Blood Lies (27 page)

Any hope I had of avoiding a media zoo in Seattle was dashed as soon as I walked through the arrival gates at SeaTac Airport. As in Vancouver, the police were present to hold back the blitz of reporters and cameramen. Though Helen offered me an escape route, I decided to stay and make a statement, publicly thanking friends and family for their support and best wishes. I fielded a few questions and then turned to leave when a female reporter called out, “How do you feel now that it’s all over, Dr. Dafoe?”

“It’s not over.” I sought her eyes out in the crowd. “Not even close.”

I trooped away, catching up with Helen in front of the terminal. I got into her waiting car and she drove me home. As we turned onto my street, I was relieved to see that the press had not found my unlisted address. I was happy to arrive home without fanfare.

I dug the extra key out from under my front porch. The smell hit me even before I’d opened the door. Stepping around the piles of mail and newspaper that had accumulated in front of the mail slot, the rotting garbage stench got worse with every step nearer the kitchen. Breathing through my mouth, I pulled the trash bag full of decayed organic waste, including a few dark chicken bones, from under the sink and raced it out back. Even with windows open and air freshener generously sprayed, the stench lingered long afterward.

Ignoring the mail and my voicemail, I surveyed my house. From the rearranged furniture and stacks of paper in the office, I realized that the cops had gone through my house, but aside from the persistent smell, the place was otherwise intact. I checked the garage. Fresh from the shop, my mountain bike hung from my ceiling but the empty hook beside it reminded me of how I had had to abandon my road bike in Woodlawn Park.

I hopped into my Smart Car. I warmed the engine for a minute and then drove to Alex’s house. Her car was in the driveway, but I noted that Marcus’s Mercedes was nowhere to be seen. Though relieved that Marcus wasn’t with Alex, I was almost disappointed to miss a chance to confront him, though the impulse was born from emotion, not reason.

Alex opened the front door. Barefoot in jeans and a pale green T-shirt, her face lit with a demure smile, she didn’t seem the least surprised to see me. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her, squeezing her so tight that a jolt of pain ripped through my chest. She gently wriggled out of my grip. “Careful, Ben. Your chest.”

“Screw my chest. Alex, I’m free!”

Her cheeks flushed with more color and her brown eyes sparkled. “I saw you on the news. It’s amazing, Ben.”

I leaned closer and kissed her on the mouth. Her lips met mine softly, but after a moment, she pulled her face away and stepped back.

“Alex?”

Her gazed drifted from mine. “I’m just a little overwhelmed, you know?”

“Sure.” I mustered a reassuring smile to cover my confusion.

She grabbed me by the hand and pulled me to the kitchen. “Will you have tea with me?”

Cups in hand, we headed into her living room. I sat on the couch. Alex sat down beside me facing sideways, her legs bent at the knees and her bare toes touching my leg.

“Did you ever doubt I’d go free, Alex?”

“I never doubted your innocence.” She swallowed. “But at times I wondered if you were ever going to clear your name.”

“Me, too.” I reached over and touched her foot. “Without your help, I wouldn’t have.”

She sipped her tea without comment.

“Alex, what I went through, when I thought I was going to lose everything…it made me realize what’s most important in my life. And
who
is.”

“Ben, maybe we shouldn’t have this conversation now,” she said without making eye contact.

I let go of her foot and stared into my cup. “Is it Marcus?”

“No. It’s Talie.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“Ben, you should have seen how excited she was last night when we were all together. She told me that she doesn’t want to live in two homes. She doesn’t want to have to spend a week at a time away from her mom or her dad.” Alex’s lip quivered. “It broke my heart to see how she cried when we parted out front of the restaurant. It’s not fair to put her through this.”

“Is it fair to you to do otherwise?” I asked hoarsely.

“I’ve put up with Marcus for ten years. He may be a shitty husband at times, but he’s a good father. And whatever your suspicions are, he’s not a killer, Ben. I know it. The same way I knew it of you.” She reached up and touched me gently on my cheek. “Can I really let my daughter be torn apart for the sake of my happiness?”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just sipped my tea and stared straight ahead.

Alex put the cup down on the coffee table and sat up straighter. She leaned forward until her head touched my shoulder. I heard the sound of her soft sniffles, and I knew she was crying. “Ben, I love you,” she said. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

I turned to look at her. I lifted her chin off my shoulder with a hand. Gazing into those endless brown eyes, I would have done anything for her. Even walk away.

I kissed her on the cheek and let my face linger long enough to drink in her sweet scent. Then I pulled back and stood up from the couch. “I understand, Alex.”

“Really?” She chuckled, wiping her eyes. “Because I don’t.”

She walked me to the door. At the door, she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her warm lips into mine for one long sensual moment. “Everything has happened so quickly. Give me a little time to sort it out, okay?”

“Sounds reasonable.” Though it sounded anything but.

Heavy-hearted, I trudged out to my car. The full moon above me struck me as oddly poignant as I loaded myself into the compact vehicle and pulled out into the street.

While I was stopped at the first four-way intersection, I was still ruminating on recent events when a pwair of bluish-tinted xenon headlights came skidding to a halt behind me. I drove past the intersection with little thought to the car, until it began to tailgate me.

Assuming the car was full of hopped-up teenagers, I pulled to the shoulder of the road to let it pass. The car didn’t pass. It rolled up right behind me and nudged into my bumper with a slight thud.

What the hell?

I looked in the rearview mirror, but I couldn’t make out much in the darkness, except for the shadowy figure of a sole occupant. I turned to look over my shoulder just as the blinding flash of the car’s high beams hit me. Squinting through the brightness, I saw the car reverse a few feet and then fly forward slamming into my bumper with enough force to whip my head toward the steering wheel.

It’s him!

My heart leapt into my mouth. I punched the accelerator, generating an angry whirring noise and screeching the tires into action.

Chest aching and palms sweating, I rocketed down the road as fast as the little car would accelerate. At the bottom of the street, I took a hard left and my car leaned to the right.

Realizing I couldn’t outrun the car behind me, I zipped down side streets, taking as many quick turns as possible. But with each turn, the eerie blue headlights burned in my rearview mirror and lit up the interior of my car.

Temples pounding, I spun onto Thirty-ninth Street and, at the last second, took a right on West Fulton.

For the first time in minutes, I didn’t see the glow of the headlights. My pursuer had missed the turn! My breathing slowed and the anxiety quelled.

Ahead of me, I suddenly saw that the road ended in a cul-de-sac. I slammed on the brakes. I jerked the gearshift into reverse, just as the blue-tinged headlights flooded my car again, boxing me in.

Trapped, I considered hopping out and running, but with broken ribs, I knew I wouldn’t get far.

Frantically, I scanned the inside of my car, looking for anything that might serve as a weapon. Then I remembered the bike chain. I reached behind the passenger seat, groping at the small space until my fingers touched a hard metal link. I grabbed the chain and stuffed as much of it as I could under my right sleeve and before I closed my fist over the remaining links.

The car idled around ten feet behind mine. I knew that he might ram me again at any moment. I suspected his car could crush my tiny Smart Car like a tin can. I took two deep breaths and then reached for the door handle. I stepped out of the car gingerly, dangling my chain-concealing right arm by my side.

For several seconds the black sedan continued to idle with its headlights fixed on me. Then the driver’s door opened slowly. A foot and a leg appeared. Then the man languidly rose from behind the car door. He closed the door and turned to me.

With the headlights in my eyes, I couldn’t make out his face. But as he lifted his arm up, I had no trouble recognizing the long blade in his hand.

My hand tensed involuntarily around the end of the bike chain.

“Ben, I’ve been looking for you,” he said.

I recognized the voice immediately.

“You son of a bitch!” I spat.

“Me?” Marcus took three steps closer, holding the knife up.

I was able to make out his dark features. His upper lip was curled, and his eyes narrowed to slits. “
Me?
” he growled again. “I warned you, didn’t I?”

I stood my ground. “When?”

“At that lame party,” he hissed. “I warned you to stay away from Alex!”

Fury overcame me. Despite the knife in his hand, I stepped toward him.
“Alex?”
I shouted. “This is about Alex?”

“This is about
my
family.” He waved his knife menacingly. “You’re not going to take them away from me. Even if I have to collapse your lungs for good.”

I squeezed the chain so hard that the links dug into the skin of my palm. “You are one sick twisted bastard!” At that moment, I wanted to hurt him in any way possible. “Alex can’t stand you. She has hung in there
only
because of Talie.” I broke into a malicious grin. “She loves me.”

He moved so quickly that I was taken by surprise. Uttering an incoherent scream, he lunged for me. Out of reflex, I dodged to my right. The blade whisked past, ripping my left sleeve above my elbow.

Just as he spun back, I dropped the chain into my hand and swung it as hard as I could, catching him under his left arm. It rapped across his chest with a rattling slap.

He howled and stumbled to his right but held on to the knife. Still yelping, he jabbed the knife wildly at my head but missed by at least six inches. I whipped the chain down on his outstretched arm. The blade clattered to the ground as his arm dropped to his side like a demolition ball.

He fell sideways, yanking the chain out of my hand. While he was still off balance, I drove my shoulder into him, knocking him backward to the ground. Landing on top of him, I felt his elbow dig into my chest. The breathless pain stunned me. I could hear my ribs crackling again. The pain overcame me. I tried to pin Marcus in a hold, but I couldn’t take a single breath.

From the ground, Marcus elbowed me in the side of the head, but all I felt was the fire in my chest. Immobilized by pain, I couldn’t stop Marcus from squirming free. Helplessly, I watched as he rose to his knees.

If I don’t move now, I’m dead
.

Ignoring the pain, I grabbed for the chain beside me. Panting for air, I saw Marcus’s hand pat the ground for the knife. I crawled up to my feet and dove for him. I reached him just as his fingers wrapped around the knife’s handle. I kicked his wrist as hard as I could, sending the blade clacking down the street and out of his reach.

Marcus stood up and spun to face me. I cocked my arm with the chain dangling behind me, ready to slash it across his miserable head. He brought his arms to his face to protect himself. “Don’t, Ben,” he moaned.

“Get on your knees,” I gasped, lightheaded with pain and rage. I raised the chain higher and shook it threateningly.

Marcus dropped to his knees.

“Lie facedown.”

“Ben…,” he pleaded, his face contorted with pain and fear.

“Now.”

He dropped to the ground on his belly.

“Don’t you move a fucking muscle.” I sidestepped his prone body and then backed up to where the knife lay. I knelt down and scooped it up. I swapped hands, so that the knife was in my right and the chain in my left.

I was breathing more easily now, so I knew my lung hadn’t deflated again. But I didn’t care as I stormed back to Marcus, murder on my mind.

“Roll on your back!” I spat, and he did.

Wide-eyed, he gaped at me as I knelt down closer to him. Hand trembling, I brought the blade to his throat. I wondered if I could stop myself from slashing. “You killed Emily because of Alex?”

“
Killed Emily
?” His eyes went even wider. “
What?
”

I pressed the blade firmer, agonizingly tempted to saw through his neck. “Don’t you dare lie to me now,” I barked.

“I always liked Emily,” he blurted. “I didn’t kill her.”

“But you were involved, weren’t you?” I pushed his head back against the ground until it hit with a thud. “Weren’t you?”

“Yes,” he cried. “When I found out you were in Vancouver pretending to be my brother-in-law, I went up to find you. I wanted to lead the cops to you. I wanted you in jail and out of our lives. Forever.”

“And the blood?”

“What blood?”

I heard the wail of sirens as I slammed his head into the ground again. He moaned in response. “Aaron’s blood on Emily’s wall. You preserved it for the killer, didn’t you?”

“No!” His eyes were saucers. “Where would I get your brother’s blood? I never even knew you had a brother.”

I released the tension on the blade. From the panic in his voice and the bewilderment on his face, I knew. Marcus hadn’t killed Emily or Aaron.

Then the police cruiser’s flashing lights swept over us.

The woman in the neighboring house who had alerted 911 witnessed the whole altercation. She verified my story, and I was released within a few minutes of making a statement. I got a glimmer of satisfaction seeing Marcus hauled away in handcuffs.

Though my breathing was fine when I returned home, my chest throbbed as I stepped into my kitchen. I washed down two painkillers with three tall glasses of scotch. Sitting at the table bracing my chest with a hand, my exoneration now struck me as hollow consolation. Alex was unattainable. And I had missed the mark on the killer.

With the scotch and narcotics sloshing in my system, I staggered upstairs and collapsed on top of my bedspread.

I didn’t wake until 9:45 the next morning, when the ringing phone roused me. My mouth tasted like seaweed, my chest ached, and my head pounded with the beginnings of a hangover. I rose carefully from the bed and reached the phone too late to answer it. I recognized the number on the call display as Kyle’s.

I decided to talk to him in person. After a quick shower, I changed and walked out to my car. I stopped to assess the damage Marcus had inflicted. Except for a few deep grooves into the bumper, the resilient little vehicle seemed to be okay. In better shape than I was, I noted glumly.

I found parking a block from Kyle’s apartment complex and buzzed his intercom. When he met me at the doorway to his apartment, I waved off his hug. “My ribs can’t take it this morning.”

Sitting across from him in his living room, I recognized that despite Kyle’s cheeriness he looked even frailer than the last time I saw him. His shirt and jeans hung off him like he was a coat hanger. And he had a new crop of blisters encircling his right eye, which was red and slightly weepy.

“Kyle, are you okay?”

He studied me with an amused grin. “Ben, I haven’t been okay since the day I was diagnosed with leukemia. But that last chest infection really knocked the stuffing out of me. Good news is, I’m on the mend again.” He dismissed his health concerns with a wave of his hand. “Let’s face it. After the crap I’ve pulled in my day, I’m more than lucky to be here at all. All in all, I got it pretty good.”

I shook my head with genuine admiration. “I don’t know how you stay so upbeat.”

“I know it turns your stomach to hear this, Ben, but faith can be just as uplifting as a line of coke or a hit of Ecstasy.” He winked, as if sensing my hangover. “And believe me, you feel better the next morning, too.”

“Hallelujah.” I smiled and rubbed my temples.

Kyle leaned forward in his seat. “Marcus Lindquist didn’t kill them, huh?”

“No, but he came to close to killing me.” I went on to tell him about our fight.

When I’d finished, Kyle whistled. “Man, Ben, you bring new meaning to the term ‘going through the wringer.’”

“Not by choice.”

“We’ve basically ruled out Philip Maglio, Marcus Lindquist, and you. Who does that leave?”

“Well, there’s your buddy, Drew Isaacs.” I shook my head. “And of course, Rick Sutcliffe.”

“Rick Sutcliffe,” Kyle echoed softly. “With all his expensive suits.”

“Maybe one or both of them are involved, but I somehow get the feeling they’re just the supporting cast, you know?”

Kyle pouted his lower lip as if to indicate “maybe, maybe not.” Then he pointed at my left arm. “You’re bleeding, Ben.”

I looked down at my arm. Over the bicep, where Marcus had slashed my shirt, the scrape had opened and I was bleeding through my long-sleeved shirt. I hopped to my feet. “Do you have any Band-Aids?”

Kyle idly pointed to the bathroom behind him.

Inside the bathroom, I took off my shirt trying not to spread the blood. The cut from Marcus’s blade had spontaneously opened and the far edge beaded with fresh blood.

Blood
. It had caused me no end of grief.

I wet some toilet paper and dabbed at the edge of the cut, applying pressure for a minute without stemming the trickle. I opened up Kyle’s medicine cabinet and dug around for the Band-Aids. I couldn’t find them on the first two shelves, but on the third shelf I came across a series of prescription bottles.

Intrigued, I pulled down the bottles and read the labels. The first was cyclosporin, a drug used on organ transplant recipients to prevent rejection. In Kyle’s case, it was his new bone marrow (borrowed from a live donor) that the cyclosporin was preventing his own immune system from attacking. The next pill bottle was cefuroxime, a potent antibiotic that I assumed he was using for his lung infection. The final bottle was nelfinavir. I did a double take as I read the label a second time. Nelfinavir is an antiviral drug used exclusively for treating HIV.

Kyle is HIV-positive
?

I had no idea, but it made so much sense considering his drug-use history, recurrent infections, and declining health.

I looked down at my arm. The blood continued to trickle.

A dark thought hit me.

I went cold.