A Shattered Lens

by Layton Green

She rewound the video and caught the last instant the pair was visible before walking offscreen. The shorter person with long hair, the woman, had her back to the camera.

  “A little bit more,” he said. “Right as she’s turning. Keep going . . . keep going . . . there! Did you see it?”

  “Absolutely,” Lela said, leaning closer to the screen. “Can you enhance it any more ?”

  “Yes. But we’ll lose clarity.”

  “Do it.”

  Lela complied. Despite the gradual blurring of the image, before they reached the brief glint of light he had seen, Preach was astonished to find they could now see the victim’s face enough to make out who it was.

  David.

  “That’s two,” he said, letting out a deep breath. “Who are you, mystery woman?”

  David’s enhanced face now filled the screen. The blurry resolution made Preach feel uncomfortable, as if the boy’s ghost, haunting and inchoate, had been summoned from the ether. Though his features were warped by the enhancement, the expression Preach saw, the searching eyes and parted lips, surprised him.

  David didn’t look angry or afraid or in trouble. In fact, he looked the opposite.

  He looked as if he was about to kiss the person in front of him.

  “Pan out,” Preach said. “Get the flash we saw.”

  It took Lela a dozen attempts to catch it, but she finally isolated the almost instantaneous sparkle they had both caught onscreen. It came right as the woman, who they could now tell had blond hair, entered the image. For an instant, they caught the side of her head just before it turned completely away from the screen. And in that moment, caught like a piece of glitter from the heavens, a twinkle in the lambent moonlight, was a silver earring in the shape of a star, inset with a deep blue stone.

  Lela gave an approving whistle. “Is that a blue diamond in the center? And white diamonds lining that silver star? That’s a serious piece of jewelry. Very rare at the least, maybe even one of a kind.” She looked up. “You might be able to track this!”

  “No need,” he said, reaching for his coat. “I already know who it belongs to.”

  39

  Before he bet it all on one horse, Preach wanted to be one hundred percent sure. As night settled in and the deep Carolina sky faded to black, he drove fifteen minutes away to the Orange County Juvenile Detention Center, a smattering of depressing brick buildings surrounded by barbed wire. Preach pulled up to the gate and told the guard why he was there. Once inside, he parked beside the last bus and hurried inside the main building. It took him half an hour of conversation and paperwork to secure an audience with Nate Wilkinson, and the detective’s thoughts spun in a thousand directions as he waited in a white-walled holding area.

  He thought he knew all the players now, but what had happened that night in the woods ?

  What was David’s role in all of this ?

  What had gone so terribly wrong?

  His sneer in place, Nate slumped into a metal folding chair on the other side of the table from Preach. After waving off the guard, the detective leaned forward, clasping his hands atop the table. “I don’t have much to say tonight, because I don’t think you know much of anything.”

  “I’ve been telling you that, man.”

  “But I do think you’re lying about something.”

  Nate rolled his eyes and scratched the side of his nose.

  “Who gave you the idea?” Preach said quietly.

  “Huh?”

  “Who told you to lie about Claire?”

  “I told you what I know, and my attorney made a deal. I’m out of here in a month.”

  As he leveled his gaze at Nate, Preach’s voice hardened. “I’m going to make this real simple. You’re here on a drug charge. Minor time. Even less with the deal. But son, if you lie about a murder, and someone goes to jail for that, and it comes out later what you did . . he shook his head. “Not only does that invalidate the deal, but you don’t even want to know the kind of trouble you’ll be in.”

  Nate stared off to the side, unresponsive.

  “Did Bentley Montgomery tell you to lie ?”

  Preach saw the kid’s hand twitch ever so slightly atop the table.

  “I think Bentley told you what to say,” Preach said, “and planted that ledger at Claire’s house. I believe you about the new drug queen in town. All that info you gave the DA has the ring of truth. I just don’t think it was Claire.”

  Though Nate still hadn’t spoken, his posture was deflating, all the fight seeping out of him.

  “You’re scared, aren’t you?” Preach asked. “Of Bentley?”

  Now sitting rigid as a flagpole, Nate slowly mashed his lips, churning inside and out.

  “We’ll talk about that later,” Preach said, “but I’ll make this easy on you. You don’t have to say anything. I’m going to give you a name—the name of your supplier—and I just want you to nod. Okay?”

  “I can’t go against him,” Nate mumbled, so low Preach could barely hear him.

  “Like I said, we’ll deal with that later. But unless you want to risk being tried as an adult and doing serious time, I need to clear Claire’s name—the name you gave us—and put David’s real killer away.”

  Nate swallowed, and Preach felt a rush of sympathy for him. The kid was out of his depth.

  “I was never here today, okay?” Preach said.

  “Okay,” Nate whispered.

  Preach gave him the name, and after a long moment, one in which Preach second-guessed his intuition and his legwork, a moment in which it felt as if the whole balance of the case teetered, Nate sniffed and tipped his head.

  And Preach knew.

  More of a modern day castle than a private residence, it was the kind of house that existed only in fairy tales, or in documentaries about the titans of industry of centuries past. It was the kind of house that was as unobtainable to a police officer on a government salary as was reaching past the Milky Way to visit another galaxy, thousands of light years away.

  That was okay. Preach had never cared much about the finer things in life, and he didn’t resent those who did.

  What he cared about was those who broke the law to get them.

  This time, though, he wasn’t certain it was the owner of the house who had taken a few shortcuts. There were still pieces of David’s case he hadn’t put together, but he was certain he knew the salient parts. The who and where and when.

  He just didn’t know the why.

  Patches of clouds obscured the majority of the stars. The glow of a pregnant moon softened the night, and the manicured lawn emitted a wonderful aroma of late fall blooms. On his way to the front door— or at least he assumed it was the front door, since there appeared to be five separate entrances on the rambling limestone facade—his shoes padded softly across the cobblestone walkway, and he spied a clay tennis court through the trees to the left. The house was silent and imposing, all spires and steeply pitched roofs, designed to evoke a French chateau.

  A butler in a white tuxedo answered Preach’s knock, which took him aback. He did not realize such things still existed in America.

  “Mr. Everson. Good evening. The gate attendant mentioned you would like to speak with Mr. Rathbun, but I’m afraid he and the missus are away for the week.”

  “It’s Detective Everson, and I’m here to see Mackenzie. Not her parents.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  “I was told at the restaurant she was having a little party.”

  “I’m unaware of this.”

  “Is that why I see a dozen cars parked on the street outside ?”

  As the butler spluttered, Preach held up a finger, silencing him. In the distance, coming from somewhere behind the house, he heard the rising thump of bass, followed by a shriek of laughter.

  “Take me to her,” Preach said. “Right now.”

  Looking as if he might be ill, the poor man had no choice but to comply. The interior of the great house passed by in a blur of fine art, luxurio
us carpet, and furniture that looked like it belonged in the court of Louis XIV. They passed through half a dozen rooms before the butler threw wide a set of French doors that opened onto a rectangular pool stretching a few hundred feet away from the house, flanked on both sides by a lawn as pristine as a putting green. At least a dozen college kids were swimming in the heated pool illuminated with track lights on the bottom. A few more people were in the hot tub, and another group was wrapped in towels and clustered around a trio of outdoor heating lamps that sprouted from the lawn like giant exothermic mushrooms. A pair of outdoor speakers on the deck area blasted out a rap tune. Bottles and cups were everywhere.

  Except for a pair of kids snorting coke off a silver plate on a wrought-iron table, who scurried to hide the evidence, no one paid much attention as Preach stood at the edge of the pool and swept the crowd. When he found Mackenzie lounging in the hot tub in a white bikini, she was staring right at him. She looked away as soon as his eyes found hers.

  As he approached, she put her elbows on the flagstone and leaned back, arching her breasts as her lips curled into a coy smile. “I remember you,” she said.

  “Mackenzie, you need to come with me.”

  “A cop, right?”

  “Detective.”

  “Maybe you should grab a beer and join us. The water’s nice.”

  “Don’t make me ask again.”

  As the other people in the hot tub stared at them, she laughed and made little circles in the water with one of her feet. “Can’t we just talk right here ? Getting out would be a real buzzkill.”

  He walked over to her, leaning down so no one else could hear. “I’m arresting you for the murder of David Stratton. We already have Cobra.” When he said that, her feet stopped moving in the water. “I’ll cuff you right here if I have to, but I thought you might want to avoid a scene.”

  After seeing how serious he was, Mackenzie pulled herself out of the hot tub, wringing water out of her long blond hair. A friend tossed her a towel. She dried off and wrapped her athletic body in the thick cotton. “I’ll be right back, y’all. Keep the party going.”

  As the butler watched in dismay, Preach took her inside and recited her Miranda rights. He had Bill Wright, who was waiting in a separate car, drive her to the station and process her.

  Forensics was already en route. After ordering the butler to send the other kids home, Preach went ahead and started searching. Within minutes, he had found the star-shaped earrings in Mackenzie’s bedroom, and he dropped them in an evidence bag.

  Hours later, weary in body and mind, aching in his soul, Preach returned to the station and updated Chief Higgins on the new developments. He had called her on her cell phone at home, and she had decided to come in. Though after midnight, the Creekville police station was buzzing like it was midday.

  “So you found three more drug ledgers in her apartment,” Chief Higgins said, warming her hands around a cup of herbal tea behind her desk. Dark circles floated under her eyes, and her flame-red hair was greasy and unkempt. Preach sat across from her, sipping a cup of coffee, knowing his appearance was just as haggard.

  “Going back over a year,” he said. “She’s been running meth, coke, heroin, mommy pills. Half her business is college students.”

  “Jesus. Have you talked to her?”

  “I’m about to.”

  “She didn’t lawyer up ?”

  “Not yet. Her phone call was to her mother.”

  “So Claire isn’t involved with this after all?” There was no trace of pettiness in the chief’s voice. Only grudging respect.

  “Once they saw the noose tightening around the circumstantial evidence, I believe they thought Claire would make a good patsy and planted the ledger at her house. The way Claire sleeps,” he cleared his throat, “I mean with the drugs she takes before bed, it wouldn’t be too hard.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “Los Viburos. I don’t know for sure, but I’m guessing Bentley is the mastermind.”

  The chief threw her hands up. “The mastermind of what?”

  “Turning Carroll Street Homes into such a crime-ridden swamp that the Creekville City Council will vote to change the zoning and let Bentley’s company develop it. That property is worth millions. Maybe tens of millions.”

  “Okay,” she said, nodding, “I can buy that. But how does David fit

  in?”

  “That,” he said, pushing to his feet and tucking the case file under his arm, “is what I hope I’m about to find out.”

  “Was he dealing for you?” Preach asked, as he slid into the chair across from Mackenzie in the station’s lone interview room. Wrapped in a cashmere shawl and jeans, her hair loose around her shoulders, she looked tired, scared, and completely and utterly lost.

  Yet there was another emotion Preach saw in her eyes. One which he planned to exploit.

  Mackenzie Rathbun, he thought, looked relieved.

  The truth will do that to you.

  “Dealing? David? No,” she scoffed. “As far as I know, he didn’t touch the stuff.”

  “Then what happened that night?”

  She covered her face in her hands, lowered her head, and began to quietly sob. When she had composed herself, she looked up through tear-streaked eyes and said, “I didn’t kill him. I didn’t.”

  “I believe you. Did Cobra pull the trigger? Shoot him in the head?” She nodded.

  “You fired the first shot, though, didn’t you?”

  She moaned and covered her face again. “It wouldn’t have killed him. It was just a stomach wound. They made me do it. I tried to back out after that, I swear. He made me. Oh, God—he made me!”

  “Who did?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, then slowly closed it again.

  “Was it Cobra? Bentley Montgomery?”

  “I can’t say,” she said, in a near-whisper.

  “Even though he put you here ?”

  “I . . . I can’t.”

  “Okay,” he said, sensing empathy would get him much further than a show of force. “We’ll talk about that later. But I need to understand why you did it, Mackenzie. What happened between you and David?” Her lips parted, as if ready to speak, but then she started to cry again. He could tell she was genuinely distressed, burning up with guilt. “Talk to me,” he said. “I’ll help you if I can.”

  As she struggled to gain control of her emotions, someone knocked on the door to the interview room. The detective turned to see Chief Higgins pushing the door open, followed by a sixtyish man in a pinstriped suit, as well as a paunchy man with squinty eyes and a head full of regal silver hair. Preach recognized the silver-haired man from the news.

  Jerry Rathbun II. Mackenzie’s father.

  “We need to talk,” Chief Higgins said to Preach. “Mackenzie’s father is here with their attorney, Paul Sanderson.”

  Instead of the lawyer, Jerry Rathbun stepped forward. As his jowls quivered in anger, laced with the red veins of a heavy drinker, he said, “This ends here.”

  “Excuse me ?” Preach said, as he scooted his chair back and stood.

  “You came into my house and arrested my daughter. I can assure you my lawyer—”

  “Okay,” interrupted Chief Higgins. “You’ve asserted your rights. Now let’s—”

  “What are you talking about ?” Mackenzie said, turning to face her father. “They’re my rights, and I haven’t asserted anything.”

  “Shut up, Mackenzie,” her father said. “Don’t say another goddamn word.”

  As her lawyer started talking about due process, Mackenzie rose and pointed a shaky finger at her father. “You don’t get to do this,” she said. “Not anymore.”

  “I said not another word’’

  “Shut up, Daddy!” she screamed. Preach could see in her eyes that something had snapped, some pent-up demon with an origin far older than the events of the last few months. “You’re the reason all this happened! You!”

  After a moment of shocked sil
ence, Jerry put a palm out, bobbing it up and down. “Now just calm down. We can talk about this later, with Paul. Your mother and I just flew in from Florida because of this. We’re leaving this station together, right now, while Paul clears things up.”

  “Leaving?” A hysterical laugh escaped her. “Didn’t they tell you what I did?”

  “Shut up, Mackenzie!”

  The lawyer stepped forward, and Jerry put a hand on the man’s chest.

  “I just wanted to help Bentley show you up, you know,” Mackenzie said. “That’s all. Develop that property and put you in your place for once. I never meant to . . .”

  “Paul,” Jerry said, his voice as taut as a suspension cable, moving his hand off his attorney’s chest, “sort this out.”

  The lawyer started to speak, but the chief held up a hand and turned to face Mackenzie. “As you said, it’s your decision. Are you asserting your right to a lawyer ?”

  “I am,” she said, “but not yet, and not him.” With a twisted, melancholy smile, she looked right at Preach and said, “First I’m going to tell you—and only you—exactly what happened. I’m going to tell the truth for once. David deserves it. And Bentley can go to hell.”

  Looking unbalanced and grief-stricken, ignoring the strenuous objections of her father and his attorney, both of whom the chief led unceremoniously to the hallway before she shut the door, Mackenzie Rathbun sat with Preach and proceeded to do exactly what she had promised.

  40

  Mackenzie’s father never hit her, but he might as well have.Always the looming presence, a thundercloud ready to burst, watching every move, criticizing, controlling, disparaging. The verbal abuse against Mackenzie and her mother. What to wear, what to say, how to act, when to do it.

  They might as well have been slaves in that house.

  It was all about the money. Of course it was. What else did that fat, drunken patriarch, other than providing sperm to her mother, have to offer her ?

  Mackenzie cared about money as only the super wealthy can: She both took it for granted and understood how rare and precious it was. A ruthless sort of cynicism. Yet as much as she wanted to break free, her trust fund would never be hers while he was still alive. To get paid, she had to walk the path he had charted. A path she hated.