He definitely tried, though.
* * *
Three weeks after the arrests, Max received a call from Detective Cook. Cook smoked a pack of cigarettes a day and his voice said as much. “Mr. Williamson? Got a minute?”
Max told him he had a minute. In fact, he had all day. He’d been fired from his job when he disappeared from work and while Cook had offered to give a statement to Max’s employer, Max declined. He hadn’t liked the job anyway and by being fired he’d at least be able to collect unemployment.
Cook continued. “We found something interesting.”
Max had learned that when Cook said interesting, that usually meant terrible. Hopefully this new bit of information proved otherwise.
“Your son had a bank account that wasn’t included in the info you gave us.”
“I don’t understand,” Max replied. “He only had the checking and savings accounts we set up together.” He paused. He had to remind himself that there was a lot he didn’t know about his son. “To my knowledge, at least.”
Cook made a grunting noise, acknowledging Max’s response. “Looks like he set these up on his own. There’s another name on it: Julia Cavenaugh.”
“And you think that’s our Julie,” Max said.
“If I was a betting man, Mr. Williamson, I’d say I agree. The account’s empty, or basically empty. She cleared it out three days after your son’s death. I don’t see that as a coincidence, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” Max said. It seemed that he’d grown accustomed to revelations these days.
“Anyway, we sent a few local unies out there to the apartment you and Liz visited.”
“Unies?”
“Uniformed police officers. Anyway, the place is empty. Looks like that pair up and moved in a hurry, left the furniture and everything behind. We questioned Winehouse about it. Looks like he suspected your boy was skimming off of him, but couldn’t prove it. When we mentioned the account he figured that’s where Josh stashed the cash he took.”
“Julie told me she didn’t know anything about the money Josh mentioned in the letter,” Max said.
“Doesn’t surprise me. She didn’t want to get caught with it. Probably why she skipped town.”
“How much was in that account?” Max asked.
“About twenty grand. Not a lottery win, exactly, but enough to pay the rent for a few months.”
“That sounds like a lot of skimming.”
“Agreed. I’d say your boy got a little greedy and took too much. Probably how Winehouse found out about it.”
“Any chance you guys will track her down?”
“We’ll try, but I doubt it. She might have gone to Mexico, for all we know.”
Max wasn’t sure he wanted her to be found. Maybe she deserved a fresh start. “Thanks for telling me.”
“Oh, sure thing. Just wanted to keep you in the loop.”
“I appreciate that.”
Max hung up the phone. He stepped into the living room and looked around at the house. He’d barely cleaned up since he’d come back home again. Seemed no reason.
This house is dead, Max thought. Everything around him represented the death of his marriage and the death of his son. The death of Liz’s daughter.
The death of innocence.
Max packed a bag and left the house, renting a hotel room that night.
The following day he put the house up for sale.
Chapter Sixty-Five
The better part of a year passed and Max found himself sitting on the deck of his new home, overlooking the grassy common area behind his house with a cold beer in hand. He hadn’t moved far, just far enough to get away from the old place and all the memories it held. The house had been a trap; like being stuck in quicksand and slowly drowning.
He got a new job. It didn’t pay what the old job paid, but that really didn’t matter. It was easy and low stress. He didn’t bring the job home with him, not anymore. He’d learned his lesson about that, albeit a little too late.
Max tipped the bottle back and took a long swig as his cell phone rang. He picked it up and checked the number.
Katie.
Max answered.
“Hey, stranger,” she said.
“Hey, yourself,” Max replied. Although he’d fucked up their marriage, Max had done his best to patch up their friendship. They’d never be lovers again, but that was okay. What they had was gone, but what they were now wasn’t entirely all bad. Max had even put down a few beers with Denny, but he still struggled with not calling him Danny.
“You got any plans tonight?” Katie asked. “It’s Friday, you know. Denny and I might go bowling and we wondered if you wanted to be a third wheel.”
“Nah, it’s okay. I’m just going to hang out here, I think.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
She paused. Max knew why she called; the anniversary of Josh’s death was just around the corner. He appreciated that.
“You go,” Max said. “Have fun.”
“You’re positive?”
“Yep,” Max said. “Thanks, though.”
“If you change your mind—”
“I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Katie laughed. “You can still finish my sentences.”
Max smiled. “Goodbye, Katie.”
“Goodbye, Max.”
Max hung up. He grabbed another beer (his taste for whiskey these days seemed to be souring) and headed back out to the deck again to stare at the grass. Boring, maybe, but after everything that happened it suited Max just fine.
Chapter Sixty-Six
The anniversary of Josh’s death came and went with little fanfare. Max didn’t even have a drink on the day. He didn’t look through Josh’s stuff, or what remained of it after he’d given the bulk away to Goodwill. Outside of a few keepsakes from Josh’s childhood, Max found little reason to keep much else. He didn’t need any more reminders of the monster he’d created. Everything Max needed to remind himself of the boy Josh had once been remained sealed up in a single, large box sitting in the corner of the basement of Max’s new house.
The event came and went and Max’s life went on.
The following Saturday came and began like any other day. He took his time getting started, showering and catching up on some reading before taking an afternoon nap. The sun began to dip toward the horizon as Max helped himself to a couple of beers while sitting on his back deck once again. The deck had become a place of introspection, a place where time seemed to slow down to a crawl. He’d put on a few pounds over the past year now that he ate regularly. The occasional back deck beer also did its part to expand his waistline.
Three beers in, Max heard the doorbell ring. He hadn’t been expecting anyone, so it struck him as odd. Even though Winehouse had gone to prison, Max couldn’t seem to relax completely. He watched his back in parking garages. He installed an alarm system in his new home. He flinched each time the phone rang. He didn’t know whether or not Winehouse had the power to exact revenge from jail and he didn’t want to find out.
Max got to his feet, considering whether or not to get his gun. He’d purchased a .38 caliber revolver six months earlier that made him feel a little safer. Ultimately he decided to leave it in the nightstand drawer and take his chances with the door.
He looked through the peephole.
Liz Potter stood on the other side.
Max felt a shock run through his body. He hadn’t seen Liz in nearly a year, not since the police paperwork had all been filed and the waiting for Winehouse’s trial began.
He opened the door.
Liz smiled at him. “Are you going to invite me in?”
Max realized he’d been staring. “Sure. Come on in.”
Liz stepped inside and looked around the living room. “Nice place.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re a tough man to find, Max Williamson.”
“I moved.”
“No forwarding address. An
d you changed your phone number.”
Max shrugged. “I figured it was time to start over.”
“Are you going to offer me a drink?”
“Absolutely.”
Liz took a beer and they moved to the back deck. The midsummer air was warm and the crickets had begun their chatter out on the lawn as Max twisted off the cap of a fresh bottle for himself.
“I like it out here,” Liz said. “It’s peaceful.”
“I’d dare say boring,” Max said. “But these days I’m perfectly fine with boring.”
Liz grinned. “I can understand that completely.”
Max took a pull from the bottle and wiped his mouth. “So what in the world brings you out my way, Liz Potter?”
“It’s Liz Johnson now, actually.”
Max tried not to frown, but it was difficult. “I see. He’s a lucky man.”
A confused look spread across her face. Then it changed as understanding set in. “Oh, no. I’m not married. I took my maiden name back.”
Max nodded. “Good for you.”
Liz shrugged. “There seemed to be little reason to keep it. Besides, I’ve been a little paranoid after…you know, everything that happened.”
“I understand completely. Myself, I wouldn’t say that I’m hiding, but I’m not advertising either. How did you find me anyway? Just curious.”
“It wasn’t easy. I had to call in a favor.”
Max shot her a quizzical look.
“Detective Cook.”
“Clever as ever.”
Liz tipped the bottle back and took a healthy swig. “So how’s life?”
“I got a new job, bought a house.”
“How’s Katie?”
“She’s good. We’re good. You?”
“I went back to work.” She paused, gazing out onto the grassy yard stretching out from the wooden deck. “David and I gave it another go.”
“I take it that didn’t pan out.”
Liz shook her head. “There’s a reason we got divorced. I guess I wanted to make sure.”
“You’re sure now?”
“Definitely.”
A long pause followed. Max finished his beer. A slight buzz had begun to swarm in his head. He decided to keep it going, so he excused himself and went back inside for a refill. He returned with two beers, handing one to Liz before opening the other for himself.
Liz finished her old beer and opened the new bottle. “I’ve been thinking about you, Max.”
“Is that a good or a bad thing?”
Liz paused, considering. “I was angry for a long time.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“I know it’s not your fault. I knew it when I found out about what Josh did, but I just couldn’t deal with it, you know?”
Max nodded.
“I don’t blame you. I just wanted you to know that. If I blame anybody it’s myself.”
“I can understand that feeling,” Max said. “Too well.”
“I believe it.” Liz looked at him. “In fact, you’re the only one who does understand.”
“That might be true.”
“It is true.” Liz took another drink and a few more moments to think. “How do you put it behind you, Max?”
Max shrugged. “I don’t know that I ever will.”
“But it looks like you’re getting there.”
“Fake it ‘til you make it, I suppose. One day at a time. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Insert your own bullshit inspirational quote here.”
Liz chuckled. “They don’t really have a Hallmark card for people in our situation, do they?”
“I think that’s a niche market.”
Liz smiled. “Do you think about me?”
Max looked her in the eye. “Every day.”
“Really?”
“Honesty is all we have, right?”
Liz nodded. “Honesty.” She paused, thinking. “I can’t forgive Josh for what he did to Amanda. I know how bad that sounds, but I have to be honest with you, Max.”
“I don’t expect you to forgive him,” Max said. “I can’t either.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’ve spent a lot of time coming to terms with who Josh really was. He was a good kid once, I think. Or maybe he always was a monster and I just didn’t see it. I didn’t notice things back then the way I do now. But I tell myself that the seventeen years I spent raising him weren’t all a waste. I tell myself that because the alternative is just too awful to consider.”
“You did what you could, given what you knew at the time.”
“As I’m sure you did too.”
Liz nodded. “I could have done more.”
“Or maybe you couldn’t have. Maybe I couldn’t have. Maybe what was going to happen was unstoppable.”
“That sounds like a cop out.”
Max shrugged. “I didn’t say I believe that. I’m just saying that people like us are quick to shoulder the responsibility, but not so quick to consider that maybe not everything is our fault.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“You’re not a bad person, Liz.”
“You might be the only person in the world who thinks that. I get hate mail, did you know that?”
“Fuck those people.”
“They look at me differently at work, you know? Now that it’s all come out in the papers.”
“Fucking reporters, they’re the worst. Look up the top ten jobs that attract sociopaths sometime; you’ll find reporters on that list.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Liz took another drink. “Cook told me about Julie and the money.”
“Did he? He’s very forthcoming.”
“Should he not have?”
“It’s fine.”
“Do you think Josh is her baby’s father?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure I want to know. It won’t change anything. I hope she makes something out of her life, wherever she is. She doesn’t need me poking my nose into her business.”
“Fair enough,” Liz said. A few moments of silence passed between them. “Cook also told me they turned up zilch on that mystery texter of yours.”
“I still can’t figure that out. They ran that number, but the results were…how did Cook put it? Inconclusive.”
“How so?”
“They tracked that number back and found its owner. One Myrtle Sanderson, aged fifty-three. Problem was, she disconnected her service one month before I got the texts.”
“So the number was sitting in the pool to be reassigned later.”
“Yep. Ninety days in limbo, or it should have been.”
“Then how in the hell could anyone have sent those texts if the number wasn’t active?”
“You tell me.”
“You’re not back on that ghost thing again, are you?”
Max shook his head. “Could be the phone company’s records are wrong, but that seems unlikely.”
“Or maybe somebody tampered with them,” Liz said. “It’s possible it could have been an inside job. Someone could have used the number to send the texts and then went back later and covered their tracks. Or deleted the records.”
“Maybe.”
Liz smiled. “Or maybe a ghost did it.”
“The world is full of mystery.”
“Did you tell Cook your theory?”
“I wouldn’t call it a theory. If anything it had only the vaguest resemblance to a hypothesis…and that’s stretching it. So no, I only told you.”
“Your secret’s safe with me then. Did you get any more texts?”
Max shook his head. “I changed the number a few months ago, but up until then I never got another one. I doubt I’ll get any more either. I’m okay with that. I guess I’m okay with not knowing who sent them too.”
“You haven’t…seen him again, have you?” Liz asked. “Josh?”
“Now I’m not sure I ever did. I was under some stress at the time.”
Liz returned the smile. “Underst
atement of the year.” She held her bottle up. “A toast.”
“To what?”
“To new beginnings.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Max touched his bottle to Liz’s and they both drank. Liz looked at him for a long time.
“What?” he asked.
“Do you think we could start over? I mean, do you think it’s possible?”
“You mean you and me?” Max asked. “Together?”
Liz nodded.
“I don’t know. There would always be something terrible between us.”
“But what if that’s a good thing?”
“How could that be a good thing?”
“We both lost so much, Max. We both lost everything.”
“Liz, Josh killed Amanda. I mean, my son killed your daughter. That’ll always be there, under the surface.”
Liz looked away.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Liz looked him in the eye. “No, don’t apologize. You’re right. Your son killed my daughter. We both should be able to say that out loud.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I told you I lost Amanda a long time ago, long before she got herself into all that trouble. I’ve had to say that out loud more than a few times.”
“Does it make things better?”
“I don’t know. It’s the truth at least, so there’s that.”
“Honesty, right?”
“You didn’t really answer my question, Max. What if that terrible thing between us is a good thing? I’ve thought a lot about it since then. Nobody else could ever understand what we went through. Only the two of us have that frame of reference.”
“A shared experience.”
“Not just a shared experience, a shared loss. Shared guilt. Shared responsibility. Every day I wake up and it’s there, that terrible thing that happened to our kids. That happened to us. Every day is like waking up beside a monster and I know it’s never going to go away. For the rest of our lives, we’re going to have to face this thing. My question is, Max, do you want to face it alone or together?”
“We did make a good team, didn’t we?”
“A hell of a team.”
“I can’t guarantee anything.”
“Neither can I.”
Familiar Lies Page 20