Guilty (19 page)

Half of everything you had thanks to Mom, I thought.

“So you're telling me that Lila's dad came to the house because Tracie was going to pay him to help her blackmail you? Is that what you're saying, Dad?”

My dad glances at Lila. He nods.

“Even though he had nothing to do with killing Mom?”

“What are you talking about, Finn? The man confessed,” my dad says.

“He didn't do it, Dad. He couldn't have done it. I know it, and Lila knows it. And I bet he knew it too. Isn't that right, Dad? Isn't that why he wanted to talk to you?”

“I don't know where you got that idea, Finn. I just told you—”

“He came to the house and he asked for you. Not Tracie. You. You know what I think, Dad? I think he figured out what happened. I think he came to the house to tell you that. Maybe he was threatening to go to the police. Or maybe he just wanted money. And you know what else I think?”

He didn't answer.

“I think you used the opportunity to get rid of them both. You had the gun that you used to kill Mom. You lunged at him and made it look like he killed Tracie.”

“You think I killed Tracie? Why would I do that?”

“Because she knew about the secret door in your office. She knew you killed Mom. Maybe she was blackmailing you, but if she was, it was because she found out what you did. She had proof. So you killed her, and then you killed Lila's dad. With them both dead, you were in the clear. That's the way you had it figured, right, Dad?”

“No. No, that's not what happened. I told you. It was Tracie. I think she wanted him to kill me. He pulled that gun, and I struggled with him. That's when it went off and killed Tracie.” He breaks off for a moment, overcome by emotion, although I can't say which one. “I'm sorry, Finn. I had no idea it was her. I didn't even suspect until she told me she wanted a divorce.”

“If that's what really happened, why didn't you tell all that to the cops?” I ask.

“Because I wanted to put it behind me. I wanted to put it behind
us
, Finn. Tracie got what she deserved. It was over. I didn't want to dredge up everything that happened ten years ago. I didn't want to put you through that. And I guess I didn't want you to think less of me—if I'd been smarter ten years ago, I never would have got involved with Tracie, and maybe none of this would have happened.”

I glance at Lila. She's glowering at my dad. She doesn't believe a word he's saying.

“Call the cops,” I tell her.

“But Finn, son…” my dad says.

“If you didn't do anything wrong, Dad, then you have nothing to worry about,” I tell him. “But you have to tell the cops what you just told me.”

“What's done is done, son. No matter what happens now, your mother is never going to come back.”

“Make the call,” I say again. This time I shout the words at her.

She lifts the phone.

My dad hurls himself across the room at her.

The gun goes off.

My dad falls to the floor.

I stare at the gun in my hand.

I hear Lila talking into the phone. She's giving her address. She's saying, “Someone has been shot.”

Thirty-Two

LILA

F
inn is standing in my living room, staring at his father. A gun hangs limply in his hand. After I finish my call, I put the phone down and go to his father. I press two fingers to the side of his neck to feel his pulse.

“He's alive,” I say.

His father groans.

“There are a couple of clean towels in a box on the kitchen table. Get them,” I say.

Finn doesn't move.

“Go,” I tell him. “We have to stop the bleeding.”

He walks slowly from the room, the gun still hanging from his right hand. I'm not sure where he's going, but a moment later he is back with the clean dish towels in his hand. He gives them to me. I fold them into a thick pad and press it down hard on Robert Newsome's chest. Finn stands off to one side, watching. He doesn't say a word.

Pretty soon I hear an ambulance siren. I hear car doors open and slam shut. Then silence. Then more car doors. Someone calls into the house:

“Police. We're coming in.”

I glance at Finn, who is still holding the gun.

“Put it down,” I say.

But too late. Cops appear in Kevlar vests and what looks like full assault gear. They see the gun in Finn's hand and start yelling at him to put it down and to get down on his knees with his hands clasped behind his head. I try to tell them that he's not the one, but all they see is the gun. Who can blame them? They have no idea what went on here. For all they know, Finn could be dangerous.

Finn doesn't move. The cops are all pointing their guns at him. Their faces are tense.

“Finn,” I say quietly. “It's over. Put it down.”

He blinks. He turns and looks at me. He looks down at the gun in his hand. Then, as if for the first time, he sees the cops. Slowly he raises one hand over his head. He bends slowly at the knees and lays the gun on the floor. He raises his other hand. The cops yell at him again to get down on his knees and clasp his hands behind his head. He obeys, and they swarm toward him and handcuff him. Someone calls “All clear,” and the paramedics arrive. They ask me what happened. I tell them, and they take over.

The cops are all over me too, checking to make sure I don't have a gun, asking me for my name. I tell them I want to talk to Detective Sanders, Homicide. They look surprised, but someone relays the message. The next thing I know, they are taking me into the kitchen and telling me to sit down at the table. One of them starts asking me questions. He wants to know who the victim is, who the shooter is, what happened. After the paramedics stabilize Finn's father, one of the cops gets one of them to look at my wrists. The paramedic puts antiseptic on them and bandages them. He tells me to have a doctor look at them.

It isn't long before Detective Sanders and her partner arrive. I watch her face while she is briefed by one of the first cops on the scene. I see the intensity in her eyes as she takes in the scene around her. She comes toward me, looking for a moment at the bandages on my wrists. The very first thing she says is, “Are you okay, Lila?” I nod.

“Where's Finn?” I ask.

“They took him in. Lila, I need you to tell me what happened.”

I start talking, beginning with waking up and seeing a stranger with a gun in my house. I tell her that he took my things and put them outside, in a car, I think. She nods. I tell her about Finn showing up and what happened after that. Then I'm looping back to my first meeting with Finn and then back again to Dodo and, before that, Peter Struthers.

I seem to talk forever. She listens without interrupting. Only when I finally stop does she begin her questions. She wants me to tell her some things again. She wants more information about other things. She starts writing things down. Finally she says, “We should get your wrists looked at. Then I'll need you to give a formal statement. Okay?”

Detective Sanders takes me to the hospital, where a doctor eventually looks at my wrists and tells me there may be scars. I don't care.

Then I make my statement.

When I've finished, someone whispers something in Detective Sanders's ear.

“Your aunt is on her way here,” she says. “We're going to get you a room somewhere until she gets here. If you want someone to stay with you, we can do that too.”

I tell her I'll be fine.

“What about Finn?” I say. “Where is he?”

“He's outside.”

“Is he under arrest?”

She shakes her head.

“Can I see him?”

She shows me where he's sitting, which is exactly where he was sitting the first time I saw him, when I had no idea who he was. I drop down into the chair next to his. He doesn't even look at me.

“I heard your dad's going to be okay,” I say after a few moments.

He is silent. I think maybe he doesn't want to talk to me. I think maybe he blames me for everything that's happened.

Then he speaks.

“He killed my mom.”

I decide to wait.

“She had just inherited a lot of money from her father. A
lot
,” he says. “He didn't want to let all that money slip away from him. It's probably why he married her in the first place.”

What can I say to that?

“He got away with killing her because of me,” he says. “Because I was right there with him the whole time. He knew she was already dead before we even left the club that night. He killed her. But he took me home and let me go upstairs alone.” He turns his head, and I see tears. “He let me go upstairs even though he knew she was up there. He let me find her.”

I want to touch him. I want to hold his hand, but I don't dare.

“He used me. And he used your dad. He hired your dad even though he knew all about his problems. He told me Matthew hired him, but he didn't. My dad hired your dad so that he could use him. He used him twice. He framed him for my mom's murder. Then he got him to come to the house, and he made it look like he killed Tracie.”

And then he killed my dad, I think. But I don't say it.

“Tracie found out what he'd done. She found an old bill for some work he'd had done at the club. She found out what it was for. He'd had a secret door put in so he could get out of his office that night to kill my mother. My dad was telling the truth about at least a part of it—Tracie was using that bill as leverage to get a good settlement from my dad. She really did want half of everything. And for that, he wanted to get rid of her. That's why your father came to the house that night. My dad told me that your father called him. He did, too. But it wasn't his idea to come to our house. That was my dad's idea. My dad told your dad to meet him at the house. He set it all up. And I was his witness—again.”

“He had no way of knowing you would see,” I say softly.

Finn's eyes are hard. “Maybe. But he knows me pretty well. He knew I was up in my room. He knew I'd probably be on my computer. I told him I didn't have any plans. He knew what I could see from my window. He knew—”

I hear footsteps. A male voice says, “Finn?”

Finn turns.

“Finn, are you okay?” the man says.

Finn just stares at him, shell-shocked.

Detective Sanders appears.

“Mr. Goodis?” she says.

The man nods.

“May I speak with you for a moment?”

She takes Mr. Goodis inside. Finn stares straight ahead. He stays that way until Mr. Goodis comes back with Detective Sanders.

“Come on, Finn,” he says.

Detective Sanders checks me into a decent motel. She asks me if I'm sure I don't want someone to stay with me. She offers to stay herself. I say no. She leaves me her card and tells me to call if I need anything. Anything at all.

I sit in a chair inside the room and stare out the window until someone knocks on the door, and Aunt Jenny says, “Lila?”

I open the door, fall into her arms and cry. We stand like that for a long time. Aunt Jenny cries too. She listens to everything I say and tells me she's sorry. She says it over and over again. “Lila, I'm so sorry.”

Thirty-Three

LILA

A
unt Jenny and I do one last sweep of the room. She wants to make sure that we don't leave anything behind, even though we were only there one night and neither of us has much to lose. I have my duffel bag and my backpack, brought from the flat by Detective Sanders. I also have my father's notebooks and Detective Sanders's card. I know, because I asked, that Robert Newsome will be okay and that he's been charged with three counts of first-degree murder—so far. Detective Sanders says they're looking into what happened to Edward Alonzo.

“Who?” I say.

“He also went by the name Dodo.”

I ask about Finn and am told that he is staying with Matthew Goodis, manager of The Siren and the person designated by his mother to be his guardian if anything should happen to both his parents.

Part of me wants to call him or see him before I leave. But the other part, the larger part, resists. I don't want to cause him any more pain. I've already turned his life upside down. If he wants to see me or talk to me, okay. Otherwise…

I keep hoping he'll show up at the motel. When we go downstairs with our things, I hope he might be in the lobby.

He isn't.

When we go outside to get a taxi to the train station, I hope he might be out there, waiting.

He isn't.

The taxi driver puts all of our things into the trunk.

“Come on, Lila,” Aunt Jenny says.

I'm about to get into the cab when a car pulls up. I wait, still hoping. But it isn't Finn. It's Matthew Goodis. He nods when he sees me and gives me an envelope.

“Is he okay?” I ask.

Matthew Goodis is direct. “Not really. Not now,” he says. “It's going to take time. But he's faced a lot before and came through it.”