by Jeff Abbott
Peter looks inside and freezes. “Oh, no, no,” he says.
Grant looks inside, too. He sees blood splattered in the lining of the book bag and a metal pipe.
There’s blood on the end of the pipe.
45
Iris
Julia has just finished telling Iris about Ned, the drugs, Marland, and Iris is staring at her daughter as if she’s a stranger, someone who slipped into her daughter’s straight-A skin.
“Mom?”
“OK. We’ll deal with it. That’s what we do.” She has to extricate her daughter from this mess. A plea deal, turn evidence against Ned and this Marland person.
“Where is this phone of Ned’s that has the threat to Danielle in the text?”
“I hid it in a safe place. It’s leverage against this Marland guy. We can get him to leave me out of the ring and give me this incriminating evidence he says he has against Dad and then we can show it to the police.”
“If we show it to the police, then your involvement in Ned’s…drug stuff is going to come out. That cannot happen.”
“So?”
“Your father and I won’t ruin your future, Julia.”
Iris’s cell phone rings and she answers. It’s Kip Evander. “Iris. He confessed.”
The words make no sense. “To what?”
“To Danielle Roberts’s murder.”
The day is simply happening too fast, too intensely. This should be a day to plan dinner, to help Grant with his homework, to check over Julia’s math, to phone the volunteers for the choir musical, to tell Kyle about her day and to hear about his over a little red wine as she finishes preparing dinner. Not all this. Her life, crashing down around her.
“That’s not possible,” she says. “He couldn’t have done it.”
“They have arrested him based on the confession. But I’m not sure they’re convinced.”
“What do you mean?”
Kip’s tone becomes cautious. “I think he’s protecting someone. I’m not sure everything in his account added up. He said he killed her with a punch. They repeatedly asked him about that, and I’m thinking maybe there’s forensic evidence that it wasn’t a punch.”
Who would he be protecting? Her gaze meets Julia’s. Ned and Julia. Maybe each parent protecting their own. Or maybe he was wrong, and he thought someone else had killed her.
Someone like Iris.
“What happens now?”
“He’ll be processed into jail. Look, even if they have doubts about some of what he said, he confessed. They’ll look to validate that confession, not discount it.”
“What do I do?”
“They’ll have a press conference shortly. The press is about to descend on you all. I’ll see if I can get him to talk to me about who he’s shielding. Also, while I’m happy to represent him if you want, I think I want to call a friend who does nothing but criminal law.”
Kyle. Kyle. She takes a deep breath. She thanks Kip and hangs up.
“Mom? What?” Julia says.
The doorbell rings. Then a fist, pounding on the door.
46
From Iris Pollitt’s “From Russia with Love” Adoption Journal
2002
“I am not sure why you wish to see me,” Boris Stepurin said. It was unusual, presumably, for Americans to show up at his office and ask to speak with him about a private matter. We were sitting in a conference room at this investment firm, the door shut, hot coffee in front of us all and Stepurin looking very uncomfortable. He was blandly handsome, dark blondish hair, blue eyes, a square jaw.
“I’m not going to waste time,” Kyle said. “You are listed as the biological father on the papers of a boy we are very close to adopting.”
“I am married with children of my own. This must be a mistake.”
“The mother’s name is Anya.”
“I do not know an Anya.”
“She had the boy at a hospital near Saint Petersburg and then gave it up. He’s at the Volkov Infants Home. Our adoption hearing is today.”
“Congratulations. I wish you much happiness. This has nothing to do with me.” There was fear in his face.
“You talk to Anya,” Kyle continued, “and you tell her that it will all be fine. We will give Sasha a great life. He will never lack for love or any material comfort. His future will be bright. We live in a town with a great school, and many kids there go to the best universities in America.”
“How fortunate for the child.” But he didn’t get up and leave. He didn’t open the door and order us out. His gaze flickered between us both.
“So you need to explain this to her, and she needs to stop going to the infants’ home. And she needs to stop asking for the baby back. She did that before and it didn’t work out.”
He stared. “There was an earlier child?”
“Yes. And she asked for him back, and then returned him, neglected.”
“Boris,” I said. “We don’t want to interfere with your domestic life. But we don’t want Anya to interfere with ours. It must be so hard. We are so grateful to you both for your courage. But we want her to know in Sasha’s case, she need not worry. He will be so loved.”
He cleared his throat. “I don’t want you to think…badly of us.”
“We couldn’t,” I said, and I meant it.
“I was working on a project in our Paris office and she was working as a model there. Many Russian girls in Paris. My wife and I were separated…having problems. My family was back here and I was lonely in Paris. Anya was like having a friend from home. We were friends, first. Then…it was a mistake. We are not matched for each other, but I care about her. I want her to be happy. Now…my wife and I are back together. Please. My father-in-law owns this firm. I cannot shame them…and Anya promised me that she would give the child up.”
“We understand.”
“I will call her. You will not have further trouble, Mr. and Mrs. Pollitt. But please don’t come back here.”
“Are you smart?” I asked.
He blinked at me as he stood for us to leave. “Pardon me?”
“Well, you speak great English and you have what appears to be an excellent job. Are you smart?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m considered smart.”
“Any genetic illnesses in your family?” I asked. How often do you get to talk to a birth parent? This was my one chance.
“No. Both my grandfathers died of cancer though. Tell your son not to smoke.” He stood up.
“What about Anya?”
“I know little about her family. I’m sorry. She was healthy. But she…she can be impulsive. I’m not sure that is a problem in the blood. He is a handsome baby?” He bit at his lip.
“Yes, he’s a wonderful baby,” I said.
“May I make a suggestion to you before you go?” he asked. We nodded.
“Once you have my—I mean your—son, home with you…Never come back to Russia. Don’t let him ever return to Russia, either. Never. Not once.”
We didn’t know what to say—was this a warning or a threat?—and the silence grew awkward. Then he gestured us, politely, toward the door.
We thanked him and left.
“That was weird at the end,” I said.
“I think it’s going to be all right,” Kyle said, and took my hand. “I think it was his way of not wanting our son to show up looking for him.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe more.”
Please let Boris be making that phone call, I thought. For all our sakes.
47
Iris and Julia
Iris opens the door and Ned stumbles inside. His face is wild.
“I want to know what you know,” Ned says, his voice shaking, “about Kyle killing my mom.”
Iris and Julia stare at him.
“I want to know what was going on between them, and I want to know what you two knew about it. You’ve been protecting him.” Ned’s voice breaks.
Julia starts to speak, but Iris holds up a
hand and Julia stops. Iris says quietly: “You getting involved with this Marland guy is what killed her.”
Julia gasps, and Ned blurts, “Don’t you dare blame me! Your husband did this!”
“If he confessed, it’s out of a misguided sense of protecting us. And you, Ned, were the last person to see her. You pretended to call back to her when you and Julia were leaving. You didn’t want her messing up your drug dealing.”
“I would never let anyone hurt my mom!” he screams. “You can’t say this to me!” He takes a step forward and Julia takes a step back.
Iris glares him down. “I mean, it makes perfect sense,” Iris says, the words like a knife. “She finds out about the drug dealing and freaks out and argues with you. How it’s ruining your future. Maybe she says, hey, we’ll throw Julia to the cops to save you, although Julia only knew of it because you told her; you abused your friendship with her to drag her into it. And so she calls this Marland guy and tells him she’ll expose him, and he kills her. And it’s all because of you.” She cannot believe the words coming out of her mouth. But this is what desperation for her own family is. This is what fear is.
Ned erupts in a shuddering, shaking howl of grief, of disbelief.
“I don’t think normally she’d meet a man like Marland in the park, but she would to protect you. To keep you from knowing what she did. To make a deal with him to save your future…” She doesn’t recognize her own voice.
“Mom, stop. Stop!” Julia yells, clutching her arm, but Iris shakes free.
“STOP IT!” Ned screams, and he shoves Iris away from him. She sprawls on the hardwood floor.
“It was Kyle! She argued with Kyle! I heard her!”
“Of course you’d say that. You need to blame someone other than yourself for setting all this in motion…” Iris slowly gets up from the floor, Julia helping her, Julia staring at Ned like she’s never seen him before. Or seen this rage and heartbreak inside him. “You told Julia you thought you knew who killed her. But if it’s Marland, it’s your fault. You can’t face that truth.”
Ned’s hands close into fists. His voice shakes when he speaks. “You liar. You should have kept your own husband happy. Then he wouldn’t have come around my mom. And killed her.”
“She found out about your drug dealing and that you dragged my poor daughter into your idiotic scheme. Did your mom want to go to the police and cut a deal that would protect you and offer up Julia as a whipping boy to the police, someone you could frame and blame because she’d kept her mouth shut, because she dared to be your friend? Now, I could believe that’s what she and Kyle were talking about. Your mother wouldn’t have minded hurting us,” Iris says, her voice cool, controlled. “Kyle wouldn’t kill her. Even if they had an affair. Because he knows I’d forgive him. I’d make him pay for it. But I’d forgive him. He’s confessing to protect Julia’s future, the one you’ve nearly ruined. So none of this comes out. But he wouldn’t have killed her. Maybe Marland threw the punch, but you set all this in motion, Ned. You.”
Ned looks at her like a back corner of his heart knows it’s true. His face contorts in grief and guilt.
“Mom…” Julia’s voice breaks.
“Shut up, Julia. You’re never seeing this boy again. Ned, if I were you…”
The door opens and Gordon storms inside. “I heard what you said to my son. What the hell is wrong with you? Are you insane?”
Shaking with rage, Ned pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket. The screen shows an active call to Gordon’s phone. “My father was listening.” His voice drips hatred for Iris.
“How dare you accuse my son of any involvement in this?” Gordon yells.
If Iris restrained herself against a kid, she unleashes against an adult. “Now he’s your son. Now he’s your son. Suddenly you’ve found your paternal instinct. You’ve ignored this boy for years. You’re part of this entire mess. You disgust me.”
“You’d say anything to protect your husband. He confessed! The police just told us.”
She shoves a hand into Gordon’s thick chest, and surprised, he stumbles back. “Ned started a drug ring, Gordon. Drugs!”
“Not the bad stuff!” Ned yells.
“This ring of yours, drug dealers want to make it bigger, so yes, you idiot, it’s the bad stuff!” Iris yells.
Ned’s sobs stop, and his trembling mouth turns to a savage line. “This isn’t my fault. What is wrong with you to say that to me?”
“My husband wouldn’t do that. My daughter wouldn’t do that. It leaves the drug dealer you’ve pulled into our lives.” She pauses. “Or you.”
“Mom, please stop. Please,” Julia says.
“Wait, what?” Ned says. Gordon just stares at her.
“Maybe she never met Marland. Maybe Ned and Danielle argued about the drug dealing, her telling him he was putting his whole future at stake, and they fought. He hit her. Harder than he meant to.”
“Oh, Mom, no,” Julia says.
“You horrible bitch,” Gordon says.
Ned just stares at her.
Iris’s voice is like a judgment. “I mean, the police would consider the possibility. She dies. Ned can’t leave her in the house. He takes her to the park, where he knows she’ll be found quickly. He leaves the phone he doesn’t recognize, that she was using before, because it’ll throw suspicion on someone else.”
“Are you suggesting I killed my mother?” Ned says, his voice a slow, awful rise. He looks at her with a blind rage and then shoves her into the wall. Julia and Gordon pull him back.
“You see what he’s capable of…?” Iris yells, pointing at Ned.
“Is there anything you won’t say or do?” Gordon snarls at her. “Kyle confessed. Deal with it and leave my son alone.”
The back door opens. Grant hurries in, followed by Peter. “Come see!” Grant cries. “Come see what we found. The murder weapon.”
That silences the room. They follow Peter down the trail and to the tree. Mike is standing there, guarding something. Waiting. His phone at his ear.
“The boys called me,” Mike says by explanation. “So I called the police. They’re on their way. Don’t touch it.”
Iris looks at Danielle’s book bag and the pipe extending from it. “Someone planted that here.”
“Yeah, your murdering husband,” Ned says. He turns away, kneels down, and vomits into the grass.
Peter leans against his father and starts to cry. Grant takes his mother’s hand. Ned stands up and stares at Julia with a hate she’s never seen before.
The police sirens approach.
“We say nothing about what our children have done,” Gordon whispers to her. Desperate now, the way she was moments ago. Now he’s afraid.
“I’m not letting my husband go to prison for this.”
“If you talk about the drugs, then you give your husband even more motive,” Gordon says. “To silence her. You destroy my child and you destroy yours. He confessed. You ought to think that he might be telling the truth—that he cheated on you and murdered her to keep her quiet. Do you save your daughter or not?”
“What’s happening?” Mike says, his voice rising. He has one arm around Peter, the other around Grant, comforting him. “What are you two whispering about?”
Iris stands there, staring at the bag. Lose her husband and her daughter or lose just one?
Choose.
48
Transcript from Interviews for A Death in Winding Creek by Elena Garcia
Elena Garcia: You’d known both Danielle Roberts and Iris Pollitt for several years.
Francie Neville: Yes. I referred Iris to Danielle after Iris asked about our adoption experience—my husband and I had adopted three children from Russia. So I was maybe the only one in our mom group who knew Danielle longer than Iris.
Garcia: What was your impression of Iris?
Francie: I liked her. She was semi-famous, you know, but that wasn’t something she talked about. Having written songs for such famous people. I�
��d heard her songs so many times on the radio and I didn’t know. If I’d written for NSYNC and Britney Spears, I would have told everyone probably within five minutes of meeting them. That was not Iris. She knew it made her look better if you learned it through a friend or idle talk.
Garcia: And what was your impression of Danielle?
Francie: We used her services with all three of our children—we adopted one to start, and then two together later. So obviously I would have a good opinion of her.
Garcia: Was there ever anything strange or odd about their relationship?
Francie: Most of our little group felt that without Danielle, we might not have had such a good experience in the adoption process. She was good at her job, mostly.
Garcia: Mostly?
Francie: Well, all the way.
Garcia: You seem to be editing yourself a little bit.
Francie: I…well. A little. I don’t want to bad-mouth her.
Garcia: I want you to be honest.
Francie: The Russians are never easy to deal with. But both adoption trips—it was like Danielle was a different person than we knew in Texas. Distracted. Like…she had something better to do than shepherd us through getting our kid. It was just odd. Like when your doctor is normally really attentive and the next time you go in, he can’t find his stethoscope. Like that.
Garcia: Why would she be distracted?
Francie: I don’t know. It was certainly not the experience the other moms had with her. I heard them all—well, not Iris, but she wouldn’t talk much about it anyway—say how fantastic she was. Susan and Georgina never mentioned problems in Ghana or China with Danielle. And I remember, once, a mom talking like that, and Iris and I looked at each other like, Oh yeah? I asked Iris once: “Was there a problem in Russia?” And Iris looked at me like I’d dumped a bag of vomit on her foot. Seriously, just shock. She was hard to shock. I knew that from volunteering with her at the schools; you hear the things the kids say, and c’mon, she’d worked in entertainment. There was, like, a really painful moment of silence. Us looking at each other. And Iris said, “No. Did you have a problem?” And I told her about what we’d dealt with.