Somebody I Used to Know

by David Bell

  I let go, slumping back against the far end of the couch.

  I reached up, feeling the growing lump above my ear.

  “Where is she, Jade?”

  She didn’t answer. The door slammed, and everything went black.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Laurel insisted on bringing me an ice pack from the kitchen. Except I didn’t own an ice pack, so she brought me a bag of frozen corn wrapped in a towel and placed it against the side of my head.

  “I still think you should see a doctor.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You could be concussed,” she said.

  “Cursed is more like it.”

  I sat on the couch with the bag of corn pressed against my head. It brought some relief, so I didn’t mind looking ridiculous.

  “So Marissa and this Jade ran over a little boy in Hanfort, and the family chose to run away rather than have the girls face the music?” Detective Reece sat in a chair to my left. He wore a coat and no tie. It was early in the morning, just before seven, and he held a small notebook in his hand. “And all of this happened because Jade got pregnant in high school?”

  “That’s right.” I shifted the bag a little and winced at the pain. “And it explains Emily Russell.”

  “How does it explain Emily Russell?” Reece asked.

  “She’s Jade’s daughter,” I said. “Jade gave her up for adoption, and Emily looks just like Marissa, even more than she looks like her mother. That happens. I look more like my uncle Stan than my dad, which is kind of a blessing. Uncle Stan aged better. I’m still thinking about that obituary. Jade must have given her baby up to Catholic Charities. Giving Emily up obviously made a huge impact on her.”

  “Exactly,” Laurel said. “I work with a woman who gave a baby up for adoption when she was in high school. She spent her whole life worried that something awful had happened to that child, that the kid would be homeless or abused. But she met the kid later in life and saw that she was okay. My friend, she never forgot what that adoption agency did for her daughter.”

  “And that’s how Jade felt,” I said. “That adoption agency gave Jade’s daughter the chance at a great life. Of course they would remember the agency when their parents died.”

  “I really only have one interest in this, unless you want to press charges for the smack on your head.” Reece pointed at my bag of corn. “Do you?”

  “No. It’s fine.”

  “Then I still want to know who killed Emily Russell. Right now I have a suspect in jail who has a history of breaking into hotel rooms and assaulting guests and was carrying something that belonged to Emily Russell among his effects. I’ve got a real nice case there, and I don’t want to turn away from that based on the speculations of someone who doesn’t even seem that trustworthy. Did Jade say anything about who might have wanted to kill her child?”

  The sun started to light up the drawn curtains, and the chirping of the birds rose in volume. “She didn’t exactly. She just said the family of the dead kid has always wanted justice. Since Marissa and Jade ran away, they have never received it. As far as we know.”

  “Are you suggesting they killed Emily?” Laurel asked.

  “I’m speculating,” I said. “I’m just trying to make sense of all this and the death of this young girl.”

  “But after twenty years? And why the girl? Why not Jade herself? Or Marissa?”

  “How long would you burn for vengeance if your child was killed?” I asked. “Would there ever be a point when it was made right in your mind?”

  Reece looked less skeptical, but he gave me his standard police answer. “I’d feel satisfied when the justice system took care of things. And that’s what we’re trying to do with the man we have in jail. That does it for me.”

  “Does it?” I asked. “What if it were your kid? They ran over a child and drove off.”

  “They were kids themselves,” Laurel said. “Don’t forget how young twenty is.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “They were kids. But their parents weren’t. Can you justify them not taking those girls to the police and telling the truth? Would you do that with your kids?”

  “They should have gone to the police,” Reece said. “You’re right.”

  “What would have happened to them?” I asked.

  He scratched his head. “The driver could have faced some jail time. A little. Accidents happen, but we get punished for accidents as well. I tell you this: They made it all a hell of a lot worse by leaving the scene. And so did their parents. They dug the hole a lot deeper. Obstruction. Conspiracy. Not good.”

  “But the parents are dead. Their father masterminded the whole thing, and he’s gone, so no one can touch him. He was always such a smug bastard. So pious. Sitting there in church at Marissa’s funeral knowing the whole thing was a lie.” I looked at Laurel. “Can you believe that? You went to the funeral. You cried for Marissa. It was all a fraud. Everything about them looked so perfect and good from the outside. Inside, it was a lie.”

  “Most things fall apart when you look that closely,” she said, seeming distracted.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked. “Is all of this catching up with you?”

  It took her a moment to answer. “I’m thinking about the things you said before, about Marissa and Jade’s parents. I’m not sure I can go all the way with you on that.”

  “What do you mean?” Reece asked.

  “With all due respect for the law,” Laurel said, nodding at Reece, “I’m not unsympathetic to the Minors. I have kids. I hope I’d never cover up a crime they commit, but I understand the temptation. They were staring down the barrel of their daughters’ lives being seriously damaged. I can see that those things would cross my mind.”

  “Cross your mind,” I said. “Lots of things cross my mind. But I don’t act on them.”

  “It’s tough,” Reece said, lifting his eyes to meet mine. “I hope I’m never in their shoes.”

  A silence settled over us. The corn was starting to defrost, and water dribbled down the side of my face. Riley looked up at me. During Jade’s attack and escape, he’d sat on the floor placidly, watching the whole thing unfold as though he were staring at a distant event.

  “I have to return to being a cop now,” Reece said. “Jade didn’t tell you where her sister is?”

  “She refused. That’s why she hit me. I tried to grab her. I don’t know what I was doing, but I wanted to shake her and make her tell me.”

  “Did she say if she’s alive?” Reece asked.

  The question made me sick. A nauseous churning started in my stomach. No way, I thought to myself. No way. I hadn’t pined all these years only to find out Marissa had survived the fire, but died somewhere else.

  “She didn’t say. But I got the sense Marissa is alive.”

  I also knew a lot could happen in twenty years. Accidents. Illness.

  “Is that wishful thinking on your part?” Reece asked.

  “No. Not just that. She knew something, Jade did. She just wouldn’t tell. She’s protecting Marissa, I guess. Wouldn’t Marissa still face charges if she showed up?”

  Reece looked doubtful. “Not really. It’s a felony, vehicular homicide. The statute of limitations would have been up a long time ago. She’s not exempt from civil charges if the victim’s family pursued it. And there’d be the embarrassment that it all might become public. Friends, coworkers, family would find out. That might be worse in some ways.”

  “Kill a kid and face no charges,” Laurel said. “Shit.”

  “It’s treated different from conventional murder charges,” Reece said. “These girls didn’t intend to kill the kid. They were just negligent. They could always run into trouble if a prosecutor really wanted to be a jerk. They could say the statute of limitations was suspended if she left the state. They could try to say the conspir
acy was ongoing. That’s all above my pay grade. I’m just curious if Marissa tells the same story her sister does. It seems awfully convenient for this woman to show up and say her sister was the one behind the wheel of the car when the kid was killed. How did the two of them get along? How do we know she doesn’t have it in for her sister?”

  They both looked at me. I shrugged. “They got along like most sisters. They fought. They loved each other. Do you really think Jade is trying to stick it to Marissa?”

  “How do we know what she’s up to?” Reece said. “You’ve got a person who’s been living under an assumed identity for the last twenty years showing up, breaking into your home, and telling a heck of a story. She crashed the funeral and caused a disturbance there. She threatened a member of the Russell family. She hasn’t told you much of anything about herself. Are we going to accept every word she says as gospel?”

  * * *

  Laurel stayed after Reece left. I took my soggy bag of corn to the kitchen, tossing it back in the freezer, and when I returned to the living room, Laurel was studying me.

  “What is it?” I asked. “Why do you look like that?”

  “Have a seat.”

  I sat. My head felt better. Cold but better. Laurel was already dressed for work, looking beyond capable and put together. I hadn’t really dressed yet and was sitting in my living room in a T-shirt and loose-fitting gym shorts I wore around the apartment when I wasn’t expecting company.

  “Do you think it’s true?” I asked. “The accident, the cover-up. All of it.”

  “It sounds true. Other pieces we know lock in with the pieces Jade gave you.”

  “I guess they do.”

  “Reece is right to ask what Jade would gain from lying to you about all of this,” she said. “If she spins this wild story, what does she get out of it?”

  “She shifts all of the blame to her parents and sister.”

  “Why? You heard Reece. There’s no real legal jeopardy.”

  “Then why was she here? I wanted to find that out, to understand what she hoped to get out of showing up and laying this whole story on me, but she bashed me in the head before we got to that.”

  “What is there to wonder about?” Laurel checked her watch and seemed satisfied with what she saw. “I know I’m as bad as anybody at assigning base motives to people’s actions. It’s part of the job. I’ve dealt with so many petty thieves and liars that it’s second nature to assume everyone is hiding something. I’m sure Reece feels the same way.”

  “I understand. I deal with landlords all day.”

  “Exactly. But think about what Jade’s been through. If Emily is really her daughter, then she just lost her. Violently. And if Emily was adopted, Jade probably didn’t know her very well. Or she was just getting to know her well. Maybe Jade came here because she wanted to connect with someone. Someone who knew her sister and her past.”

  “And the last friendly face to see her daughter alive, right?”

  “Sure.”

  For twenty years I’d known none of the things Jade had told me. Had she just decided enough was enough with the deep, dark secrets? Had she just wanted to close a circle that had been broken for twenty years?

  “But if that’s the case, why didn’t she just tell me where Marissa is?”

  “Maybe she doesn’t know. Or maybe she’s still protecting her.”

  “Or maybe she can’t be found?”

  Laurel didn’t say anything to that.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Late on Sunday afternoon, while I sat in my cubicle catching up on a variety of end-of-the-month reports at work, Detective Reece called. When I answered, he asked me how I was doing and seemed genuinely concerned for my well-being. Something shifted in his voice for just a moment, and he no longer sounded like a cop. He sounded like a real person.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Tired.” I paused. “Do you mean this for real? You really want to know how I’m doing?”

  “I asked,” he said, some of the steel coming back into his voice.

  “Right. Okay. I’m hanging in there. I’m confused, I guess. A little overwhelmed.”

  “That’s understandable. I wanted to give you an update on some of the things we talked about this morning.”

  “That would be great,” I said.

  “We’ve been trying to learn more about Jade Minor, and there isn’t much to find. Just like Laurel struck out on the parents, we’re striking out on her. I have no doubt that given enough time and resources we could find out what she’s been doing and what name she may have been using, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “It’s really not going to be a high priority for us. She’s committed no crimes we know of, unless you want to press charges.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Even then, it’s a small break-in and a bump on the head. Not really worth getting worked up over.”

  “But she might know more about Emily’s death,” I said.

  “If the investigation leads us back to Jade Minor, we’ll certainly go there. For now, that’s not where we’re putting our energies.”

  “Where are you putting your energies?” I asked.

  “Lance Hillman. He’s our guy. He’s going to end up at trial unless he changes his plea.”

  “Right.”

  “And in case you were wondering, that guy who used to date your ex-girlfriend? The firebug? He’s denying setting the fire that might have killed her. He’s maintaining that he’s innocent. I guess there’s a lot of that going around.”

  “Aren’t you at all interested in finding out whether Marissa is alive or not? She was living in Eastland when she supposedly died. Wouldn’t it matter to you that there’s a case everybody got wrong in the past?”

  “A case they allegedly got wrong. And we take cold cases very seriously . . . as soon as there is sufficient evidence to reopen them.”

  “So you’re calling me for what reason?” I asked. “To remind me that nothing has really changed?”

  “I’m calling you to be nice,” he said, his voice flat. “I don’t do this for just anyone. I know you’ve been through a lot, so I’m trying to reach out. And because I did learn something that might be of note to you. Something that helps shore up the story this Jade Minor told you last night before she smacked you.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Bill Maberry, the father of the kid your girlfriend allegedly ran over?”

  “Yeah, what about him?” I asked.

  “The Hanfort police went and spoke to him today. They wanted to see if he had an alibi for the night Emily Russell was killed.”

  “What did they find out?”

  “The police were already pretty familiar with him, as far back as the original accident. He rode the cops pretty hard to find out who was at the wheel of that car.”

  “Makes sense,” I said. “You can understand he’d want to know who did it. I’d want to know if something happened to my kid.”

  “Of course,” Reece said. “We all get it.”

  I waited for him to say more. His words carried with them the implication of more to come.

  “But?” I said, trying to prompt him.

  “Mr. Maberry has been a little . . . zealous in his pursuit of justice. At least in the first ten years or so after the accident. He made veiled threats at the officers investigating the case back then. He hinted strongly that he was carrying on his own investigation. He filed lawsuits seeking access to documents and then more documents. He was pretty relentless back in the day. Even ruthless.”

  “How so?”

  “You said there was a witness to the accident, right? Mr. Maberry’s mother, the boy’s grandmother. She saw the whole thing, and somehow she said to police that she thought the driver of the car was a dark-haired man. The Hanfort police actually questioned
a suspect shortly after the accident, probably a week or two after the Minors would have pulled up stakes and left town. A guy fitting the description who happened to own a dark SUV and who regularly drove through that neighborhood. The police cleared him, but somehow word got to Maberry that this guy was being questioned by the police.”

  “How would that happen?” I asked.

  “Small town,” Reece said simply. “Maybe Maberry has a friend on the force. Maybe he paid the right person. It doesn’t always take much. Long story short, the suspect, the cleared suspect, ends up taking a beating one night. Broken leg. Fractured jaw. Busted teeth. When the police found out about it, the guy says nobody jumped him. He says he fell down the stairs at his house.”

  “How do they know he didn’t?” I asked.

  “The injuries,” Reece said, as though it should be obvious to me. “The emergency room doc says no way it was a fall. Unless the guy fell down over and over again. And landed on someone’s fist.”

  I wondered how I had ended up in a place where I was even having a conversation about someone like Bill Maberry. I wasn’t supposed to be connected to people like that, even tangentially. I’d seen and heard of people like that at work, but that was work. Yet somehow Bill Maberry had possibly moved into the circle of my personal life.

  “So what happened today? What did he say to the police?” I asked.

  “He denied any involvement of course. And not only that—he has a pretty good alibi that the police were able to verify. The night of Emily Russell’s death he was with his second wife and a few other friends. They’ve backed his story.”

  “Friends can lie,” I said.

  “They can. And sometimes do.”

  “I know you’re hung up on this Hillman guy, but isn’t it still possible Maberry is the one who killed Emily Russell?” I asked.

  “Based on what?” Reece asked.

  “I don’t know. She’s Jade’s daughter. Maybe . . .” It sounded good when I started to say it, but in the cold light of day, I couldn’t weave the two strands together. “I don’t know.”