John Hart - The King Of Lies

“Yes.”

“Tell me again why you thought that Jean had pulled the trigger.”

I’d been vague about this. No way could I discuss the night Mom died, not with Hank or anybody else. I didn’t know if he’d accept my theory without understanding what could have driven my sister to murder, but that was the chance I’d have to take. That body was buried, and I meant for it to stay that way.

“Jean has not been well, mentally, for a long time now. She and Ezra had problems.”

“Hmmm,” Hank said, and I knew that I was losing him. “Problems.”

“It’s a family matter, Hank. I can’t talk about it. You can believe me or not. Help me or not. But that’s all I can say about it.”

He was silent for a full minute. He didn’t look away from my face, and I could almost see the wheels turning.

“There’s a lot you’re not telling me.”

“Yes. But like I said, it’s family stuff.” I hesitated. I didn’t want to beg but knew that I was close. “I didn’t kill him, Hank. He was deceitful, arrogant, and a first-class bastard. All right. I admit that. But he was my old man. I could have beaten him bloody on any number of occasions, but I could never have killed him. You’ve got to believe me.”

“And the fifteen million dollars?” Hank asked, doubt again clouding his features.

“I’ve never cared about making money,” I said.

Hank raised an eyebrow at me. “Making money’s not the same as having it. Your father was born poor. I bet he understood that.”

“I don’t want it,” I reiterated. “Nobody gets that, but I don’t. He left me the house and the building outright. That’s probably one point two million. So I’ll sell them, give half to Jean, and still be richer than I’d ever planned on being.”

“Six hundred grand ain’t fifteen million.”

“It’s enough,” I said.

“For about one guy in a million.” Hank paused. “You that guy, Work?”

“I guess I am.”

Hank settled back in his seat. “I’d take the fifteen million,” he said, and I knew then that he would help me.

He put the car in drive and eased away from the curb. We drove in silence for a few minutes.

“So what do you want me to do?” Hank asked. “The way I see it, we have a couple choices. We dig deeper on Alex or we go talk to Mills, let her check Alex out. Now I understand if you don’t want to talk to Mills, so I’ll be glad to handle that. That would probably be the best idea, the more I think about it. You’ll have to come clean about the gun, but nobody says that has to be done quickly. Once Mills is convinced, once she’s built a case against Alex, maybe then we’ll tell her. Of course, if they find the anonymous caller, that point will be moot. It’s not going to be pretty, no matter how we do it. Mills would chew your face off if she could get away with it. She won’t be easy to convince. She wants you to be guilty. It’s almost personal.”

I was barely listening; my mind was elsewhere. “I think Alex will come looking for me,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“I told Jean about my suspicions. Alex won’t sit still for that. She’ll come looking for me.”

Hank was already shaking his head. “If she’s the killer, that’s the last thing she’ll do. She’ll play dumb. She’ll wait for the world to land on you. All the hard work’s done. She can relax and watch her tax dollars at work.”

“Maybe,” I said, but was not dissuaded.

“So, do you want me to talk to Mills?”

“I want you to find Vanessa,” I said. “That hasn’t changed.”

“Damn it! This is not the time to waste energy looking for some missing person. I don’t care how you feel about her. As soon as Mills finds that caller, you’ll be arrested, and as far as we know, they’ve already back-traced it. They could do a photo lineup easily enough. They could be coming for you already, and this time there won’t be any bail. Not after attempting to destroy evidence. No judge alive would let you out. You’ll rot in jail, Work. So get your priorities straight! Playtime is over.”

“I want you to find her, Hank.”

“For fuck’s sake, Work. Why?”

I didn’t want to say this, because it was not the most important reason, and I already felt bad enough. But Hank had to hear it.

“She’s more than my girlfriend, okay? She’s my alibi.”

“What?” Hank’s disbelief was plain on his face.

“I was with her when Ezra was shot. I was at Stolen Farm.”

“Well, Jesus, Work. Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

“For Jean’s sake, Hank. But there’s one other thing. And I hope I’m wrong about this.”

“What?” Hank asked.

“I think Alex knew that Vanessa was my alibi. It’s possible that she went after her; she may have already killed her.”

Hank settled into my revelation; his features solidified into resigned determination. “I’ll find her, Work.” He did not smile. “Alive or dead. I’ll find her.”

“Find her alive, Hank,” I said, but he didn’t respond. He looked at me once, then put his eyes back on the road.

“Is your car at the hospital?” he asked.

“I have a car there.”

When we arrived at the hospital, I directed him to Dr. Stokes’s minivan. “I want you to go home,” Hank told me.

“Why? There’s nothing for me there.”

“Actually,” he said. “There is. Toothbrush, razor, clothes. I want you to pack all that crap up and find a motel room somewhere off the beaten track. Not too far away, just someplace you can lay low for a day or so. Get cleaned up. Get some sleep. Once I find Vanessa, we’ll go to Mills. But I don’t want to do that until we can walk in her front door with a sworn alibi.”

I got out of the car, leaned in the open door. “What are you going to do?”

“My job, Work. If she can be found, I’ll find her. Once you’re set up, let me know where you are. Call me on my cell.”

“I don’t think I can just sit around.” I tried to find the words to express what I felt. It was difficult. “I don’t want to hide anymore.”

“Twenty-four hours, Work. Thirty-six at the most.”

“I don’t like it.” I started to close the door.

“Hey,” Hank said. I turned back, and he said, “Don’t waste any time at the house, okay? Get in and get out. Mills could be looking for you already.”

“I understand,” I said, and watched him drive away.

I got in the minivan and went home. I looked at the high walls where once-white paint had grayed and then peeled. Barbara had always said the house had good bones, and she was right about that; but it had no heart, not with us living inside it. In place of laughter, trust, and joy, there was a hollow emptiness, a kind of rot, and I marveled at my blindness. Was it the alcohol, I wondered, that had made it bearable? Or was it something else, some inner failing? Maybe it was neither. They say that if you drop a frog into boiling water, he’ll hop right out. But put the same frog into cold water and slowly turn up the heat, and he’ll sit quietly until his blood begins to boil. He’ll let himself be cooked alive. Maybe that’s how it was for me. Maybe I was like that frog.

I thought about that, and then I thought about what Hank had said. His heart was in the right place. His head, too, for that matter. But I couldn’t go to a hotel. I couldn’t hide and I couldn’t pretend that this would just go away. If Mills came for me, she came. Alex, too, for that matter.

Done is done, I thought, and went inside.

I found Barbara in the kitchen, poised ten feet from the door, as if frozen or about to turn away. For a split second, her face seemed fluid, but then her mouth opened in a half smile and she ran to meet me. I stood there, straight-armed and stiff, as she threw her arms around me and squeezed.