False Front (15 page)

‘Do I strike you as stupid?’

‘No. I’m not saying . . .’

‘In case you find yourself on the lam before this is all over, Ms Diva, book your flights at a travel agency. They want your business and they’re not going to cause problems.’

‘That’s a smart idea.’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. The cash?’

‘Where should I send it?’

‘There’s a Wells Fargo on San Ysidro Boulevard. Send it there. I’ll be there first thing in the morning to make sure everything is set up to receive the funds and give me the cash.’

‘How much do you need?’ she asked.

‘Twenty.’

‘Twenty thousand?’

‘Hey. This woman’s a nomad. If she keeps going west, where will I find her next – Hawaii? New Zealand? Thailand? You don’t want me to find her, you just say so, I’ll head on home – but the cost of that flight will be on you, too.’

‘Of course I want you to find her. Don’t be so damned prickly. Every day the risk gets a little greater. I need her found and I need her gone.’

‘Send the cash and your wish is my command, Ms Diva.’

‘Stop calling me that.’

‘But it suits you so well.’

‘Go to hell,’ she said and disconnected the phone. She grabbed the dog’s leash and called his name. A golden lab came galloping. She shouted up the stairs. ‘Back soon. I’m taking Dufus for a walk.’

She listened for the mumble of acknowledgment and walked out the door. Stupid name for a dog. That man was getting tiresome in many ways. But at least his stupid dog with its stupid name has served its purpose well. She walked a mile before dropping the disposable cell phone in a storm sewer. In another half mile, she was at Walmart. After tying Dufus to the bike rack, she went inside and bought another phone. Before walking outside, she sent a text message with the new number to another disposable in San Diego.

On the other end, he would get the number, memorize it and ditch his cell, and use yet another one the next time he needed to call.

TWENTY-EIGHT

M
artha O’Hara answered the phone when Jake called. After a muffled exchange in the background, she invited him to come over to the house. Martha opened the door the moment Jake stepped into the deep, enclosed porch, where muddy work shoes and boots lined up against the wall.

He thought he saw a pretty face lurking behind a mouth drawn downward in grief, a reddened nose and the sagging bags beneath her eyes. The emotional toll of losing a child always ravaged a parent, leaving them damaged inside and out. Jake wanted to give her a hug but her husband Seth hovered in the background with a scowl on his face.

Dylan’s father appeared to have transformed all of his grief into seething anger and resentment. His pursed lips, furrowed brow and a pair of hands that kept clenching unbidden into fists were a clear reflection of his state of mind. Jake knew a lot of pain was buried behind that anger and wanted to hug him, too, but suspected the response might be a punch or a shove.

They gathered around an old, large round oak kitchen table, darkened by the passage of time. The chairs were plain, sensible oak without any real style. On each seat, plump cushions covered with yellow gingham made them look more inviting and comfortable.

Adjacent to the porch, a U-shaped kitchen with the same depth had counters of worn tile and knotty pine cabinets with black, wrought-iron handles and drawer pulls. A window above the sink had a bright yellow valance and matching café curtains. Jake imagined that during the daytime, the sunshine streaming through the curtains would cheer the space a lot. Right now the outside darkness seemed to creep into the room, making it look tired and dreary.

Martha set out two pots of coffee – one regular, one decaf. Jake sipped with delight after dumping a dollop of the farm-fresh cream into his mug. Martha and Seth sat silent, waiting for him to begin.

Jake cleared his throat, unexpectedly nervous about this encounter. He’d been doing this so long; those occasional moments of unease always took him by surprise. He kept his eyes on his mug, hoping not to telegraph his feelings. ‘Good coffee, ma’am. Thank you very much.’

Martha smiled. ‘I see you like that cream.’

‘Oh, yes. Don’t get it this fresh very often. How do I begin? First of all, I want to express my sympathy to you for your loss. I can’t pretend to know the depth of your feelings. I’ve lost my parents but I know that losing a child is much worse. And I know you want to understand why. I know that the reality is difficult to comprehend – it’s unnatural and is an affront to the natural order. I know these things,’ he said, tapping one temple, ‘but I don’t know them,’ he said, poking his chest above his heart. ‘I need to ask for your forgiveness and understanding in advance in case I say anything insensitive or inappropriate.’ He scanned both their faces, watching them as they nodded before he continued. ‘Everything I’ve found and everyone I’ve interviewed have pointed to the likelihood that Dylan did commit suicide.’

‘I bet they have,’ Seth said. ‘I imagine at the top of that list are the cops who are trying to cover up for the deputy’s boy.’

Jake closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and looked at the O’Haras, ready to be as empathetic and understanding as possible. ‘I’m talking about my conversations with others, Mr O’Hara – Dylan’s teachers, counselor, friends. I am looking into the decisions made by the sheriff’s office and the medical examiner. I’ve set aside their conclusions for the time being.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Seth’s sarcasm was apparent as he folded his arms across his chest and glowered at Jake.

‘One person who believed that Dylan took his own life suggested that if wrong, then the most likely suspect was you, Mr O’Hara. Why would you think anyone would say that?’

‘Because they are covering up for the deputy.’

‘But that person could have pointed the finger at anyone. Why you?’

‘Who was it?’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t reveal that name,’ Jake apologized.

‘Why not? I thought this was America. I thought we had a right to confront our accuser.’

‘This is simply an investigation,’ Jake said, instantly regretting that choice of word. ‘It’s not even an official investigation. I’m just trying to shed some light on the circumstances surrounding Dylan’s death. I am making an inquiry as a friend of the family. Your right to confront your accuser exists in a trial situation.’

‘A friend of the family,’ Seth sneered. ‘You’re no friend of my family. We don’t want you nosing around here. We want justice for our son. If you were here to arrest Todd Childress, I’d call you a friend of the family. As it is, you’re just a troublemaker, stirring things up.
My
family just wants you to go away.’

Jake stared at him, attempting to size him up. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was something Seth wanted to hide.

Martha broke the silence. ‘That’s not true. I am glad Agent Lovett is here. Thank you, sir. Thank you very much. All I want to do is put my poor son to rest. Ask me any question you want.’

Seth’s face reddened and he glared at his wife. She ignored him and held her head high, for the moment replacing her sorrow with steely resolve.

Jake jumped in to take advantage of the moment. ‘Mrs O’Hara, do you have any idea why someone would point the finger at your husband?’

‘Yes, I do . . .’

Seth bolted to his feet, his chair scraped across the floor, filling the room with an irritating, abrasive sound. ‘Martha!’

She kept her eyes on Jake, not sparing a single glance for her husband. ‘We need to tell him everything, Seth. We need to be totally honest to get the answers we need about our boy.’

Seth spun around, went to the opposite side of the room and leaned his back against the wall. His muscles tingled with tension, causing tics around his eyes and on one upper arm. His face reddened except for the areas around his mouth and eyes – they turned stark fish-belly white.

‘You were saying, Mrs O’Hara?’

‘Dylan and Seth were going through a very rocky time in their relationship. There were lots of arguments.’

‘About what?’

‘About Dylan’s declining grades. About all the time he spent in his room. About how he always had ear buds in his ears playing so loudly, the sound of the music seeped out around him. About borrowing the car. About going to college. About life, politics, religion – everything. Seth and Dylan saw eye-to-eye on nothing. Sometimes I got the feeling that if one of them expressed a viewpoint, the other one would automatically take the other point of view.’

‘That’s a lie, Martha,’ Seth interjected. ‘That might have been true of Dylan but it was not true of me.’

Martha turned and looked straight at her husband. ‘It didn’t seem that way, Seth. I know our boy could be very frustrating. I know he could be very negative. I hoped it was just a phase,’ Martha said and a sob tore from her throat. ‘If only I’d listened to that lady at the high school and accepted that it was much more serious. If I’d only suspected he would take his own life. If I—’

‘Dylan did not take his own life,’ Seth yelled.

‘OK, OK. Let’s calm down here,’ Jake urged. ‘We’re all in this together. We all want to find the truth. Right?’

Martha nodded as tears flowed down both cheeks.

‘All I want is the person who killed my son behind bars. I think we all know who that is,’ Seth insisted.

‘Mr O’Hara, we are not there yet. We first need to determine how your son died – homicide or suicide.’

‘Are you sure you’re not on the Todd Childress defense team?’ Seth taunted.

Jake ignored that remark and turned back to Martha. ‘Ma’am, were there ever any public displays of this alienation between your husband and your son?’

Martha sighed. ‘Probably more than I know. I was present a couple of weeks ago when they butted heads in the feed store. They were shouting at each other over the choice of dog food, of all things. Dylan wanted the brand with the highest protein content because he believed that our working dogs herding the cattle and the sheep deserved it. Seth wanted to save money with a cheaper brand. Dylan said, “I’d be better off dead. You’ll wish you listened to me then,” and stormed out of the store.’

‘The boy acted like the farm was a cash cow,’ Seth complained. ‘No expense was unjustified. I knew one day the farm would be his. I had to talk sense into him.’

‘And you thought the best place to do that was in a crowded feed store? And the best way to do it was screaming at him and calling him a naïve idiot in front of all those people?’ Martha retorted.

‘I did not call him a naïve idiot.’

‘Yes you did, Seth. I heard you. Sometimes you get so wound up you don’t know what you’re saying.’

Seth slumped against the wall. ‘It’s not my fault. I did not cause him to commit suicide. He did not commit suicide. He was murdered.’

‘Not your fault?’ Martha shouted. ‘Then why did you scoff at the counselor when she suggested that we get professional help for Dylan?’

‘That has nothing to do with this.’

‘Maybe if he’d had help, he wouldn’t have committed suicide.’

‘He didn’t commit suicide!’ Seth screamed.

Martha rose to her feet, her face mottled and twisted. ‘If he didn’t then I guess that leaves you as a suspect. Did you kill our son?’

‘I can’t believe you said that. Married twenty-five years and you can say that to me? You can doubt me that much? I thought you knew me, Martha.’

‘So did I, Seth. So did I,’ Martha said as she sank back down into the chair and buried her face in her hands.

‘This is on you, FBI man,’ Seth said, jabbing a finger in Jake’s direction. ‘This is all on you. You owe it to me to tell me who made that accusation. Who put that thought in my wife’s head?’

‘I’m sorry, Mr O’Hara. I can’t say that.’

‘Why not? It has to be someone I know. Probably someone close. Maybe that loud-mouthed, self-righteous prick of a brother-in-law. Yeah, that’s it,’ Seth said, shoving himself away from the wall. He stomped over to the rack by the door, grabbed a ball cap and shoved it on his head. ‘I’ll take care of this, right now.’

Jake stood, reached out an arm in a conciliatory gesture, and said, ‘Mr O’Hara, let’s talk this over a little more.’

‘I’ve done all the talking I want to do here. I did more listening than I wanted to in the first five minutes of your visit.’ Seth jerked open the door, stepped over the threshold and slammed it so hard that the panes of glass rattled in their frames.

‘Mr O’Hara,’ Jake called out again.

Martha’s lower lip quivered. ‘I’m living in hell,’ she whispered.

The sound of a starting engine reverberated in the kitchen. The pings of flying gravel rattled against the side of the house. Jake headed for the door, pulling it open; he turned and asked, ‘Ma’am, will you be all right? I really should follow him over there.’

Martha nodded mutely.

Jake jumped in his car, started it up and the race began.

TWENTY-NINE

L
ucinda entered her apartment in a high rise on the banks of the James River to an energetic and noisy greeting from Chester. The gray tabby circled her legs without causing her any distress. She was grateful for her ability to cope, remembering the time in the immediate aftermath of the loss of her eye years before on a domestic violence call. Chester’s figure eights churned up dizziness and nausea then.

She fed Chester, grabbed a glass of Beaujolais and spread her files out on the dining table. After an hour of intense perusal, her working eye burned and watered. She stood, stretched and stared out her window at the river flowing below. A kingfisher soared down the middle of the water, seeking prey lurking beneath the surface.

A lone kayaker slipped down the river, a sleek silver arrow of fluid motion. On the opposite bank, a leggy blue heron stalked through the tall grasses at the water’s edge, its golden eye peering in the river for any sign of shad or catfish. She felt a lot like that bird, hunting through the files, hoping to snag a tidbit of information that would nurture her investigation.

She exhaled deeply, decided against another glass of wine and returned to the table. Her eyelids were growing heavy when she picked up the document on the history of Scott Technologies. She read past the important clue and flipped the page when it suddenly hit her. She turned back. Did she read what she thought she read? Yes.