by David Bell
“Hey, Dr. H.”
“Neal,” I said. “You know you can call me Elizabeth. We’re outside of class, and I’m asking you for a favor.”
“Elizabeth,” he said. “Whoa. What’s that one book? You know, the one about the guy sleeping with his female professor? Lolita?”
“That’s not what that’s about. And neither is this meeting.”
“Still. Okay, Elizabeth. What do you need from me?”
He was wearing the army jacket again, and his beard looked a little fuller, a little less scraggly. He wore a gray shirt open at the collar with nothing on beneath it.
“Are you going to drink anything?” I asked. “Coffee?”
“I don’t touch the stuff when it’s fresh,” he said. “Besides, I have enough energy.”
“Okay,” I said. I leaned forward a little. Despite the noise around us, I still felt worried about everyone hearing our conversation. “I’m not even sure if you can help me. I just… Some things are beyond my control and understanding right now.”
“Is this about your mom getting offed?” he asked.
Offed?
“Yeah, it is.”
“Tell me all about it,” he said.
“You need to tell me something first,” I said.
“Shoot.”
“What exactly do you do?” I asked. “I mean, outside of school? What is it you spend your time doing?”
“Why do you want to know about this stuff?” he asked, half smiling.
I had to admit the smile was charming. He wasn’t my type. He was too scruffy, too unwashed. I could imagine whoever lived with him spent a lot of time picking up dirty socks and putting the toilet seat down. But he had a presence, an energy that I suspected drew a certain kind of undergraduate girl to him like a magnet to iron.
“You said something to me in the hallway the other day, something about your dad working to help people. I just wanted to know what you meant.”
“Oh, that,” he said. “It’s true. My old man’s a lawyer. Well, he was a lawyer at one time. Are you looking for a lawyer?”
“I have one of those.”
“Who?”
“Frank Allison. He practices here in Dover.”
“Never heard of him,” Neal said. “But my dad doesn’t do the law stuff so much anymore. You know?”
“Then what does he do?”
“Like I said, he helps people. Say somebody suspects their husband is cheating on them, and they need to know for sure in order to go to court. Or maybe somebody has an employee, and they think the guy’s doing drugs and is in danger of ruining the company. My old man checks that stuff out. He helps people.”
“He spies on them?” I asked.
“He investigates,” Neal said. “Like a PI, I guess. But without all that Tom Selleck shit. Sometimes I help him, especially if it’s a matter involving the campus. Look, we can get the job done for you. Just tell me about it, and we’ll figure something out.”
I hesitated. I didn’t know that he could really do anything for me. I stood up and went to the counter, where I refilled my mug. When I came back, Neal sat with his face eager and open and expectant.
“Okay,” I said. “You read the stuff in the paper about my mom, right?”
“I did.”
“There’s something else to it, something that hasn’t had time to be in the paper yet, but believe me, it’s going to be there tomorrow or the next day.”
I told him about Ronnie’s confession as well as the reason the police had suspected Ronnie in the first place. I told him about the scene at the hospital that morning, and Ronnie’s refusal to answer my questions about whether he’d committed the crime or not. Neal listened to all of it attentively, his eyes fixed on my face as though I were telling him the most important story in the world.
When I was finished, I said, “Well?”
He stood up. “I’m hungry. I need a bagel or something.”
I waited while he went through the line. He came back with a bagel smeared with peanut butter. He took a big bite and started chewing with his mouth open. He didn’t say anything.
“Well?” I asked. “What do you think of what I just told you?”
“I’m kind of wondering what you think we can do to help you,” he said. “You have a lawyer, like you said. It’s always good to have a lawyer on your side if you’re charged with something. That’s what Dad’s always told me. He first told me that when I was eight.”
“I guess I don’t know what I want you to do,” I said. “That’s what I thought you would figure out.”
He nodded his head, chewing the whole time. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You want to know if it’s possible that someone else killed your mother, and you want us to help you find that out. You think the cops are taking the easy way out, letting this confession thing fall into their laps. Right?”
“I guess so.”
“And you think this lawyer guy you have— What’s his name?”
“Frank Allison.”
“Frank.” Neal laughed a little. “You think he’s too old-school for the case. I mean, he’ll do his job and everything, but you don’t think the legal wheels will turn as fast as you want things to turn. Right?”
“Sure.”
“I have to say, if you want my professional opinion—”
“Are you a professional?” I asked.
“I get paid, don’t I?” he said.
“Okay. Go on.”
“Anyway,” he said, “I have to say it looks pretty rough for your brother. I mean, the lack of an alibi, the violent past. And, hell, a confession. Looks like a slam dunk.”
“I know.”
Just hearing the facts recited back to me weighed me down. My shoulders dipped as though someone had placed bricks across my back.
Neal must have seen the slump in my posture. He leaned forward, leaving his bagel alone for a moment. “Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“I know Ronnie,” I said. “There’s just a part of my mind that can’t accept he would do this.”
“But a part of your mind does?” he asked.
I didn’t answer.
Neal pressed on. “Is it typical for people with whatever it is your brother has—”
“Down syndrome, Neal.”
“Right. That. Does it tend to make people violent?”
“No more than anyone else,” I said. “I guess if you have a disability that limits some aspects of your life, you might tend to get frustrated easily.”
“That makes sense.” He stuck a finger into his mouth and dislodged some peanut butter. “And was your mom pretty tough on him? I mean, did she ride his ass about things?”
“She was tough. She expected a lot from him. And me.”
“Sort of like you in class,” he said. “A hard-ass.”
“She loved Ronnie. She’d do anything for him.”
“I hear you, Teach. We all love our moms. Right?” Neal shook his head. “My mom. Sheesh. She’s a tough lady. I bet your mom was like that too. I can see it, Teach.”
“Can you do anything?” I asked. “Or can your dad?”
He chomped on the bagel again. This time he didn’t bother to wipe the peanut butter and crumbs from out of his beard. I wanted to grab a napkin and reach across the table myself, but I knew better.
“I’ll poke around a little bit, see what we can find out.” He threw the last bite of the bagel into his mouth. “Hell, I’ll do it pro bono. That means free, right?”
“Yes, it does,” I said. “But you can’t just do it for free. If you’re working, you should get paid something.”
He nodded, a large smile spreading across his face.
“What?” I asked.
“I know what my fee will be,” he said.
“What?”
“Have you graded my paper yet?”
He laughed and winked at me.
Chapter Thirty-two
Dan called while I was driving home from the Grunge. I
answered as I drove, one hand on the wheel and the other on the phone. I hoped no cops saw me.
“I was just seeing how you were doing,” he said. “If you need anything.”
Do I need anything? I thought. Where do I begin?
I opted for a simple statement of fact. “I was at the hospital already this morning.”
“That’s an early start,” he said, trying to sound light. It didn’t work. His words hit my ear like a lead weight.
“There’s a lot going on here, Dan,” I said. “A lot.”
“Oh,” he said.
I understood where he was in his approach to me. He wanted to be cool and coy. He wanted to give me space, but he also didn’t want to miss the chance to help me if he could. It was impossible, and I couldn’t blame him for fumbling it.
“Do you need anything?” he asked, trying to keep it simple.
My apartment building came into sight. I cut down the small alley and pulled into my designated spot. The sun was bright, the air still cool. I’d cracked the window and let the breeze blow against my face.
“Look,” I said, “this is all going to be in the news soon, so you might as well know. Hell, everybody at school is going to hear about it too.” That realization just hit me. My life would become an even bigger soap opera, the kind of story passed along to each new class of graduate students. Yeah, her mom was murdered. And her mentally handicapped brother did it. “It’s Ronnie,” I said. “He confessed to killing my mom this morning.”
There was a long pause. I thought the call had dropped. Then I heard an intake of breath. “Jesus,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
“So am I,” I said.
“Jesus,” he said again. “Where are you? Are you at the hospital?”
“I’m home now,” I said. “Or almost home. I’m in the parking lot of my building.”
“Do you want me to come over?” he asked.
“No,” I said right away. I knew my voice sounded sharp, almost harsh. I didn’t want to dismiss him. I just needed a moment to… I don’t know what I needed to do. I just didn’t think I needed Dan there right then. “I’m okay,” I said. “I have some calls to make. I’ve already talked to a lawyer for Ronnie. My uncle’s going to call and let me know what’s happening. And I have to go back to Dover Community later. I’ll call you, though. In a little bit, I’ll call you.”
“Okay,” he said. “Sure. Call me when you want.”
He put on a brave face, but I could sense the edge of disappointment in his voice. He wanted to be Johnny-on-the-spot for me.
“I’ll call you,” I said. “I promise. You know how I am. I have to sort through this first. Give me a little bit of time to absorb all of this.”
“Sure,” he said. His voice had some starch back in it. “I’ll let you absorb. I understand.”
“Okay,” I said. “Bye.”
• • •
As soon as my right foot hit the bottom step, I heard someone call my name from behind me.
“Ms. Hampton?”
A man’s voice. Ms. Hampton. A cop? Richland?
But the voice sounded gruff and older.
I turned around, taking my foot off the step.
“Elizabeth Hampton?” the man said.
The man who faced me was short, almost squat. He looked to be as tall as me, about five feet, five inches. And he was squarely built, his body bulky and thick through the stomach and chest. His legs were short. He wore a dark sport coat and matching pants, a white shirt open at the collar, and no tie. I guessed he was about seventy years old, maybe older. But despite his age, his body gave off a sense of power and strength.
He smiled at me. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Sneaking up on you like this.”
He looked familiar. I had seen him somewhere before, but I couldn’t place it. And I didn’t know his name.
“Do I know you?” I asked. I backed up a step, returning my foot to the bottom step. I placed my hand on the banister. My phone was in my hand.
“Could we talk?” he asked. “Maybe in your apartment?”
I shook my head. “No,” I said. “And if you don’t tell me—”
He smiled but didn’t show any teeth. He had a small mouth and a weak chin. “I get it,” he said. “After what happened to your mother, you’re cautious. I understand—I really do.”
When he mentioned Mom, the connections in my brain sped up. That was how I knew him. He had something to do with Mom.
“Were you—?”
I stopped. I saw it in my mind. At the cemetery, the man Paul was talking to while I was with Dan. The man who seemed so agitated with whatever Paul was telling him. That was the man standing before me.
“You were at the cemetery,” I said. “You were talking to my uncle.”
“Paul,” he said. “I’ve known Paul most of my life.”
“Were you friends with my mother?” I asked.
“More than friends,” he said. “Are you sure you want to do this out here?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” I said. “And what do you mean you and my mom were more than friends? Did you date her?”
He smiled again, but his eyes looked sad. It seemed put on, forced, as if he wanted to play the role of sad puppy dog.
“What do you mean?” I asked again.
“Your mom and I were high school sweethearts, and we were married for more than fifteen years.”
Chapter Thirty-three
I remained frozen in place, one foot on the stairs, one foot on the ground. I might have blinked a few times or shook my head, like someone confronted with something that simply didn’t make any sense.
“My mother was only married once,” I said. “To my father.”
The man in front of me, the man whose name I still didn’t know, only smiled. And his smile looked self-satisfied and smug. Even as I said the words and issued the denial about my mother’s past, I understood that I was stepping out on a limb. I thought of my trip through her house looking for documents after my meeting with Mr. Allison. I remembered the lack of pictures from the past, the lack of mementos or artifacts that might explain her life to me.
But that was just because Mom was private, right? Or because she simply didn’t have much of a life before I was born?
She didn’t even tell me about Ronnie… About the police coming… About any of it…
The man’s smile loosened. “I’m sorry that I’m the one who has to tell you about this,” he said, although he didn’t look sorry at all. “I know it would have been better coming from your mother or your uncle.”
“I don’t believe you,” I said, my voice quiet from lack of conviction.
The man sighed a little. I was the thickheaded and exasperating child who refused to see the lesson right before her eyes.
“It’s all true,” he said. “Are you sure we can’t talk somewhere? Somewhere more private maybe?”
I looked down at the phone. “I’m calling my uncle,” I said. “I’m calling Paul.”
“You can do that,” the man said. “But he and I don’t exactly get along. He may say some awful things about me.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Gordon,” he said. “Gordon Baxter.”
Paul’s phone rang. It rang and rang and then went to voice mail. I didn’t know if I wanted to leave a message or not.
Then the man said, “Really, I’m happy to tell you whatever you want to know about me or about my relationship with your mother.”
Relationship?
The word froze me. My mother didn’t have relationships. She was married, yes. Once. To my father. But that was a marriage. It was simple and clear-cut. They married and they had children and then Dad died. And Mom lived her life until she was murdered. That was it.
Relationship? No, my mom had relationships only with Dad and her children and her brother.
I hung up the phone.
“Have you been to my apartment before?” I asked, thinking of the robbery. The man before me possessed
the same short, squat figure as the man who’d brushed past me on the stairs the night my apartment was broken into.
He didn’t bat an eye. “I came by a day last week, but you weren’t home.”
“Did you let yourself in?” I asked. “And trash everything?”
“That sounds pretty brazen, doesn’t it?”
But you haven’t denied it, have you?
“How did you find me?” I asked.
“Your name was in the obituary online,” he said. “And you’re listed in the phone book. I’m a curious man, that’s all. Curious.”
I was in the phone book. As “E. Hampton.” Why did women think using an initial protected them?
I brought my foot down off the step again. “You can’t come in my apartment,” I said. “I don’t know you. I won’t be alone with you.”
“I understand,” he said. “But I don’t bite.”
“Do you have a car?” I asked.
“Yes.” He pointed to the street. “It’s that blue Ford over there.”
“Do you know the McDonald’s on Grant Street?” I asked. “The one by campus? It’s always crowded.”
“I know where it is,” he said. “I don’t live in Dover, but I’ve passed it.”
“I’ll meet you there in ten minutes,” I said.
• • •
As I drove the short distance to McDonald’s, I called Dan. “I need you to do me a favor,” I told him when he answered.
“Sure.”
“I also need you to not ask me a bunch of questions about it.”
“Okay,” he said, his voice cautious.
“I’m going to call you in an hour,” I said. “If you don’t hear from me in an hour, call me back. Or just come to the McDonald’s on Grant. One hour.”
“What the hell is going on, Elizabeth?” he asked.
“Okay,” I said. I couldn’t just keep him in the dark. “I’m going there to talk to someone who says he knew my mother. I don’t know this person, and he might be a lunatic, but he might also know things I need to know. That’s why we’re talking in a crowded restaurant, and that’s why I need you to check in with me later. If you don’t hear from me, assume he’s an ax murderer.”
“Great,” Dan said. “What a relaxing hour this will be.”