“I hold it in a land trust, so I’m not sure how you got the information.”
“You don’t deny owning it?”
“I don’t think there’d be any point in that. I own the house. Of course, I know nothing about any homicide.” He thought he was doing a great job of acting. There was no reason for them not to believe him.
Ben shifted his weight. “We’re going to take you to the station to ask you some questions, after the effects of the pot have passed.”
“I’m perfectly clearheaded,” Henry said.
“All the same, I think it’s best we wait a couple hours. Do you want to grab a coat, maybe something to read?”
He could kick up a fuss and refuse to come in, but full cooperation now might keep their eyes from focusing too much on him. He grabbed his coat and phone and followed them out the door and into the back of their borrowed cruiser. Two hours later, he was in the interview room with Ben and Freya.
“Am I under arrest?”
Ben looked up from his notebook. “Let’s say you’re a person of interest as the owner of the house.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Henry said.
“Believe me, you’ll know it if we charge you. But if you have nothing to hide, then there’s no danger of that, correct?” Freya said.
“I guess. It’s not that I entirely trust you guys.”
Freya smiled at him. “Henry, we’ve eaten together, been at parties together. We know each other. I’m not trying to trap you into anything.”
“What do you want to ask me?”
“First of all, why did you buy the house and with what funds?” Freya said.
“I bought it because it was a good investment. I wanted a place I could fix up.”
“You’re a college student. How did you have the money to buy it?”
Henry relaxed in his chair. “Sports betting. I’m good at it. And the house only cost nine thousand dollars.”
“Sports betting? What do you mean exactly?” Freya said.
“Online. There are sites where you can place bets. I thought it might be a good way to make some extra cash, so I studied up on it.”
He was more relaxed. It had been inspired to think of sports betting as the source of his cash.
“Why do you hold title in a blind trust?” Ben said.
“I read somewhere it was the smart thing to do, so I followed that advice.”
These were all plausible answers. They’d have to let him go soon. His fear started to ebb.
“Does your mother know about your house?” Freya said.
He shifted in his seat. “I don’t see what possible relevance that has.”
“I’m getting a picture here of a property owned by someone who didn’t want to have his name associated with it, didn’t want his family to know about it, and was the site of a triple murder of drug associates. Do you know a Ray Barnes or Bobby Hughes?”
“No, I do not.”
“Where were you Saturday from four o’clock on?”
Henry’s hesitation was slight, but he felt Freya’s eyes staring at him. She would notice anything. “I was here at home. I was supposed to go on a date, but she canceled on me.” This was true, but the date was supposed to start at nine o’clock, leaving room for him to have committed the murders and get back to Money Creek.
“We’ll need the name and number of your date to corroborate.”
Henry gave it to them.
“What time was your date?”
Henry told them. Freya and Ben looked at each other.
“Unfortunately for you, that would not clear you of the time the murders took place. It’s a pretty poor alibi,” Ben said. “You can see that it simply adds to our belief you do know the murder victims and may have been present in the house yourself.”
“You’re wrong. There’s nothing that points to me being there.”
“We’d like to get a sample of your DNA. We can clear this up right away by checking it against any DNA we picked up at the house,” Freya said.
Henry put a hand to his throat, which was suddenly constricted. “Do I have to?”
“I’d think you’d want to, Henry.” She continued to stare at him, trying to catch his eyes. “If you have nothing to hide, that is.”
He saw the beer bottles on the coffee table as clearly as if they were in front of him now. Of course, his DNA would be there somewhere. He’d had a number of beers before he left. He was finished if they put the two together. “I chose to not give you a DNA sample.”
Freya paused. “That’s very interesting. Makes me more convinced you’re involved in the homicides. Is that the impression you want to strengthen?”
“Are you done with me here?” he said.
“For the moment, yes. I’m sure we’ll be talking again,” Freya said.
Henry sped out of the sheriff’s department, hoping he wouldn’t run into his mother coming to the courthouse. He hadn’t been offered a ride home so he walked quickly with his hood up and his head down. He was numb to the cold. Numb, period. Somehow in all his dealings with Ray and Bobby, he never seriously contemplated what could happen to him if the police discovered he was a major drug dealer. Their organization was so business-like it almost seemed legitimate. But now the authorities were one DNA sample away from putting him at the scene of the murders, and there was no way to explain that away. If he ended up arrested and a sample taken from him against his will, he’d have no choice but to put Clare at the scene too. She was the only one who could corroborate that he wasn’t there at the time of the murders. He’d throw her to the wolves in a heartbeat if it kept him from being charged with murder. But would Clare’s account really help him? What if the police inferred that he’d returned with a gun after leaving the house, killing all present? No, that should be okay. If that were the case, he would have killed Clare too, not left her behind as a witness. She was his ace in the hole. He’d ruin her life before he’d ruin his own.
* * *
It was bad enough Clare’s world was about to fall apart, but to run out of drugs at the same time seemed overkill. Her pillbox was nearly bare. There were a dozen or so Valium, which she relied on more heavily since the murders. The Oxycontin was gone. She was terrified that she’d have no more source now that the drug triad had been destroyed. Perhaps Henry would pick up the pieces, but he was smart enough to lay low while the murders were being investigated. She was nearly through the packet of meth she’d been given. She wondered if Evan had any more. It turned out there wasn’t anything about the stuff that was particularly scary, after all. She took it, she worked with the strength of ten, and she let it wear off for the night. It made the Adderall seem like boxed wine compared to vintage. Still, she’d go back to regular speed if it was available. She didn’t want to tempt fate and become addicted to meth.
It was early evening. She went home, threw her bag on the kitchen table, and grabbed a beer. Freya was coming over in an hour for dinner and she considered having a pizza delivered. Her nerves were jangled enough to make cooking an obstacle course she wouldn’t be able to manage. She slumped on her couch and took a long drink of the beer. Then her phone rang. Henry, of course, the person she least wanted to talk to. But she had to know what was happening on all fronts.
“What’s new, Henry?” She drank more beer.
“I got called in for questioning, that’s what’s new.”
Clare’s drinking arm stopped halfway to her mouth. “What for?”
“They found out I own the house. I’m fucked.”
He sounded furious with her. “Why are you mad at me?”
“I’m not. I’m mad at everyone. I told them I had no idea anyone had broken into my house and used it on the day of the murders, but I don’t think they believed me. They said there was no sign of forced entry. My alibi sucks. They asked for a DNA sample.”
Clare walked to the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. “The beer bottles at the house. They want to see if you match any of th
at DNA.”
“That’s obvious. But I didn’t give them a sample, which puts me under even greater suspicion.”
She quickly calculated the position she’d be in should Henry be arrested for the murders. She didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d tell the cops she’d also been at the house in order to confirm he left before the shooting occurred.
“They can’t force you to give one,” she said.
“I’m not so sure. I’m thinking of running.”
She wished he would disappear. “That’s a pretty drastic step. But I can see the logic.” She heard him sniffle. Was he crying? How long would he stand up during questioning if he was already crying?
“I want you to come with me,” he said. “I’ve got plenty of money. We can find a safe place and live well.”
“There is no safe place. Once you run, you’ll always be running. That’s not for me.”
“Are you going to tell the cops about me instead? You’ll be sorry, if you do.”
“Is that a threat? Are you going to tell the cops about me in turn?”
They were both silent. Was his finger hovering over the button, ready to drop the bomb? They both had the nuclear option available. Would it be better for her to confess everything?
“It’s best for us both if we swear to silence,” he said. “We have to trust each other.”
Trust was not a possibility. They both knew the other would turn as soon as it was expedient to do so. She was probably living on borrowed time. “I’d give more thought to your escape plan. You can hide out more easily on your own. Dye your hair and get it cut differently, grow a beard, wear glasses. You can live in St. Barts and no one will know you from Adam.”
He hung up on her. She threw her phone on the table and drank back two fingers of Maker’s Mark. It would have to be her last one. She had to be sharp around Freya. What if she got drunk and told Freya everything? It could happen. No previous blackout would be as catastrophic as that would be.
The doorbell rang at exactly seven. Clare opened the door to find Freya on her front stoop, holding a box of pizza. The hard edge she presented when she was wearing her gun and belt had given way to something more feminine. She wore a V-neck sweater that showed a little cleavage, skinny jeans, and boots with a two-inch heel. Clare looked down at her own worn jeans and sweatshirt and was embarrassed. Freya had dressed for Clare, while Clare had dressed for herself.
“You read my mind. Literally,” Clare said.
Freya handed over the box before taking off her parka. She seemed shy. “I thought if you’d already started dinner we could have some of this as an appetizer, or dessert for that matter.” She followed Clare into the kitchen.
“I really was going to order pizza,” Clare said. “You get big points for this.” She opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles of Budweiser. Craft beer was not a thing in Money Creek. “Beer?”
Freya took one. They stood facing each other a few feet apart. She didn’t know how wide a chasm there really was between them. Funny to think if she knew the truth Freya would want to arrest her, not make love to her.
“Let’s sit in the living room,” Clare said, leading the way with pizza and plates. They sat on the couch as they had the first time Freya visited her, the first time they’d made love. “Have you run into Jo since you broke up with her?”
Freya cocked her head, as if the question was the last she’d expected. “I saw her at the coffee shop a couple days ago. It was awkward but inevitable. We’re going to be running into each other repeatedly. I smiled at her and she ignored me.”
“I feel some compassion for her. I wouldn’t want you to break up with me.” Clare looked at her steadily.
“That surprises me,” Freya said.
“That I wouldn’t want you to dump me?”
“More that you feel we have a relationship from which one can be dumped. I mean, I’m glad you do.” She put her hand out to Clare, who touched her fingers with her own.
“We haven’t seen each other that much, but this seems like something, doesn’t it?” Clare said.
“Oh, yes.”
“I mean, it’s not like I’m looking to date anyone else. You’re it.”
Freya laughed. “As I said, I’m a serial monogamist. There’s no one else for me, either.”
Clare tried to imagine them as a couple, constantly worried the truth would come out about her role in the murders. The only thing more unimaginable was a future without Freya in it.
Freya scooted along the couch and gave Clare a soft kiss. “You were my choice as soon as I saw you.” She kissed her again.
“Let’s have some pizza while it’s hot, but I’m looking forward to what comes afterward.”
Freya backed away and opened the box of pizza with a frown. “Stupid pizza.”
Clare’s desire broke through a sea of worries. She put a couple pieces of pizza on a plate and handed it to Freya. “What’s new in your world? You must be working all the time.”
“We’re helping the sheriff out with the investigation. It’s not like I’m leading the case.”
“But still, it’s a big deal. There can’t have been three people murdered around here in the last decade.”
Freya chewed and seemed to consider her response. “It’s a very big deal. It’s not only homicide. We think the victims were part of the big drug operation we’ve been trying to uncover.”
“Do you have any suspects?”
Freya paused. “You can understand I can’t really talk about this, especially with you being a suspect’s attorney.”
She raised her hands in the air. “Of course. I didn’t mean to pry. I’m curious what you’re up to, what you’re up against. And frankly, the whole thing is kind of sexy. I mean, not that there were murders, but that my girlfriend is in hot in pursuit of justice.”
“I like the girlfriend part, but the truth is we don’t know much. We have some DNA, but no bodies to match it with. It does no good on its own.”
“That must be frustrating.”
“It goes with the territory.”
They finished eating and Clare quickly cleaned up and brought back two more beers. That would be her third of the evening, but she didn’t think of beer as an intoxicant. It took quite a few to make her feel anything but normal, and she wouldn’t be drinking that many. All she had to do was keep the bourbon in the cabinet. She looked at Freya sitting next to her and put her arm around her waist. “I think it’s time to practice.”
“Practice?” She turned inside Clare’s arm, their faces inches away.
“The ways of lesbian love. I’m still a beginner, as you know.”
Freya smiled. “You’d never know it.” She leaned in to kiss her. “But I’m happy to practice as much as you want.”
Clare returned the kiss, wondering how long she could operate from this swamp of deception. She pushed her down on the couch and leaned over her, determined to pretend that everything was normal and they were simply two lovers doing what lovers do. It was a wonderful fantasy.
Chapter Twenty-five
Freya parked her car to the side of Henry’s street. It was just past dawn and no one was about. She had on the clothes she wore the night before, gathered from the floor of the bedroom while Clare slept soundly on. She closed the car door gently and walked to the end of the block, looking for the alley that ran behind Henry’s apartment house. The air was crisp and cold and fresh snow was on the ground. It was completely silent. She sneezed and it sounded like an explosion.
She walked to the garage behind the house and saw three metal garbage cans lined up, each with an apartment number on it. They couldn’t have made it any easier for her. She lifted the lid of the can marked Apartment One and saw a plastic bag on top. She untied it and peered inside to find at least a dozen beer bottles. She opened the canvas shopping bag she’d taken from her car and carefully put all of the bottles inside. Then she retied the plastic bag and placed it back in the garbage can. When she started to walk back
up the alley, the bottles clinked and she was sure everyone, including Henry, would hear it. She held the bag to her chest and quickly returned to her Jeep.
She wanted to deliver the bottles directly to forensics in Bloomington. Ben and the sheriff would point out the DNA from the bottles was worthless without a chain of custody, but this got her closer. Any DNA match she found between one of the bottles from Henry’s garbage and one from the scene of the murders would have to be established some other way. But if there was a match, she’d be able to talk the DA into an arrest warrant. As soon as Henry was in custody, his DNA could be obtained and matched in a way admissible in court. She found it hard to believe Henry had anything to do with the murders. How could that happen with Elizabeth and Hank as parents? But ever since Henry refused to supply his DNA, Freya was certain he was hiding something.
She stopped by Bean There to pick up coffee and then drove toward Bloomington. She had plenty of time during the long drive to reflect on her night with Clare—exciting, sexy, and somehow disturbing. As they’d lain in post-orgasmic bliss, Freya had tried to start a conversation.
“I feel really close to you,” she said, holding Clare against her shoulder. There was no response. She couldn’t see her face. Maybe she’d fallen asleep? “Clare?”
“I’m here.” Her voice was flat. She didn’t snuggle up to Freya. Her body was as still as a corpse.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“It’s just you seem a little distant.”
Silence. After a few moments, Clare turned over so she was facing Freya. “Really, I’m fine. I have a lot on my mind. It’s hard to relax and just be.”
Freya touched her cheek with the palm of her hand. “Okay. As long as it doesn’t have anything to do with us.”
“I’m still getting used to there being an us. Seems strange.”
What did that mean? Was she pulling away from her? You’d think she’d do so before they made love, not after. “There’s only an us if both of us want there to be.”
Clare looked Freya in the eye. “I want there to be. But I’m so tired. Let’s talk about this later.” She turned away and settled herself into her pillow. Freya was scared. Which Clare would show up when they next talked? The warm and inviting one or the cool and distant one? It was a guess to say either way. She watched Clare sleep as she lay in bed, wide awake.
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