The Necklace

by Matt Witten

  She dodged her interrogators like a running back, dashing to the right, then switching back left, and finding a gap between two anchorpeople. She raced out the front door.

  “What are you running from, Susan?” she heard Lisa calling. From outside, she took one last look into the lobby and saw Robert and Williams still chasing after her. But the media people had recognized Robert, and sensed Williams was important somehow, so they were blocking the two of them and asking questions.

  Susan knew Robert wouldn’t be coming outside to chase her, not for long anyway, since he was still in pajamas and bare feet. She cringed when she thought about how he would look on TV. She hoped he wouldn’t be too upset.

  But Williams might come after her, to say nothing of Lisa. And three media people were coming out the front door right now.

  So she turned and ran. She heard people shouting her name and picked up her pace. The adrenalin killed the throbbing in her knee. She ran down the street and zigzagged through three side streets before she finally turned around again.

  Her pursuers were gone.

  Now what?

  She was standing in an empty lot next to a hardware store. She took her flip phone out of her pocket and dialed a number she had committed to memory by now.

  Danny answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

  “We need to talk,” Susan said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  SATURDAY, DECEMBER 4, PRESENT DAY

  “THE FBI CHECKED the necklace for DNA,” Susan said. “They didn’t find any traces of Amy.”

  She was with Danny, in the front seat of his rented Malibu, in a church parking lot on the main street. She sat as far away from him as possible, with her hand close to the door handle. She hadn’t been eager to meet with him in his car, but it was too cold to meet outside and she didn’t want to be in a coffee shop or some place where the media might recognize her. Here on the main street she felt she could jump out of the car and run if things between her and Danny got weird or scary.

  “Of course they didn’t,” Danny said. “It wasn’t Amy’s necklace.”

  “And the duck bead on the necklace didn’t even exist until seven years ago. It looked the same as Amy’s bead, but it was a different manufacturer.”

  “Okay, good,” Danny said. He looked at Susan. “So we’re all done with this then.”

  Their eyes locked. That’s why she’d come here. She wanted to just look him in the eyes. She thought maybe that would convince her once and for all that Danny had nothing to do with Amy’s death.

  His face softened. “Look, I’m not mad at you. I’m just freaked out and hurt that you would think this of me.”

  He paused, waiting. She realized she was supposed to apologize to him.

  But it felt like her lips had been locked up. She couldn’t speak.

  Danny said, “But I get the pressure you’re under. That we’re both under. We’ll feel better tonight after it’s all over.”

  Susan thought about what would happen in just a few hours: Curt Jansen’s execution. She realized what was stopping her from apologizing. I’m still not sure about Danny. Even after everything Williams said, I’m still not sure.

  She had been silent for so long that Danny asked, “Susan? You okay?”

  She bit her bottom lip, so hard it hurt. Somehow the pain unlocked her and she was able to speak again—even challenge him, the way she wanted to. “You have to admit, you had some weird …” She stopped, looking for the right words. “… sexual things.”

  He raised his eyebrows, incredulous. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  She pushed on. “Wanting me to dress like a little girl.”

  Danny sputtered angrily, “I liked fantasy role playing, so that makes me some kind of fucking evil pervert? What the hell is wrong with you? Do you still think I killed Amy?”

  Susan couldn’t stop now. “You liked to give her baths.”

  “Jesus Christ, I did that when you were tired coming home from the diner! What has gotten into you?”

  “You were so cold after she died.”

  “Are you kidding? I spent a year taking care of you!”

  “But you never cried about Amy.”

  “Sure I did!”

  “Not after that first week. Not after they arrested Curt Jansen and you stopped being a suspect.”

  “What, you think I was faking being upset?” Danny banged the steering wheel in frustration. She was afraid he was about to punch her, something she had to admit he’d never done; he had just shaken her hard, that one time. She braced herself, though he didn’t seem to notice. “Susan, that whole first year I was just trying to hold it together. I cried a thousand times, just not when I was with you. You were falling apart. You needed somebody to be strong for you.”

  “Strong? You left me.”

  Danny sighed heavily. “I’m truly sorry.” He started to reach out his hand toward her, to touch her shoulder or something. But then he pulled back like he wasn’t sure how she’d respond.

  She wasn’t sure either. She’d either run screaming from the car or cry in his arms.

  He said softly, “Susan, we both know, most couples break up when their child gets killed. People mourn in different ways. I couldn’t just sit there and talk about my feelings like you did. I needed to get up and do something. I had to get outta that town. I needed to …” He stopped. “I needed to forget about Amy, at least for a while. Or at least that’s what I thought I needed. I was dying, Susan. Every day I thought about jumping off that bridge in Corinth. Every single day.”

  Then Danny started to cry. Heavy, heaving sobs, the kind she had never seen from him that whole year.

  Susan sat there, not sure what to do. She was tempted to leave the car but couldn’t bring herself to. Instead, she moved closer to him in the front seat and held him. He buried his face in her shoulder.

  At last he opened his eyes and sat up again. “Thank you,” he said.

  She nodded. She felt so … She didn’t know what she felt. Her head was pounding. So was her heart. “I need to go.” She reached for the door handle.

  “Susan, I want things to be right between us.” She paused with her hand gripping the handle and looked back at him. His eyes were wet and red-rimmed, pleading. “We don’t know if we’ll ever see each other again after tonight. Let’s go out for a drink afterwards, or just drive around like we used to when we were first together. When we were in high school, before … Before everything.”

  She had loved this man once. She wondered if some part of her still did. “I’ll see you later,” she said, and got out of the car.

  As she walked out of the church parking lot, her phone rang. It was her mom, so she didn’t pick up.

  Then Kyra called. Susan couldn’t bear to talk to her either.

  The noontime sky was dark gray. Susan walked away from the center of town, pulling her coat closed against the brutal North Dakota wind. She found herself on a bridge, looking down at the thin river she and Robert had driven over. In two or three weeks, four at the most, this river would be ice.

  She gazed up at the barren hills looming above the edge of town. They looked menacing today, all their solemn anger aimed straight at her. In the distance was an oil derrick, all alone.

  It’s not the same necklace. For the hundredth time in the past hour, she wondered: Does this mean I was wrong about all the rest of it too?

  Her phone rang again. She figured it was her mom or Kyra calling back, so she almost didn’t look at the display. Then she saw it was Robert.

  She hoped he didn’t hate her. She hit the talk button and said, “Hi.”

  “Are you okay? Where are you?” Robert said.

  He didn’t sound mad. But then again, he was a nice guy, polite, like they probably taught you at FBI school. Who knew how he really felt toward her?

  “I guess it’s time to deal with reality,” Susan said.

  “Where are you?” he repeated.

  She told him, and a l
ittle later he drove up. She got in his car. “Thanks for picking me up,” she said, still trying to gauge his feelings.

  “You ran out of the hotel so fast. I was worried about you.”

  “I just wanted to get away.”

  Robert nodded. “I don’t blame you.” He gave her a little smile, and she felt a lot better.

  He asked, “What are you thinking? Do you still want to go to the execution?”

  Susan wanted to just run away again. She couldn’t imagine she’d get any grim pleasure out of the execution as she’d once expected.

  But she couldn’t imagine staying away from it. So she said, “Yes, let’s go.”

  They headed back up into the hills. Susan would be so glad to get the hell out of North Dakota.

  Though how she’d get back home with no money, she had no idea. There were limits on what she could ask from Robert. Maybe she would finally call Terri tonight.

  Robert rubbed his forehead as he drove. “After this morning, that prison will be crawling with reporters.”

  Susan said, “I am so sorry I dragged you into this mess.”

  He gave her that little smile again. “You didn’t drag me. I believed the evidence you brought.”

  “What do you think now?”

  He took a moment to answer her. “I’m guessing Williams and his people did a solid job analyzing the necklace. So I believe them that it’s not the same necklace Amy wore. And that was the only real evidence we had.”

  She slapped the dashboard with her hand. “This is so fucked up.”

  “It always is.”

  Was he teasing her somehow? “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been to four executions. There’s always something screwed up that goes on. Executions just make people crazy.”

  “Then why do you go?”

  “Because if it’s one of my cases and I don’t go, it doesn’t feel right. If somebody’s getting killed because of work that I did, I should be there and accept the responsibility for what’s happening to him.”

  She gave a faint smile. “Wow, you’re a pretty deep guy.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  She looked out the window. “I wish I had a cigarette. I haven’t had a cigarette in thirty years. Since before Amy was born.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Not really. I feel kind of sick.”

  “The execution’s not ’til five thirty. And I’ve made it a rule: never go to an execution on an empty stomach.”

  Susan couldn’t tell if he was joking, but she decided to take his advice. They got off the highway at the next exit and found a Burger King, and she discovered she was ravenous.

  As they left the restaurant and headed back to the car, Robert said, “So what are you going to tell the reporters?”

  “What should I tell them?”

  “What you believe.”

  If only I knew what that was, Susan thought.

  An hour later, they reached the penitentiary gate.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  SATURDAY, DECEMBER 4, PRESENT DAY

  TWO GROUPS ABOUT thirty people strong stood on opposite sides of the gate, carrying homemade signs. Susan eyed them warily as she and Robert drove toward them.

  They ranged from kids to the elderly. One group held up signs with messages like “Don’t Kill for Me” and “Execute Justice Not People.” The other group’s signs proclaimed “An Eye for an Eye is Just” and “Death for Child Killers.”

  But despite being polar opposites, the two groups were noncombative and seemed respectful of each other. Nobody was shouting and they all seemed to be honoring the solemnity of the occasion. Maybe it was just too cold out here to get in a big fight.

  The one thing Susan found disturbing was that several of the pro-death-penalty people had huge, blown-up pictures of Amy wearing the necklace.

  Robert and Susan rode up to the gate, which blocked their way. A corrections officer with a red, puffy face and a beer belly stood at the opening of the small guardhouse, holding a clipboard.

  Robert rolled down his window and handed over their drivers’ licenses. “We’re here for the execution. We’re on the witness list.”

  The CO checked their licenses, then leaned down and peered into the car at Susan.

  “Susan Lentigo,” he said, his beady black eyes narrowing. “You’re not really backing the scumbag that killed your daughter, are you?”

  Susan was too taken aback to speak, but luckily Robert stepped in. “Officer, that’s not your business, is it?”

  The CO glared at Robert menacingly. “If she’s coming in here to cause trouble, then hell yes it’s my business.”

  Robert stared straight back. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up and let the lady through?”

  Susan was stunned, but apparently Robert had read the situation right. Although the CO’s eyes flared with anger, he didn’t do anything. He just handed the IDs back to Robert and opened the gate.

  “Thanks,” Susan said to Robert, as they headed up the long driveway to the main administrative building.

  He gave a dry smile. “No worries. That guy’s a bully, but he wasn’t about to mess with the mother of the victim. Not in any way that could get him in trouble.”

  As they came around a small hill and approached the building, Susan saw the big parking lot was close to full and there were six or seven TV vans with cable dishes. Robert parked at the edge of the lot. By the front steps, about fifty reporters, anchorpeople, and cameramen were waiting, loosely guarded by two or three corrections officers. They were probably waiting for Susan, but they hadn’t spotted her yet.

  “God, there’s a lot of them,” Susan said. “Guess Lisa got them all excited.”

  Robert looked at her. “We can stay in the car for a while if you want.”

  “That won’t make it any easier.”

  Susan’s right leg was bothering her again, but she was determined to ignore it. They headed for the front steps of the building. As soon as the media people saw her, they raced up with their microphones and cameras. Susan knew what their questions would be even before they started shouting at them.

  “Susan, how do you feel?”

  “Did Curt Jansen kill your daughter?”

  “Are they executing the wrong man?”

  Robert stepped in front of her, blocking the media and trying to clear a path so they could make it to the steps. “Give us room, please. Step back.”

  But the questions kept coming: “Susan, who do you think killed your daughter?” “Is Lisa Jansen telling the truth about you?”

  Robert said, “Let us through, please. Let us through—”

  “Susan, look this way.”

  “Susan, are they killing an innocent man?”

  Despite Robert’s efforts, the crush was overwhelming Susan. Why weren’t the COs trying harder to control these people? Maybe they were slacking because they were pissed off at her, just like the CO at the front gate.

  Following closely behind Robert, she managed to make it halfway up the steps. Then a woman in her mid-thirties, well dressed but a little plump, came down the steps toward them. She seemed somehow different from the media people, with a different kind of worry on what looked like a usually cheerful face. She said loudly, so Susan could hear her over the reporters, “Susan, I’m Pam Arnold from Public Relations. You don’t have to talk to them. Come on inside.”

  Pam tried to pull her up the final steps into the prison. But when Susan made it to the top step, she said, “Hang on a second.”

  The media were still yelling questions, even more aggressively now that their quarry was about to escape inside the prison where they couldn’t follow. A twenty-something man shoved a microphone into Susan’s cheek so hard it rattled her teeth.

  Robert pushed the man backwards. He fell into an anchorwoman, who stumbled and almost fell herself, which led to a brief interruption to the questions. Robert took quick advantage of that. He raised his hands and said, “If you�
��ll all be quiet for a moment, Ms. Lentigo has a brief statement she’d like to make.”

  Susan stepped up next to Robert.

  On the other side of her, Pam said, “Susan, are you sure this is a good idea?”

  Susan ignored her. Below her on the steps, everybody with a microphone or a camera jostled for better position. She waited for them to quit pushing each other, and for her own heart to stop beating so fast.

  But her heart kept pounding, and she quit hoping that would change. She needed to speak, right now. Just do it.

  “I’d like to say,” she started, and then stopped. Her voice sounded both squeaky and hollow. It didn’t feel right, like it was coming from another person.

  She began again. “I’d like to say that …” She paused again, still disconcerted by the strange sound of her voice, then plunged on. “Curt Jansen’s sister seems like a very kind woman, and she’s been through a lot. I’m sorry she misunderstood me.”

  Her throat caught for a second, like there was a big lump stuck in there. Then she continued. “I am confident that Curt Jansen is the man who killed my daughter.”

  The lump grew, but she was able to get out, “That’s really all I have to say.”

  Then Susan turned and went inside, as the media yelled questions and Robert and Pam followed her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  SATURDAY, DECEMBER 4, PRESENT DAY

  THE REPORTERS’ SHOUTS faded as the door closed behind Susan, Robert, and Pam.

  “Well done, Susan,” Pam said enthusiastically. “I shoulda known all those rumors about you taking the killer’s side were nuts.”

  “Thanks,” Susan said.

  Robert sensed her discomfort and changed the subject. He pointed to the metal detector and told Susan, “Okay, they have super-sensitive metal detectors at prisons, so get rid of anything you can think of.”