A Stranger at the Door

by Pinter, Jason

  “You could have hit one of them,” Barnes said, after the last bird had disappeared over the nearby buildings.

  “I was trying to,” Randall replied. “I don’t accept that there’s no way to fix this.”

  “Accept it or not, this is what’s happening,” Barnes replied. “They have your brother, pardon the phrase, dead to rights. I could try to make a case that he stumbled upon the murder scene by accident, that the reason he had blood on his hands was because he was trying to resuscitate Lloyd Lincecum and only shot at the police because they didn’t properly identify themselves. But it raises the question of what he was doing in Carltondale in the first place. It will open up a line of questioning about the Lincecum boy and likely more. And I don’t think you want to go down that road.”

  “What did my brother say when you spoke to him?” Randall asked.

  “He’s willing to plead guilty,” Barnes said. “And frankly, that’s likely his only chance for parole.”

  “Is the insanity defense an option?”

  “Given the premeditated nature—again, he arrived at the scene wearing heavy-duty gloves and carrying piano wire—that would be incredibly difficult.”

  “What if they ask why he was in Carltondale to begin with?” Randall asked.

  “If he pleads guilty to first-degree murder, they won’t ask for circumstantial details. Lloyd Lincecum is dead at Raymond’s hands, end of story. I may even be able to get it down to second degree if he pleads guilty and avoid a life sentence. The DA is willing to go with that if he can get a murder conviction without wasting months and millions on a trial. There’s just one problem.”

  Randall Spivak nodded. “The boy.”

  Barnes said, “Peter Lincecum never came home. Raymond says he wasn’t at the house. He’s in the wind. He could be next door. He could be in Texas by now. But as long as he’s out there, someone knows about you, your brother, and Bennett Brice and could testify against all of you. With Lloyd Lincecum dead, we don’t have any leverage over him. If the police find him and he testifies . . .”

  “He won’t,” Randall said.

  “I envy your optimism,” Barnes said. “One more thing. The DA told me that the Lincecum boy is injured. That the Marin woman may have dislocated his kneecap, torn a tendon or two. And to the best of our knowledge, he has not received medical attention. There are no records of any hospital admission, and he has not been back to school since he vanished. He’s alone. He’s hurt. And he’s scared.”

  “You should have warned my brother,” Randall said. “He should have confirmed the Lincecum boy was home before he got there. This all could have been avoided.”

  “Your brother is a grown man,” Barnes said. “He can make his own mistakes.”

  “He has a history of being sloppy. He should have handled the Boggs situation differently too. Instead she comes to his home? He invites conflict. That’s why he’s sitting in a cell right now. He got bad advice.”

  “You’re his brother,” Barnes said. “Doesn’t that make you his keeper?”

  “Brothers don’t always listen to brothers. Sometimes you need a third party to cut through the biases of blood. Raymond is a bull. Strong, yet often mindless. Bulls can be a necessary evil when a display of force is needed to achieve your goals. But they have a hard time slowing down once in motion. They react without thinking. Raymond should have cased the Lincecum home before thinking of entering, and he should not have harmed Lloyd Lincecum until he knew where Peter was. Now the boy has every incentive to turn on us.”

  “I have enough on my plate dealing with Bennett Brice and the mess at YourLife. But if the cops or this Marin woman get to Peter Lincecum before we do, it all comes down. Hard.”

  “Peter Lincecum is an injured boy afraid for his life,” Randall said. “He’s probably terrified out of his mind. Scared people make mistakes. I’ll find him.”

  “You won’t be the only one looking for him,” Barnes said. “The detectives from Ashby are already suspicious of Brice and surely know how valuable Peter Lincecum’s testimony could be. And that Marin woman, she’s a wild card. You have competition.”

  “And Evelyn Boggs?”

  “As long as we have our leverage over her, she can be controlled. Find the boy. Loose threads have a way of being unraveled by the wrong people.”

  “The only proper way to deal with a loose end is to cut it and burn the thread,” Spivak said. Then he got up and walked away.

  CHAPTER 39

  I’ll be home late

  Rachel looked at the text from her son and this time tamped down the desire to do catastrophic harm to her cell phone. She checked his GPS. Still off. She called him. Nobody picked up. Was this the rest of her life? Spending each and every day petrified about what her son might be doing, whom he might be with, and whether or not he would ever actually speak to her again?

  Her head ached. She took two aspirin, unsure if the headache was from the dent in her skull or the dent in her relationship with her firstborn.

  She went into Megan’s room, knowing that her daughter’s loving presence would soothe her mind, at least temporarily.

  “Shh, Mom,” Megan said. She was hunched over her desk with a pen. “I’m at a really important part in this Sadie Scout book, and I don’t want to lose it.”

  “Well, don’t let me interrupt Sadie’s latest adventure,” she said. Rachel went over, kissed her daughter’s cheek, and exited the room.

  She heard a faint I love you from her daughter just as the door closed, and her heart swelled.

  She heard a knock at the front door, and Rachel ran to it.

  Eric. It had to be Eric.

  But Eric has keys.

  Rachel opened the app on her phone linked to the camera mounted above the front door.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” she whispered.

  Rachel went into the kitchen and took a screwdriver from a drawer. She held it in her left hand, hidden, flush against her wrist, then opened the door.

  “Hi,” said Evie Boggs. “Can I come in?”

  “Can I rearrange your face with my foot?” Rachel replied.

  “That . . . uh . . . no. We need to talk. I promise this will be more pleasant for either of us than you . . . doing that.” She paused. “It’s about Peter Lincecum.”

  Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “You can talk to me from there.”

  Evie looked around the neighborhood. There was no shortage of people within earshot of Rachel’s porch door. Rachel saw her neighbor, Monique Weatherly, walking her Pomeranian, Yippy. Monique waved. Rachel unenthusiastically waved at her. Yippy yipped and promptly peed on a shrub.

  “You sure you want to talk here?” Evie said. “Lot of people can see us.”

  “Empty your purse,” Rachel said.

  “Rachel . . .”

  “Do it.”

  Evie sighed and emptied the contents of her purse onto the doormat. Her wallet, a tube of lipstick, Tic Tacs, a tampon, keys, a cell phone, a small hairbrush, mascara, face wipes, a granola bar, a portable phone charger, hand sanitizer, and a canister of Mace.

  “See?” Evie said. “Nothing nearly as dangerous as whatever you’ve got hidden in your left hand.”

  “Screwdriver,” Rachel said. “Phillips head.”

  “So you plan to stab me and then assemble some furniture?”

  “Turn your cell phone off,” Rachel said. Evie held down the power button until Rachel could see the “Power Off” message flicker. “Now put everything back into the purse and give it to me.”

  “This is the most polite mugging ever.”

  “Shut up and do it.”

  Evie tossed her belongings back into the purse and handed it to Rachel.

  “You haven’t confiscated these,” Evie said, holding up her hands. “They’re registered as deadly weapons.”

  Rachel paused. “Is that true?”

  “No. I’ve just always wanted to say that.”

  “Come on in. But my boyfriend is a cop, and I
know half a dozen ways to cut off the blood flow to your brain.”

  “I taught you at least three of those,” Evie said.

  Evie stepped through the door, and Rachel closed it behind her.

  “Living room is that way,” Rachel said. “Sit.”

  “You’re not going to show me in?” Evie said.

  “I’m not turning my back on you,” Rachel said. “And take your shoes off in my home. We’re not animals.”

  Evie took her shoes off, left them by the door, went into the living room, and sat down on the couch. Rachel sat across from Evie and placed the screwdriver on her lap.

  “All right,” Rachel said. “I have questions. And you give straight answers, or you leave.”

  “How’s your head?” Evie said.

  “Oh, we’re doing pleasantries now?” Rachel said. “It’s dandy. If I need to staple some pages together, I can just borrow one from my scalp.”

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  “You didn’t hit me. Or did you? I still don’t know who to thank for the little boo-boo on my head.”

  Evie flinched. “You might not believe this, but I don’t want to see anyone hurt. Not you. Not your son. And most certainly not Peter Lincecum.”

  “How do you know about Peter?” Rachel said.

  “Bennett Brice is my brother,” Evie said.

  Rachel sat back. She eyed the screwdriver. “You’re serious.”

  Evie nodded.

  “And you neglected to tell me that before because . . .”

  “It wasn’t important,” Evie said.

  “So when you told me, all the way back in Torrington, that you had family in Ashby, you were talking about Bennett.”

  Evie said, “That’s right.”

  “So the real reason you’re here in Ashby is because of your brother?”

  “Yes and no,” Evie said.

  “You’re not very good at this straight-answer thing, are you? So answer me this. You’re a mother. Why put up with Bennett when he’s exploiting children to make himself rich?”

  “It’s more complicated than that.”

  “Then uncomplicate it,” Rachel said.

  “I don’t know everything,” Evie said. There was shame in Evie’s voice, which suggested to Rachel that she was telling the truth. And that perhaps she didn’t know everything because she had chosen not to ask.

  “Then tell me what you do know.”

  “I need to be certain you’re not going to involve your boyfriend or his partner,” Evie said.

  “If Bennett is committing a crime, the police have to be notified.”

  “And if they are notified before we can fix things, people will die. Matthew Linklater should not have died. Lloyd Lincecum should not have died.”

  “They did not die. They were murdered, in part because of what you and your brother are involved in.”

  “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt,” Evie said. “And neither does Bennett. You might think he’s exploiting those kids, but he does care about them. He is giving them opportunities. Bennett has been doing this for a long time. Three years ago, a man named Derek Burbank donated five hundred thousand dollars to Saint Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital. Derek came from nothing. He was orphaned at three years old. But he worked for Bennett and learned how to harness his talents.”

  “I bet that helps Bennett sleep at night,” Rachel said.

  “Actually, it does.” Evie looked around. “Do you have anything to drink?”

  Rachel gave her a You’ve got to be kidding me look. Then she got up, went into the kitchen, opened the freezer, took out a bottle of Ketel One, poured a shot, and handed it to Evie.

  Evie downed it and held the glass out. “Double or nothing?”

  “If you’re thirsty you can lick the sink.”

  Evie put the glass down.

  “Bennett is a smart man. But he’s made some bad business decisions. Poor investments. He was loaded up with debt. And if you know my brother, he’s willing to find any way to succeed. Even if they’re ways most people wouldn’t consider. And that includes working with people you shouldn’t work with.”

  “Let me guess,” Rachel said. “That’s where the Spivak brothers come in.”

  “That’s right. Bennett knows Chester Barnes from way back in the day. And Chester knows everybody in this town,” Evie said. “He can help you within the law or outside of it. Bennett reached out to Barnes, looking for a way to get back on his feet. Barnes knew a man named Raymond Spivak. The Spivak brothers are two of those people you don’t want to get into business with.”

  “But your brother did,” Rachel said.

  Evie nodded and stared longingly at the empty shot glass. “The Spivaks started out as loan sharks. Bill collectors for some bad people. But they had one thing most loan sharks don’t: ambition. I don’t know all the ugly details; they may have had mob connections, but they were making millions and couldn’t actually use any of it. You can’t put it in banks because you would need to declare it, pay taxes on it. And there are only so many mattresses you can hide cash under.”

  “So they needed a way to launder their money,” Rachel said. “And when Bennett Brice reached out to Chester Barnes, the opportunity presented itself. He connected Bennett with Randall and Raymond Spivak.”

  “My brother represented an opportunity for them,” Evie said. “Bennett could launder their cash while also expanding their base of operations. So they made a deal with Bennett. They agreed to bankroll him with a new venture. Something where cash flow was erratic. They would buy a nice house for him to live in so he could keep up the mirage of a man who got rich running a successful business. Bennett would filter the Spivaks’ money through YourLife.”

  “What about the Caymans?” Rachel said.

  “Once YourLife was set up in Ashby,” Evie said, “the Spivaks were able to get their hooks into local residents. There is money here. And the Spivaks knew where to look. And it wasn’t just loan-sharking. They hired PIs to find out everything about everyone. Rich city councilman having an affair? They’d hack into his phone and find the dick pics. Hedge fund manager with a predilection for young boys? They’d show up at his house with a thumb drive full of photos taken at a local motel.”

  “That’s what was in the manila envelopes I saw Benjamin Ruddock delivering,” Rachel said. “Money from the Spivaks to be deposited into offshore accounts. But why use kids like my son?”

  “They’re smart. Well, at least Randall is. They don’t just go after any kids. They find kids from broken homes. Kids whose parents are in prison. Kids on the fringe. Kids whose parents are about to be evicted. Kids who are vulnerable and desperate.” Evie pointed at Rachel. “Kids whose parents have something to hide.”

  “This is evil,” Rachel said.

  “It was a means to an end,” Evie said. “Bennett did offer these kids a lifeline. It wasn’t all about money. They became fratres. A brotherhood. This has been going on for a long time. Bennett has helped a lot of kids find better lives.”

  “But how was he able to target the right children?” Rachel said.

  “The Spivaks would pay off school psychologists, social workers, even parents. In turn they were given leads. Kids with a chip on their shoulder. Then Bennett would follow up. He didn’t recruit everyone. Kids with emotional problems, violent tendencies. He went after good kids in bad circumstances.”

  “I still don’t buy that all these kids were willing to work for him,” Rachel said.

  “You’re so naive, Marin. You’re a kid. Your parents are useless. Maybe drunks or addicts. You live in squalor. A good-looking businessman offers you real money and a chance to change your life. A way out. Who’s going to say no to that?”

  “Eric doesn’t need the money,” Rachel said. “He doesn’t have to want for anything.”

  “The most valuable things in the world can’t be bought,” Evie said. “Like self-esteem. Pride. You know that as well as I do. Anger is a valuable commodity. It’
s the same way drug cartels get kids to work for them. It’s why eleven-year-olds end up dealing on a Baltimore street corner. You make them feel like it’s their only way out, and they’ll follow you until it’s too late for them to realize there is no way out.”

  “So then why are you here?” Rachel asked. “You and Bennett have a nice little gig destroying people’s lives while convincing yourself you’re Robin Hood.”

  “Because it’s one thing if a pedophile gets swindled or a crooked politician gets blackmailed. I can live with all that. Gleefully. But Peter Lincecum is going to die if we don’t do something. And I can’t live with a kid being put in the ground.”

  “Can your brother live with that?” Rachel asked. “If saving that boy’s life means tearing down YourLife? Are you willing to trade the possibility of your brother going to prison to save a life?”

  Evie paused. She said softly, “I just know I can’t let a boy die because I did nothing. You know this town better than I do. You’re willing to do whatever it takes. I need your help.”

  Rachel nodded. “OK. I can work with that. But I need you to agree to two things.”

  “What?”

  “First, I’m going to need you to come with me tonight.”

  “Where?” Evie asked.

  “It doesn’t matter. You’re going to say yes without asking any questions.”

  “All right. Yes.”

  “Second . . . I need to call my boyfriend.”

  Evie stood up and shook her head. “No way. Uh-uh. You told me you weren’t going to call the cops.”

  “I’m not,” Rachel said. “This cop also happens to be my babysitter. We have work to do.”

  CHAPTER 40

  It took slightly more convincing to get John Serrano to agree to come over to Rachel’s house this time. The simple “favor” wouldn’t cut it.

  Whose girlfriend asks him to come over at night to watch her daughter—who’s already asleep, by the way—so she can go out and do God knows what?

  By the time they’d hung up the phone, Rachel had promised to cook him a four-course meal, watch any movie of his choosing (even those involving trolls and/or elves), and participate in half a dozen sexual acts, some of which Rachel had to google. In the end, given that most of the acts sounded like more fun than her usual Tuesday night, Rachel agreed.