Authors: Michael Koryta
"I've
talked to Dunbar," I said, "and he said he conceived the whole thing
because he is certain that Bertoli witnessed your brother killing a man named
Johnny DiPietro."
"That's
not true."
"According
to your brother."
"No.
According to Salvatore."
"What—"
"He
told Parker," she said, "that he understood what Joshua was trying to
do and that whoever had put him up to it was absolutely wrong, didn't
understand who they should be after, but that it was someone who wouldn't
hesitate to kill my husband."
"It
seems logical that he'd say that."
"Perhaps,
but Parker believed him, and Salvatore moved out."
"At
which point Harrison reported all of this to you," I said. "I'm
supposed to believe you never chose to confront your husband about it—"
"I
did confront him," she said, "and we had a royal battle, a screaming
raging fight, and it saved our marriage. It would have saved our
marriage."
Her
voice faded, tears rose in her eyes, and she dabbed them away gently without
shame. She looked hauntingly beautiful in that moment.
"That
night was when the silence broke," she said, "and everything that had
been held secret was shared. He told me what he'd thought and what he'd done,
and I told him how his silence had damaged us, and that night we made love like
people
in
love for the first time in years—and we decided we were going
to leave."
"For
good—"
She
shook her head. "No. For a few months, maybe a year. Joshua had been
talking about it for a long time, urging for a trip overseas, and at the time
I'd refused because I thought it would set us back in what we were doing here.
That night, I agreed to it, because I thought that we had to get away to find a
shared life again, so we could come back. Otherwise we were going to lose each
other. Maybe we would have anyhow, but I like to think differently."
She
stopped talking then, and her mouth became a hard line. For a moment I thought
she was angry, but then I realized the tears were gaining on her again and she
was determined not to be overrun.
"Joshua
also thought we had to leave for safety. After what Parker told us, he thought
we could be in danger."
"So
you planned to leave," I said, "but you never made it. Your husband
never made it, at least."
She
nodded. "We made calls about arrangements for the house, for the mail, all
those things you need to do before going abroad. The last time I saw him, I was
heading out to talk to a travel agent and asked if he wanted to come, too. He
said he had things to do around the house and I should go alone. I was gone for
maybe three hours. When I came back here, I found my husband's body."
She
was staring at the well house as if something were crawling out of it.
"He
was outside. Just in front of the door. He'd been shot, and there was blood all
over the stone, and when I saw his body I was sure that my brother had killed
him."
"How
did you know—"
"Dominic
gave Joshua a present when we got married. It was a ring, this horrible ring
with an enormous stone that surely cost a fortune but could not have been less
like my husband. He was not a man who wore rings. My brother, at that time,
was. He was loud and flashy and wore expensive jewelry and to him the gift
meant something. Joshua hated it, though, and the only time he ever wore it was
when my brother was around."
She
folded her arms across her chest again, even though the wind wasn't blowing and
the sun was warm on us through the bare trees, and said, "The ring was
lying on his chest. Right there in the blood. It had been dropped in the blood
and I understood what it meant. The ring had been a symbol to my brother, a
welcome into our family, and Joshua had betrayed that welcome. So my brother
killed him, and even as he lied to me about it, he left that ring as a
message."
"He
was murdered here," I said, "and his body was left at the door."
She
nodded.
"Then
could you explain how he ended up in the woods in Pennsylvania—"
She
looked at me and then away, twisted her torso as if stretching her back, and
spoke with her face turned from mine. "I took him there and I buried
him."
"I'm
glad you lied about that," I said. "Because it tells me how bad a
liar you are, Alexandra, and that's going to help me believe the rest of what
you've said."
She
unfolded the stretch slowly, let her face come back around.
"Parker
Harrison buried him," I said. "Now tell me why."
"To
help me," she said. "To save me. He'd been gone that afternoon, and
when he drove back in, with the truck all loaded up with mulch, he found me
sitting there beside Joshua."
"Why
didn't you call the police—"
"The
police wouldn't bring him back, but they would ask me to stay here and face the
investigation and the trial, to prosecute my brother, to deal with the media.
All of that would happen if I stayed, and so much more. There were people like
Parker, and like Nimir Farah and Mark Ruzity, and I knew the publicity would
find them, and I thought that would be a terrible thing. I saw no good coming
from it at all, and so much harm."
"What
about justice for your husband—" I said. "That meant nothing—"
"Of
course it did. My response was one of shock, I'll admit that. The idea of
having to bear what would come… I decided I couldn't do it. That may seem like
cowardice to you, and you may be right. I'll let you make that judgment."
"Mark
Ruzity was seen with your brother after you disappeared, after Joshua was
killed," I said. "And Parker Harrison called him. Why—"
"I
asked Parker to pass along a message to my brother, to tell him that I was
leaving, would never speak to him again, and that he should never look for
me."
"What
about Ruzity—"
She
frowned. "Mark is such a good soul, but he struggles with his anger. He
really does. He and Parker were close, and I told Parker that he could tell
Mark only that I was leaving because of my brother's actions. I didn't trust
his reaction to the details. Even so, I suspect Mark might have… given a more
direct message to Dominic."
“I’m
sorry—”
She
looked up. "I suspect he threatened to kill him if he pursued me."
I
thought of the chisel against my forehead, and then I thought of the photograph
Dunbar had taken, the way Ruzity had clasped his hand around Sanabria's neck,
pulled him close, and whispered in his ear. There weren't many people who would
threaten to kill a mob boss, but Mark Ruzity seemed like he could be one of
them easily enough.
"Harrison
took the body," I said, "and you took off." "Yes."
I
shook my head, wondering now more than ever why he had decided to darken my
door. He knew what had happened. What in the hell had he really wanted—
"Did
he know where you went—" I asked. "Did you have any contact with
him—"
"No."
So
maybe he'd just wanted to find her. Maybe he'd been honest about that much.
"I
had no contact with Parker," she said, "until this May. Until the day
before Ken was murdered. That day, I called Parker to tell him not to trust
you."
"What—"
"I
told him that I was safe and well and that I knew he was looking for me but it
would be dangerous for him to have any association with police and detectives.
He'd buried my husband's body. It was easy to imagine he could be blamed. I
said if anything happened, all he needed to do was ask me, and I'd come
forward."
The
day before Ken was murdered. That was the same day Harrison had told me to
quit, but then he'd asked that final question, asked who Ken really was.
"Why
didn't you explain Ken to him—" I said.
"Ken
was the only person who knew how to find me, and had known for years. Couldn't
the police have charged him with something for that— I wanted to keep him out
of anything negative."
"Out
of anything negative," I echoed. "He's dead. Your decision to leave
your husband's murder unanswered is understandable, maybe even acceptable. This
isn't."
"I
agree."
"Yet
you haven't contacted the police, haven't taken any action."
"I
didn't know what action to take. I've been gone for twelve years. I have a new
life, in a new place. I don't want to destroy that in the way my old life was
destroyed."
"But
you're the only person who knows anything."
"Here's
all I know: that on the morning before he died Ken Merriman left me a
message—"
"That's
another lie. He didn't leave you a message, Alexandra. All the phone records
were checked and rechecked."
"He
didn't use his own phone, or mine. He understood my reluctance to give that
out, and so years earlier he created an account with a phone message service,
some anonymous thing, and he used pay phones and a calling card, just as I did.
It was the only way we were in touch. Never in actual conversation, always
through an exchange of messages. Now would you like to hear what he said that
last day—"
"Yes."
"He
said that he believed the two of you were getting close to the truth of my
husband's murder, and that it had nothing to do with my brother, and more to do
with a car."
“A
car
—" I stared at her, and I couldn't speak. A car. What car—
"You
don't know what that means—" she said.
"No.
I don't know, because he cut me out of it, went off alone on whatever theory he
had and got himself killed."
"He
cut you out of it because he was waiting for my permission to tell you the
truth. To give full disclosure. He thought you could be trusted."
"Would
you have given it to him—"
She
was quiet for a while before saying, "I don't know. I suppose so. I've
told you the truth now."
"Only
because I found you." As I said it I realized Ken had told me
how
to
find her. That constant insistence that she would return to the house if it
were sold, that she'd have to see it one last time.
Let me tell you,
he'd said, the way he started so many sentences,
if she's alive, she'll come
back for one more visit before the place is sold.
"You
told him you'd come back here," I said. "When you found out your
in-laws were making a claim on the property, you told him you'd come back
before it was sold."
"Yes."
He'd
led me to her. Brought me here.
"He'd
known for years," I said, "and kept the secret. Why—"
"All
I told him was what I've told you, only with far less composure. It was my
first trip back to the house, and I was already a wreck when he found me. Then
that sense of being caught… he calmed me down, and he listened to me, and I
told him the same story, only without some of the information I have now."
"You
told him all of this and then asked him to just go on and pretend he had no
idea where you were."
She
nodded. "You disapprove, and I'm not surprised. Most people would share
your opinion, I'm sure. Ken Merriman was not one of them. He understood when I
told him that everything had been taken from me. There were two great loves in
my life—my husband and my mission here. They were destroyed. Do you think the
state would have continued to work with me— I'd gotten a man killed rather than
rehabilitated. My work was destroyed, my husband dead, my brother responsible.
I ran from it. I ran, okay— It was wrong, maybe, and weak, certainly, but it is
what I did."
I
didn't respond.
"I
begged Ken Merriman to let me leave, and he did," she said. "He
did."