by Rick Mofina
Emma blinked.
“Well, it might’ve been called Anthony’s Diner, or Anthony’s Grill. I know it kept changing hands. Mom called it Tony’s.”
As Kayla assessed Emma’s answers, Emma stared into Kayla’s eyes, softening her voice. “I know you’re struggling to accept me. I know how after your mom died, it was just you and your dad against the world. Then I came along and invaded your life. I know it’s hard for you. Listen to me—I’m not replacing your mom. I’m not an imposter and I’m not hiding anything. I love you.”
Kayla stared at her, and suddenly Emma’s attention flicked to the large glass doors that opened to the patio, the pool and the night. Then she looked at the oak cutlery block holding a set of big stainless steel knives.
Emma took one, held it tight in her hand.
Kayla caught her breath, never taking her eyes from Emma or the knife.
Tug barked, then ran to the patio doors, where he barked louder.
Emma followed, gripping the knife.
“What is it?” Kayla asked.
Something in the back had tripped the security system’s motion detector, activating extra lighting. The pool and backyard were lit up as Emma stepped outside with Tug.
Tug trotted to the dense shrubs, growling.
Emma searched the darkness beyond the lights. She could feel eyes on her before returning to the house, where Kayla was on her phone.
“Who’re you calling?”
“Our security company,” Kayla said. “They’re dispatching people.”
Ten minutes later, two cars with First Pacific Sentry Security logos arrived, lights flashing. The two officers, both barely older than Kayla, wearing police vests with company insignias, used powerful flashlights to sweep the backyard and the perimeter of the property. Then they checked the house and the home system.
“Could’ve been a coyote from the park that triggered the sensors,” the guard with the tag Hawkley on his vest said. “We’ve had a few coyote reports last couple days. Trash and loose food draws ’em in. Make sure all your garbage containers are secure. All clear now. Good night, folks.”
After thanking them and locking up, then checking the locks again, Emma returned to the kitchen.
“It’s been a long day,” Emma said. “We’ll finish talking another time. I’m going to bed.”
“Sure, whatever,” Kayla said, without looking from her phone.
Upstairs, in her bed, hours went by with Emma unable to sleep. She was assailed with thoughts of Kayla’s questions, her fear that she was getting closer to the truth, and her stomach knotted.
The knife in her hand brought it all back—the screaming, the blood.
Ben was in Eternity and the truth was rising to the surface.
Sixty-Two
Winnipeg, Manitoba
Present day
Ben stepped into the elevator at 201 Portage, got off on the twenty-second floor, walked into the reception area of Levitt, Rhodes and Bristol Law Firm and asked for Ian Bristol.
“Please have a seat, Mr. Grant. He’s on a call. I’ll let him know you’re here.” The receptionist indicated the sofas by the wall lined with law books and a large aquarium.
Glimpsing the colorful tetras, rainbows and killifish floating tranquilly, Ben set his briefcase aside. After landing the previous day, he’d rented a car and checked into a Holiday Inn. Before he made the drive to Eternity, he first wanted to meet the lawyers who’d represented Girl A, Girl B and Girl C, as they were known to the court.
All three attorneys were in Winnipeg. Two were still practicing. All three had agreed, albeit with some reluctance, to meet with Ben individually.
He checked his phone. His service was fine in Canada—he had no pressing messages.
“Mr. Grant. Ian Bristol.”
Ben stood and took the extended hand of a man about his height, midfifties, shaved head and a salt-and-pepper Van Dyke. Bristol led him to his plush, dark wood office with the view of the city. They sat on opposite leather chairs.
“Welcome. When did you get in?”
“Yesterday.”
“Direct flight?”
“No, L.A. to Calgary, then here.”
“All right, let’s get to it. You’d like me to reflect on the case for your book?”
“Yes.”
“I hesitate to do that for several reasons. First, I’m still bound by lawyer-client privilege.”
“I understand, but the case concluded years ago.”
“True, but given the age of my client at the time, many aspects of it remain protected, and will remain protected, under our young offender legislation law, now called our Youth Criminal Justice Act, to be precise. Moreover, my hands are tied. But believe me, there are a lot of things I’d like to tell you about how that whole thing unfolded.”
“Such as?”
Bristol smiled. “I just can’t.”
Ben nodded. “I understand. Look, I’m trying to locate the girls. I don’t even have their names—”
“Because they’re still protected,” Bristol said.
“Yes, I get that, but could you get word to your client on my behalf that I’d like to interview her for the book, as a biographer of the case? Her true name would be kept confidential, in keeping with the law.”
“I would if I could. But after her sentence was completed, she no longer stayed in contact with me. She had no reason to. I believe she changed her name and left the country.”
Ben sighed and nodded.
Reading his disappointment, Bristol said: “Ben, I’m sorry. Look, you just arrived in Manitoba and you’re going to be here for a while, right?”
“Yes.”
“All right, I have your contact information. If I can think of ways to help you, I’ll be in touch. Fair enough?”
“Sounds good.”
“I am a fan of your work.” Bristol pointed to several of Ben’s hardcovers on the bookshelf.
“Thanks.”
* * *
Shield and Sanctuary Legal Services was located in the Polo Park area of the city.
The nonprofit agency, which provided help for low-income clients, had its office in a redbrick professional building, sandwiched between an insurance broker and a dental clinic. Next to the building was a gas station, a liquor store and pet food store.
“Are you sure I can’t get you a coffee, Mr. Grant?”
“No, thank you.”
Belinda Walker, one of the girls’ lawyers, was friendly. In her sixties, the lines time had etched around her eyes and mouth vanished when she smiled. But her hair, now streaked with gray, tied in a taut ponytail, conveyed her seriousness in response to Ben’s request for cooperation. Seated behind her desk with its neat stacks of files, Walker steepled her hands.
“You must appreciate that there is little I can say to help you.”
“So I gather.”
“It was a complex case, a disturbing case. I have thoughts about it that I would love to share with you but the law prevents me from doing so.”
“That being said, couldn’t you even help me off-the-record with some insights, some direction?”
Walker touched her fingers to her lips and thought. “Their criminal records and personal information have been sealed. I know their fingerprints and DNA are in databases,” she said. “However, you could get the trial transcripts. That’s public record. You have to pay the copying fees.”
“Yes, thank you. I’ve made a request for the transcripts.”
“Still, that won’t tell you the whole story, the real story.”
“The real story?”
Walker began shaking her head at the memory of it all. “It’s very complicated. Let me think more about it, and I’ll get back to you if I can help.”
Ben thanked her. Then, before leaving, his request for
Walker’s help to locate her client was met with the same response he got from Bristol.
“I have no idea where she is now, or who she is. I’d heard rumors that after completing their sentences the girls moved to Australia, or the UK or the US. Who knows? They’re free women now, free to live their lives and do as they choose.”
* * *
Ben’s next meeting was in Assiniboine Park.
Ed Tracy, the last of the girls’ lawyers, lived in a condo overlooking the park.
“Not much I can tell you but we can meet,” Tracy had said in his emailed response, giving Ben a time frame and directions to where he’d be.
Now Ben walked along park paths that meandered amid the roses, irises and other flowers, to the fragrant air of the English Garden. He found Tracy was sitting on a bench by the pond.
Ed Tracy no longer practiced law. Now in his eighties, his long white hair spilled under his panama hat. He looked rumpled in his white pants, white shirt, sleeves rolled up, leaning on a cane.
“Mr. Tracy?” Ben said.
Tracy’s sad eyes lifted to Ben and he nodded as he sat beside him. “Ben Grant.”
The two men shook hands.
“It’s beautiful here,” Ben said.
“So you want to know about the case?” Tracy’s voice was gritty and low and he coughed.
“Sir, I’d welcome any help I could get.”
“That’s a challenge for us lawyers.”
“Today I’ve been schooled in the laws that bind you to secrecy and protect names and details.”
“You’ve come far for a primer in Canadian criminal justice, Ben.”
Ben smiled. “Well I’ve got a lot of other work to do but, well, I’m getting the sense that there’s more to this story than was ever made public.”
Tracy looked out to the lush gardens. Hummingbirds flitted from flower to flower everywhere.
“You have good instincts and you write good books,” Tracy said. “I don’t think any of us, the lawyers for the girls, were satisfied that we’d taken the most effective defense strategy.”
“What do you mean?”
“Those girls entered the house to get the money, that’s a fact. But then what happened next, what really transpired—well... I think we failed to present an accurate picture for the jury.”
“Why’s that?”
Tracy looked up and down his cane. “Ben, the answer is fraught with complications and while I’m still breathing, I’m bound to carry all the answers with me to my maker.”
“I understand.”
“And that won’t be long for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Terminal. Doctor gives me one, two months at the most, so your timing is good.” Tracy coughed.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. I’ve had a good life, a privileged life. I miss my wife. She passed five years ago. I’ve accepted it all.”
“I can’t thank you enough for coming out here.”
“Happy for the company. I just wish I could help you. I really do because this case has weighed on my conscience from the first day.”
“Could you help me reach your client?”
Tracy shook his head. “She’s long gone into a new life. She never had reason to stay in touch with me. I’m just a reminder of the whole tragic mess.”
“I get that.”
“But I’ll see what I can do. I’ve got your numbers. I just wouldn’t bank on anything.”
Ben nodded and enjoyed the garden with Tracy.
Apropos of nothing, the older man said: “How does that bit of Scripture go, from Ecclesiastes? Forgive me, I’ll botch it, but something like, ‘Vanity vanities. All is vanity. What does man gain by all his toil under the sun? A generation goes, and a generation comes, but the earth abides forever.’”
Ben nodded, reflecting on the quote, then sat with Tracy for several minutes before thanking him. As he made his way out of the park, his phone vibrated with a message from Cecil May in California.
It stopped him cold.
Your book fan, Del Brockway, works with Leo Wicks. They’re private investigators.
Ben phoned Cecil. “You think these guys are investigating me?”
“Sure looks that way.”
“Your sources tell you why?”
“I haven’t got that far yet.”
Ben thought a moment. “Could be something related to one of my books. That’s happened a couple times before. People trying to prove I got something wrong, trying to discredit me for legal action. Nothing ever came of it.”
“But you haven’t put out a book for years. Could be something else.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I’ll work on it.”
“Keep me posted.”
Sixty-Three
Cielo Valle, Orange County, California
Present day
In the morning, a woman with dark circles under her bloodshot eyes stared back at Emma from the mirror.
Her head was splitting. She needed coffee.
Watching the kettle boil in the kitchen, Emma fought to control the maelstrom churning around her.
She hated lying, but Kayla was putting things together.
She couldn’t have read my journal, though. If she had, she would’ve asked different questions. And now, Ben’s in Eternity exhuming my past. Sooner or later they’re going to know. And that shadow at the window—and that guy in the park stalking Ben—or me. Was he a reporter? Last night I felt that something, or someone, was watching me out there.
Emma looked out the window into the brilliant sun reflecting on the tranquil pool.
Steam clouds rose from the kettle, its whistle sounding like a scream.
She covered her face with her hands to steady herself, then made a cup of coffee. Going to the fridge, she discovered they were out of milk.
They were out of a lot of things.
She decided she’d get groceries, right now. Do something normal to clear her head and think.
Emma set a fresh bowl of water and food out for Tug. Kayla was still asleep. She sent her a message, telling her she was going out, got her list and left.
* * *
Emma shopped at her local Trader Joe’s.
She liked the prices, the quality and the fun atmosphere. And today, she needed it more than ever. But between selecting items on her list, her fears struck like lightning, tormenting her.
Gripping her cart’s handle Emma could feel the knife in her hand, her past pulling her back to the horror. She forced the images out of her mind as she went through the checkout line, then pushed her cart through the parking lot to her SUV.
“Hi, Emma.”
She stopped. A woman she didn’t know appeared between parked cars, standing next to Emma’s SUV.
The woman might’ve been Emma’s age, maybe older. She had sunglasses perched atop her head. Was smoking a cigarette, one arm against her chest supporting the other elbow in a posture suggesting she’d been waiting.
“Hello.” Emma smiled and moved toward her car.
“You’re married to Benjamin Grant, the author, aren’t you? I saw you on TV.”
Emma lifted the tailgate of her SUV and began transferring the bags from her cart to her vehicle. “Yes.”
The woman dragged on her cigarette, blew a smoke stream skyward.
“We know each other, Emma.”
Emma grew uneasy. Was this woman one of Ben’s readers, another weirdo like the guy in the park?
Be polite, respectful, she told herself as she finished loading her groceries.
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t think I know you.” Emma closed the tailgate and smiled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Wait. I can prove we know each other.” The woman crushed her ci
garette under her foot, then held out the object hanging from her neck chain. “I bet this looks familiar?”
“I don’t—” Emma shook her head, glimpsed the object and froze.
A skull ring.
Emma’s pulse pounded. She fixed her gaze on the stranger with unblinking incredulity until recognition dawned. The woman’s face, her features, the same, but ravaged by decades, took Emma hostage, launching her across the years, to the screams, the blood—to Eternity.
“Ahh,” the woman said. “There it is, in your eyes. You know me, don’t you, sister?” She smiled. “I’m Rita now, Rita Purvis.”
Emma swallowed and looked around. “I don’t know why you’re here. But you should go. Go now.” She pressed her remote key, it chirped and she started for the driver’s door.
Rita blocked it with her body. “You’ve got a very expensive ride here, Emma. You’ve got a big fancy house, a very nice life. You’re doing very well, aren’t you?”
Emma looked at Rita. “Get out of my way.”
“Or what? You’ll call a cop?” Rita laughed. “We’re handcuffed in that regard, aren’t we, sister?”
“What do you want?”
“I’ll make it quick and simple. Twenty years ago, you betrayed us.”
“What?”
“We had a pact and you broke it. Now it’s time you made up for it.”
“Get away from me.”
“Your two sisters aren’t doing so well. The years have been agony for us—you have no idea. We want your help.”
“We?” Expecting to see another woman, Emma looked around but saw no one. “I don’t see anyone else.”
“Be assured, both of your sisters have found you and both of us demand compensation for violating our sacred bond.”
“Compensation?”
“Your husband, with his books, his movie deals, is worth millions. All we want is one hundred thousand each. That’s it.”
“What? You’re out of your mind! I can’t give you a penny.”
“Give us the help we need, or everyone will know the truth and your princess life will be over. We know everything about you. Imagine the shame and disgrace for your husband.”