Tell No One

“She didn’t kill him,” I insisted.

“It was self-defense. When she didn’t stop investigating, Brandon broke into your home, and this time he had a knife. He came at her … and she shot him. Total self-defense.”

I couldn’t stop shaking my head.

“She called me, crying. I drove over to your place. When I got there”—he paused, his breath caught—“he was already dead. Elizabeth had that gun. She wanted me to call the police. I talked her out of it. Self-defense or not, Griffin Scope would kill her and worse. I told her to give me a few hours. She was shaky, but she finally agreed.”

“You moved the body,” I said.

He nodded. “I knew about Gonzalez. The punk was on his way to a fulfilling life of crime. I’ve seen the type enough to know. He’d already gotten off on a technicality for one murder. Who better to frame?”

It was becoming so clear. “But Elizabeth wouldn’t let that happen.”

“I didn’t count on that,” he said. “She heard on the news about the arrest, and that was when she decided to make up that alibi. To save Gonzalez from”—sarcastic finger-quote marks—“a grave injustice.” He shook his head. “Worthless. If she’d just let that scumbag take the fall, it would have been all over.”

I said, “Scope’s people found out about her making up that alibi.”

“Someone inside leaked it to them, yeah. Then they started sending their own people around, and they found out about her investigation. The rest became obvious.”

“So that night at the lake,” I said. “It was about revenge.”

He mulled that over. “In part, yes. And in part it was about covering up the truth about Brandon Scope. He was a dead hero. Maintaining that legacy meant a lot to his father.”

And, I thought, to my sister.

“I still don’t get why she kept that stuff in a safety-deposit box,” I said.

“Evidence,” he said.

“Of what?”

“That she killed Brandon Scope. And that she did it in self-defense. No matter what else happened, Elizabeth didn’t want someone else to take the blame for what she did. Naïve, wouldn’t you say?”

No, I wouldn’t. I sat there and let the truth try to settle in. Not happening. Not yet anyway. Because this wasn’t the full truth. I knew that better than anyone. I looked at my father-in-law, the sagging skin, the thinning hair, the softening gut, the still-impressive but eroding frame. Hoyt thought that he knew what had really happened with his daughter. But he had no idea how wrong he was.

I heard a thunderclap. Rain pounded the windows like tiny fists.

“You could have told me,” I said.

He shook his head, this time putting more into it. “And what would you have done, Beck? Follow her? Run away together? They would have learned the truth and killed us all. They were watching you. They still are. We told no one. Not even Elizabeth’s mother. And if you need proof we did the right thing, look around you. It’s eight years later. All she did was send you a few anonymous emails. And look what happened.”

A car door slammed. Hoyt pounced toward the window like a big cat. He peered out again. “Same car you arrived in. Two black men inside.”

“They’re here for me.”

“You sure they don’t work for Scope?”

“Positive.” On cue, my new cell phone rang. I picked it up.

“Everything okay?” Tyrese asked.

“Yes.”

“Step outside.”

“Why?”

“You trust that cop?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Step outside.”

I told Hoyt that I had to go. He seemed too drained to care. I retrieved the Glock and hurried for the door. Tyrese and Brutus were waiting for me. The rain had let up a bit, but none of us seemed to care.

“Got a call for you. Stand over there.”

“Why?”

“Personal,” Tyrese said. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I trust you.”

“Just do what I say, man.”

I moved out of hearing distance. Behind me I saw the shade open up. Hoyt peered out. I looked back at Tyrese. He gestured for me to put the phone to my ear. I did. There was silence and then Tyrese said, “Line clear, go ahead.”

The next voice I heard was Shauna’s. “I saw her.”

I remained perfectly still.

“She said for you to meet her tonight at the Dolphin.”

I understood. The line went dead. I walked back to Tyrese and Brutus. “I need to go somewhere on my own,” I said. “Where I can’t be followed.”

Tyrese glanced at Brutus. “Get in,” Tyrese said.

42

Brutus drove like a madman. He took one-way streets in the wrong direction. He made sudden U-turns. From the right lane, he’d cut across traffic and make a left through a red light. We were making excellent time.

The MetroPark in Iselin had a train heading toward Port Jervis that left in twenty minutes. I could rent a car from there. When they dropped me off, Brutus stayed in the car. Tyrese walked me to the ticket counter.

“You told me to run away and not come back,” Tyrese said.

“That’s right.”

“Maybe,” he said, “you should do the same.”

I put my hand out for him to shake. Tyrese ignored it and hugged me fiercely. “Thank you,” I said softly.

He released his grip, adjusted his shoulders so that his jacket relaxed down, fixed his sunglasses. “Yeah, whatever.” He didn’t wait for me to say anything more before heading back to the car.

The train arrived and departed on schedule. I found a seat and collapsed into it. I tried to make my mind go blank. It wouldn’t happen. I glanced around. The car was fairly empty. Two college girls with bulky backpacks jabbered in the language of “like” and “you know.” My eyes drifted off. I spotted a newspaper—more specifically, a city tabloid—that someone had left on a seat.

I moved over and picked it up. The coveted cover featured a young starlet who’d been arrested for shoplifting. I flipped pages, hoping to read the comics or catch up on sports—anything mindless would do. But my eyes got snagged on a picture of, well, me. The wanted man. Amazing how sinister I looked in the darkened photo, like a Mideast terrorist.

That was when I saw it. And my world, already off kilter, lurched again.

I wasn’t actually reading the article. My eyes were just wandering down the page. But I saw the names. For the first time. The names of the men who’d been found dead at the lake. One was familiar.