Murder Wears a Mask

by Donna Doyle

  “Lucas? Is he hurt?”

  “No, no, he’s not. He—can you come to the police station? We’re going there now.”

  “The police station? What did he do? I told him not to leave the house tonight and he disobeyed me. He’s grounded for the rest of the month!” Then, realizing that the month was over, Mrs. Krymanski amended her sentence. “He’s grounded for the rest of the year. And Christmas break, too!”

  “Mrs. Krymanski, Lucas was—someone has been killed, Lucas found the body.”

  Silence. “Is he all right?” Mrs. Krymanski asked, her voice stripped of its aggression as she tried to process the bewildering array of facts.

  “Yes, he’s . . . we’re on our way to the police station. He found the body,” Kelly repeated. “The police need to question him. We’re waiting for the ambulance to come for the—for the body. Then we’ll go to the police station.”

  “I’ll be there right away.”

  Mrs. Krymanski ended the call.

  “She’s mad,” Lucas said, resigned to his fate.

  “Mad and scared and worried about you,” Kelly said.

  Troy had been able to hear Mrs. Krymanski’s voice over the phone. She hadn’t bothered trying to soften her tone. He remembered what Kyle had said earlier that day. “And the Krymanskis break the laws.” This kid didn’t look like someone who would commit murder, and his mother didn’t sound like the kind of woman who would tolerate misbehavior in her family. But there was a dead body in the alley and a Krymanski in the police car and from what Troy had learned since joining the police force, that match-up didn’t bode well.

  5

  The End of a Long Day

  Kelly’s tone was businesslike when she called Carmela at home to explain why Lucas had asked her to leave the library to go with him. Carmela was a voracious gossip but if she found out the news about the dead girl from someone else, she’d be in a sulk for the rest of the week.

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “I don’t have any answers. I suppose the police will be investigating. I just wanted you to know.”

  “Will the library be closed tomorrow?”

  “Closed? No, we’ll open as usual.” Why would the library be closed? Kelly wondered as she ended the call.

  She needed to take a shower. She wanted to go to sleep. She wished the evening had not happened. She thought of poor Lucas, just a kid and not a bad kid, despite his family name and his youthful folly, answering the questions that had been put to him. Egging the mayor’s house was a far cry from murdering a girl; would the authorities recognize that, or would they see this as a matter of delinquency’s domino effect?

  The state police had been called in; the police chief had made that decision quickly. Settler Springs didn’t have the resources or experience to handle a murder. She hadn’t gotten the impression that anyone on the local force wanted to handle it, either. The state police seemed to get called in for a lot of things. The police chief and the state policeman seemed to know each other pretty well. She wondered if they were related. The family ties of law enforcement in the area were well known. Maybe that was the reason why the state police were so obliging about helping out the Settler Springs Police Department.

  She had been able to tell from the taut line of his jaw that Officer Kennedy felt that their own police department ought to have been given the authority to handle a murder in their own town, but he was a newcomer to the force. A newcomer to the town, too, she knew. She knew all the police officers; one of her annual children’s programs was to take the preschoolers down to the station, where they were introduced to the officers, who told them how to be safe, not to talk to strangers and not to get into cars driven by people they didn’t know, not to use drugs, and to let an officer know if anyone tried to hurt them. Then she would read “Officer Buckle and Gloria” to the kids. The officers would then hand out treats and drive them back to the library in the police cars.

  Officer Kennedy hadn’t been at the station when she’d taken the kids there in September; he wasn’t on duty then, she supposed.

  He hadn’t been very friendly, but finding a dead body wasn’t the sort of circumstance that would bring out the Officer Buckle in him, she thought wryly. She made a cup of coffee; there was no sense in worrying about caffeine tonight; she wasn’t likely to sleep easily anyway.

  Her thoughts kept returning to Lucas, answering their questions while his mother hovered over him as if she could protect her Krymanski son from danger. No one could seriously think that Lucas killed the girl, though, Kelly thought. He had found the body. He had sought Kelly because he didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t a murderer.

  The police surely couldn’t blame him. They couldn’t!

  Mrs. Krymanski would have a hard time affording a lawyer, if they charged Lucas. But they couldn’t charge him. He hadn’t killed the girl, whoever she was.

  Kelly brightened. They’d have to identify her. That would reveal the killer. It was probably a boyfriend. Lucas didn’t have a girlfriend. He didn’t seem to want one yet. He was a young fourteen, with puberty barely manifesting itself yet. He liked to be with his friends and play basketball and video games. He was an indifferent student but not a troublemaker. He was just a kid who didn’t have the advantages of coming from a family like the Truverts or the Starks, but that didn’t make him a murderer. Mrs. Krymanski worked hard, and she was a single mom, but that didn’t make her a lax parent. Quite the contrary. She wasn’t the kind of mother who would cover up for her children if they misbehaved and she wasn’t a parent who made unrealistic demands upon teachers when it came to her children’s grades.

  Lucas wasn’t going to be applying for Harvard. He probably wasn’t even going to apply to community college. College wasn’t for everyone, if you needed someone to fix your leaky roof, you didn’t ask if he had a PhD in philosophy. Lucas intended to go to the vo-tech school next year. He thought he’d take up welding, maybe, or auto mechanics. He wasn’t quite sure, but he knew his abilities and his limitations and learning a trade was a smart option for a kid who would rather do physical work than study for a test. Just because he wasn’t going to be in the running for class valedictorian didn’t make him a murderer.

  Kelly continued to present a series of arguments in her head for all the reasons why Lucas wasn’t a murderer and hadn’t killed the girl in the alley. But even after she’d dragged herself upstairs to take a shower and gone to bed, she couldn’t rid herself of the suspicion that, to the police force, Lucas was the main suspect because he was a Krymanski.

  She hadn’t gotten that feeling from Officer Kennedy. His face was too hard to read. But she knew what Police Chief Roger Stark was thinking as he listened to Lucas re-tell the account of what had happened in the alleyway. And when the state police came, and Lucas had to tell his story again, their faces bore the same expression as that of the police chief. They knew all about the Krymanskis.

  Everyone knew about the Krymanskis. But that didn’t mean that it added up to murder. Besides, the Krymanskis ran more toward petty crime. Some drugs, that was true, among another branch of the family. But not murder. And why should it matter what the family was? Lucas was his own person. And he wasn’t a murderer.

  Troy Kennedy was thinking much the same thing when he went home after finishing his late shift. He’d gotten a text from Leo, who’d sent a photo of his grandchildren in their costumes, their trick-or-treat bags filled with Halloween loot. Troy smiled as he texted back to Leo to leave some candy for the kids. That photo was the only good thing that had happened on Halloween, he thought as he unlocked the front door of the house he rented and entered.

  Arlo, the German Shepherd he’d rescued from the shelter just days before the dog was scheduled to be put down, greeted him with rapturous delight, making Troy’s weariness fade just a bit as he put Arlo on the chain and let him outside.

  As he filled Arlo’s bowl with food, Troy thought again about the kid, Lucas. He didn’t look like a killer. Troy didn’t think
he was a killer. Someone killed that girl, but Troy would bet it wasn’t the Krymanski kid. Would the state police and the police chief bother to look for a suspect? They had let Mrs. Krymanski take her son home, but with a warning that they’d be asking more questions and he was to stick around.

  Mrs. Krymanski had said that Lucas wouldn’t be going anywhere but school and she’d fixed a fiery glare on her son. But Troy could tell that, behind the glare, Mrs. Krymanski was afraid.

  Troy didn’t blame her.

  “C’mon in, Arlo, it’s late,” he said to the dog who obediently trotted back into the house and made for his food bowl.

  Troy went into the living room and sat down on the couch, deciding against turning on the television because he knew that, by tomorrow, there would be news crews reporting in front of the police station and at the entrance to the alley. They’d be clamoring to find out the identity of the murdered girl and they’d want to know about the boy who’d found her. Lucas was a minor so his name wouldn’t be revealed.

  Unless the state police decided that he was the murderer and then the district attorney decided that Lucas would be tried as an adult. The DA wasn’t a Stark or a Truvert, though, so he might not lean that way, Troy thought cynically.

  Troy leaned back against the couch. He’d take Arlo out one more time before calling it a night. He’d set the coffee maker for the morning. He’d find out in the morning what there was to know about the murdered girl. She was young, it looked like, young enough to have parents who would notice if she didn’t come home. But not as young as Lucas.

  He couldn’t get the kid out of his mind. He couldn’t tell him to ditch the Darth Vader mask, but he had told him, before they went into the station, to take it off his head. Just carry it. Don’t walk in wearing it. He could tell, by the quick side glance from the librarian, that she understood his reasoning, but he knew that if she’d had a chance, she’d have hidden the boy’s mask. Just because Lucas was wearing a Darth Vader mask and the murdered girl had a Princess Leia mask, it wasn’t proof that there was a connection.

  All the same, he knew that as soon as Chief Stark found out about the Darth Vader mask, Lucas Krymanski was going to be his chief suspect in the murder of the girl in the Princess Leia costume.

  6

  Meeting on the Trail

  During his military service, Troy had seen some things that would haunt him the rest of his life. Things that he had to come to terms with. Things that couldn’t be neatly classified as right or wrong because they happened in a war zone, where life didn’t come with guarantees and death was random and impersonal. He’d learned to deal with those things, and he thought he was handling civilian life pretty well.

  But he’d been present when the police went to Mrs. Krymanski’s house and took Lucas from her, and somehow, that image was just as powerful as the memories from Afghanistan. Lucas was just a frightened, skinny kid who looked scared to death, and his mother, all her bravado drained from her, had begged them to leave Lucas with her. She’d watch him, she’d make sure that he didn’t go anywhere, he would listen to her.

  Except he hadn’t listened to her on Halloween night. He’d gone out for one of those kid flings and now he was a suspect in a murder.

  The girl had been identified. She was a high school senior from Golden Ridge, a wealthy school district an hour away from Settler Springs. Her name was Tyra Cardew. Her father was a financial advisor in the city; her mother was a human resources manager for one of the region’s banks. Tyra Cardew had an academic scholarship to Duquesne University, where she planned to study pre-med after graduation. She was an honor student, a cheerleader, and homecoming queen. And she had been two months pregnant when she died.

  Troy Kennedy woke up early Sunday morning before the sun came up. He’d had a long, hard week, one in which sleep had been hard to come by. It was his day off and he had a list of things he needed to do around the house. Rake leaves. Take out the screens before the weather turned cold. Wash the car. Laundry.

  But he needed to clear his head first. A week spent at the police station, where the guilt of a fourteen-year old kid was taken for granted because of his last name, while Police Chief Stark and Mayor Truvert didn’t even bother to pretend that there was any reason to pursue any other suspect, had troubled him.

  Troy got out of bed, threw the bedcovers back over the mattress, washed his face and brushed his teeth, pulled on sweats, and headed out the door. The night still ruled the sky but there was a hint of daylight breaking above. It was supposed to be a nice day. He drove out to the Trail, the scenic park the three boroughs maintained, for his daily run.

  By the time he got there, daylight had dawned, and the sky looked like it might comply with the forecast that the meteorologist had given during last night’s news. The news crews had been visible in Settler Springs for the entire week, broadcasting from the town’s landmarks as they updated their audience on the latest details of the murder investigation. But now that Lucas had been taken into custody to a juvenile detention center, the news vans had gone too, deprived of the raw meat of speculation and titillating detail.

  There was only one other car in the parking lot at the Trail, a Prius. Troy had seen it there before during his runs, but he’d never seen the occupant. He was surprised that more people weren’t out for an early run, but he was glad that he’d have privacy. He wanted to be alone and he wanted to run fast and hard so that he’d physically expend himself to the point where he wouldn’t see the scared look on Lucas Krymanski’s face as the state police put handcuffs on him and took him away.

  He was halfway up the Trail when a lone figure passed him. She looked vaguely familiar, but her head was covered by the hood of her jacket, and she ran as if she didn’t want to be bothered by anyone. No danger of that; Troy wasn’t in the mood for company. The trouble with being a police officer in a small town was that everyone knew him, and he didn’t know them.

  It felt good to run until he was tired and his muscles were protesting at the pace. The Trail ran along the river and was framed by the bright hues of the autumn leaves. Another week or another storm and the leaves would be down, the branches bare, the landscape barren as autumn surrendered to the bleakness of November.

  It would be a lousy Thanksgiving for the Krymanski family, Troy thought as he turned to head back down the Trail. He’d heard that there had been some trouble for the family since Lucas had been arrested. Mrs. Krymanski’s boss had stood by her and since she worked in the kitchen; she wasn’t visible to the clientele. But the oldest girl, a senior, had gotten into a fight when someone referred to her brother as “Killer Krymanski” and Troy had been called to the school. He had talked the other student’s parents out of pressing charges, and he’d driven the girl home, pretending that he didn’t hear her sobbing.

  He slowed down as he came to the end of the Trail, then stopped abruptly. The person who belonged to the only other car in the lot was leaning against her Prius, her gaze focused on the Trail. When she saw him coming into the parking lot, she stood up and walked up to him.

  “Officer Kennedy, I’m Kelly Armello,” she said. “We met . . .”

  She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to. She wasn’t dressed like an old lady anymore, and now, with her hood off, he saw that she had a thick mane of curly red hair. Her eyes were dark brown, fringed with thick black lashes. She was tall and slender. Pretty. Prettier than he’d expect a librarian to be, although to be fair, he didn’t know many librarians.

  “I remember.”

  “What’s going to happen to Lucas?” she demanded.

  “There will be a trial—”

  “Lucas didn’t kill that girl,” Kelly interrupted. “I can’t believe that you just figure that he must have done it.”

  “He found the body,” Troy said, stung by the accusation that it was his fault that Lucas had been arrested. “That’s what they’re going by.”

  She caught the nuance in his response. Suddenly the tight, hostile mask th
at had been her expression eased. “You don’t think he’s guilty either,” she said triumphantly, as if she’d unearthed some kind of clue.

  He didn’t think Lucas was guilty, but he wasn’t going to be discussing the details of a murder investigation with a civilian.

  That’s what he thought. That’s what he meant. But it didn’t explain why he found himself accepting her invitation to get coffee at The Corner Café.

  “Why here?” he asked when they’d both gotten out of their cars in front of the restaurant, which did a booming breakfast business. “I don’t think Mrs. Krymanski is going to want to see me.”

  “She’s not working today,” Kelly answered. “She’s going to visit Lucas.”

  They had to wait fifteen minutes before they were seated. Troy felt conspicuous to be standing there, conscious of the curious gazes of the other people who were noticing his presence. Or maybe, he thought, they were noticing Miss Armello. She was worth noticing.

  A waitress that Kelly greeted by her first name showed them to a booth. Kelly moved so that she could sit facing the door. He supposed she wanted to notice who came in. Maybe it was bad for a librarian’s reputation to be seen in the company of a cop.

  She took off her hoodie. “I’m always starving after a run,” she said. “Have you eaten here before?”

  “Lunch, a couple of times.” Leo liked to eat here, and Troy had been here with him when they worked the same shift. Troy didn’t much care where he ate; he generally preferred to go home for lunch. A sandwich and a can of soup satisfied him, and he liked the solitude of his own home, with just Arlo at his feet, hoping against hope that a piece of the sandwich would fall to the floor.

  “I can vouch for the omelets,” she said, closing the menu. “It won’t be as good as if Mrs. Krymanski was making it, but it’ll be good.”