John Hart - Down River

“It doesn’t work that way. Your mother was beautiful and he adored her. But things changed when she died. You changed most of all.”

“I had my reasons.”

A sudden brightness moved into Dolf’s eyes. The manner of her death hit us all hard. “He loved your mother, Adam. Marrying again was not something he did lightly. Gray Wilson’s death put him in a difficult place. He had to choose between believing you and believing his wife. Do you think that could be easy or anything but dangerous? Try to see it like that.”

“There’s no conflict today. What about now?”

“Now is… complicated. There’s the timing. The things Grace said.”

“What about you, then? Is today complicated for you?”

Dolf turned in his seat. He faced me with blunt features and a level gaze. “I believe what Grace told me, but I know you, too. So, while I don’t know what, exactly, to believe, I do think that this will all be sorted out in time.” He looked away. “Sinners usually pay for their sins.”

I studied his raw face, the chapped lips and the drooping eyes that ill-concealed the grief. “You honestly believe that?” I asked.

He looked up at the humming lights, so that a bright, gray sheen seemed to cover his eyes. His voice drifted, and was pale as smoke.

“I do,” he said. “I absolutely do.”

Ten minutes later, the cops materialized in the door. Robin appeared subdued, while the other cop made small, eager movements. Tall and round-shouldered, he was somewhere north of fifty, in faded jeans and a red jacket. Brown hair spread thinly over a narrow forehead and sharp nose. A badge hung on his belt and small, round glasses flashed over washed-out eyes.

“Can we talk outside?” Robin asked.

Dolf sat up straighter, but said nothing. I got up and followed them out. Jamie was nowhere to be seen. The other cop held out a hand. “I’m Detective Grantham,” he said. We shook hands. “I work for the sheriff, so don’t let the clothes fool you.”

His smile broadened, but I knew better than to trust it. No smile could be real tonight. “Adam Chase,” I said.

His face went flat. “I know who you are, Mr. Chase-I’ve read the file-and I will make every effort to keep that knowledge from coloring my objectivity.”

I kept my calm, but it took some effort. No one knew a thing about me in New York. I’d grown used to it. “Are you capable of that?” I asked.

“I never knew the boy that was killed. I know he was liked, that he was football hero and all that; that he had a lot of family around here. I know that they made a lot of noise about rich men’s justice. But that was all before my time. You’re just like anybody else to me, Mr. Chase. No preconceptions.”

He gestured at Robin. “Now, Detective Alexander has told me about your relationship to the victim. None of us likes to see cases like this, but it’s important to move as quickly as possible when something like this does occur. I know that it’s late and that you’re probably upset, but I’m hoping that you can help me out.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“That’s good. That’s just fine. Now, I understand that you saw the victim today?”

“Her name is Grace.”

He smiled again, and this one had an edge on it. “Of course,” he said. “What did you and Grace talk about? How was her state of mind?”

“I don’t know how to answer that,” I said. “I don’t know her anymore. It’s been a long time. She never responded to my letters.”

Robin spoke. “You wrote to her?”

I could feel the sudden hurt in her voice.

You wrote to her, but not to me.

I turned to Robin. “I wrote to her because she was too young to understand my reasons for leaving. I needed her to understand why I was no longer there for her.”

“Just tell me about today,” Grantham said. “Tell me the rest of it.”

I pictured Grace: the heat of her skin beneath my palm, the fierce resentment, the undertones of something more. I knew what this cop was looking for. He had his story from Grace and wanted corroboration; to hell with objectivity. Part of me wanted to give it to him. Why? Because screw it.

“I rubbed lotion on her back. She kissed me. She said that she hates me.” I looked Grantham in the eye. “She ran away.”

“Did you chase her?” Grantham asked.

“It wasn’t that kind of running away.”

“It doesn’t sound like the kind of reunion most would expect, either.”

My voice came low and hard. “Thinking that I raped Grace Shepherd is like saying I raped my own daughter.”

Grantham did not blink. “Yet, daughters are raped with great consistency by their fathers, Mr. Chase.”

I knew that he was right. “It’s not like it sounds,” I said. “She was angry at me.”

“Why?” Grantham asked.

“Because I left her. She was making a point.”

“What else?”

“She said that she had lots of boyfriends. She wanted me to know that. She wanted me to hurt, too, I think.”

“Are you saying that she’s promiscuous?” Grantham asked.

“I’m not saying anything like that. How would I know something like that?”

“She told you.”

“She also kissed me. She was hurt. She was lashing out. I was her family and I left her when she was fifteen years old.”

“She’s not your daughter, Mr. Chase.”

“That’s irrelevant.”

Grantham looked at Robin, then back at me. He clasped his hands in front of his waist. “Very well. Go on.”

“She was wearing a white bikini and sunglasses. Nothing else. She was wet, just out of the river. When she ran away, she ran south along the bank. There’s a trail that’s been there forever. It leads to Dolf’s house, about a mile down.”

“Did you assault Ms. Shepherd?”

“I did not.”

Grantham pursed his lips. “Okay, Mr. Chase. That’ll do for now. We’ll speak again later.”

“Am I a suspect?” I asked.

“I rarely speculate on such things this early in an investigation. However, Detective Alexander has stated, quite emphatically, that she does not believe you capable.” He paused, looked at Alexander, and I saw flakes of dried skin on his glasses. “Of course, I have to consider the fact that you and Detective Alexander apparently have some kind of relationship. That complicates matters. We’ll have a better idea about all of this once we can speak to the victim”-he caught himself-“to Grace.”

“When will that be?” I asked.

“Just waiting for the doctor to clear it.” Grantham’s cell phone chirped and he looked at the caller ID. “I need to get this.” He answered the phone and walked away. Robin moved next to me, yet I found it hard to look at her. It was like she had two faces: the one I saw above me in the half-light of her bedroom and the one I’d seen most recently, the cop.

“I shouldn’t have tested you,” she said.

“No.”

“I apologize.”

She stood in front of me, and her face was the softest I’d seen since my return. “It’s complicated, Adam. For five years, all I’ve had is the job. I take it seriously. I’m good at it but it’s not all good. Not all the time.”

“What do you mean?”

“You get isolated. You see shadows.” She shrugged, dug deeper for the explanation. “Even the good guys will lie to a cop. Eventually, you get used to it. Then you start to expect it.” She was struggling. “I know it’s not right. I don’t like it either, but it’s who I am. It’s what I became when you left.”

“You never doubted me, Robin, not even during the worst of it.”

She reached for my hand. I let her take it.

“She was so innocent,” I said. I spoke of Grace.