The Innocent (22 page)

LANCE BANNER'S CAR stayed parked across the street from Marsha's house.

"You know him?" Olivia asked Matt.

"Yes. We went to school together. He's a cop here in town."

"He's here to ask about the assault?"

Matt did not reply. That made sense, he guessed. What with Cingle's arrest, the police probably wanted to file a full report. Or maybe Matt's name, as a victim or a witness, had gone out over a police radio and Lance had seen it. Maybe this was simply more harassment.

Either way, it really wasn't a big deal. If Lance came to the door, Matt would send him away. That was his right. They couldn't arrest a victim for not filing a timely report.

"Matt?"

He turned toward Olivia. "You were saying that they didn't find you. That you found them."

"Yes."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"That's because this is the most difficult part," Olivia said.

He thought- no, hoped- that she was joking. He was trying to hold on, trying to compartmentalize, rationalize, or just plain block.

"I told a lot of lies," she said. "But this last one is the worst."

Matt stayed by the window.

"I became Olivia Hunter. I told you that already. Candace Potter was dead to me. Except… except there was one part of her I could never quite give up."

She stopped.

"What is it?" Matt asked in a soft voice.

"When I was fifteen I got pregnant."

He closed his eyes.

"I was so scared, I hid it until it was too late. When my water broke, my foster mother brought me to a doctor's office. They had me sign a bunch of papers. There was a payment made, I don't know how much. I never saw the money. The doctor put me under. I had the baby. When I woke up…"

Her voice tailed off. She sort of shrugged it away and said: "I never even knew if it was a boy or a girl."

Matt kept his eyes on Lance's car. He felt something at his core rip away. "What about the father?"

"He ran off when he heard I was pregnant. Broke my heart. He got killed in a car crash a couple of years later."

"And you never knew what happened to the baby?"

"Never. Not a word. And in many ways I was okay with that. Even if I wanted to interfere in her life, I couldn't- not with my predicament. But that doesn't mean I didn't care. Or wonder what happened to her."

There was a moment of silence. Matt turned and faced his wife.

"You said 'her.' "

"What?"

"Just now. First you said you didn't know if it was a boy or girl. Then you said you didn't want to interfere in
her
life and that you wondered what happened to
her
."

Olivia said nothing.

"How long have you known you had a girl?"

"Just a few days."

"How did you find out?"

Olivia took out another sheet of paper. "Do you know anything about online adoption support groups?"

"No, not really."

"There are these boards where adoptive kids can post looking for their biological parents and vice versa. I always checked. Just out of curiosity. I never thought I'd find anything. Candace Potter was long dead. Even if her child searched for her biological mother, she'd learn that and give up. Besides, I couldn't say anything anyway. I had my pact. Finding me could only bring my child harm."

"But you checked the boards anyway?"

"Yes."

"How often?"

"Does that matter, Matt?"

"I guess not."

"You don't understand why I did it?"

"No, I do," he said, though he was not sure if that was the truth. "So what happened?"

Olivia handed him the sheet of paper. "I found this post."

The paper was wrinkled and had clearly been opened and closed many times. The date on the top was from four weeks ago. It read:

This is an urgent message and must be kept in strict confidence. Our daughter was adopted eighteen years ago at the office of Dr. Eric Tequesta in Meridian, Idaho, on February 12th. The birth mother's name is Candace Potter, who is deceased. We have no information on the father.

Our daughter is very sick. She desperately needs a kidney donation from a blood relative. We are searching for any blood relatives who might be a match. Please, if you are a blood relative of the late Candace Potter, please contact us at…

Matt kept reading and rereading the post.

"I had to do something," Olivia said.

He nodded numbly.

"I e-mailed the parents. At first I just pretended to be an old friend of Candace Potter's, but they wouldn't release any information to me. I didn't know what to do. So I wrote again and said I was indeed a blood relative. And then it all took a weird turn."

"How?"

"I think… I don't know… suddenly the parents got cagey. So we agreed to meet in person. We set up a time and place."

"In Newark?"

"Yes. They even booked the room for me. I had to check in and wait for them to contact me. I did. Some man finally called and told me to go to Room 508. When I got there, the man said he needed to search my bag. That's when he took the phone out, I guess. Then he told me to change in the bathroom and put on a wig and a dress. I didn't get why, but he said we were going someplace and he didn't want anyone recognizing either one of us. I was too afraid not to listen. He put on a wig too, a black one. When I came out he told me to sit on the bed. He walked toward me, just like you saw. When he got to the bed, he stopped and said he knew who I was. If I wanted to save my daughter's life, I'd have to transfer money to his account. I should get it ready."

"Did you?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

"Fifty thousand dollars."

He nodded, feigning calm. All the money they had. "So then what?"

"He told me he'd need more. Another fifty thousand. I told him I didn't have that kind of money. We argued. I finally said he'd get more money when I saw my daughter."

Matt looked off.

"What?" she asked.

"Weren't you starting to wonder?"

"About?"

"If this was all a con of some sort."

"Of course," Olivia said. "I read about these con men who'd pretend to find information on MIAs in Vietnam. They'd get the family to give them money to continue the search. The families wanted it to be true so badly that they couldn't see it was all a ruse."

"So?"

"Candace Potter was dead," she said. "Why would someone try to con money from a dead woman?"

"Maybe someone figured out you were alive."

"How?"

"I don't know. Emma Lemay might have said something."

"Suppose she did. Then what? Nobody knew, Matt. The only person in Vegas I told was my friend Kimmy, but even she didn't know all that information- the date of birth, the town in Idaho, the name of the doctor. I didn't even remember the doctor's name until I saw it in that post. The only people who would know all that were my daughter or her adoptive parents. And even if it was some sort of scam, what with the wig and all, I had to follow it up. I mean, somehow my daughter had to be involved. Don't you see that?"

"I do," he said. He also saw that her logic was somewhat flawed, but now was not the time to point that out. "So now what?"

"I insisted on seeing my daughter. So he set up a meet. That's when I'm supposed to bring the rest of the money."

"When?"

"Tomorrow at midnight."

"Where?"

"In Reno."

"Nevada?"

"Yes."

Again Nevada. "Do you know a man named Max Darrow?"

She said nothing.

"Olivia?"

"He was the man in the black wig. The one I met with. I knew him back in Vegas too. He used to hang at the club."

Matt was not sure what to make of that. "Where in Reno?"

"The address is 488 Center Lane Drive. I have a plane ticket. Darrow said I shouldn't tell anyone. If I'm not there… I don't know, Matt. They said they would hurt her."

"Hurt your daughter?"

Olivia nodded. The tears were back in her eyes. "I don't know what's going on. I don't know if she's sick or if they kidnapped her or hell, if she's somehow in on it. But she's real and she's alive and I have to go to her."

Matt tried to take it in, but it wasn't happening. His cell phone rang. Matt automatically reached to snap it off, but then he thought better of it. At this hour it was probably Cingle. She could be in trouble, need his help. He checked the caller ID. Private number. Could be the police station.

"Hello?"

"Matt?"

He frowned. It sounded like Midlife. "Ike, is that you?"

"Matt, I just got off the phone with Cingle."

"What?"

"I'm on the way to the county prosecutor's office now," Midlife said. "They want to interrogate her."

"She called you?"

"Yeah, I guess, but I think that had more to do with you."

"What are you talking about?"

"She wanted to warn you."

"About what?"

"I wrote it down, hold on. Okay, first off, you asked her about a man named Max Darrow? He's been murdered. They found him shot dead in Newark."

Matt looked at Olivia. She said, "What is it?"

Midlife was still talking. "But worse, Charles Talley is dead. They found his body at the Howard Johnson's. They also found a set of bloody brass knuckles. They're running DNA tests on them now. And within the hour, they'll have the photographs off your cell phone."

Matt said nothing.

"Do you understand what I'm telling you, Matt?"

He did. It didn't take long. They'd put it together like this: Matt, an ex-con who'd already served time for killing a man in a fight, gets these mocking photographs on his cell phone. His wife was clearly shacking up with Charles Talley. Matt used a private eye to find out where they were. He charged into the hotel late at night. There was a fight. There'd be at least one witness- the guy at the front desk. Probably a security video. They'd have physical evidence too. His DNA is probably all over the dead man.

There would be holes in their case. Matt could show them the gray window and explain about the drought. He also didn't know what time Talley had been killed, but if Matt was lucky, the murder took place when he was in the ambulance or at the hospital. Or maybe he'd have an alibi in the taxi driver. Or his wife.

Like that would hold up.

"Matt?"

"What is it?"

"The police are probably searching for you now."

He glanced out the window. A police car pulled up next to Lance's. "I think they already found me."

"You want me to arrange a peaceful surrender?"

A peaceful surrender. Trust the authorities to straighten it out. Do the law-abiding thing.

That worked so well before, didn't it?

Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice…

And suppose he did come clean. Then what? They'd have to tell everything, including Olivia's past. Forget about the fact that Matt swore,
swore,
he'd never let himself go back to prison. Olivia had indeed committed a crime. She'd, at best, helped dispose of a dead body. Not to mention the fact that Max Darrow, who had also been murdered, had been blackmailing her. How would that look?

"Ike?"

"Yes."

"If they know we communicated, you could get nailed for aiding and abetting."

"Nah, Matt, I really can't. I'm your attorney. I'm giving you the facts and encouraging you to surrender. But what you do… well, I can't control that. I can only be shocked and outraged. You see?"

He did. He looked out the window again. Another squad car pulled up. He thought about being back in prison. In the window reflection, he saw Stephen McGrath's ghost. Stephen winked at him. Matt felt the tightness in his chest.

"Thanks, Ike."

"Good luck, pal."

Midlife hung up the phone. Matt turned to Olivia. "What is it?" she asked.

"We have to get out of here."

LANCE BANNER APPROACHED Marsha Hunter's front door.

Two tired uniforms were with him now. Both men had facial stubble nestled in that cusp between needing a shave and trendy, the end of an uneventful Livingston night shift. They were young guys, fairly new on the force. They walked in silence. He could hear them breathing hard. Both men had put on weight recently. Lance was not sure why that happened, why the new recruits always gained weight during their first year with the force, but he'd be hard-pressed to find examples where that didn't happen.

Lance was conflicted here. He was having second thoughts about his run-in with Matt yesterday. Whatever his past crime, whatever he may have become, Hunter had not deserved being subject to Banner's clumsy and stupid harassment. And it had been stupid, no question about it, intimidating a purported interloper like some redneck sheriff in a bad movie.

Last night Matt Hunter had scoffed at Lance's seemingly Pollyanna-ish attempt to keep evil out of his fair town. But Matt got it wrong. Lance wasn't naïve. He understood that there was no protective force field around the fertile suburban sprawl. That was the point. You work hard to make a life for yourself. You meet up with like-minded people and build a great community. Then you fight to keep it. You see a potential problem, you don't let it fester. You remove it. You're proactive. That was what he'd been doing with Matt Hunter. That was what men like Lance Banner did for their hometowns. They were the soldiers, the front line, the few who took night duty so that the others, including Lance's own family, could sleep soundly.

So when his fellow cops started talking about doing something, when Lance's own wife, Wendy, who had gone to school with Matt Hunter's younger sister and thought she was a "Queen Bitch," started getting on his case about a convicted killer moving into their neighborhood, when one of the town councilmen had offered up the sternest of suburban worries-"Lance, do you realize what it'll do to property values?"- he had acted.

And now he wasn't sure if he regretted it or not.

He thought about his conversation with Loren Muse yesterday. She'd asked him about young Matt Hunter. Had Lance seen any early signs of psychosis there? The answer was a pretty firm no. Hunter had been soft. Lance remembered him crying at a Little League game when he dropped a fly ball. His father had comforted him while Lance marveled at what a big baby the kid was. But- and this might seem the opposite of Loren's study on early signs of trouble- men can indeed change. It was not all decided by age five or whatever Loren had told him.

The catch was, the change was always,
always,
for the worse.

If you discover a young psychotic, he will never turn himself around and become productive. Never. But you can find plenty of guys, nice guys who grew up with the right values, quality guys who respected the law and loved thy neighbor, gentle guys who found violence abhorrent and wanted to stay on the straight and narrow- you find lots of guys like this who end up doing terrible things.

Who knew why? Sometimes it was, as in Hunter's case, just a question of bad luck, but then again it's all about luck, isn't it? Your upbringing, your genes, your life experience, conditions, whatever- they're all a crapshoot. Matt Hunter had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. That didn't matter anymore. You could see it in his eyes. You could see it in the way Hunter walked, the early gray in his hair, the way he blinked, the tightness in his smile.

Bad follows some people. It hooks into them and never lets them go.

And simple as it sounded, you don't want those people around you.

Lance knocked on Marsha Hunter's door. The two uniforms stood behind him in vee formation. The sun had begun its ascent. They listened for a sound.

Nothing.

He saw the doorbell. Marsha Hunter, he knew, had two young children. If Matt wasn't here, he'd feel bad about waking them, but that couldn't be helped. He pressed the bell and heard the chime.

Still nothing.

Just for the heck of it, Lance tried the door, hoping it might be unlocked. It wasn't.

The officer on Lance's right started shifting his feet. "Kick it in?"

"Not yet. We don't even know if he's here."

He rang the bell again, keeping his finger pressed against it until it rang a third time too.

The other cop said, "Detective?"

"Give it a few more seconds," he said.

As if on cue, the foyer light snapped on. Lance tried to look through the pebble glass, but the view was too distorted. He kept his face pressed against it searching for movement.

"Who is it?"

The female voice was tentative- understandable under the circumstances.

"It's Detective Lance Banner, Livingston Police. Could you open the door, please?"

"Who?"

"Detective Lance Banner, Livingston Police. Please open the door."

"Just a minute."

They waited. Lance kept peering through the pebble glass. He could make out a hazy figure coming down the stairs now. Marsha Hunter, he assumed. Her steps were as tentative as her voice. He heard a bolt slide and a chain rattle and then the door was opened.

Marsha Hunter had a bathrobe tied tightly around her waist. The robe was old and terrycloth. It looked like it belonged to a man. Lance wondered for a brief second if it had been her late husband's. Her hair was mussed. She wore no makeup, of course, and while Lance had always considered her an attractive woman, she could have used the touches.

She looked at Lance, then at the two officers at his wing, then back to Lance. "What do you want at this hour?"

"We're looking for Matt Hunter."

Her eyes narrowed. "I know you."

Lance said nothing.

"You coached my son last year in rec soccer. You have a boy Paul's age."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Not ma'am," she said, her voice sharp. "My name is Marsha Hunter."

"Yes, I know."

"We're your neighbors, for crying out loud." Marsha again took in the uniformed men before returning her gaze to Lance. "You know I live alone with two young boys," she said, "yet you wake us up like storm troopers?"

"We really need to talk to Matt Hunter."

"Mommy?"

Lance recognized the boy coming down the stairs. Marsha gave Lance a baleful eye before turning to her son. "Go to bed, Ethan."

"But, Mom…"

"I'll be up in a moment. Go back to bed." She turned back to Lance. "I'm surprised you don't know."

"Don't know what?"

"Matt doesn't live here," she said. "He lives in Irvington."

"His car is in your driveway."

"So?"

"So is he here?"

"What's going on?"

Another woman was at the top of the stairs.

"Who are you?" Lance asked.

"My name is Olivia Hunter."

"Olivia Hunter as in Mrs. Matt Hunter?"

"Excuse me?"

Marsha looked back at her sister-in-law. "He was just asking why your car is in the driveway."

"At this hour?" Olivia Hunter said. "Why would you want to know that?"

"They're looking for Matt."

Lance Banner said, "Do you know where your husband is, Mrs. Hunter?"

Olivia Hunter started to move down the stairs. Her steps, too, were deliberate. Maybe that was the tip-off. Or maybe it was her clothes. She was, after all, wearing clothes. Regular clothes. Jeans and a sweatshirt. Not nightclothes. No robe, no pajamas. At this hour.

That didn't make sense.

When Lance glanced back at Marsha Hunter, he saw it. A small tell on her face. Damn, how could he have been so stupid? The turning on the light, the walking down the stairs, the slow walk right now… it had all taken too long.

He spun to the uniformed cops. "Check around back. Hurry."

"Wait," Olivia shouted too loudly. "Why are your men going to the backyard?"

The cops started running- one toward the right, one to the left. Lance looked at Marsha. She stared back at him defiantly.

That was when they heard a woman's scream.

"What's going on?" Olivia asked.

"That was Midlife," Matt said. "Charles Talley and Max Darrow are both dead."

"Oh, my God."

"And unless I'm mistaken," he continued, gesturing toward the window, "these guys are here to arrest me for their murders."

Olivia closed her eyes, tried to ride it out. "What do you want to do?"

"I have to get out of here."

"You mean,
we
have to get out of here."

"No."

"I'm going with you, Matt."

"You're not the one they want. They have nothing on you. At worst they think you cheated on your husband. You just refuse to answer any questions. They can't hold you."

"So you're just going to run?"

"I have no choice."

"Where will you go?"

"I'll figure that out. But we can't communicate. They'll be watching the house, tapping the phone."

"We need a plan here, Matt."

"How about this," he said. "We meet up in Reno."

"What?"

"Tomorrow at midnight. The address you said- 488 Center Lane Drive."

"You still think there's still a chance that my daughter…"

"I doubt it," Matt said. "But I also doubt Darrow and Talley were doing this on their own."

Olivia hesitated.

"What?"

"How are you going to get across the country that fast?"

"I don't know. If I can't make it, we'll figure out something later. Look, it's not a great plan, but we don't have time for anything better."

Olivia took a step forward. He felt it again in his chest, the gentle thrum. She had never looked so beautiful or vulnerable. "Do we have time for you to say you still love me?"

"I do love you. More than ever."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," he said.

"Even after…?"

"Even after."

She shook her head. "You're too good for me."

"Yeah, I'm a prince."

Olivia laughed through the sob. He put his arms around her.

"We'll get into this later, but right now we need to find your daughter."

Something she had said- about this life being worth fighting over. It resonated in him, even more than the revelations. He would fight. He would fight for both of them.

Olivia nodded, wiped her tears. "Here. I only have twenty dollars."

He took it. They risked a glance out the window. Lance Banner was approaching the front door, flanked by two cops. Olivia moved in front of him as if readying to take a bullet.

"You sneak out back," Olivia said. "I'll wake up Marsha, tell her what's going on. We'll try to stall them."

"I love you," he said.

She gave him the crooked smile. "Good to hear." They kissed hard and quick. "Don't let anything happen to you," she said.

"I won't."

He headed downstairs and started toward the back door. Olivia was already in Marsha's room. It wasn't right to drag Marsha into this, but what choice did they have? From the kitchen he could see another police car pull up to the front.

There was a knock on the door.

No time. Matt had something of a plan. They were not far from the East Orange Water Reservation, which was basically a forest. Matt had gone through it countless times as a child. Once inside he'd be difficult to find. He'd be able to work his way toward Short Hills Road and from there, well, suffice to say that he needed outside help.

He knew where to go.

His hand was on the back-door knob. Matt heard Lance Banner ring the bell. He turned the knob and pushed open the door.

Someone was standing right there, already in the doorway. He nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Matt?"

It was Kyra.

"Matt, what are-?"

He signaled her to stay quiet and beckoned her inside.

"What's going on?" Kyra whispered.

"What are you doing awake?"

"I-" She shrugged. "I saw police cars. What's going on?"

"It's a long story."

"That investigator who came by today. She asked me about you."

"I know."

They both heard Marsha shout: "Just a minute."

Kyra's eyes widened. "You're trying to run away?"

"It's a long story."

Her eyes met his. He wondered what Kyra was going to do here. He didn't want to involve her. If she screamed, he would understand. She was just a kid. She had no role in any of this, no real reason to trust him.

"Go," Kyra whispered.

He didn't wait or say thank you. He started outside. Kyra followed, veering the other way back toward her room above the garage. Matt saw the swing set he'd put up with Bernie a lifetime ago. It'd been ridiculously hot the day they assembled it. They'd both had their shirts off. Marsha had waited on the porch with beers. Bernie had wanted to put in one of those ziplines, but Marsha had nixed that, claiming, correctly in Matt's view, that they were dangerous.

What you remember.

The yard was too open- there were no trees, no bushes, no rocks. Bernie had cleared out a lot of the brush with the anticipation of putting in a swimming pool- another dream, albeit a small one, that died with him. There were white bases laid out in the shape of a baseball diamond and two small soccer goals. He started to cross the yard. Kyra had gone back inside the garage.

Matt heard a commotion.

"Wait!" The voice belonged to Olivia. She was intentionally shouting so that he would hear. "Why are your men going to the backyard?"

There was no time to hesitate. He was out in the open. Make a mad run for it? There was little choice. He sprinted into the neighbor's yard. Matt avoided the flower beds, which were a strange thing to worry about at a time like this, but he did it anyway. He risked a glance behind him.

A policeman had made the turn into the backyard.

Damn.

He hadn't been spotted. Not yet. He searched for a place to hide. The neighbors had a toolshed. Matt leaped behind it. He pressed his back against it, like he'd seen done in the movies. A pointless move. He checked his waistband.

The gun was there.

Matt risked a peek.

The cop was staring directly at him.