by Shari Lapena
“Mrs. Sharpe,” Webb says. “Thank you for coming in. Just so you know, this interview is purely voluntary; you are free to leave at any time.”
Detective Moen brings her water and looks at her as if in sympathy. Men can be such shits.
Olivia’s mouth is dry. She swallows. There’s absolutely nothing she can tell them, one way or the other. She doesn’t know anything. Nothing that happens in this interview will change anything. She must just get through it.
Webb says, “Lab results confirm that the blood found in your cabin is Amanda Pierce’s.”
Her head swims at the news, but she already expected it. Who else’s blood could it be? He waits for her to say something.
“I don’t know anything about it.”
“You must have given it some thought,” Webb chides her.
“I think someone else must have killed her in our cabin.”
“Who do you think that might be?”
“I don’t know.” She pauses and says, “Her husband, possibly.”
“What would her husband be doing in your cabin?”
“I don’t know.” Olivia wants to cry, but refuses to. She can’t explain it. She can’t explain any of it. Why won’t they just leave her alone? They know they’ve got him. Why torture her like this? She can’t help them. Can’t they see that she’s suffering enough?
“Is there anyone we don’t know about who may have had access to the cabin?” Webb asks.
“No.”
“Did the Harrises ever visit?”
“No, never.”
“Did you ever tell them where it was, exactly?”
“No.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
“Okay, thank you. That’s it for now. We’d like to speak to your son. You can stay if you like.”
They bring Raleigh in. He looks anxious and very young. He sits down beside her and she tries to give him a reassuring look. She wants to put her arm around his shoulders and give him a squeeze, but she suspects he wouldn’t like it.
“Raleigh, I’m Detective Webb, and this is Detective Moen. We’d like to ask you some questions, if that’s all right.”
Raleigh looks at him uncomfortably. “Okay.”
“You see, Raleigh, we found your fingerprints in the Pierce house. Can you explain that?”
Olivia freezes at this second blow. Her son shoots her a look of alarm. No one says anything for a long moment.
Finally, Raleigh asks, “Do I need a lawyer?”
“I don’t know, do you?” Webb says.
“I want a lawyer,” Raleigh says, his voice breaking.
“We’ll get you one,” Webb says, rising out of his chair. “Stay put.”
* * *
—
Raleigh has conferred privately with his lawyer—a young man named Dale Abbot—and his mother, and they have decided on a course of action. Raleigh is petrified. The interview resumes, Webb and Moen on one side of the table, Raleigh, his attorney, and his mother on the other side.
“So, Raleigh,” Webb says, “are you going to tell us what your fingerprints are doing in the Pierce house?”
Raleigh glances at his lawyer, who nods at him, and says, “I snuck into their house.”
“When was that?”
“It would have been early October. I don’t know exactly.”
“Before Amanda Pierce’s body was discovered?”
“Yes.”
“How did you get in?”
“Through a basement window. It wasn’t locked.”
“And why did you do that?”
“Just—for fun.” Raleigh’s going to try not to admit to the hacking. It’s all about damage control now.
“I see.” Webb sits back in his chair, glances at the attorney. “That’s breaking and entering, Raleigh.”
He nods.
“Did you take anything?”
Raleigh shakes his head. “No.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Just—snooping.”
Webb nods thoughtfully. “Snooping. Did you see anything interesting?”
Raleigh glances at him. “Not really.”
“Did you see a cell phone anywhere?” Webb asks.
Raleigh nods. “Yeah. In a bottom drawer of the desk. One of those pay-as-you-go kind. You must have found it when you searched the house.”
“No, we didn’t.”
“I didn’t take it, I swear!”
“Did you look inside the phone, Raleigh?”
“No, I wasn’t that interested.”
“It’s okay if you looked inside the phone, Raleigh.”
“I didn’t.”
“Okay.” Webb sits back again, as if disappointed. Then he says, “Did you kill Amanda Pierce?”
Raleigh recoils in shock. “No! I just went in their house, looked around, and left.”
Webb stares back at him. Finally he says, “I’m afraid we’ll have to charge you with breaking and entering.”
Raleigh sits back in his chair. It’s a relief, really. He can’t believe how much of a relief it is. It feels so good that he suddenly blurts out, “I broke into another house, too. Thirty-two Finch Street.” He doesn’t want to have to worry about Carmine anymore. He’ll admit to those two. They can’t prove he was in the last house he hit—the police must know about that one already, but he was wearing gloves. He’s not going to admit to any more than he has to.
* * *
—
Glenda makes something comforting for supper. Mac and cheese. But the three of them simply pick at their food. Glenda watches Olivia and Raleigh with concern. She has no appetite either. They’re both sitting quietly at their places, faces drawn, each lost in their own private hell. Neither of them has said anything about what happened down at the police station, and although Glenda’s dying to know, she doesn’t want to ask.
Raleigh says, “Mom, maybe you should go lie down.”
“Good idea,” Glenda agrees. Olivia looks like she’s about to collapse. “Why don’t you go lie down in the living room? I’ll clean up.”
She tucks a blanket around Olivia on the sofa and glances out the window to the street. Everyone has gone away. She imagines they will be back tomorrow. Murder is always big news.
Why did Robert and Amanda Pierce ever have to move here? she thinks bitterly.
Olivia falls asleep on the sofa. Finally, around nine o’clock, Glenda decides to go. She can’t stay at the Sharpes’ forever; Adam needs her at home. She leaves a note that she’ll be back in the morning, and walks home in the dark, her footsteps echoing hollowly on the pavement.
When she arrives at home, Adam tells her that they’re out of milk and bread. “Fine,” she says, not even taking off her coat. “Why don’t you come with me to the store then?”
He puts on his jacket and heads out with her.
“How are they doing?” Adam asks, obviously worried.
“They’re going to be okay. Everything’s going to be all right,” Glenda says. She doesn’t know what else to say. They walk the rest of the way in silence.
The bell on the door chimes as they enter the convenience store. Glenda is completely drained and just wants to pick up her things and go home. As she turns away from the refrigerator with her milk, Adam trailing behind her, she spots Carmine in the aisle in front of her. Shit. She definitely doesn’t want to talk to her. She’s a busybody, and Glenda is in no mood for it. She resents the way she’s been sticking her nose in everywhere about the break-ins, hounding Olivia. She wishes she’d leave Raleigh alone. And she certainly doesn’t want to talk about Paul being arrested—Carmine will be all over that. Glenda considers putting the milk down quietly on the floor and making a quick exit. Too late—at that moment, Carmine turns her head and sees them. A smil
e of recognition lights her face. Shit.
“Glenda, isn’t it?” Carmine asks, approaching her.
“Yes,” Glenda says, making her way briskly to the front of the store where the bread is, avoiding her eye. But Carmine follows her. She’s really not great at reading social cues, Glenda thinks.
“Hi, Adam,” Carmine adds.
Glenda notices that her son is trying to avoid Carmine, too.
“You know, you remind me of my own son a bit,” Carmine says to Adam. “Same dark hair and eyes.”
Adam looks as if he wishes he could disappear, and Glenda wants to tell Carmine to get lost.
“My Luke was a bit of a handful. He used to get up to all kinds of trouble. Drinking, taking my car without permission.”
Glenda stares at her.
But Carmine focuses her eyes on Adam and says, “Did you tell your mom that I saw you the other night?”
Glenda says, “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, nothing. Never mind,” Carmine says, as if finally getting the hint. “Have a good night.” And she wanders off to another aisle.
Glenda makes her purchases, eager to get away from Carmine.
* * *
—
Late at night, Olivia pads down the carpeted hall to look in on Raleigh. She silently pushes open the door. She stands there for a moment in the dark, studying the bed. Then, alarmed, she flicks the light switch on. Her son isn’t there.
Her heart speeds up and she turns away from his bedroom and creeps downstairs. The kitchen, living room, and den are dark. He’s not there either, sitting alone, brooding in the dark—she turns on the lights to be sure. She returns to the kitchen and opens the door to the adjoining garage. Raleigh’s bike is where it should be, his helmet hanging from the handlebar.
She returns upstairs and quietly makes her way to the only room she hasn’t checked—the office at the end of the hall. The room is completely dark, except for the slight glow coming from the computer. It’s her husband’s computer, and Raleigh is engrossed in its contents.
“Raleigh, what are you doing?” she says.
THIRTY-THREE
Webb arrives very early at the station the next morning, after a poor night’s sleep. He grabs a coffee and heads to his office, then he sits back in his chair, gazing at the wall opposite, his mind busy.
They can’t hold Paul Sharpe in custody much longer before the prosecutor has to charge him or let him go. It’s Amanda Pierce’s blood in his cabin. His hammer is missing. Sharpe was seen arguing with the victim shortly before she disappeared, but his story that he was warning her away from Larry Harris has a certain plausibility—they know Larry was seeing her.
Olivia Sharpe said that Larry Harris had never been to the cabin. Is it possible she was wrong? Could Harris have arranged to meet Amanda at the Sharpes’ cabin that weekend, while he was at the conference? Maybe he killed her. He parked in the outside lot at the resort and had his story ready that he was working and fell asleep. No one seemed to care that he missed most of the reception—until he became involved in a murder investigation. The only thing that went wrong is that they found Amanda’s car with her body in the trunk. She’d made that convenient fib to her husband, so it would look like Amanda had arranged her own disappearance. Paul Sharpe was the only one who knew about the affair, and he wouldn’t say anything, especially if he hadn’t known they’d been at his cabin.
Possibly. But Paul Sharpe might have said something. When she disappeared, staff at the hotel might have come forward about seeing them together, and then Harris would have been under a microscope. But still, with no hard evidence—and especially no body—it would look as if an unhappy, unfaithful wife had run from her life.
Or maybe Robert Pierce is the killer. Pierce has been lying to them. According to Harris, Pierce had access to Amanda’s burner phone and knew about their affair. And Raleigh Sharpe saw the burner phone in Pierce’s desk after Amanda had disappeared. But it wasn’t there when they searched the house. Pierce must have gotten rid of it. Maybe he’d been watching her. He seemed the type. Maybe he knew where she was going that night, drove up to the cabin, saw her with her lover—Larry Harris? Paul Sharpe?—waited for her to be alone, and bashed her head in. Pierce doesn’t have an alibi either.
He’ll talk to the prosecutor. They’ll let Paul Sharpe go for now, and see how everybody reacts. Webb has time. Time to get under everybody’s skin. There’s no statute of limitations on murder.
* * *
—
Olivia is startled by the kitchen phone ringing early Wednesday morning. It’s Detective Webb, telling her that they are releasing her husband without charge. She hangs up and stands perfectly still. Her drive to the police station passes in a blur. She feels numb.
Olivia sits in the waiting area at the station, watching for Paul to appear. Torn between relief and dread, she wants to put the moment off. But it’s come; she hears footsteps and stands up. Then she sees Paul. She walks up and hugs him, like she’s done a thousand times before, but this time is different. She’s not sure about him. She can feel both their hearts beating. After a moment, she pulls away.
He looks at her warily.
“Let’s get you home,” she says, and turns away so he can’t see the doubt in her eyes.
She’s already texted Glenda with the news, telling her not to come by.
* * *
—
Raleigh waits anxiously for his mom to return home with his dad. She’d told him she was going to pick him up. Raleigh’s not going to school again today.
His father is innocent, he tells himself. They’re letting him go. But Raleigh’s relief is tinged with uneasiness. He can tell that his mother has her doubts. Raleigh has doubts, too. He’s not sure of anything anymore. He hadn’t found anything illuminating on his dad’s computer. But Raleigh also knows something that they don’t. And he’s going to have to tell them.
When his parents arrive home, it’s awkward. His mom smiles at him as if everything is fine, but he can tell from her drawn face that things are far from fine. His father looks awful and smells like he could use a shower. Raleigh can feel the tension emanating from both of his parents.
They all end up in the kitchen and his mom says, “I’ve told your father that you’re being charged.”
“It’ll be okay, son,” his dad says, pulling him into a hug.
Raleigh nods, swallows. But it’s not himself that he’s worried about right now, it’s his dad. Raleigh has to confess to his parents, and he’s dreading it. Raleigh must tell them the truth.
Beginning is difficult. “There’s something I have to tell you,” Raleigh says. He can see at once from the closed look that comes over his mother’s troubled face that she doesn’t want to hear it. She’s got enough to deal with. He hates to hurt her more than he already has. But he must say this. He can’t seem to get the words out.
“What is it, Raleigh?” his father says tiredly. He’s been humbled, obviously, by his own recent history. He’s not on his high horse now, Raleigh thinks.
“I lied to you,” he says. “I lied to both of you. About the break-ins.”
His mother looks more anxious than ever; his father looks deeply weary.
“I told you—and the lawyer—that I only broke into two houses, but it was more.” He watches his dad’s brow darken. “It was more like nine or ten,” he confesses.
His dad looks at him sharply; his mother looks horrified.
“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Raleigh says uncomfortably. “I didn’t want you to know, but—I broke into the Newells’.”
“What? When?” his father asks.
Raleigh swallows. “It was the night they were over here having dinner—I knew that Adam would be out that night, too.”
His mom gasps. “You broke into our dearest friends’ house while they
were over here having dinner with us?” She looks utterly betrayed. “How could you? Why?”
Raleigh feels himself coloring. He gives a helpless shrug. “I was hacking. I was serious about it. . . . It’s a skill, and it takes practice. So I snuck into people’s houses when they weren’t home and hacked into their computers.” He risks another glance at his parents. They’re staring at him in disbelief. “I was getting really good,” he says, “but I’m not doing it anymore.” They’re still staring at him, appalled. There’s a pregnant silence. “I knew you wouldn’t approve. But I never did any harm. It’s not like I ever stole any data, or shared it, or put anything on anyone’s computers, or told anybody what I found,” Raleigh protests. “I never tried to blackmail anybody or anything,” he offers in his own defense.
“Blackmail!” his mother repeats, her hand at her throat.
“Mom, relax, I never did anything like that! It was more just—getting experience.”
“Experience—is that what you call it,” his dad says.
Raleigh doesn’t like his tone. It’s the old dad tone, and it pisses him off.
“Yeah, well, maybe you should listen to me for a change,” Raleigh says sharply.
“What are you talking about?” his mom asks.
“I know things, about your dearest friends,” Raleigh says.
* * *
—
Olivia feels her heart freeze. She stares at her son, not so sure she wants to hear what he has to say. She feels dizzy, shocked. What secrets could Glenda and Keith have? She glances at her husband, but he’s watching Raleigh intently, as if he’s struck a nerve.
“What are you getting at, Raleigh?” Paul says.
“I saw things, on their computer,” Raleigh says.
“We gathered that,” Paul says in a tight voice. “What did you see?”
“Keith is a prick,” Raleigh says with energy.