“The police think she was hit in the head, but it took a while to find the body. She’d been buried, and whoever did it didn’t wait until she was dead. They think she broke her fingers trying to get out, but it’s hard to say. Like I said, it took ’em a while.”
Though I’d read as much in the newspaper article, it still took a couple of tries to get my next words out. “You said whoever did it. Does that mean you don’t think it was Carver who killed her?”
Ernie twisted his hands and looked away. “It could’ve gone down that way.”
“But you don’t think it did.”
“I don’t know, man. I really don’t.” When Ernie returned his attention to me, his eyes blazed. “It could’ve been an accident, and he tried to cover it up, or he could’ve killed her. I think maybe he did kill her. But whatever happened, Dee was angry, she’d just lost her daughter, and either way, Carver was gonna pay.”
Ernie grimaced, then sighed, as if the decision he had just made came at a cost. “My head really hurts, man. You think you can look at it now?”
I pulled a pair of latex gloves from the kit. “Why did Carver want to talk about Dee?”
“Is there aspirin or something in that kit?”
I paused to retrieve a foil pack of ibuprofen. He swallowed both capsules before answering. “He knew Dee and I used to be tight, and he thought she might be behind some recent shit he was going through.”
“What kind of ‘shit’?”
“He was having some problems with his wife. That’s all he’d say.”
I scooted forward and started removing the strips of medical tape that held the gauze in place. “Why would he think Dee had anything to do with that?”
“She set police on him about Natalie, so why wouldn’t she mess with him again? That was his thinking anyway.”
The tape removed, I began to gently peel the gauze away from the wound. “It would seem a long time for her to carry a grudge, especially since Carver already spent years in prison for something he might not have done.”
“You didn’t know Dee.” He used his fist to wipe sweat from his cheek. “Like when Natalie was alive, Dee wanted her to be perfect. Entered her in pageants, like when she was three years old. Almost a baby. Spray tan, false eyelashes, all that shit. Even when she wasn’t competing, Dee tracked her daughter’s diet on a chart on the refrigerator. Once, when Natalie gained a couple of pounds, Dee had her eat nothing but celery for a week, and when she snuck some crackers, Dee locked her in this box.” He paused. “Makes me think of how Natalie died. If Carver didn’t kill her, then Dee did.”
Ernie jittered, tapping his foot. I suspected he offered the story to distract me from what he wasn’t telling me. Finally, he said, “Do you know about her other daughter?”
My hand froze. “Other daughter?”
“Megan. Carver was asking about her too.”
“I wasn’t aware Dee had another daughter.”
“Most people weren’t.” Ernie drummed his foot against the floor. “Look, I’m always getting judged for my past. But I love kids.” Bile rose in my throat, and it was a struggle to keep the repulsion from my face. “Dee, though—she enjoyed hurting Natalie and Megan. I told you about the box, right? Sometimes, she would leave Natalie in the box for days.”
“Sounds like a good friend you had there.”
Ernie’s shoulders tensed, and for the first time since we had entered the room together, he seemed to forget his pain. I sat very still, a couch coil digging into my thigh, the smell of processed meat mixing with the rusty tang of the bloodied paper towels.
“We weren’t friends.”
I worked to keep my expression neutral. I knew how easily cornered animals could snap. I returned my attention to his injury, my hand shaking only a little.
“What happened to Megan?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Dee kill her too?”
“I told you I don’t know.”
Ernie’s tapping foot and darting eyes told me he was lying, but I let it go. For now, he needed to believe I was on his side. “How did you and Dee meet?”
“When Carver and me were cellmates, she hired me to keep an eye on him.”
I pulled the last of the bandage from his forehead and tried to mask my shock. The wound seeped, the drainage thick and yellow. The skin around it was hot. I could help, but he definitely needed antibiotics I didn’t have.
Yet it wasn’t the infection that stopped me. I had expected an open gash, but this was a carving. This wound had purpose. Four letters: PERV.
“You didn’t think to put antibiotic ointment on this?”
“It wasn’t so bad before.”
I dabbed the wound with an alcohol swab, then opened a packet of antibiotic ointment and applied it to his forehead. He looked like he might pass out, a greasy sheen coating his face.
“Were you in touch with Dee in the months before she died?”
“Not really. Can I have more of those pills?”
I handed over another packet of ibuprofen. This time, I held onto them for a second before releasing them. “You’re lying.”
“No,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction. He didn’t mind sharing other people’s secrets, but he wasn’t so eager to share his own. “I mean, I didn’t talk to her that much—a lot of these stories I got secondhand—but every once in a while, she needed help with something . . . not illegal, really. But it’s hard for a convicted felon to get a job, you know?”
“What kind of jobs did you do for Dee?”
His face darkened. “Just stuff.”
I took a square of gauze and secured it to his forehead with medical tape. I might have pressed harder than was entirely necessary. He winced. “I’ve got some pain pills,” I lied. “Veterinary grade, but they’ll work just fine. If I’m feeling generous.”
“What does it matter?”
“I might have some antibiotics in the car too.”
“That’s cold, man. Aren’t you, like, legally required to give them to me?”
The tremor in his voice told me he wanted those pills, badly, but he wanted to keep his secrets more.
“I’m happy to help you if you answer my questions.”
“I’ve answered them.”
I pushed, “What kind of jobs did you do for Dee?”
Ernie crossed his arms across his chest, and his lips tightened.
I only had one move left, and it was risky. I leaned in and tried my best to appear one kick away from disabling him. It wasn’t as hard as it should’ve been. “How old’s the kid?”
“What?”
“The boy I saw in the window, putting on his backpack.”
Ernie stilled and said nothing.
“He looks to be about eight or nine. Who is he, Ernie?”
He hesitated, suspicious. “My girlfriend’s son.”
San Francisco rents what they were, I knew a guy like Ernie couldn’t afford that Victorian row house on his own. “This is her place, isn’t it? The three of you living together?”
When Ernie spoke, his tone was defensive. “Yeah, so?”
“You’re a convicted pedophile, Ernie. You’re living with a child. Does your girlfriend know?”
He squirmed. “She wouldn’t care.”
I very much doubted that. “What about Family and Children’s Services—would they care?” I held his gaze even as he tried to break it. “How about your parole officer? Two times in prison already, can you really risk a third strike?”
His face wavered between anger and fear. “What do you want?” The tremor had returned. I had him.
“Answer my questions, honestly, and I won’t tell your girlfriend about your conviction, or the authorities about your living arrangements.” It was a lie, because I had been planning to report both since the moment I saw that boy in the window.
Ernie sighed and glared at me. “Dee hired me last year.”
“To do what?”
Ernie shifted on the couch, hi
s fingertips massaging one temple, his face settling into a scowl. “You got those pain pills? It really hurts, man.”
I knew I would have to pay for any additional information. I foraged through my purse and pulled out most of the cash I had left, which wasn’t much after the diner and paying off Hannah.
Ernie shook his head. “Pills.” He leaned forward, eyeing my purse. If he made a play for it, could I stop him? Of course, there was also the question of what he would do when he discovered I had nothing stronger than a breath mint.
I opened my purse, my attention falling on the pepper spray Daryl had insisted I take. One capsaicin-laced stream would sear his eyes, maybe splash onto the gauze covering his wound. That would sting. Then I noticed the lump in the zippered pocket.
I pulled out the bottle containing Audrey’s medication and shook out two pills.
“These’re strong, so it’s better if you only take one now.” They were strong, but the pills Audrey took so her body didn’t reject her liver would do nothing for Ernie’s pain.
He studied the pills, his brow wrinkling. “What are these?”
“They’re like oxy for dogs,” I lied.
“What about the antibiotics?”
“I’ll get those from the car when we’re done.”
Ernie swallowed both pills. I had only a few minutes before he guessed they were fakes and before he realized I had no antibiotics in my car.
I pushed, “What did Dee hire you to do?”
“Can I have another pill, for later?”
I retrieved another tablet but kept it clasped in my hand.
“Dee wanted me to find someone.”
I stretched out my hand and unclasped it, an offering. “Who?” He snatched the pill from my palm. He swallowed the pill immediately, as I had known he would. Soon, he would start wondering why he remained clearheaded. Well, as clearheaded as someone like Ernie could be.
There was something in the way Ernie looked at me now that reminded me of the recognition I had seen on his face when I met him. Fear constricted my chest, crushing it like a cheap paper cup. “You know who I am.”
“I just met you, man.”
“Yet you haven’t asked my name.”
“Why would I? Some hot chick wants to see my place, I let her in.”
It didn’t make sense, but still I asked, “Did Dee hire you to find me?”
Despite the pain that cast his face in shiny pallor, his gaze grew wolfish. “Cassie Larkin, Terra Linda Drive. Husband Sam. Two kids. I gave Dee that information just before she died.”
Breathless, I stood, but Ernie grabbed my arm. His breathing grew labored, his eyes glazed. “What about those antibiotics?”
I yanked my arm free, backed up out of his reach, and then, just in case, reached into my purse and palmed the pepper spray. Then I gestured toward his forehead. “You should probably seek medical attention. From someone other than an animal doctor.”
His gaze dropped to the floor, and he reached for his baseball cap. He pulled it so the brim again shielded his forehead.
“Another piece of advice: you should move, especially since Carver knows where you live.” I paused to let that settle. “If Carver comes around again, it could put your girlfriend and her son in danger. And I know the last thing you’d want is to have a child hurt because of something you did.”
I left Ernie slumped on the couch, even the feverish spots on his cheeks turning ashen. I made it as far as the porch before the screaming started.
I immediately recognized the screaming for what it was: an expression of intense pain, beyond what might be caused by an infected cut. Inside, I found Ernie curled up on the floor, legs twitching as he held his stomach with both hands.
He moaned. “I’m gonna be sick.” I rolled him onto his left side, and he just missed vomiting on my shoes.
I looked around the living area but saw no landline, and I didn’t want to compromise my own cell phone.
“Do you have a phone?”
Ernie was past speaking, but he managed to jerk a shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. I found his phone on the counter next to the microwave. It was protected by a password, so I used the emergency option on the lock screen to call 911. I didn’t give my name, only the information that a man had been poisoned and that I would leave the bottle containing the suspected toxin on the coffee table.
When I hung up, I checked Ernie’s pulse. It was weak, but his breathing was steady. I left the phone within his reach.
“I’ve got to go, but the paramedics are on their way,” I told him, before checking his pulse one final time.
I couldn’t stay, not with PERV carved on his forehead and my daughter’s name on the bottle that contained the poison. Because I had no doubt Ernie’s sudden distress was caused by the pills I had given him. Pills I could just as easily have given my daughter, who weighed just under fifty pounds compared to Ernie’s two hundred-plus. Though I didn’t know who, I knew someone had poisoned my daughter’s medication—just as, according to the newspaper article, Carver might have poisoned his wife.
There were no words to describe the depths of my rage.
I put the bottle on the table, my hand shaking, and peeled off the label as best I could. Just so there wasn’t any misunderstanding, I used a pen and paper from my purse to write the word POISON in all caps, drawing an arrow, too, and tucked the edge of the note underneath the bottle.
Then I stepped over the seizing pedophile and ran all the way back to where Daryl’s Honda was parked several blocks away.
37
The sky had been scoured of fog by the time I crossed the Golden Gate, and the sun made its red towers glow. To the right, the city’s dense skyline scratched the horizon. To the left, sailboats skimmed the Pacific Ocean, gentle waves lapping at their hulls.
Despite the view, I felt none of the usual amazement. Instead, I felt fear that Sam would never be found. Fear that I had made a disastrous decision leaving my kids at Daryl’s. Fear that I would be killed, and my kids would lose a second parent, and they might never even realize I was lost.
But that outcome was far better than my greatest fear—that something would happen to Audrey and Leo. That particular fear had been magnified a million times over upon seeing Ernie writhing on his living room floor.
I had called Red on my run back to the car. Between breaths, I had told him about the poisoned pills and had warned him not to let the kids eat anything or drink so much as a glass of water.
Everything was fine, he had assured me. The kids were fine. Daryl was fine. Heck, even Lester was fine. His repeated use of that word had done little to calm me.
I was right to be afraid. That became clear half an hour later when Leo called. Daryl’s Honda had Bluetooth, but my phone wasn’t connected to it. I answered anyway, punching the icon to put my son on speaker.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
Leo was supposed to say what my father had repeated thirty minutes earlier: Everything’s fine.
Instead, he answered, “I don’t think so.”
And just like that, I turned to ice. I worried that Audrey had taken one of her poisoned pills.
“Explain.”
“You know Audrey’s been missing Dad.” He aimed for nonchalance, as if he had matured past any such longing himself. I ached with the urge to hug my son.
“Is she okay?”
“Mom, chill. She’s okay. It’s just, I thought you’d want to know that she might’ve done something stupid.”
“What did she do?”
“I don’t know if it’s even a big deal or not.”
I turned on the heater. “What did Audrey do?”
“She tried to call Dad. On Daryl’s phone.” Leo’s voice was tinny, a reminder of the distance between us.
“Put Red on the phone.”
“I will. It’s just . . . that’s not all. A guy answered. It wasn’t Dad, obviously, but he told Audrey he knew Dad and that Dad was trying to get a hold of you but c
ouldn’t because he didn’t have your new phone number.”
My phone felt suddenly hot in my hand. “Did she give it to him?”
“She’s six.”
That was Leo’s way of saying of course she had.
“Get your grandfather.”
When Red came on the line, I rushed through an instruction. “Check with Daryl. I think he has a truck he sometimes uses for—work.”
After I heard Red asking, and Daryl confirming, I added, “Get in the truck and head south.” I strained to think of a landmark between Daryl’s house in Sebastopol and the stretch of Highway 101 I was currently traveling. “We’ll meet at the dog park where Lester got attacked by bees. Daryl will know.”
Thankfully, I didn’t need to stress the urgency of the situation to my father or offer an explanation. He would likely ask for one later, but at that moment, he mumbled a quick “Okay” and disconnected.
So . . . the asshole who had Sam’s phone also now had my number. I considered tossing my phone from the car but quickly dismissed the idea. For now, I needed it, and besides, I was a moving target. A very angry moving target.
I pulled off the highway in Rohnert Park. Then I called Detective Rico.
“You missed our meeting.”
I had remained steady when talking to my kids and father, but at the sound of Detective Rico’s voice, I nearly lost it. Stupid, I know.
“How much have you heard?” I asked, my voice cracking.
“Pretend I don’t know any of it.”
I started with something he did know. “Perla’s dead.” My damn voice broke again. I swallowed and took a breath. “That’s why you had to get off the phone this morning.”
“Yes.”
It was only one word, but I took comfort in his honesty. Lately, everything had been deceit, even the afternoon sun that reached through the windshield with frigid fingers.
“I didn’t kill her and neither did my son.”
I could feel Rico weighing my guilt. Was he stroking his tie as was his habit, and if so, what was on it? For some reason, I pictured cats wearing sunglasses.
I steadied myself and took a chance. “There was a gun in my car. At the hotel. I threw it in the dumpster.”
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