by Ann Gosslin
Erin pushed her hands into the pockets of her coat. ‘What about the father, did you know him?’
‘Tim’s father? Oh my.’ Ruth brushed the windblown hair from her face. ‘That poor man. I can’t imagine how he went on living after what happened.’ She plucked a tissue from her sleeve and dabbed her face. ‘I didn’t know him socially. But he was quite the man about town in my day, so everyone knew who he was.’ She looked up and shaded her eyes against the pale sun. ‘Shall we press on? There’s a wonderful view of the bay from the lighthouse.’
Erin marvelled at Ruth’s vigour. She must be in her mid-seventies, but showed no signs of slowing down.
‘I remember the first time I saw him,’ Ruth said, bending down to collect a piece of blue sea glass from the sand. ‘The summer of 1956. I was on my lunch break with one of the library volunteers. Babs Greeley, her name was. Gosh, I haven’t thought about her in years. Anyway, we had just bought ice-cream cones – it was so hot that year – and were heading to the docks. Babs had her eye on a lobsterman, and she was looking out for his boat when someone else caught her eye. She grabbed my arm and said, “Who’s that?” I was trying to keep my ice cream from melting all over my hand, but when I looked up, I saw this absolutely gorgeous man. Wavy chestnut hair, eyes like the Aegean, and a smile from a toothpaste ad. The spitting image of Senator Kennedy, only better looking, if you ask me. The whole town was abuzz, so it was easy enough to find out his name. He was a local boy, just graduated from law school in Boston and home for the summer.’ Ruth pointed to the sailboats, plunging through the whitecaps. Sunlight sparkled on the water. ‘Isn’t that a pretty sight?’
A familiar snapshot, blurred by time, surfaced in Erin’s head. Her father at the tiller of a Sunfish, his ruddy face turned happily into the wind. This memory of the two of them, one of the few she possessed, had begun to appear at odd moments, ever since her trip to Maine.
‘Rumour had it he’d come back to Belle River to set up a law practice,’ Ruth was saying. ‘Why he didn’t stay in Boston or head to another big city after law school was anybody’s guess.’ She turned into the wind. ‘A year later, I saw his wedding picture in the paper. He’d married a girl from Philadelphia. Quite a number of hearts must have been broken that day.’ Her lips twitched into a smile. ‘Not mine, though, in case you’re wondering. Tim Stern pére was a bit too flamboyant for me.’
When a shadow blocked the sun, Erin looked up, surprised to see the lighthouse looming above them. She’d lost all track of time. Her mind was in Belle River with Stern, gallivanting about town, a cocktail glass in hand, holding court at the yacht club.
‘Would you look at all those gulls,’ Ruth said. ‘There must be a school of herring out there.’
As they rested on a nearby bench, Ruth’s eyes took on a faraway look. ‘After his marriage, I don’t recall seeing much of him. At one point, I heard they’d moved to Boston when Mr Stern took a job at a bigger firm. I thought they were gone for good, but they only stayed for a few years, and I still remember my surprise at seeing his wife at the grocery store, pushing a lively little boy in a stroller. I don’t know why they left Boston. But by that time, I was married to Marvin and busy with my own life.
‘The Sterns had bought a house quite a way out of town. The few times I saw his wife she was no longer the vivacious girl she used to be. Still attractive, but something wasn’t quite right. Being a pharmacist, Marvin was bound by confidentiality, and couldn’t say, but I suspected those prescriptions she had filled were some kind of sedative. “Mother’s little helper”, we used to call them. Mr Stern was working for a law firm in Portland then, and he seemed to be out of town a lot.’ She hesitated. ‘There were rumours of affairs.’
*
Back at Ruth’s flat, Erin pulled out her notebook and flipped through the pages. History girl, mystery girl? She’d been so caught up in Ruth’s memories of Tim’s father, she’d forgotten to ask. ‘Do you remember if Tim had a girlfriend, or maybe a girl he was especially fond of?’ She carried the tea tray into the kitchen. The least she could do was help with the washing up before heading home.
Ruth pulled off her walking shoes and slid her feet into a pair of carpet slippers. ‘A girlfriend? Not that I’m aware of. He was on the shy side and, as far as I could tell, something of a loner.’
‘Were you aware of any trouble at home?’
Ruth pinched off a yellowed leaf from one of the cyclamens. ‘Not at the time, though I suppose, in retrospect…’ Her voice fell away. ‘Isabel, the older sister, was in my freshman English class. A darling girl. Everyone doted on her, the father included. In fact, it was Mr Stern who came to parents’ night the year Isabel was in my class. He didn’t come to Tim’s, which I thought was strange at the time, but he was keen to ask me about his daughter’s progress. His eyes shone when he spoke about her, as if she were the light of his life. The other girl too… What was her name? Carla, I think, or maybe Carol. Anyway, I would sometimes see him in town with the two girls, buying ice creams or coming out of a movie matinee. A devoted father, at least where the girls were concerned.’
And Tim? Erin was anxious to learn more about the relationship between father and son. While she washed the cups and set them on the rack to drain, she thought how nice it would be to linger for a while longer. Perhaps whip up something in the kitchen and share a meal at Ruth’s table. She dreaded the long drive back to Lansford, where nothing awaited but the empty flat and the grey fog of loneliness that had dogged her for weeks.
Dusk brought shadows into the room and Ruth switched on a lamp. ‘Is that a quetzal?’
‘I’m sorry, what?’
‘The pendant around your neck.’
Usually tucked inside her clothing, Erin wasn’t aware the quetzal had swung free.
‘I was travelling in Mexico last year and saw something similar in a village market,’ Ruth said. ‘They were everywhere, in fact. Carved in wood or silver, painted on ceramic bowls. I wish I’d seen a live one, with their magnificent jewelled plumage. Sacred bird of the Mayans. Symbol of freedom.’ Her eyes crinkled. ‘Though I’m sure you know that. Listen to me peppering you with trivia. An occupational hazard, I’m afraid.’
Erin hastily buttoned her coat, as the bottled-up tears threatened to overwhelm her. In the narrow vestibule by the door, Ruth clasped Erin’s arm and sought her eyes. When Ruth spoke, it was scarcely above a whisper. ‘I’m so glad to see you’re all right.’
Erin stood rooted to the floor.
‘Those two summers you didn’t come into the library,’
Ruth said. ‘I was worried something had happened to you.’
The room tilted, and she grabbed the coat rack for support. Ruth knows who I am? But how…? Erin could barely meet the older woman’s eyes.
‘I was confused by the name at first,’ Ruth said, holding Erin’s hands firmly in her own. ‘Not to mention your English accent. But it struck me you might have made a new life for yourself.’ She looked away, as if to give Erin a chance to recover. ‘When summer rolled around that one year and I didn’t see you, I made a few discreet inquiries.’ Ruth’s eyes were sad, her hands trembled. ‘You were such an anxious child. Terrified of something, that much was clear. I remember once dropping a dictionary on the floor, and you leapt up like a scalded cat. Petrified. Like you were being chased by a pack of wolves. When I found out you’d been sent away, and where, I was devastated.’
Erin’s palms tingled. Would her aunt Olivia have said something? It was a small town. Perhaps the two women were friends.
‘So, what a relief to have you turn up at my door, after all these years,’ Ruth said, wiping her eyes. ‘Right as rain.’
At a loss for words, Erin blushed with shame that she wasn’t straight with Ruth from the beginning.
‘That awful woman…’ She cupped Erin’s face in her hands. ‘I’m so glad to know you’re okay. Better than okay. Good for you, for getting out.’
*
Niels was leaning aga
inst the reception desk, chatting with the duty nurse. ‘There you are,’ he said, as Erin came through the door. ‘I left two messages on your phone. Didn’t you get them? You just missed her.’
‘Missed who?’
‘Cassie Gray. She left ten minutes ago, very upset. But we couldn’t convince her to stay. I think she came here to talk to you.’
Erin stopped short. Cassie had come back to the clinic and she’d missed her. Damn. ‘What happened? Did she say how I can reach her?’
‘She didn’t. But the home number’s in her file.’
But that was no use. Twice Erin had tried calling Cassie at home. Both times the mother had hung up on her. She could pretend to be one of Cassie’s school friends. But Lonnie Tyler was surely too clever for that old ruse.
Regret washed over her. She should have been here. All this chasing around the country for clues about Tim’s past was running her ragged, not to mention stealing time away from her patients. And now this. Cassie had sought her out, looking for help, and where had she been? On a wild goose chase. If that wasn’t a sign it was time to stop, she didn’t know what was.
Except there was one lead she couldn’t ignore. The boy who’d won the science fair prize with Tim. One more foray into Tim’s life before he killed his family, and then she was done.
26
Manhattan, New York
April, Present Day
‘Tim Stern? Sure, I remember him.’ Ray grabbed a pile of laundry off the divan. ‘How could anyone forget?’ He trod barefoot across the floor, picking up newspapers and stacks of mail and dumping them on a table in the corner.
The air in the flat reminded Erin of a Middle Eastern bazaar. Cardamom and cloves and another scent she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Dramatic black-and-white photographs of the city covered the far wall. Across the room, a bank of windows showed a sliver of Riverside Park. She wondered what Ray did for a living that he could afford a place like this.
‘That’s better.’ He swept his fingers through his hair. ‘I’m a terrible slob.’
Erin bit back a smile. The flat might be a mess, but not the man himself. His crisp burgundy shirt was perfectly pressed, his face clean-shaven. And there was something charming about an untidy flat. A sign of someone too caught up with living to worry about the mundane details of housekeeping. As he passed closed to her, she studied his face. If she’d seen him before, no trace of it remained.
As soon as she was settled on the low-slung couch, Ray slipped into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of wine.
‘Care for a glass?’ He showed her the label. ‘Friend of mine’s got a superb vineyard in Mendoza. This one’s an excellent Pinot Noir. He sent me a case, all the way from Argentina, for my birthday last week.’
It was a bit early to start drinking, but perhaps a little wine might take the edge off her nerves. When he handed her a glass, their hands briefly touched.
Sprawling next to her, Ray spread goat’s cheese on a cracker and popped it in his mouth. ‘Olive?’ He passed her a bowl, but she shook her head. This wasn’t a social call. ‘So… Tim Stern, huh? Talk about a bolt from the blue.’ As he looked at her, his eyes, the warm colour of hazelnuts seemed to change with the light. ‘Are you writing a book or something?’ He propped his feet on a brightly coloured floor cushion. ‘True crime is hot right now. I know some people in publishing. If you’d like, I could put you in touch with them.’
‘Not a book, just an article.’ Heat rose to her face. To hide her unease, she stood and carried her glass to the bank of windows. Five storeys below, the street was jammed with yellow cabs, and the pavement teeming with Saturday shoppers. A woman juggling a baby and a sack of groceries flung her arm out and smacked her other child, a tiny toddler, on the cheek. The little girl’s face crumpled and she let out a howl. Erin instinctively touched her own face and winced. Poor kid.
‘I hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression on the phone,’ Ray was saying as she turned away from the window. ‘It’s true that Tim and I were assigned to work on a science project together. But other than that, I barely knew him.’ He swirled the liquid in his glass. ‘We didn’t exactly move in the same circles.’
She returned to the divan, woozy from the wine already. In her rush to catch the train into the city, she’d forgotten to eat lunch.
‘After I graduated high school,’ he said, ‘I couldn’t get away from Belle River fast enough. But I’ve got my old class yearbook around here somewhere, if you want to see Tim’s photo.’ He gestured to the wall of books across the room. ‘Funny what we hang onto.’ Ray jumped up and ran his fingers across the hardbound volumes on the bottom shelf. ‘Nope, not here.’
He disappeared into the back of the flat, where Erin could hear the sound of furniture being dragged across the floor. Out in the street, a siren blared and faded away.
He rejoined her, hefting a blue and white book above his head. ‘I knew I had it.’ Sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back against the divan, he flipped through the pages. ‘There’s your man.’ He tapped a photo with his finger.
She scooted closer until her knee touched his shoulder. Timothy W. Stern, Jnr, Junior class of 1977, Belle River High School.
So, that was Tim. Before committing the bloody crime that sent him to Greenlake.
‘May I?’
As he passed her the yearbook, their hands touched again and she felt a distinctive tingle. She moved her knees away and studied the photo. Tim at seventeen, in a corduroy jacket and knit tie, cinched up tight around his neck. A thick pelt of dark brown hair, not quite long enough to cover his ears, was combed over his forehead and to the side. His eyes were shifted away from the camera’s lens. Under the photo was a brief quote, from some long-ago rock star, about the inevitability of death, and the need to live one’s own life.
Ray joined her on the divan. ‘I haven’t looked at this thing since high school.’ He held it to his nose. ‘Ah, eau de mildew.’ A riffle of pages, followed by a groan. ‘That’s me.’ He pointed to a photo in the top row. ‘Can you believe what a total dork I was?’
As she leaned in to look, her hair fell over her shoulder and she brushed it back. L. Raymond Hopkins. Wavy brown hair, longish sideburns, serious eyes. A wide-collared shirt, topped with a striped knitted vest. He was the only boy on the page not wearing a jacket and tie. No activities were listed under the picture. Just a string of nonsense words and symbols. A code, she imagined, known only to the in-crowd. Though a quick glance confirmed that most students had strings of coded messages under their photos, some with a forest of exclamation marks, or other symbols, impossible to decipher. A few of the girls had included a tiny heart followed by a set of initials. She wondered if one of the girls was history girl. Ray’s entry ended with a George Orwell quote about how you could only break the big rules if you paid heed to the minor ones.
He turned back to Tim’s page and read aloud the Jimi Hendrix quote. ‘Holy crap. That’s eerie. It’s like he knew, or something.’
It would be rude to point out that the sentiment under Ray’s and Tim’s photos was not all that different. Both suggested rebellion, or at least the need to make one’s mark on life. But look how things turned out: Tim was locked up in a high-security psychiatric ward, while Ray lived in a spacious, light-filled flat on the Upper West Side.
L. Raymond Hopkins. ‘What’s the L stand for?’
‘Lewis. My dad’s name.’ He tossed the yearbook on the floor and refilled their glasses.
Erin shifted her legs. ‘What about friends, did Tim hang out with anyone in particular?’
‘Not that I know of.’ His eyes clouded over. ‘Wait. There was this one kid. Frizzy blond hair, coke-bottle glasses, acne. No idea what his name was, but his face might ring a bell.’ He grabbed the book and flipped through the pages.
Out in the street, a jackhammer started up. Sleepy from the wine, Erin wanted nothing more than to stretch out on the divan, with its heap of squashy cushions, and close her eyes.
>
As Ray pored through the photos, a lock of hair flopped in his eyes. ‘Aha.’ He stabbed the page with a finger. ‘Jeremiah Sowka. I’m pretty sure that’s the guy.’
In the photo, the boy’s unruly hair appeared to have been tamed with a thick hair gel. No signs of acne. Someone had done a good job with the airbrush.
‘Did you know Tim’s parents?’ Erin shifted on the couch to put some distance between them.
Ray knocked back the last of his wine. When he offered her more, she shook her head. ‘His parents?’ He jumped up and headed to the kitchen. ‘I might have run into his mother the couple of times I was at the house. But the dad?’ He appeared in the doorway with a bottle of Perrier and shook his head. ‘Never met him.’
In need of air, she moved to the open window. The angle of light filtering through the plane trees and the familiar urban symphony reminded her of London. How she missed it. The bustle in the streets. Red double-deckers glistening in the rain. The bluebell wood near the Thornbury Clinic where she used to wander during her lunch break.
Little more than an hour in Ray’s company was enough to expose the hard kernel of loneliness lodged in her chest. Since returning to America, he was the first person she’d met who made her feel perfectly at ease. The moment she crossed into his light-filled flat and heard the warm timbre of his voice, something inside her had shifted. She longed to suggest they continue their conversation at some lively bistro in the neighbourhood. But it was time to shake off her musings and catch the train back to Lansford. She touched the cool glass with her fingers.