Hiding Place (9781101606759)

by Bell, David

  “But it’s possible?” Janet asked.

  “It is possible. They can do great things these days. They may be able to recover some tissue or even something from the bone marrow or the teeth. Then they’d take a cheek swab from you and compare. But you still have to get a judge to agree to have the city take on the cost in a case in which there is no abundantly clear evidence to justify the exhumation.”

  Janet and Ashleigh exchanged a look. They knew something.

  “What?” Stynes asked.

  “Did you get my phone message today?” Janet asked.

  “I did, but I didn’t have time to call back.”

  “Did you hear what the message said?” she asked.

  “You said something about a donation and a burial,” he said.

  Janet told him, and as she spoke, the words from the message came back to Stynes again. And then he understood the look exchanged between Janet and Ashleigh. They had the money to exhume and rebury the body. Acquiring the court order would be easier than he thought.

  They could finally find out who was buried in that grave, if it was Justin or someone else.

  “Okay,” Stynes said. “It should take a couple of days to get the ball rolling. The next big thing for you, Janet, is that they’ll take a sample from your cheek. It’s quick and painless.”

  “Detective?”

  Stynes looked up. So did Janet and Ashleigh. Behind them, in the doorway that led back to the bedrooms, stood Bill Manning. Stynes wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there. He must have walked up silently, but he acted as though he had heard a fair amount of the conversation.

  “I’d like to give a sample for this test,” Bill said.

  “Dad, it’s not—”

  “Actually, it might help,” Stynes said. “If the sample in the ground is degraded, having another point of reference would help. Are you sure you want to do that, Mr. Manning?”

  “I said I did.”

  “Then I’ll include that in the request,” Stynes said, but he said those words to Bill Manning’s back. He had already turned back down the hallway.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Late that night, after Detective Stynes had left the house promising to call and keep Janet up-to-date as things progressed, and after Ashleigh went upstairs to bed, Janet knocked on her father’s bedroom door.

  She knew he’d be awake. The TV still droned behind the closed door, and she had noticed over the previous six months or so that he was staying up later than ever before. He used to be an early-to-bed, early-to-rise type, bragging about being able to wake up at five thirty on the dot every day without the help of an alarm clock. But unemployment had shifted his living patterns, and even after eleven Janet knew she could likely catch him still awake, staring at a baseball game or news show.

  “Dad?” she said.

  “Come in,” he said from the other side of the door.

  Janet didn’t think she’d heard him correctly. He always opened the door and then treated his room like a private sanctuary, a boundary territory not to be crossed by anyone. She’d grown used to talking to him in the doorway, a far cry from the moments of her childhood when she could climb into bed with her mother in the morning. Her dad would be gone to work, and Janet would sneak in and lie next to her mother, feel her warmth and affection.

  Inside the room, her dad lay across the bed, the covers thrown back. He wore a white T-shirt and a striped pair of boxer shorts. Without a regular shirt on, Janet saw that he had gained some weight in the preceding months. His belly bulged against the cotton fabric of the T-shirt more than she would have expected.

  He’s also getting older, she reminded herself. Even he has to get older.

  He didn’t mute the volume on the TV or turn to face her. Janet looked at the screen. In black and white Humphrey Bogart and a band of American soldiers stormed their way across the desert.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

  “Are you going out?” he asked.

  “No, it’s too late for that.”

  “Well, the other night…” He left the thought unfinished.

  The room filled with the sound of tank and artillery fire. “Dad? Can you turn that down a little?”

  He frowned but thumbed the volume control. He still didn’t look at her.

  “Dad, I just wanted to know why you volunteered to give that sample tonight. You’ve acted so cold about everything else. It seemed out of the blue.”

  He kept his eyes directed to the TV screen. He looked like he was planning on ignoring Janet and hoping she’d go away. But she wouldn’t go away, and before she’d said anything else, he said, “Won’t that put the questions to rest?”

  “Some of them. Maybe all of them. It depends on what they find.”

  “And will that make you happy?” he asked.

  Janet thought about her answer to that question. She answered truthfully. “I’m not sure, Dad,” she said. “I’m just not sure.”

  “Neither am I,” he said. “But I think it’s time we tried to do something, isn’t it?”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Janet wished she could escape from the news, from Dove Point. From everything.

  The days waiting for the DNA results to come back from the state crime lab were agony—and they were made worse because everyone in town and throughout the region knew about the arrest of a man who might be Justin Manning. Detective Stynes had released his mug shot to the news media and held a press conference on a Friday morning, explaining the developments in the case. Not only did he speak about the arrest of the man claiming to be Justin Manning, but he also revealed that a DNA test was under way to determine the identity of the body in Justin’s grave. He said that the family had decided to relocate Justin’s body to the plot next to his mother, not mentioning the anonymous donor.

  Janet chose not to attend the press conference. Stynes placed no pressure on her to be there, and rather than subject herself to questions and photographs, she stayed away and read a story about it—written by none other than Kate Grossman—on the Internet.

  But staying away from the press conference didn’t matter. In the days after the story went public, reporters began to call the Manning house several times a day. Kate Grossman sent Janet a bouquet of flowers and a request for an interview. Janet crumpled the note and threw it away. Then Janet came in to work three days after the press conference to find Madeline waiting for her with a piece of paper in her hand. An Internet news service had picked up the story. But they didn’t place it under national news or crime news. They filed it under “News of the Weird.”

  “Jesus, Madeline.”

  “I know. It’s awful.”

  “They’re making this look like it’s some kind of sideshow,” Janet said. “My life—my family—has become a sideshow.”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have shown you that.”

  Janet sat in her desk chair, her shoulders slumped. She felt tired more than anything else. She hadn’t been able to sleep in anticipation of the test results. And just being at home meant a ringing phone—and Janet answered every call, thinking it might be news from Detective Stynes when in reality the calls were only media requests or the occasional crank caller.

  “No, it’s good that you did,” Janet said. “I should be prepared for more calls.” Janet looked at the piece of paper again. “People in offices all over America are going to be sending this story to each other. They’re going to say, ‘Hey, look at this crazy shit.’ ”

  “On the bright side, at least the word will get out.”

  Janet wanted to laugh at Madeline’s insane attempt to see the silver lining, but she didn’t have the energy.

  “Why don’t you take some personal time?” Madeline said. “Hell, you and Ashleigh could take a drive somewhere.”

  “Where? Everybody has seen the story.”

  “Oh, they don’t know who you are. When’s the last time you took a day off? By the time you come back—”

  “Th
anks, Madeline. But I wouldn’t be able to think about anything else. I might as well stay here and try to live a normal life. Not that that’s possible.” Janet stood up. “I just wish…”

  “What?”

  “I wish Ashleigh didn’t have to get dragged through all of this. I feel like our weird family has put her right in the middle of something.”

  “Don’t worry about that one,” Madeline said. “She has a good mother. And a good example of how to be strong.”

  Janet walked back to her desk, and Madeline followed. Janet wanted to put her head down, to lose herself in work as long as possible. But Madeline had something else to say.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “I saw that you’re getting your wish. They’re moving Justin’s body.”

  “That’s right.”

  “When is that going to happen?”

  “The coroner is holding the body until the state crime lab reports their results. If they’re able to use the DNA they got, then the body will be released back to us. After that, I guess.”

  “Make sure you let me know. I want to be there for you.”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  But Madeline still didn’t leave. She leaned down and lowered her voice. “Is your dad going to go to the reburial?”

  “I have no idea. Why do you ask?”

  “I just remember Justin’s first funeral. Your dad didn’t shed a tear. I know how men are, you know? But still, didn’t shed a tear. I guess I just hoped you could both go. You were so young the first time, and he was…Bill. I thought, well, in a way this is working out to give you a chance to really say good-bye.”

  “And what if it isn’t Justin in the grave, Madeline? What if it’s really my brother sitting in a jail cell not speaking to anybody?”

  Madeline didn’t say anything to that. Janet didn’t think anybody had an answer for the question.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  The answer came to Janet later that same day.

  She had managed, late in the afternoon, to lose herself in her work for the first time in close to a week. A proposal to change the way faculty compensation was budgeted had landed on her desk in midmorning, and Janet spent most of her day reading it over, entering data into her computer, drafting an e-mail to send to the dean himself about whether the plan was feasible. She didn’t even look up from her computer screen until Detective Stynes stood next to her desk, his hands folded in front of him, a worried, pitying look on his face.

  Janet could tell he knew something.

  And her mind raced to guess.

  “Can we talk somewhere private, Janet?” he asked.

  Without saying anything, Janet led him across the hall, to the same conference room where she had spoken to Kate Grossman. Janet’s thoughts remained unfocused. She felt almost hysterical. She wanted to laugh, then cry. And when they entered the room, she thought, somewhat irrationally, that the drapes were out of date. What a dreary little room this is, she said to herself. I don’t think I ever want to come in here again. With anyone.

  They sat down, and Stynes cut to the chase.

  “The results of the DNA test are back,” he said.

  Janet wanted to cry. She felt the tears welling.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “but the results show with a high degree of probability that the body buried in that grave is your brother’s.”

  The tears didn’t come. Janet felt some energy slip out of her body. Her spine became loose and springy, like a bouncing, flailing child’s toy. She slipped forward, out of the chair and onto one knee on the floor. Stynes reached out, placed his hands on her arms, and braced her. He kept her from going flat on her face.

  But she didn’t cry.

  Had she ever cried for Justin? Really?

  Had she cried as a child when he first went missing? Had she cried at his funeral?

  For a long moment, they sat like that, Stynes holding her limp body. But she didn’t faint or black out. She saw the details in the carpet. The loose threads, a paper clip shining in the fluorescent lights. The energy came back quickly. She felt her spine stiffen, felt the strength return. She pushed against Stynes, lifted herself back into the chair.

  “Are you—?”

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  She slid back against the chair as Stynes let go. She pushed her shoulders back, lifted her chin. She would be fine. She knew it was likely it would be him. She could accept that.

  Justin was gone. He was really gone.

  It was over.

  “Would you like me to call somebody?” Stynes asked. “Do you have a friend here?”

  Janet shook her head. She was fine. And she didn’t want anyone else in the room. Certainly not Madeline. She could hear the news from Stynes, take the blow, and then figure out what to do next. She had to tell her dad, had to tell Ashleigh. She had to tend to the details of the reburial once they released the body.

  “And they’re certain?” Janet asked.

  “Yes. As close to one hundred percent as they can get. They were able to recover some very usable DNA, and the comparison was relatively easy as far as those things go.”

  “And the man in jail?”

  “We don’t know yet.”

  “And Dante?”

  “They tried but couldn’t recover anything that might be able to prove or disprove Dante’s guilt. I don’t think this changes much.”

  “Thank you for telling me in person.”

  “Janet, there’s something else.”

  “I guess reporters will hear about this soon—”

  “Janet? The tests showed something else.”

  “Maybe we’ll get back to a normal life now. Maybe after the reburial—”

  “Janet.” Stynes’s voice grew louder. It focused her, brought her back to the matter at hand. She looked at Stynes, saw the pitying look in his eyes. He had something else to say to her. What else could he possibly have to say to her?

  “Okay.”

  “Janet, they also tested your father’s DNA against the sample from Justin. Like I said, they do this to increase the likelihood of an accurate reading. When they received the results from that test, they found that your father and Justin share no genetic material. They’re not biologically related in any way. Justin is your brother, but he’s not your father’s son.”

  Janet still felt strong. Something hot and red rose inside her chest. She no longer saw Detective Stynes sitting before her. She saw a small man, an imperfect man, one who couldn’t even manage the simple matter of reporting the results of a DNA test.

  “No, you’re wrong.”

  “They double-check their work.”

  “You’re an asshole,” she said. She wanted to push back from the table, to lash out at Stynes. If she were a man, she’d hit him. He couldn’t say these things about her family. About her father. “That’s a lie.”

  Stynes didn’t look wounded by her words. His expression didn’t change. He just looked tired.

  “I’m not lying, Janet,” he said.

  “Then they’re lying. Or they’re wrong. Crime labs make mistakes all the time. I see it on the news. The police make mistakes all the time. And so I can’t know that what you said about Justin is true. None of it is true.”

  Speaking the words allowed her anger to ebb. She heard the irrational tone of her voice, the snapping, bitter quality to what came out of her mouth. Her chest still burned with an internal redness but it was not as hot. This was simply a problem that could be solved. They had messed up the test. How else to explain the nonsense Stynes was repeating to her?

  Stynes remained calm in the face of her outburst. He nodded, his face and demeanor full of sympathy.

  “This is something you’re going to have to take up with your father. The test results are conclusive. They don’t leave room for error. I can go with you when you talk to him if you want.”

  Janet tuned him out. She didn’t need his pity. She didn’t need
anyone’s pity. Her mind spun. Her father wasn’t Justin’s father? Justin was her half brother?

  And then she had another thought: was her father really her father?

  Who was he?

  “I have to go home,” Janet said.

  She stood up, although that word resonated in her head. Home. She thought she knew what that meant. Even after everything that had happened, at least she knew what that word meant. Battered and bruised and complicated, she knew where home was.

  Didn’t she?

  “Let me drive you. You’re upset.”

  Janet held out her hand. “I’m fine. I can get myself home.”

  “Can I follow you?”

  She walked over to Stynes and held out her hand. He looked down at it, his face puzzled. They shook. “I know it was difficult for you to have to tell me this news,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry I had to tell you,” he said.

  “No, I know it’s your job.” She let go of his hand. She didn’t even know why she shook it, except that she felt like she wanted some kind of connection, something to show that she recognized the importance of what she had been told. She didn’t want him to think her irrational or incapable of accepting the worst. She was capable. She knew she was. And she had to believe Stynes knew it too. But still…she wondered. “Are you sure, Detective? About all of this? Are you sure?”

  Stynes nodded. “I’m sure.”

  “My brother’s dead. Really dead. And my father…”

  “I’m sorry.”

  But she didn’t want to hear that, didn’t want to or need to hear those words, so she left, heading for home.

  Chapter Forty

  “Dad?”

  The house wasn’t just quiet—no TVs playing, no conversation or music. It felt quiet. Still. Like something had been removed. But she worried that the thing that had been removed had always been in her head: her own notion of home. Did the place just feel different because of what Detective Stynes had told her?