Someone Knows

by Lisa Scottoline

  He’d thrown himself into his work, practically doubling his hours as an orthodontist, and he’d done more with less, since Invisalign had cut into his business. There were even chain orthodonture clinics, as dental medicine had corporatized, like everything else. He’d stopped the Jog For Jill 5K, which never caught on. Cystic fibrosis still killed children, and families still grieved. Research made advances, and Allie would read the headlines in the newspaper, her heart leaping with hope, even as she felt anger that they hadn’t come soon enough for Jill.

  Tears came to her eyes, and Allie realized that her father had been there for her, as much as he could be. She would have to find a way to tell him she was getting divorced. It would kill him because he adored Larry. Everybody adored Larry. Her father was closer to Larry than to her, and Allie didn’t have to be a psychiatrist to figure out that she was the one with the issue, not them. She had enough issues for the entire family. But she had to change that, starting now. She picked up her phone, scrolled to her favorites, and called her father’s cell.

  He picked up after one ring. “Allie, how nice to hear from you!”

  “Hi, Dad,” Allie said, her throat suddenly thick. Something about the sound of his voice broke down whatever wall she usually hid behind. “I just want to say hi.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Everything’s fine,” Allie managed to say.

  “No, what’s the matter? I can tell.”

  “Nah, I’m fine.” Allie tried to laugh it off.

  “It doesn’t sound like it.”

  Allie typically would’ve persisted in denying the truth, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that anymore. “Honestly, Dad, things aren’t going so well. I’m actually in the area. I had a funeral.”

  “Oh, no, is that why you’re upset?”

  “No, there’s a lot, well, uh, Larry and I might be getting a divorce.”

  “Oh, no!” Her father gasped. “That’s terrible news!”

  “I know.” Allie fought tears, hearing the shock in his voice. “I’m sorry, Dad, I’m really sorry, it’s all my fault, everything.”

  “No, honey, not you.”

  “Dad, I made so many mistakes with him, and he was a good husband, a great guy, but he couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t take me anymore.” Allie felt herself give way to tears. “Dad, I don’t blame him, I can’t take me anymore, I’m so sick of myself, I’m sick to death of myself.”

  “Honey, where did you say you are?”

  “Fraser.”

  “Okay, so why don’t you meet me at home in an hour? I’ll be there. We’ll have dinner. Hotdogs, like we used to. Remember? You used to love them?”

  “Dad, you were the one who loved the hotdogs, not me.”

  “What?” Her father paused. “That’s not how I remember it. I only ate them for you.”

  “I ate them for you!”

  “Honey, go straight home. The key is under the pot, you remember.”

  Allie didn’t, having blanked out so much about the house. She hadn’t been there much since her mother’s death. She always sensed her father preferred to come in town anyway, to mingle with Larry, her in-laws, and the boisterous extended Rucci family, who brought the fun on the holidays, birthdays, and other occasions. Allie wondered if every crappy family married into a good one.

  “So will you meet me? I’m almost finished here. I’ll be there in an hour.”

  “Okay,” Allie agreed, reluctant.

  “I have to go now.”

  “Okay, love you.”

  “Love you, too, honey. Go home.”

  “Okay, bye.” Allie hung up, with his lovely word resonating in her chest.

  Home.

  CHAPTER 62

  Julian Browne

  Julian sat on his couch, being interviewed by Detectives Moran and Garcia while official activity whirled around them. According to police protocol, Julian’s house was considered a crime scene because an unattended death had occurred on its premises. The ambulance had gone after the paramedics had examined Sasha, saying no heart activity, upon which Julian had shed appropriate tears. In truth, he felt them. He’d killed her, but he missed her.

  The detectives and county coroner had arrived, ushering Julian from the bedroom and asking him to wait in the kitchen. Crime techs had photographed every room, the coroner examined Sasha’s body, and the detectives collected and bagged as evidence her purse, pill bottles, and the wineglasses and bottle. Sasha’s body, zipped into a black vinyl bag, was rolled out of the house on a gurney.

  Julian had called Francie, and she’d come back to the house, shocked and upset. Detective Moran and Detective Garcia had interviewed her first, in his study, intentionally out of earshot. He’d hung in the kitchen, unworried. He knew everything she’d say would support his story. He’d gotten every detail right, even the two wineglasses. When the detectives were ready to interview him, he was confident.

  Detective Moran conducted the questioning, and Detective Garcia took notes. They both wore lightweight sport jackets and dark polo shirts, and Detective Moran was senior, in his forties with graying hair and a salt-and-pepper mustache, bright blue eyes, and a businesslike way about him. They knew who Julian was, and regarded him with the mix of envy and admiration that men show more successful men. He’d seen it growing up, for his father. It was serving him well today, because it was clear that the detectives did not suspect foul play.

  Detective Moran was saying, “So we’d like to obtain an initial statement, primarily to capture the sequence of events earlier in the day, or days, leading up to present.”

  “Well, it’s only today. This morning, I met up with Sasha at the funeral of a friend of ours from high school. His name was David Hybrinski. We all grew up in Brandywine Hunt. Sadly, he died by suicide.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. Sasha had flown in from Paris this morning, rented a car, and come directly.”

  “Was the funeral local?”

  “Yes, at Gardens of Peace on Scattergood. I hadn’t seen Sasha since high school, but I messaged her on Facebook when I saw his obit, and she was going to be in town, so she came.”

  “She must have been jet-lagged.”

  “Probably.” Julian hadn’t thought of that. It worked in his favor.

  “Was she employed?” Detective Moran met his eyes directly, and Julian kept his game face on, while the other detective took notes in a skinny notebook.

  “She was a freelance fashion publicist. She travels. She doesn’t live here anymore.”

  “What was her state of mind at the funeral?”

  “It was upsetting at the graveside because there was a family fight. The father of our friend threw his boyfriend out of the funeral.”

  “That’s too bad.” Detective Moran grimaced.

  “It upset her.”

  “Is that how you would describe her state of mind?”

  “Yes. She was upset after the funeral. Shaken, I guess. Her flight to Paris wasn’t until tomorrow, and she planned to stay at my house. I asked Francie, with whom you spoke, to let her in before she left for the day.” Julian edited out the meeting with Allie at the nature preserve. The last thing he wanted to do was put the police in contact with her.

  “Had Ms. Barrow stayed here before?”

  “No, never. I haven’t said a word to her in decades, until today. I was doing an old friend a favor, putting her up. An old neighbor.” Julian smiled inwardly. Payback was a bitch.

  “So what did you do after the funeral?”

  “I had a meeting with my father at his offices.”

  Detective Moran brightened. “My family and I live in a Browne development, Charleston Mews.”

  Julian flashed a professional smile. “I know it well. I worked on that project, one of our best. Two hundred homes around the reservoir. Love it.”

  “We do, too.”

  “I’ll tell my dad.” Julian rode the goodwill. He had earned it, after all.

  “
Where did you go after the meeting?”

  Julian tried to look sad again. “I came home.”

  “What time did you get home?”

  “Around six.”

  “Now tell me, how did you come to find the body?”

  “I went to the guest bedroom and found her. It was just awful. At first I thought she’d fallen asleep, but then I saw the pills.” Julian paused, pursing his lips as if he were maintaining emotional control. “I was going to do CPR but it was clear she was already dead. That’s when I called 911.”

  “Were you aware that she used drugs? Do you have any personal knowledge about that?”

  “No.”

  “What about alcohol? Do you know if she abused alcohol?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Where did the wine come from? There was a platter with two glasses.”

  One of which was clearly unused. “I always ask Francie to set out a hospitality plate for guests, white wine and fruit. She did that, turned out the horses, and went home.” Julian paused. “I assume she told you that.”

  “Yes. Now, do you know how much alcohol Ms. Barrow consumed?”

  “No, I didn’t look at the bottle. I was so shocked when I saw her that way, I didn’t think of it.”

  “As far as her state of mind earlier today, was it your impression she intended to commit suicide?”

  “No, not at all.” Julian shook his head. Dumbfounded.

  “Did she say anything about suicide? Any words to that effect?”

  “No, and if you want my opinion, I don’t think it was intentional. I think it was by accident. I know she was upset after the funeral, but she wasn’t suicidal, and as I said, she hadn’t seen David in a long time, as far as I know.”

  “Do you know if she was in a romantic relationship?”

  “No, but I don’t think she was.”

  “So no boyfriend?”

  Julian thought of Luiz. “Not that I know of.”

  “Was she ever married?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Detective Moran paused. “Did you have a romantic relationship with her?”

  She was the love of my life. “No, we were just friends.”

  “May I ask if you are in a romantic relationship?”

  “Not really, no one steady.” Julian knew they’d never find the hidden camera in the bedroom, and if they did, it wasn’t illegal.

  “Do you know if she had any relatives, friends, or associates in the area?”

  “No idea. She told me today that her parents live out of the country.”

  “Do you have any idea if she had any friends who would know about her state of mind?”

  “No.” Julian edited out Allie, again.

  Detective Moran smiled in a pat way, leaning back. “I think we have what we need, for the time being. Thanks for your time.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We’ll be doing an autopsy, routine blood testing, and an initial toxicology scan. We’ll need you to come to the station in a day or two. We’ll go over your statement, make sure we have the details right, and have you sign off.”

  “Not a problem.” Julian sighed. “I wonder when the funeral will be. Did you notify her family?”

  “Yes, we reached the mother. The contact information was in the wallet. We normally wouldn’t have moved so fast, but the press jumped on the story.” Detective Moran hesitated. “I think because it involved you.”

  “I get it. It’s gossip.” Julian frowned, not completely for show. News vans with microwave towers were parked on the street in front of his house, and reporters stood at the curb smoking, talking, and filming B-roll of the horses. He didn’t like the publicity, and neither did they.

  “Your house will be released tomorrow. You might want to stay elsewhere tonight. I assume finding a place to stay isn’t a problem for a builder.” Detective Moran chuckled, and Julian did, too.

  Ha ha ha. “Luckily, I have a house in Jersey, and I can stay there tonight.”

  “Good.” Detective Moran rose, brushing down his slacks. “I have your cell number, and I’ll give you a call if need be.”

  “Here, let me walk you to the door.” Julian got up, led the way, and opened the screen door. “Thanks again, and let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

  “Thanks for your cooperation. Again, our condolences.” The detectives left the house, walked to an unmarked black Explorer in Julian’s driveway, and started the ignition.

  Julian waved goodbye, looking every inch the responsible Chester County citizen.

  CHAPTER 63

  Allie Garvey

  Brandywine Hunt had expanded since Allie had been here. Studying the map at the development’s entrance, it took her a minute to get oriented. The original development was now at the center of the property, and Thoroughbred Road, which used to be the outermost road, was now somewhere in the middle, with other roads radiating out like rings on a suburban sequoia.

  Allie followed signs to Thoroughbred, passing the new McMansions, but the road had been rerouted. She realized she was approaching the section that had been the construction site where she, Sasha, David, and Julian had gone to shoot that night. The memory came back to her. She hadn’t thought about the details of that night in so long, since it was buried by the horror of the night Kyle died.

  She took a right turn, heading in that direction, since she had time before her father got home. The late-day sun hung low in the sky, tarnishing the rich greens of the grass and the pinks and oranges of the daylilies and coreopsis borders. She took a right turn, realizing that ahead lay the road they had walked down when it was being paved. The houses became smaller as she reached the street where the cyclone fence, gate, and job trailer had been.

  The sun angled right through her windshield as she drove west, and she put down the visor, driving between lines of neat townhomes with vinyl clapboard façades and blue shutters. The townhouses were exactly the same, personalized only by different flowerpots, hand-painted mailboxes, or cute family signs.

  Allie cruised ahead, remembering that she had walked here beside David, so excited to be with him walking next to her, hanging back with her, like they were a couple. She knew that he hadn’t loved her, but he had liked her and been kind to her, especially that night.

  She drove to the end of the street and saw that the woods hadn’t been developed. It was exactly where it used to be, but thicker and more overgrown. She pulled up to the curb, parked, and lowered the window, feeling all of those sensations she felt so long ago, with David at her side. She smelled the freshness of the air and heard the noise of the turnpike, fainter now, the tree barrier fulfilling its corporate purpose.

  She got out of the car, leaving the door open, looking at the woods, and somehow being in that same place transported her back to a time with David at her side. She flashed on standing beside him while Sasha and Julian got ready to shoot the gun. She remembered David going to help them load it—or at least she thought she remembered that, because these memories hadn’t come to the surface of her consciousness ever, but being in the spot brought it all back. She remembered being worried about the gunplay, and that David had been so nice to her when Sasha started shooting, when she’d tried to kill something. A rabbit? A bird? No, a squirrel.

  Allie could hear the gunshots ringing in her ears. Pop pop pop pop pop. She’d never heard gunshots before. She hadn’t realized how loud they’d be, how profoundly unsettling. She didn’t want to see anything get killed, not since Jill had died. She remembered fighting with Sasha, then there were more shots. Pop pop pop pop pop. And they reloaded. Julian had shot, too. Pop pop pop pop pop, she could hear the gunshots right now, she remembered them, they came five at a time. Pop pop pop pop pop.

  Something occurred to Allie that never occurred to her before. Sasha had shot two rounds of bullets, and Julian had shot one. She and David hadn’t shot at all, and David had said the gun held five bullets. If Sasha and Julian had shot three rounds of bullets, an
d the gun held five at a time, that would mean they’d used fifteen bullets. They’d never fired the gun again, except the night that Kyle had been killed.

  Allie found herself wondering how many bullets had come in the box. Julian had said he hadn’t loaded the gun. Sasha had said the same thing. Allie realized that there might be a way she could find out.

  Allie’s heart beat faster. As far as she knew, the box remained buried where they’d left it. She’d never gone back to dig it up. She doubted any of the others had, either. It would’ve been like murderers returning to the scene of a crime. Maybe they did that in the movies, but in real life, she couldn’t imagine it.

  Allie turned on her heel, walked back to the car, and started the engine.

  She was going back to Connemara Road, where it all began.

  CHAPTER 64

  Larry Rucci

  Larry lay in bed while Lacy showered in the hotel bathroom, having answered a question he’d had for some time. What’s it like to have sex with another woman?

  Surprisingly, the answer was Meh.

  He couldn’t explain it. He should have been thrilled, psyched, sated. He was in a hotel room with a big-screen TV, a king-sized bed, and a minibar stocked with Scotch and condoms. He was allegedly living the dream. Allegedly. Kwame would’ve high-fived him. Larry had just done what men talked about, dreamed about, obsessed over—sex with a beautiful young girl, free and unencumbered, no demands and no future, five different positions, three orgasms, two condoms, thirty-seven flavors, whatever.