“Yes. But there’s a lot of land, and the driveway is long. I had to go meet the incoming ambulance near the highway to direct them. That left ample time to discharge one bullet.”
“Could he have put himself out of his own misery?” Holden asks.
“His prints should be on his gun if that were the case.”
“How could this have gotten missed?” Holden is irate. “How did the doctors and police not catch this?”
“I don’t know. I was taken off the case immediately,” he murmurs. “As Sib knows, my wife, Cindy, was found dead the next morning from injuries she sustained after crashing into a tree. I was beside myself with grief and was off the force for a few months. I had to keep my sons from going off the deep end at the loss of their mother.” He sighs heavily. “Not to mention, Edward, Sibley’s real father, had died a few weeks before this. It was a rough time. And the awful rumors swirling about your mom and me.”
“I know.” I put my head in my hands. “I know.”
“I’m gonna be really blunt, Sibley.” He grimaces. “Because I owe it to you. Your father was a difficult man. Not well liked. A lot of people heard the rumblings about him beating your mother. Because of his fall, he wouldn’t have had any quality of life except eating through a feeding tube in a nursing home. In their minds, it was an open-and-shut case.”
“So what now?” I ask.
“I’m going to try and protect her . . .” He steeples his fingers as if unsure of what to say. “Dammit, we could almost see the light at the end of the tunnel.”
“But she killed him in self-defense,” I say pointedly.
“I know, but I can’t entirely sweep this under the rug.”
“You’re going to charge my mother with murder when you know what she went through at the hands of Jonathan?” Incredulous, I practically jump out of my chair. “There’s gotta be another way.”
“Sibley, you’re an attorney. You understand the lay of the land. I can’t just unsee this. When I retire soon and this case is brought to light, which it will be, since I’m the one who went to the lab for prints, my entire career will be naught.”
I stare at him openmouthed. “She’s sick, Chief,” I whisper. “You can’t do this to her.”
He strokes the mole on his chin. “I don’t want to dredge up the past, believe me. I’m going to recommend she enter a psychiatric ward for evaluation.”
“Just talk to her doctor,” I say limply. “They can confirm she’s not in her right mind.”
“I know,” he says mournfully. “Believe me, I know.”
CHAPTER 53
Sibley
After the chief leaves, Holden and I sit while he gently holds my hand in his. We both look up at the thud of footsteps on the porch. He motions for me to stay seated, and after rising, he answers the door.
It’s the plainclothes detective who I remember was talking to the chief the other day. He has a salt-and-pepper mustache and a shiny bald head, and he gave the chief a run for his money, height wise.
“This can’t wait,” he says apologetically.
“Understandable.” Holden welcomes him in.
“You might notice Chief Fletcher is being arrested outside,” he says in far too casual a manner. Holden and I go to the kitchen window and gape as Robert Fletcher is handcuffed and led to the back of a waiting squad car by another police officer. The squad car door closes after his hunched figure.
“What happened?” I ask tensely. “What’s going on?”
“Mind if I take a load off?” The man’s stubby fingers point to the less cluttered living room. “By the way, I’m Brian Paulson, criminal investigator for the state.”
Holden leads me by the arm to the couch while Brian sits across from us in Deborah’s recliner. I face him with my puffy, tearstained eyes, waiting impatiently for him to speak. When he doesn’t, I break the tense silence.
“Where’s Miles?” I ask. “Is he in trouble too?”
He leans so far forward I’m afraid he’s going to fall out of the chair. “Can you tell me what you know about Alice Alacoy?”
I retort, “Can you tell me why Robert Fletcher, the chief of police, is being arrested?”
“I promise we’ll get there.” Brian scratches his bald head. “In a minute. Just bear with me.” Brian leans back and stretches his long legs out, which are a contrast to his stubby fingers. “Let’s talk. Alice. What do you know about her?”
“Not much.” I shrug. “I’ve only met her once. She was . . . is . . . my mother’s psychiatrist. I consulted with her about my mother’s health and concerns I had. It seemed she shared them too. There’s some obvious medical issues going on with Deborah.” I choke back a sob. “And Alice—Dr. Alacoy—provided some good information.”
“Like what?” Brian asks. “What type of information?”
“Do we need to discuss my mother’s medical history?” I lean back, exasperated. “I don’t know you, Mr.—I mean, Detective Paulson.”
“Call me Brian.” He snaps his fingers at me. “I hear what you’re saying. I get it. But all of this is accessible to me anyway, since this is an investigation.”
“It’s okay, Sib,” Holden murmurs in my ear. “You share what you feel comfortable with. The rest he can subpoena.”
I take a deep breath. “Dr. Alacoy was watching my mother for signs of degenerative diseases. One in specific—she called it an imposter syndrome.”
Brian chomps his gum, blinking rapidly.
“The way she explained it made it seem legitimate. Is it not?” I ask, crestfallen. “My laptop went missing, and I haven’t had a chance to research it yet.”
“Well, she’s not a doctor, so regardless, her opinion is bullshit.”
“What do you mean?”
“Alice, the woman you know as Dr. Alacoy, isn’t licensed.”
“In the field of psychiatry?”
“In any medical field. Period.” He points a finger. “She’s a scam artist.”
I shift in my seat, suddenly feeling feverish.
“The woman you met, Dr. Alice Alacoy, was posing as a psychiatrist.”
“Wait, what?” Holden removes his glasses. “How is that even possible?”
“Are you serious? She seemed so knowledgeable . . . how could I not have known?” I bury my head in my hands. “I feel like such an idiot.”
“Because she did a terrific job faking her credentials. Alice had business cards printed with the title of doctor, a legitimate website, not to mention the diplomas in her office and her website.” He wipes a crumb from his mustache. “Hell, she even purchased a medical liability insurance policy.”
He gives me a sad smile. “She will be charged with insurance fraud, filing false health-care claims, larceny by false pretenses, and practicing psychiatry without being licensed to in the state.”
“So she made the imposter syndrome up?” I run a hand through my hair. “And I believed her wholeheartedly.”
“No, babe.” Holden holds up his phone. “This isn’t made up. It’s a real diagnosis.” I scan the article he shows me on his screen, and sure enough, it’s a real thing. And like Alice discussed with me, it mirrors my mother’s odd behavior.
“I’m lost, Detective Paulson,” I say. “If this could truly be what my mother is suffering from, and Alice isn’t a real doctor, what does that say about the health-care system?”
“I’m not sure I follow . . .”
“What if she’s right? Was Alice just practicing medicine with some type of education background and no credentials, or how could she potentially be accurate with her diagnosis?”
“Wikipedia,” Brian says dryly. “And Google. It’s not that hard. Everyone self-diagnoses.”
“But these are rare diseases. Lewy body and Capgras.” I rest my hands on my knees.
“How did Alice manage to prescribe meds without being a licensed doctor?” Holden asks.
“Alice had another doctor, a real one, prescribing your mother copious amounts of medic
ations, including strong doses of heavy tranquilizers. It’s amazing your mother is even alive.”
“And I guess, why? Why would Alice want to hurt my mother? Or me. We don’t even know her.”
“Oh, but you do.” He drums his fingers on his knee. “Alicia Alacoy is her birth name, but she goes by Alice. Does the name Edward Pearson ring a bell?”
I nod my head slowly. “I just found out he’s my biological father.”
“Alice is the ex-wife of the deceased Mr. Pearson. They were married for about a decade, according to court records.”
“I know Edward held a special place for my mother . . .” I rip a piece of skin off my nail, wincing. “I don’t understand how that factors into Alice hurting my mother.”
“Alice was convinced Edward had an ongoing affair with your mother, starting from the time they were married. Then she found out about you being his biological child, and well, it’s a tale as old as time: she felt the need for revenge.
“When he divorced her, they fought about the usual grievances—money and children. Then she moved to the East Coast to finish raising their young kids. Edward wanted nothing to do with her and, as we say in this day and age, pretty much ghosted her. He didn’t communicate with either her or the children. She was understandably livid.
“It went from bad to worse when he didn’t support his children, and after he died, Alice was sure she would stand to inherit his life insurance policies, or at least their children would. One didn’t pay out because of suspected suicide, and the other went to someone you know.”
“I know?”
“Yes. You. Alice found a letter to you shortly after he died, and he had bequeathed everything to you at the age of thirty-five.”
Holden mutters, “What in the hell.”
“Seriously?” I gasp, staring down at my lap in wide-eyed shock. “My father left me everything?”
The detective nods. “Alice reconnected with Robert Fletcher online about two years ago on social media, since she knew the Fletchers from before. Robert and Edward were best friends growing up. Alice and Robert had an ongoing relationship over the last year and a half. He convinced her to move back to the state and set up a fake practice.
“It quickly went from insurance fraud to a psychological manipulation of your mother. Since Alice knew what happened the night Jonathan died, it didn’t take her long to convince Robert to take advantage of Deborah. He’s been having severe financial problems for a few years due to his gambling addiction. He has massive gambling debts to pay off. Also, Alice was billing insurance companies, so she was skimming that way.” Detective Paulson shakes his head. “They had a lot of irons in the fire.”
“Was the intent to kill my mother?” I whisper.
“No. It was a lot more sinister. Robert was trying to scare Deborah off. He had a deal to get a sizable cut from the county if Deborah agreed to sell her farm. And with over fifty acres, he was going to make a pretty penny.”
“But why would Robert want to harm my mother?” I shake my head. “She never did anything to him. He was the one helping her leave Jonathan. Why would he want to hurt her now?”
“From everything we’ve gathered, Robert didn’t forgive your mother for the loss of his wife, Cindy. He lost Cindy and Edward around the same time.” The detective shrugs. “He never got over losing his wife because he tried to save Deborah, as painful as that sounds.
“The other big reason is as simple and complicated as money.” The detective scowls. “Alice blackmailed him and told him if he didn’t help with her plan, she’d come forward with information about that night, incriminating him. Plus, she knew he had stolen from the police officers’ union and was aware of kickbacks he was getting from the prison.”
“So it wasn’t Fletch that stole from the union,” I groan. “Robert made his son pay the price?”
“Yes.” The detective adds, “Robert was about to lose their farm, and as the police chief, he could protect Fletch in some ways. He promised him the chief position after he retired for taking the heat.”
“Even with a damaged reputation, Miles thought he could overcome that?”
“With all the politics involved, yes. The chief had enough people in place and connections that the speculation would die down.” Detective Paulson adds, “It became old news about the coffers being empty.”
“Was the chief behind the push for eminent domain to take over the farm?”
“One hundred percent. He was set to get a ‘fee’ for the transaction if Deborah agreed to their terms. We found out Robert even forged both Deborah’s name and Miles’s on a real estate purchase in Florida.”
“And the gun I turned in never went to the lab?”
“No. It was shoved in a locked drawer at the chief’s home. His prints are on it.” Detective Paulson coughs. “We also found the rifle used in your mother’s attack. We believe it was Alice, not Robert, who was the perpetrator that night.”
I’m curious to know the detective’s thoughts on Jonathan. “Do you believe his death was accidental?”
“At this time, yes. By all accounts, Robert had no reason to kill Jonathan. Was he a wife beater who would have been arrested at some point for domestic violence? Most likely, but this is a tragedy, a rare, sad, one-in-a-million tragedy.” The detective narrows his eyes. “After Alice pushed Jonathan, it injured him enough he wouldn’t have lived through the hospital ride.”
“Speaking of the hospital”—I grip Holden’s hand in mine—“how did you figure out what happened to my mother?”
“Deborah could barely sit up in the interrogation room. Thank God a nurse noticed puncture marks in her vein.” Brian continues, “She’d been heavily sedated and drugged. And you can thank Miles Fletcher for coming forward—he had a bout of guilt that reared its ugly head and said his dad and Alice forced him to help drag her to the barn and start the fire.”
“But he didn’t try to save me . . .”
I shake my head. At this point, I don’t even know the real from the fake.
“Was Fletch,” I begin, and Brian narrows his eyes, not recognizing the nickname, “I mean Miles—was he complicit in this?”
“We don’t have proof of his involvement with your mother. He did know about his father’s debts and the missing funds, but obviously, we’ll keep investigating. Apparently, he had shown up at Deborah’s house unexpectedly, not planning on Alice showing up.”
“So it’s true Robert Fletcher never dated my mother?”
“Only to gather information.” Brian tilts his head, side to side. “He wanted everyone to think Deborah was losing her mind, so he made sure they were never seen together. Except we got a report they were caught on camera at a grocery store, some twenty-plus miles away. Unfortunately, the camera outside of the house is a dummy one, so we can’t check the visitors who have come and gone. The chief was able to pretend it alerted the station because Deborah would always call him when there was a problem. It was there only to further convince Deborah she was losing her grip on reality.”
“Are there any ties between Alice and Robert and a man Deborah saw sitting in the house?”
“Look, Sibley, I’ll be blunt, and the doctor at the hospital can provide further insight. The types and dosage of pills she was taking—it’s . . . a lot. Visual and auditory hallucinations are not abnormal side effects. There’s no telling if it was real or imagined.” Detective Paulson grimaces. “It’s complicated by the fact Alice played a psychological cat-and-mouse game with your mother intentionally. Your mother is a high-functioning woman, and it’s impossible to know if the side effects she experienced were part of the medication or psychosis or if they were because someone was actually there. Case in point, Alice pushing her down the stairs. I have no doubt Alice was the ‘figment of her imagination’ she saw.”
“This is all so—there’s no other word for it—fucked up.” I bite my lip, drawing blood. “I can’t believe someone could be so cruel.” My lip quivers. “And that I almost fell for i
t. I thought my own mother would want to harm me.”
Holden squeezes my shoulder. “She’s in good hands now, Sib, and so are you.”
“So when can we see her?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as she’s well enough for visitors. She’s gonna need some recovery time as we try to counter the effects of the drugs.” He stands up and shakes our hands. “Just give it some time. You have my word I’m keeping an eye on her.”
CHAPTER 54
Sibley
My mother is more present than she’s been since I first came home. Her voice is strong and doesn’t waver, even with the horrifying details of Jonathan’s death. We sit down in the living room, and we have a heart-to-heart that is more of a mother-daughter moment than we’ve ever had, and even with the morbid details, it’s a relief to hear them from her.
“That night, I ran back into the barn because I heard this terrible thud, this horrible, strangled scream, and I knew; I just knew.” Her eyes betray a hint of sadness. “Jonathan was on his back, looking up at the ceiling. For once, his eyes had fear in them, like he knew he had broken his body for good. Blood was everywhere, and I knelt beside him and tried to feel his pulse. He wrapped his hand around my wrist, and he whispered he needed to know if you were his.” She gives me a watery smile. “I lied and said yes.
“Talk about timing,” my mother says sadly. “That’s when Robert Fletcher, at the time a police sergeant, ran in. He saw all the blood, and he saw Jonathan had beat up my face, so he assumed the worst—that Jonathan was still in the middle of attacking me, since his hand was wrapped around my wrist. He didn’t have time for hesitation. He pulled out his gun and fired at close range.”
My mother shrugs. “If you ask me, Jonathan was put out of his misery. He would’ve been paralyzed if he even survived the ambulance ride to the hospital.”
My eyes widen. “What did you and Robert do?”
“We were both in shock. We agreed we would never speak of this again. We both knew what Jonathan was capable of. It was kind of good riddance, as harsh as that sounds. We assumed we had been the only two people in the barn that had seen what happened. Neither of us thought to check the loft. By the time an officer went up there, Alice had snuck off.”
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