Mariah Stewart - Hard Truth

Fritz’s eyes filled with tears.

“As if what I was was something more horrible than she could bear.” Fritz visibly shivered. “That was the single worst moment of my life.”

“How old were you then?”

“Young. Fourteen, fifteen, maybe.”

“And yet you stayed with her, took care of her, all those years.”

“It was never discussed after that day. Never. And, she was, after all, my mother.”

“I wish for your sake she’d given you the respect you gave her.”

“That’s very sweet, very good of you.”

“What did Mike say?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? He walks in on an argument like that and says nothing?”

“I guess he was as humiliated as I was, as my mother was. I always look back on that as a bad day for everyone, all the way around.”

“Did you tell this to the FBI agent?”

“No.” He shook his head. “He wasn’t interested in family dynamics. He wanted to search my house, and he wanted to know about the nights the Eagan kids disappeared and where I go when I leave Callen every other week. Like in case I’m running around the country killing young gay men and burying them in the first available field or woods I can find.”

“Where do you go?” she heard herself ask, at the same time wondering about the wisdom of permitting the authorities carte blanche to look through your belongings.

“I go to St. Louis. I have a house there, which I share with the same man I’ve shared it with for almost sixteen years. He has a florist business there-a family business he took over about twenty years ago-and I have my business here. So we have our separate lives and our shared life. It may not work for everyone, but it works for us.”

“He never comes here?”

“Are you crazy?” Fritz laughed. “My mother would rise from the dead and raise holy hell. No, we keep it this way. I’m more comfortable, not dealing with that here in Callen. I’m afraid I’m really quite a coward, Lorna.” He sighed heavily. “Though I suppose those days of anonymity are over now. I’m sure my brother will have plenty to say, once this gets out.”

“I’d expect Mike to be more understanding. You’re his brother.”

“He had the fear of God put into him by the very best of ’em. My mother could scare the pants off anyone. Mike hasn’t forgotten what she said, what she made him promise. In return, he made me promise to keep that part of my life to myself. And I always have.”

“I wish I could say something that would make you feel better.”

“Just you listening without censure makes me feel better, Lorna. You really are a friend.”

They reached the barn, and turned the corner. In the middle of the drive were two black-and-white patrol cars, along with Chief Walker’s vehicle.

“Uh-oh,” Fritz whispered.

“Hey, Fritz,” Chief Walker called out, then to acknowledge her presence, added, “Lorna.”

“Chief Walker. Long time no see.” Fritz tried to appear unconcerned that the police had apparently followed him to the farmhouse.

“I need you to come down to the station with me, Fritz,” Chief Walker said. “There are a few items that were taken from your attic that we need to talk about.”

Fritz frowned. “What kind of items?”

“Oh, just some things we’re having a hard time identifying. You mind coming with me? I’ll have someone drive your car to the station.”

“All right.” Fritz shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, though Lorna suspected he was churning inside. “Don’t forget to put those roses in water right away, Lorna. And an aspirin in the bottom of the vase will keep them fresh for an extra few days.”

“Thanks, Fritz.” She watched him walk away with the chief at his side.

“You are one lucky woman.” Brad Walker stood behind her, speaking softly.

“What do you mean?” Lorna turned around to face him.

“Let’s just say my heart was in my mouth when I drove past here and saw his car in the drive, and then you not answering the door. We were just about to break a window to get inside, when you came down the drive here.” He took off his hat and wiped sweat from his forehead. “Thank God we got here when we did.”

“Brad, none of this is making any sense.”

“It would if you could see what all we took out of his attic.” Brad pointed toward Fritz, who was getting into the back of the chief’s car. “We’ve got this case locked, Lorna, no question about it. We got ourselves the killer…”

“Mitch, I can’t believe you really think Fritz killed all those boys.” The police car carrying Fritz Keeler had not yet made the turn onto Callen Road before Lorna had dialed Mitch’s number. “There’s no way he could be guilty of this.”

“Lorna, calm down.” Mitch did his best to soothe her. “And it doesn’t matter what I think, or, frankly, what you think. What matters is the evidence. And we found a hell of a lot of evidence in that house.” He hesitated a moment before adding, “Lorna, we found a trunk filled with items. In his attic.”

“What kind of items?”

“Things that I believe he took from his victims. A key ring, a couple of driver’s licenses. A belt buckle. Personal items that represent souvenirs of his kills. Several of the remains found in the field had bits of masking tape clinging to the clothes. We found tape in the trunk in the Keeler attic, and I’d bet my next promotion it will match the tape we found on the victims. Plus rope, a shovel. Everything one might need to tie up and bury a-”

“God, I just can’t believe it.” Her voice was almost a whisper. “He brought me roses… he swore he had nothing to do with this.”

“I doubt he’d be confessing right about now. And maybe he was looking for an ally. Maybe he figured you for a supporter.”

“You met him, you talked to him. You really think he’s capable of these terrible murders?”

“Like I said, it doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is the evidence that was found in his house.”

“Stop talking like a textbook and tell me what your gut says,” she shot back. “Isn’t that what you always ask T.J.? ‘What does your gut say?’ ”

Mitch was silent for a moment, then replied, “My gut never talked to me quite the way T.J.’s talks to him. But for the record, between you and me, going only on my personal impression of the man, I never would have pegged Fritz Keeler for this.”

Lorna hung up the phone and paced, trying to sort it all out. She was out of her league and she knew it. Finding such evidence in the Keeler home was pretty conclusive, and yet she couldn’t reconcile what she knew of Fritz with a ruthless killer.

Though, what had she known of Fritz? Did she really know him at all?

All she knew at the moment was that she probably wouldn’t have made a good cop. How did one keep one’s personal feelings from influencing an investigation? She didn’t know if she ever could.

She called T.J. and left a message on his voice mail, and then, because she couldn’t think of anything else to do, she called Regan and left a message for her as well. She tried to work for a while but was too distracted. She wondered if Fritz had a lawyer, wondered if the search of his house was legal. She’d seen something on TV once about a search that had been declared unlawful because the police had looked inside dresser drawers to find evidence, and the owner of the property had testified that he had given permission for the cops to “look around,” which the judge had deemed to mean items that were in plain sight. Maybe a lawyer would know.

Then again, if Fritz was in fact a killer, why would she want to help him?

Her cell phone rang and she jumped on it. She looked at the call number.