Chapter 27

27

It’s late Wednesday afternoon when Dan drives downtown to the attorney’s office, Lisa silent in the passenger seat beside him. She’d told him that Ted had gone in for questioning right after her, so he knows they’re checking on Catherine’s movements that night too. He thinks about that as he pulls into the parking lot of the building housing his criminal attorney. But Catherine isn’t in a financial mess. And Catherine didn’t have a public falling out with their father.

They walk through the glass doors of the high-end law firm. It’s not the same firm his father used. And this one has the best criminal defense lawyer Aylesford has to offer. They don’t have to wait. Richard Klein comes out to meet them and takes them directly to his office.

Dan doesn’t notice much about his surroundings. He focuses on the attorney as if he’s a lifeline. Klein will tell them what to do. He will make it clear to the police that he had nothing to do with this. That’s his job.

“I’m glad you called me,” the attorney says reassuringly. “You did the right thing.”

Dan tells the attorney everything—the tense Easter dinner, the discovery of the bodies, what Irena did with the knife, the falling out with his father, the financial mess he’s in, the aggressive way the police questioned him. He doesn’t tell him that he went out for a long drive that night, though—that it was a habit of his—and that Lisa lied to the police for him. The attorney listens intently, asking the occasional question.

Klein says, “So you were home all night. Your wife confirms that.” Dan and Lisa nod. “Then you don’t have a problem.” He leans forward over his desk, lowering his head. “They’re looking at you—and probably your siblings—because of the money. Naturally. But it doesn’t matter if they think you had motive if they don’t have evidence. We have to see what they come up with.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Dan says.

“Right. So there won’t be any evidence. You don’t have anything to worry about. Just sit tight. They can’t railroad you if I’m with you.” He adds, “Don’t talk to them again without me there, either of you. If they want to talk to you, call this number”—he slides a card across his desk, after hastily scribbling a number on it in pen—“it’s my cell. Call anytime. Day or night. I’ll come.”

“Okay,” Dan says, taking the card.

They sort out the retainer. Dan assures him that it won’t be a problem; his sister Catherine has given him a loan. And when this is all over, he thinks to himself, he’ll pay her back out of his inheritance. Finally Dan rises to leave, Lisa beside him.

“One more thing,” the attorney says. “Whatever you do, don’t talk to the press. Without evidence, the police can’t do much to you, but the press can still destroy you.”

---

•   •   •audrey drives directly from the river to Ellen’s place, showing up unannounced. They have that kind of friendship. Both are widows who live alone, so there’s no concern about interrupting anything. They often drop in on each other. Audrey has been holding her emotions forcibly in check all day, but at the sight of Ellen’s kind and familiar face, she promptly bursts into tears.

“What’s wrong?” Ellen asks, alarmed.

Audrey pours it all out—her visit to Walter that morning, how Fred hadn’t changed his will in her favor after all, her suspicions that one of the kids murdered their parents before Fred could follow through on his intentions.

Audrey hadn’t told anyone except Ellen about her great expectations. She’s the only one who knows—the only one to whom she bares her soul.

Ellen is speechless at first, then says, “Oh, Audrey, I’m so sorry.”

When Audrey eventually stops sobbing, she feels drained, completely worn out.

“You don’t really think one of their own kids did this, do you?” Ellen asks tentatively, as if she can’t stomach the idea. They all know now how the Mertons were killed; it’s all over the news.

“I’m sure of it. And I’m going to figure out which one,” Audrey vows. She adds, “The police think so too—they’ve had all of them in for questioning today.”

---

•   •   •as evening falls, Catherine joins Ted in the kitchen for supper. No need to cook—the refrigerator is stuffed with offerings. Ted has put out some of the things that he thinks she will like best; it’s been a long and challenging day. In addition to the stress of the police interviewing everyone, she’s had her hands full dealing with calls from friends of the family. It’s been difficult—accepting their condolences while putting off their prurient curiosity. She’s been holding herself so tightly all day that now her entire body aches. But she’s got the funeral mostly under control—it will be on Saturday, at two in the afternoon. They expect a crowd. Her parents were prominent citizens of Aylesford and the manner of their deaths is going to draw many people who might otherwise have skipped it. After the funeral, there will be a reception at the golf club, with drinks and food—and the expected slideshow of photos running on a loop in the background. And when that’s over, Catherine will collapse. She doesn’t think she will have time to process anything properly until then. She wonders how it will all hit her when she can finally allow it to.

Ted reaches over to her across the table. “Are you all right?”

She shakes her head slowly.

“Eat something,” he prods, pointing at the lasagna, her favorite.

She half-heartedly spoons out some of the reheated lasagna onto her plate, adds a bit of salad, and tries to eat. But she begins to tremble. The fork in her hand is wobbling so much she can’t bring it to her mouth. She drops it on her plate with a clatter.

“Catherine, what is it?” Ted says.

She blurts it out. “What if—” She can’t continue.

Ted gets up from the table and comes over to sit beside her. He puts his arms around her as she sobs into his chest.

“What if what?” he whispers into her hair.

She looks up at him. “What if Dan killed them?”

---

•   •   •ted’s feeling of dread surfaces. Catherine’s voiced a fear he’s mostly tried to ignore since the afternoon before, when Dan had behaved so oddly. He’d been so nervy and agitated, and said such inappropriate things. Now, Ted doesn’t know what to say, how to comfort her. He simply holds her. Finally, she pulls away, her face streaked with tears. Her cheeks seem to have hollowed out in the last day and a half.

He strokes her hair. “Catherine, it’s going to be all right,” he says helplessly. “I love you.” He’s never seen her so distraught. “Come,” he says gently, guiding her back into the living room. They’ve lost all interest in food. They sink together onto the sofa and she turns to him, her eyes huge, welling with tears. “He hated our father, Ted. You have no idea.”

“But could he do that?” he asks, swallowing his revulsion. “You know him better than I do.”

“I don’t know,” she says, her voice hollow. “Maybe.”

Ted feels a chill run down his back. The thought of Dan strangling his own mother and stabbing his father over and over again in a raging fury and then pretending to be innocent in front of them all is so disturbing that he feels physically sick.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says. But even as he says it, he asks himself, What should they do? If he’s a murderer, they can’t just continue to let him into their home, surely? He might actually be insane.

“He’s right. They’re going to think he did it,” Catherine says, agitated, “and they’re going to question me again.”

Ted, deeply troubled, stares blankly out the living-room windows, his arms around her. He sees two people across the street, walking up to the front door of their neighbors’. They look vaguely familiar. Then, with a jolt, Ted realizes who they are. It’s the detectives, Reyes and Barr. What are they doing on their street?

And all at once he knows. There’s only one reason they would be there.

Catherine must sense his sudden tension because she looks up at him and says, “What is it?”

She follows his gaze across the street, recognizes the detectives, and inhales a sharp breath.

“Fuck,” Ted says.

“What if someone saw me?” she says, frightened.

Ted’s mind is racing. Someone might have seen Catherine go out later that night. She might have been caught somewhere on camera. If the police are checking on her, they might find out the truth. This is what he was afraid of. “Then you’ll have to tell them the truth,” he says slowly. “That you didn’t tell them before because you were in shock, and afraid of what they might think, because of the inheritance. That you went over and saw your parents, they were fine, and you came home again.”

“But . . .” she whispers at him.

Her face has gone shockingly pale, and it frightens him. “But what?” he asks.

“They weren’t fine. They were already dead.”