The Lyre and the Lambs

by Sydney Avey

  Andy breaks the tension by going to the kitchen and returning with a glass of water for Walter. Walter gulps, chokes, and then takes in the liquid more slowly, nodding thanks to Andy.

  “I know you don’t have the complete story on what happened to Scott, yet.” Father Mike opens the conversation.

  “Yes, and I’m sorry about that.” Walter takes over. “But you are going to get the truth from me today.”

  “Excuse me, Walter, but shouldn’t this come from the police?” I relax my hand in Roger’s hold, but I don’t pull away. He gives my hand a little squeeze.

  “Dee, I understand your concern. The report is being written as we speak and someone from the police department will be in touch with you before the findings are released to the press. Detective Ramos promised me that.” Walter lets his words hang in the air for a moment while he takes another sip of water. “You will get all the details, I assure you. But that’s not why I’m here today.”

  My hand stiffens under the weight of Roger’s palm.

  “Why are you here, Walter?” Roger holds a level tone in his voice.

  Walter squirms in his seat, swallows hard, and sputters like an engine low on gas. Father Mike gives him a nod and Walter presses on.

  “I want to confess my part in my son’s death.”

  R

  Walter skirts the details surrounding Scott’s death as only a politician can. He wants to focus on his relationship with Scott. He isn’t here to clear up our confusion over how the dead body of his only son came to rest in a bed of weeds under our plum tree. No, this confession is for the good of Walter’s soul.

  “I should have paid more attention to Scott after he dropped out of school, but I thought if I gave him some space he would find his path in life.”

  I can’t let Walter get away with this.

  “Scott wasn’t looking for a life path, Walter, he was selling drugs in the park.”

  Father Mike’s expression remains impassive but his eyes dart back and forth between the determined set of my jaw and the thin lips Walter presses so tightly together speech barely escapes.

  “I only learned that when I found Scott’s journal in his bedroom after he died. It never occurred to me that Scott had gotten himself involved in drugs.”

  “All the signs were there, Walter.” I wave my hand in the air. “But never mind that, what did you read in Scott’s journal that will help us understand how he died? Was it a drug overdose?” What about the gun? “Did he shoot himself?”

  Walter folds into himself as if I have just fired a bullet at him. I replay my words and wince. For all his caginess, Walter is a grieving father. “Walter, I’m sorry. Tell us what you came here to tell us.”

  Walter moves his attention to Andy and Roger. Words march out of his mouth as if they have rehearsed for a hopeful outcome.

  “I had a hard time making sense of what Scott wrote. I couldn’t tell what was real. He seemed to have an obsession with death, experiencing death, causing death.”

  My stomach clutches as my mind goes back to the day Sophie went missing. She really had been in danger! When she came home safe, we let the incident go too quickly. What if we had confronted Walter with his son’s behavior? Could we have prevented what happened?

  “I figured I would show Scott’s journal to Father Mike, because he had spent time with Scott. I thought maybe he would be able to help me understand what was going on with my son.”

  Did you not know your son was an insane pervert? Of course he didn’t. We all want to think the very best of our children. The image of Scott’s handsome, troubled face floats before my eyes. I see his expressions change, click - warm and wanting to help – click - cold and murderous. While I weigh the possibilities, Walter runs out of words.

  Father Mike takes over. “I think it’s safe to say that Scott had some mental problems. We will never know exactly what those problems were because he never received medical attention for them.” Father Mike shakes his head slowly. “That’s not surprising. We treat mental illness as if it were a behavior problem that can be disciplined. Discipline without diagnosis and treatment of the underlying cause just drives the problem underground, where it behaves like a fault in the earth.” Father Mike moves his hands together to simulate his words. “Plates grind against each other. Pressure builds. Inevitably there’s a rupture.” He lets his fingers fly away from his chest and I envision Scott’s heart flying into a million pieces.

  “Walter, are you telling us that Scott committed suicide?” Andy has been listening as if Walter was building a case in need of a summary argument.

  Walter gives a deep sigh. His voice flattens into a monotone. “I’m trying to tell you what I did.”

  According to Walter, his list of misdeeds began when he denied that his son was becoming a danger to himself and others and ended when he found Scott’s journal and did not turn it over to the police. I suspect his shortcomings as a parent began long before that, but the relevance was that if the police had read Scott’s journal they probably would have gotten to the truth earlier. While I wrestle with that idea, another thought niggles. Had Walter paid attention, Scott might still be alive. Who am I to judge, though? None of us paid attention.

  “We still don’t know happened, Walter.”

  “Dee, Elinor and I aren’t completely clear on that yet either. I hope you can be patient. The police will make a statement later today that will completely exonerate your family. But I want to do more than that. Elinor and I want to go public with Scott’s problem. We want to announce the Scott Schwartz Foundation for Research and Treatment of Mental Illness. And we’d like to be able to say that you are part of it.”

  This is the first time I have ever heard Walter make a reference to his wife. I sit with this thought a moment and then my mind changes gear. Unbelievable! Walter is trying to use charity to get in front of a bad public relations situation! My mouth drops open, but Walter is still talking.

  “Roger, Andy,” he addresses the men. “I’m here today to ask you to join the Scott Schwartz Foundation Board and work with my wife and me to establish treatment programs for troubled teens.”

  I skewer Father Mike with a harsh, how-could-you look? He is quick on the uptake.

  “I suggested to Walter this might not be the best time to make such a proposal to you, but he was insistent that people see some good come from a tragic situation.” Father Mike met my hostility with kind eyes and a sympathetic smile. “Walter won’t be running for re-election. He’s going to have his hands full coming up to speed on mental health issues and fundraising techniques.” He turned to Roger and Andy. “I also suggested to Walter that he take a back seat to Elinor in this endeavor. Elinor will serve as the foundation board chairman. She will be grateful for any expertise you have to offer in legal and organization matters.”

  “We’ve never had the pleasure of meeting Elinor.” My words lower the room temperature by about ten degrees.

  “My wife is a lovely person whom I’ve neglected, along with my son, for many years. She tried over and over again to tell me that Scott needed help but I was too busy with meetings and campaigns and other people’s problems to listen to her.”

  A knock at the door interrupts our conversation. As I cross through the atrium, Valerie comes in through the garage with an armload of grocery bags she sets on the counter. I go to open the door. Detective Ramos stands there, police report in hand. Behind him, a boy’s face floats like a pale moon obscured by two unsmiling adults. It’s the Dolds and Lukas.

  Now we are going to get the truth.

  The Truth

  The Truth

  Just as I am wishing the young people were home to finally hear what happened, the front door squeaks open and David struggles through the entryway with an armload of boxes. On his heels comes Sophie balancing another tower of boxes that escapes her grasp and spills onto the floor. I don’t have time to think about what this means.

  “Can you leave that for now and come in the liv
ing room?”

  David drops his boxes next to where Sophie’s have fallen and they make their way through the atrium.

  “We saw the police car when we pulled up in the driveway. Are we finally going to get the report?” Sophie quickens her step when she spots the Dolds and comes to a stop in front of Lukas.

  “Hey Lukas, it’s so good to see you.” Her smile warms the air. “We heard you were back home. We’ve all been praying for you.”

  Lukas raises his face to meet hers and a fleeting smile recalls the boy who used to ride his bicycle in circles in front of our house. He is both taller and smaller now, but not as small as he was when he walked in the door. He seems to draw energy from Sophie’s good will. He does not bow his head again. Kay reaches over and pats her son’s hand. A peace passes over me and my expectations change. We are neighbors again, drawing together to work through what has been a bad situation for all of us.

  David drops down to sit cross-legged on the floor and Sophie comes over to sit with Valerie and me on the sofa. She holds out her hands for the baby and Valerie transfers the sleepy bundle she has retrieved from the bedroom into Sophie’s arms. Finally, all the wiggling, stretching, and adjusting positions ends and Detective Ramos begins.

  “First of all, I want to apologize for how long this investigation has taken.” He looks pointedly at Walter. “You know that some of our difficulty was in not having a clear picture of what Scott’s motivation may have been to put himself in harm’s way. If you don’t mind, I’d like to walk us all through what happened, point by point.”

  He seeks each pair of eyes. Collecting unanimous nods, he begins. “Okay, first off, the gun in question was registered to you, Roger.” He looks straight into Roger’s impassive face and keeps talking. “From reading what Scott wrote in his journal and from conversations with Lukas we have concluded that Scott stole the gun from an unlocked carrying case he found in an unlocked drawer in your garage.”

  Roger absorbs this information with a slight nod of his head, but says nothing. My face flames and I sneak a look a Valerie. She raises her clasped hands to her lips. No one speaks.

  “On the night of October thirty-first, Halloween night, Scott came into your neighborhood at about eleven o’clock in the evening. He had the gun in his possession. Toxicology reports show that he had marijuana, amphetamine and barbiturates in his system. What his intentions were that night are not clear, but we do know he was headed to your house when he encountered Lukas.”

  Sophie stops the gentle rocking motion that has lulled the baby back to sleep. Her body goes rigid.

  Detective Ramos swallows and looks at Sophie. “We know from journal entries, police reports and interviews that Scott had a fixation on you, Miss Doulis. We are aware that his attention was not welcome. It is quite likely that you were his target.”

  “He was planning to shoot her?”

  “No! No, no. That’s not what I meant. I meant he was in the habit of hanging out on your property hoping to talk to your niece.”

  Sophie hands Miren back to Valerie and sits up straight. “I want to get one thing clear with everyone in this room. Scott wanted to do more than talk to me. He tried to force himself on me after I told him repeatedly to leave me alone.” Her voice is rising. Valerie stands up quietly and moves toward the atrium with Miren, but she never takes her eyes off Sophie.

  “Scott waylaid me at the train station.” Sophie turns toward me. “The night I didn’t come home from San Francisco? I’m sorry I lied to you. I was on the train. What happened to your car; the nails in the driveway that punctured your tires? Scott did that. He did that so he could meet my train. He told me you had sent him to pick me up and for some stupid reason I believed him. Then he drove me up in the hills and...”

  David stands up while she is talking and takes Valerie’s place on the couch beside Sophie. He is holding her hand when I whisper the question that has been on my mind since that night.

  “Sophie, did Scott rape you?”

  “No, he didn’t get that far. But he got far enough to scare the hell out of me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was ashamed that I let him talk me into getting into his car. I needed time to figure out what I’d done wrong that put me into that situation.”

  “Is that why you moved out?”

  “Yeah. I was a target. Valerie was getting ready to have a baby and I had attracted a creep to her house who ended up dead in her backyard because of me.”

  I look over to Walter to see how he is taking this. Sophie follows my eyes and colors. “I’m sorry, Mr. Schwartz. I shouldn’t have called Scott a creep.”

  David puts his arm around Sophie’s shoulder. Everyone is stirring in their seats. Valerie begins to pace, jostling the waking baby, while I try to form the words to tell Sophie that none of this is her fault. David beats me to it.

  “Sophie knows now that she was not the cause of what happened that night.”

  “That’s right, young lady,” Walter spoke up. “And I want to apologize to you on my son’s behalf.”

  Detective Ramos steps back into the conversation. “Let’s continue to step through the events, folks, and then we’ll let Lukas talk, and then I think you will be satisfied with what we have concluded.”

  R

  Before the detective can continue, Valerie walks back into the middle of our huddle. Hoisting a wakeful Miren over her shoulder, she pats the baby’s back in a nervous rhythm.

  “Could we just get to the part where shots are fired?”

  Andy holds a hand out, inviting his wife to come sit by him while he moves up to sit on the arm of the chair. Roger stretches his legs and my nose fills with the scent of burned coffee. Never mind, I’m not moving from this couch until I hear whole story. Only the Dolds sit like three stones. I picture Gunther with his hands stopping his ears, Kay covering her eyes and Lukas with a hand over his mouth. Oh please, let’s just get this over with.

  “Scott talked Lukas into walking onto your property with him. They went behind the tree and Scott pulled out the gun to show off. Your neighbor’s dog heard the commotion and started to bark. Scott shot the gun through the hedge and the bullet hit the dog and killed it. I don’t think he meant for that to happen. He just reacted to the noise.”

  “Wouldn’t we have heard something?” Valerie looks up at Andy.

  “Petey barked at all kinds of noises at night. We got so used to it we hardly noticed anymore.”

  I picked up Andy’s train of thought. “We did hear something. I heard barking and banging after midnight. Roger, do you remember? You told me it was probably a raccoon getting into the garbage.”

  Roger nodded his head slowly. “Now that you mention it, I do remember that. I told you just to go back to sleep.”

  Valerie is tapping her foot. “So Scott killed the dog. Who killed Scott? How did we not hear a second shot?”

  “There was no second shot.”

  Detective Ramos should have been an actor instead of a cop. I splay my hands in the air and invite him to enlighten us. “So, detective, if there was no second shot, how did Scott die?

  “He fell out of the tree and hit his head on a rock.” Lukas’s voice peals through the air.

  “What?” I look over at Lukas. His voice is deeper than I remember. He shakes the long sandy-colored hair that falls into his eyes away from his face and I swear he tolls like a bell.

  “After Scott shot Petey,” Lukas sucks in air, “he climbed up the plum tree.” Lukas expels air as if he himself were looping a leg around a leafless tree branch. “He wanted to see if...” Lukas pants with the effort of speech. In my mind’s eye I see Scott reach for a higher branch. “...To see if Petey was hurt or dead.” The boy continues to gasp for breath before each phrase. “He couldn’t see over the hedge - he climbed higher to see - he leaned over to look - he leaned over too far.” Lukas’s voice has raised a full octave in range and several decibels in register.

  “Scott was high on
a mix of drugs.” Detective Ramos picks up the story. “When he lost his balance, he fell out of the tree. He didn’t have the presence of mind to do anything to break his fall. He landed full force on his face, on ground that was full of exposed roots and rocks. Forensics determined that he hit his forehead on the sharp edge of large chunk of concrete protruding from the ground. He died of blunt force trauma.”

  “Why would concrete be buried under that tree?” Andy comes to his feet to retrieve a copy of the police report from the coffee table.

  “Remember Andy, this was a construction site.” History replays an old story in my brain. “After the fire, when a demolition crew came in to clear the land, I think they buried some of the rubble on the property. When I’m gardening, I pull up nails, chicken wire, tar paper, and yes, chunks of concrete.”

  “Oh, I know,” Kay jumps in, “I found a railroad spike last spring when I was preparing the ground for a vegetable garden.”

  “Lukas, why did you run away?” I keep the tone of my voice neutral so my question won’t sound like an accusation. “None of this was your fault. Why didn’t you just come forward and tell us what happened?”

  Lukas looks at his father, who answers for him.

  “Obviously my boy was scared. He was out past his curfew. He was with Scott after we had told him to stay away from that troublemaker. Hell, Dee, he saw Scott die! He was scared, so he ran.”

  We are all silent. Andy pages through the police report and delivers the verdict.

  “The death has been ruled accidental. No charges will be filed against anyone. I suppose Walter could sue us for the hazard the concrete played in Scott’s death,” Andy looks at Walter, who holds up his hands and shakes his head.

  It’s over; the worrying, the waiting, the fear. We chatter on for another half hour, expressing regret for a lost life, offering words of comfort to Lukas and words of hope to his parents. Questions of why it took so long to get to this moment linger in my mind. It isn’t until Walter and the Dolds leave, and the police car door slams and tires roll down the street, that I acknowledge we are truly clear of suspicion.