Burden of Truth

by Terri Nolan

  “He cheated on you?” said George, surprised.

  “It didn’t help that she tried to kill him,” said Thom.

  “That was after, and besides, the details of the incident are unclear,” said Birdie.

  “Right,” said Thom.

  “George, wait till you see Mica,” said Birdie. “She’s beautiful and even-tempered. Not at all like me.”

  “She can’t be as beautiful as you,” said George.

  “Give it up, Georgie boy, Bird’s out of your reach now,” said Thom.

  George shot Thom a dirty look, then looked in the rearview mirror to catch Birdie’s reaction. She smiled. George smiled back.

  “Tell me about Casa Cleary,” said George.

  “It’s on a hill in Echo Park. Not far from Arthur’s place. At street level there’s a short driveway and a two-car garage, then up forty-two stairs to the house.”

  “Forty-two?” said Thom.

  “Hey, I’ve been up and down them enough times to know how many stairs. Anyway, it’s an authentic Spanish colonial with a gorgeous view.”

  By the time they arrived, they knew as much about Denis’ house as Birdie did. George parked the CV against the curb. Thom opened the back door and helped Birdie out. Thom and George walked up the stairs as Birdie slowly hobbled behind. Mica sat on a step crying. She looked up at Birdie, seemingly incognizant of her damaged appearance. “Thank God you’re here. ¿Trajiste la llave?”

  “What key?” she said.

  “The key to house. Denis said you never return.”

  “¡Cómo que no!” protested Birdie. “Ages ago. Besides, you never said anything about a key.” Or did she? Llave. Key. She had lost it during the translation. Didn’t matter anyway, she didn’t have it.

  “Señorita,” said George, “¿Es usted la que hizo el reporte de la persona desaparecida?”

  “Speak English,” said Thom.

  “Yes,” said Mica. “I file report. My boyfriend, Denis, live here. I thought ex-girlfriend would have key to casa. I can’t get in to check for him.”

  Thom and George exchanged looks. George nodded and headed back to the car and retrieved an apparatus designed to pop locks. Thom frowned as he followed George toward the house.

  Mica took Birdie into an unexpected hug. “Thank you for coming. I’m so worried.”

  Birdie immediately felt suffocated. Mica held her too tight. Then she realized that she wasn’t holding her hard at all.

  It was her smell that bothered Birdie. Hemp oil. In her hair and on her skin.

  Birdie pushed her off and Mica landed on her ass. She screamed.

  Birdie hyperventilated.

  Thom and George rushed back down the stairs.

  Birdie’s body convulsed. She leaned over the edge of the stairs and vomited onto a blue agave. Thom rushed to her side and held her hair while she heaved.

  “Bird,” he said, his voice far away—in a cave.

  “The smell,” Birdie managed to wheeze. “That smell. It was on the man … the company man.” She upchucked again. “Ohmygod … Denis. It was Denis.”

  Thom grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled her down the stairs. She stumbled. “Thom,” she pleaded, wiping vomit from her mouth, “you’re hurting me.”

  “Shut up,” he said, dragging her farther down the stairs.

  “Thom, please listen. It was Denis. Not Emmett. Stop.”

  “No,” he scolded. “You stop.” He grabbed her shoulders and squeezed. “Listen to me. Emmett was the third guy. End of story.”

  “No, Thom,” she wailed. “It was Denis. I remember now. The man … the scent on his skin, hemp oil, it was transfer. Mica.”

  Thom slapped Birdie hard across the left cheek.

  “OW,” Birdie yelped. “Why—”

  “Shut up.”

  George closed in. Thom pulled her body up and held it tight. He hissed in her ear, “Don’t say a word. Hear me?”

  “Birdie? Thom?” said George.

  “She’s sick George. That’s all. Right, Bird?”

  Thom held her hard by the shoulders. She felt her heart beating in her neck. She looked up at George, pleading silently for help. All she could manage was a nod.

  George wasn’t sure. “Birdie?”

  Thom shushed in her ear.

  “George … I’m okay.”

  “Good girl,” Thom whispered.

  George slowly nodded. “Okay then. Are we going to check the house?”

  Thom said, “I’ll take care of Bird. You check.”

  George turned and walked back up the stairs.

  Thom led her down the last of the stairs and pinned her against the garage. He leaned his body against hers. It hurt, but she couldn’t catch enough breath to tell him so. His face was flushed. “It’s for your own damn good that you not repeat to anyone what you just said. Have I made myself clear?”

  She nodded.

  “Good.” Thom kissed her cheek and released his grip.

  Birdie crumpled.

  Thom pulled her up. With the other hand he punched a number into his cell phone. “Hey,” he barked, “You know where Denis Cleary lives? Get your ass here pronto. We have a problem.”

  She was tempted to scream out, but she’d never seen Thom this angry before and didn’t know why her assertion set him off.

  Mica tentatively made her way down the stairs, her eyes full of concern. “Birdie?”

  Thom released Birdie’s arm and gave her a knife stare. “English only.”

  “I’m sorry for pushing you, Mica. The sickness came on fast and I didn’t want to vomit on you. I’m sorry about the mess.”

  “No worry,” Mica said, then to Thom, “I stay with her if you want to help other policeman.”

  “No. Wait for Detective Silva on the lawn.”

  Mica huffed, turned and went back up. Birdie’s legs gave way again. This time Thom helped her to the lower step. Feeling that she could pass out, Birdie leaned against the rail for support. Thom paced anxiously.

  Birdie shut down. Nothing was as before. Thom’s body turned into a shadowy vapor and there was a buzzing in the air like a beehive. The trees, the bushes, all the living things suddenly seemed evil. Life had turned against her. Her hands vibrated with a mesmerizing rhythm.

  She couldn’t fathom the amount of hate required for Denis to abduct, abuse, and rape her. And if that weren’t bad enough, he murdered her and dumped her naked body on a city street.

  The wicked world spun faster as if to throw Birdie off.

  “Well?” said Thom, his voice bringing her back to reality.

  George arrived with Mica in tow. “Denis isn’t in the house or on the grounds. No sign of a struggle. His girlfriend has the remote code for the garage.”

  “She has the code to the garage, but not a key to his house?” said Thom.

  George looked at Mica.

  “Sometimes I drive car here when he goes away for long time.” She punched the code on the keypad. The wood door slowly rolled upward. Denis’ Saab was parked inside. George motioned Mica to stand near Birdie. He entered the garage, checked the car and trunk. Sans Denis.

  Arthur screeched to a halt in his F-250, exactly like Matt’s except for the color. He was pissed about being ordered around by his brother. Thom took Birdie’s arm and urgently walked her to the idling truck, opened the door and pushed her in the front seat. Arthur wore workout clothes, no shoes, and he was covered in sweat. He hated when his workouts were interrupted.

  Thom belted Birdie into the seat and leaned toward Arthur. “Your cousin here swears she remembers that it was Denis who was the third man. Not Emmett. Says she remembers a smell. Denis is missing.”

  Arthur nodded in confirmation and accelerated. Birdie attempted to look back at George, but Arthur scolded, “Keep your eyes forward.”<
br />
  “Did you and Thom set up Emmett?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Arthur said. “We didn’t set him up.”

  “You were blackmailing him about April.”

  “Not true.”

  “But you knew about her.”

  “So.”

  “Thom’s reaction to my declaration is indicative of the truth. He slapped me and pinched me and threatened me.”

  “Bird, I’m sorry for Thom’s inappropriate behavior.” Arthur was uncharacteristically cool. “Emmett was his friend—have some compassion for the way he must feel.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense! And don’t talk to me about compassion. The Whelans are our friends. Our second family. We owe it to them to support Emmett. I don’t understand why no one besides the victim is speaking out against the injustice.”

  Arthur glared.

  “If you found out that Thom was involved in something illegal, would you tell?”

  “No,” he said.

  “You think I should do the same?”

  “Thom hasn’t done anything illegal, but let’s say he did. Then, yes, I think you should keep your mouth shut.”

  “Is that what you and he are asking me to do in regards to Denis?”

  “Yes. But for a different reason. We’re concerned about your safety. If you were to start mouthing off about Denis—”

  “If Emmett’s guilty, then why would it matter what I say? Why do you and Thom care so much?”

  “It’s clean. Who knows what else Emmett was involved with. Or with whom. You’re safer to say nothing.”

  “You’re full of shit. The bottom line is that Denis was the third man, the company man, the ringleader, and he’s unaccounted for.”

  forty-one

  Birdie yearned to kick Denis in the nuts with her steel-toed Wolverines and ask him how he liked drinking cranberry juice and pissing blood. Then she wanted to shoot him in the balls and watch him bleed to death. But too soon the bravado vanished. Alone and uneasy in her big house Birdie jumped at the slightest sound. She checked every window, door, and slider at least three times and carried the loaded Sig in the pocket of her robe. She put off the inevitable as long as she could, but she finally caved and called Ron, hoping his rum-infused voice would put her at ease.

  He answered in an abrupt whisper. “I’m in the middle of something,” he said, “I’ll call you back.”

  “I know who the company man was.”

  “Hold on.” After a minute of muffled conversation, he came back. “Who?”

  “Denis Cleary.”

  “The boyfriend before George?”

  “Yes, and he’s missing and his girlfriend called me and I went to his house with Thom and George and her scent triggered the memory of his smell and I had a violent reaction—”

  “Slow down, babe. Take a breath.”

  “Thom and Arthur want me to hush it up. Today’s confrontation confirms that one or both of them are a part of this.”

  “Maybe it was another man with the same smell.”

  “It was him. No doubt.”

  “I’m sorry doesn’t cover what you must be feeling.”

  “When Denis shows up, we’ll get a blood sample and check it against what was collected. That will prove me right.”

  “What if he used a condom?”

  “I don’t think he did. Besides, in a rape exam they comb for foreign hairs and stuff.” She stifled a cry and tried to push the thought away.

  “Being right doesn’t help if he’s unaccounted for,” he growled. “He or his cronies already murdered you once. I’m coming up.”

  “NO.” The word surprised her. She’d been frightened since Arthur brought her home, and yet, as soon as an offer of assistance presented, she no longer wanted it. “And don’t call my dad and have him send a cop over for protection. I need to get through this on my own.”

  “I’m not comfortable with you being alone and him on the loose.”

  “I’m locked in. I’m okay, I promise.”

  When she hung up the phone, she burst into tears. What a liar.

  _____

  Late that evening Birdie lay in bed clutching the Sig to her chest. She looked up at the glow-in-the-dark stars and prayed for the courage to get through the night. When the doorbell buzzed, she sat straight up and wide-eyed. Ron must’ve come to town after all. She wrapped a throw around her shoulders and tiptoed down the two flights. She spied out the peephole. George stood on the stoop, flooded in light from the motion detector. She opened the Judas hole.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

  “I wanted to know that you’re okay.”

  “Are you with Thom?”

  “I’m solo.”

  She opened the door. At the second floor landing, he rubbed the head of St. Joseph, as he always did.

  She curled on the sofa, keeping the robe pocket open and thus the gun handy. George sat in a chair, resting his arms on his thighs. He should say something. She should say something. But they sat there and said nothing. She wished that Ron hadn’t taken Louise home with him. The diversion of a cute dog would cut the awkward silence. As it was, the only sound in the room was the quiet ticking of the mantle clock.

  “What do you want to know?” she finally said.

  “Nothing you don’t want to tell.”

  “You make Emmett for it?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

  “What about Denis? What’s up with that?”

  “He’s an LAPD contractor far enough up the food chain to be a priority. He’ll be found.”

  “Dead or alive?” she said.

  “I don’t think any of us will ever see Denis again.”

  “Good riddance.”

  “Is that how you feel about me now that you’ve got Ron?”

  “I’m fond of you, and I was happy while we were dating. The thing is … I don’t know.”

  George looked at her incredulously. “Tell me what happened between you and Thom.”

  “I was sick. I guess the Denis thing upset me more than it should.”

  “You’re a liar. I saw Thom’s handprint on your face.”

  “I’ve said all I’m going to say.”

  “Is there something I can do?”

  “Actually, yes. Will you sleep on the other side of my bed?”

  “You never let me in your bed and now that we’re not together I get to stay?”

  “You’re right, it’s a crazy request. I can’t explain it.” Sure she could. She didn’t want to be alone.

  George took her hand and led her upstairs. He tucked her into bed, flipped off the hall light and slowly moved to the other side of the bed. He sat on the edge for a long time. Some time during the night he eventually lay down.

  forty-two

  Wednesday, February 8

  Day 271. The day Birdie had planned to launch her evidence recovery plan.

  At six a.m. Birdie awoke alone. George left a note next to the clock. Call me if you need anything. Love, George. His absence was a good thing. One, she had a schedule to keep and didn’t want to kick him out after he’d graciously agreed to stay. Two, she’d have plenty of time for breakfast and the required exercise before departing.

  _____

  Birdie couldn’t believe her stupidity. She’d been so overwhelmed with the Denis thing that when Arthur delivered her home she scurried inside and locked herself in. She never moved her car off the driveway to the security of the garage. It sat on the driveway all night. They could’ve had complete access and privacy in which to place another tracker. A massive wall covered with ivy separated her property from the neighbor’s on the right side. Waist-high hedges on the other side of the drive separated it from the lawn. The landscaping provided cover for someone with unfriendly intentions. She didn
’t want to impose on Pearl for a third time.

  Time for plan B.

  She needed new wheels for the cargo that others were willing to kill for. She couldn’t trust her cousins. She could rent. But rental companies had trackers on their vehicles to keep tabs of their property. No, she wouldn’t take chances. She’d err on the side of paranoia. What to do? She had emergency cash. And she knew where to spend it.

  She drove to parking lot C—long-term parking—at LAX and left her Taurus. She caught the airport shuttle and disembarked at the always-busy Tom Bradley International Terminal. She walked inside, mingled with the crowd, then casually strolled to the curb and took a place in the taxi queue.

  _____

  Business at Mario’s Car Sales was brisk today. Mario and his family were parishioners at St. Joseph. Birdie had known the family for years.

  She waved at Mario as he concluded a sale with a young couple. She cruised the lot to determine vehicle choices and found an older model Chevy van with an airbrushed desert scene painted on the side. Perfect. When Mario finished, he greeted her like an old friend.

  “My favorite reporter,” he said, squeezing her arms. He studied her damaged face and frowned. “¿Cómo estás? ¿Te pasa algo?”

  “Peilgro,” she said. “I’d like that Chevy van. I can pay cash. Sin trámites. Sin preguntas. No estuve aquí. Si no lo puedes arreglar, lo entiendo.”

  Mario agreed immediately to her proposal of cash. No papers. No questions.

  Birdie made him promise not to mention that she’d been there. In the worst-case scenario he’d have her cash and could file an insurance claim for theft if she didn’t return. She stepped up into her new wheels and started the engine. The Chevy rumbled to life. She eased the van out onto the street and headed for the freeway.

  Less than two hours, three freeways, and one highway later, she checked into a Polynesian-styled hotel on East Palm Canyon Drive in Palm Springs.

  Birdie knew what to expect in regard to Matt’s property. She had used one of her many database subscriptions to access the Riverside County Assessor’s office to locate the address of the property Matthew Whelan paid the taxes for. Then, with a few keystrokes, an overhead satellite image of the property could be found. And a street view, too. With time and anonymity on her side she decided to check it out personally.