He took a deep breath and blew it out. “All right. Here goes. The basics, though. I don’t want to trigger myself talking about the details.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, set off a panic attack or some other bad reaction.”
“Okay. I’m here. I’m listening.” She reached for his hand.
“This could be upsetting for you. But maybe you know about it and I was the only one who didn’t know. I mean, I knew . . . but I forgot.”
“I am so confused now.”
“Tim and Connor and I were all molested by Father Kroll. Did you know about it?”
She exhaled. “I did.”
“Stacey didn’t know until I told her. It upset her and she didn’t want to talk about it or see me after I let her know. I couldn’t figure out why. You never told her about Tim?”
“No. It was a long time ago when Tim told me. He talked to me about everything. My parents were furious and forbade me to ever say anything to anyone. Stacey didn’t bring it up and honestly, it wasn’t something I wanted to think about after he died. There are so many good memories of him I wanted to focus on. It made me sad to think of him going through something so weird and sick.”
Max nodded. “I get it.”
“Is that what you wanted to tell me?”
“Part of it.”
“What else?”
The next thing he said would move them into dangerous territory. In the background, Sam Smith still sang his heart out, and Max felt his own heart lit on fire by his voice and songs. The music rolled out a ribbon of possibility.
The joint had gone out. “So today something new came up.” He reached for his lighter but his hands were trembling so much he couldn’t do it.
“Give it to me,” she said.
He handed it over, and she lit up what was left of the joint.
“Tell me, Max. It can’t be so bad.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I don’t know anything until you tell me. Please tell me.”
“I had a dream about Connor and Father Bellamy hooking up. Not like when it was the three of us kids and we hated it but felt trapped in it. This was different. Connor was full-on into it.”
The CD finished and the room went quiet except for the incessant, lonely sound of the rain.
“That’s crazy.” Kelly shook her head. “It was just a dream, though? Maybe your subconscious is mixing things up.”
“That’s what I figured you’d say. Maybe you’re right. It would be good if you were right. But here’s the thing, Kelly. It was a dream, but it feels like it really happened.”
CHAPTER 41
Max held the weights and watched his deltoid muscles twitch as he grimaced in the mirror. It was more than he’d ever pumped before, and he felt the pain shoot through his body like hot metal. He wanted it, needed the pain—now and days after, when the lactic acid grilled his overused tissues. As an experienced body builder, he knew his limits. A few more minutes and he could do real damage.
Enough. He didn’t want to land himself in a hospital.
At 4:00 a.m. he was alone in the gym, and he liked it that way. In the high-ceilinged room, every sound registered loud and sharp in the empty space. The barbell rolled from his hands into the metal holder, clean and distinct, an ice cube in a glass. No other sound could rouse him from inertia. In the old days, the sound of ice in a glass had started him looking for a drink.
It used to be his default remedy: down the booze, lose the pain. Tequila magic. But five years ago, on an ordinary day, for no reason he could explain, he’d decided he was done with weakness. He’d quit drinking.
Then, a month ago, for a reason he didn’t understand, he’d started back up again. That’s the reason Stacey hadn’t wanted to see him. Even his mother didn’t know the truth.
Weakness caused all his problems. He would squash his weakness, his reliance on drinking to deal with his pain. There were other ways. He knew now.
It started when he had to rebuild his body. Those hours of workouts, getting his body back in shape. In the process, he’d made himself strong—able to defend himself, capable of tearing someone apart. Let someone try something. See what happens. He clenched his fists and could feel the flesh and bone of a face shattering on impact.
He’d be ready when the time came. Pride rose up like a big bass jumping from a lake. It was a new feeling. Before therapy, he could only feel pain. The talking had diluted the toxic poison from his mind and body, emptied him out and left a space for other feelings. The human part of him had moved in and he’d found small moments of pleasure and joy. At first these feelings had crushed him with their beauty; more than once, he’d broken down crying from the joy of being alive.
He told Dr. Hunt a lot. He never told her what he wanted to do, what his body ached for, the release he would feel if he let himself do this one thing. He walked a thin line. He spilled his guts but held back his plan to make things right.
She’d explained to him early in his treatment that he could tell her anything, express any feeling; no matter how bad, she would hear it and help him work through it. But if he told her about a plan to do serious harm to a specific person, she would have to break the confidentiality.
When she explained that, therapy stopped being a safe place to talk. In cases where a patient intended to murder someone, her professional ethics required her to alert the police and also the individual intended victim. So he kept his mouth shut and rode a thin line.
Six months into treatment, the flashbacks ended. He could remember what had happened to him, feel the appropriate and necessary anger and sadness, without being debilitated or flattened.
He’d been more honest with her than he had with anyone else in his life.
In the shower after his workout, he ran the water scalding hot, punishing his body. He turned it off and stepped out of the stall. The room was opaque, filled with steam, like he’d stepped into heaven and was blinded and protected from the ugly, earthy image before him.
He wasn’t the only one who deserved to be punished.
Time to settle the score; it wasn’t over yet. At least he was strong enough now; he could count on himself now. He would figure out what needed to be done next, and do it.
CHAPTER 42
Though I felt like a stalker, I logged on to my computer to do some research on Max’s climbing accident. In my capacity as a consultant to the Sheriff’s Department, I had access to a law enforcement database I didn’t have as a private psychologist.
Without too much trouble, I retrieved the Green River Star article about the accident. The reporter gave a standard, who, what, when, and where version of the incident.
It was the most common type of climbing accident. The ropes and knots were not properly adjusted. But that wasn’t the only thing I learned from the article.
I heard the door to my outer office open and close. I wasn’t expecting anyone. There was a knock; I opened my office door.
Antelope stood there with two cups of Starbucks espresso. “Do you have time for a coffee break, Doc?”
“Your timing is perfect.” I smiled. “I’m about to take a break.”
“What are you working on?”
“Did you know Bellamy supervised the Flaming Gorge rock climbing trip?”
He shook his head. “It hasn’t come up.”
“I wanted to know more about the accident, so I googled it. The article in the Green River Star mentioned him as one of the members of the climbing party.”
“I’m surprised no one mentioned it.”
I shrugged. “They might have assumed you knew. It was big news. What brings you here today?”
“I’ve been doing some research myself and have a few questions for the prosecutor. I’m headed to Green River now. I’d like you to come along, if you’ve got the time. I have the feeling he’ll be a little more receptive with you along. He’s getting pretty tired of me and my questions.”
“What are we talki
ng to Connor about today?” I asked, already retrieving my bag from behind my desk.
“The tracking app didn’t record any trips to the Spring Grove Motel in Salt Lake City. But there are two things I want to ask him about. June 6 through 8 he was in Evanston, possibly a different rendezvous venue. And he lied when he said he went straight home from Johnny Mac’s on Friday night. The records show he stopped at the church before going home.”
“He was upset and wanted to speak to his priest?”
“Possible. It’s curious, though, why he wouldn’t mention it if that’s the case.”
“Let’s ask him.”
“I’m thinking a surprise visit. Let’s go.”
Connor was in his office in Green River. Antelope stopped the department secretary when she picked up the phone to announce that we were there. We walked down the hallway and found Connor at his desk, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up, and tie loosened. He was lost in thought, staring out the window, and didn’t turn when we stopped in his doorway.
“Mr. Collins?” Antelope said.
He didn’t startle or flinch as I expected. He simply turned toward the sound. It took a while for him to register our presence. When he figured it out, he stood abruptly, pulled his shirtsleeves down, and got his jacket on in seconds.
“Detective, hello, you caught me unawares,” he said. “First day back, but not really back if you know what I mean. Have a seat.”
“I’ve brought Dr. Hunt along; she’s a psychologist who consults with the Sheriff’s Department on some of our more difficult cases.”
“Very impressive,” Connor said. “Please, come in. Would you mind closing the door? My life is an open book at this point, but I’d like to preserve as much privacy as possible. Has something happened?”
“Just following up on a few loose ends.”
We all sat down and Connor leaned forward on his desk, arms outstretched and hands folded like the perfect Catholic schoolboy in class.
“Okay. Something I can clear up for you?”
“Did you make a trip to Our Lady of Sorrows on the night of the murder?” Antelope asked.
Connor’s face gave nothing away. “Why do you ask?”
“You have a habit of responding to my questions with questions of your own.”
“Sorry, it’s a law school thing.”
“This isn’t school, Mr. Collins, it’s real life and death. I asked you a question. You can assume I think it’s relevant and provide me with an accurate answer about your whereabouts on the night your fiancée was killed.”
Connor stared at Antelope and said nothing for a while, then raised his eyebrows and blew out a breath. “Okay . . . I did go to the church.”
“My notes reflect your statement to the contrary. My notes indicate you said, ‘I came straight home and passed out.’ Our Lady of Sorrows is located exactly 2.3 miles from Johnny Mac’s Tavern. To travel to the church you have to veer from the route to your residence. How do you explain the discrepancy between your statement on Saturday and your statement today?”
“Shock,” Connor said immediately. “Hyper-focus on a traumatic event can make anyone leave out nonessential details.”
“What was the reason for your visit to the church?”
“I went to there to pray. I find it comforting to be in the church. I feel closer to God there.”
“You left Stacey at Johnny Mac’s Tavern and drove to Our Lady of Sorrows to pray before going home for the night. Is this your revised statement?”
“Correct.”
“One more question. What were you doing in Evanston June 6th through the 8th?”
Connor looked surprised. He smiled, looked out the window, and shook his head. “You upgraded me to a suspect in the case?”
“You’ve always been a suspect. Does that surprise you?”
“You’re right to do that, of course, I’m the significant other.”
“And you’re doing a good job of putting your neck in the noose. What aren’t you telling me? What’s the story with the Evanston trip?”
“I had a job interview with a private firm there Friday afternoon. They asked me to stay on for the weekend and meet all the partners in a social setting.”
“Why didn’t you mention this before?”
“Why would I? It has nothing to do with Stacey’s death.”
“Are you sure? I thought I made it clear the more I know about the circumstances surrounding the victim, the more likely I am to find her killer. No one in her life said anything about a job change or a move. Did she know you were looking to change jobs? Did she approve, or was it another thing you argued about and tried to hide?”
“She was all for it—in fact, it was her idea. In the last year, she started feeling stuck here and the only thing that seemed to cheer her up was fixing up the old house. But even that was starting to lose its excitement. She was getting restless. I was afraid I was going to lose her. And there was Swailes, ready to step into my place. So I told her we could move, we could do anything she wanted. She wanted to go; I applied for jobs. Us moving was going to cause a shitload of problems with her mother, so we decided not to tell anyone until I accepted a job offer and it was a done deal.”
“You didn’t think any of this was relevant?”
“When you arrest the person who murdered her, I’ll be interested to hear how your knowledge of my career plans led you to him.”
CHAPTER 43
The Saddle Lite was packed when Antelope arrived at ten o’clock. Ladies’ Night brought in the crowds: women got in free and the men didn’t mind the cover charge when they were assured a full house of females. He gave the guy at the door five dollars and went straight to the bar.
His cousin Diego was behind the bar. He caught his eye and Diego poured two fingers of Honey Jack and started a tab Antelope knew he wouldn’t let him pay later. The cover band played Brad Paisley’s “American Saturday Night.”
Loud music and cheap whiskey and a room packed wall-to-wall with women looking for a good time. Many nights he left the Saddle Lite in the company of a new friend. Tonight would be different, though.
He finished off the whiskey and Diego brought another before he could ask for it. Glass in hand, he found an empty table in the back and took his time with the second one while he waited for the others. A few minutes later, Pepper Hunt walked in with Scruggs and Toni Atwood.
He finished off the Honey Jack before they reached the bar. He wasn’t much of a dancer, and he’d agreed to meet Pepper for the free Western dance lessons.
“I think we all needed this,” Pepper said, loud enough for the three of them to hear over the music.
“Just what the doctor ordered,” Toni said.
“We see too much of the dark side of life in our work,” Pepper said. “We need a break and some fun for a change.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been out like this,” Scruggs said. “I almost bailed at the last minute,” the sheriff said.
Toni nudged him with her elbow. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
“This case, though,” he said. “Where are we at with it?”
“No shop talk.” Toni gave him a light punch on the arm.
Scruggs shrugged. “The job is my life. Get used to it.”
“You want to try that again?” Toni said.
“The job is my life, sweetheart, and the only other thing as important as you.”
“Prosecutor denies he was cheating and we can’t prove it,” Antelope said. “If he was and if it had anything to do with the murder, it won’t stay buried. It might take a long time, but nothing happens without a trail. Not in this day and age. Of course, it’s possible the contractor, Swailes, lied to the victim for his own purposes and in the process wasted a lot of county resources.”
“Any sign of him?”
“Not yet. Salt Lake deputies are still keeping an eye out at the Spring Grove Motel.”
The band went silent and the square dance caller stepped up on stage and
called everyone onto the dance floor. Time to start learning those beginner’s steps.
Antelope grimaced and downed his drink.
The place emptied out after the dance lessons were over, and the band switched to ballads.
When the sheriff and Toni left, Antelope expected Pepper to go with them, but she stayed behind.
“You can buy me a drink now,” she said.
He went to the bar and came back with a Coors and a Yellowtail Chardonnay. It was the first time he’d been out with Pepper in a social situation with other people. She was more relaxed than he’d ever seen her.
Suddenly, he was filled with a lightness he didn’t attribute to alcohol. It was everything in the room—the sweet love songs, the laughter, normal life and pleasure happening around him. All week the case had sat heavy on his heart. He savored this moment, this reminder that murder wasn’t everything.
“I hope the talk about the case didn’t ruin things,” he said as he handed the wine glass to Pepper.
“Not at all. What did the sheriff say? I am the job? Same is true for me.” She arched an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you didn’t mention my patient as a possible suspect when the sheriff asked how the case was going.”
“He was trying to impress Toni.”
“You know him well.”
“Three years working together, it’s hard not to.”
“Zeke and I were married and in practice together for three years. But I didn’t know him at all.”
“Because of how things went down at the end?”
Pepper took a long sip of wine. “He was cheating on me with my best friend and colleague, and I didn’t have a clue.”
“He didn’t want you to know.”
“What does that say about me? I’m a psychologist! I’m trained to be observant and aware of the unspoken dynamics of relation-ships. Yet I was clueless.”
“Maybe you wanted to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“You loved him; it wasn’t in your best interest to know he was cheating. You were blind to the signs.”
On a Quiet Street Page 16