by Ellery Kane
I sighed and opened the window.
“What are you doing? Why didn’t you just come in the front door?”
“I forgot my key, when I … left,” he murmured. “Can I come in?”
I nodded begrudgingly. Why, oh why, did he have to be so irresistible?
As soon as he swung his legs over the windowsill, Quin wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in my shoulder. I momentarily stiffened, until he whispered against my neck, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” His words, a secret salve, I dissolved into him with relief.
After a moment, I told him, “Max was here. He was acting really strange. I think he’s—” I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.
“Eupho.” Quin said it for me. “I saw him after he left. He walked right past me. He was singing.”
“I feel like it’s my fault,” I confessed. “I’ve been so focused on school and you and … Quin, aside from us, he doesn’t have anyone.”
“It’s not your fault. You’ve been a great friend to him. I let him down.” Quin hung his head.
“Well, we have to fix it,” I said. Quin nodded.
“Come lay down with me.” I led Quin with my hand. Part of me was still angry and hurt, but the other part just wanted to feel Quin’s warm body next to mine.
My head on his chest, I could hear his heart beating. Its steady thumping soothed me. I leaned in, as he put his lips to my forehead. “I know you probably think I’m crazy defending my dad—after I spent my whole life hating him.”
“We don’t have to talk about it.”
“Yes, we do. I realize you’re trying to protect me, but he’s all I have left.”
“I know,” I said. His words strummed a forlorn chord inside me. Quin had tried to find Colton, but most of the information on his adoption certificate was redacted, dead-ending the search right where it began. Nowhere.
“Before he got paroled, my dad told me the story of that day, the day he killed my mom.”
I sat up, listening intently. Quin never told me this before.
“He thought she was talking to this guy at the car shop who always flirted with her. He was convinced they were having an affair. He said his jealousy was like a tornado, sucking everything in, destroying it. Before he knew it, the knife was in his hand. When he stabbed her, he wanted her to feel the pain he felt. It was like he was another person watching himself. He couldn’t stop, didn’t want to. Then he saw me and Colton in the other room playing.”
“But he told my mom that he blacked out.” I reminded him, confused.
“At first, he lied and said he couldn’t remember. He was too ashamed to admit he did. When your mom went to visit him that last time, he finally told her the truth.” Quin looked up at me from the pillow. Even in the dark room, I could see his eyes were watery. “When I saw him in the police car, for a second, I thought the same as you, but then I remembered what he told me. Lex, he looked at me and promised he would never hurt me again—that he would spend the rest of his life trying to make it right.”
I didn’t know what to say. I had a flash of Quin, during our worst argument, pleading with me, “You said yourself people can change … I could change.”
I wanted to believe in his dad the same way Quin did, but I felt my heart ricocheting wildly between certainty and doubt.
I lay back down, turning toward Quin, nuzzling myself against his shoulder. There was really only one thing I was certain of.
“I love you, Quin.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
GOOD COP, BAD COP
I EXPECTED TO WAKE to Quin’s face, but instead I heard strange voices from outside my room. The pillow next to mine was sunken in a gentle reminder of slumber, but Quin was gone. Peering out the window, my stomach dropped. There was a police car in our driveway.
“Mr. Knightley, would you mind giving us some privacy? We need to speak with Mr. McAllister alone.” The voice was serious, unfamiliar.
I approached the door and cracked it ever so slightly, pressing my ear against the gap.
“This is my home. I have a right to know why you’re here.” I never heard my father sound so demanding. “Is he in trouble?”
A second voice spoke, “No, no, nothing like that. We need to talk to Quin about his father. We believe he may have some information relevant to our investigation. It’ll take five minutes, tops.” Good cop, I thought to myself.
“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll just stay.”
“Suit yourself,” the first voice replied, obviously annoyed. Bad cop.
The good cop offered the first question. “So Quin, do you have any reason to believe your father was using this?”
“Is that … ?” Quin sounded surprised, dumbfounded.
“We’re pretty sure it’s Emovere,” the bad cop answered. “I understand you’re quite familiar with it, given your history.”
“My father never used that.”
“Are you sure, Quin? Think really hard. Perhaps you’ve forgotten.” The good cop’s voice was convincing, as if he already changed Quin’s mind.
“Trust me. I wouldn’t forget,” Quin retorted. “Some of the guys we worked with on the bridge used it. They said it made it easier to handle the heights. But my dad never would’ve done that. He was against those kind of drugs.”
“Hmmm.” The bad cop pretended to mull it over. “Quin, I’m confused. If your father never used Emovere, then how do you explain that we found a vial like this one in his pocket on the night he was arrested?”
I sucked in a deep breath and sat back against the wall, waiting for Quin’s reply.
“You probably planted it there,” Quin seethed. “I don’t have anything else to say.”
“Gentlemen, I think we’re done here.” My father’s voice was stern, barely polite.
“Certainly, Mr. Knightley. We’ll be in touch.”
The clopping of their boots was a relief—a welcome signal of their departure—but my stomach clenched again when the bad cop launched one last shot.
“Mr. McAllister, I hope we don’t have to remind you it is a crime to withhold evidence, and it is certainly a crime to lie to the police. With your extensive juvenile record, surely you must know that?”
There was a soft, ominous thud, like the final closing of a casket, as the front door shut behind them.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
OUT ON A LIMB
WHEN I EMERGED FROM the bedroom, Quin was sitting on the sofa, his head cocooned between his hands. My father paced behind him, wringing his hands. The tension was palpable. I stood just out of their sight.
“Quin, I’m going to ask you one time.” My father enunciated each word, drilling Quin. “Do you know more than what you told those men?”
Quin didn’t look up.
“Because I’m going out on a limb for you here. I’ve trusted you with my family, with my daughter.” I watched my father’s face contort in indignation. The last time I saw that self-righteous scowl, he abandoned my mother and me without explanation. “Was your father using Emovere? Were you?”
“Dad! Stop!” I ran to Quin’s side. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
My presence halted them both. Quin looked up, his eyes heavy with shame.
“Lex, I didn’t see you there.” My father hung his head. I turned quickly, embarrassed for him. Suddenly, I was ten years old again.
“Please don’t yell at him.” My voice was barely a whisper.
Quin exhaled. “It’s okay, Lex. Your dad’s right. I haven’t told you everything.”
My father narrowed his eyes at Quin but said nothing.
“When we visited my dad in jail, he told me where he was that night, just before he blacked out. He was meeting someone, someone who knew something important.”
“Who?” I asked, too curious to be angry. “What did they know?”
“I don’t know. He couldn’t say any more—because of the cameras—but he hinted there was something in his apartment
that would help.”
“Then we should go there,” I urged.
My father shook his head at me. “It’s a crime scene, honey. That place will be swarming with cops.” He turned to Quin. “Besides, isn’t this the kind of thing you should share with Mr. Van Sant?”
“I will,” Quin assured him. “But I don’t trust the police. If they find it first—whatever it is—if it will help my dad, it’s as good as gone.”
“Then you’re on your own, Quin. I will not allow my daughter to get caught up in this mess. She’s already been through too much.”
I looked at my father. His face was resolute, but his eyes wavered. I knew he was just as intrigued as I was. I played to the journalist in him. “Dad, how many times have I heard you say you wish you could be a part of a story again? Something that will make a difference. What could be more important than someone’s life? I don’t know if he’s innocent …” I gave Quin an apologetic glance. “But if it’s up to the police, Quin’s father will never stand a chance.”
My father sighed deeply then chuckled to himself. “Alexandra, you remind me so much of your mother. She was always talking me into some hair-brained scheme. If we do this, and that’s a big if, then we have to be smart.”
I knew my father’s remaining resistance was on the verge of collapse. With a sly grin, I told him, “I already have an idea.”
Quin’s eyes connected with mine. Silently, he mouthed, “Thank you.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JUST PLAY ALONG
“THEY’RE HERE,” I called to Quin and my father from the porch.
Edison was driving a large white van, the logo Crime Scene CleanUp, affixed in bold letters on the side panel. Elana gave a tiny wave from the passenger seat. Both were outfitted in heavy-duty jumpsuits.
Rolling down the window, Edison called to me, “Ms. Knightley, your crime-scene chariot has arrived.”
“How did you—where did you—get this thing?” I shook my head in amazement, as I opened the back door and climbed inside.
“My dad knows a guy.” Edison winked at me in the rearview mirror.
“The story of his life,” Quin joked.
Edison launched a jumpsuit in his direction. “Lucky for you, McAllister.”
My father laughed nervously, as he fidgeted in the seat next to me. “Your dad is okay with this?” he asked Edison. I hoped he wouldn’t back out now.
“Mr. Knightley, I should probably warn you, my father is a bit unorthodox. He doesn’t always play by the rules.”
Elana laughed. “That’s an understatement. When I first met him, Mr. Van Sant said to me, ‘Elana, before I left for Harvard, Orillius told me there was only one reason he was sending me to law school.’”
Edison guffawed at Elana’s dead-on impersonation of his father and finished the story for her. “‘Son, I want you to learn the rules, so you’ll have no problem breaking them.’”
My father smiled, thinly disguising his reluctance. “It’ll be okay, Dad.” I patted his shoulder. “Just play along. Edison’s pretty good at this.”
George McAllister’s apartment was in Oakland just near the port, where the massive white shipping cranes stood guard like watch dogs over the Bay. Though the area wasn’t as desolate as downtown—I’d visited the apartment a few times with Quin—the view from my window still left me uneasy. The sidewalks abutting his building were littered with bottles and trash. On one corner, a man was peddling computer tablets and cell phones, likely stolen. He considered us with suspicion as we passed.
“Stop here,” Quin instructed. He pointed to the third floor, cordoned off with yellow police tape. Two uniformed officers eyed us from their perch on the balcony, where they chatted casually with one another.
Dressed in our jumpsuits and matching baseball caps, we exited the van, cleaning equipment in tow. My father hung back, wearing his BostonLive press pass clipped to his pocket.
As we approached the officers, they grew quiet, their faces hardening. The taller of the two stepped forward, blocking our path.
“Hello, officers. How’s it going?” Edison’s easy confidence rolled off his tongue, buttery smooth. He gestured to the logo on his uniform. “I’m Ralph—Ralph Murphy—and this is my crew. We were told the scene is ready for a cleanup.”
Bewildered, the officers looked at each other. “First we’ve heard of it. We’ll need to radio down to the station before we can let you in.”
The sound of our voices drew out several onlookers. They watched with rapt attention, as Edison slipped his hands into rubber gloves, snapping them against his wrists. He donned a pair of goggles and unpacked a bucket of equipment, as if he’d done this many times before.
“Officer Jenkins, is it?” Edison asked, glancing up from an array of chemicals.
“That’s right.”
“Listen, you can radio down if you want, but I’ll save you the trouble. Mayor Riley requested us personally. This case is getting a lot of attention, if you know what I mean.” Edison jerked his head toward the open door behind us, where a woman was snapping pictures with her cell phone. “The mayor wants it cleaned up ASAP.”
On cue, my father made his way up the stairs, flashing his press pass at the officers, videoing the scene with his phone.
“Sir.” My father ignored the officer. “Sir, you can’t be up here. This area is off-limits to the media.” Grabbing his arm, the officer led my father back to the staircase. “Get out of here,” he barked. My father descended the stairs, his video still rolling.
Edison flashed the officers a look of false sympathy. “You see what I mean. Best we get in there before any more of these cameras show up.” He handed Jenkins a twenty-dollar bill. “What time do you gentleman get off work? Why don’t you and Officer Lawson grab a drink on me? A little token of appreciation for all you do for our city. We’ll be out of your hair in an hour or so.”
Turning to each other, the officers shrugged. “Thanks.”
“No problem, Officer Jenkins. No problem at all.”
Edison lifted the yellow tape, and we walked inside.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ALIBI
INSIDE, EDISON SMILED BROADLY, as he passed out pairs of gloves for us to wear. “Compared to the black suits, those guys were amateurs.”
Elana and I rolled our eyes at each other, sharing a knowing grin. Quin was already rifling through the apartment.
“So, McAllister, what exactly are we looking for?” Edison wondered.
“I’m not sure,” Quin admitted, opening and closing several drawers, “but I’ll know it when I see it.”
I surveyed the small room. It was sparse and dimly lit. A folding card table, four chairs, and a mud-colored sofa were the only furnishings. There were a few boxes stacked haphazardly in the corner. On the kitchen counter was a framed picture of Shelly—her favorite—with a wide smile, revealing her crooked teeth.
I became aware of the sudden pounding of my heart, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until I could feel it in my throat. Leaving the others in the kitchen, I turned toward the bedroom door. Its dark wood was like a single eye watching me. I knew what lay beyond it. The door was slightly warped, sticking as I turned the knob. I gave it a nudge with my hip, expecting to enter darkness, but the blinds were open. A thin sunbeam cast a strange glow. Light seemed wrong, out of place here.
I saw it all at once. The bedding was crumpled, a lamp in pieces on the floor. A wide, dark red trail marked a path from the pillow to the dresser. The wall was spotted with blood; the floor was awash with it. I gagged at the smell, the pungent and metallic odor of a vicious death. My mind pushed forth the nagging memory of my mother’s bloodstained chest. I squeezed my eyes tight, willing it away.
Laid out on a chair near the bed were some of Shelly’s clothes—a pair of tattered blue jean cutoffs and the T-shirt she wore when I last saw her a week before. When she dropped Quin off at my house, she waved me over to the car excitedly. As soon as I approached the window, sh
e grabbed my wrist—her grip surprisingly forceful for someone so slight—and pulled me toward her in an awkward embrace. As she talked, I noticed her fingernails tapping on the steering wheel, chipped red polish, bitten down to the quick.
“Lex, I have big news. Really, really big. But don’t tell Quin. He doesn’t know yet, and his father wants to tell him.” I waited for her to continue, though I already suspected her revelation. “I think I might be pregnant!”
“Wow.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“I know!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide. “I can hardly believe it! I’m gonna be a mom!” Her enthusiasm was tangible, bubbling up inside her like a fizzing soda. I was surprised she hadn’t blurted the news to Quin, unable to contain herself.
Now, looking at her clothing, still waiting to be worn again, I felt a sharp pang of guilt for questioning her judgment. Maybe Quin was right. Maybe his dad was different with her. A heartbreaking thought cut deep against the edges of my mind. Shelly would never be anyone’s mom.
Quin’s voice suspended my thoughts. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. “I just…” I was on the verge of tears. “It’s awful.” In that moment, the gravity of Shelly’s death finally hit, like a massive boulder set on my chest.
Quin wrapped me in his arms. “I know,” he agreed. With my face concealed against his chest, I allowed my tears to fall. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three. Then I stopped myself. Anymore, and I would have been useless.
“Have you found anything?” I sniffled, regaining my composure.
“Not yet, but I have a feeling that it’s here.” He gestured around the room.
Avoiding the grotesque trail of red, Quin began opening dresser drawers, as I searched the closet, checking his father’s pants and jacket pockets. There was nothing.
Edison peered in from the doorway, Elana just over his shoulder.
“Oh my God,” Elana breathed. “This is where it happened.” She steadied herself against Edison, swallowing her distress.
