The Stolen Hours

by Allen Eskens

  “Quirky?”

  “He asked me out a couple times, but he wasn’t my type. He was one of those socially awkward guys who came across a little creepy, even when he wasn’t trying to.”

  “Do you remember anyone else from that night?”

  Lila looked at the picture, at the people in the background. She studied their faces but recognized no one. “There were a lot of people there, so I’m sure there were others from South, but I can’t remember. Is there any mention of a guy with a lisp?”

  “Nothing.”

  Lila returned to her medical reports and came upon an addendum that cataloged her suicide attempt. It had been authored by Dr. Roberts and included notes from her stay in the psych ward as well as the failed hypnotherapy session. The report didn’t mention the guy with the slur, a point possibly too minor to be included.

  Niki leaned back in her chair as though pondering some new thought. Then she said, “How did you hear about the party in Uptown?”

  “John—” Lila stopped to pull a memory from the darkness. Detective Yates had never asked her that question. “John told me about it. He called to say he was getting a carload of kids from South together to go to this party. He wanted to know if he should save a seat. By that point, I didn’t want anything to do with him, so I drove myself.”

  “A carload of kids?” Niki picked up one of the reports and read. “He told Detective Yates that he left the party alone. If he went there with a car full of kids…wouldn’t he have given those same kids a ride home?”

  Lila thought about that for a moment. Had he said those words—about taking other kids from South? Yes, she was sure of it.

  “Maybe he was trying to get you alone,” Niki said, “for old times’ sake. Maybe it was part of a bigger plan.”

  “A bigger plan?”

  “I’m just thinking here, but…the one fact we know for sure in your case was that there were two of them. We have the picture.”

  “Okay.”

  “And then there’s your reaction to Gavin Spencer in court. It could have been nothing more than you hearing a lisp, but what if it wasn’t? What if Gavin was there?”

  “The modus operandi doesn’t fit.”

  “I know, but there were two of them. We don’t know what the MO of the other guy is—or was. The pattern could be different because of the second guy being there.”

  “But Gavin was in Indiana.”

  “Well, there’s that, but Gavin Spencer isn’t your run-of-the-mill criminal. It’s possible he faked an alibi. It’s a stretch, I know.”

  “How could we find out?”

  “I can look into that graduation ceremony, see if anyone remembers seeing him there.”

  “It’s been eight years.”

  “Yes, it has—eight years of this case gathering dust. Eight years of this thing hanging over your head. That has to be…pure torment.”

  It was as if Niki understood something about Lila that no one else—not even Joe—understood. “Sometimes I think it’s made me insane…paranoid. I walk down the street and I’m sure someone’s following me. I memorize the cars around me when I drive, just in case I see them again. I’ve woken up in a cold sweat, sure that I saw one of their faces in a dream. I don’t think a day’s gone by when I don’t think about them being out there.”

  “Well, it’s time we take another look at it.” Niki pulled out a pen and wrote down John Aldrich’s name and date of birth on a pad of paper.

  “You think John…?”

  “He was the prime suspect. With you breaking it off, he had motive, and that picture of him holding your arm shows he had opportunity. Plus, whether it was about taking other kids to the party or about leaving the party alone, I think it’s clear that John Aldrich lied.”

  Chapter 32

  Gavin knew his mother would come for a visit. Amy had to sign Leo Reecey’s two-hundred-thousand-dollar check. He’d given his lawyer her phone number. “And if she has any questions,” he’d said, “tell her to come talk to me.”

  The jail used a video-conferencing system so Gavin sat in the guts of the jail staring at a screen while his mother did the same from the visiting area. Even remotely, Gavin could see that Amy had dressed inappropriately for the occasion, wearing a blouse that hung low off the shoulders and had a drawstring in the middle—a look far too provocative to wear to a jail. But then, Amy rarely had the good sense to hide the cleavage that Richard Balentine had bought for her.

  Amy held the phone receiver with the tips of her manicured nails to keep the plastic from touching the skin of her fingers. “I got a call from some lawyer named Leo Reecey. He said I was supposed to give him a check for two hundred grand.”

  “He’s my lawyer. I can’t access my money, so you’ll have to pay him.”

  “Did you do any research on the man? I mean, he’s just barely a lawyer at all. Last year he was suspended for stealing from his clients. What do you even know about him?”

  “I’m on top of it.”

  Amy furrowed her brow. “Honey, he ain’t worth that kind of money. Let me take care of this for you. You’re in jail, for God’s sake. They wanna lock you up and throw away the key. I can find a lawyer who—”

  “Mother, all I need from you is a check.”

  “At least let me get you a good lawyer. If I’m footing the bill, I should get some say in it.”

  Gavin knotted his hand into a fist to redirect his anger. He then stated his position in a calm voice. “You will pay the man his two hundred thousand dollars. You owe it to me, so stop interfering and do what I tell you to. Okay?”

  Gavin watched as the words, and the unspoken understanding behind them, slapped his mother in the face.

  “You don’t have to get that way, honey. I just want the best for you. We can afford any lawyer you want. But if he’s the one…I’ll cut him a check. I just want to make sure you walk out of here when this is all done. You’re my baby.”

  “Everything’s going to be fine, Mother. They can’t convict me if I didn’t do anything.”

  “But why do they think it was you? How could they think—?”

  “It’s a case of mistaken identity. Some girl picked me out of a lineup, but it’s not true. You’ll see. They don’t have anything—no DNA, no witnesses, nothing—because I didn’t do it.”

  “They have that girl. Ain’t she a witness?”

  “It’s her word against mine, and she’s lying.”

  “The paper said you met her at a wedding.” The detectives had no evidence that Gavin had actually met Sadie, but Amy threw it out there anyway. She was a dullard that way.

  “I was the photographer. She must have confused me with someone else.”

  “They came and talked to me—a Mexican and a little Asian woman.”

  Gavin expected this. In those stagnant hours, as he’d waited for the detectives to show up, he had contemplated calling his mother to warn her. He didn’t, because she would undoubtedly let it slip that he had warned her. And if she had done that, they would argue to a jury that the phone call showed a consciousness of guilt. How would Gavin Spencer know that detectives were on their way if he hadn’t done anything wrong?

  “What did you tell them?” he asked. “And remember, they’re recording what you say here.” Gavin hated that he had to remind her not to be stupid.

  “They asked me where you were Monday night. I told them I didn’t know.”

  “Because you don’t know.”

  “Maybe you called me from home, and I can tell them that—”

  “But I didn’t call you, did I?”

  “No.”

  “And if you told them that I did, all they would have to do is check your phone records and see that you were lying. Don’t add. Don’t improvise.”

  “They asked if I knew when you shaved your head. I said I didn’t know. Why’d you cut your hair? You had such beautiful hair.”

  “For God’s sake, Mother.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  �
�What else did they ask?”

  “They wanted to know where you kept your Bronco—if you had a storage unit or something. I told them I didn’t think you owned it anymore.”

  “Why would you tell them—” Gavin closed his eyes and took a breath. His next words came with a sharp point. “They have access to my vehicle registrations. They know I own a Bronco. Don’t try to help!”

  “I’m sorry.” Amy seemed to choke on a cry that was trying to get out. “I’m your mother. I’m supposed to help. That’s my job.”

  “It’s okay, Mom. I didn’t mean to yell.” Gavin paused to let his aggravation settle. “Was there anything else?”

  “They wanted to know if you ever wore a beard.”

  Something cold ran through Gavin’s chest. A beard? Why would they ask about that? He grew one after high school to try to give shape to his rounded chin. He’d hated the way it itched, and he’d hated the way it filled his shirts with dandruff. Still, he kept it for a while because he’d liked the way it put bones into his gelatinous face.

  Then came the night he ran into Eleanora Abrams again.

  He hadn’t seen her since he left for Indiana. After high school, he started his photography business and got hired to take pictures at some fraternity’s Halloween party. He went, dressed as the Phantom of the Opera.

  He had been working for about an hour before he saw her, dressed as a nurse, her uniform short and tight. At first, he wanted to throw up. His second reaction was to hide. But as he circled the room, his camera flashing away, a dark confidence took root. With the mask and the beard hiding his features, he walked up to Eleanora and snapped her picture. She thanked him and gave him a smile that assured him that she had no idea who he was.

  That’s when a plan began to form, one that involved the GHB left over from his night with Lila Nash. It had been tucked in a boot in the back of a closet, where it had continued to call to him.

  After the party, Gavin quietly followed Eleanora back to her apartment. She would, no doubt, head to the bars that weekend—it’s what college girls did, especially girls who filled out their costumes as well as Eleanora did. When she left her apartment to hit the clubs that Saturday, Gavin was waiting and followed her.

  He’d dressed as a pirate that night, his face barely recognizable in his own mirror. The club they went to had a camera at the entrance, so Gavin kept his head lowered, even though there would be little chance that he could be identified dressed up as he was. He watched Eleanora from a safe distance, gauging the pace of her drinking, watching for an opportunity. When it came, she had no idea what was happening.

  It didn’t take long before Eleanora’s movements turned sluggish. As he expected, the drug made her queasy, and she made her way to the restroom, her friend—dancing with a man in a zombie costume—oblivious to Eleanora’s plight. Gavin positioned himself near the restroom, and when she came by, he offered to help, carefully hiding his lisp. In her befuddled state, he easily coaxed her out of the bar, getting almost to his Bronco before her legs gave out and he had to carry her.

  Gavin shaved his beard off the next day.

  Now, as Gavin stared at the screen and his mother’s confused face, he ran through all the possible reasons why a detective might ask about his beard, and the only answer that came back to him was Eleanora.

  He leaned in to the screen to get his mother’s undivided attention. “What did you tell them about my beard?”

  His mother’s confusion turned to concern. “I said…I said you used to have one, but not for a long time.”

  “Did they ask you anything else about it?”

  “They wanted to know what year you had it.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Gavin, what’s wrong? Why do they want to know about your beard?”

  “Mother! What did you tell them?”

  “I said you shaved it off about six years ago.”

  Chapter 33

  Lila was packing up to leave work when she saw the text from Niki Vang. Do you have a minute? It had been two days since they went to the Fifth Precinct together, and the message caught Lila by surprise. They decided to meet in the courtyard of the Government Center again.

  “I just wanted to give you an update,” Niki said as she took a seat on the bench. “I called some of Gavin Spencer’s teachers and classmates in Indiana. Seems he doesn’t stand out in a crowd. Some didn’t remember him at all, and the few that did needed me to mention his lisp before they remembered. As for graduation, I don’t have anything more than what you found. It appears that he was the photographer at the ceremony, although the only proof of that is that the photos are attributed to him.”

  “So his alibi stands?”

  “It’s possible he had someone take pictures for him, and he then sent them in. I asked if he walked across the stage to get his diploma, but no one remembers. I’m trying to track down his roommate from that year, but the guy’s out of the country. His alibi might be a load of crap, but right now we have nothing to put him anywhere near Uptown that night.”

  “I appreciate you looking into it.”

  “I also did a search of John Aldrich’s family tree, at least what I could find online. There’s nothing to suggest that he’s related to Gavin Spencer, and neither is he friends with him on social media—but then again, other than the website for his photography business, Gavin’s pretty quiet online.”

  “I didn’t expect…I mean, all these years of wondering, and then this guy with his lisp comes along.” Lila looked around the courtyard, the way she sometimes did when the memory of that night breathed with life. Would there ever be a day when that feeling of being watched died away? “It’s not easy…knowing they’re still out there.”

  “I’m not giving up,” Niki said. “The statute of limitation hasn’t run, so I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, is there anyone I can talk to about John Aldrich? Maybe someone who knew him back then?”

  Lila almost said Sylvie’s name but stopped herself. Of course Sylvie knew John back then. He had been her boyfriend, even though he treated her like shit. He had tried to kiss Lila at that party in Uptown, even though he knew Sylvie was there. But John had been Sylvie’s only love, which was probably why she forgave him everything—and married him.

  According to the police reports, Yates had talked to Sylvie eight years ago and gotten a strong shot of venom for his effort. Niki Vang would have no better luck. There was only one path to get to Sylvie, a path beset by rot and risk, a path that filled Lila with dread. She pushed the notion away as soon as it formed. Instead, Lila told Niki that she would try to come up with a name or two. The lie of omission made her chest tighten.

  * * *

  That evening, as Lila and Joe ate delivery pizza, he asked her why she was being so quiet. She shrugged him off, saying, “Hard day at the office.” Later, he caught her staring into space as they watched TV, and again asked what was on her mind. She lied once more and said, “Nothing.”

  In bed, after Joe fell asleep, Lila stared at the ceiling as the memory of those last months with Sylvie looped in her mind. Over the years, Lila had been judicious in what she told Joe about her.

  She’d told him about meeting a Sylvie Dubois in kindergarten, and the way they bonded over dolls and crayons. She’d told Joe about the Christmases—she would run to Sylvie’s house after opening her presents to show her best friend what Santa had brought. And Lila had even shown Joe the secret handshake they’d devised, which was little more than a fancy game of patty-cake.

  But she’d never told Joe how their friendship had ended. She had come close so many times, walking up to the edge of that precipice only to wither at the sight of the drop.

  Sylvie had been Lila’s anchor in those years when cootie shots gave way to stumbling compliments and awkward flirtations. They’d sat on the swings at the park and talked about the boys they would date once they got to high school. They’d planned their homecoming and prom dances—double dates, of course—but when th
e time came, the boys only wanted to go with Lila.

  As they’d rounded the turn into their junior years, Lila could see her friend slipping away. That was about the time that Sylvie met John Aldrich. Lila was happy for Sylvie but sad that John gave Sylvie a reason to pull even further away from Lila. The true split in their friendship, however, began when Lila saw a side of John that he’d kept hidden.

  It had started with glances, short flashes of eye contact that pulled the corners of his mouth up into a grin. Then came the jokes and the comments, thinly veiled flirtations that popped up when Sylvie wasn’t around. Lila tried to tell Sylvie about John’s flirting, but it went horribly wrong, and by the end of senior year, they rarely spoke to each other.

  Then came the night that drove a stake into the heart of their friendship.

  Lila was at a party, drunk enough that driving was a risky proposition. John was there without Sylvie, who’d had to work her waitressing job. John had focused his attention on Lila, and at the end of the night, offered to drive her home—in her car—just to be a nice guy. And Lila let him.

  In the aftermath, Lila convinced herself that John had planned the whole thing from the beginning. He’d coaxed her to play drinking games at the party. He had been the one to park at the end of the block instead of in front of Lila’s house. He had been the one to kiss her first.

  She remembered thinking at the time that if she gave in to John, she could prove to Sylvie once and for all what kind of jerk he was—a rationalization that would not survive in the light of the sun. It didn’t occur to Lila until she sobered up that her act did more to show who she was. Faithless. Cold. Monstrous. Lila had betrayed her best friend, and eight years later, the thought of that act still made her sick.

  Lila had told herself that she would confess her sin as soon as she saw Sylvie at school, but the opportunity came and went. It wasn’t until after lunch that things came to a head. A classmate had seen Lila and John leave the party together and told Sylvie. When Sylvie confronted John, he confessed, putting the blame entirely on Lila, painting her as the villain, saying that Lila all but attacked him in her car that night. With the reputation Lila had built up for herself, his lie was one that Sylvie easily believed.