Lisa Miscione - Twice

She thought then of Julian Ross, about the image in her drawing of the naked woman sprawled in the darkness.

“Julian Ross has been stripped bare,” she said, turning to look at Jeffrey, who had his eyes on the road. “She’s nothing but a ghost of herself, her life in shambles.”

“Yeah…”

“So maybe it’s not about the money, or about the curse, or even about hatred and revenge. Maybe someone just wants to destroy Julian’s life,” she said, shifting forward in her seat.

“But why?”

“Because when you’ve lost everything, what do you become?”

Jeffrey shrugged.

“Whatever you have to be to survive,” Lydia said.

“So who hates her that much?”

“I think the better question is: Who loves her that much?”

“Let me guess where you’re going with this,” said Jeff.

“James Ross is alive.”

He paused a second. “I thought we were looking at Maura and Annabelle.”

“They might be a part of it. But look at who is the real victim here. It’s Julian. She’s the one who’s lost everything. Her husband, her mother, her children, her sanity. Maura and Annabelle hated Eleanor enough to kill her. But did they hate Julian enough to wreak such havoc on her life? It had to be someone else, someone intimate to Julian. And I think that’s James Ross.”

“Did you forget that we have a death certificate on him?”

“None of this makes sense without him.”

He released a sigh at her stubbornness.

“What about the DNA evidence?” she said.

“The DNA evidence only proves that someone who was at the scene of the Tad Jenson murder was also in the basement of the Ross home.”

“And how many candidates do you think there are for that?”

Jeffrey considered the question for a minute, then shrugged. “The police chief, the hospital records, and Eleanor, even the librarian, all say James Ross is dead.”

“But the man who signed his death certificate, Dr. Wetterau, he could have told us that when we were in his office. But he didn’t. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Jeffrey admitted.

“Well, I think we’d better find out. Because when we find James Ross, we’re going to find Ford and the twins.”

In an investigation, Lydia noticed, no one was ever as friendly or cooperative on your second visit. And even though they’d visited him for a completely different reason the first time, Dr. Wetterau looked like he’d seen a vision of the Headless Horseman himself when he entered his waiting room to find Lydia looking over Jeffrey’s shoulder as he flipped through the December issue of Cosmopolitan .

“What are you doing here?” he asked. He looked over at the door that led to the outside. “Wasn’t that door locked?”

“Not well,” said Jeffrey pleasantly.

“I’m calling the police,” he said, reaching for the phone that stood on the reception desk.

“No need,” said Lydia, standing. “I’ve already called them.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you falsified a death certificate for James Ross when you knew full well that he’s alive. And I want to know why. I doubted you’d tell me, so I figured I’d see if the police have any luck when they take you in for questioning regarding the murder of Eleanor Ross and the disappearance of her grandchildren.”

Jeffrey had always admired that Lydia could lie with such complete self-righteousness.

“That’s ridiculous,” said the doctor, who suddenly seemed to need the doorjamb for support. “I’ve done no such thing.”

“Then explain how I was attacked by James Ross just a week ago when I have this document,” she said, pulling a copy of James Ross’s death certificate from the pocket of her coat. “With your signature on it.”

“You can’t prove that the man who attacked you was James Ross.”

“I have the DNA evidence to prove it. I recovered a candy wrapper from the basement with his saliva all over it.”

This half lie hit the doctor right between the eyes. He caved like a good man who’d done a wrong thing and worried every day since that it might catch up with him. What Lydia said was nothing less than his worst fears realized.

“Oh, Christ,” said the doctor, his giant shoulders sagging as he put his head to his hand.

“Now tell me what you know and you just might keep your medical license.”

The lighting in his office was dim and the room smelled of bandages and antiseptic. He leaned on the edge of his desk, which was covered with files, pictures of people she assumed were his kids and grandkids. Predictably, there was the Norman Rockwell print that every doctor has hanging on the dark-paneled wall of his office. His computer screen saver had turned on and a galaxy sped past.

“Eleanor Ross wanted her son declared dead,” he said, sitting down in one of the chairs across from Lydia and Jeffrey.

“Why?” asked Lydia.

“Because there were funds and properties held in trust for him that she couldn’t touch until he’d been declared dead.”

“Did she have money problems?”

“Not really. More than the money I think it was a matter of her wanting to put the past behind them. And also because of Julian.”

“What about Julian?”

“She dreaded him. He was her worst nightmare. Her fear of him led her to periods of deep depression. And Eleanor believed that if she thought he was dead, it might alleviate some of her suffering.”

“So how did it work out?”

“A drifter hung himself in the Ross home last year and there was suspicion that it was James Ross; he was about the same size and build. The body was so decayed as to be unidentifiable. Eleanor was informed and she came to me with her request.”

“And why would you oblige?”

The doctor shrugged and gave a sad shake of his head.

“She offered to pay you?”

“It wasn’t just the money. I wanted to give some peace to an old…”

“Flame?”

“Friend,” he said, glancing toward the door that led to his house. “And I thought, if it helped Julian, more the better. She’d suffered so much.”

“Part mercenary, part altruist. You’re a complex man, Doctor,” said Lydia.

“When Richard Stratton was murdered, did you think about coming clean?” asked Jeffrey.

“I thought about it. But that’s why Eleanor hired you.”

“What?”

“She and I agreed that if the evidence indicated that James was still alive and responsible for Richard’s murder, we’d come clean about what we did. Hopefully, you or the police would catch him and put him away for good. And we’d bear the consequences of our actions.”

“But when we came to you the first time, you could have lied. You could have said he was dead, but I noticed you stopped short of that.”

He shrugged. “Maybe part of me wanted the truth to come out.”

“And if we found someone else to be guilty?”

“The secret would die with us.”

“Good plan. You’re halfway there.”

He nodded his head slowly and he looked someplace inside himself.

“What can you tell us about Maura and Annabelle Hodge?” Lydia asked.

“I can tell you that they are two women with a lot of hatred in their hearts for the Ross bloodline.”

“How do you know that?”

He gave her a flat look that she couldn’t read and lifted his hands. “It’s common knowledge.”

“Or is it just a myth, like James Ross haunting the woods?”

“I guess it’s not as easy to tell the difference as one might think. Anyway, as far as their involvement in any of this, I don’t have the first idea.”

Lydia didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but she did believe he’d said all he was going to. He looked at her with tired, resigned eyes. But there was relief there, too. He’d unloaded a burden, and for better or for worse, at least he wouldn’t have to carry it around on his back any longer.