Indefensible (13 page)

“I kept one, too, when I was your age,” Tabby said. “It helped relax me.”

Lucy nodded, her gaze inward looking. “Me, too.” Ethan wondered if she'd let him read it.

“Did you go to sleep after that?”

“Mum came in and kissed me good-night.”

“How did she seem?”

Ethan leaned forward.
Depressed? Agitated? Suicidal?

“Okay. She told me we could go to the waterfront and take a cruise tomorrow.” Her lip trembled again. She wiped her sleeve over her mouth. “Then I went to sleep.”

“You're doing a great job, Lucy. I know how hard this is for you.” Tabby patted Lucy's sleeve. “We just have a few more questions. It's really important you think hard about them, okay?”

Lucy straightened in her chair, bracing herself for the moment she'd been so obviously dreading since she'd walked into the room.

“When did you wake up?”

“In the middle of the night.”

“What woke you?”

“I heard a noise. A—” she closed her eyes “—a thud.” She shuddered. “And it sounded like some people were running. Down the stairs. I didn't know what to do. It was dark. So I turned on my light and looked into the
hall. Nick's door was open. I was going to go down the hallway and then I heard Nick shouting.

“What did he say?”

“‘Mum's been hurt!'” She covered her face with her hands. Penelope Barrett leaned toward her, face stricken, and rubbed her back. “‘Mum's been hurt!'” She looked up at Tabby. “I ran to the stairs because Nick's voice was coming from downstairs. Then he shouted at me to call 911.”

“And did you?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you find the phone?”

“I didn't know where the phones were.” She glanced sheepishly at Ethan, as if she thought a police detective would judge her harshly for her lack of investigative skills. “I have an iPhone. So I ran back to my bedroom and called them.”

“How did you remember the address?” Tabby asked. “You'd just arrived.”

“I had the address in my backpack. That's where my phone was. I was just lucky, I guess.”

“No. You were very smart,” Tabby said with a gentle smile. “Then what happened?”

Lucy looked down at her hands. “I ran downstairs to find Nick and Mum.”

“What did you see?”

“Not much. It was dark in the house. And I had taken out my contacts.” She seemed embarrassed by this admission. “I almost fell. But the front door was open so I went outside.” She sighed deeply, her breath catching in her throat. “I could hear Nick's voice. But I couldn't
see him. I ran down the walk but his voice got fainter. So I ran into the backyard.”

“And what did you see?”

She was almost in a trance now. “I saw Nick. He was kneeling on the ground. He was holding Mummy. I ran toward them. I thought she'd passed out or something, outside. But when I got close…”

She buried her face in her hands again. Sobs shook her shoulders. Penelope put an arm around her back and stroked her hair. “Lucy, I know how hard this is for you,” Tabby murmured. Lucy raised her face. Her eyes were so anguished Ethan felt tears prick the back of his lids. This kid had really loved her mother. And what a way to find her.

Lucy swallowed. “She was dead. I could tell. Her eyes…” She choked on another sob. “Her eyes were wide open.”

“Did you see anyone with your brother?” Ethan asked. Despite his attempt to soften his voice, it jarred the silence in the room.

Lucy threw him a startled glance. “No.”

“Was your dad there?” he asked.

Penelope Barrett's face tensed.

“No. I told you, he'd gone.” Lucy pulled at her cuffs, her fingers agitated.

“Did he come back?” Tabby interjected, throwing Ethan a warning glance. He got the message and leaned back.

“No.”

“Did you call him after you found your mum?” Tabby asked.

“Yes.”

“And what happened?”

Ethan watched Lucy closely. So did Penelope Barrett. They all knew no one had been able to reach Randall Barrett.

“He didn't answer his phone.” Lucy's voice wobbled. As if remembering how scared she'd felt when she couldn't reach her father.

“Did you have his cell phone number?”

She flashed Tabby an indignant look. “Yeah. But he didn't answer that either.”

“Did you leave a message?”

“Yeah.” She glanced away. “I asked him to come.”

“And did he?”

“He came to Grandma Penny's house.”

Penelope Barrett nodded.

“Later.” Ethan's eyes searched Lucy's.

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you why he didn't answer the phone?”

“He said he'd turned it off.”

“Did he say why?”

“He told me he was upset and needed some time to think.” Lucy threw Ethan a defiant look even though it had been Tabitha who'd asked the question. “He also said he was really sorry.”

Tabby said, “I'm sure your dad feels really badly about missing your calls, Lucy.”

“He does.” Her eyes welled with tears again. She looked at Tabitha. “Can I go now? I feel kind of sick.”

Tabby patted her back. “Of course. If I or Detective Drake have any more questions, can we talk to you again?”

Lucy nodded. Ethan stood. Penelope Barrett and
Lucy followed him out of the room, exhaustion weighing their steps. It had been a grueling interview. Ethan glanced at the clock. Eleven forty-five. And they were just getting warmed up.

Saturday, 11:51 a.m.

K
ate unlocked the door to Randall's house. Both dogs rushed in and headed straight to Charlie's water bowl. Alaska got first dibs. Once he finished, Charlie lapped up the rest.

Kate glanced at the clock. It was just before noon. The morning had gone quickly. She'd been lost in thought ever since Nat's phone call.

Randall had not been home when his ex-wife fell to her death. Where had he gone?

He could have been on his boat. That was where he was found, ninety minutes later.

But why hadn't anyone been able to reach him?

Her gaze returned to the phone that sat on the counter. There had been seven calls to Randall's number last night. When had they been placed?

And by whom?

And had anyone left a message?

As soon as the thought crept into Kate's mind, she
recoiled. Checking his messages would be a violation of Randall's trust in her. And yet…

Was one of those Toronto numbers from Elise's cell phone? Had she left a message?

Part of her yearned to know what Elise might have told her ex-husband. And part of her knew that she would always regret knowing.

You don't want to know,
Kate whispered to herself.
You don't want to know.

She glanced at the clock. Randall would probably be at the station for a few more hours. And who knew what demands would be placed on him by his family. And his firm. Nina had already been calling.

If Kate put Charlie in her crate now, she might be in there all day. The Lab seemed to sense her indecision, because she turned a soulful gaze on Kate. Then she plopped herself next to Alaska.

“Okay, fine, you can come over to my house.” Kate found a notepad and pen by the computer and wrote out a quick message for Randall to call her when he came home.

It seemed like a mundanely domestic thing to do. Eighteen hours ago, she'd been fuming as he left the elevator without a goodbye.

Now she was looking after his dog, roaming his bedroom and leaving Post-it notes in his kitchen.

She hurried out the door, Alaska at her heels, Charlie in tow, and locked it behind her.

She didn't want to get too comfortable.

Saturday, 12:03 p.m.

N
ick had been sitting in the isolation chamber, as he'd nicknamed the holding room that sat apart from the in terview rooms. He had never felt so alone.

Get used to it.

The room had some kind of retro tacky table set that was probably not really retro but just really old.

Nick stared at his iPhone. There were at least five instant messages waiting for him. The number on the inbox increased the longer he stared. They were probably from Will. He was setting up a Facebook page about Nick's mother. Or Steph. She'd surprised him. He thought they were over. She'd been pretty clear about that. But she'd sent him two IMs and they were really nice.

A week ago if he'd gotten those IMs from Steph, he'd have been stoked. He would have grabbed his hockey stick and whacked pucks for hours in the net at the end of his driveway. Then he would've biked over to her
house and spent the evening hanging with their friends, grateful he was back in the gang.

But it wasn't a week ago.

It was today.

He was exhausted.

Numb.

His chest and limbs felt frozen. Thick, dead flesh that had no feeling in them. He could poke himself and feel nothing.

Nothing at all.

But deep inside him, under all the deadness, was a burning, fiery core. Like an erupting volcano at the bottom of a cold, unmoving ocean. It spewed a molten anger. It snaked through his veins, pushing the blood through his body, igniting his nerves with an inextinguishable rage.

He had read about teens who preyed on other teens. About teens who killed their parents. Their siblings. Their girlfriends.

They had always seemed alien.

Inhuman.

But he realized now that they were flesh and blood. Just flesh and blood that had been putrefied from an inner rage, a poisonous jealousy or just plain evil. He understood.

Because he was now one of them.

He turned off his iPhone and put it in his pocket.

He was on his own now.

Until the job was done.

“Nick? Could you come with me, please? We have some questions we need your help with.”

Nick stared at the detective. He was a good-looking
guy. Looked as if he played sports. Maybe even hockey. Nick's hockey coach had always told him, “Look in their eyes. You'll know if they're playing for keeps. If they are, let the fuckers think they're going to win. Then show 'em how delusional they are.”

This detective was playing for keeps.

So was Nick.

He gave the detective a brusque nod and got to his feet. He was about the same height as the police officer. He sauntered by him and walked into the interview room.

His gaze immediately fell on the woman who sat behind a fake plywood-topped table. She came toward him, her denim-clad hips easing around the chairs, her full lips smiling at him. Her blouse was really fitted and he couldn't help himself when his eyes darted down to skim her chest. He felt his heart jump. She was gorgeous. Like, really hot. He just imagined what the guys on his team would sa—
they're not your team anymore
. That thought stopped him cold.

“Nick, I'm Tabitha Christos. You can call me Tabby. Like the cat,” she added with a smile. Knit-Wit and Purl-head suddenly popped into his head. How Purl-head would drape himself across his neck. And Knit-Wit would bat his hockey puck along the kitchen floor.

He'd never see them again.

He swallowed, hoping Tabitha Christos and the detective hadn't seen the tears that pricked his eyes. Tabitha held out her hand. “I'm a youth worker.”

A youth worker?

Was he already under suspicion?

That would really screw up his plans.

He took her hand, barely shaking it before dropping it as if he'd just touched a dead fish.

She led him behind the table. “Please sit down.” He noted his chair was facing not only a video camera but also the detective.

He could not let them see what he was thinking. He was so tired, though. So wiped.

He slouched a little farther down in his chair. “Where's my sister?” he asked.

“She's with your grandmother. Having lunch. We ordered in some subs,” Tabitha Christos said. “Would you like one?”

“No.” He wasn't going to bother being polite with these guys.

“You've gone through a pretty tough time,” Tabitha said.

“Yeah.”

“Detective Drake and I are really sorry about your mum.”

He glanced at the detective. There seemed to be some sympathy softening his gaze, but his eyes were still watchful.

Nick had to stay on his guard.

Why did he have to be so wiped?

“Could I have some coffee?” His abruptness seemed to startle Tabitha Christos. “With lots of milk and sugar. Please.” The detective got to his feet and left the room.

Tabitha turned toward him. Her blouse strained against the swell of her breasts. It wasn't like she was being sleazy, Nick thought, wondering why he felt the need to defend her—she just had really full breasts.
Really full. He'd learned from Steph just how delicious and tantalizing and painful it felt to curve his palms over that fullness.

He dropped his eyes back down to the safety of the table. The dark swirls that formed the plywood pattern reminded him of chocolate. As he studied the swirls he realized some of them were stains from coffee mugs.

“So, you just finished grade nine, Nick?” Tabitha leaned back in her seat as if to remove her breasts from his gaze.

He nodded, refusing to let his gaze stray.
So far, so good.

“Did you have a good year?”

He shrugged and looked away. He never had a good year. But this year was the worst one so far. Then he realized there was an upside to his plan: he wouldn't have to go to school again. He smiled to himself.

Tabitha took it as an invitation to make conversation. “What's your favorite subject?”

“Phys ed.”

“Ah, you like sports?”

He nodded.

“I played basketball. How 'bout you?”

The detective opened the door, carrying three plain coffee cups. Obviously police issue. The coffee would probably suck, but Nick didn't care. He took the cup from the detective with a mumbled thanks and sipped it. It did suck. “Hockey.”

The youth worker glanced at the detective. “Did you play, Ethan?”

The detective took a gulp of his brew and suppressed a shudder. “Yeah. But I was better at soccer. The ball
is bigger. Harder to miss.” He took another gulp and smacked his lips. “Geez, I missed this stuff.”

“No wonder you've got an ulcer,” Tabitha said with a wry look.

Nick watched the exchange, sipping the disgusting coffee. It was all an act. A little joking to warm him up.

He drank some more of the coffee. He needed to be alert. Ready for the question he was sure the detective would slide in when he thought Nick was lulled into security. Wasn't that how they always did it on
Law & Order?

“Do you play rep hockey?” Tabitha asked.

“No. I played for my school team.” Until he was kicked off. That part he wasn't sharing. Even though it happened six months ago, it still hurt. Or at least the memory hurt. Because he was deadened now. Deadened to all pain.

He shut the image of his mother's staring eyes out of his mind.

“What position?”

He shifted in his chair. “Let's cut the small talk.” That was a pretty good line. He could handle these guys. “I have other things to do.”

“Okay, Nick,” the detective said, his eyes taking on that gleam that made Nick's back stiffen. “We don't want to keep you here longer than necessary.” Was that a warning in his voice? “We need to talk about a few things.”

“Like?”

The atmosphere had taken on an edge.
It's face-off time, buddy.

Tabitha threw a warning glance at the detective. Time for the cute chick to take over, Nick thought. “Nick, we're trying to figure out what happened last night.”

Over my dead body.

Or should I say, my father's.

Then you can figure it out all you like.

But not before then.

He stared at the thick sludge at the bottom of his coffee cup. What did they use to make this shit? That polluted water all the Halifaxians—or whatever the fuck they call themselves—complain about?

He took a deep breath. He knew he was getting all defensive. He needed to calm down. Buy himself some time. “Can I have some more coffee?” He stared straight at the detective.
Go get it, coffee boy.

“We ran out,” the detective said. “I'm glad you like it, though. Obviously haven't lost my touch. Maybe next time you come in.”

Nick was so busy figuring out if the detective was threatening him that he almost missed the look Tabitha gave the detective.

“Nick, tell us about your trip to Halifax.”

“It sucked.”

“Did you all drive here?”

They knew the answer to that. He stared at them.

“Your mother drove and your sister came with you, right?” Tabitha asked, her voice patient. The tone reminded him of his reading tutor. And it irritated the shit out of him.

He wasn't in school anymore.

And wouldn't be going back, either. Not after he took care of things.

He shrugged.

“Nick, if you could answer the questions, we'll all get out of here a lot faster,” Tabitha said. Her brown eyes were earnest, kind.

He mumbled, “Fine.” The sooner this was over with, the sooner he could finalize his plan.

“How was your mother on the drive?”

“Fine.”

“But she was recuperating from something?” The specificness of the question made Nick dart a look at Ethan's notepad. Something was written on it. And underlined. Sometimes he could read upside down better than right side up, so he tried to study the words without them seeing him, but the detective inched the notepad away and covered it with his hand.

What had Lucy told them?

Now he felt like the sucker with the blindfold in blind man's bluff. He'd always hated that game. Always hated not knowing who was out there. Around him. Taunting him.

“Yeah. Some medical procedure.”

“Do you know what it was?”

“No.” Although he suspected what his mother had done. And he didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to know.

“So when you arrived at Dr. Feldman's house, did you unload the car, check out the new place, have a barbecue?”

Why were they asking him this shit? Lucy would have already told them. He crossed his arms. “No.”

“What did you do when you arrived at the house?” Tabitha's gaze challenged him.
Come on, be a man. You
can do better than this sulky shit. You
are
better than this,
her eyes seemed to tell him.

Maybe he once had been. But not anymore. Last night had changed all that.

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Okay. What did your mother and sister do?”

He exhaled heavily. He wasn't going to lie. About this part, at least. The fewer things to trip him up, the better.

“They started unloading the car. My dad showed up.”

“And?”

“He got mad at me. Like he always does.”

“Why does he get mad at you, Nick?” Tabitha asked, her voice soft. Too soft. It was really pissing him off. He wasn't a kid anymore.

“Because I'm not a chip off the old blockhead.”

“You look a lot like him.”

“But I'm not him, okay! I'm. Not. Like. My. Father.” He fought to control his temper. That would haunt him to the rest of his days. Looking in the mirror and seeing his father's face.
The bastard.

“What's your father like?”

“He's full of shit.”

The detective seemed to nod to himself. He jotted something on the notepad.

“Why don't you get along with your dad, Nick?”

Nick crossed his arms. “Because I'm not smart enough for him. I'm always making mistakes.”

“You mean mistakes at school?”

“Yeah.” Those were just the tip of the iceberg, but they didn't need to know about the rest. Getting caught
for cheating. Getting kicked off the team. Taking money out of his father's account. They didn't need to know about that stuff.

“But he couldn't have been mad at you about school this time, Nick. School's been out for a month.”

“He wanted me to go sailing with him. I didn't want to go.”

“Why didn't you want to go?” There was a forced casualness to the question that put Nick on edge. What did they know?

What had his little sister told them?

She wouldn't have said anything on purpose. But she was too trusting. They could've weaseled something out of her before she knew what was what.

He held Tabitha's gaze. “I wanted to go to a camp, instead.”

The detective wrote something on his notepad.
Shit
. Lucy had told them something.

“Did you tell your father that?”

“My mum did.” He shifted in his chair. “He got really mad.”

“What did he do?”

“He blamed it on her. They had a fight. Then he drove off.”

“Did you see him again last night?”

His breath stopped in his throat. He felt his palms prick with sweat. Then he realized he had the perfect answer. “Yeah. At my grandmother's. He came to her house this morning.”

He rubbed his palms lightly over his shorts. He was still in control of this.

“Okay, Nick, we need to ask you about what happened yesterday after your father left. What did you do?”

“I unpacked my stuff. Then I set up my laptop and downloaded some photos.” He remembered his sullenness about not going out for supper. They'd just arrived and she'd gone to her room.
Some way to start a vacation,
he'd thought. He glanced down at his hands. “Then I was hanging out in my room. Syncing my iPhone and stuff.”