Someone Knows

by Lisa Scottoline

  “By deception?” Allie shuddered. “What if one of the others loaded the gun and tricked Kyle? Are they guilty then?”

  “You mean if one of the others was a ‘bad actor,’ as the law says?”

  “Yes.” Allie didn’t know the term, but she got the gist.

  “Would he deny it?”

  “Yes. They both already did, to me.”

  “Then the answer is no. The relevant inquiry is whether any bad actor would be charged with anything at this point, and the answer depends on what the district attorney can prove beyond a reasonable doubt. The district attorney would not charge the bad actor because he couldn’t begin to prove that the bad actor loaded the gun.”

  “So the district attorney doesn’t charge what he can’t prove?”

  “Precisely.” Barton smiled. “You’re a quick study.”

  “Thanks.” Allie’s mind raced, now that she was getting solid answers to questions she’d had for so long. “Is that because we waited twenty years? Or would that still have been true, back then?” She tried to clarify her thoughts. “I mean, if I had come forward back then, and the bad actor had known the gun was loaded, would he have been charged with a crime?”

  “No, he would not have, even back then, because he was a juvenile. A juvenile would not have been certified as an adult, under these facts.” Barton paused. “An adult who played a conventional game of Russian Roulette, that is, with a gun that the players knew was loaded, would probably be charged with reckless endangerment of another person, or REAP, under Section 2705. Even so, REAP is only a misdemeanor of the second degree. The penalty would be a fine, and he’d probably be sentenced to six months in jail.”

  “What if the police found out what we did, now that we’re adults?” Allie wanted to ask every possible question. “What if I went to the police now, suspecting that a bad actor had loaded the gun? What would the police do?”

  “Assuming hypothetically that you could prove the bad actor loaded the gun or knew it was loaded?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nothing.” Barton shook his head slowly, puckering his lower lip. “The authorities would do nothing. The district attorney cannot go back twenty years and certify the bad actor as an adult because the statute of limitations on reckless endangerment has run. It’s only two years for misdemeanors.” Barton leaned forward, linking his fingers. “By the way, you would not be found liable in civil court, either. The linchpin of any wrongful death suit is whether you knew the gun was loaded, which you didn’t. This, even leaving aside the fact that you were under the influence. You are simply beyond the reach of the law, and so are your friends. Period.”

  “So it’s over?”

  “Yes.” Barton pushed up his glasses.

  Allie fell silent a moment. “I know I’m supposed to be happy about that, but really, I’m not. It was wrong what we did, morally wrong, and I feel horrible about it. I feel guilty.”

  “I understand. I’m Jewish. We specialize.” Barton smiled, then it faded. “Allie, teenagers make mistakes. You did, and so did the others. So did the young man who died. Kyle. He played the game of his own volition. His judgment might have been impaired, but he put the gun to his own head. He might not have believed it was loaded, but it was. His mistake of fact cost him his life. That is a tragedy, but it is not a crime, or a civil wrong.”

  “It is a tragedy.” Allie nearly shook with profound sadness. “So what do I do? I’m still hiding the truth. I’m still keeping the secret. It still feels wrong. It feels unjust.”

  “My dear, that is the problem.” Barton lifted a graying eyebrow. “This matter is beyond the reach of the law. Interestingly, if we don’t have a law that was broken, we don’t have a clear path to justice. Conversely, because you don’t have a crime, you don’t have a punishment.”

  Allie blinked.

  “Let me explain,” Barton said, evidently reading her expression. “This isn’t a typical case, in which you go to the police, give them information, and they arrest the bad guy. A young man is dead, but there is no punishment under the law. That’s the good news for you and the bad news.”

  Allie nodded. It was a lot to digest, but she followed him.

  “Punishment serves many purposes. Punishment expiates guilt, identifies a wrongdoer, and protects us all. It channels and confines vengeance. There is a minimum and maximum to every prison term, and after that sentence is served, we call that ‘justice.’ Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “But what result, in the absence of a legal wrong? What result, in the absence of punishment? What is justice then?”

  “Right.” Allie felt as if she and Barton were reasoning together, aloud.

  “You find yourself in a morass. The law can’t tie it up in a bow for you, and neither can morality. Your friends are content to let it lie. You are not.”

  “Yes.” Allie felt it strike a chord. “I want to know the truth.”

  “But the truth may not be knowable, after so long. You may have to find a way to make peace with that. I suggest that you are missing the relevant point.” Barton raised a finger. “I think that because you were not given a punishment, you have been punishing yourself. Is that a fair statement?”

  “Yes.” Allie knew it was true.

  “But if you had gone to the authorities twenty years ago, you would not have been punished for twenty years.” Barton’s hooded eyes flared with new intensity. “You wouldn’t have gone to jail for even a day. You wouldn’t have been found civilly liable for even a penny. Yet you’ve given yourself a life sentence. Your friend who committed suicide gave himself a death sentence. Is that justice? No.”

  Allie hadn’t thought of it that way.

  “The law is about apportioning responsibility with precision. The criminal law calibrates it by degrees. Simply put, the punishment you gave yourself does not fit the crime. It is far too excessive. That is not justice. Justice demands proportionality.”

  All of the hours Allie’s mind had been filled with this, she had never before thought of it that way.

  “Justice also demands that you consider your role in context and in relationship to the others, not in isolation. You are the least culpable of all, Allie. You did not load the gun. You did not supply the bullet. You did not supply the gun. You did not hand the decedent the gun. It was not your idea to play Russian Roulette or a prank. You didn’t encourage the others to play. On the contrary, you discouraged them from so doing. You wanted to call 911 afterward, even though it was futile, but they told you to run. Is that fair to say?”

  “Yes,” Allie answered, feeling somewhat better. “But what do I do, going forward? I can’t just shake it off.”

  “You have a guilty conscience and a good heart. Ironically, they are conspiring against you.”

  Allie hadn’t thought of herself as a good person in so long. His words felt like a salve.

  “It is not a legal problem, but a moral one. Where does moral guidance come from? For myself, I look to my religion. Are you religious?”

  “No, not really.” Allie didn’t add that ever since Jill died, she lacked faith.

  “I normally don’t discuss my religion with clients, but allow me an analogy.” Barton paused, pursing his lips. “This set of facts is akin to an accidental killing, in that you took part in something in which someone was accidentally killed. So the question becomes, how can you shoulder this responsibility, this burden you feel, for this accidental killing? In fact, accidental killing is as old as biblical times. The example given is someone chops down a tree with an axe, but fatally injures another by accident. God recognized that such a person, if they were righteous, would feel lifelong guilt. That person would feel that they deserve to be rejected by other people.”

  Allie felt that way exactly.

  “However, God didn’t want them to feel rejected. He loved them still. So He commanded Moses to establish Cities of Refuge, where people who had accidentally killed others could live. He wished them to take refuge am
ong those who had the same feelings and who bore them not as a secret, but shared them as a community. God’s intent was that these people would heal each other over time, through loving-kindness.” Barton’s expression softened, falling into deep lines. “There is a lesson there. You can find happiness in your future, but not alone. Not in isolation, as you have been.”

  Allie found her heart lifting with hope. Tears came to her eyes. If she’d had a defining moment twenty years ago in the woods, she was having another one now.

  Barton motioned to her hand. “I see that you’re married, so you have someone who loves you.”

  “Oh, no, not anymore.” Allie felt a wrench in her chest at the irony. “My husband wants a divorce. My marriage is over because of this. I never told him what I told you today.”

  Barton paused. “Perhaps you can reconcile your differences now. Reconsider telling him. Let what I told you about the City of Refuge help you decide.”

  Allie felt her heart beating harder. “One last question. Should I tell Kyle’s mother? She’s still in the area. If I tell her, do you think I’m helping her? Or will it reopen an old wound? Do you think she’ll call the police? Then what do I do?”

  “If she calls the police, call me. As I say, there’s no legal action that can be taken against you at this point, criminally or civilly. Now, as for your threshold question, of whether to tell her.” Barton met Allie’s eye directly. “I’ll answer that question with another question.”

  “What is it?”

  “If you were Kyle’s mother, would you want to know?”

  CHAPTER 60

  Barb Gallagher

  The grocery store wasn’t busy, and Barb pushed her shopping cart along, stopping at the lettuce and trying to choose between romaine, Bibb, mâche, mesclun, and good old-fashioned iceberg, wrapped in plastic and shipped from God-knows-where. Every time she saw a head of iceberg, she thought of Kyle because it was his favorite. She used to try to talk him out of it, thinking it wasn’t dark enough and had less nutrition.

  It tastes like water, he would say. It’s a drink and a vegetable, combined.

  Barb picked up a head of iceberg, remembering her visit to the cemetery that morning. She still hadn’t decided whether it made her feel better or worse to go, but she couldn’t not go. She was all Kyle had, and she would always be there for him, even now. She felt as if she were keeping in touch with him, filling him in on the things that would’ve interested him, like LeBron James. Kyle had been a fan of LeBron from his prep school days and predicted he would be an NBA superstar.

  Barb smiled at the memory now, cruising past the red, green, and yellow peppers. Since Kyle was gone, it fell to her to follow LeBron’s career, which she did avidly. She was certain she owned more LeBron James jerseys than any other middle-aged woman on the planet, all of them bought in Kyle’s memory. When LeBron joined the Cavaliers in 2003, she’d gotten a team picture, taken it to the cemetery, and shown it to Kyle. She’d bought her second and third LeBron jerseys in 2009 and 2010, when LeBron won back-to-back MVP awards. When LeBron left the Cavs in 2010, she told Kyle the bad news, even though she knew he would be downhearted. Keeping Kyle abreast of LeBron James was practically a full-time job.

  Barb eyed the zucchini, wondering if she had the energy to bother grilling some. She kept going. She remembered one of her happy days visiting Kyle at the cemetery, which was when LeBron had come back to the Cavs in 2014. She could barely wait to get to the cemetery to celebrate. She’d showed Kyle the newspaper as if he’d been sitting across the kitchen table. She wasn’t the only one who talked to the dead. Once she saw an elderly woman singing “The Best Is Yet to Come” at the cemetery. Barb was the last person to judge.

  She walked along the aisles of the grocery store, but her thoughts were back in the cemetery that day. She’d been about to leave a LeBron jersey on Kyle’s grave when a groundskeeper told her that Gardens of Peace didn’t permit toys, trinkets, or keepsakes on the graves. The management wanted to preserve the natural beauty of the cemetery, so only real flowers were allowed, except in winter when grave blankets or artificial flowers were permissible. But they had to be silk, not plastic, and potted plants were allowed only before Easter.

  Gardens of Peace? More like Gardens of Rules, Barb had told him, but he’d given her a dirty look.

  Barb cruised the carrots, but didn’t bother with those, either. When she had Kyle on her mind, she felt as if she had him with her, and sometimes she could feel his presence. She smiled to herself because if Kyle were here, she would’ve been buying everything, not in produce, but in snacks. He’d hound her, and she always gave in. Back then, her food bill was ten times bigger.

  A fine mist of chilled water sprayed from the sprinklers over the display case, and Barb startled. So did a woman about her age, coming toward her in the opposite direction, with a baby in the front cart. The baby giggled, and when they all got sprayed again, Barb couldn’t help but smile. “Guess we got our shower for the day!” she said to the woman, who joined her, laughing.

  “We sure did!” The woman was tan with feathery gray hair, silver earrings, and a trim figure in a tank top and yoga pants. She leaned forward, beaming at the baby. “What do you think about that, Josh!”

  The baby giggled again, and when Barb came alongside them, she could see that it was an adorable little boy with dark curls, big brown eyes, and a perfect smile.

  The woman said to Barb, “I think he liked it! Isn’t he the cutest thing?”

  “He sure is,” Barb answered, meaning it. The baby’s eyes were so bright they danced, and he looked directly at her and smiled. Barb smiled back. “Hi, honey!”

  “He likes you!” the woman exclaimed, delighted.

  “Aw, you’re an angel,” Barb said to the baby, whose eyes widened. He pumped his pudgy fists in excitement.

  “Isn’t he something! My first grandchild, and I cannot tell you how wonderful it is! I could just eat him up! I have him two days a week and I love it! Do you have any grandchildren?”

  “No,” Barb answered, and her heart sank. This was the first time anyone asked her if she had any grandchildren. It snapped something inside. She’d always wondered what Kyle’s children would have looked like. He’d been so handsome. She’d wondered if they’d have been as athletic, as smart, as kind, or if they’d have been shy like him. Now women her age were becoming grandmothers, a joy she’d never know.

  And she’d just finished two decades of the question Do you have any children? She could never deny that Kyle had lived, so she always answered, I had a son, but he passed away. People would redden, go silent, or say with sympathy, Oh, I’m sorry; how did your child die? Barb would have to say the word she dreaded, Suicide. Which just about killed her, every time. Because people expected to hear cancer, a car accident, even drugs. Anything but suicide. For anything but that, they’d have sympathy. She worried they judged her, or worse, they judged Kyle.

  “You’d better tell those kids of yours to get busy! You can’t wait forever! Being Grandma is the best.” The woman’s eyes lit up, a happy blue. “You know the way you love your child? Well, you love a grandchild even more!”

  “I’m sure that’s right.” Barb plastered on a smile. God knows she’d seen enough bumper stickers. I MY GRANDCHILD. WORLD’S BEST GRANDMA. I’M SPENDING MY GRANDCHILDREN’S INHERITANCE. I LOVE MY GRANDDOG.

  Barb lost focus a moment, wondering if grief went on and on, and if she would ever get over this heartache. She not only would never have a grandchild, she’d never have a granddog. Sharon always wanted her to get another dog, but Barb couldn’t. She had no love left to give. She was an empty vessel.

  “You know why grandchildren are so great? I’ll tell you why, but it’s not a popular view. People say it’s because you can send them home at the end of the day, but that’s not how I feel at all.” The woman bubbled over with enthusiasm. “It’s because you can give all the love you have, with none of the worry about spoiling them. You’re supposed to spoil
them! You know what I mean?”

  “Yes, but I should go, take care.” Barb tried to keep smiling, but she couldn’t. She turned around, abandoned the cart, and left the market.

  CHAPTER 61

  Allie Garvey

  Allie sat in her car outside Barton’s office. The events of the day were catching up with her, washing her with fatigue. It was all too much, processing David’s funeral, her conversation with Sasha and Julian, and now with the lawyer. She couldn’t decide what to do about Kyle’s mother, and it hardly seemed possible that it was only this morning that Larry had said he wanted a divorce. Somehow that was the least significant event of the day, which told Allie something. She’d kept her husband at a distance and now she’d lost him.

  She looked through the windshield of the car, watching the traffic on Lancaster Avenue. Everybody was racing home from work, and it struck her that the last place she wanted to go back to was Philly and the house she used to share with Larry. She’d taken him for granted and trashed her marriage, and she didn’t need to see an empty house to remind her. And she realized she’d never really thought of the place as home, no matter how much furniture she’d stuffed it with—just as she never truly came to see the marriage as hers.

  Allie was only fifteen minutes from Brandywine Hunt, but ever since the night Kyle died, she’d never felt the same about the place. It was no longer home. She felt so dislocated from it altogether, and from herself. She wondered if you could have a self if you didn’t have a home. Growing up, she’d felt like the development was her neighborhood, but after Kyle’s death it became the location of the worst thing she had ever done in her life, a crime scene. Although in truth her sense of dislocation had probably begun after Jill’s death, Kyle’s death had severed her location utterly. Since her mother died, her father lived there alone, a shell of a man in a shell of a house.