I Know Everything

by Matthew Farrell

  Susan skimmed the sheet, took it from the file, and handed it to Tommy so she could keep reading. “The fence was Investigator Corolla’s find. He’s the one who noticed it was cut.”

  “Good call, New Guy.”

  Tommy nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

  “But funny you should mention the car’s computer,” Crosby continued. “When CSI went to extract it, it was gone.”

  Susan looked up from the file. “The car’s computer was gone?”

  “Yup. The fuses that power and store all the car’s data along with the mini mainframe itself were removed prior to the crash. Whoever did this probably figured the crash would disguise the fact that the items were taken out, but our forensics guys could see that the wires to the fuses were cut too clean and not torn away like you’d see in an accident.”

  “Unreal.”

  “I’ll get you the cell phone records, but it’s going to take a few days. DA has to get to the judge.”

  “Thanks, boss.”

  “Keep me posted as things progress.”

  “Will do.”

  Susan and Tommy stood up and shuffled out of the office. They walked back to their desks.

  “What have you been exposed to up in Wolcott?” Susan asked.

  Tommy sat down in his chair. “Little bit of everything. Road watch, drug busts, gang investigations, domestic violence calls. We were the first line of defense up there, so I’ve seen a lot.”

  “Murder?”

  “Twice. One was a gang hit. Teenage boy took sixteen rounds from a fully automatic weapon walking home from a party. Other one was a murder-suicide. Girl broke up with her boyfriend, and he couldn’t handle it. Stabbed her to death in his apartment, then hung himself.”

  “You know anything about financial crimes?”

  “Learned a little about it at the academy, but nothing I ever worked on.”

  “Well, as we know, Amanda Brock ran a very lucrative nonprofit, and we’re going to look into that. Money and murder go together like peanut butter and jelly. I want to get a better understanding of Glass Hearts’ financials. Pull your chair around, and I’ll show you what I’m looking for. Since 990s are public information, we can get them online and go from there.”

  Tommy rolled his chair around to join his partner. “Lead the way,” he said. “I’m right behind you.”

  14

  Susan snatched her bag from the passenger’s seat and walked up the brick steps to her front door. It was already dark out, and her eyes were heavy from reading through Amanda Brock’s financials on the computer screen. She longed for a bath and an early night. Maybe something quick to eat.

  As she approached, she could hear music and commotion coming from inside. She put her key in the dead bolt and turned the knob.

  When he spun around and smiled, the kids hanging off his arms and legs, the laughter reverberating throughout the house, it was as if time had reversed itself. There was Eric, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, his tie hanging loosely from his unbuttoned collar, twirling the children around the living room while they screamed and laughed and jumped up and down, begging for another turn. He’d brought dinner for them. She’d have recognized the sweet aroma of Zavaglia’s Pizza anywhere. The television was off, and Casey’s mini boom box was tuned to Radio Disney, the volume turned up much higher than she’d normally have allowed. But how could she put an end to all the fun they were having? Parental responsibility be damned. It felt good to see her kids like this.

  “Hey, Sue,” Eric said. He put Casey down and sidestepped Tim, who was about to grab for his turn. “I didn’t hear the door.”

  “Mommy, we’re having a dance party!” Casey declared as she leaped up onto the couch, a giant grin plastered on her face.

  Susan couldn’t help but smile herself. “I see that. You guys are great dancers.”

  “Daddy, it’s my turn,” Tim called, his arms outstretched, ready to be picked up. “Spin me.”

  “I spun you a hundred times already,” Eric replied, laughing. He kissed his son on the top of his head. “I need a rest, and we need to eat.” He made his way toward the kitchen and looked over his shoulder toward Susan. “I hope you don’t mind. I brought something for us to eat.”

  “Zavaglia’s. I can smell it.”

  “So I did good?”

  “You did good.”

  “I also relieved your mom. She looked tired, so I figured I’d let her get a head start on home.”

  “Thanks. She is tired. I’m on a new case these past few days, and my hours have been crazy.”

  She cursed herself for having to admit it, but Eric was looking particularly handsome this evening. He’d let the top of his hair grow out, and it was starting to get that bushy-thick look that hung down to his eyes. As she followed him into the kitchen, she peeked at his ass. Cute as ever. She didn’t know if she wanted to jump him because she was horny or slap him for making her think about wanting him in the first place. She hadn’t dated anyone since they’d broken up, and Eric knew her better than anyone. But as soon as she considered it, thoughts of that little slut at the office cut through her fantasy, and the horniness faded, replaced by the hunger for the large half-meatball pie that sat on the kitchen table.

  “Go wash your hands,” Susan said as the twins spilled in behind them. “Hands first, then pizza.” She walked over toward the back door and flipped on the deck light.

  “How’re my chickens?” Eric asked as she looked out through the glass.

  “My chickens are fine, thank you. All in for the night.”

  He opened the cabinet next to the stove and pulled out four plates. “You mind if I eat with you guys?”

  “Sure.” She watched her ex-husband put the plates in front of four empty chairs like he’d done for so many dinners in the past. “Did you call and I missed it or something? I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “No, you didn’t miss a call. This is an unannounced visit.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “I could just be longing to see my children.”

  “That sounds like bullshit.”

  Eric laughed again. “I always loved your directness.”

  Susan grabbed napkins from their spot next to the stove. “I don’t mind that you came by, and if you really did want to see the kids, that’s great. Just be honest with me. Everything okay?”

  Eric slid a slice of pizza onto each plate. “I need to talk to you about Christmas.” He said this quietly so the kids wouldn’t hear.

  Susan’s shoulders sank. Suddenly, all of his charm and attractiveness faded. He’d become her ex-husband again. “What about Christmas?”

  “I’m so sorry, but I can’t take the kids. I just got word that the firm is sending me to Chicago for two weeks, starting December twenty-second. I won’t be back until after the new year.”

  “That’s their entire break.”

  “I know.”

  “What about the ski trip? And the cabin in Vermont?”

  “I know.” Eric ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. “I’m sorry, Sue. I am. This is a mega client we’re trying to land, and we have to go wine and dine the crap out of him to make it work. They needed to send a senior guy, and they picked me.”

  “Yeah, I get it. It’s always work first, family second.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “This was going to be their first Christmas with you, and they were really looking forward to it. They each wrote letters to Santa with the cabin’s address so he’d know where to deliver the presents and everything.”

  “All I can do is apologize.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Susan said. “I’m more than happy to have my kids with me on Christmas morning. But they’re getting older, Eric. They remember things now. They recognize their feelings. They’re going to remember this.”

  “I’ll make it up to them. I swear.”

  Susan grabbed one of the plates. “You better,” she replied. “I won’t
stand for the divorced-dad-making-empty-promises routine. It’s been done too many times before.”

  Eric put his right hand on his chest. “I swear I will reinvent what a divorced dad should be. They’ll write books about me. Bestsellers. Oprah’s Book Club. The works.”

  Casey and Tim came running back into the kitchen and hopped onto their chairs. Without either of them directing the other, Eric started cutting Casey’s pizza, and Susan cut Tim’s. Just like it used to be.

  “So is she going with you?” Susan asked, not wanting to hear the answer but unable to keep from asking the question.

  “No.”

  “You lying to me?”

  “No.”

  The twins got their plates back and began to shovel the pizza into their mouths. Susan looked across the table at her ex, wondering how things would have turned out if he’d been faithful to her and their children. She thought about what Randall Brock had said earlier regarding communication being so important in his marriage with Amanda. It was true. She and Eric hadn’t communicated enough, and their relationship had imploded. She still loved him, but she knew he no longer loved her, so there was no point in trying to find a way to fix things. This was her life now. Their life. Adjust along the way and move on. She wasn’t the first who’d had to make unexpected changes, and she wouldn’t be the last. It’d be okay in the end. It had to be.

  15

  The funeral director walked into the parlor carrying a clipboard and a small catalog tucked under his arm. He stood about five feet even with thinning gray hair and drooping skin, tanned more orange than bronze. A thin mustache lined his upper lip, and for some reason, that made Randall hate him instantly. Too many gold rings. A gold bracelet. An oversized watch. It was all so . . . staged? No, that wasn’t the right word. Gaudy. Yes, the man was just so gaudy.

  “Dr. Brock,” the director whispered as he extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”

  “Hello.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss and can assure you that we’re going to do everything we can to ensure Amanda is taken care of throughout this process and that you, your family, and your friends feel at peace when this is over.”

  How many times had he recited that line?

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “I have some options we can go over,” the director said as he pulled the catalog from under his arm.

  Randall sat on a couch next to the little man, only half listening to the sales pitch. His mind was occupied with what he’d need to say in order to be allowed to see Amanda’s body. He wasn’t sure if that was a common request or if he’d be looked upon as some kind of freak.

  “The first thing we’ll need is pictures. Family photos, group shots, pictures of when Amanda was young. Maybe a wedding shot of you two. Perhaps a picture of Amanda with her foundation work? We’ll build a framed collage to display with the flowers so when people come, they can take a moment to reflect on her life.”

  “Sure, that’s not a problem.”

  “I assume you’ll want the full funeral service and burial?”

  “Yes. The family has a plot where her father is in Valhalla. Gate of Heaven. She’ll be buried there.”

  More notes. When the director was done writing, he pulled out the catalog he’d been holding. “Do you know what kind of casket you want? Most folks get metal these days, lightweight steel alloy—”

  Randall held up his hand, deciding quickly that it would be easier to simply ask instead of developing an elaborate lie. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said. “I hope this doesn’t sound like too odd a request, but do you think it would be okay if I saw my wife?”

  The director stopped and looked at him. “I’m sorry?”

  “I’d like to see Amanda. Here. Now. I never had a chance to say goodbye, and I’d like to do that in private without all the ceremony around a wake and a funeral. One minute I was with her at the award dinner, and the next, I’m a widower. It’s too sudden. I need to say a proper goodbye.”

  The director smiled and placed a hand on Randall’s arm. “I think it would be best if you waited. Give us a chance to make her look pretty for you. We can make her look like you remember her. And at that point, I can give you all the time you need in private before the wake begins. You can say your goodbyes then. When she’s more presentable.”

  Randall shook his head. “I need to see her now. I don’t care what she looks like, and I give you my word I won’t be more than five minutes. You can wait outside the door. I just have to say goodbye and move on from there. Please. I’m begging you. Five minutes, and I’ll buy whatever you need me to buy for the perfect service.”

  The director closed his eyes and nodded ever so slightly. “Very well. But please keep this to yourself. This isn’t the kind of thing we do regularly.”

  “I won’t say a word to anyone.”

  “Come, then. We have to make this quick.”

  There was nothing grotesque or macabre about the body lying on the steel table. Amanda looked as if she were sleeping, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. Her skin was bone white with traces of dark lines streaking different areas of her cheeks and forehead. The bruising she’d endured during the accident had been covered with makeup in preparation for the wake. A sheet had been pulled up to her neck so all he could see was her beautiful face and nothing more.

  “Oh, baby,” Randall whispered as tears filled his eyes. He reached down and gently caressed her hair with the back of his hand. “I miss you so much already. What am I going to do without you?”

  He wiped his eyes with the cuff of his jacket and looked behind him to make sure he was still alone. The door was shut. The funeral director was outside, in the hall. He’d have to make this quick.

  Randall slipped his hand underneath the sheet and pulled Amanda’s right hand out so he could see it. Her fingers were cold, lifeless. He held them for a moment, thinking of all the times he’d reached over and snatched her hand in his. Watching a movie, talking over dinner, lying on the couch with the game on, walking along the boardwalk in Wildwood, New Jersey.

  “This can’t be real. You can’t be gone.”

  He dug into his pocket and pulled out her phone. He took Amanda’s index finger and placed it on the home button. It took less than a second for the phone to recognize her print and unlock. After he gently placed her hand back under the sheet, Randall went into the phone’s settings, shutting off all passwords so that he could gain access whenever he needed to from here on out. When he was done, he dropped the phone back in his pocket and bent over to place a kiss on Amanda’s forehead. He walked away, tears still welling in his eyes as he opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

  “Thank you so much for that,” he said to the funeral director, wiping his eyes once again.

  The director smiled. “You’re very welcome.”

  “Let’s go see about the rest of these arrangements. I want my wife to have the most beautiful funeral you can offer. She deserves it.”

  “Indeed, she does.”

  16

  A cold rain began to fall for a second consecutive day, dotting the windshield at first, then eventually blotting out the rest of the world in front of him. Randall sat in his BMW, engine idling, heat streaming through the vents at a precise seventy-two degrees. Outside, the town looked gray and gloomy. Most of the leaves were gone from the trees, leaving branches thin and barren. The greenery that had blossomed during the summer had succumbed to earth tones: browns and maroons, yellows and blacks.

  Randall’s hands were shaking as he held Amanda’s phone. Part of him couldn’t wait to rip into it, to learn what Sam had promised would be the truth about his wife. But how would Sam know what Randall would find? How could he know? The stranger’s words echoed in his mind.

  You’ll find her first truth there.

  He slid his finger across the screen and began poking around, ignoring voice mails and emails, deciding to go straight to the texts she’d been sending a
nd receiving. He’d start there, and he’d start with Pooh.

  The texts from Pooh began with him asking how the award ceremony was going and escalated into a slight panic as the night went on.

  Where are you?

  Why aren’t u texting me back?

  Pick up your phone. I called you twice.

  Hey, I’m starting to get worried TEXT ME BACK.

  Mandy, seriously, text me. I’m getting really worried.

  WHERE ARE U???????

  As Randall continued flipping through Amanda’s texting history with Pooh, his heart sank, and a feeling of nausea came over him. There were photos—so many photos—of a man, younger, rugged, masculine. In more than a few, he was naked.

  I want you, babe.

  This is all yours the next time I see you.

  I can’t wait to touch you and kiss you all over.

  Amanda had texted back. She’d also shared photos. Bra-and-panty shots, sexy lingerie he’d never seen before, shots of her naked, reflected in the mirror in their bathroom. But the shot of her lying on their bed, nude, legs spread for the camera, was the worst. And she was dirty in her messages. He’d never seen that side of her before.

  I can’t wait to feel you in me.

  I’m so wet for you.

  I wish you could take me right now.

  Randall tossed the phone onto the passenger’s seat and shut his eyes. He suddenly felt the swell of another migraine coming on and fought to keep it at bay. The images from the texts played in his mind. How could she have done this to him? To them? He’d always thought they were happy. It was like he was reading these exchanges from a stranger. Those pictures. He was certain they’d been happy. Had it all been a lie?

  You’ll find her first truth there.

  Randall thought about the times her phone had rung at her ceremony. She’d seemed startled or nervous, so quick to ignore the call. Had Pooh been calling?

  You’ll find her first truth there.

  He snatched the phone from the passenger’s seat and opened Amanda’s emails. They were mostly work related with the exception of a lunch invitation from Gina and a few jokes that had been forwarded from employees at the foundation. He closed out of her inbox and listened to the voice mails, but they were mostly just congratulations from those who had attended the award ceremony. He went back and read more texts from her other contacts. There was nothing of significance. Pooh was the person he was meant to find. Pooh was the truth Sam had promised him.