John Hart - Down River

I gave myself a second, and then I committed, for better or worse. “I need you to do something for me. It means putting what matters to me over what matters to the cops.”

“Are you testing me?” She sounded angry.

“No.”

“It sounds serious.”

“Like you would not believe.”

“What do you need?” No hesitation.

“I need you to bring me something.”

She was in the room an hour later, the postcard from my glove compartment in her hand. “You okay?” she asked.

“Angry. Messed up. Mostly angry.”

She kissed me, and when she straightened, she left the card on the bed. I looked at the blue water, the white sand. “Where did you get that?” she asked.

“Faith’s motel.”

She sat, slid the chair close. “It’s postmarked after Danny died. Whoever mailed that is complicit in his murder, at least after the fact.”

“I know.”

“Will I get it back?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you serious?”

I looked at the clock. “We should know in a few hours.”

“What do you plan to do?”

“Tell me about Grace,” I said.

“You’re not making this easy.”

“I can’t talk about what I’m going to do. I just need to do it. It’s not about you. It’s about me. Can you understand that?”

“Okay, Adam. I understand.”

“You were going to tell me about Grace.”

“It was close. A few more minutes and she’d have died. Probably a good thing you didn’t wait for me.”

“How did it happen?”

“She came back from the funeral and went inside. Half an hour later, somebody knocked on the door. She opened it and Miriam shot her. Never said a word. Just pulled the trigger and watched as Grace dragged herself back inside.”

“Where’d she get the gun?” I asked.

“Registered to Danny Faith. A little peashooter. He probably kept it in his glove compartment.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Charlotte P.D. found his truck in long-term parking at Douglas Airport. I saw the inventory yesterday. He had a box of.25 caliber shells in the glove compartment, but no gun.”

“Miriam killed him,” I said. “She used Dolf’s gun to do it, then put it back in the gun cabinet. She must have found the.25 when she ditched the truck.”

I saw the wheels turn, small lines at the corners of her eyes.

“There are a lot of gaps in that theory, Adam. It’s a big jump. How do you figure?”

I relayed the things that Miriam had said about her and Danny. I paused, then told her the rest of it: Grace, my mother. I kept my face neutral, even when I spoke of my father’s long deception.

Robin kept her own mask up and nodded only as I finished. “That lines up with your father’s statement.”

“He told you? All of it?”

“He told Grantham. It wasn’t easy for him, but he wanted Grantham to understand why Miriam snapped. Even though she was dead, he wanted the blame for it.” She leaned forward. “It’s killing him, Adam. He’s eaten up over this, like it’s all his fault.”

“It is his fault.”

“I don’t know. Miriam’s father ran out on her when she was very young. That’s a tough thing for a little girl. When your father stepped in, she put him on a pretty high pedestal. A long way to fall.”

I wasn’t ready to go there. “Killing Danny is only part of it,” I said. “She’s the one that attacked Grace. She beat her bloody because Danny loved her.” I looked away. “And because she’s my father’s daughter.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I suspect it. I plan to prove it.”

I felt her eyes on my face, could not imagine what she must be thinking. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“It’s true, what Miriam said.” I paused. “My father always did love Grace best.”

“You’re missing the one piece of good in all this.”

“Which is?”

“You have a sister.”

Something fragile spread in the void of my chest. I looked out the window, watched hard blue fill up the morning sky. “Miriam killed Gray Wilson,” I finally said.

“What?” Robin was stunned.

“She was infatuated with him.”

I told her about finding Miriam at Gray Wilson’s grave. How she went there every month with fresh-cut flowers, how she claimed that they were going to be married. The same thing she’d said about Danny. It could not be coincidence.

“He was handsome and popular, everything she was not. She probably spent months working up the courage to tell him how she felt, fantasizing about his response. Playing it out in her mind. Then the party happened.” I shrugged. “I think she tried to seduce him and failed. He said something belittling. Laughed, maybe. I think she bashed his head in with a rock when he tried to walk away.”

“Why do you think that?”

“It’s what happened to Danny, more or less.”

“I’d like something more.”

“Ask me again in three hours.”

“Are you serious?”

“Right now, it’s just theory.”

She looked at the postcard. It was material evidence in what could easily be a capital case. She could be fired, prosecuted. She picked it up. “If this has prints, it could set Dolf free. Have you considered that?”

“He’ll walk, regardless.”

“Are you willing to gamble on that?”

“I know reasonable doubt when I see it. You do, too. Miriam shot two people in a fit of jealousy over Danny. She used the gun taken from his abandoned truck, gave him thirty thousand dollars, thought he was going to marry her.” I shook my head. “The case will never go to trial.”

“Will you at least tell me what you’re planning?”

“You made a choice. I made a choice. It’s time for my father to do the same thing.”

“Is this about forgiveness?”

“Forgiveness?” I said. “I don’t even know what that word means.”

Robin stood and I reached for her hand. “I can’t stay here,” I said. “Not after this. Not knowing what I do. When the dust settles, I’m going back to New York. I want you to come with me this time.”

She bent and kissed me. She left two fingers on my jaw as she straightened. “Whatever you’re doing,” she said. “Don’t screw it up.”

Her eyes were wide and dark, but that was no kind of answer, and we both knew it.

I called George Tallman at home. The phone rang nine times and he dropped the receiver when he tried to answer. “George?” I asked.

“Adam?” His voice was thick. “Hang on.” He put the phone down. I heard it strike wood. Most of a minute passed before he picked it up again. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not dealing with this very well.”

“You want to talk about it?”

He knew most of what had happened, and sounded like a man in full-blown shock. He kept using the present tense when he spoke of Miriam, then he’d apologize, embarrassed. It took a few minutes for me to realize that he was drunk. Drunk and confused. He did not want to say anything that would hurt Miriam’s memory. Saying that made him cry.

Her memory.

“Do you know how long I’d been in love with her?” he finally asked.

“No.”

He told me, in fits and starts. Years. All the way back to high school, but she’d never wanted anything to do with him. “That’s what made it so special,” he explained. “I waited. I knew it was right. I stayed true. Eventually, she knew it, too. Like it was meant to be.”

I waited for a dozen heartbeats. “May I ask a question?”

“Okay.” He sniffed loudly.

“When Miriam and Janice flew back from Colorado, they spent the night in Charlotte and stayed there the next day.”

“To shop.”

“But Miriam wasn’t feeling well.” It was a guess. I wanted corroboration.