Brian Freeman - Goodbye to the Dead (Jonathan Stride Book 7)

‘It isn’t a problem, Mr. Marlowe. Being a juror is a weighty responsibility. Everyone in this courthouse understands and respects that. You did your civic duty, and now you can go on with your life.’

The judge stood up, too, and walked Howard to his office door. He clapped him on the shoulder, showed him out, and shut the door behind him. Howard could see the jury room in front of him, where the deliberations had taken place. It was empty. He wanted to go inside, sit down again, and change the past.

Go on with your life.

That was what Carol had said, too. We can go back to living our lives.

They all wanted him to forget about Janine, but Howard couldn’t do that.

Cindy sat on the green bench at the end of the Point in the midst of a small patch of sand by the bay. She checked her watch, but Jonny was late. He usually was. She’d gotten used to it over the years.

This was Jonny’s place, where he went to stare at the calm waters. As teenagers, they’d first talked about marriage here, in that awkward way that young lovers grope toward their future. When Jonny’s mother died, they’d come here to talk about the good and bad of her life. Now it seemed like the right place for them to talk about other things.

It was dusk. The August days were getting shorter, stealing away the sunlight. Long shadows filled the park behind her. At her feet, crowns of golden alexanders swayed as the breeze blew, and the bay ripples gurgled at the beach. As warm as it was, she shivered. There were moments late in every summer where you got the first kiss of fall, a little finger up your spine that reminded you of what lay ahead.

She’d visited the teenager from the mall that afternoon. Laura. The girl was home now, out of the hospital and recovering nicely from the bullet she’d taken in her leg. Reporters had wanted to talk to both of them and take pictures, and Cindy had given them a firm no. She didn’t want publicity. She’d spent half an hour with Laura and her parents, and they’d fallen over themselves to thank her, which made her uncomfortable. She didn’t want thanks or tears. The only thing she wanted was for Laura to go on and live her life. The ups and downs. The happiness. The sadness. She’d hugged the girl at the end and whispered: ‘Don’t let this be who you are.’

Which was easier said than done, she knew. That moment in the mall would be the seminal moment of the girl’s life. She’d have nightmares. She’d be in therapy for years. She’d wonder why she was spared when others died. That was okay. You couldn’t ask those questions and wrestle with the answers if you weren’t alive.

She and Jonny hadn’t talked about it. They’d agreed to put it aside in a box. She knew he wanted to ask her how she could have taken such a crazy risk with their future, but he couldn’t. Not when he would have done exactly the same thing at the same moment. But that was his job. For her, it was a choice, but in the moment, she felt as if she had no choice at all.

Cindy heard the engine of his Bronco and saw him pull into the dirt of the parking lot beside her Outback. He got out and smiled at her and crushed a cigarette in the sand. He mussed his wild black hair. God, he was handsome. That was what she’d thought years ago, when she’d met him in school, this intense, brooding teenager who was obsessed with doing the right thing. Whatever that might be. Now he was in the prime of his life, and she didn’t think he’d ever looked better than he did at that moment. Cocky and confident, wounded and deep. He was such a strange, wonderful mix, this man of hers.

He sat down beside her on the bench and stretched out his long legs. His boots were dusty. He had a can of Coke in his hand, and he took a drink and then offered it to her.

‘You think I want your spit, Jonny?’ she asked.

He laughed, but she took the can anyway and finished it.

Together they watched the dying light on the bay. They didn’t talk for a while. He held her hand, and their skin was damp and warm. The evening was alive with summer sounds — insects in the bushes, the whine of a floatplane overhead, the pop of illegal firecrackers on the lakeside over the dunes.

Finally, she said: ‘Do you know anything more?’

Jonny nodded.

‘Did he...’ she asked.

That had been the question in her mind since it happened. Did Ross Klayman kill Jay Ferris? Her mind had spun out theories in which Ross was guilty. Jay spotted him somewhere. Found him. Followed him. Ross had eliminated the one man who could stand in the way of his planned rampage.

Which meant that her friend, Janine, was innocent.

‘No,’ Jonny told her.

He didn’t give her any room for doubt. She felt a wave of disappointment, but not any sense of surprise. ‘Are you sure? You sound sure.’

‘The Bureau of Criminal Apprehension tested every handgun we found in Klayman’s car that could have been used in the murder. None of them matched.’

‘That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, does it? He could have gotten rid of the weapon.’

Jonny shook his head. ‘There’s more. We went over Jessie’s credit card bills. There was a charge from a gun show in Arkansas on January 28. The Arkansas police talked to several of the vendors, and they all knew Jessie and Ross. They confirmed that Ross was with his mother at that show. He was a thousand miles away from Duluth when Jay was killed, Cin. He didn’t do it.’

‘Oh.’

And that was that. Ross Klayman didn’t do it. Janine did.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘No, you were right all along. I was wrong.’

‘You weren’t wrong about Ross Klayman,’ Jonny said flatly. ‘Nine people died. Thirty more were wounded. Maybe if we’d found him earlier, we could have stopped him. I feel responsible.’

She squeezed his hand hard. ‘Don’t you ever do that to yourself, Jonathan Stride. Do you hear me? It’s not your fault.’

‘No?’

‘No. It’s not.’

‘I’m having a hard time accepting that.’

‘Mentally ill people don’t wear signs,’ she said.

He shrugged. He knew it was true, but she knew it wouldn’t stop him from beating himself up.

They were silent again.

Then he looked at her. ‘You never told me what he said to you. Just before he killed himself.’

‘Who, Klayman? Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘I don’t remember.’

He didn’t push her, and she was glad. She was lying, and he knew it, but maybe he realized that some moments couldn’t be shared with anyone. If she closed her eyes, she could picture his face and hear his voice. I am God. The strange thing was, as he said it, she almost believed him. Not that she thought God was cruel or uncaring. And yet cruel things happened.

Cindy realized she couldn’t put it off any longer. She’d told Jonny to meet her here for a reason. Not anywhere else. Here.

‘Listen,’ she said, dragging the words out of her chest. ‘There’s something I need to talk to you about.’

She’d gone over and over in her head about how to tell him, but she still didn’t know what to say. How do you break that news to your husband? She’d had an appointment with Steve Garske. And it wasn’t good.

‘Something’s not...’ she began. Something’s not right. With me. Something’s very wrong. Something bad.

‘Hang on,’ Jonny said. His phone was ringing. When he answered, she recognized Maggie’s voice on the line, which had a strange kind of intimacy. It was odd how Maggie was always coming between them. She’d never really thought about it like that, and it wasn’t fair, because Maggie represented the job. The job came first. It always did.

He hung up.

‘A teenage girl has gone missing in Lakeside,’ he said. ‘She went jogging, and she never came home.’