Murder of Innocence (Murder Is Forever)

by James Patterson

  But then an upsetting thought crosses Tonja’s mind.

  She tries to push her concerns away as they exit the plane, tries to keep a big smile on her face as Andrew films her strutting across the tarmac. Too bad Tonja’s a terrible actress. Andrew can instantly tell something’s bothering her. He shuts off the camera and asks what’s wrong. Did she not enjoy the flight?

  Tonja sniffles, her eyes damp. “No, of course not, I loved it. It’s just that … two days from now, I’ll be catching another flight. Back to Arizona. And I don’t want to go. I wish I didn’t have to. Because … I think I’m falling in love with you, Andrew.”

  Andrew is nearly as overcome as Tonja. “I don’t think I’m falling in love with you, Tonja. I know I am.”

  “You are? Really? Then … what are we going to do?”

  Andrew gently thumbs away a tear that has rolled down Tonja’s cheek. “Let’s go home. Talk about it. And do some more liquid X to help us think.”

  CHAPTER 8

  WITH SATISFIED GRUNTS, Andrew Luster and his neighbor Jon Balden set a heavy cardboard box labeled SHOES down on Andrew’s living-room floor.

  About a dozen other boxes are already there, each with a label—CLOTHES, FRAGILE, KITCHEN—written in black Sharpie in Tonja’s looping cursive.

  “Is that the last of ’em?” Andrew asks.

  Tonja and Lisa have just come in carrying a few old shopping bags full of toiletries, books, and various odds and ends.

  “Almost,” Tonja answers. “I think one more trip should do it.”

  “Great! Give me two seconds, guys. I’ll meet you out there.”

  Tonja, Jon, and Lisa head back outside into the cool evening air. Parked in Andrew’s driveway next to his green SUV is a rented U-Haul moving van. After nine hours of rattling across the dusty desert highways of Arizona and California, the van is speckled the color of cinnamon.

  “Thanks again for helping us out, Jon,” Tonja says. “I really appreciate it.”

  “Hey, no problem. That’s what neighbors are for. And as of today, you’re officially my neighbor.”

  The three step up into the rear of the truck. It’s empty except for a few small tote bags and one cardboard box labeled MISC.

  “To be honest, I still don’t think it’s hit me yet,” Tonja says. “That this beautiful, incredible place is going to be my new home.”

  “It’ll take a while,” Lisa says, “but eventually, that feeling will wear off.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Jon says. “I’ve lived around here my whole life, and some days, I still have to pinch myself.”

  Tonja reaches for one of the tote bags, then stops. A wave of self-doubt is suddenly washing over her. “You both think I’m crazy, don’t you? Quitting my job. Uprooting my entire life. Moving in with a guy I’ve known for about three weeks.”

  Lisa smirks. “Jon, you answer this one. Tonja knows how I feel about it.”

  “Okay. I think it’s great. It’s a big leap, sure, but it’s obvious Andrew’s nuts about you. Hell, I think this is the longest relationship he’s had in years!” Jon chuckles.

  Lisa rolls her eyes, but Tonja stiffens. “Are you serious?” Has Andrew really never had a long-term girlfriend before?

  “I’m joking!” Jon says. “Come on, let’s finish this up.”

  Tonja and Lisa collect the tote bags. Jon bends down to lift the box.

  “Wait, wait! I need to get this on tape!”

  Andrew has emerged from the house with his camcorder nestled on his shoulder, its little RECORD light twinkling like a red star.

  “How about you put down the camera and help me carry this,” Jon says.

  “I just want a few seconds,” Andrew insists. “This is such a special day. I want to remember it forever. Now, big smiles, all of you. And … action!”

  Grudgingly, Tonja, Lisa, and Jon let Andrew film them carrying the final items off the truck and into his beach house. He follows them inside, then zooms in for a close-up of Tonja as she turns around. “Anything you want to say for the camera, beautiful?”

  Tonja lets out a nervous but adorable laugh. “Uh … just that … I’m really, really happy. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.”

  Some two hours later, Andrew and Tonja are alone, cuddled up together on the sofa, bellies full of Chinese takeout and chardonnay.

  “I’m so glad you said yes when I asked you to move in, baby.” Andrew puts his arm around Tonja and nuzzles her neck. “I wasn’t sure you would. But we’re gonna have such a good life together.”

  Tonja couldn’t agree more. She shuts her eyes and moans with pleasure.

  Soon Andrew’s lips find their way to hers. They start to kiss. Tenderly at first, then with growing passion.

  “Let’s move this to the bedroom,” Tonja whispers, adding with a sexy smile, “I want to show you just how good a roommate I’m going to be.”

  CHAPTER 9

  IT FEELS LIKE A permanent vacation!”

  That’s how Tonja describes her first two months living with Andrew Luster in Mussel Shoals to anyone who asks. To her parents, back in Arizona. To Lisa, in nearby Santa Barbara. And especially to all the new friends she’s been making at the gym, the salon, and in her real estate license class at UCSB.

  Starting this new chapter of her life has turned out to be one of the best decisions Tonja has ever made. Any worries she might’ve had have faded away in the crisp, clean, ocean-scented California air.

  So, too, have any doubts about moving in with a man she barely knew. In fact, her moving in has only made their relationship stronger. Andrew still dotes on her. Still takes her on expensive dates. Still whips up his “special” margaritas that send her to the moon.

  Not that everything between them is perfect. There are times Tonja wishes Andrew would open up to her more, share more about his past, his childhood, his previous relationships, instead of just shrugging or changing the subject.

  And then there’s that damn video camera of his. For the life of her, Tonja can’t understand why Andrew insists on filming the two of them all the time. Taping their lovemaking is one thing. At least that’s a little naughty. But recording them making lunch? Getting gas? Folding laundry? Tonja has learned to more or less ignore her boyfriend’s strange hobby, but she wouldn’t mind if he got a different one.

  Tonja takes a deep breath, relishing the salty Pacific breeze. She digs her toes into the sand. She turns a page in the hefty real estate textbook resting on her thighs.

  Andrew has gone out for the afternoon to run a few errands, so Tonja is using her time alone to sit outside and study. Reading about estoppel certificates and escrow accounts can be pretty dry, but reading about them on a gorgeous semiprivate beach makes it a whole lot better.

  When she’s finished studying, Tonja heads inside and pours herself a frosty glass of iced tea. Andrew should be home in about an hour. Feeling sluggish from the sun, she considers either taking a catnap or going for a refreshing dip in the ocean. In any case, she’ll have to change out of her sandy sundress, so she heads for the bedroom.

  That’s when Tonja notices something … unusual.

  There’s a tiny storage closet in the hallway that’s crammed with all manner of junk and doodads that Andrew has collected over the years. At least, that’s what Tonja thinks is in there. She realizes now that, in the two months she’s lived here, she hasn’t once opened that closet; come to think of it, Tonja has never even seen the door open. Until now.

  There it is, slightly ajar, the sliver of darkness on the other side beckoning her.

  Tonja can’t contain her curiosity. She pushes it open. And sees …

  Just what she was expecting. The inside is filled with shelves and boxes of videotapes, clothing, knickknacks, papers, camera equipment. Tonja exhales, relieved.

  She’s about to shut the door when something catches her eye.

  Pinned on the far wall is a giant collage of photographs. Of young women.

  Tonja steps into the c
loset for a closer look.

  There are dozens and dozens of pictures, each of a different pretty girl wearing a tight dress, bikini, or underwear. Each is laughing, waving, or smiling seductively. All are unfamiliar faces.

  Tonja scans the photos. There’s nothing wrong with them, exactly. All the women look to be of legal age, and none are in the nude.

  But something about this discovery leaves Tonja unsettled.

  She can’t put her finger on it, but isn’t it strange—creepy, even—that her boyfriend has this altar to the female form hidden away like this?

  It gnaws at Tonja the rest of the afternoon and evening. When she and Andrew are getting ready for bed that night, she finally works up the nerve to bring it up.

  “Babe … there’s something I have to ask you. You know that storage closet in the hall? Well, earlier today, I looked inside and—”

  “You did what? Why?”

  “The door was open. I was curious. And, and … I saw all those pictures up on the wall. All those other girls. And I guess … I’m just wondering … who are they?”

  Andrew glares at Tonja. He looks furious—but only for a moment. He quickly hides his flash of anger with an easy grin.

  “They’re just friends of mine, baby. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Friends?”

  “Yeah. Most of them are actresses. They want to be in my movies.”

  “But—”

  “Didn’t you hear me? Jesus, Tonja, I said don’t worry about it. Okay?”

  CHAPTER 10

  DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT.

  Those four little words have been echoing in Tonja’s head all week.

  And they’re the exact opposite of what she’s been doing.

  Tonja hasn’t been able to shake the image of the photo collage from her mind. Could all those beautiful half-naked women really just be Andrew’s friends and aspiring actresses? If not, who are they? Exes? Objects of his affection?

  And why did he get so mad when she asked him about it?

  Honestly, that’s what’s troubling her the most. Tonja has always considered Andrew Luster a laid-back, easygoing guy. The only time he raises his voice is to yell “Action!” when he’s filming. But that night, she got a glimpse of a whole other side of him. A nasty side. A scary side.

  Which is why she’s sitting in the lobby of an unfamiliar office building waiting to meet the one person who might be able to give her some answers.

  “Tonja, hi! Sorry, a client meeting ran long.”

  She shoots to her feet as Jon approaches. Having only ever seen her neighbor wearing a grimy T-shirt and board shorts or a sand-covered wetsuit, she almost doesn’t recognize Jon Balden in his pressed slacks and tie. “No worries,” she answers. “You look nice, Jon.”

  “Thanks. You too. Shall we?”

  Together they step out into the dry heat of midday. Jon leads them to a coffee shop nearby and insists on paying for whatever she wants. He orders a double espresso. Tonja asks for a bottle of chilled mineral water. The last thing she needs right now is caffeine. She’s feeling jittery enough as it is.

  “Thanks again for meeting me,” she says as they take a seat in a cozy booth.

  “Happy to,” Jon answers. “Although, you know, anytime you want to chat, you can just walk the ten feet over to my place and knock.” Jon smiles. But Tonja nervously rubs the lip of her water bottle.

  “Yeah, but then Andrew might see. And I wanted to talk to you … alone.”

  Jon shifts in his seat. “Okay. What’s up?”

  After an awkwardly long pause, Tonja spills it. She tells Jon about the hidden photo collage, about Andrew’s outburst, about her doubts, concerns, and fears. “I know you’re his friend. I would never want to put you in the middle of anything. But Andrew’s so hard to talk to sometimes, you know? He’s always so vague about his life before I met him. Am I getting worked up over nothing?”

  Jon stares into his muddy cup of java, thinking hard.

  “Back when he was single,” he says, “sure, he did seem like a ladies’ man. It wouldn’t surprise me if he kept a couple pictures lying around of actresses he’s worked with or some of his former flings. But so what? This is the same guy who keeps his video camera rolling twenty-four hours a day!”

  They share a knowing laugh. Jon sips his coffee. Then he adds, “I always had a feeling it would take a very special girl to tame a guy like Andrew Luster. Not just beauty but brains. Kindness. A good heart. That’s you, Tonja.”

  Jon reaches across the table and places a comforting hand on top of hers.

  Tonja finds her eyes welling up—and she’s flooded with relief. If Andrew has friends in his life as great as Jon, she figures he couldn’t possibly be all that bad.

  “Thank you, Jon. That … that means a lot to me.”

  CHAPTER 11

  THE DIGITAL CLOCK ON Tonja’s nightstand flashes 12:16 a.m. She’s been lying in bed tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep, for over two hours.

  Because Andrew is nowhere to be found.

  Part of her is concerned about his safety. But mostly, she’s angry.

  At him and at herself.

  This isn’t the first time he’s done this—gone out alone at night and been vague about where he was going, who he was seeing, and when he’d be home. Lisa told her it was a red flag, but Tonja didn’t think much about it. At least, not the first few instances. She’s Andrew’s girlfriend, not his nanny. And besides, she has dinners and cocktails with girlfriends all the time without him. Why can’t he go out once in a while without her?

  But the past few months, it’s been happening more and more often. And Andrew has been staying out later and later, coming home drunker and drunker. And increasingly, whenever Tonja presses him for details, he gets evasive—and dismissive.

  Several worst-case scenarios run through Tonja’s head. She hopes Andrew is just blowing off steam, but maybe he’s cheating on her. Maybe he’s losing interest in her. Maybe he has a secret family. Maybe he has a whole other secret life!

  Tonja can’t take it anymore; she needs something to calm her down. She flings off the covers, marches into the kitchen, grabs a glass tumbler and a bottle of Smirnoff. She pours a double shot, downs it in one go. Then she pours and downs another. She starts to pour a third but the glass slips from her hand and—smash!—shatters.

  “Damn it, shit!” Tonja exclaims, then carefully tiptoes, barefoot, around the shards. She glances around the kitchen for a broom but doesn’t see one. She looks under the sink for a dustpan. Nothing.

  Then she gets an idea.

  Tonja pads down the hall and opens the door to the storage closet. Sure enough, tucked in the back corner is a wooden outdoor broom, so old and unused that it has a cobweb across the bristles.

  Tonja takes the broom and turns to go, but her eyes fall on that massive, creepy photo collage.

  She hasn’t looked at it since the day she discovered it, months ago. She hasn’t wanted to. Tonight, when she’s already upset with Andrew, the sight of it practically makes her sick. All those bright young faces smiling back at her, mocking her.

  Then Tonja notices something else.

  At the edge of the collage, Andrew has added a new picture.

  A photograph of her.

  Shocked, Tonja squints, leans forward, and examines the picture of herself with horror. In it, she’s lying on a towel on the beach, waving happily at the camera, wearing a lime-green bikini.

  Tonja can’t remember the exact day the photo was taken. She often wears that bikini and frequently lies on the beach.

  In fact, Tonja can’t remember Andrew ever taking a photo of her. He’s always shooting with his video camera, never a still-image camera. Tonja wonders if the photo is actually a freeze-frame of some tape. Maybe all of these are. Not that it matters.

  Tonja feels violated and disgusted that Andrew has pinned her up on this wall of floozy actresses and past conquests. She rips her photo down and tears it into pieces, then storms back
into the kitchen, tosses the shredded pieces into the trash, hastily sweeps up the broken glass, and dumps it on top.

  By the time she’s done, Tonja is even more riled up and breathing heavily. No way she’ll ever get to sleep now.

  But then she feels those two double shots of vodka creeping up on her.

  She takes some slow, calming breaths and heads back to the bedroom. Screw that bastard, she thinks. He doesn’t deserve to have me wait up for him. Tonja lies down and passes out within minutes.

  She wakes with a start—groggy, disoriented—to the sound of Andrew yelling.

  “How dare you! Who the hell do you think you are?”

  He’s standing at the foot of the bed, swaying from drunkenness, slurring his thunderous words.

  Tonja quickly sits up, terrified. She’s never seen her boyfriend act like this, never seen this venom in his glassy eyes.

  “Andrew, calm down! What’s wrong?”

  “You … you took down your photo! Admit it, you bitch!”

  Before Tonja can respond, Andrew lunges at her.

  With both hands, he grasps the front of the tank top she’s wearing and gives her a vigorous shake.

  “Andrew, stop it! You’re hurting me!”

  But he only shakes her harder. “If you ever touch that again, I … I … I’ll kill you!”

  CHAPTER 12

  WITH EXHAUSTED GRUNTS, TONJA and Jon Balden set a heavy trash bag bulging with shoes down on the floor of Tonja’s new apartment.

  It joins the mountains of other plastic garbage bags scattered around the drab, cramped, ground-floor studio Tonja has just rented a few miles up the coast from Andrew’s place.

  Unlike her last move, this one was rushed, disorganized, and urgent. Tonja couldn’t stand living with Andrew Luster for one more minute.

  “That does it,” Lisa says, coming in and dropping a final bag on the scuffed linoleum floor of Tonja’s kitchenette. She adds, softly but sharply, “Can’t wait to do this all again in another four months.”