“You’re not going to think he killed King just because he was there talking to him, are you?”
“Did he have anything with him that could have been a weapon?”
Troy could have been wrong, but he thought this silence was a thoughtful one.
“He had his wallet in his hand, which I thought was weird. I don’t think he had anything else with him. Not even a gym bag. I figured he knew King was in the sauna and stuck his head in to talk to him. You know?”
“That’s a natural assumption. And chances are, that’s exactly what was going on. But he might be another witness. He could have passed another person going in as he was leaving, for example.”
“I guess that makes sense.” Pause. “I recognized him the next year. We had a class together. His name made me think of politics. That’s the only reason I remember it. It was Govern. Like government, or McGovern. Roy or Ray or something like that.”
Troy flipped through his lists. There it was. Rafe Govern had been a junior the year of the murder.
“Did you hear any part of what Mitch King and this Govern were talking about?” he asked.
“Nah, they cut off what they were saying the minute I pushed the door open. I could tell they didn’t want me to hear.”
Upon further inquiry, Troy learned that Govern hadn’t been wearing a jacket, only a T-shirt, jeans and athletic shoes.
“Do you know what time it was when you went into the sauna?”
Tucker was vague on that and admitted he’d been vague even back then. He hadn’t paid attention. His best guess was around one o’clock to one-thirty. Which was as much as a half hour before the murder, although of course they couldn’t be sure.
Troy talked him through the rest of his visit to the gym. The only other people he’d seen had given statements at the time. Finally Troy thanked him for his honesty and ended the call. The elation was huge. He had a witness who’d not only seen King, he could identify someone else who’d been in the sauna room talking to King—and by all indications, the two had been set on keeping their discussion private. There might even have been the suggestion of tension between King and this Rafe Govern.
Starting the engine, he was conscious of a fierce grin pulling his lips back from his teeth. If he were fanciful, he’d think he had caught a whiff of the acrid scent of blood.
He knew this much: he was already a giant step ahead of the investigators who had failed to find a murderer.
* * *
MADISON HAD BARELY gotten as far as fastening the seat belt in Troy’s SUV when she asked if he’d found out anything. She did not feel patient.
He slanted a glance at her. “Let’s wait until we’re sitting down for dinner. I have quite a bit to tell you.”
What could she do but agree? During the five-minute drive, he made polite conversation by inquiring about the past couple of days, and as if by rote she found herself telling him the same things she’d told her dad. Troy made appropriate noises, but she could tell he was listening with only part of his attention.
He’d suggested a bistro on the main street in downtown, and they were seated at a wrought iron table outside. A few potted plants and checked tablecloths gave the patio some atmosphere. The evening was still sunny and warm, but she enjoyed the breeze playing over her skin. There were only a couple of other parties seated out here, and neither was nearby.
The minute the waiter took their orders, she leaned forward. “Tell all.”
He smiled with what she took for cold satisfaction. “I talked to someone who heard that King was running a blackmail business. Apparently it paid better than waiting tables in the dining hall.”
She heard a huff of air and knew it came from her. It was as if a passing car had jumped the curb and hit her, compressing her chest. As if he was standing behind her, Madison heard her father’s bitter voice.
Other students’ screwups were his wine and song.
And bank balance, too.
Oh, God—Dad had known. And if he knew...wasn’t it likely he’d been paying blackmail himself?
Troy was watching her strangely. Madison had no idea what her expression was giving away.
“The person who told you.” She licked dry lips. “Was he being blackmailed?”
“No, or if he was he didn’t admit it.” Troy rolled his shoulders while apparently mulling over the idea. “No, I don’t think so. He’d heard it secondhand, and I believe him. He was too casual about the whole thing. He did remember who told him, but I have no contact info for this guy. I’m hoping you can find something.”
She nodded, almost numb now. “Yes, of course. What’s the name?”
“Frank Claybo.”
“Oh. I hadn’t gotten far into the Cs yet.” Realizing they hadn’t talked since she started her project, she explained about going through old records. “I was too busy today to continue.”
“Can you look for Claybo in the morning?”
“First thing,” she promised, even as she wondered whether this Claybo would know who had been being blackmailed. Of course, if it turned out there was a whole list of victims, it wouldn’t matter so much if her father was on it. Because then there would be a whole lot of other people who’d had reason to hate Mitchell King.
Dad had said that, too, she remembered. So he must have been aware he wasn’t alone.
“You said you had a lot to tell me.”
“I also located a witness who walked into the sauna that night and saw King and another student talking. The other student wore street clothes and had a wallet in his hand.”
Madison jumped to the obvious conclusion. “He was making a payment.”
“That’s a possibility.” Troy glanced up and she realized the waiter had brought their drinks. White wine for her and lemonade for him. He nodded his thanks and waited until they were alone again. “There are probably a dozen other explanations, though. He might have been paying him back a few bucks he’d borrowed the week before...”
“In the middle of the night in the sauna?”
A smile lifted one corner of Troy’s mouth. “I didn’t say it was likely, only possible. He could have been pulling out a slip of paper with someone’s phone number to give to King, he could have been loaning him a few bucks, he could have been...”
She rolled her eyes.
Troy grinned, but he also had a steely glint in his eyes that reminded her that he was, in his own way, a hunter. One closing in on prey. His prey just happened to be human.
And one of the people he intended to cut out of the herd could easily be her father.
“Do you believe the guy who told you this? How come he didn’t talk to police back then?” she asked.
“He was apparently high that night. I gather he smoked a lot of weed, which may explain what sounds like a chronic distrust of law enforcement. He said he’d have come forward if he’d seen anybody get hurt, but he didn’t. He didn’t actually know either guy in the sauna until he heard about the murder the next day and saw pictures of King on the news.”
“What about this Claybo?”
“The witness was in a class with Claybo the next year and recognized him. Claybo was a junior the year of the murder, and the stoner was a sophomore.”
Their salads came and then their entrées. Madison ate without tasting. Troy told her about some of the other people he’d talked to and his conclusion that he’d started in the wrong place. All the while, Madison desperately searched her conscience.
He was being open with her, exactly as he’d promised. What’s more, even as he’d reopened the case Troy had started with a handicap because he’d promised not to tell anybody about his own father’s accusation. She owed him for that. They had agreed to investigate together...
No, Madison reminded herself, he’d been quite firm about saying that he was doing the investigating. She was only providing research support. Still, fair was fair.
Also, he was already suspicious of her father. Would she really be making things any worse for h
im if she told Troy what Dad had said? And it did seem to confirm some of what Troy had learned, which might be helpful.
She roused from her brooding to realize Troy was watching her with a faint smile. He had the glass of lemonade in his hand and was rocking it slightly, enough to clink ice cubes off each other.
“Deep thoughts?” he asked, in a voice husky enough to make her wonder if he was thinking about murder anymore.
Her heart cramped, both at the look in his eyes and at the conclusion to her inner battle. Oh, God. I have to tell him, she realized. He’s done something amazing for me. I can’t lie.
“I talked to my father last night,” she said, and saw the slow change of Troy’s expression. His very features seemed to harden.
“You called him?”
His tone was so careful, Madison realized in outrage that he thought she might have broken her promise.
“No!” she exclaimed. “I said I wouldn’t tell him anything, and I didn’t.”
“Okay.” Troy set down the glass of lemonade. The hard line of his mouth had eased and small lines creased his forehead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you, but I can’t lie. It crossed my mind that you got to feeling guilty and decided you had to tell your dad everything.” He grimaced. “I’m not sure I’d even blame you.”
“Well, I’d blame me.” She frowned at him. “I made a promise.”
“Okay,” he said again. “So if you didn’t call him, that means he called you. Is that usual?”
She hesitated, hating the feeling of having her loyalty ripped jaggedly down the middle like a piece of fabric. “No,” she finally admitted. “We often go a month or more between calls. At first he made conversation. I could tell that’s all he was doing. And then I asked why he’d phoned and he admitted that Mitchell King had been on his mind. I think what he most wanted to know was who it was who claimed to have seen him that night.”
“What did you say?”
“I admitted it was a man, but that’s all.”
“Good.”
“Dad wondered why the person hadn’t told the police then, and insisted he could have cleared up any questions. I suggested he contact you now and he said the whole thing didn’t have anything to do with him.”
“Because he wasn’t anywhere near McKenna Center?”
“He didn’t say that,” she admitted reluctantly. She drew a deep breath. This was the hard part, she thought, but squared her shoulders. “He told me that lots of people had reason to hate Mitch King’s guts.”
Troy had gone very still. “He said it in those words.”
“Yes. I asked him why, and Dad said because other students’ screwups were Mitch’s wine and song. That’s a quote.”
Troy’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That jibes with what I was told today.”
“Yes. That’s...why I thought you should know what Dad said.”
“You didn’t want to tell me.”
She felt ridiculously close to tears for someone who didn’t cry. “No.”
“I do understand, Madison.” His voice was gentle and he reached across the table for her hand. “You’re in a really lousy situation.”
She made a face at him even as she relished the warm, enveloping clasp of his hand. “Yes, I am. It sucks. I feel like a traitor.”
“Do you want to stay out of this from now on?”
She didn’t even have to think about her answer. “No. It would be worse being kept in the dark. And I know I owe you.”
He shook his head. “No. I offered to keep quiet about what Dad wrote for my own reasons, too. Don’t forget that. I don’t want you to help because you think you have to.”
“I’m curious now. I can’t let go of it.”
“Then we’re two of a kind,” he said softly.
The night had cooled enough that when the waiter brought coffee, Madison welcomed it. Neither she nor Troy wanted dessert, but she was glad to continue sitting here as dusk settled. There was very little traffic on the street, and all businesses except for restaurants were closed. She and Troy were alone out here.
After the waiter left them alone, Troy scooted his chair partway around the small round table. He took her hand again, as if that was the most natural thing in the world, and seemed comfortable lifting his coffee cup with his left hand.
They sipped in silence for a few minutes, Madison, for one, grateful for the release of tension. She actually felt a little bit limp—maybe the aftereffect of the wine, although that wasn’t fair since she’d only had the one glass.
“I’ve been wondering,” Troy said. “There’s a lot you haven’t said.”
Apprehension balling in her stomach, Madison looked at him. “You mean about Dad.”
“No. Well, I guess I don’t understand your relationship with him, either, but it’s actually your mother I was thinking about. What happened there?”
“You haven’t said much about your mother, either,” she countered.
He half smiled. “True enough. The way I feel about my mother these days is...complicated. Hard to talk about something you haven’t yet worked out yourself.”
Madison nodded her understanding. “I’m not sure how much of what went wrong was Mom’s fault and how much was mine.”
He looked at her, his gaze compassionate. “How old were you when your parents split up?”
“Seven. And they fought a lot before.”
His hand tightened, but he didn’t say anything.
“It started because Mom left me with Dad. She said it was only temporary, until she figured out where she was going to live and what she was going to do, but I didn’t believe her.” It wasn’t hard to remember the child’s shock and hurt and bewilderment.
“What kid would?”
“Dad didn’t talk to me much about what was happening, but I heard enough to know he canceled a few business trips in the next couple of months because he didn’t want to leave me even though we had a housekeeper and he could have gone. I think maybe he did more things with me than he had before. You know?”
Troy’s expression was so kind, it melted something deep inside Madison. She wasn’t sure she’d ever had anybody listen to her in quite the same way. In fact, she’d never talked to anyone the same way, not even college roommates and later friends. She had never until now been tempted to open the lid to expose emotions she hadn’t quite come to terms with.
My own Pandora’s box.
“Then one day Mom was there, saying I was to go live with her. Part of me wanted to, part of me didn’t.”
“Did you have to change schools?”
She nodded. “That didn’t help, of course. But the worse thing was that I found out she’d already remarried. She hadn’t told me or invited me to the wedding. On the drive to her house she talked about how much I was going to like my new stepfather. She also admitted she was pregnant and that I’d have a new baby sister or brother in a few months.” She gave Troy a shy glance. “I thought she’d gotten fat.”
He laughed, a deep, rich sound that improved her mood.
Even so, resuming her tale plunged her back into the utter misery her then eight-year-old self had felt. “Probably no surprise, I hated her husband. The baby was born only a few months later. Even at that age, I figured out she’d gotten pregnant not very long after she left Dad. I still suspect she was already involved with Thomas before the separation. Not that it matters anymore.” She sighed. “They were excited about the baby and consumed by her. A girl.”
“Direct competition,” Troy murmured.
Madison ignored that, although it was undoubtedly a truthful observation. “Abby was blonde and blue-eyed like Thomas. In comparison, I felt like the ugly duckling. I thought they were relieved when school let out and I went to stay with Dad for the summer. When fall came I had to go back. I threw some major temper tantrums, which neither of my parents appreciated. I was so miserable that year, though, that when I begged to stay with Dad after the next summer they let me. I still went to Mom’s for
holidays and for a couple of summers, but by that time I had a half brother, too, and I was eleven, I think, and already starting to get breasts and I felt like this hideous, ungainly, unwanted, ugly thing compared to my mother’s two perfect children.”
Troy’s chuckle and hug were the responses she needed. “You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She smiled at him. “Anyway, that’s the story. I suspect my mother loved me as much as ever, but I was so suspicious and angry I probably frustrated her and I’m sure I gave them good reason to be happier when I wasn’t around. Dad isn’t the warmest guy in the world, but I think he actually did want me with him. I convinced myself he loved me in a way Mom didn’t really.”
Again Troy was quiet for a minute, but this time his eyebrows had drawn together and she thought he looked disturbed. “The screwed-up modern family” was all he said.
“Yup. Mine’s classic.” She managed a smile. “Could be worse, though. I had a friend in college whose father remarried three times and her mother once after their divorce. She had so many half siblings and stepsiblings, she wasn’t sure she’d recognize all of them if she ran into them by chance. At least Mom stayed with Thomas.” She gave a jerky shrug. “And Dad never remarried. He dated and I suppose had relationships, but he was never serious enough about any of them to bring them home to meet me.”
“You friends with your sister and brother?”
“Friendly acquaintances is probably a closer description. There is a pretty big age difference between us. They’re in their twenties now, of course, and we have more in common when I see them than we did as kids.”
“Have you and your mother ever talked about any of this?”
“She tried. I deflected.” Madison wrinkled her nose. “I can be stubborn.”
“Never noticed.” Smiling, Troy kissed her cheek, ending with a nuzzle that made her nerve endings sizzle. “Once again, I think we’ve outstayed our welcome at a restaurant.”
“What?” As she turned her head, she realized night had fallen and even the interior of the restaurant seemed to be deserted. “Oh, dear. I suppose they close at nine on weeknights.”
“Looks that way.” Troy stood easily and held out his hand. “How about we save my family history for another night?”
Wakefield College 01 - Where It May Lead Page 12