Harlan Coben - Just One Look

“Did you already know I was married to Jack Lawson?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Is that why you came by my house that night? Were you trying to figure out what I knew?”

He kept shaking his head, tears on his cheeks. “That’s not true. I never meant to hurt anyone.”

“Who killed Geri Duncan?”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“Was she going to talk? Is that what happened? And then, fifteen years later, someone goes after Sheila Lambert aka Jillian Dodd, but her husband gets in the way. Was she going to talk, Jimmy? Did she know you were back?”

“I have to go.”

She stepped in his path. “You can’t run away again. There’s been too much of that.”

“I know,” he said, his voice a plea. “I know that better than anyone.”

He pushed past her and ran outside. Grace was tempted to yell, “Stop! Grab him!” but she doubted the whistling guard would be able to do much. Jimmy was already outside, almost out of sight. She limped after him.

Gunshots – three of them – shattered the night. There was the squeal of tires. The receptionist dropped her magazine and picked up the phone. The security guard stopped whistling and sprinted toward the door. Grace hurried behind him.

When Grace got outside, she saw a car shoot down the exit ramp and disappear into the night. Grace had not seen who was in the car. But she thought she knew. The security guard bent down over the body. Two doctors ran out, nearly knocking Grace down. But it was too late.

Fifteen years after the stampede began, the Boston Massacre claimed its most elusive victim.

Maybe, Grace thought, we are not supposed to know the entire truth. And maybe the truth does not matter.

There were plenty of questions in the end. Grace thought that she would never know all the answers. Too many of the players were dead now.

Jimmy X, real name James Xavier Farmington, died from three gunshot wounds to the chest.

Wade Larue’s body was found near the Port Authority Bus Terminal in New York City less than twenty-four hours after his release. He’d been shot in the head at point-blank range. There was only one significant clue: A reporter for the New York Daily News managed to follow Wade Larue after he left the press conference at the Crowne Plaza. According to the reporter, Larue got into a black sedan with a man fitting Cram’s description. That was the last time anyone saw Larue alive.

No arrests have been made, but the answer seemed clear.

Grace tried to understand what Carl Vespa had done. Fifteen years had passed, and his son was still dead. Weird to put it that way, but maybe it was apropos. For Vespa, nothing had changed. Time had not been enough.

Captain Perlmutter would try to make a case against him. But Vespa was pretty good about covering his tracks.

Both Perlmutter and Duncan came to the hospital after Jimmy was killed. Grace told them everything. There was nothing to hide anymore. Perlmutter mentioned almost in passing that the words Shane Alworth had been scratched into the concrete floor.

“So what does that mean?” Grace asked.

“We’re checking the physical evidence, but maybe your husband wasn’t alone in that basement.”

It made sense, Grace guessed. Fifteen years later they were all coming back. Everyone in that photograph.

At four in the morning Grace was back in her hospital bed. Her room was dark when the door opened. A silhouette slid in quietly. He thought that she was asleep. For a moment Grace didn’t say anything. She waited until he was in the chair again, just like fifteen years ago, before she said, “Hello, Carl.”

“How are you feeling?” Vespa asked.

“Did you kill Jimmy X?”

There was a long pause. The shadow did not move. “What happened that night,” he said at last. “It was his fault.”

“It’s hard to know.”

Vespa’s face was no more than a shadow. “You see too many shades of gray.”

Grace tried to sit up, but her rib cage would not cooperate. “How did you find out about Jimmy?”

“From Wade Larue,” he said.

“You killed him too.”

“Do you want to make accusations, Grace, or do you want to know the truth?”

She wanted to ask if that was all he wanted, the truth, but she knew the answer. The truth would never be enough. Vengeance and justice would never be enough.

“Wade Larue reached out to me the day before he was released,” Vespa said. “He asked if we could talk.”

“Talk about what?”

“He wouldn’t say. I had Cram pick him up in the city. He came out to my house. He started in with some touchy-feely crap about understanding my pain. He said he was suddenly all at peace with himself, that he didn’t want vengeance anymore. I didn’t want to hear any of that. I wanted him to get to the point.”

“Did he?”

“Yes.” The shadow was still again. Grace debated reaching for the light switch and decided against it. “He told me that Gordon MacKenzie had visited him in the hospital three months ago. Do you know why?”

Grace nodded, seeing it now. “MacKenzie had terminal cancer.”

“Right. He was still hoping to buy a last-minute ticket to the Promised Land. All of a sudden he can’t live with what he’s done.” Vespa cocked his head and smiled. “Amazing how that happens right before you’re going to die anyway, isn’t it? Ironic timing when you think about it. He confesses when there is no personal cost, and hey, if you buy into that confess-and-forgive nonsense, there could be a big upside.”

Grace knew not to comment. She stayed still.

“Anyway, Gordon MacKenzie took the blame. He was working the backstage entrance. He let some pretty young thing distract him. He said that Lawson and two girls sneaked past him. You know all this, don’t you?”

“Some of it.”

“You know that MacKenzie shot your husband?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s what started the riot. MacKenzie met up with Jimmy X after the whole thing went down. They both agreed to keep it quiet. They worried a little about Jack’s injury or if those girls were going to come forward, but hey, those three had plenty to lose too.”

“So everyone just kept quiet.”

“Pretty much. MacKenzie became a hero. He got a job with the Boston police from that. He rose to captain. All off his heroics from that night.”

“So what did Larue do after MacKenzie confessed all this?”

“What do you think? He wanted the truth to come out. He wanted vengeance and exoneration.”

“So why didn’t Larue tell anyone?”

“Oh, he did.” Vespa smiled. “Three guesses who.”

Grace saw it. “He told his lawyer.”

Vespa spread his hands. “Give the lady a kewpie doll.”

“But how did Sandra Koval convince him to keep quiet?”

“Oh, this part is brilliant. Somehow – and let’s give the lady credit – she did what was best for her client and her brother.”

“How?”

“She told Larue that he’d have a better chance of getting out on parole if he didn’t tell the truth.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t know much about parole, do you?”

She shrugged.

“You see, the parole board doesn’t want to hear that you’re innocent. They want to hear your mea culpas. If you want to get out, you have to hang your head in shame. You did wrong, you tell them. You’ve accepted blame – that’s the first step toward rehabilitation. If you keep insisting you’re innocent, you’re not going to get better.”

“Couldn’t MacKenzie testify?”

“He was too ill by then. You see, Larue’s innocence wasn’t the parole board’s concern. If Larue wanted to take that route, he’d have to request a new trial. It would take months, maybe years. According to Sandra Koval – and she was telling the truth here – Larue’s best chance of getting out was to admit his guilt.”