by Jeff Shelby
“Yeah,” she snapped again. “I waited for her in the parking lot. She took her fucking sweet time coming out, but I waited. And then I said everything I wanted to say to her. Everything.” She looked at me. “And I'm not sorry about anything I said. She trapped him. She used him. It was all her.”
“How do you know?”
“What do you mean how do I know?” she snarled. “Because Desmond told me. He told me she manipulated him and complimented him and did all these nice things for him. He just thought she was being nice. He had no idea until it was too late.”
I wasn't sure if she believed what she was saying, but I certainly didn't. It didn't even make sense. She was portraying Desmond as a victim, and while he certainly might've been influenced by an older person in a position of power, it didn't quite ring true that he had been some puppet and unaware of his actions. I wondered if Desmond actually told Olivia that or if she'd created the story to help herself deal with it.
“Did you talk to him after you spoke to Christine?” I asked.
“No,” she said, wincing. “I never saw him again.”
“So you'd just found out about the two of them? Before you went to see her?”
She started to say something, then stopped.
I waited.
“Yes,” she finally said. “I'd just found out.”
“And can you tell me how that went?” I asked. “The conversation with Desmond.”
She took a deep breath and exhaled, pressing her palms to the side of her head, as if noise was filling the room. “I just did.”
“I'd like to hear the details.”
“I'm not sure it's any of your business.”
“Probably not,” I told her. “And I can't make you tell me anything. But, again, the police are going to have the same questions for you.”
She folded her arms across her chest and sighed again. “Fine. I was looking on his phone for something. This kid in our English class. I needed a homework assignment and I knew Des had texted him in the past. I didn't find it.” She paused. “But I found his texts with her instead.”
“So you read through them?”
She chewed on her bottom lip for a second. “It was a long string and I read all the way through it.”
“Okay.”
“And, so, I...just asked him about them,” she said.
“You just asked him? Like a normal conversation?”
She shook her head, irritated. “I don't remember, alright? No, probably not just normal. I was like what the hell are these? He got all red-faced and didn't have an answer.” She paused. “And then I guess I got pretty mad.”
I nodded.
“I started reading the texts out loud to him,” she said. “It was clear to me what had happened. Like, super clear. And I threw his phone at him. I told him to explain it.”
“And so then he did?”
She shook her head. “No. He was still, like, stuttering and stuff. And then I just started screaming at him. I couldn't believe he'd done it. That he'd cheated on me.” She wiped hard at her eyes. “It just didn't seem like something he'd do. He told me that it was a while ago, and how it was after we'd had an argument.”
“Did you believe him?” I asked.
She shifted on the sofa. “Yeah. The timeframe, it sort of made sense. I was just hurt that he'd done it. So I was pretty much just screaming at him. I think I threw something else at him. I don't remember what. I was crying and screaming. I think I told him I didn't want to get married and that he'd never see the baby.” She shook her head again. “I was just ranting.”
Her reaction was understandable. She’d thought their relationship was good and then suddenly learned that it might not have been. They were making future plans and he'd clearly lied about some things. Or maybe just not told her about them. Either way, her reaction made sense.
But it also opened the door to more questions.
“What did he tell you about their relationship?” I asked.
She wiped again at her eyes. “That she was the one who started it. That she was the one who came after him. That she told him if he didn't sleep with her, she'd fail him. It was all her.”
“And you believed that?”
She stared at her hands. “I don't know what I believed.”
“Did he tell you anything else about their relationship?” I pressed. “Was it still happening?”
“No. He swore it wasn't.”
“But were they still communicating?”
“He tried to tell me more stuff about them, but I told him I didn’t want to hear it,” she explained. “I just didn't. I mean, we were about to have a baby. I was totally freaked out.”
“Absolutely. I get it.”
“So I just took off,” she said. “I grabbed the car keys and left. He was still here.”
“And that's when you went to Seaside?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”
“To talk to Christine Gonzowski.”
She nodded again. “Yeah. I was just so...angry. I don't even know what I told her because it was like I couldn't see straight. I know I called her a bitch and a whole lot of other things. And I told her to stay the fuck away from Desmond.”
“How did she react to that?” I asked.
She made a face like she wanted to vomit. “She kept telling me to calm down and I told her it would've been easier to calm down if she hadn't fucked my boyfriend.” She shook her head. “I told her I was going to go to the cops, that I'd tell everyone.” She paused. “Then she told me that would be bad for Desmond. And I hated that she was right. It felt like she was winning or something. I told her I didn't care, but she knew I did. Then she started telling me I needed to ask Desmond stuff. About money. It wasn't even making sense. I just started screaming at her again. I told her to stay away from him and if she didn't, I'd kill her.” Her shoulders sagged. “I...was just hurt.”
I had no doubt that she was. But I also knew she was angry.
“Did you see Desmond after that?” I asked.
“No. He was gone when I got home.”
“Did you try to call him?”
“No. I was still just out of it. I wasn't sure I wanted to talk to him.”
“Did you try to find him?”
She looked at me like she didn't understand. “No. I knew where he lived.”
“I meant, did you try to find him after you left school?” I clarified. “Like, did you leave the school and see if he was riding home?”
She was still looking at me when it dawned on her what I was asking. “You think I ran over him?”
“I think you were pretty angry,” I told her. “I think you weren't thinking straight. And I think you felt like he'd betrayed you. I think you knew the route he took from here to get home. He wouldn't have been hard to find.”
“You think I ran over him,” she said, but it was a statement rather than a question. “You think I ran over Desmond?”
“Did you?”
She glared at me with an edge I didn't know she had. “Fuck you. No, I didn't run him over.”
“What the hell's going on?” a voice said behind us.
THIRTY THREE
Bill Cousins was standing in the hallway behind me, his hands on his hips, his brows furrowed.
“He thinks I killed Desmond,” Olivia blurted out.
His head turned slowly in my direction. “Excuse me?”
“I don't think anything,” I said. “I'm asking questions.”
“I thought we agreed that we'd reached the end here,” he said. “The last time you were here. Did we not have that conversation?”
“We did,” I answered. “But I got some new information and it involved Olivia.”
“I didn't do anything to Desmond!” Olivia cried.
Bill Cousins looked thoroughly confused.
“Desmond had a relationship with someone else,” I said. “A teacher. And Olivia learned about it before he disappeared.”
He squinted at me lik
e he was trying to make out the words I was saying. “What?”
“Desmond had a relationship with a teacher at Seaside,” I repeated. “Olivia learned about it. She confronted him, then went to confront the teacher. That was the same day he disappeared.”
He looked at his daughter. “What the hell is he talking about?”
“I don't wanna do this,” Olivia said. She looked at me. “I just want you to go.”
“What is he talking about, Olivia?” her father asked.
She rolled her eyes and jerked her body back into the couch. “Fine. I found out Desmond was sleeping with his teacher. I saw an email. Then I drove to the school and told her to stay away from him. That's it.” She glared at me. “That's literally it.”
“Desmond was sleeping with his teacher?” he asked. He looked at me for confirmation. “Is that what you're telling me?”
I nodded.
A grim smile spread across his face. “I knew it. I knew he was a liar.”
“Dad,” Olivia said, exasperated.
“I tried to tell you,” he said, ignoring her. “From the get go, I tried to tell you. I knew he was a liar and I knew he was lying to all of us. I warned you, Olivia. Multiple times. And I was right.”
“Congratulations,” she said bitterly, shaking her head. “You win.”
“If you'd just listened to me,” he continued. “I begged you to listen to me. If you'd just stopped for a second and trusted me—”
“Well, I didn't,” she said, sharply. “I didn't. And I can't change that. And don't act like this is the only thing he was. I gave you plenty of examples of Desmond being good, but you ignored them.”
The room went quiet. I wasn't sure that moment was the right time for Bill Cousins to make his point about having been right. I felt like he might've been missing the bigger point.
And the bigger question.
He looked at me. “I still don’t see what you have to do with any of this.”
“When I found out about the relationship, I went to speak to the teacher,” I told him. “She confessed to me what happened. And she told me she'd had a confrontation with your daughter. I wanted to talk to Olivia about that confrontation.”
“Certainly, you can understand why Olivia would've been upset,” he said.
“Of course,” I said. “But I also wanted to talk to her about what happened after the confrontation. Because that's when Desmond disappeared, and I'm fairly certain the timeline will show that's when he was hit and run off the road.”
Bill started to say something, then abruptly stopped. He looked at his daughter, confused. Something flashed through his expression. He looked at me again. “You think she did it?”
“I think she was angry,” I said. “I think she was hurt by what she'd learned and I think she'd just had one heck of an argument with the teacher. I think she might not have been thinking straight.”
He looked ready to argue back, then looked down at the floor for a moment. He cleared his throat and turned his attention to his daughter. “Did you do anything to Desmond?”
“How can you even ask me that?” she asked. “No, I didn't do anything to him. I was super mad at him. I was crushed. But if I was going to hurt anyone, it was going to be Gonzowski.”
“Gonzowski?”
“The teacher,” I clarified.
He nodded. “Right.” He shook his head, annoyed. “Well, you have my daughter's answer. She didn't hurt Desmond and, frankly, I'm offended that you brought it up.”
“She's going to need to account for where she was,” I told him. “The police are going to have questions.”
“The police?” he said, the look of annoyance growing. “What do the police want with her?”
“I'm required to report what I learned about Desmond and his teacher,” I explained. “This adds a different dimension to what happened to him. Prior to today, I think we all thought he was the victim of an accident. And maybe he was. But this is going to raise some other questions and the investigators are going have questions for her.”
“That's absurd,” he said, anger rising in his voice. “She didn't do anything to him.”
“And she'll get the opportunity to explain that to investigators,” I said. “I'm just telling you what's going to happen. They are going to come talk to you all. I can't help that.”
“You could if you didn't say anything,” Olivia said.
“I can't do that,” I told her. “I'm obligated to report what I know now. I can't walk that back.”
“Is Olivia going to be a suspect?” Bill Cousins asked.
“I don't want to assume anything,” I told him.
“What about the teacher?” he demanded. “Shouldn't that woman be investigated?”
“I'm sure she will be,” I said. “I don't mean that it'll just be Olivia. They will be talking to her about the relationship that existed and about his accident.”
“This is bullshit,” he muttered. “I can't believe you're bringing this into my home.”
I was inclined to stand there and tell him that if his daughter had been honest with me – and him – from the beginning, none of this would've been a surprise. She'd made the choice to not tell us about Desmond and their argument. I couldn't help that, and I couldn't help that I knew about it.
But I knew he was protecting his daughter and I didn't think arguing with him would change anything.
“I'll go,” I told him.
“Good,” he said.
“No one's going anywhere,” a voice said behind us.
We all turned and all I saw was the barrel of a gun.
THIRTY FOUR
“Mom, what are you doing?” Olivia asked.
Sharon Cousins was standing in the hallway, a small handgun pointed at me. She wore a navy blue tracksuit and running shoes that were decidedly at odds with the weapon in her hands.
“And where is Thomas?” Olivia asked, her voice laced with panic. “You took him for a walk. Where is he?”
“He's fine,” Sharon said. “He's in his stroller back here at the door. He's just fine.”
“Sharon, what are you doing?” Bill asked. “And what are you doing with a gun?”
“Protecting this family,” she said. “Like usual.” She motioned at me. “Go sit down.”
I moved slowly, but kept my eyes on her as I sat on the edge of the couch.
“Sharon, put that away.” Bill sounded more annoyed than afraid. “You look like a crazy person.”
“Do I?” she asked. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You really do.”
She stepped around him, keeping the gun trained on me. “I'm not that crazy. And I'm not going to allow anyone to ruin this family. Not Mr. Tyler or anyone else.”
I looked at her, thinking through everything I'd learned in the preceding days, and it all clicked into place. “It was you.”
“Sharon,” her husband barked. “What the hell are you doing? Put that gun down. Where the hell did you even get a gun?”
“You ran him down,” I said. “You ran Desmond down. It wasn't an accident. It was you.”
Sharon Cousins eyed me, but didn't say anything.
“Mom?” Olivia asked. Her eyes were round, with fear or surprise, or maybe both. “What is he talking about?”
“It's never made sense to me that he was in some sort of bad luck hit and run,” I said, thinking it through out loud. “He knew the route. He was a good rider. I saw the bike. The damage was far too great for someone to have just bumped him or grazed him, too much for a simple hit and run. It's bothered me from the moment I found him.” I paused. “It looked like someone purposefully rammed into the back of him on that bike.”
“You really should stop talking,” Sharon said, repositioning the gun.
“I just want to understand why,” I told her, ignoring her threat. “You've been pretty quiet since I first started talking with your family. I took that for you being preoccupied with the baby and with your daughter's new role as a m
other. But I was wrong.”
Neither Bill nor Olivia said anything, but they were now focused on Sharon and her gun.
She shuffled her feet. “I never liked him.”
“Oh my god,” Bill said. “Oh my god.”
“He ruined your life, Olivia,” she said. “Just ruined it. All of your plans went up in smoke with this baby. All of them. I hated him for that. And no one was doing anything about it.”
“Mom,” she said, her voice a whisper.
“You couldn't see it,” Sharon said, giving her daughter a quick glance. “You were in love with that boy. Every decision you were making was for him and not for you. Every single one. You didn't want the baby. You didn't want to get married. You didn't want to be a wife. But you just kept saying yes to him. He was bending you to his will, when everyone else was telling you to ignore him.” Sharon shook her head. “Someone had to stop it.”
“Sharon,” Bill whispered, still unable to believe what he was hearing. “What are you talking about?”
“Don't act like you didn't think the same thing, Bill,” she snapped. “You talked about it endlessly. You wanted to forbid them from seeing one another. You disliked him more than I did. So don't act like this is a surprise to you. You said they were headed for disaster.”
He stared at his wife, open-mouthed, as if he didn't recognize her.
“I was trying to be alright with it,” Sharon said, her focus back on me, both hands still folded together around the gun. “I was trying to accept all of it. I figured you'd move out with him, realize it was a mistake, and we'd be here to be your safety net.” She paused. “But then I heard you arguing.”
Olivia squinted at her mother. “What?”
“I heard the two of you fighting,” Sharon answered. “I heard what he did and who he did it with. It disgusted me. I was happy to hear that you were finally angry with him. Finally. But I was furious with him for what he did to you. Furious. I was outside in the backyard when you were arguing. I heard every word. When I couldn't stand it any longer, I came inside to tell him to leave the house and to never come back.” She cleared her throat. “But when I came in, you were both gone.” She paused. “So I got in the car.”
“Jesus Christ,” Bill whispered.