Lie in Wait (24 page)

 

Chapter 57

T
HAT EVENING,
T
ES
T,
who'd not been called away, enjoyed her family. The pizza she'd brought home the previous night had been left on the counter uneaten and gone bad. So they made custom, individual pizzas, George keeping his toppings simple and organized: three pieces of pepperoni on each slice. Elizabeth added the works: pepperoni, mushrooms, onions, sausage, and left-­over mac and cheese. Test was in a mood to let things go, appreciate the chaos, pile the dishes in the sink and leave them for morning. A morning during which she intended to wake up late, make covert love to Claude, and lounge around in her bathrobe.

She skipped the kids' baths and she and Claude helped make a pillow fort on the bed for the kids before they all snuggled in to watch
Ratatouille
.

Elizabeth complained her tummy ached from her pizza, and Test welcomed her snuggling right up to her, so toasty warm.

Test hadn't thought the kids would last for the entire movie, but they had. And it was after 10:00 when they finally shuffled off to bed.

With the kids down, Test rested her head on Claude's chest and ran her hand over his thigh.

The house was so quiet. Too quiet. For eleven years, Charlie had slept on the bed; first Test's bed in her studio apartment, and then her and Claude's bed, in their first shared apartment in Keene, before the kids, and then here. Charlie would moan and groan and nudge and crowd. Whine to go out to pee. After the kids, he had at times been a hassle, one more responsibility for which Test sometimes was just too fried to want to deal with, especially at night. Now, tonight, she missed all of it.

And she wondered: Even if Brad died, even if he'd committed suicide because he was guilty, whoever had killed Charlie was out there still.

Claude played with her hair, rested his chin on the top her head.

“Want to try?” he said and lifted her chin in his fingers to look at her.

“More than ever.”

 

Chapter 58

A
T 10:00 A.M.
sharp, Detective North visited Brad Jenkins. Or, to be more precise, North stood beside Brad Jenkins's bed and asked questions that went unanswered. Not because Brad was resistant, but because he seemed quite unable to process what North was saying. He'd stare at North with clear eyes that seemed focused and alert. He'd nod as North spoke. But when North finished, he'd squint and tilt his head to the side and not say anything. He did not answer when North asked if he'd like to make a confession, nor when North asked if he'd done what he'd done out of guilt or fear. He simply stared, tilted his head. Like a dumb bird.

Or a smart fox.

The doctor had told North he'd give him fifteen minutes, and if any episode arose, for North to immediately notify a nurse by pressing the red button above the bed. North had expected there to be a network of tubes and monitors and machines hooked up to Brad, but there was no such circus of contraptions, other than an IV to keep Brad hydrated and his vital monitored.

The sun coming through the south-­facing window above Brad's bed washed out the colors of the room and made it pulse with a heat that made North sweat.

Afterward, North asked the if Brad could be faking. The doctor seemed offended.

“Faking what?”

“His lack of processing my questions.”

“He's lucky he's alive, let alone conscious. You're lucky I gave you fifteen minutes.”

As North was leaving, he encountered Victor Jenkins surging down the hall at him.

By the earnest body language and facial expression on Jenkins, North expected to be accosted by the man, and prepared to rebuff him. Instead, Jenkins smiled. It was a smile with more than a touch of the wearied lunatic in it, but it was a smile nonetheless.

“You see,” Jenkins said, his eyes bright with the mania of the sleepless. “You see now he's innocent. He'd never do this if he wasn't so scared,” Jenkins said, grabbing North's arm.

North took his arm from the man's grasp and walked away.

“I've got something to share that will prove my boy did not do this!” Jenkins shouted.

The doctor came over and said, “Sir. I understand you're upset, but we can't have you shouting.”

“I have proof!” Jenkins shouted at North's back. “Someone else did this. I know the motive! Get ready to release my boy!”

N
ORTH DEPARTED THE
hospital thinking about what the doctor had said. Brad was lucky to be alive. Lucky to be in such good shape, considering. North wondered why a soul like Brad Jenkins should benefit from even a morsel of luck. And, despite the doctor's adamancy, North could not help but feel Brad was playing North, and the doctor was being duped. Was Brad smart enough to know that if he were mentally incapacitated he'd not stand trial, and would be relegated to a relatively cushy environment compared to that of a maximum-­security prison? Could Brad put up such a ruse? Could he fake mental illness so convincingly, even if it meant escape from such an existence? And for how long could he fake it, if he was faking it?

In two days
North got his answers, when he was alerted by the doctor, with a certain satisfaction in the doctor's voice, that Brad was “quite lucid now” and could “invite questions and answer them. Provided you go easy.”

In that next interview, Brad proved his old self, claiming innocence, insisting his lawyer be present, demanding bail.

When North asked why he'd tried to kill himself if he was innocent, Brad had spat in North's face and said: “Fuck you.”

North could not have been more pleased.

 

Chapter 59

S
NOW HAD FALLEN
overnight and blanketed the world anew in white, gracing the hills and fields around Test's home with a pastoral calm. The sun sparkled off the snow, dazzling and idyllic. The whole scene put Test and her family in a festive mood. This was the first real, deep fluffy snow, not the heavy wet sticky stuff that had fallen the other night.

Test, Claude, and the kids trudged through the snowy fields to get to the steepest hill on their five acres. It had become a tradition for the family to go sledding together after the first real snowfall.

This year, George was charged for the first time with dragging the toboggan, a beastly but beautiful sled of dark wood and red cushions. He worked arduously, panting, but refused all help. He was especially proud of and enthused about this responsibility.

At the top of the hill, Test and her family stood for a moment and took in their surroundings. This was the life Test had imagined for herself and Claude when they'd bought the property. And here that life was now, being lived. Only a third child would make this moment more perfect. She'd know in a few days if their date night had taken. Making love with the intent to conceive was a different venture from making love on other occasions. It was more meaningful, urgent and intimate, even while it might feel perfunctory.
I'm peaking, let's go
. Whether either of them was in the right space, they dropped everything to capitalize on timing. Then came the period of days when the promise of whether or not “it took” hung over her.

“I'm riding in front!” George exclaimed as he readied the toboggan at the precipice of the steep hill.

“You sit between Mommy and Daddy,” Test said to Elizabeth and straightened her daughter's hat to cover her ears. Elizabeth's cheeks were so pink, Test could not help but give them a pinch.

As Test and Claude were about to board the sled, Test's cell phone rang in her pocket. Each member of her family turned to her.

While Test and Claude brought their phones to take pics and videos, ringers were to be kept off during such family excursions. “Sorry,” Test said. “Didn't know I had it on.” It was the truth, even though is sounded like a lie.

Claude knew she'd been awaiting word of Brad. He was presumably being transported back to prison today, and North believed he had him on the edge of confession.

Test's phone ID showed it was Larkin.

“Let's go!” George said, pushing the palm of his mitten against his runny nose.

“I'll just be a second.” Test answered the phone.

“I got the background you wanted,” Larkin said.

“Background?” Test said. She had no idea what he was talking about.

“You said it was no rush? The BG on the vandalism,” Larkin clarified.

“Right,” Test said, “right.” The information on Randy Clark, who'd called the Merryfields from the old lady's place.

“Do you still need the information?” Larkin said.

“Go ahead,” Test said. She didn't need it, but Larkin had done the work and she did not want him to feel it had been done for nothing. She knew how that felt.

“He lived in Haverhill, New Hampshire. A rental property. Clean record. Single. Never married. No kids. Worked for Help Hand part-­time.”

“Any other jobs?”

Test's family had boarded the toboggan and were eyeing her expectantly.

“Not that I've come up with,” Larkin said.

“He
lived
there? Not anymore?” Test said.

“Till about three months ago. No new address since, that I could find. Doesn't mean much. He could be paying cash to stay somewhere. Or living in a motel. Crashing at a friend's place. Who knows? If you don't own a home, it's harder to track residence. He doesn't work for Helping Hand anymore though.”

“Was he fired?” Test asked.

George was starting to shimmy at the front of the toboggan, the curled nose of the giant sled beginning to edge over the lip of the hill.

“He quit,” Larkin said. “I spoke to his supervisor. She said he was diligent and caring, punctual and trustworthy.”

There was a pause and Test was eager to get to her family, so took advantage of the break. “Well, great, thanks. I appreciate it, I—­”

“There is one kicker,” Larkin said.

George was now pushing the sled forward with his mittened hands.

The toboggan rocked on the edge of the hill.

“Come on, Mom!” Elizabeth shouted.

Claude widened his eyes:
Hang up
.

“Tell me,” Test said, a warmth rising in her chest.

“His hometown is here. Canaan. His family moved away in nineteen eighty-­five, when he was eight.”

Test felt as if she had the wind knocked out of her. The toboggan rocked at its tipping point.

“Hold up!” Test implored her family, “Wait for me!”

Randy Clark had lived in Canaan? This had to mean something. It had to. But what? Her mind was working now, backfilling all she knew.

“Why did they move?” she said.

“Hurry!” Claude shouted.

“I haven't got that far,” Larkin said. “His old man was a professor of some sort. They may have moved for a job. Not certain yet.”

“Keep on it.”

“I will, Detective. What's this really about anyway?”

Test didn't answer. She got off the phone, mystified. What did this mean? She did not believe in coincidences of this magnitude. Whatever the connection, she felt invigorated; but apprehensive, too. This might open the case in unknown directions, although it was as yet difficult to envision how, let alone understand. She knew one thing: North would never entertain it. She was on her own. If she pursued this and was wrong, her career was over.

The sled was starting to go.

“Wait!” she shouted, “Wait!”

She ran after the sled to try to hop on it.

But she missed it, and her family was carried screaming down the hill away from her.

 

Chapter 60

A
T HOME, WHILE
the kids and Claude drank hot chocolate, Test sat at the kitchen table and browsed her notes from the night of the murder to see if anything regarding Haverhill, New Hampshire, or a Randy Clark meant anything.

She found nothing. But the quote from Bethany Merryfield that had given Test pause before she'd learned of Brad's suicide attempt gave Test pause again. Jon had been in the restroom for quite a few minutes. Maybe close to twenty. But there'd been no need to look into it.

On her laptop, Test brought up a Google Earth map of Canaan. Zoomed in. The detail of the satellite images never ceased to astound and disturb her.

She zoomed in closer, looked again at the quote she'd written from Bethany Merryfield.

Looked at the Google Earth map.

“There may be a need now,” she said. Even if to eliminate him. Merryfield, technically not having an alibi for an undetermined period of time, had not been officially eliminated. But how did it all fit? Who was this man in Haverhill, New Hampshire, who'd lived in Canaan as a boy? How was he linked?
Was
he linked?

“What'd you say, Mommy?” Elizabeth said as she sat beside Test at the table slurping at her hot chocolate and scooping out mini marshmallows from her mug with her fingers.

“She's talking to herself again,” George said.

“How would you guys like a super duper surprise for tonight?” Test said.

Claude eyed her suspiciously.

“What if we went to the real movies at the Village Picture Show, to see
Tangled
?”

Elizabeth beamed, but George scowled. “Where are you going?” he said.

“It won't be for long,” Test said, gathering up her notebook and pen.

“Whatever,” George said.

“You can't leave,” Elizabeth moaned.

“When I get back, we'll go. And, maybe, tomorrow,” Test said, feeling manipulative and petty, “we can see about a puppy.”

Claude gave her a damning look.

“I don't want a puppy!” Elizabeth said.

Test cringed.

“I'd like a puppy,” George said. “I think Charlie would want us to have one.”

“I'm sorry,” Test said to Claude as she rose. “There's a break in the case.”

“What case?” Claude said.

“Jessica Cumber's murder.”

“He finally confessed?”

“Not quite.” Before Claude could press her, she was out the door.