Tunnel Vision (10 page)

TWENTY-TWO

Betty was braced for the fury to begin when she walked into the house, but all she heard was the thump of funk rock coming from the basement. She hurried upstairs and gave her phone a look. There were three text messages waiting for her: one from Jake that said he was thinking of her—a terrifying thought—and a pair from June, both of which said she was very sorry for what happened in the library.

Betty ignored the texts, too puzzled by the lack of enraged messages from the moms. She’d hoped against hope that the school hadn’t called, but had resigned herself to the fact that of course they would have, probably before she was even out of the school building, much less the parking lot.
They’ll probably call during dinner
,
Betty thought, but she knew that they wouldn’t. The second fifth period started, there should have been an immediate red flag at her absence and then a call to her parents, but somehow none of that had happened.

Suddenly her life was stuffed full of mysteries. The mystery of the missing call from school. The mystery of whatever the hell Jake Norton was smoking when he hatched the idea of them getting freaking
married
. And, of course, above all, the mystery of Mandy Reasoner’s death, which she’d only scratched the surface of. And then there was the mysterious stranger she’d met in the park, with his wealth of information.

Betty spared a glance to the card on the desk and wondered how long she would be able to resist before sending him a message. Nickel was exactly the sort of guy that could make her swoon. He was smart, looked a little bit dangerous, and, judging by his T-shirt at least, liked good music. It was almost too good to be true. But Betty knew she’d never have the nerve to do much more than e-mail him. There was something dangerous about the boy that went far beyond his cryptic knowledge of Mandy’s murder, something Betty couldn’t quite put her finger on, and she didn’t think that she’d be figuring it out anytime soon.

Trying to solve a puzzle for which she had so few pieces was impossible, so Betty grabbed her notebook and pen and left the card and thoughts of Nickel behind her as she headed back downstairs.

Ophelia’s awful music was still blaring through the house, so Betty shut the door to the basement to at least muffle it a little and grabbed a water from the fridge. She had twenty minutes to kill before four o’clock and spent the time sitting at the table and staring at the questions on the sheet.

When the doorbell finally rang, it made Betty leap from her near-fugue state. She’d been thinking of Nickel and his bizarre appearance and information in the park, but it was the suggestions that she’d scribbled onto the page that had her attention now. He had told her things that she wasn’t supposed to know, things that only someone with deep knowledge of the case could have known, and what was she going to do if the cop asked her where she had come by the information? Betty didn’t know for sure, but she had a feeling that telling the officer a cute boy in the park had given it to her wasn’t going to cut it.

When Betty opened the door, she found a pleasant-looking man wearing a gray suit waiting for her. He was taller than she was, about six feet, and barrel-chested. His hair and thick mustache were both salt and pepper—salt was winning the fight, especially in the mustache. Betty couldn’t remember having ever seen the man before, but there was something oddly familiar about the half smile he gave her and the kindness in his eyes.

“You must be Betty,” said the cop. “I’m Detective Dick Van Endel.” He stuck his hand out and they shook. His hand was big but softer than she’d imagined it would be. Then again, why would a detective have calloused hands? “I understand you think I might be able to help you out with a school assignment.”

“It’s great you were able to make the time for me,” said Betty. “I really appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.” He sounded like he meant it.

“Why don’t you come in so we can talk? I don’t know how long you have, but I have quite a few questions.”

“All right,” said Van Endel and followed Betty into the house and took the seat at the table she offered him. She sat down opposite him, the notebook a bridge between them. “Your mother has told me a great deal about you,” said Van Endel. “It’s been a good while since we worked a case together, but she and I have had a few adventures, and it’s nice to finally get to meet you.”

“Yeah, Andrea can be a little braggy,” said Betty. “I hope it wasn’t too annoying.”

“Not at all,” said Van Endel. “Any way we could get the music turned down?”

“Sure,” said Betty, before pounding her foot into the floor. Van Endel grinned, and then a few seconds later the music became much quieter.

“Better?”

Still grinning, Van Endel nodded his head. “So,” he said, “Andrea said you and some friends were working on a project for school. Something about the Mandy Reasoner case. I should be able to answer just about anything you want to know, so when you’re ready just let me know.”

“Did you work the case?”

“No, I missed that one,” said Van Endel. “My partner at the time, a man named Phil Nelson, worked the case while I was on leave.”

“Is there any way you could ask Phil if I have any questions that you can’t answer?” Betty asked this slowly, stalling as the wheels turned in her mind, searching for a passable excuse that would help to explain away some of the insider information she was about to drop.

“Unfortunately that won’t be possible,” said Van Endel. “Phil passed away a couple years ago, and though I often find myself talking to him still, I’ve yet to get an answer.”

“I’m sorry about your friend.”

“It’s all right, Betty,” said Van Endel. “At my age it’s pretty normal to have a few more friends underground than I would like. That said, Phil and I discussed that case over beers on more than one occasion, and I should be able to tell you anything you might want to know.”

“OK,” said Betty as she grabbed her notebook off of the table. “First off, what do you know about Duke Barnes’s claim that he and Mandy may have had a roommate or two at the time of her death?”

“Hardball right away,” said Van Endel with a chuckle. “I like that. Duke did claim to have a roommate—aside from Mandy—but other than some signs that other people slept there occasionally, there was no evidence they had any permanent roommates.”

“Well, how could you tell?”

“Remember, they were staying at the house illegally, squatting there. And people living like that tend to be pigs. They hoard anything they can get their hands on. Leave plenty of signs. Plus, these weren’t just poor people, remember. Duke, Mandy, and anyone they were associating with were hardcore drug users, who leave an especially recognizable brand of filth in their nests.” Van Endel cleared his throat and then coughed into a fist before saying, “The entire house was like that, garbage everywhere, with one exception. There was only one livable room in that place, even for a really desperate junkie.”

“Then why was Duke so insistent that he and Mandy had a roommate? I read that he never changed his stance on that, and that even today he still insists he had a roommate in that house.”

“Well, there are two possibilities: either Duke is lying, or they had a roommate named Jason, like he claimed, and he or some stranger left just before Mandy was killed,” said Van Endel calmly, but Betty couldn’t help notice that the cop’s brow was furrowed.
He didn’t like that one too much.
Van Endel’s face relaxed almost as soon as she’d noticed it, and then he said, “The problem is that we know Duke is and was a liar. He would have said or done anything back then to get out from under that crime, and the same thing holds true today. Regardless of what he might say about Jason, there is no evidence that definitively supports Duke’s claim that there were other people living there.”

“All right,” said Betty. The answer wasn’t all that satisfying, but it did go along with what she knew about the trial, and with what Nickel told her in the park. The cop’s words also meant that the idea had been vetted by the detectives as they investigated the case, and that despite what the Free Duke site might say, there was a good reason why the roommate wasn’t investigated further.

“I know you’ve got more than that,” said Van Endel, the warm half smile back. “That sheet looked pretty full.”

“I heard from talking to some people that run a Free Duke website that there was a man in a green jacket seen running from the house. Do you know anything about that?”

“Of course I do,” said Van Endel with a smile. “Whoever you were talking to, they really know their stuff. We did investigate the man described by Duke, but the only man the neighbors saw in a jacket like that was Duke. You compound that with the fact that Duke was very high on heroin when he made his initial statement, and you have a very unreliable witness.”

“Isn’t it possible that no one but Duke saw the other man? That wouldn’t mean he wasn’t there just because there wasn’t a witness around to watch him leave.”

“True,” admitted Van Endel. “The problem is that we never heard anything, even from Duke, about who that man might’ve been, or any other shred of evidence that could lead us to him. Contrast that with the evidence supporting Duke’s involvement: he was covered in blood, high on drugs, and Mandy had been attacked very brutally—” Van Endel stopped himself, looking uncomfortable. “Betty, I’m not sure how bluntly I should speak with you. This is some pretty awful—”

“I’m fine, Detective. Really. I’ve already learned a lot of pretty graphic stuff about this case. I know what I’ve gotten myself into.” Not that Betty was actually sure she did, but even to her ears, she sounded pretty sure of herself.

“OK, then,” said Van Endel, apparently convinced. “Another damning bit of evidence was that Mandy’s face had been covered by her shirt after the attack. Duke removed it before we got there, but the coroner put it all back together. An attack like that, the violence of it and especially the covering of the face, typically indicates that the murderer knew his victim and is ashamed of what he has done. Duke might not feel bad for what happened nowadays, but when he gave his confession he was very remorseful about how he’d let her live during that time, and he remembered very little of what had happened in the house that day.”

“But Duke said later that he only confessed because he was held so long.”

“Duke was held so long because of his toxicology,” said Van Endel. “Those hacks on the Internet are right to think there are a few odd things about this case, but Duke being held wasn’t one of them. He was hospitalized, not stuffed in some room at the back of the police station, and when Phil did speak with him it was for very limited periods of time and under the supervision of a doctor. Duke’s confession was given under those circumstances as well, and it was strong enough evidence to stand up in court. Duke might not like that he all but convicted himself, but he was the one that confessed to that crime.”

“OK,” said Betty, giving a look to the notes. So far all the answers that Van Endel had given her seemed sound. The website had all the conspiracy theories and emotions, but Van Endel had facts, cold and hard ones at that, and Betty wondered how the creators of that site would feel if faced with such evidence. “What kind of timeline do you have on the event?”

“I can’t recall exactly,” said Van Endel. “Truth told, I think old Phil might even have trouble with that part after so many years. What I do know is that Duke went home, did what he did, and eventually called 911. There wasn’t anything out of whack, at least not timewise, and from what I recall, everything happened pretty quickly. To play devil’s advocate, if Duke were innocent then he walked into that home seconds after the attack.”

“Wouldn’t that support his story about walking in just after the man in the green jacket walked away?”

“If there was any other evidence that such a man existed, then absolutely. Unfortunately for Duke, there was no one else that saw him, and in his confession Duke didn’t mention the man again. By the time the trial rolled around, there was no mention of green men at all.” Van Endel caught himself with a chuckle. “Men in green
jackets
, I mean. Not that there was any mention of little green men, either.”

They smiled at each other, but it felt weird to Betty to do even that when they were talking about stuff like this. “So, where was the house?” she asked.

Just like that, his smile was gone. “Why do you want to know?”

“We want to go take some pictures of it,” said Betty, “assuming it’s still standing, of course. Don’t worry, I don’t want to break in or anything. That’s just plain creepy.”

“Fair enough,” said Van Endel. “Sorry for using my cop voice on you, it comes out pretty easily. I’ll get the address tomorrow at work and send it over to your mother.” He shifted in his chair. “But I will be pissed if it’s still standing and you go inside. It was in pretty serious disrepair back then, and I can’t imagine how it must look now.”

“Just pictures, I promise,” said Betty with a smile, and the cop smiled back at her. “I just have a couple more and then I’ll be done. Is that all right?”

“It’s fine,” said Van Endel. “No rush. Barring anything particularly unfortunate happening, I’ve got the rest of the day off, and this beats anything else I might have had planned, even if you are sleuthing around a case I considered solved a long time ago. Still, better you than one of those nuts that think Duke Barnes really is without-a-shred-of-doubt innocent. I can understand doubt, but if you read some of the stuff we’ve had mailed to the station, you’d think Phil all but put a knife in Duke’s hands.”

“Well,” said Betty, “I just don’t want to be annoying.” Van Endel waved a hand as if even the suggestion of such a thing was impossible, and so Betty asked him, “Did Phil ever mention if Mandy had kept a diary?”

“Is this another one of your Internet tips?” Van Endel asked the question with an even tone, but Betty saw a flash of something hard pass over his face.
Not much of a tell, but I bet if he plays poker he has some friends that know that look.

“Yeah,” said Betty. “I was told that Mandy had kept a diary, but that it never appeared anywhere after she died. Did Duke ever mention it?”