He thought a minute. “I have my bike.”
“And the car has a trunk.” David stood. He said to Max, “I had room service put a sandwich and salad in your minifridge because I didn’t know if you’d eaten.”
“Thanks, David. Do you want me to come with you?”
“It’s best if you don’t. You’re a lightning rod as far as Paula Wallace is concerned. I’ll bring him home, explain the situation, and make sure he’s okay before I leave. You get some sleep.”
She leaned over and whispered to David, “Travis was shot and killed yesterday morning. They just found his body. That’s why Grace called me.”
David frowned. “We’ll talk when I get back. And Max? Don’t leave the hotel.”
* * *
Austin walked down the stairs with David Kane. He was shaking inside. David didn’t know his mother. She’d never let him tell the police anything because that would bring bad attention to her. Even Ivy getting killed had brought unwanted attention.
Paula Wallace wanted to be known for her charity work. For her perfect family, as the wife of Bill Wallace, successful and wealthy corporate attorney. She wanted to be known for her giant house, her expensive clothes, her pretty daughter, Bella. A mentally retarded stepson didn’t fit in with her idea of perfect, a daughter who drew a civil lawsuit didn’t fit in with her idea of perfect. Austin’s mom twisted the truth around so that up was down and right was wrong and good was bad. He hadn’t figured it out when he was younger, but this last year he felt like he was no longer a kid. He was thirteen, but he felt a lot older. Everyone had their problems, he guessed, but other kids seemed to complain a lot about stupid shit. Homework, being grounded, having their phone taken away, or not being bought the latest video game.
David was cool. He listened, really listened, and Austin thought he understood, mostly. But not totally because if David really got it, he wouldn’t take Austin home. He didn’t see that Austin’s mother would just go about her business as if nothing happened.
“I’m not going to tell you that everything is going to be fine,” David said as they walked out to the front of the hotel, where Austin had locked up his bike. “You’re smart enough to know that things might get tough for a while. But they will improve. It won’t be bad forever. I didn’t believe that when I was a kid, so I suspect you don’t believe it, either. I had my own problems, stuff that happened to me and my family that felt like the end of my world.”
Austin turned to face him. “Like what?”
“My mom died of cancer when I was fourteen. My father’s a doctor—I blamed him for not saving her. I blamed her for not going through chemo a third time. I thought she’d given up. That she didn’t want to live anymore. I didn’t know then how painful chemo and radiation therapy could be. How draining. How much she’d already sacrificed to give my brother and me and my dad a few more years. It was the end of my world and I was so angry, so grief-stricken. I couldn’t see anything else in my life. I got into fights, I wanted the pain, because I was numb. Physical pain was the only thing I felt.
“I still miss my mom, but now without the grief or the pain or the anger.”
“I’m sorry about your mom,” Austin said. He unlocked his bike lock and wrapped it around his frame, then locked it again. “My mom isn’t your mom.”
“I know that, Austin, but what I’m saying is that bad things happen and we have to find a way to get through it. And it’s worse when you’re a kid because you don’t think anyone understands the anger and pain. You think you’re alone. Max understands more than you think.”
“No, she doesn’t. She has everything.”
“Her mother abandoned her when she was ten. Her mother wasn’t much better than yours. She did some unforgivable things. But you’ll get through it, just like Max did.”
“Do you believe in God?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t. Because your good mother is dead, and my bad mother is alive. If there was a God, he wouldn’t take good people away from kids who need them, and he wouldn’t let bad people have kids in the first place.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It’s never simple. That’s what grown-ups always say.”
David popped the trunk of his car and leaned over to move some boxes.
Austin didn’t think twice. He jumped on his bike and pedaled as fast as he could.
He didn’t know where he was going, but he was never going home.
* * *
Tommy woke up when he heard voices outside his door. He looked at the dull red letters on his clock: 11:35. He sat up, a bit disoriented, and listened. His mom. Talking to his sister. He picked up his phone and checked his messages. Austin hadn’t texted him that he was back.
He wished Austin hadn’t gone off like he had. He wished Austin hadn’t come to the tree house. Tommy felt really scared, but he didn’t know why. And Austin was so mad all the time, sometimes Tommy thought he was mad at him. Tommy’s stomach hurt when he thought Austin was mad at him.
“It’ll be okay, Mom,” Amanda was saying.
Tommy frowned. Was his mom still upset?
He got up so he could give his mom a hug. She always told him that his hugs were the greatest and made her feel better.
“You can’t tell Tommy,” his mom said.
She was right outside his door but they were walking down the hall, toward the kitchen.
He couldn’t hear them anymore, so he stepped out of his room and slowly walked toward the kitchen. Still out of sight, he stopped as they kept talking about him.
“Tommy wouldn’t understand,” his mom said. She was getting milk out of the refrigerator. Water in the teapot. She was making tea because she couldn’t sleep. She did that a lot when his dad first left. “If it gets out he was sleepwalking the night Ivy was killed, the police will think he did it, and they’ll twist everything around when they interview him. And he’ll end up agreeing with whatever they tell him.”
“No one could think Tommy did anything wrong,” Amanda said. “He’s a sweet kid.”
“The sweetest. Did you set the alarm when you came in?”
“Yes.”
“Did you double-check it?”
“Yes, Mom. I swear. Are you sure Tommy was out that night?”
“No … but the alarm wasn’t set and Mrs. Baker heard him.” She paused, then sighed. “As much as I hate to say it, I think we should move.”
“Move?”
“I know it’ll be hard on you—changing schools your junior year. If you really want, you can live with your father.”
“No!” Amanda said. “Never. I don’t want to live with him. I hate him.”
“Don’t say that, Amanda. Your father loves you, he just doesn’t know how to show his emotions.”
“He doesn’t love us. I don’t think he ever loved us.”
“He does—he loves you and Tommy.”
“If he loved us so much, he wouldn’t let that bitch be mean to Tommy.”
“Don’t say that—I know I’ve called her worse, but I’m trying to be better.”
“You are better, Mom. I love you. This isn’t your fault.”
The teapot whistled and there was a rattling of cups and saucers. A shuffling of chairs. Tommy wanted to go sit with his mom and his sister and have tea. He loved nights when the three of them had tea together. It made him feel grown up and special.
But he was frozen.
If it gets out he was sleepwalking the night Ivy was killed …
“Where will we go?” Amanda asked.
“Ginger wants us to move to Colorado Springs, but I don’t know.… My firm is bidding on a job in Boston to renovate an entire block of historic buildings. The history of the area is rich and wonderful, and it would be a terrific experience for you and Tommy. The project will take at least two years—normally, we’d hire a local architect to work with us, but I can relocate there and manage it myself. By the time it’s finished, you’ll be out of high school and going
off to college. Would it make you terribly sad to leave California?”
“No. There’s nothing for me here. And Tommy needs to get away from Austin.”
Tommy almost shouted No!
“As much as I hate to say it, I think you’re right,” his mom said. “Austin has always been sweet with Tommy, but this whole thing with the reporter and Paula threatening a restraining order … the move would be good for him, too.”
Tommy didn’t want to move or leave Austin. Bella would never remember him.
He frowned, felt tears in his eyes. Paula would never let him see Austin or Bella again.
His own mother had lied to him.
If it gets out he was sleepwalking the night Ivy was killed …
Tommy turned slowly around and walked back to his bedroom.
He picked up his phone. Austin had sent him a message.
I’m fine, but I don’t want you to get into trouble so I’m going to Jason’s. Love you, Tommy.
Chapter Thirty-one
SATURDAY
David dropped Max off at a coffeehouse around the corner from the police station on his way to San Rafael. Though Max wanted to talk to Stephen Cross, she trusted David—and she needed to see Grace Martin.
She’d called the police station and learned Grace was in the field, so Max left her a voice mail on her cell phone, then sent her a text and an e-mail.
We need to talk. Where can we meet?
Along with a ham and cheese croissant, Max ordered a nonfat latte with an extra shot of espresso—she was tired. David had searched half the night for Austin, but Max told him not to alert his parents. They assumed the thought of David escorting Austin home had triggered him bolting. Max didn’t know if she was doing the right thing in not contacting Paula Wallace—she knew David didn’t agree with her.
Max was halfway done with her croissant and thinking about alternative ways to track down Grace Martin when Lance Lorenzo walked into the coffee shop. As he approached, he took one look at her and scowled.
“You are such a bitch,” he said.
“Good morning,” she answered and tilted her chin up.
He sat across from her.
“I didn’t invite you to sit.”
“You actually went and talked to Justin in Palo Alto.”
She didn’t respond.
“Hasn’t that family been through enough?”
She was not going to be baited by this asshole.
He narrowed his eyes. “I see you don’t read the news. Maybe you should.”
He walked out without getting coffee or food.
Now Max was curious. And concerned.
She pulled out her iPad and went to Lorenzo’s blog. He’d posted the article only two hours ago.
MEDIA BLITZ FALLOUT
According to Maxine Revere, hostess of NET’s “Maximum Exposure” a cold-case true crime show, she came to Corte Madera to investigate the death of high school junior Ivy Lake who died in the early morning hours of July 4 last year. A family member contacted her, and she claimed to be interviewing Ivy’s mother on her show, but when the show aired, Paula Lake Wallace was nowhere to be seen. Why? Because she opposed any effort of Ms. Revere to exploit the death of her daughter.
“The Corte Madera police are thoroughly capable of investigating Ivy’s murder,” said Mrs. Wallace. “We don’t need a New York reporter creating problems. She used my thirteen-year-old son—a minor—on her show without my permission, claiming that he contacted her. My attorney is already looking into possible violations of privacy law and child exploitation.”
While some people like Mrs. Wallace believe that her daughter was murdered, others believe that Ivy’s death was an accident. The Marin County Medical Examiner’s final report indicated that the evidence was “inconclusive” as to whether Ivy accidentally fell off the cliff at the Kings Preserve. Forensic expert Dr. Josh Davies said, “It is virtually impossible to tell whether a person was pushed or fell from a high point based solely on how the body landed on the surface. Additional evidence would be needed—such as witness statements, a sign of struggle at the top of the cliff, or physical evidence on the body that is inconsistent with a fall.”
Yet Ms. Revere called in a private forensic science company—paid for by the multimillionaire Ms. Revere herself—to refute expert testimony with a bells-and-whistles computer analysis stating, “With 85 percent certainty, Ivy Lake was pushed from the cliff.” When Nor-Cal Forensics Institute was contacted and asked about the methodology, their spokesperson Donovan Hunt said, “The computer program is proprietary. We have provided law enforcement with the documentation, and are available to testify in the event of a trial.”
Isn’t it interesting that the grant that NCFI has been endowed is partly funded by Maxine Revere herself? That she paid for their scientist to stay in a ritzy Sausalito resort? That she also paid their consulting fee for this case? Isn’t that a conflict of interest? She came to town believing that Ivy Lake was murdered and she’ll do anything and everything to prove it—even if it’s “proving” an unsubstantiated theory.
Ms. Revere even went so far as to use her relationship with her “assistant,” David Kane, to get close to the Lake family. Kane, the son of renowned local surgeon Dr. Warren Kane, is a graduate of CM High and a former Army Ranger. He is introduced by Ms. Revere as her assistant, but his official title is Chief of Security. Because our small town is so dangerous Ms. Revere needs a personal “bodyguard”?
Kane’s daughter attends CMJH with the Lake boy. Kane has been seen staking out the school and intimidating Ivy’s younger brother and Ivy’s mentally challenged stepbrother, Tommy Wallace, an eighteen-year-old high school senior who attends the CMHS special education program.
Lorenzo had inserted a photo of David talking to Austin, with Tommy and Emma in the background. Austin and Emma weren’t clearly identifiable, though anyone who knew them would be able to recognize them. David’s scar was visible and made him look dangerous. Max realized that Lorenzo had doctored the photo to make the scar more prominent.
But what is the real cost of so-called investigative journalism? Perhaps the human toll.
The seven-minute segment on Crime NET resulted in 213 potential tips to the NET hotline, according to a spokesman for Ms. Revere. “A handful” are being followed up on by staff and Ms. Revere herself. In the segment, Ms. Revere went through the already public information, then put an emotional spin on Ivy’s death by exploiting Ivy’s intellectually disabled stepbrother.
But the true tragedy is that in the segment Ms. Revere rehashed the arguments that alleged suspects had with Ivy in the days before her death. These people have since been cleared by police from any wrongdoing—including Ivy’s former boyfriend, high school senior and star quarterback Travis Whitman. Because of the unproven report by NCFI, Whitman appears to have disappeared. Does he think he’s being railroaded?
UPDATE: 7:45 A.M.: A Central Marin Police Authority spokesman said that Travis Whitman was shot and killed as early as Thursday morning, his body dumped in the Corte Madera Marsh. The detective in charge of the investigation, Grace Martin, who has been assisting Ms. Revere with her so-called investigative report, has refused to answer any questions.
Travis Whitman was cleared of any and all crimes until Ms. Revere came to town and concluded that his alibi wasn’t solid. Could the star athlete’s tragic murder be vigilante justice? Should Ms. Revere be held responsible?
* * *
Tommy rode his bike to the police station Saturday morning at nine. Since most businesses opened at nine, he thought that would be safe. And it was foggy. Tommy didn’t want to wait outside. Fog made his clothes damp and uncomfortable.
He walked in and said to the policeman behind the glass wall, “I need to talk to Detective Grace Martin please.”
“Detective Martin is in the field right now. Can I find another detective to speak with you? Can you tell me what this is about?”
Tommy frowned. “I-I have to talk to Detect
ive Martin. It’s about my sister.”
“Who is your sister?”
“Ivy Lake. Detective Martin is the policewoman in charge of finding out who killed her. I know who killed her.”
“Who?”
“I can only tell Detective Martin.”
Tommy was trembling. He thought for a moment that he shouldn’t have come. But now that he was here, he was going to do the right thing.
“What’s your name, son?”
“Tommy Wallace.”
“Have a seat. I’ll call Detective Martin.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He sat down on a hard plastic chair and waited.
Thirty minutes later, Detective Grace Martin entered the station through the front door. Tommy recognized her right off, and relief flooded through him.
“Tommy? What’s wrong?”
He stood and waited until the detective was standing right in front of him. “I killed my stepsister,” he said. “You need to put me in jail.” Saying it felt good and bad. It felt good because he always needed to tell the truth, and it felt bad because he didn’t remember killing Ivy. Also, Tommy didn’t want to go to jail.
The policemen in the room looked at him like he was a bad guy and that made Tommy feel worse. He looked down at his feet.
“Come with me, Tommy,” she said.
“Don’t you need to put handcuffs on me?”
“No.”
She walked him through the big room to a row of rooms with windows. She opened one door. There was a table and two chairs. It was a small room and he didn’t like it.
“Sit down, Tommy.”
He took a seat and folded his hands on the table in front of him. He looked around. There wasn’t a lot to see. There was a camera in the corner. He raised his hand to wave at whoever was watching.
“Tommy, I’m going to record our conversation for your protection as well as mine,” she said.
“Okay.”
“I’ll be right back. Stay here.”
“Okay,” he said again.
There was a high window on one wall that looked outside, and Tommy stared at the blue sky. Were there windows in jail? He didn’t like scary shows, but he’d seen one that had a prison and it scared him. He didn’t want to be locked up in a cage, but if you hurt someone you have to be punished.
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