Goodbye to the Dead (Jonathan Stride Book 7)

by Brian Freeman

  ‘Embrace it,’ Janine said. She smoothed her blond hair. ‘What would that look like, do you suppose?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Well, you’re honest, Archie. The fact is, I’m a doctor. That’s all I am. It’s my whole life. I never wanted to be anything else. And now I can’t be that anymore. So what do you suggest I do?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know. However, you’re not the only doctor in prison. Some find other ways to use their professional know­ledge. Others decide to explore a completely different side of themselves.’

  ‘You’re assuming I have one,’ Janine said.

  Archie waited. Then he said: ‘Are you a danger to yourself?’

  ‘You mean suicide?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I mean.’

  ‘No, Archie. That’s the good thing about being an incorrigible narcissist. We can’t imagine depriving the world of our presence.’

  ‘I’m serious,’ he said.

  ‘So am I.’

  Archie tried to see if there was any real threat behind the jokes, but smarter men than he had tried and failed to decipher the riddle of Janine Snow. She took pride in that.

  ‘You’re wrong,’ she told him.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘This is the end. It’s like death, really. People go away, and we go on with our lives. That’s what’s going to happen to me. I’ll go away, and people will forget about me. I hate that.’

  ‘That’s not true. How many lives have you saved? Those people and their families aren’t going to forget you. I imagine many of them still thank you in their prayers every night.’

  She shook her head. ‘I wish they wouldn’t do that. It’s a waste of time. Patients are always sending me gifts, knitting me sweaters, lighting candles for me. I wish they’d stop and accept it for what it is. Some debts aren’t meant to be repaid. It’s better not to try.’

  He didn’t have an answer for her. Instead, he gathered his papers and stood up. ‘I’ll be in touch as I know more,’ he said.

  ‘Of course.’

  Janine’s eyes traveled from wall to wall. She wasn’t any closer to accepting them. Each time she looked, it seemed as if the walls had pushed inward, making the space around her smaller.

  ‘So what would it take?’ she asked. ‘To throw out the conviction.’

  ‘The appeal process—’

  ‘Not the appeal,’ she said. ‘I’m not talking about legal loopholes. I mean, what would it take to really prove that I didn’t shoot Jay? Enough for a judge to release me.’

  Archie looked down at her, trying to gauge if she was serious. After all, he still believed that she was the one who pulled the trigger. ‘Honestly?’ he asked. ‘The gun. And the jewelry. In someone else’s hands.’

  *

  Howard sat in Judge Edblad’s office. He’d dressed in a tie again, the way he had during the trial. His collar was moist where his neck sweated. The office in the courthouse was formal, with an oak desk and a flag, but he also saw pictures of the judge with his family and posters on the walls from Disney World. It was strange to think of the judge as a human being.

  ‘Mr. Marlowe,’ Judge Edblad said, entering the office from the corridor and taking a seat across from him at the conference table. He wore a suit, not the robe he’d worn in the courtroom. ‘My clerk said you wanted to talk to me.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Howard tried to go on. He’d rehearsed the words, and now they left him. He didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Well, what can I do for you?’

  ‘It’s about the trial of Dr. Snow. I’m having second thoughts.’

  ‘Second thoughts? In what way?’

  ‘I voted with the others to convict her. I said she was guilty, but now I’m not sure.’

  The judge tented his fingers on the table. He didn’t roll his eyes or tell Howard that he was a fool. There was a patience about the man that Howard liked. ‘Why is that?’ he asked.

  ‘I just – I just wonder if she really did it. And now with the news of that killer in the mall—’

  ‘That was a horrifying incident,’ the judge agreed. ‘If the police uncover any evidence to suggest that Mr. Klayman could have murdered Mr. Ferris, then Dr. Snow’s attorney will certainly file a motion to throw out her conviction. However, that’s not anything you need to concern yourself with.’

  ‘I know. I’m just having doubts.’

  ‘I understand. I’d like you to answer a few questions for me. Did any of the other jurors pressure you to vote to convict? Were you subject to any threats or intimidation?’

  ‘Oh, no. I mean, I was the only hold-out at first, but they didn’t pressure me. Eleanor was good. She talked me through the evidence. In the end, I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I don’t know.’

  ‘So when I asked you in the courtroom to confirm that you shared in the unanimous verdict, did you answer fully and truthfully that you were voting guilty?’

  ‘Yes—’

  Judge Edblad nodded. ‘You made a difficult decision, Mr. Marlowe. Now you’re having second thoughts about it. It’s not uncommon. We call it buyer’s remorse. Unfortunately, in the absence of any actual misconduct in the jury room, it doesn’t constitute sufficient grounds to void the verdict.’

  Howard tensed. ‘Except – except I want to change my vote.’

  ‘It’s too late. The trial is over.’

  ‘What if I talk to Mr. Gale?’ Howard asked.

  ‘You can certainly do that. I’ll inform him of our conversation, too, as well as Mr. Erickson. However, a juror changing his mind after the fact isn’t enough for a new trial. I’m sorry.’

  Howard stood up. He felt crushed. ‘I see. I’m sorry to bother you, your honor.’

  ‘It isn’t a problem, Mr. Marlowe. Being a juror is a weighty responsibility. Everyone in this courthouse understands and respects that. You did your civic duty, and now you can go on with your life.’

  The judge stood up, too, and walked Howard to his office door. He clapped him on the shoulder, showed him out, and shut the door behind him. Howard could see the jury room in front of him, where the deliberations had taken place. It was empty. He wanted to go inside, sit down again, and change the past.

  Go on with your life.

  That was what Carol had said, too. We can go back to living our lives.

  They all wanted him to forget about Janine, but Howard couldn’t do that.

  35

  Cindy sat on the green bench at the end of the Point in the midst of a small patch of sand by the bay. She checked her watch, but Jonny was late. He usually was. She’d gotten used to it over the years.

  This was Jonny’s place, where he went to stare at the calm waters. As teenagers, they’d first talked about marriage here, in that awkward way that young lovers grope toward their future. When Jonny’s mother died, they’d come here to talk about the good and bad of her life. Now it seemed like the right place for them to talk about other things.

  It was dusk. The August days were getting shorter, stealing away the sunlight. Long shadows filled the park behind her. At her feet, crowns of golden alexanders swayed as the breeze blew, and the bay ripples gurgled at the beach. As warm as it was, she shivered. There were moments late in every summer where you got the first kiss of fall, a little finger up your spine that reminded you of what lay ahead.

  She’d visited the teenager from the mall that afternoon. Laura. The girl was home now, out of the hospital and recovering nicely from the bullet she’d taken in her leg. Reporters had wanted to talk to both of them and take pictures, and Cindy had given them a firm no. She didn’t want publicity. She’d spent half an hour with Laura and her parents, and they’d fallen over themselves to thank her, which made her uncomfortable. She didn’t want thanks or tears. The only thing she wanted was for Laura to go on and live her
life. The ups and downs. The happiness. The sadness. She’d hugged the girl at the end and whispered: ‘Don’t let this be who you are.’

  Which was easier said than done, she knew. That moment in the mall would be the seminal moment of the girl’s life. She’d have nightmares. She’d be in therapy for years. She’d wonder why she was spared when others died. That was okay. You couldn’t ask those questions and wrestle with the answers if you weren’t alive.

  She and Jonny hadn’t talked about it. They’d agreed to put it aside in a box. She knew he wanted to ask her how she could have taken such a crazy risk with their future, but he couldn’t. Not when he would have done exactly the same thing at the same moment. But that was his job. For her, it was a choice, but in the moment, she felt as if she had no choice at all.

  Cindy heard the engine of his Bronco and saw him pull into the dirt of the parking lot beside her Outback. He got out and smiled at her and crushed a cigarette in the sand. He mussed his wild black hair. God, he was handsome. That was what she’d thought years ago, when she’d met him in school, this intense, brooding teenager who was obsessed with doing the right thing. Whatever that might be. Now he was in the prime of his life, and she didn’t think he’d ever looked better than he did at that moment. Cocky and confident, wounded and deep. He was such a strange, wonderful mix, this man of hers.

  He sat down beside her on the bench and stretched out his long legs. His boots were dusty. He had a can of Coke in his hand, and he took a drink and then offered it to her.

  ‘You think I want your spit, Jonny?’ she asked.

  He laughed, but she took the can anyway and finished it.

  Together they watched the dying light on the bay. They didn’t talk for a while. He held her hand, and their skin was damp and warm. The evening was alive with summer sounds – insects in the bushes, the whine of a floatplane overhead, the pop of illegal firecrackers on the lakeside over the dunes.

  Finally, she said: ‘Do you know anything more?’

  Jonny nodded.

  ‘Did he . . .’ she asked.

  That had been the question in her mind since it happened. Did Ross Klayman kill Jay Ferris? Her mind had spun out theories in which Ross was guilty. Jay spotted him somewhere. Found him. Followed him. Ross had eliminated the one man who could stand in the way of his planned rampage.

  Which meant that her friend, Janine, was innocent.

  ‘No,’ Jonny told her.

  He didn’t give her any room for doubt. She felt a wave of disappointment, but not any sense of surprise. ‘Are you sure? You sound sure.’

  ‘The Bureau of Criminal Apprehension tested every handgun we found in Klayman’s car that could have been used in the murder. None of them matched.’

  ‘That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, does it? He could have gotten rid of the weapon.’

  Jonny shook his head. ‘There’s more. We went over Jessie’s credit card bills. There was a charge from a gun show in Arkansas on January 28. The Arkansas police talked to several of the vendors, and they all knew Jessie and Ross. They confirmed that Ross was with his mother at that show. He was a thousand miles away from Duluth when Jay was killed, Cin. He didn’t do it.’

  ‘Oh.’

  And that was that. Ross Klayman didn’t do it. Janine did.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘No, you were right all along. I was wrong.’

  ‘You weren’t wrong about Ross Klayman,’ Jonny said flatly. ‘Nine people died. Thirty more were wounded. Maybe if we’d found him earlier, we could have stopped him. I feel responsible.’

  She squeezed his hand hard. ‘Don’t you ever do that to yourself, Jonathan Stride. Do you hear me? It’s not your fault.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. It’s not.’

  ‘I’m having a hard time accepting that.’

  ‘Mentally ill people don’t wear signs,’ she said.

  He shrugged. He knew it was true, but she knew it wouldn’t stop him from beating himself up.

  They were silent again.

  Then he looked at her. ‘You never told me what he said to you. Just before he killed himself.’

  ‘Who, Klayman? Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  He didn’t push her, and she was glad. She was lying, and he knew it, but maybe he realized that some moments couldn’t be shared with anyone. If she closed her eyes, she could picture his face and hear his voice. I am God. The strange thing was, as he said it, she almost believed him. Not that she thought God was cruel or uncaring. And yet cruel things happened.

  Cindy realized she couldn’t put it off any longer. She’d told Jonny to meet her here for a reason. Not anywhere else. Here.

  ‘Listen,’ she said, dragging the words out of her chest. ‘There’s something I need to talk to you about.’

  She’d gone over and over in her head about how to tell him, but she still didn’t know what to say. How do you break that news to your husband? She’d had an appointment with Steve Garske. And it wasn’t good.

  ‘Something’s not . . .’ she began. Something’s not right. With me. Something’s very wrong. Something bad.

  ‘Hang on,’ Jonny said. His phone was ringing. When he answered, she recognized Maggie’s voice on the line, which had a strange kind of intimacy. It was odd how Maggie was always coming between them. She’d never really thought about it like that, and it wasn’t fair, because Maggie represented the job. The job came first. It always did.

  He hung up.

  ‘A teenage girl has gone missing in Lakeside,’ he said. ‘She went jogging, and she never came home.’

  ‘What’s her name?’ Cindy asked. She always wanted to know the name. Victims were never faceless or nameless to her.

  ‘Kerry McGrath.’

  ‘Well, go,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  She shook her head. There wasn’t any call for apology. She knew the life.

  ‘What did you want to tell me?’ he asked.

  ‘It can wait.’

  He got up from the bench and headed across the sand for his Bronco. She watched him go. Hands in his pockets. Boots leaving footprints. That body she knew so well, with its muscles, furrows, and scars. His head cocked, watching the lazy turns of a hawk in the dark of the Duluth sky.

  Suddenly, she ran after him with a sense of urgency. He heard her coming and turned around in surprise, and she swept her arms behind his waist and lifted herself up on her toes to kiss him. She gave him a long, hard, wet Cindy kiss that went on and on. You could feel kisses like that all the way down to your toes, and you could close your eyes and remember them like candy on your lips.

  They were the kind of kisses you never forgot, no matter what happened next.

  NOW

  36

  The Present

  ‘We finally got an ID on the victim outside the bar,’ Maggie told Stride and Serena.

  She stood in the doorway of Stride’s cottage on the 3300 block of the Point. It was a July evening after dark, and the windows were all open, letting in lake air through the screens. Stride sat in his red leather armchair near the fireplace, under the mantle that was decorated with a sign that read: BELIEVE. Serena sat on the walnut steps that led up to their unfinished attic.

  He reached over to the small table next to him for a cigarette before he realized that he didn’t smoke anymore. Strange. After fits and starts, it had been three years since he’d had a cigarette, but sometimes he simply forgot that he was a different man now. You are always one moment away from being who you were, so the price of maturity is constant vigilance.

  ‘Who was she?’ Serena asked. She wore a purple tank top and shorts, leaving her strong arms and legs bare. The skin of her long legs was mottled by scars from burns she’d suffered in a fire two years earlier.
Her flowing black hair was mussed.

  It had been three weeks since Serena saw a young blond woman shot and killed outside the Grizzly Bear Bar in West Duluth. She’d chased down the shooter, but he’d escaped, leaving his gun behind but with the woman’s wallet and phone lodged in his pocket. They were no closer to finding him, and the woman herself had been a Jane Doe since the murder. Nothing in her baby-blue suitcase had helped them give her a name. Until now.

  ‘Kelly Hauswirth,’ Maggie said. ‘Twenty-two years old. From Denver.’

  ‘She was a long way from home.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Maggie danced uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

  ‘You can come inside,’ Serena told her. ‘I don’t bite.’

  ‘I think that’s what the wolf said to Little Red Riding Hood,’ Maggie replied, but she wandered into the cottage, handed off copies of a Colorado driver’s license to the two of them, and sat down on Stride’s sofa with her feet propped on the coffee table. It was like the old days, but it wasn’t.

  A palpable frost chilled the air between her and Serena. The two of them had nursed an uneasy friendship since Stride and Serena began a relationship four years earlier, but the fractures between them had split open the previous fall. In the wake of a near-fatal accident that left him struggling with flashbacks and nightmares, Stride had made the one mistake in his life that he’d always sworn to avoid. He’d slept with Maggie. Within days, Serena moved out, and he and Maggie launched a short-lived affair.

  But things changed, and then they changed again. That was the way of the world. He and Serena were back together. They shared the cottage with a pregnant teenage girl named Cat Mateo, whom they’d rescued from the Duluth streets. And Maggie, who was in many ways still his best friend, was an outsider now.

  ‘Where’s the kid?’ Maggie asked, glancing into Cat’s empty bedroom at the front of the house.