “Les dropped it when he attacked me, and I found it. I kept it.”

  “Why?”

  I shrugged, but my heart was pounding now. “I don’t know. I was mad at him, I guess.”

  “Understandable.” She dropped the phone into a plastic evidence bag, sealed it, and scrawled something across the top.

  “Am I in trouble?” I couldn’t help asking.

  “No, honey,” she said. “No trouble. You absolutely did the right thing.”

  A chunk of relief hit me then, and some of the tension faded. I felt limp.

  Malloy added, “But why did you decide to bring this in now?”

  “I had it for a long time, but couldn’t make myself touch it,” I said. “Then I read the text messages on it, and I thought they might help.”

  “Text messages?”

  “I guess some people were mad at him and they sent him hate texts. I thought they might help you investigate more suspects.”

  “Did the texts have names on them?”

  I shook my head. She still thought Peter was the killer. It wasn’t the way this was supposed to work. “It just shows phone numbers. But you can trace that, right?” I got more desperate. “Look, Peter F—Peter didn’t kill Les. He didn’t.”

  “How do you know that, Kevin?” she asked quietly.

  “Peter wouldn’t do that.” Suddenly I couldn’t seem to stop talking. “The day after Les died, I was at Peter’s house, and I touched his hands. They were so big—way bigger than mine, I remember that—and they had bruises on them like you noticed, but that doesn’t mean Peter killed him. It’s not proof.”

  “Kevin, we can’t—” Malloy stiffened, and for a second I thought I was in trouble after all. “Oh my god.” She snatched up her notebook and flipped pages. “Oh my god. Say that again.”

  “That doesn’t mean Peter killed him?” I said, mystified.

  “No, before that. About his hands.”

  “Uh… I touched his hands, and they were way bigger than mine.” What was she talking about?

  “Oh my god,” she said a third time, and she could barely sit still. “Kevin, where is Peter now? Do you know?”

  “No. He said he was going to have to get a hotel room, but he was going to check on his sister, so he might be home or he might not,” I said.

  “I’ll find him. Kevin. This helps a lot.”

  I was confused. “What? How? You know Peter didn’t do it?”

  “I have to do more checking,” she said, getting herself under control. “Listen to me, now. Have you told your father about what Les did to you?”

  The chill came back. “No. Are you going to tell him?”

  “Not if you don’t want me to. I’ll tell him if you like. If you don’t, I won’t say anything.”

  More relief. But I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  She rummaged around in her desk and handed me a card. “Normally I’d ask if you wanted to press charges against Les. That’s not a question anymore. But this is the contact information for a counselor at the community center up the block. She works with sexual assault survivors just like you. They don’t charge if you can’t afford it. We can call her now, together, if you want. Would you like that?”

  I shrugged. “I’m okay.”

  “It’s up to you, honey.” Malloy paused. “I know how hard this is. I’ve been through it too.”

  “You have?” I wasn’t sure what she meant.

  “When I was at the academy,” she said matter-of-factly. “No need for a lot of detail, but a guy I knew got me in a bad situation, and he raped me. I was too scared and upset to say anything, and he got away with it.”

  Whoa. I eyed her carefully. She was a tough detective, and she had let this happen to her?

  Yeah. And I had “let” Les happen to me. Shit.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “It took me a long time to say anything about it to anyone,” she said. “I was sad and mad a lot. My performance at the academy suffered. I almost had to drop out. Finally I talked to a counselor, and she helped me. I learned that I felt ashamed of it, like it was my fault, and it took me a while to understand that it wasn’t my fault and I’m not a bad person because of what some asshole did to me.”

  That cracked a smile from me. I looked at the card in my hand. It was for the same place Wayne had told me about.

  “I have to go.” Malloy stood up. “Are you going to be okay for now?”

  “Yeah.” I stuffed the card into my pocket.

  Malloy told me to call her anytime if I had something else to tell her. Then she escorted me outside into sunlight, touched my arm, and left. A few seconds later, I saw her drive away in a regular car.

  I DIDN’T call the counselor. Instead I called Peter. He didn’t answer, and I was kind of worried and got more worried while I rode home. What if I hadn’t done the right thing? I played my conversation with Detective Malloy over in my head, and with a chill, I realized I had basically told her Peter had beat up Les, even though I said I hadn’t seen it. Did that give more evidence against him? She hadn’t said Peter was going to be okay. My breath came in short gasps, and I had to stop my bike to get myself under control. What if I had just sent Peter to jail?

  When I got home, Dad was gone. He’d left a note at the bottom of mine saying he was going to look for work in Vine City. Unspoken message—maybe the Morses hadn’t killed him off over there. The fat envelope Mr. Dean had delivered lay open on the kitchen table, and papers were spread all over. I leafed through them. The lease. The job offer. They sat on the table like leaves of poison ivy. I couldn’t think about them.

  I tried Peter again. Nothing. I texted him. Nothing.

  An hour went by, then two. I made some lunch. Peter had bought lots of ramen, mostly as a joke, I think, but it made me think of him. Maybe I should call his house. Yeah, like his parents would talk to me. Maybe one of the help guys would, though.

  The ramen bowl grew cold, and I pushed it away, not as hungry as I thought.

  I got out my script to go over my lines, but they kept falling out of my head. Eventually I slammed the script shut and went out for a bike ride, just for something to do.

  Some big puffy clouds had rolled in to give us shade, and the heat had let up a little. The air smelled like dry grass and warm asphalt. I passed shambling houses and overgrown fields. Only a few cars coasted past me on these back roads. My legs were a little sore from the ride to the police station, and I grimaced. I’d gotten used to Peter driving me to rehearsal, and I was out of shape. How did Peter look so good if he drove everywhere? He never talked about working out. Maybe he was one of those lucky bastards who got a cut body without doing a thing. Me, I rode hundreds of miles a week and still looked like a stick. But I liked riding my bike. Even if I got c
ar someday, I’d keep riding my bike, especially in summer.

  A green SUV came toward me. It wobbled a little in its lane and slid over the dividing line. I gave it a wary eye. Lots of people don’t watch for bikes when they drive, and they don’t give a shit about anything without at least four wheels. This bozo might be on his phone or yelling at his kids in the back seat or even jacking off, for all I knew. I moved over into the grass, which dragged on my tires. The SUV came closer, then moved back into its own lane just as it reached me. It passed without a problem.

  Should I call the lady on the card? I still didn’t know. The thought of sitting on a couch and talking about Les for an hour made my stomach churn with salt and ice. Talking about it with Detective Malloy had wiped me out, and I’d only talked to her for a few minutes. What would talking to a counselor do to me? No. Just no.

  By the time I was almost home, a line of warm sweat was creeping down my forehead. The air was growing more oppressive, the clouds getting thicker. We were probably in for a thunderstorm.

  Why hadn’t I heard from Peter? And why had Malloy gotten so excited when I mentioned Peter’s hands? I wondered if Peter had found an apartment, and I was starting to get pissed off. What was the point of him giving me a cell phone if he didn’t use it?

  Maybe I should text him again. I touched my pocket, but it was empty. I’d left my cell phone on the kitchen table. Shit! What if he’d called me while I was out? I gunned it toward home.

  An engine noise was growing behind me, and I threw a glance over my shoulder. That green SUV was coming up behind me again. What the hell? It wasn’t weaving, but it still made me nervous. My driveway was only a handful of yards away, so I went for it.

  The SUV sped up. Its headlights stared at me like hard silver stones, and the tires whooshed ahead and ate up the pavement. I couldn’t see who was driving. My heart pounded. I tried to tell myself it was nothing—just someone running to the store and back or something like that. But it looked a lot like that SUV was coming straight for me. A little voice inside shouted at me to dive into the ditch. But how would it look to that driver if some random kid on a bike leaped away when he passed? I pumped it and pushed for all I was worth.

  The SUV was really close—maybe ten yards. I could hear the gear changes in the engine. The driveway was only a few feet ahead of me. I tore around the turn into my own yard, and my bike nearly went out from under me. The SUV cruised past the driveway, serene as a nursing-home parade float. It disappeared past the pine trees that cupped our yard. I stood there for a moment to let my heart slow down. Jesus, was I going to be scared of every damn thing for the rest of my life?

  I leaned my bike against the trailer and was heading inside to check my phone when gravel crunched in the driveway. I turned around, nervous and relieved at the same time. Dad was home, and maybe he knew something.

  The big green SUV was pulling in. A tight chill ran down my spine. I backed up to the trailer steps and flicked a glance to the trees. I could run for it. The SUV couldn’t make it between the trunks. I could—

  The driver door opened. It hung there like a loose tooth, and the space behind it gaped dark and angry. Something moved inside, and for a cold moment I was sure Les Madigan would lurch out, leering at me with a sick, wide smile. Ha, ha! I’m not dead. Come here, you little shit, and show me how glad you are to see me.

  Thad Creeker hopped down. All the tension burst out of me in a rush, leaving me light-headed. It was had-a-thing-for-Meg Thad. Not some weirdo. And not Les. I breathed out a sigh of feathers and lead.

  “Hey, Thad,” I said.

  Thad saluted me from the nose but didn’t say anything right away. That was weird. We had a couple-three scenes together, but we weren’t close friends, though we’d talked at the pool party a little. He’d asked about the murder case and told me Les used to deal drugs.

  Maybe I should have told that to Detective Malloy. I totally forgot.

  Thad walked toward the porch. His face was tight and pale beneath messy sandy hair. Was something wrong at rehearsal? With Peter? A little stab went through me.

  “Is something going on?” I asked him.

  “Oh good,” Thad said. “I got the right place.”

  “If you’re looking for me, yeah.” I rubbed my face. “Was that you driving past before when I was riding my bike? You kinda freaked me out.”

  “Sorry. I was looking for your place, but it’s hard to follow the GPS, and I saw you riding your bike, but I couldn’t turn around and shit.”

  “Okay.” Still weird. A thought struck me. “I didn’t know you were old enough to drive.”

  Thad glanced at the SUV. “I have my permit. Mom lets me drive. Sometimes I have to when she…. Well, sometimes I have to. You got a minute?”

  “Uh, sure. What’s up?” I was dying to check my phone, but he looked unhappy.

  “You probably heard about what just happened to Peter.”

  Another cold stab. My knees wobbled and I had to grab the stair railing. “No. I’ve been trying to call him, but he—”

  Thad reached the steps. “The cops dropped all the charges against him.”

  The words breezed past me so fast I didn’t understand them at first. I stared at Thad for a second, and my fingers went white around the rail. “What?” I managed.

  “Yeah. They dropped the charges. He’s cleared.”

  “Oh my god.” I threw both fists to the sky as a wave of pure joy swirled through me. I could have leaped to the clouds and pulled stars from the sky. “Yes! Yes! Jesus, yes!” Then I remembered I wasn’t supposed to be that close to Peter, so I made myself calm down. Still, the huge grin wouldn’t leave my face.

  “That’s fucking awesome,” I said. “How?”

  Thad’s face remained stoic. “I guess it was his hands. That detective lady realized that the bruises around Les’s neck where he was choked were smaller than Peter’s hands, so he couldn’t have done it.”

  I touched his hands, and they were way bigger than mine.

  Oh wow. That was why Malloy had gotten so excited. It wasn’t the phone—it was what I said. I’d given her what she needed to realize it couldn’t be Peter. Yes! I wanted to hug someone, but I didn’t think Thad was a great choice. Where the hell was Peter? Why hadn’t he called me?

  “Yeah, so, the detective investigated some other stuff,” Thad said. “They found texts on Les’s phone and they looked at the drugs he was selling.”

  And suddenly I remembered the conversation we’d had at the pool. A splash of cold water went over me. The interest Thad had shown in the murder case. The way he kept asking who the killer might be if it wasn’t Peter. I looked down at Thad’s hands. They were smaller than mine. An electric shock drilled through me.

  “You killed him,” I said. “It was you.”

  “Les was selling drugs to my mom,” Thad said in an awful, flat voice. “If it wasn’t for him, she’d be clean. But she passes out in her own vomit and I clean it up because I can’t stand to watch her, and I can see she’s forgetting shit. She’s forgetting me. They were going to take our house because she’s missed so much work, and it’s all because of the son of a bitch who sold to her.”

  “Jesus, Thad,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “She’s been clean lately because she can’t find a new dealer,” Thad said. “But she’s looking. Always looking.”

  “How did you do it?” I asked. The words just slid out.

  “I only finished what Peter started.” Thad was staring at the bottom step of the porch like he might set it on fire. “I was going over there to… I don’t know what. And I found him lying on the floor in that shithole apartment. Two of his teeth were knocked out, and he had blood all over his face, and he was only half-conscious. Shit. He looked up at me when I came in, and he whispered, ‘Help me.’ Can you fucking believe that? Help me. All the mad just pounded at me right then. The fucking bastard was killing my mother, and he says, ‘Help me.’ So I put my hands on his neck and choked him t
o death. He couldn’t even fight back.”

  “Jesus,” I whispered.

  “Afterward I was scared to death the cops were coming for me. I about dropped dead when that detective came to rehearsal, but then she arrested Peter. I was saved.”

  “At Peter’s expense,” I blurted.

  “I figured he was rich. He could buy his way out of prison. Fuck—Peter the golden boy. Shit doesn’t stick to him. He was even allowed to stay in the play.”

  “Thad—” I began.

  “But then it all went fucking south when Malloy realized Peter’s hands were too big for the choke marks. And she got ahold of Les’s phone and found out I sent him texts. And one of the neighbors they had missed last time said just today that she saw me going into Les’s apartment. She thought I was buying. Can you fucking believe that? And it’s all because of you.”

  I froze. “Me?”

  “You gave her Les’s phone, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s what I figured. I couldn’t find it in Les’s apartment, which means Peter must have taken it. But Peter wouldn’t leave it at his house, so I guessed he gave it to you, and you gave it to the cops.”

  He was right but for the wrong reasons. I didn’t enlighten him. “What do you want, Thad? You took your mom’s car, and you don’t even have a license. The police have to be looking for you.”

  A hard look came over his face. “Fuck them. And fuck you, Kevin.”

  I backed up a step. “What did I do?”

  “You wrecked my life, you bastard!” He balled up his fists, and I remembered Hank when he got angry. “If you had kept your fucking mouth shut, none of this would have happened! It was all good until you ruined it!”

  I automatically felt in my pocket, but my phone was still on the kitchen table. Crap. My nerves hummed like tight wires. “Look, Thad, I’m not trying to—”

  “Shut up!” he screamed. Tears were streaming down his face. “I’ll make you shut up!”

  He bolted back to the huge SUV and jumped inside. The engine roared to life. I ran back inside the trailer, locked the door, and leaned against it. My heart slammed against my ribs. Jesus fuck. What the hell was going on? My phone was in sight on the kitchen table, a few steps away. I was lunging for it when the SUV’s engine suddenly boomed louder than the devil’s thunderbolt. I saw movement through the tiny windows in the front door and dove into the living room.