by Tessa Wegert
Leaning over the gunwale.
Reaching for my hand.
THIRTY-TWO
So when you left the house to go after Norton, you knew. Norton had an accomplice. The killer was Miles.”
Lieutenant Jack O. Henderson folded his hands on his desk and awaited my response. My direct superior’s fingers were thick, his knuckles swollen. They were hands that could crush a windpipe like a straw. I pulled my gaze away from them and looked up.
“I knew there were two people involved in Jasper’s murder,” I said. “Tough to get a grown man’s deadweight out of the house without help. I suspected Norton early on, but narrowing down the others to find his partner was harder. Abella’s death sent me back to the beginning of the day, and my dominant memories of our suspects. In those first minutes I spent on Tern Island, Norton explained how the family searched for Jasper. Flynn, Bebe, and Ned looked in the house. Norton took the grounds, with Miles.
“It was their chance to get their stories straight and confirm their game plan. Norton would point the finger at the trapper. Miles would make a case for Ned. The more suspects, the better—and they had plenty of blameworthy people to choose from. Miles must have thought he hit the jackpot when Flynn came after Abella, and again later on when Ned assaulted me and Flynn went after Ned. They all played right into Miles’s hands. His plan was ambitious on every level, but so much worked in his favor.” The only thing Miles didn’t account for, I thought, was Tim and me.
“After everything I learned about the family’s financial situation and Camilla’s attitude toward Jasper and Norton, I was pretty sure Norton was in the will as the beneficiary of the island. I just didn’t see him stabbing someone. As for Miles, he grated on me. He’d made numerous comments about Bebe’s dubious financial state. At one point Bebe even accused him of marrying her for money. They were through well before Bebe slept with Ned, yet Miles stuck around and even came out to the island for what should have been a family affair. Miles was stalling. Waiting for something. I just didn’t know what.”
I wiped my palms on my pants and was startled by the fine wool twill I found covering my thighs. I’d splurged on a new outfit for my visit to the New York State Police Troop D headquarters, the command center for my county and six others. If ever there was a day when I needed to look professional, this was it.
The BCI lieutenant watched me, unblinking. “You gleaned a lot of information from stories and interactions most people would consider irrelevant.”
“Women’s intuition?” I offered, smiling.
He didn’t laugh.
“There was something else,” I said. “It was obvious Jade had a close relationship with Jasper. The prior day, during cocktail hour, Miles watched Jasper ply his smitten daughter with wine. When I questioned Miles in the kitchen, Jade implied she planned to continue seeing Jasper even after Miles and Bebe divorced. I don’t know any father who’d be cool with his teenage daughter doling out that kind of attention to a twenty-six-year-old man, let alone one related to a wanton soon-to-be ex-wife. But Miles never said a bad word about Jasper. The man exhibited heroic restraint. That didn’t sit right with me. Plus, there was the issue of where he slept.”
The lieutenant raised a bristly gray eyebrow, and I went on. “Ned told me he’d bunked in the library. But when I pressed Miles about his sleeping arrangements with Bebe, he claimed he did the same thing. Miles was quick to accept my suggestion that he’d been downstairs, far away from the murder scene. He knew Norton would corroborate his story. What he didn’t know was that Ned already occupied the library couch. Guess they didn’t notice him when they moved Jasper’s body out of the house in the dark. Once I concluded Norton and Miles were covering for each other, I put the rest—their past, their relationship—together from there.”
I told Lieutenant Henderson everything I knew, including what I learned after Maureen McIntyre pulled me and Jade out of the river. Norton contacted Miles two years ago, hoping to make amends. Miles was still furious, but when he heard about the Sinclairs and Norton’s life with Camilla, it got him thinking. It was easy to track Bebe down in the city. Miles couldn’t compete with her wealth, but a lawyer with a beautiful teenage daughter was a respectable choice for a middle-aged woman who’d never been married, and Bebe bit. Miles convinced Norton it was better not to tell Jade who he was until she got older. Best not to upset the child. Let her get to know you first, he said.
Miles and Jade fit right into the Sinclair family. Jade got close to Jasper, who treated her like a peer and not the child she was, while Norton got to know his granddaughter after years of estrangement. Miles assured his father all was forgiven. But it didn’t take Miles long to discover Sinclair Fabrics wasn’t the cash cow he believed it to be. He made his move when his daughter finally spilled a secret worth knowing: Jasper was worried his grandmother was too close to Norton and feared Norton would take advantage of her trust.
It never occurred to Norton to manipulate his situation with Camilla. But Miles made sure to explain how much was at stake. If the business went down, the island would go with it. As a lawyer, however, Miles could help Norton retain his access to the land. If Norton could convince Camilla to will the island to him, he could protect it from Bebe and Flynn. The place Norton treasured, which he’d come to think of as home, would be safe. Jasper was the only thing standing in their way. Norton was understandably reluctant. He told Miles he had no intention of signing up for bloodshed. But as his young granddaughter’s infatuation turned into a serious obsession, it was decided. Jasper had to go.
“I know men like Miles,” I said. “He used Norton’s love of the island and guilt about abandoning his son to twist his thoughts. Jasper may have been a great guy, but he was still a Sinclair, and that made him everything Norton could never be—wealthy, privileged, able to provide for a family. Meanwhile, Norton had just gained a son and granddaughter. His luck had finally changed. He didn’t want Jade to end up pregnant and jilted any more than Miles did. Norton isn’t entirely heartless. It was his idea to hide the body so Camilla would be spared some heartache. By the time Jasper disappeared, the will had been changed. The island was his.”
“I’ve seen that will,” the lieutenant said. “It was amended on Fourth of July weekend to name Norton as sole beneficiary of the entire estate.”
“Camilla trusted him. She knew he’d take care of Tern. I’m sure she had visions of life carrying on there the way it always had. Camilla thought she was doing her grandson a favor by taking the estate out of the equation. Money was tearing the family apart, and she didn’t want Jasper caught in the middle.”
Tap. Tap. The tip of the lieutenant’s pen struck the cover of a fat manila folder on his desk. “As you know,” he said, “a team of forensic analysts have been out to the island. They found ketamine in what remained of Camilla’s wine, and also in Norton’s belongings. We’re looking into how he obtained it. Probably off some city kid who summers up there.”
“Norton lived in A-Bay for a long time. I’m sure he’s got connections,” I said. “There are a couple of vet offices in the area, and ketamine’s used as a sedative. Maybe he got it there.”
My knowledge of date-rape drugs caused the lieutenant to quirk his eyebrow again. I didn’t bother to explain I had a personal interest in finding out where that shit came from.
“As for the blood on the sheets,” he said, glancing down at the folder, “the medical examiner collected family reference samples from Jasper’s siblings. It was a match for Jasper, and your initial visual analysis was right. Based on the amount of blood found at the scene, the medical examiner believes Jasper’s condition was grave. That said, we had search parties all over Tern Island, divers in the water, and found nothing.”
Aside from Miles’s body. He didn’t say it. There was no need. Mac had been keeping me abreast of all new developments since the second we got back to shore. Miles tried to save his daughter, bu
t it was too late for redemption. I’d heard Jade was in California now, living with her mother. With Philip Norton at the Clinton Correctional Facility, there was nothing left for the kid in New York.
In the end, it wasn’t Jasper’s body that intruded on my dreams in the nights after I left Tern Island, but Abella’s. The girl had been so inconsequential to Miles and Norton’s plan, but she’d been targeted anyway, and that made her death all the more painful to swallow. The day before I met Lieutenant Henderson to go about the painful task of explaining how a missing persons case became a double homicide, I’d pilfered the Beaudry family’s phone number from the station’s digital files and called Abella’s parents. Their English wasn’t as solid as their daughter’s, but there was no misinterpreting the sentiments they wished to express to the investigator who allowed their child to die.
Surreptitiously, the lieutenant checked his watch. “Well, Merchant, that really only leaves Flynn Sinclair. Wellington says he threatened you.”
There were plenty of excuses to choose from. Tim’s official account made it easy to cover my ass. He’d back me up, no matter what I said. But what I said was, “I don’t know why I shot him.”
“I think I do.” The lieutenant pursed his lips. Again his pen whacked the file—my file—resting under his large hands.
* * *
—
“Bet you’re glad that’s over.”
From his place on the hard wooden bench in the hall, Tim looks up at me, waggles his eyebrows, and smiles. He went in before me, which means he’s been done with the lieutenant for hours. We made the two-hour drive south to Oneida together. When it was my turn, I left Tim outside the door of Troop D headquarters fully expecting him to wait out the grilling at a nearby coffee shop. But here he is.
“It’s over, all right.” Suspended pending psychological analysis. I don’t tell Tim it’s the outcome I was counting on. Instead, I sit down beside him. “Know what I need?”
Tim slides toward me until we’re only inches apart. “I couldn’t begin to imagine what you need right now, Shane.”
“Damn,” I say with a half smile. “Me either.”
Aside from us, the hallway is deserted. It’s so quiet I can hear Tim’s watch ticking on his wrist. The corner of his lip curls into an inquisitive smile. “Buy you a drink?” says Tim.
I haven’t been alone with him since it all happened. I don’t know how he feels about me hijacking the investigation and going after Philip Norton and Miles alone. “You sure that’s what you want?” I ask.
Tim rests his forearms on his bent knees. “I saw a YouTube video once, of a bunch of crickets chirping.”
Crickets are what Tim gets in response. I angle my head as I look at him, trying to work out what he’s going to say next.
“The second half of the video is what matters. It was slowed down by something like eight hundred percent. It doesn’t sound like crickets anymore, but music. Like a choir of human voices. I thought that was so amazing,” Tim says. “How making one change can produce a totally different outcome.” He pauses. “We don’t all come from the same place, you know? We’ve all got different backgrounds and different pasts, and that affects how we see things. Like with those crickets. Everyone on Tern Island told us what they wanted us to hear. But you heard something different.”
“That doesn’t guarantee it was right.”
“I was willing to take that chance. We’re a team.” He paused to swallow. “I figured you knew what you were doing.”
“You’ve got a lot of faith in me, under the circumstances.”
“Of course I do,” he says, not taking his eyes off mine. We both fall silent. Then, “How’s it going with Carson?”
My fiancé and I are through, of course. Tim knows that, and he cares about how I’m taking it. It wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be, upending my former life and starting over. But easy isn’t something I expect from upstate New York anymore.
I study Tim’s gray eyes, the strong angle of his jaw. His face is the face of a good man. I can’t believe I ever doubted him. “If it wasn’t for you, if you hadn’t told me how Carson treated you back then . . .” My voice trails off. “Just . . . thanks. You were right. I talked to McIntyre. After Carson called her, she took it upon herself to do some research on him. All this time I thought he left New York for me, to help me heal, but that wasn’t it. Carson was fired. The NYPD psych division was getting complaints about him from the people he counseled. All of them women.”
“Wow.” Tim’s gaze falls to the floor.
“Listen,” I say. “This is all wrong.”
I hear his breath catch. “Oh?”
I smile. “Yeah. I’m the one who should be buying today.”
The closest bar is a Mexican place three minutes away. I turn up my collar against the bracing cold as we climb into the car under an overcast sky. The drive is made in silence, and we don’t talk again until we’re seated at a table with menus in hand. There’s no need to consult with Tim before ordering two margaritas and a platter of pork tacos to share. When I turn over the past three months in my mind, all the time we’ve already spent together, I realize I know him better than I thought.
The drink numbs my throat like a balm as Tim throws himself into small talk with impressive zeal. I appreciate the effort; after all the talking I’ve just done, I could use a break from the sound of my own damn voice.
“So,” he says after a while, when we’ve both paused to sip at our drinks. Tim seems suddenly nervous; under the lip of the table he jiggles his knee. “I thought about what you told me.”
“What I told you?”
“About Bram.”
“Oh.” I set down my drink too hard. The glass strikes the tabletop with a clink.
“Everything you said that day about the kidnapping, and letting him go. He’s still out there,” Tim says. “How do you know he’s not coming back for you? What I’m saying is, I’m worried. Moving up here . . . I’m not sure it’s enough.”
God, what I’d give to be able to tell you everything.
“You said the police figured out who he was,” Tim goes on. “A custodian in the building. So why haven’t they found him?”
“He changed his name? It’s not that hard. He’s done it before.”
“What about his ties to Swanton? Someone must have followed that lead. If he was so obsessed with the place that he risked giving himself away by telling those women where he was really from, maybe he went back there. Has anyone combed the town to see if they could figure out who Bram really is?”
I shrug. Say nothing.
Tim casts a glance around the bar. If he’s picturing me sitting in a place just like it, talking to a killer, he doesn’t let on. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, actually,” he says. “Everything you’ve been through. Tell me something. How much did Carson explain to you about Stockholm syndrome?” Folding his hands, he leans closer. The act reminds me of the day I met Carson, when he was still just a harmless shrink. “What I’m asking,” says Tim, “is how much did you know about that condition before you went to see him?”
“Doesn’t everyone know about Stockholm syndrome?”
“The concept? Sure. But the symptoms, the circumstances surrounding it, the particulars about onset and—”
“You’d make a great therapist,” I say.
“I’m serious. How much did you know about that stuff?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Carson diagnosed you.”
“So?”
“So do you agree with him, or was that just a convenient excuse to justify letting Bram go?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re forgetting,” he says grimly. “Carson manipulated me, too. I know how persuasive he can be. He convinced everyone at the NYPD you weren’t in control down there. I’m sure he was belie
vable. I’m sure it made sense. But here’s the thing, Shana. You’re stronger than that. I think you suspected he was wrong, and went along with that diagnosis anyway.”
“And why the hell would I do that?”
“Because you’re you. You need to know what makes people tick. You like to get inside their heads. Look what happened on the island, the way you solved that case. The how isn’t good enough—you have to know why. If you killed Bram that day, down in that basement, you’d have lost your chance to find out.”
“Find out what?”
“Why he took those other women’s lives and not yours.”
Under his cartoon eyebrows, Tim’s eyes are serious as death. I’ll never look at his eyebrows and see a clown again.
“You’re wrong,” I say, because I don’t know how else to play it. How can I explain without telling him the truth?
“You were afraid it would happen all over again on the island,” Tim says. “That you’d let the killer escape and put other people at risk.”
“Every investigator’s afraid of that.”
“Maybe so. But promise me you won’t beat yourself up over it, Shane. You’re not the one at fault.”
I study Tim Wellington’s face. We’re colleagues, but we’re friends now, too, and his need to protect me stems from that. Tim’s kind and honest, and if I ever meet his family I know they’ll be just like him. But Tim thinks too much of me. He’s too quick to forgive and forget everything I’ve done. Tim doesn’t just refuse to accept my demons, he refuses to acknowledge they exist. There’s darkness in me he doesn’t see. He doesn’t want to.
When I think about Carson now, I suspect that’s why I stayed with him. Deep down I knew he had a nasty side, and nasty is what I deserve. Both of us harbor secrets. Hard to say whose are worse. “Promise,” Tim says again. And I do.
