I Know Everything

by Matthew Farrell

  Susan walked to the edge of the house, right before the deck began. Just as Tommy had mentioned, there was no snow back there, and she could see the three-foot-by-three-foot patch of dirt. It was freshly dug and definitely sloppy compared to the rest of the acreage. She pressed the tip of her boot into the dirt, and it sank about a quarter of an inch. In this weather it should’ve been frozen.

  The rest of the land held nothing of suspicion. She walked around the outer perimeter toward the woods, then came up and back, closing the distance toward the house and inspecting as much ground as she could. When she was done, she hiked back into the forest for a bit, but the leaves and snow covered everything back there, and it was impossible to see what might’ve been hidden underneath. Finally, she came around the end of the house where the garage was and stood in front of the two open doors. The end of the tour.

  The wind whipped the back of her legs and almost pushed her over. She stumbled forward and found herself at the edge of the garage, looking in. The garage appeared to be typical. A tennis ball hung at the end of each bay to ensure no one drove into the long workbench that lined the back wall. Wire shelving was suspended from the ceiling and filled with beach chairs, umbrellas, ski equipment, camping gear, and storage boxes. On the side of the workbench, mops, brooms, scrub brushes, and other cleaning materials were hung on a pegboard. Under the board were cubbies full of boots and shoes and a single pair of pink galoshes. The garage was just as well kept as the yard and the house. Everything had its place.

  Except that patch of dirt.

  She walked inside the garage and was immediately swallowed by shadow. She made her way toward the workbench to examine the tools hanging on display as if she were in a hardware store, browsing before making a purchase. As she got closer, she noticed something lying on the bench, in between the table saw and straightedge ruler. It was out in the open, unhidden, next to a small metal box. The set of keys looked as if they had been tossed there and forgotten. She bent down to get a closer look and saw the Subaru logo on a single oversized ignition key. The blue sparkle key chain had HL Architects engraved in gold on one side.

  HL.

  They were Hooper Landsky’s keys. Hooper’s keys to his Subaru Legacy.

  “Investigator Adler?”

  Susan spun around to find Randall Brock standing just inside the first bay. His skin was pale in the semidarkness, his eyes almost glowing in the dying light. A tan raincoat had been draped over his shoulders, but he hadn’t put his arms through the sleeves. His hands were in his pants pockets.

  “D-Dr. Brock,” Susan stammered. “I didn’t hear you pull up.”

  Randall looked at her for a moment, his gaze searching for something. A weakness? An opportunity? She couldn’t tell. “I had to park it on the hill. Couldn’t get past with your car blocking my way.”

  Susan pointed. “I’m going to need you to take your hands out of your pockets. Slowly.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your hands. I can’t have them in your pockets while we’re talking. Take them out of your pockets, and put your arms down to your sides. Please.”

  Randall pursed his lips and looked as if he were about to say something. Instead, he pulled his hands out of his pockets and let them fall to his sides. When he did, his coat slipped off his shoulders and landed behind him. “What’s going on?” he asked. “What are you doing in my garage?”

  Susan turned all the way around and pressed her back against the workbench. She reached behind her and gripped the edge of it to use as leverage if she needed it. If he made a move, she could use the bench to hoist herself for a kick or to jump out of the way. She didn’t want to draw her gun just yet. No need to escalate things.

  “I knocked. There was no answer.”

  “I was at the office. Peter and I were working.”

  “I thought maybe you were out back, so I went around the house. Nice property.”

  “Investigator Adler, can you please tell me what you’re doing here? Why do I get the feeling you’re frightened or tense? Why are my hands at my sides? What’s going on?”

  Susan took a breath to steady her voice. “Can you explain what that hole is for in the back, near the deck?”

  Randall’s brow furrowed; then he shook his head. “I don’t know of any hole.”

  “It was just dug. Couldn’t be more than a few days old. You bury something back there?”

  “Of course not. Maybe my landscaper did. You’d have to ask him. I don’t know anything about a hole, for god’s sake.”

  Susan nodded, motioning toward the keys behind her. “Okay. Then maybe you can tell me why the keys to Hooper Landsky’s Subaru Legacy are here on your workbench?”

  Randall took a step forward.

  “Do not advance. Stay where you are.”

  He stopped, looking past her toward the workbench. She could see from his expression that he saw the keys. His eyes narrowed. His neck turned red. “It isn’t what you think.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I really can’t say.”

  “Yeah.” Susan took her phone out of her pocket and dialed the barracks. She waited for the connection to go through, her eyes locked on Randall. “This is Adler. I need an expedited search warrant on Randall Brock’s property. Investigator Corolla has the information and address. I’m here now with the owner, and I’m gonna need backup. Owner will remain on the property during the search. I need that warrant yesterday. Go.”

  Randall took another step forward, this time his hand coming up. “You don’t need a warrant,” he said. “This is a misunderstanding.”

  Susan dropped her phone and slipped her gun out of its holster. She held it down in front of her so Randall could see it. “I told you to stay put.”

  “This is a mistake.”

  “Then explain it to me.”

  Randall lowered his head and closed his eyes.

  “You and I are going to stay here until my backup comes,” Susan explained. “When they do, we’ll go inside so we don’t freeze to death. You stay there, and I’ll stay here. No one touches anything. No one moves. You play this nice and easy, and things will go smooth for you. Got it?”

  “This is crazy. This is all crazy.”

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where were you last night?”

  “Here.”

  “You got any proof of that?”

  “No.”

  “Too bad.”

  It wasn’t long before the sound of police sirens could be heard in the distance, down by the farmhouse, making their way toward them.

  35

  Two local units from the North Salem Police Department were the first to arrive at Randall’s house. They came roaring up the driveway, lights on, sirens wailing, about five minutes after Susan called it in. She and Randall had remained in the garage, both of them shivering from the cold wind that blew through. The officers approached with weapons drawn until Susan instructed both men to holster them. After things calmed, the officers escorted Randall into the house with Susan in tow. One officer guarded the front door while the other stood at the door leading to the mudroom. Susan and Randall each took a seat at the dining room table, sitting opposite one another, their hands in plain sight, their gazes locked.

  A trooper from the neighboring town of Somers arrived, and it was then Randall asked for permission to call his attorney. Susan agreed, and the trooper retrieved Randall’s phone from the coat that had fallen on the garage floor.

  It took an hour for the warrant to arrive. During that time, Randall made the necessary calls to hire an attorney who had the skills to navigate what had become a suddenly perilous situation. He’d called Bernie Hayman, but Bernie didn’t know anyone with enough power or cachet in a scenario such as the one Randall was facing—a trial lawyer specializing in search warrants and potential murder charges was too far out of his league.

  Randall’s next move had been a call to Wilbur Fitzgerald, the chairman of Ama
nda’s foundation. Of course he knew someone, and the result of Wilbur’s connections was Sidney Windsor from the law firm of Finn, Dystel, and Rust. Susan knew the firm. It was one of the most prestigious firms in the country and specialized in criminal law defense for high-profile clients. Mr. Windsor arrived within minutes of the warrant.

  The plan was to sweep the house in a grid pattern, going room to room, careful not to destroy what might be potential evidence. Susan had a small team of four North Salem officers inside the house searching through the grid and three state police out back digging up the patch of dirt.

  Tommy arrived after the search had already begun. He’d gone straight to the backyard and hadn’t even announced himself until she’d texted him, asking where he was. He hadn’t turned up any new hits from the surveillance cameras on Manhattan, by the barracks, or near her neighborhood. The Subaru, and Hooper Landsky, remained at large.

  Susan stretched in her seat and cracked her neck. The silence in the dining room was heavy. Sidney Windsor sat to Randall’s right and instructed him not to talk to any of the officers about anything. As time dragged on, the quiet became a distraction.

  “You mind if I ask your client a question?” Susan asked, motioning toward Sidney. “All this silence is too much.”

  Sidney Windsor was the stereotypical high-profile lawyer. Tall, forties, tan even though it was the middle of winter. He wore a dark-gray suit that was tailored to perfection and Italian shoes that most likely cost more than what the officers around them took home each week. His voice-activated digital recorder had been placed on the table, its red light blinking, in case someone decided to speak.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he replied.

  “Come on. You’ve had that thing recording nothing for like a half hour. One question.”

  “No.”

  “I can ask it here, or I can ask it at the barracks.”

  “Intimidation tactics already? Charming.”

  “One question.”

  “Fine,” Sidney said, adjusting his recorder. “One.”

  Susan looked at Randall. “Dr. Brock, can you tell me where you were last night?”

  Randall cleared his throat. “I already told you. I was home.”

  “And this morning?”

  “I told you that as well. Dr. Reems and I had a session at the Quarim campus. For our study.”

  “What time did you leave for your session?”

  “Around seven thirty. The session was scheduled for nine, lasted for an hour; then Dr. Reems and I debriefed and filed our notes. I came home, and here we are.”

  “Did anyone come to see you last night?”

  “No.”

  “Did you talk to anyone on the phone?”

  “No.”

  Sidney knocked on the dining room table. “That’s more than one question.”

  Susan ignored him. “Why do you have Hooper Landsky’s car keys?”

  “Don’t answer that.”

  “Where is Hooper Landsky?”

  “That’s enough, Investigator. No more.”

  “Is Hooper in on this, or did you do something to him? Where is he, Randall? Tell me where he is.”

  Sidney slammed his hand on the table. “That’s enough!”

  Susan smiled, pointing at the attorney. “I want to ask your client why he’s in possession of Subaru car keys the day after a maroon Subaru Legacy tried to run me off the road on my way home from work. But you can ask him instead.”

  “I’ll do no such thing.”

  Randall stuttered. “I . . . I was home. Asleep. I don’t know anything about a Subaru Legacy.”

  “Don’t speak,” Sidney said. “Not a word.”

  There was a knock on the patio door, and Susan turned. A trooper was on the deck, motioning for her to come outside. She nodded and pointed to one of the North Salem officers, who was in between the dining room and kitchen. “Watch these two,” she said. “No one leaves this table.”

  It felt as though the temperature had dropped another ten degrees when Susan stepped out onto the deck. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and walked to where the officers were gathered. Tommy was wearing a bright-orange parka with the hood pulled up and tied. She had to smile when she saw him.

  “That coat makes you look like an Oompa-Loompa.”

  “Maybe, but I’m warm. And the color has its advantages.”

  “Yeah?”

  “When I go sledding and skiing, I never get lost in the crowd. My friends can always find me. Ski patrol, too, if things go sideways.”

  “That makes sense.” She motioned toward the hole. “What’s up?”

  “I think we found our case.”

  Susan hopped down the steps and joined the men gathered around the hole. They’d extracted two items from the ground, and she knew exactly what they were the moment she saw them. The first was a small metal box, nondescript but for the Mercedes logo branded on the top. It was the computer memory system from Amanda’s car. The other item was a long, flat piece of wood that had been broken just above the halfway point. The grip tape used at one end was red and white, the phrase QUARIM UNIVERSITY written over and over in the white part. It was a broken field hockey stick.

  They’d found the murder weapon.

  “Bag them,” Susan said. “Get the car computer to our tech guys in Hawthorne, and see if they can still get anything out of it. Hopefully the dirt and cold temperatures haven’t screwed anything up. I’d like to know where Amanda Brock was the night of the accident. The field hockey stick goes to Forensics today. I want them working on it as a high priority. No excuses. Go.”

  The men got back to work as Susan climbed the deck stairs. She made her way inside and crossed the kitchen into the dining room, pulling cuffs from a case that was fastened to the back of her belt.

  “Randall Brock,” she began, “I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Amanda Brock. Stand up and place your hands behind your back.”

  Sidney shot out of his chair. “That is outrageous! What is the meaning of this?”

  “I don’t understand,” Randall muttered. “What’s going on?”

  “We’ll talk about it at the barracks,” Susan replied.

  “We’ll talk about it now!” Sidney shouted.

  Susan helped Randall out of his chair and pulled his arms around to his back, where she cuffed his wrists. “Mr. Windsor, I suggest you calm down, or you’ll be riding with your client instead of following behind him. We found what was buried in the hole in the yard. I hope you’re good at what you do.” She led Randall toward the front door. “You’re gonna need some skills on this one.”

  36

  Randall was fingerprinted and swabbed, then moved to a new interrogation room. This one had white cinder block walls and three chairs instead of two. A metal table sat in the center, bolted to the floor. As in the smaller room he’d already been in, a camera was mounted in the corner. One of the troopers sat him down in the chair and left. Sidney Windsor came in a few minutes later and took a seat next to him. One chair remained.

  “Do you know—” Randall began.

  Sidney raised his hand. “Not a word. You say nothing unless I tell you to.”

  Adler entered the room after about ten minutes. She had another stack of folders in her hand and placed them down on the table. She sat in the chair, pulled it close, and pointed to the camera in the corner. “We’re going to be recording this,” she said. “Audio and video.”

  “That’s fine,” Sidney replied.

  Adler straightened up and cleared his throat. “This is Investigator Susan Adler of the New York State Police, Troop K, file number two-two-seven-six-B. Sitting in on this interview is Dr. Randall Brock and his attorney, Sidney Windsor. Both parties understand and have agreed that this is on the record and being recorded.”

  Sidney nodded. Randall did the same.

  Adler looked through some of her notes, then up at Randall. “Dr. Brock, I arrived at your house this afternoon to ta
lk to you about our case involving your wife’s car accident, which we have ruled a homicide. There was no answer at the door, so I walked around the house to see if you were out back. While I was walking in your yard, I noticed a patch of dirt that was turned. Freshly dug. I only noticed it because it was in such contrast to the rest of your yard. Everything else is so well maintained. Beautiful. But this patch of dug-up dirt was sloppy. Did you dig that hole?”

  Randall looked at his attorney and was given the okay to answer. The room was stifling. He could feel a headache starting to rumble somewhere in the back of his mind. “No. I didn’t dig the hole.”

  “Do you know who did?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have a landscaper?”

  “Yes. His name is Paolo Zapa. Zapa Landscaping. He does all the houses around there.”

  “Did he dig the hole?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Did you ask or instruct him to dig the hole?”

  “No.”

  Adler read through more notes and jotted a few lines on the back of a file. “At the conclusion of my walk around your house, I noticed that the garage doors were open. Is that normal? Do you usually leave them open?”

  Randall wiped perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. The room was hot. “Yes, sometimes I leave them open. I don’t really think about it. It’s a safe neighborhood.”

  “I went into your garage to knock on the mudroom door, thinking maybe you didn’t hear the front door. I noticed something when I walked past your workbench.”

  “Yes,” Randall replied. His headache was coming on now. Another migraine. “The keys. You saw the Subaru keys.”

  Adler smiled. “I saw the Subaru keys. Said HL Architects on the key chain. HL engraved in gold. Those were Hooper Landsky’s keys.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You know.”

  “I swear. I don’t.”

  Adler leaned closer. “Where’s Hooper, Dr. Brock? You can tell me. You’re already in over your head here. Just tell me where he is, and I’ll make sure the DA considers your cooperation in this matter.”