The Dark Heart

by Julie Cave

  At seven-thirty the next morning, Elise knocked on Angus Whitehall’s front door. He opened it, and when he saw Elise standing on the porch with Dinah and the deputies behind her, his face faded to white save for two points of color high in his cheeks.

  “Good morning,” Elise said, her voice stiff and formal. “We have a signed search warrant, which gives us authority to search your home and office.” She thrust a sheaf of papers at him. “The warrant is authorized in connection with the murders of Malia Shaw and Lola Albright.”

  Angus’s wife appeared in the entry hall, drying her hands in a dishtowel. How awful the other woman looked struck Dinah. Though she was startled at the appearance of the police, Louise’s face was gray with fatigue, her eyes encircled with shadows, her lips colorless and cracked. She wore an old bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, her fine, blonde hair pulled into a careless knot. She watched Elise, Dinah, and the police enter her house with resignation. Interesting, thought Dinah. She doesn’t seem incredulous or baffled or outraged that we’re here. It’s like she was expecting this.

  “Do you need me or the children?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am,” replied Elise.

  “I’ll take them to school,” she announced, to no one in particular.

  Angus was looking at the paperwork Elise had given him with one hand, his phone in the other as the deputies fanned out around the house, opening drawers, searching through cupboards and rifling through clothing.

  “I’m calling my lawyer,” he told Elise. Dinah heard the barely controlled fury in his voice.

  “Certainly,” she replied. “However, the warrant is legal, signed by a judge, and your lawyer will not be able to stop us.”

  She turned away from him and concentrated on the search.

  Dinah couldn’t technically execute the search warrant, and so she simply accompanied Elise. The detective was most interested in Angus’s study, and that’s where she headed first. It was a tiny room just off the landing, lined with bookcases and featuring one desk with a laptop computer. Elise unplugged the computer and packed it up to take with her, and turned her attention to the shelves. She and Dinah spent an hour in there, running gloved hands over book spines, hoping to feel for spaces behind them or crevices in which something might be hidden. Unfortunately, neither Elise nor Dinah found anything — the bookshelves were simply there to hold the books and had no ulterior purposes.

  Elise walked into the master bedroom, where two deputies were in the wardrobes, looking through pockets and purses. It was unglamorous, boring work but it was vital.

  Dinah looked through the night tables, each of which had a single drawer. There was nothing of interest there. She stood, massaging her aching back.

  One of the deputies called out: “Detective? You there?”

  Dinah and Elise entered the wardrobe, where one of the deputies had discovered a small stack of manila folders hidden on a shelf behind a wall of musty, bulky sweaters.

  Elise opened the first folder and found a pile of bank statements in the name of Sons & Daughters, Ltd. Another folder held the bank account opening application, signed by Robert Langer and Theresa Scott. A third folder held bank statements for The Wellness Group Trust, and another folder held the authorities, signed by Robert Langer and Lola Albright. Finally, a fifth folder held bank statements for an investment account in the name of Robert Langer. It had slightly more than a quarter of a million dollars in it. The only withdrawals on the account were the amounts matching deposits into Malia Shaw’s account, via the two corporations, as well as the half-yearly rent payments.

  Dinah smiled to herself. The money trail never lies.

  “Brilliant,” she said. “Bag them up and bring them in.”

  She and Elise went downstairs to find Angus. He was in the kitchen, vigorously cleaning up after breakfast. He did not look up at either of them.

  “So, Angus,” Elise said. “You want to tell me about Robert Langer?”

  He scrubbed the counter even harder.

  “Well,” she said. “I know that Robert Langer is you. I guess I’m confused. Who is the real you? Is it Angus or Robert?”

  He remained silent, wiping out the waffle iron.

  “We found all the bank statements, tracing the flow of money from you to Malia Shaw,” continued Elise. “Did you have to try to make it so complicated? I mean, in the end, it was easy to trace. It was just a pain in the butt in the meantime.”

  Angus’s face showed a flash of anger. “It wasn’t designed to be complicated,” he said. “Just to discourage over-enthusiastic bank employees from making connections they shouldn’t.”

  “What connections?” pounced Elise.

  Angus was silent for a while. “No big mystery,” he said, at length. “Just that I didn’t necessarily want the world to know that I was giving money to a drug addict.”

  “Why were you giving money to a drug addict?”

  He shrugged. “I told you already: I felt sorry for her. I didn’t want her to have to damage herself further to get heroin. So I enabled her.”

  “Why did you feel so beholden to her?” Dinah wanted to throw every question she could at him before his lawyer arrived.

  “We were old friends,” said Angus. “I felt responsible for her. That’s all.”

  Dinah’s patience with him was quickly beginning to expire. “Mr. Whitehall,” she said. “I don’t think you understand how serious this is. You are the only person who visited Malia Shaw and you gave her money. Then she is murdered. Next you lie about knowing the dead woman’s friend, who is in turn murdered. Who do you think is the prime suspect? In a court of law, before a jury, the explanation that ‘we were just old friends’ isn’t going to jibe. When we get to that point, it’s not just the women’s lives we’ll be discussing, it’ll be yours too. Virginia still has the death penalty!”

  Angus dropped a plate he was washing. It slipped to the floor and smashed, the noise oddly appropriate, as if echoing the seriousness of Dinah’s words.

  Angus picked the pieces up carefully, then asked, “Has my lawyer arrived yet?”

  Elise shook her head.

  “Then I have nothing to say. Not yet.”

  Angus turned away.

  ****

  A deputy found them, both still standing in the kitchen, staring at the minister with frustration as he picked up pieces of shattered crockery.

  “Detective,” the deputy said. “We found some things in the garage.”

  Angus kept his back turned to Dinah, so she couldn’t see what his reaction was to this news, other than a possible slight stiffening of his spine.

  Dinah and Elise followed the deputy to the garage, where one car was parked. A wall of open shelves at the back of the garage held gardening tools, car maintenance paraphernalia, a toolbox, and an array of gas cans filled with old fuel and oil.

  The deputy showed them the toolbox. When it opened, it folded out concertina-like, so that the contents therein could be easily accessed. Elise looked at the selection of screwdrivers, hammers, and wrenches and frowned.

  “What about it?”

  The deputy smiled. “The toolbox struck me as being a little too shallow,” he explained. “I’ve got one just like it at home, and the bottom compartment is supposed to be real deep, to store the bigger tools. This one just didn’t seem right.”

  With gloved hands, he carefully moved the tools out of the way and smartly rapped the bottom of the toolbox. It rang hollowly and Dinah caught on.

  “Oh!” she said.

  The deputy used one of the flat-head screwdrivers to pry the bottom out of the toolbox, and it revealed a compartment underneath. A sealed plastic bag contained something that looked eerily familiar.

  Elise picked the package up and opened it. Inside were identification documents — passports, a driver’s license, and social security cards — and Dinah just knew that they would prove to be fake.

  Elise opened one and showed Dinah the name — Robert Langer, the owner and signat
ory to the myriad of bank accounts.

  There were two other names in the fake documentation — Leon O’Dempsey and Charlie White. It was anyone’s guess with which moniker the man had been born.

  Elise carefully bagged the documentation as evidence and visited the other officers, busy in different parts of the house. Nothing else of any peculiarity had been picked up, and the officers where finishing up.

  Dinah found Angus still in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee with hands that were noticeably shaking. “Do you want to tell me about Robert Langer, or Leon O’Dempsey, or Charlie White?” she asked.

  Angus was still, staring morosely down at the brown liquid in his cup. “I can’t,” he said, after a lengthy pause.

  “Why do you have false identification documents in your possession?”

  He just shook his head.

  “Why did you buy fake identification from Richmond for you, Malia, and Lola?”

  Still nothing.

  “Was it the money?” she asked, bluntly.

  He looked up at her. “What?”

  “Was it the money? Did you get sick of paying her rent and living expenses, knowing full well she was shooting it into her veins?”

  Angus shook his head. “You don’t understand. I didn’t kill her!”

  “I think you got sick of paying money to a junkie,” Dinah continued. “I mean, look at your comfortable life here. Your wife, your kids. A relationship with a junkie wasn’t going to help with that, was it? Surely the money would be better spent putting your kids in a private school or their college fund.”

  Angus shook his head vehemently.

  “Or did she try to blackmail you? Did she threaten to tell the truth? Was she endangering your job by having the audacity to keep living? Was she an addiction you just couldn’t shake?”

  “No, no, no,” muttered Angus.

  “It’s so laughable,” exclaimed Dinah. “A man in your position, using money you could have used for a renovation or put into your kids’ college funds, and she was shooting it straight into her veins! What did she have over you?”

  “Nothing!” shouted Angus, suddenly rearing up. His face was mottled red, and spittle flew from his lips. “She had nothing on me! You shouldn’t feel so sorry for her, Detective. You don’t know what she was capable of!”

  Yes, I do, Angus. And I know what you are capable of, too.

  Dinah watched him carefully, pleased she’d evoked a reaction. He stalked to the sink, flung in his coffee cup and stood there, breathing deeply.

  “What did she do that got her killed?” she asked, quietly, wondering from where the man was operating: guilt? shame? fear?

  But Angus appeared to realize he’d gone too far. “No,” he said, his voice quiet once more. Dinah got the sense he was holding on to his emotions tightly, only barely succeeding in keeping them under control. “I won’t speak to you without my lawyer present.”

  She waited for a few minutes, allowing some quiet time and space to calm the frenetic energy of their conversation. She couldn’t force the issue any longer; if he truly didn’t want to help himself, there was nothing she could do. Perhaps he didn’t realize how much evidence they’d gathered against him; perhaps he didn’t understand he was the prime suspect. But she’d given him plenty of chances to talk, to tell the truth. Instead, he obfuscated and evaded, under some shaky protestation of innocence.

  Elise entered the kitchen and looked at Dinah, her eyebrows raised.

  Dinah just shook her head.

  Elise said: “There is just one more thing, Mr. Whitehall. The search warrant included a request for your DNA.”

  He sighed. “Fine. What do you need?”

  “I just need a cheek swab. It’ll be painless and quick.” Elise showed him the swab. “I just rub this across the inside of your cheek several times.”

  Angus submitted to the swab, and Elise quickly bagged it and labeled it.

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” she said. “We’re finished.”

  He nodded and watched as she marshaled the deputies together and out of the house, gathering the evidence they’d collected and logging it in her notebook.

  As he waited for the last of them to file out through the front door, he said, “You need to speak to my lawyer if you have any further questions about this case, do you understand? I will not say another word to you.”

  Elise looked at him squarely. “Yes,” she said. “I understand.”

  ****

  Chloe stared at the phone and felt nauseous. The only time she’d ever felt worse was whenever she braved standing on the scales.

  She was risking total rejection, and she knew there was a high possibility that it would happen. Yet she had reached a place of such desperation that she could see no other option.

  Mrs. Whitehall answered the phone. Her voice was strained and tired. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mrs. Whitehall,” said Chloe. “It’s Chloe.”

  “Hi, Chloe. I haven’t seen you around much lately. How are you?” Mrs. Whitehall tried to infuse some warmth into her voice, but Chloe could hear worry saturating every word.

  “I’m okay. How are you all doing?”

  Mrs. Whitehall sighed. “Well . . . we’ll be okay. I suppose you’ll want to speak with Gracie?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Hang on a moment.”

  Chloe’s stomach danced violently. Her heart was beating so fast she actually felt faint.

  It seemed to take a century for Grace to pick up the phone.

  “Hello.” There was flatness to her voice that made Chloe feel even worse.

  “Uh . . . hi,” said Chloe. “I just wanted to find out if you were, you know, okay.”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  Chloe heard voices in the background, slowly fading away, and realized Grace was being cordial because her mother was still in earshot.

  As if on cue, Grace’s voice dropped, fast and clipped with fury: “No thanks to your mother. Your mother is trying to put my father in jail. How do you think I’m doing? She was here today, you know. Ransacking our house, accusing my father of murder!”

  Chloe fought back a sob. “I’m really sorry, really I am. I just, you know, have no control over that. It wasn’t my decision.”

  “We have been friends for, I don’t know, 15 years,” continued Grace. “It didn’t occur to your mom just once that there is no possible way my dad is a murderer?”

  “I don’t know,” said Chloe, miserably.

  “What it shows is exactly what your family thinks of my family. My parents would never have done anything like this to you.”

  Chloe was frightened by the coldness in Grace’s voice. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Your mother turned up here and searched through our whole house. They even looked through my room — my drawers, my closet. How would you like it if a bunch of strangers went through your stuff?” Grace let out an abrasive chuckle. “I mean, you think you know someone. You’ve known my dad all your life. Do you think he’s capable of murder?”

  A hot fist of despair twisted in Chloe’s stomach. “No, of course not.”

  “Well, your mom certainly doesn’t seem to have any problems thinking it. She’s the one in full public view, harassing my father. I can’t even describe to you what this has done to my family, to my mom. You have betrayed us all in the worst possible way. I thought you were my friend.”

  Chloe watched her tears fall onto the handset. “Please don’t be angry with me,” she begged. “I need you. Please.”

  Grace didn’t reply, and this gave Chloe the courage to plow on. “I don’t have anyone at school anymore. Jessica is being really awful to me and I’m all alone. At school they threw a soda can at my head in the cafeteria. I don’t have anyone else to turn to!”

  Grace barked a peal of mirthless laughter. “You expect me to come running to your rescue? Just like you’ve come running to rescue my family and me? How hypocritical. No, now I see you for what you really are. A
nd I understand why everyone at school hates you. You’re pathetic, you’re a loser, and you disgust me!”

  Despite her best efforts, a sob escaped from Chloe’s throat. “How . . . how can you say that?” she whispered.

  “Your mom has forced me to choose sides,” Grace hissed. “Do you really think I’d choose you over my own family? Like I’d be okay with listening to your mom call my dad a murderer?”

  Chloe felt like her throat was stuffed with a tennis ball. She tried to speak, but Grace continued, relentlessly.

  “I don’t want to be friends with you. Not now. Not ever.”

  “But Jessica —” Chloe managed to rasp.

  Grace gave a snort of disgust. “Well, could you at least try a bit harder to be normal? I mean, what’s with the dumb hair, anyway? I’ve never told you this, but I’ve always hated your hair. You look stupid.”

  A choir of voices rose in the background. “I’ve got to go,” Grace said, shortly. “Don’t call me again.”

  Chloe dropped the phone back into the receiver, a shaky panic beginning to spread from her stomach. On cue, she heard the sound of Mom’s car turning into the driveway and she ran upstairs as quickly as she could. There was no way she could explain to Mom why she was so upset.

  She locked herself in the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. Her face was puffy, blotchy, and red from crying. A rash of acne pitted her forehead. The roll of fat underneath her chin was obvious. She tried to smile at herself. She’d always thought she had a nice smile.

  Who cares if you have a nice smile when you are otherwise fat and ugly? I mean, face reality. Like any guy could possibly overlook the fat, the dumb hair, the glasses, the zits, and like me just because of my smile.

  Chloe sank down on the cold tile floor, her mind awash with poisonous thoughts, voices that laughed at her and mocked her.

  Fat, ugly, loathsome, unlikeable, unworthy, pathetic, a loser, a laughingstock.

  Somewhere along the line, she’d started to believe them.

  ****

  The following morning, Elise and Dinah executed the final part of the search warrant, at Angus Whitehall’s office. When Shana Woolcroft saw her leading a pack of deputies down the polished hallway, she did a double take. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice shrill. “You can’t —”