by H. P. Bayne
Emily stared up into his face through her glasses-magnified eyes, a small smile further crinkling her wizened face. “Granted, I don’t know Sullivan well, but he strikes me as a kind, empathetic sort. As for you, I feel I am well-qualified to speak to your character. You are one of the best people I’ve had the pleasure to meet, but you take a great deal on yourself. Far too much. If I can see that, no doubt your brother can too. You live your life feeling the need to protect others, but it doesn’t seem to occur to you those who care for you want to do the same in return.
“It might be Sullivan is concealing something from you not to protect himself, but to protect you. You’re one of the only people in the world he trusts completely, Desmond. He told me that. The time will come when he will share his secret with you, whatever it is. I’m sure of that, because that’s the way most secrets work. Most of them, no matter how terrible, come with a set of conditions. You have your own secret from him, after all—as do I. You know as well as I do he will have to be told someday.”
“I know. But how do you tell someone his birth father is the man who spent two months torturing him? How do I tell him he was the result of a rape?”
“Probably the same way he will have to tell you whatever it is he’s concealing. Speak from your heart and assure him you’re there to support him through it. When the time is right, you’ll tell him, just as he will come to you when he decides it’s time. For now, I’m certainly here whenever you need an ear, Desmond. We’re friends, after all.”
Dez found himself returning her smile. “Yeah. We are.”
“Good. Then you’ll let me take a look at your chest.”
“Smooth, Emily. Very smooth.”
Dez didn’t try to restrain the laugh as Emily swatted him.
23
Dez had hoped for a nap but sleep wasn’t coming easy after his conversation with Emily.
His brain was churning with all the things he needed to say to Sully, all the things he needed to hear. Attempts to broach the subject had so far been interrupted, giving Dez one more thing to think about. Their mom had always stood firmly behind the adage that everything happens for a reason; if so, maybe the interruptions meant this was a conversation he and Sully weren’t meant to have. Emotion sometimes allowed regrettable words to flow unchecked from Dez’s mouth, leaving him with something else to feel badly about. The last thing he and Sully needed was one more hurdle to leap as they fought for whatever version of normal they could achieve under their current circumstances.
As if to prove him correct, that maybe he shouldn’t be travelling too far on this particular train of thought, his phone dinged with a text from Justice Montague: Need to talk. Now.
Dez groaned. This was exactly what he didn’t need. Emily had helped him re-wrap his ribs, lessening the pain some, but tension and high blood pressure had caused a headache unlikely to go away after a chat with one of the city’s biggest jerks.
But, as Lachlan never tired of reminding him, this was a paying job, and that meant sucking it up and dealing with their difficult client.
Dez called Montague’s cellphone, convinced it hadn’t even finished ringing once on the other end when the judge picked up.
“Where are you?”
“At home. I’ve got a busted rib, and I did a number on it last night.”
“What about Tessa? I’m paying you to keep an eye on her.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got someone on it.”
“Lachlan?”
“No, a friend of mine.”
Justice Montague’s voice was a low growl. “You had no right sharing my personal business with a third party.”
“I told you, he’s a friend. He helps me out with jobs sometimes. He’s trustworthy. Feel free to ask Lachlan. He’ll vouch for him.”
The fact Montague changed the subject suggested he had something big on his mind. “I need to see you right away.”
“Now?” Dez regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth.
“No, I meant next Monday. Of course now.”
If the client was anyone else, Dez might have asked why they couldn’t simply have this conversation over the phone. This wasn’t one of those clients.
“I’m on my way,” Dez said and disconnected the call.
He eased into his jacket and snagged Emily’s car keys from the small table beside his door as he left the apartment.
On the drive over to the judge’s mansion, Dez dialled Sully.
“Hey, Dez. Nothing new yet. Pax and I are still sitting outside the gym.”
“You’re sure she’s still there?”
“That canary of a car is still in the parking lot. I can’t imagine her just leaving it behind.”
Neither could Dez. “Okay. Let me know once she’s on the move.”
“I will. I thought you’d be asleep by now.”
“Couldn’t sleep. Then Montague got ahold of me. He wants to see me.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know. He’s saving the surprise for when I get there.”
“Did you tell him about Tessa’s double life?” Sully asked.
“You mean the teaching gig she never shared with him, or the fact she was screwing a high school student? I hadn’t really planned to. I had hoped to find some concrete evidence before I start tossing out those kinds of accusations.”
“What about those photos I found?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Sully read between lines Dez hadn’t been trying too hard to keep concealed. “It’s going to be an awkward conversation. I wouldn’t want to have to have it either.”
“No way out of it. Jesus. If it wasn’t bad enough having to confirm the man’s suspicions about the extramarital shenanigans, I now have to tell him she was involved with a kid.”
Sully wished him good luck before they disconnected. Dez was going to need it.
He typically drove a little too fast, but he was in no rush this afternoon, foot resting lightly on the gas pedal as he drifted closer to the Montague house. It still took far less time than he liked for the gate to the property to come into view, and Dez eased up the accelerator even more so he was barely moving by the time he reached the closed gate.
He put his window down as he neared the front gate and its call box. He’d thought through what he would say, had changed his mind several times. At one point during the drive, he’d had what he believed was a decent approach, but damned if he could remember now what it was. His brain stuttered through the hundred ways he might break the news, determined he would figure it out before he pressed that button.
Nothing came to him, and he squirmed in his seat as he finally reached the call box, debating how long he could sit here before alerting the judge to his arrival. He started as a beeping noise sounded next to him. A moment later, the gate swung open.
Dez uttered a low curse, imagining Justice Montague standing in a window watching for his visitor. No way around it now, Dez passed through the gate and steered up the drive to park on the half-moon driveway. He took one more long moment, eyes peering at the double doors marking the front entry. He expected to see the impatient judge yank open the door any moment, and he took a last few seconds to once again search for a wise approach to the task before him.
Once again, he failed.
The door hadn’t opened yet, but the man obviously knew he was here if he’d let him in. Dez heaved a sigh and set his jaw, putting on the face he’d seen the sergeant on his old shift wear whenever he was about to break the news to a family about a loved one’s death. This conversation with Montague wouldn’t be as bad as that, but it ranked a close second.
Leaving Emily’s car behind, Dez approached the front door, finger hovering over the doorbell a moment before pressing. The bell chimed inside—he could hear it from here—but it was close to half a minute before the judge answered.
Montague appeared puzzled, eyes scanning Dez’s form before sweeping over the driveway. His nose wrinkled almost imperceptibly as he took
in the sight of Emily’s old car parked so near to his lavish residence. At last, his sightline returned to his guest.
“How did you get in here?”
“You let me in.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“The gate opened a couple seconds after I pulled up,” Dez said. “I hadn’t even had time to buzz. I figured you must have seen me pull up.”
“I hadn’t.”
“Is there anyone else around that might have buzzed me in?”
Montague’s answer did nothing to shed light on the situation. “I’m home alone.”
The thought flickered into Dez’s mind, causing an uncontrollable shudder to run through him as he followed Justice Montague inside. With no Sully here to confirm it, there was no way to know for sure, but Dez found himself wondering whether the reason for the inexplicable entry was Carter. It seemed the sort of thing an impatient teenage ghost might do.
Dez didn’t want to think about it. “Maybe you’ve got a glitch in your system.”
“It’s never happened before, and I just had it serviced a few weeks ago. I’ll look into it.”
“Wouldn’t want just anyone walking in here,” Dez said. He was being a smartass and he knew it.
So did the judge. “Don’t be facetious.”
This time, the judge didn’t make for his office. Instead, he led the way to the kitchen at the back of the house. From here, Dez had a view of the manicured backyard that looked out onto a pond—no doubt manmade—shared between the smattering of properties that circled it. On the edge of the pond, also on the Montague property, was a small cottage surrounded with low shrubs and flowerbeds.
“Nice view,” Dez said.
The reason for the change of rooms became apparent as the judge headed toward a full coffeemaker. “I like it.”
“Do you use that little cottage out there for anything?”
Montague pulled two mugs from a rack next to the coffeemaker and poured out two cups. “Not really. Tessa likes to paint, so she uses it for that purpose. I had it built for her.”
Dez thanked Justice Montague as he set the mugs on the island and pushed one toward his guest. Dez sat on one of the stools and took a slow sip of his coffee. Figured. A rich blend. No grocery store brands for this guy.
The judge remained standing on the opposite side of the island. “It’s come to my attention a hearing date has been set for the lawsuit naming Lars Ahlgren and the school division. Attempts to settle were apparently unsuccessful, and I’m told it’s all down to Ahlgren. He refuses to accept any responsibility for the incident involving the boy’s death, so it will have to be argued at trial. It’s likely someone will be in contact with you to request an affidavit.”
This came as an unwelcome surprise. The last thing Dez wanted was to be embroiled in a civil suit. “Why?”
“You observed him snooping around that cave last night. You said he made it quite clear he was there to find out whether there was any evidence that might be used against him in the suit.”
Dez didn’t voice the other possibility: or in a murder trial. “Have you been speaking with the lawyer for the Devereauxs?”
“I had a conversation with him, yes. When you called me last night with information about my wife’s presence in those caves with Ahlgren, I decided I should pass it along. I know the lawyer for the parents quite well. He and I have been friends for years.”
“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? Giving this affidavit?”
“Yes, but I wanted to discuss with you what you should include.”
Dez guessed it was more about what he should leave out. “You don’t want me to mention you, I’m guessing?”
“I would never direct you to lie, of course. But if you could restrict your comments to Ahlgren specifically, that would be greatly appreciated. If someone asks, of course, you’ll have to tell them you were working for me. But I would prefer to be left out of this as much as possible. The Devereauxs’ lawyer is aware of my concerns, and he said he’d endeavour to grant my request as much as he is able. I would appreciate the same consideration from you.”
That explained the extra niceties the judge was showing him today: the laidback surroundings, the cup of superior coffee, the overall lack of the usual condescension. This was the judge’s version of sucking up.
“I’ll do what I can,” Dez said. “I can’t promise anything. Obviously, if someone asks for details, I can’t lie about it under oath.”
“I realize that,” Montague said. “I’m only asking to be left out of it insofar as you are able.”
“Yeah, I guess I can do that.”
“Thank you.”
This sudden change in attitude made it all the more difficult for Dez to come out with what he needed to say.
“Listen, as it happens, there were some things I wanted to talk to you about in terms of the investigation.”
“Yes?”
“Maybe we could go somewhere we could sit down?”
“I’m fine standing.”
Taking him at his word, Dez launched into the discovery he and Sully had made.
“Remember I asked you about the whole teaching thing? You said she wasn’t a teacher, that she was working at that PR firm. Well, the thing is, that’s not altogether true.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She did both. I mean, she was definitely employed at Best Foot Forward, but she also had a half-time teaching job at Pintlake Comprehensive High School the year you two met—the year leading up to Carter Devereaux’s death.”
“Tessa and I had been seeing each other for much of that year. We became engaged a month before the boy died. You’re telling me she was teaching, that she had a job she didn’t think to share?”
“We’ve confirmed it. She was teaching arts classes, including one in commercial art to grades eleven and twelve. One of her students was Carter Devereaux.”
“He wasn’t a student at Pintlake. He was in the Catholic School Division, not the public.”
“How do you know?”
“I told you, I’m good friends with the parents’ lawyer. We’ve discussed some aspects of the case.”
“Okay, well, he was in the Catholic division, but he was given permission to go to Pintlake for the single class since it wasn’t offered at his own school.”
“I still don’t understand this. What reason would she have to conceal a second job from me?”
Dez decided now was the time to bite the bullet. He drew in one long breath, held it a moment and released it slowly, using the time to think through what he was about to say. Sully was right; they had evidence of Tessa’s transgressions. The only reason Dez had planned to keep that information to himself for now was because he’d been trying to delay the inevitable. There was no point, not anymore.
“We found photographs suggesting Carter was involved in a sexual relationship with Tessa.”
Dez left it at that, watching for any thoughts playing out across the still-silent judge’s face. There was nothing there, save a visible loss of colour that had Dez questioning whether he should get Montague sitting down before he fell down.
“You okay?”
“It sounded like you said my wife was involved with Carter Devereaux.”
“That’s what I said.”
“He was a high school boy.”
“Yes.”
“But how… what proof do you have?”
“Photographs. Well, one in particular. We found two in Carter’s possession showing her naked, at least from the waist up.”
“Maybe he got them in some other way. Teenage boys can be very resourceful when it comes to things like that.”
“He was in one of them with her.”
“Do you have these photographs?”
“Copies of them, yes. Not the originals.”
“Where are the originals?”
Something about the question raised Dez’s suspicions. “What’s the difference?”
“The differenc
e is there are some things I would rather not be made public. You might be aware I am being considered for an opening on the Supreme Court.”
“I guess it wouldn’t look too good, your wife being involved in something like that.”
“No, I should say not. I would like you to see to it the originals and all copies are destroyed. I’d be willing to pay you whatever you feel the job would be worth—over and above what Lachlan is offering.”
“I’m not sure I can do that.”
“What good will those pictures do anyone? Nothing helpful will ever come of their existence, but they might very well lead to the ruin of more than one person’s reputation. I can’t see a good reason for allowing them to remain.”
The fact they were potential evidence in a murder investigation would be one obvious reason, but that wasn’t something Dez wanted to share with Montague. Not just yet, anyway. If the judge was anxious enough about his wife’s sexual impropriety ruining his chances for a spot on the country’s highest court, he wasn’t likely to feel much better in knowing she was also a suspect in a homicide.
For now, the best thing to do seemed to be placating Montague, in as much as Dez was able without agreeing to destroy evidence.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
What he could do was call Forbes, which he did as soon as he was back in his vehicle outside the Montague house.
“What do you want, Braddock?”
“Those photos we found on Carter’s gaming system, the compromising ones of Tessa. I have reason to worry someone wants them destroyed.”
“Who’s the someone?”
“I can’t say.”
“So it’s the judge. Can’t say I’m surprised. No guy of his ilk would want the world to know his wife was screwing around with a high school student.”
“Is there a way for police to seize the device before something happens to it?”