EQMM, February 2010

by Dell Magazine Authors

  The other deputies were more than happy to cooperate, Billingsley added, eliminating a suspect who'd killed a deputy's wife.

  "What if Blake was innocent, Bud? What if someone else did it?"

  "Then why would he do the hangman's dance like he did?"

  "Maybe he was grief-stricken because a woman he cared about was dead, while he got blamed for her murder."

  "I guess you could see it that way,” Billingsley said. “Anyway, I've told you what I know. Off the record, remember.” He raised his beer bottle. “You want a cold one?"

  She declined, thanked him for the information, and showed herself out.

  * * * *

  After four days, Nick Falco was back at Claxton Productions, unable to stay away from work.

  He dropped by the digital editing bays to watch segments being cut, viewed assembled episodes to see how many of his stories had made it into the show, ran a maintenance check on his camera pack—anything to stay close to the action and keep his mind off the investigation Katherine Forrest was conducting behind the scenes.

  "Nick, we need to talk."

  George Claxton had found him in the supervising producer's office, checking the network air dates for the show. He followed Claxton down the hall to his office door.

  "I've just come from the hospital,” Claxton said. “Dom's critical, lapsing in and out of consciousness. I called Joyce. She's picking Tony up at school."

  "I appreciate that. Anything else?"

  Claxton clenched his jaw. “He doesn't have long, Nick. This is it."

  Nick said nothing, just looked away. Claxton took him by the shoulders, forced him to make eye contact.

  "Whatever it is between you and Dom, you've got to get past it. If you don't talk to him now, make things right, you won't have another chance. Please, Nick, don't leave it like this."

  They both turned as a figure approached from down the hall. It was Sergeant Forrest, walking briskly, clutching a file folder. Claxton recognized her, but she opened her jacket to show her gold badge anyway.

  "I need a moment of your time, Mr. Claxton.” Her eyes flicked toward Nick. “In private."

  "Sounds serious,” Claxton said.

  She leveled her eyes on his. “It is."

  She turned to Nick, asked him to wait for her in the lobby.

  When he was gone she said to Claxton, “I've been looking into the Rosemary Falco case. I believe it was prematurely deemed inactive."

  He flinched, swallowed hard. “I see."

  "I ordered DNA tests. The results have come back. I have some questions that need answering."

  He nodded wordlessly and stepped aside. She passed into his office and he locked the door behind them.

  * * * *

  Not quite half an hour later, Nick stood as Sergeant Forrest approached him in the lobby, moving quickly.

  "We're going to the hospital,” she said. “I'll fill you in on the way."

  Before he could protest, she took him firmly by the arm and led him out to her car. As she drove off, Nick saw Claxton standing at his office window, watching them.

  She raced out of the parking lot into the thick of traffic.

  "There's no question that your father covered up the truth about your mother's death,” she said, “and that he had help doing it."

  "Tell me something I don't know,” Nick said.

  She shot through a yellow light, accelerating.

  "George Claxton was the main fixer, Nick."

  He stared at her, looking stunned. “George was in on it?"

  "He was the lead detective on the case. His name never surfaced in the press reports. That was part of the plan."

  Nick faced forward again, staring out the windshield as she blasted her horn and ran a red light.

  "The two of them, best friends,” he said. “I should have seen it years ago."

  She hit an open stretch of road and pushed the speedometer to sixty.

  "It's not what you think, Nick."

  He glanced over, pinned her with his eyes. “Not what I think? I have the video, remember?"

  "Your mother was having an affair with her boss, Marshall Blake. She died accidentally, during a risky sex act—autoerotic asphyxiation, partial strangling with a necktie for heightened sexual arousal. Only it went too far."

  "What?"

  "I warned you it wouldn't be pretty, Nick."

  He faced forward again, staring out the windshield. “Go on."

  "Blake panicked and fled. Dom came home and discovered her body. He'd known about the affair but blamed himself. He'd kept quiet about it to keep his marriage together, determined to change, to win her back. He called Claxton, devastated by your mother's death but also concerned for you. He didn't want you to have to live with a sordid memory of your mother or face the ugliness of a sensational trial. Claxton promised Dom that he'd do anything he could to protect you."

  "Claxton told you all this?” Nick demanded. “And you believe him?"

  "Just be quiet and listen.” She swung right on squealing tires at a road sign for the hospital. “Claxton picked up Blake, who was distraught. He was wracked with guilt, and knew he was ruined socially and professionally. He begged Claxton to let him commit suicide. Claxton sequestered him in a cell, where Blake hanged himself. In the meantime, your father was altering the crime scene. As the lead detective, Claxton was able to expedite the coverup from start to finish. According to the official version, your mother was strangled as she prepared dinner for her family, the innocent victim of her obsessed boss, who broke in to assault her."

  "I don't believe it,” Nick said. “My mother would never—"

  "I ordered DNA tests on the semen and tissue samples taken from your mother's body and undergarments. They prove conclusively that Blake was with her that day, and that she clawed at him, digging into his flesh, probably in the heat of passion."

  Sergeant Forrest braked as she pulled up at the hospital entrance. She turned to face Nick.

  "They did it to protect you, Nick. If your father was guilty of anything, it was of loving you too much."

  Nick sat numbly beside her, a vacant look on his face. She reached over, laid a hand on his arm.

  "The camera doesn't always capture the truth, Nick, not all of it. It only sees what it's able to see. Kind of like people."

  He turned slowly to face her, looking hopelessly lost.

  "What do I do now?"

  "At some point, you might want to destroy that videotape. Right now, though, I'd get into that hospital and up to see your father."

  "What about your investigation?"

  "What investigation?” She reached across and opened the door. “Go, Nick, before it's too late."

  He unbuckled his seat belt, leaped from the car, raced into the hospital. A minute later, the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor. He dashed out and down the hall, past a doctor who'd just emerged from his father's room. As Nick reached the door, a nurse was coming out.

  "He slipped into a coma,” she said. “Just minutes ago."

  "Will he come out of it?"

  She smiled sympathetically. “I'm afraid not. Are you family?"

  "I'm his son, Nick."

  "He was calling for you. ‘Nicky’ was the last word he spoke."

  * * * *

  Nick watched the nurse pad quietly down the corridor in her white shoes. Then he entered the room, which smelled of illness and medicine. Dom lay on his back, his body trapped in a tangle of tubes. The bed sheet and blanket had been pulled up and folded neatly under his chin. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow and erratic. On the nightstand was a framed photograph of the three of them twenty-five years ago—Nick at ten, in between his smiling parents.

  He drew up a chair and sat beside the bed. He took his father's hand, raised it to his lips, fought back tears.

  His cell phone rang. He checked the Caller ID. It was Joyce.

  "Nick? Where are you?"

  "At the hospital."

  "Did you tal
k to Dom?"

  Nick's voice trembled. “I—I was too late."

  "He's gone?"

  "Comatose. They say it's final."

  "We're on our way. Tony's with me."

  "He won't want to see me."

  "Don't be so sure."

  "Joyce, I—"

  "You need to be there, Nick. To help him through this."

  "I won't know what to say to him. I'm no good at this. You know that."

  "Just put your arms around him, Nick, and let him know you're there for him. That's all he's ever wanted."

  She and Tony were only a few blocks away, she said, no more than a minute or two. Before Nick could respond, she ended the call.

  He found a brush and carefully brushed Dom's hair. He sat again, studying Dom's deeply lined face, thinking about how much had needed saying that would never be said, how much they'd lost that they'd never get back. Then he rose, kissed Dom on the forehead, and stepped from the room.

  Down the corridor, a bell rang softly as an elevator reached the fifth floor. Joyce stepped out first, Tony a moment later. As he turned toward his grandfather's room, he saw Nick standing by the door. He could see that Nick was crying, and he started crying too. Then he was running, into his father's arms.

  Copyright © 2010 John Morgan Wilson

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