The King of Lies

by John Hart

  I lowered my eyes and closed them. The events of that night were becoming clear to me. Jean followed Ezra to the mall and killed him. Then she went to my house in time to see me leave for Stolen Farm. She knew that I’d left. She’d told Alex as much. But they did not know where I’d gone or what I’d done. What I wondered was why. Why had Jean gone to my house? And did she still have Ezra’s gun when she got there?

  When I looked up, I saw that Douglas had settled into a posture of patient complacency. I gave him a cold smile. “Your warrant’s grounded on hearsay, Douglas.”

  “I don’t need a lecture, either, Work. Alex came forward first; then we talked to Jean. She was reluctant—you should know that—but she corroborated Ms. Shiften’s story.”

  I felt ill all over again as cold sweat explored my neck and rolled down my spine. I saw Jean’s face, the wild abandon in her eyes as she’d sobbed. “Daddy’s dead . . . and done is done. . . . Right, Alex? . . . That’s right, huh?” What crushed me, however, was the knowledge that she’d told the police about it. Douglas knew that; it was in his eyes.

  I felt Douglas’s fingers around my arm. “You’re not going to tell me that Jean lied, now are you, Work? Jean wouldn’t lie. Not about something like that.”

  I looked past Douglas, watching the crowd of people who had been colleagues at worst, friends at best. Who now were what? Lost to me. Gone, as if I were already in prison. The fear snake uncurled in my belly, but I ignored it as I answered the district attorney as best I could.

  “I can’t imagine that she would make that up, Douglas. Not Jean.”

  It was true. I had left in the middle of the night, and apparently Jean had seen me. But what did she believe? Had she convinced herself that I’d killed our father? Was she that far gone? Or was she setting me up? If death was sufficient punishment for the man who killed her mother, what was appropriate justice for me? I’d made Ezra’s truth my own. How badly did she hate me for that?

  “Barbara supports my alibi, Douglas. I was with her all night and she’ll testify to that fact. Just ask her.”

  “We have,” Douglas said.

  “When?” I asked, stunned.

  “This morning.”

  Now I saw it. “Mills,” I said. “She spoke to Barbara this morning.” I pictured Mills at the restaurant. She’d known then that the warrants would be served. That’s why she’d wanted to know my schedule. “Are you taking me into custody?” I asked.

  Douglas pursed his lips and looked away, as if the question embarrassed him. “That would be premature,” he finally said, which meant that he lacked sufficient evidence for an arrest. Then I understood. If Barbara had said anything different, Douglas would have served an arrest warrant, as well. That’s why they’d waited so late to talk to her. They’d known what she’d say, and an alibi might have prejudiced their application for a search warrant. A judge might have hesitated. So get the warrant first, they’d figured. And if Barbara had told them anything other than what she had, then Douglas and I would have been having a different conversation altogether.

  I nodded, studying the street scene one last time, as if to memorize all the little things I’d always taken for granted. “Fine. Then I’ll get out of your way.” I started to turn, when Douglas spoke.

  “If you want to make a statement, Work, now would be a good time.”

  I turned back, leaned forward. “Fuck you, Douglas. There’s your statement.”

  Douglas didn’t bat an eye. “You’re not helping yourself, Work.”

  “Do you want that statement in writing?” I asked.

  Douglas frowned and glanced back at my office. “Don’t talk to Jean about this,” he said. “She’s got enough on her plate without you adding to her troubles. I don’t want you confusing the issues for her. She’s given a sworn statement and that’s all that matters.”

  “You don’t have that authority, Douglas. You can’t order me to stay away from my sister.”

  “Then call it another warning. Interfere with any phase of this investigation and I’ll come down on you so hard, you won’t believe it.”

  “Is there anything else?” I asked.

  “Yeah. There is. Hambly probated your father’s will today. Congratulations.”

  I watched him walk away. To my office. To my life. Such as it was.

  He disappeared inside, and the crowd milled around my office door. In that instant, I was too furious to be scared, disturbed only by the ease with which the security blanket of my life had been ripped to shreds. Again the eyes were upon me, but they were not curious ones. And that, most of all, angered me to the point of disgust. These were people I knew, people who knew me. Yet there it was, plain in every glance. I was more than a suspect. I stood condemned, alone in a hostile country. So I left. I walked around the block and returned to the parking lot in back of the building. I got in my truck and I drove away, destination unknown.

  Eventually, I arrived at the park, my house before me like a stranger’s. It glowed in the eerie light, and loomed taller than normal against the gunmetal sky. The cops were there, too, at least a dozen of them; and my neighbors, like my colleagues, had gathered for the feast. Word would be all over town within the hour. In my head I saw the expressions of shocked disbelief, but the undercurrent of true emotion would be there as well, the dark thrill of another’s utter collapse. Tongues would wag, and Ezra would emerge as the martyred hero, the hardworking, brilliant attorney who’d dragged his family from poverty, only to face this final reward. I saw it now. I’d killed him for the money.

  I pictured the police in my house. Specifically, I pictured Mills, pawing through my things, my drawers, my desk. Looking in my closet, under my bed, and in my attic. Nothing would be sacred. Mills would see to that. My life would be stripped bare, tagged and bagged. I knew these people, damn it! And they now knew things about me that were nobody’s business but my own. What I ate. What I drank. What kind of toothpaste I used. My wife’s underwear. Our preferred method of birth control. The whole thing pissed me off, so instead of leaving, I drove to the house. Barbara was there, pacing the driveway in panic and despair.

  “Thank God,” she said. “Oh, thank God. I tried to call you. I tried . . .”

  I put my arms around her out of long habit, feeling her bewilderment but nothing else. “I’m sorry. I’ve been in court. My cell phone was off.”

  She began to sob, her voice muffled by my chest. “They’ve been here for hours, Work. They’re going through everything. And they’re taking things! But they won’t tell me what.” She pulled back, her eyes wild. “Do something! You’re a lawyer, for God’s sake. Do something!”

  “Did they show you a warrant?” I asked.

  “Yes. They showed me something or other. I think that’s what it was.”

  “Then there’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry. I hate this as much as you.” I tried to put my arms around her again, to offer what I could, but she pushed away, her hands hard on my chest.

  “Goddamn it, Work! You are worthless! I swear to God. Ezra would never have let this happen. He’d have been so on top of this, the cops wouldn’t have dared to cross him!” She turned away, hugging herself.

  “I’m not my father,” I said, meaning it in so many ways.

  “You’re damn right about that!” Barbara spat out. Then she gestured at the gathering crowd. “They’re going to have a field day with this. That much I can tell you.”

  “Screw them,” I said.

  “No, screw you, Work. This is our life. My life. Do you have any idea what this means? Do you?”

  “I think I know better than you what this means.” But she didn’t hear me. I tried again. “Listen, Barbara. They’re going to do this with or without us. There’s no reason to stay here. Let me take you somewhere. I’ll go inside and try to get some of your things. Okay? You don’t need to see this. Then we’ll go to a hotel.”

  She was already shaking her head. “No. I’m going to Glena’s house.”

  The m
omentary charity I’d felt toward my wife evaporated, leaving me chilled. “Glena’s house,” I said. “Of course.”

  When she turned to me, her face was bleak. “Tomorrow, Work. Tomorrow we’ll talk, but right now I need to get away. I’m sorry.” She turned away. As if on cue, a horn sounded, and I saw Glena Werster’s black Mercedes at the curb below the house. When my wife turned back to me, I thought she’d changed her mind.

  “You make this go away, Work.” There was winter in her voice. “You make this go away. I can’t take it.” She began to turn.

  “Barbara . . .” I stepped toward her.

  “I’ll find you tomorrow. Until then, please leave me alone.”

  I watched her all the way down the driveway, until she climbed into the sleek sedan. She embraced Glena and then they were gone, around the corner, toward the country club and the fortress of Glena’s home. As I stared across the park, a horrible thought occurred to me. Barbara had never asked me if I’d done it. It’d never even come up.

  Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me, and I knew it was Mills before I turned. She had on blue pants and a matching jacket; I didn’t see her pistol. Her face was calm, which surprised me. I expected antagonism. I expected triumph. I should have known better. Mills was a professional; she wouldn’t gloat until she had a conviction. After that, all bets were off. I’d probably get Christmas cards in prison.

  “Where’s your car?” she asked.

  “What?” Her question took me off guard.

  “Your BMW? Where is it?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t be an ass, Work. It’s included in the warrant. I want it.”

  Of course she’d want the car. Who knew what a thorough forensic analysis might reveal? Ezra’s hair in the carpet. Bloodstains in the trunk. Even as I spoke, I realized how my words would sound.

  “I sold it.”

  She studied my face as if she could read something there.

  “That’s convenient,” she said.

  “Coincidence,” I told her.

  “When did you sell it?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Yesterday,” she repeated. “You’ve had that car for years. You sold it days after Ezra’s body was found, the day before I execute a search warrant, and you want me to believe that it’s coincidence?” I shrugged. “Why did you sell the car? For the record.” Her threat was more than implied.

  I gave her a reckless smile. “Because someone told me to stop being a pussy.”

  “You’re playing a dangerous game, Work. I’m warning you.”

  “You’re in my house! You’re in my office! Warn me all you want. For the record, I sold the car because I felt like it, because it didn’t fit anymore; something you’d never understand. But if you want to waste your time, you can find it on that car lot west of town, the one on Highway One-fifty. Help yourself.”

  She was pissed. With the car out of my control, its evidentiary value would plummet. I knew that it didn’t matter—the car had nothing to do with Ezra’s death—but she didn’t know that, and for an instant I enjoyed her loss of composure. As victories went, it was cheap, but I’d take it.

  “I want the truck, too,” Mills said, gesturing at the old truck, which looked shrunken beneath the towering house. At the moment, it was all I had left.

  “Is it in the warrant?”

  Hesitation. “No,” she finally said.

  I gave an ugly laugh. “Are you asking for my consent?”

  Mills eyed me. “You’re burning up any goodwill that might be left. You know that.”

  “Oh. We’ve crossed that bridge. You want my truck, you get another warrant.”

  “I will.”

  “Fine. Until then, no way.”

  Our eyes locked, she swelled with bottled emotion, and I knew that this went way beyond professional. She hated me. She wanted me locked up, and I wondered if it was like this in every case. Or was there something about me or about this case? Something personal?

  “Are you almost done in there?” I asked her, gesturing at the house.

  She showed her teeth. They were small and white, except for one in the front, which was slightly yellow. “Not even close,” she said, and I realized that she was enjoying herself. “You’re welcome to come in and watch. It’s your right.”

  My control slipped. “What is your problem with me, Detective Mills?”

  “It’s nothing personal,” she said. “I’ve got a dead man, a missing gun, and a man with fifteen million reasons to lie to me about where he was the night in question. It’s enough for me and it was enough for the warrant. If I had more, I’d arrest you. That’s how sure I am. If that means I’ve got a problem with you, then yeah, I do. So come inside, stay out here, whatever. I’m just getting warmed up.” She turned away and just as quickly turned back, her finger up like an erection. “But know this. I’m getting that car. And if it turns out that you lied to me about its location, then I’m going to have another problem with you.”

  I stepped closer, my voice rising to match hers. “Fine. Do your job. But I’ve made a career out of shredding search warrants. Not just how they’re drawn but how they’re executed. Be careful how you use it. Your case already has one big hole in it.”

  I was referring to my presence at the crime scene, and I saw my comment hit the mark. I knew what she was thinking. Any physical evidence linking me to the crime scene could have been carried in the day they found the body, not the day Ezra was killed. Any defense attorney worth his law license could use that to hang a jury. Mills had reason to worry. We’d squared off in court many times, and she knew that I could work the angles. If she screwed up with this warrant, the judge could throw the case out before it got to trial. Hell, she might not even get an indictment. Watching her mouth work, I felt some small satisfaction. Yes, I had to protect Jean, but nothing said I had to make this easy for Mills, Douglas, or anybody else. It was a thin line.

  “I’m going in back to get my dog,” I told her. “Unless you want to search him, too.” She said nothing, just tightened her jaw. “And when this is said and done, I’ll expect your apology.” It was a bluff—no way would this end well for me.

  “We’ll see,” she said, then turned and stalked away.

  “Lock up when you’re done,” I called after her, but it was an empty gesture. I’d landed a couple of punches, but she’d won the fight, and she knew it. At the door, she turned and looked back. She gave me the same cold yellow-toothed smile, and then she went inside.

  CHAPTER 18

  I escaped into my truck and drove. I passed cars, stopped at signs, and turned from one street to another, but there was nowhere to go; all choices led back to the same life. It was a bad time, one of ugly questions and despicable truths. So I returned to the park, full of children, old men, and scattered windblown litter. Mills was still at my house. I parked at the curb and watched the police move in and out, tracking suspicion and indifference. It angered me, but it was a toothless rage. In this, I was helpless, and my fingers tightened on the wheel as if it were Mills’s neck. When my cell phone rang, the noise jarred me; it took time to find the phone and bring myself to answer it.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, Work. How you doin’?”

  It took a second to place the voice. “Hank?”

  “Who else?” He sounded strained. Was it just the day before that I’d met him in Charlotte? It felt like a week. I tried to focus. “Sorry. What’s up?”

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” I paused, knowing that I was being short with him. Knowing also that I sounded far from okay. “Talk to me.” I rubbed at my eyes.

  “I called your office,” he said. “A cop answered. He asked for my name.” He hesitated, offering me the chance to say something, but I remained silent. What could I say? I almost laughed. “Then I called your house. Guess what?”

  “I know. I’m in my car right now, watching the cops run in and out like it’s on the parade of ho
mes.”

  “I don’t know what to say about this.”

  “Don’t say anything, then.”

  “It’s awkward, Work. It puts me in a bad position.” He paused. “I take it they have a warrant?”

  “I think they’re hoping to find the murder weapon,” I said. “Or anything else to incriminate me.” I knew what he was thinking. They’d have needed probable cause to get the warrant. That meant they had something on me.

  “Any real chance of an indictment?” he asked.

  “Very likely,” I said.

  Hank went silent. Considering the news, I didn’t blame him. We were acquaintances and drinking buddies, but not friends in any real sense. I could almost see the math. He relied on defense lawyers for most of his work, but no one in his position could afford to alienate the police. “That serious?” he finally asked. I knew the last thing he wanted was to get involved.

  “Could be. The lead investigator’s got it in for me. You’ll probably read about it in tomorrow’s paper.”

  “Mills?” he asked, not needing a response. I guessed he was playing for time, trying to decide how he felt about all this. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  His hesitation was clear. Getting involved in this could do him nothing but harm. It was to his credit that he’d even asked, but I knew what answer he wanted.

  “Not now, Hank. But I appreciate it.”

  “Hey. Your dad was an ass, but I don’t believe you murdered him.”

  “Well, thanks for that. It means something, Hank. Not many people are saying it right now.”

  His tone warmed. “Don’t let them rattle you, Work. You’ve seen all this before. You know how it works.”

  You know how it works. Douglas had used the same words.

  I decided to change the subject. “So what’s up, man? Any chance of good news?”

  Hank was no fool. He understood. I needed to move this conversation forward, onto neutral ground. “I went to Charter Hills this morning,” he said. “I spent a couple hours poking around.”