Delirious (48 page)

With that Eddie turned. And he jumped.

T
he last time Charlie had been in Chaps Sports Bar in Kenmore Square, he was meeting his friend Randal. He was meeting Randal again, although this time under much different circumstances.

Randal was hunkered over his little slice of the bar, clutching a freshly poured Guinness stout. He spied Charlie and waved.

The crutches would be with Charlie another few weeks at most, his doctors predicted. Having grown tired of his other walking buddies, Monte was perhaps even more disappointed than Charlie about his temporary handicap. Even with the weeks that he’d been on them, he still hadn’t mastered the extra agility and strength the crutches required. It was even harder with his prized Gibson ES-175 slung over his shoulder, making his entrance into Chaps even more graceless than usual and drawing the attention of the other patrons. He wondered when his face would no longer be associated with one of the most spectacular and sensational crimes in the area’s history. Three men from SoluCent had been murdered, and even though Charlie had been cleared of the crimes, his name would forever be linked to them. In a way, Eddie’s prophecy was proving true.

Joe’s case was more complex than Charlie’s. DNA had linked his brother to three murders. It would be up to the testimony of countless experts to win his exoneration.

Charlie had posted his brother’s million-dollar bond and secured him a topflight team of attorneys. They’d told him that Rachel’s firsthand account of the events, plus the evidence the FBI’s cybercrime unit had taken from Eddie’s warehouse apartment, should be enough to win Joe’s freedom.

Charlie waved to Randal. By now he was aware he would be watched by the curious. He had yet to find a way to ignore the unwanted attention. He wondered when their stares would stop and their whispers would end. It couldn’t happen soon enough.

“Bartender,” Randal called out as Charlie hoisted himself onto the stool beside his friend. “A Guinness and a whiskey. Jack straight?” Randal asked Charlie.

Charlie nodded. “You look good,” he said.

The bartender poured two whiskeys. Charlie downed his and dropped his shot glass for another. The bartender poured and mumbled something under his breath.

“You got a problem?” Randal scowled.

“No, man. No problem.” The bartender moved to the other side of the bar.

“I’m used to it,” Charlie said, brushing the moment aside with a wave of his hand.

“Well, I’m not.”

“It’ll pass,” Charlie assured him. “People are still a bit freaked out about what happened. When your picture is splashed all over the news and your name is linked to such an infamous crime, people tend to gawk, even at the innocent.”

Randal shook his head in disgust. “So, when are you going to tell me what really happened on that roof?”

“The guy jumped. End of story.”

“Yeah,” Randal said. “He jumped. And Rachel?”

“We’re … dating,” Charlie said.

“Dating?”

“Well, neither of us wants an artificial closeness. Traumatic events can do that. So we’re taking it slow. Seeing where it goes.”

“I see. And what about your mom?”

“They’re calling it the miracle awakening. She came out of the coma after I got Joe out of Bridgewater. The miracle seekers are saying she stayed in a coma until the worst had passed. God gave her a blessed out so that she didn’t have to bear witness. Crazy, huh?”

“I’ve heard crazier. Like random jumpers,” Randal said. “That’s good news about your mom. Miracle or not.”

“Joe’s been at her bedside ever since I posted his bond,” Charlie said.

“I can’t believe the D.A. is taking him to trial,” Randal said.

“Joe is as innocent as I am. It was Eddie who killed those men.”

Randal nodded. “Let’s focus on getting the jury to agree as well. So what’s with the ax?” Randal asked, pointing to Charlie’s guitar, propped up against an empty bar stool.

“Oh, I got a gig tonight,” Charlie said.

“Live? I thought you didn’t play live,” Randal said.

“I don’t,” Charlie replied. “But this drummer I know just loves my playing. Says that I’m masterful with the solo. Can you believe that? Me a soloist? It’s a rock gig, not jazz, but still, it’s hard to turn down a gig when somebody is that complimentary.”

“Yeah? Where’s the gig?”

“Well, it’s sort of a benefit concert for Walderman Hospital. Rachel’s going.”

“And Joe?”

“Joe?” Charlie smiled. “Well, actually Joe’s the drummer.”

Their drinks arrived. Randal hoisted his for a toast.

“To the drummer, then,” Randal said. “For somehow managing to get you out of your shell and onto the stage. You’re a great player. You should be heard.”

“Joe heard me. To Joe,” Charlie said as he lifted his drink.

Years ago, I wrote a short story and my father-in-law, Stephen, asked if he could read it aloud. Hearing somebody else read my words gave me an “ah-ha” moment. “That sounds like a real story,” I said to him. “I think I’m going to become a fiction writer.” I was a dot-commer at the time, living in New York City, and the bubble that kept me employed had just popped. I told my wife the good news. “Great,” she said. And from that moment on she supported my every effort and never stopped believing in me. My love and gratitude are beyond measure.

I have many others to thank for their patience, encouragement, critiques, and expertise. I want to thank my mom for reading and rereading these words. Her thoughtful feedback was an incalculable help. I want to thank my father, who encouraged me to coauthor a short story with him, and introduced me to a wonderful community of thriller writers. Thanks to him I no longer look out an office window and wish that I were working at something else.

A debt is owed to my Uncle David, whose Infiniti G3 inspired me to invent InVision. Without his expertise in neurology this story would never have been. I am equally grateful to Susan Parks and Dr. Joel Solomon. Their insights into mental health treatments and facilities gave me the confidence to tell Joe’s story.

Clair “Answer Girl” Lamb helped me shape the story and best-selling author, Joe Finder has been part friend and part mentor to me, and always a power of example of how to do it right. Priscilla Gilman put a sun’s worth of energy into this project and was a big reason I finished the book. My in-laws, Marjorie and Stephen, played a significant part in encouraging my creativity. Richard, Matthew, Ethan, and Luke, offered sound advice along the way. My friends, Phillip Redman and Peter Karlson, provided invaluable technical support.

A special thanks goes out to my agent, Meg Ruley, from the Jane Rotrosen Agency, for saying those four incredible words that every
author begs to hear: “I liked your book.” To Peggy, who said, “I could,” despite those who said, “I could not.” And to Jane, who has done so much for my family over the years that she’s become family to us. The enthusiasm shown to me by the publishing team at Kensington, especially that of John, Laurie, Walter, and Steven, is matched only by my enthusiasm for them.

And lastly, I want to acknowledge my children, Benjamin and Sophie, who remind me daily that life’s simple joys are the sweetest joys of all.