Chapter 19

19

Will's brain was vibrating with self-recriminations. Paul had been right in front of him the entire time. Will should've pushed the man about checking in under an alias. He should've done a deeper dive into Paul's past. Delilah had told Will about Gabbie less than an hour after Mercy's death. Will had a sick feeling that he knew exactly what the tattoo on Paul's chest said. You didn't have a word permanently imprinted over your heart unless that word was important to you.

Will had looked right at it and hadn't been able to read it.

Faith had needed less than a minute on her phone to confirm Paul's connection to Gabbie. She'd found an obituary in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution archives. Gabriella Maria Ponticello had been survived by her parents Carlos and Sylvia, and her younger brother Paul.

"Kevin," Faith said. "Circle around to the other side. I want you to take Gordon to cottage four. Listen to whatever story he spins, then we'll compare notes with whatever we get out of Paul."

Kevin looked surprised, but he gave her a salute. "Yes, ma'am."

Will felt his teeth start to ache from clenching his jaw. Faith was giving the interview to Kevin because she felt the need to babysit Will.

He couldn't blame her. He had fucked up so much of this already.

The door to the main house opened. Delilah came out first. She bounded down the stairs. Bitty pushed Cecil out onto the porch. Dave was behind them. He lit a cigarette, then blew out a stream of smoke as he followed them to the wheelchair ramp off the back of the house.

Faith tugged at Will's sleeve, pulling him into the forest. They were waiting for the compound to clear out. Christopher was zip tied to a paddle wheel inside the boathouse. Sara was with Jon. Cocktails had started five minutes ago. Monica and Frank had been the first to leave. Then Drew and Keisha. With the rest of the family heading down, that left Gordon and Paul. The lights were on in cottage five, but the men hadn't come out. And why would they? Thanks to Will, Paul was confident that he'd gotten away with murder.

Will couldn't hold it in any longer. He told Faith, "I fucked up. I'm sorry."

Faith said, "Tell me how you fucked up."

"Paul has a tattoo on his chest. I know it says Gabbie. I saw it, but I couldn't read it fast enough. He covered it with a towel."

Faith was silent a beat too long. "You don't know that."

"I know it. You know it. Amanda will know it. Sara will—" He felt like his stomach had filled with diesel fuel. "Keisha told me that Paul and Gordon were late to breakfast. That's when Paul hid the broken knife handle in their toilet tank. I scared the shit out of her and Drew for nothing. They were terrified of being shot. And Chuck would probably still be alive. Christopher was supposed to be guiding guests this morning. Chuck would've been asleep in his bed."

"Wrong," Faith said. "The activities were cancelled because of Mercy."

Will shook his head. None of it mattered.

"Penny told me about the car accident," Faith said. "I could've followed up on it hours ago. I had Gabbie's first name. I could've cross-referenced it with all the other names, including Paul's. That's how I found the obituary."

Will knew she was clutching at straws. "We've got to get a confession out of Paul. I can't let him get away with this because of my mistake."

"He won't get away with it," Faith said. "Look at me."

Will couldn't look at her.

"Christopher's going to do serious time. We'll use his testimony to get Cecil for murdering Gabbie. We'll arrest Paul for killing Mercy. God knows how many strip clubs in Atlanta were buying moonshine off Chuck. They almost killed Monica with that shit. None of this would've happened if you weren't up here. Do you think Biscuits would've investigated Mercy's murder? You're the only reason Paul is going to get caught. And Christopher. And Cecil."

"Faith, I know you're trying to make me feel better, but every word out of your mouth sounds like pity."

The door to cottage five opened. Gordon came out first, then Paul. They were laughing about something because they had no idea that hell was about to rain down on them both.

Will said, "Let's go."

He jogged across the compound. Kevin came from the other side. He grabbed Gordon by the arm.

"Excuse me?" Gordon said, but Kevin was already pulling him away.

"Hey!" Paul tried to go after him. Will put a firm hand on the man's chest.

Paul looked down. There was no flirty banter this time. His mouth went into a straight line. "All right. I guess we're doing this now."

Faith said, "Let's go back inside."

Will kept close to Paul's heels in case he tried to run. Kevin took Gordon into cottage four. The lights came on. The door closed, but not before Gordon gave Paul a steady look. Will made sure that Faith had caught it, too.

Both men were in on it.

The living room smelled like a dive bar. There were half-empty bottles of liquor and overturned glasses. The trash can was overflowing with potato chip bags and candy wrappers. Will caught a whiff of pot. He spotted an ashtray by the chair. It was filled with the butt ends of too many joints to count.

Faith said, "Looks like you guys had quite the party. Anything in particular you were celebrating?"

Paul raised an eyebrow. "Are you sorry we didn't invite you?"

"Gutted." Faith pointed to the couch. "Sit."

Paul sat down with a huff. He leaned back, his arms crossed. "What's this about?"

Faith asked, "You're the one who said I guess we're doing this. What are we doing?"

Paul looked at Will. "You saw the tattoo."

Will felt like a metal spike had gone into his chest.

Paul said, "I kept watching you guys circling around all day. Was it Mercy? Did she tell someone before she died?"

Faith asked, "What did she have to tell?"

Will watched Paul unbutton his shirt, then pull back the material to show his chest. The tattoo was ornate, decorated with red hearts and multicolored flowers. From this distance, all that Will could make out was the G, but that was probably because he already knew the name.

Faith leaned forward. "That's clever. You can't really see the name unless you know what you're looking for. Do you mind?"

Paul shrugged as Faith took out her iPhone.

She snapped several photos, then sat back in the chair with a sigh.

Paul asked, "Am I a suspect or a witness?"

"I can see why it's confusing," Faith said. "Because you're acting like you're not either one of those things."

"White male privilege am'aright?" Paul reached for a bottle of liquor. "I need a drink."

"I wouldn't do that," Faith said. "It's not Old Rip."

"It's still alcohol." Paul took a large gulp straight from the bottle. "What are you guys looking for?"

Faith looked at Will like she expected him to take over. He assumed that his silence would outlast her, but this time, it didn't.

Paul said, "Hello? Witness-slash-suspect calling. Anybody home?"

Will felt his face flush. He couldn't keep being the reason this got fucked up. He asked Paul, "Did Mercy see your tattoo?"

"I let her see it, if that's what you mean."

"When?"

"I don't know, an hour or so after we checked in. I took a shower. I was in the bedroom about to get dressed. I looked out the window. I saw Mercy coming toward our cottage. I thought, ‘Why not?'" Paul rolled the bottle between his hands. "I wrapped the towel back around my waist and I waited."

Will asked, "Why did you want her to see the tattoo?"

"I wanted her to know who I am."

"Did Mercy know that Gabbie had a brother?"

"I imagine so. They only knew each other for a few months over the summer, but they formed an intense bond very quickly. All of Gabbie's letters back home were about Mercy and how much fun they were having together. It sounded like—" Paul stopped, searching for the right words. "You know how it is when you're young and you meet somebody and you just click, and it's like two magnets getting stuck together? You can't see how you lived before you met them, and you don't want to live the rest of your life without them."

Will asked, "Were they lovers?"

"No, they were just two perfect, beautiful friends. And then it was ruined."

"You checked into the lodge under a fake name. That would've been the time to let Mercy know you're Gabbie's brother."

"I didn't want her family to find out."

"Why?"

"Because—" Paul took another drink. "Jesus, that's terrible. What the hell is it?"

"Illegal." Faith reached over and snatched the bottle out of his hands. She put it on the floor. She waited for Will to continue.

All he could do was let his mouth work on autopilot. "Why?"

"Why didn't I want the McAlpines to find out?" Paul sighed as he thought it through some more. "I wanted to keep it between me and Mercy, okay? I wasn't even sure I wanted to do it, but I saw her and I …"

Paul shrugged instead of finishing the sentence.

Will listened to the silence in the room. He looked down at his hands. Even the injured one was trying to make a fist. There was a bone-deep ache in his jaw from clenching his teeth. His body was familiar with this anger. He'd felt it in school when the teacher berated him for not finishing the sentence on the board. He'd felt it at the children's home when Dave made fun of him for not being able to read well. Will had developed a trick where he took his mind out of the situation, unplugging it from his body like the cord on a lamp.

But he wasn't sitting in the back of a classroom anymore. He wasn't in the children's home anymore. He was talking to a murder suspect. His partner was counting on him. More importantly, Jon was counting on him. Will had felt the last beat of Mercy's heart. He had made a silent promise to the woman that her killer would see justice. That her son would know the peace of seeing the man who had stolen her away from him punished for the crime.

Will moved the coffee table back from the couch. He sat directly in front of Paul. "You were arguing with Gordon on the trail yesterday afternoon."

Paul looked surprised. He had no way of knowing that Sara had overheard them.

Will said, "You told Gordon, ‘I don't care what you think. It's the right thing to do.'"

"That doesn't sound like me."

"Then Gordon said, ‘Since when do you care about the right thing?'"

"Are there cameras?" Paul asked. "Is this place bugged?"

"Do you know what you told Gordon?"

Paul shrugged. "Surprise me."

"Gordon asked, ‘Since when do you care about the right thing,' and you said, ‘Since I saw how she fucking lives.'"

Paul nodded. "Okay, that sounds like me."

"Gordon said that you have to let it go. But you didn't let it go, did you?"

Paul worked the hem of his shirt, folding it into tight pleats. "What else did I say?"

"You tell me."

"Probably something like, ‘Let's discuss this over a barrel of Jim Beam.'"

"You told me that you saw Mercy on the trail around 10:30 last night."

"I did."

"You said she was making the rounds."

"She was."

"Did you talk to her?"

Paul started unfolding the pleats. "Yes."

"What did you say?"

"You won't believe me," Paul said. "Gordon told me to stay away from you. He said that you were just a big dumb cop looking to arrest anybody with half a reason."

"You've got more than half a reason," Will said. "What did you say to Mercy on the trail last night, Paul? She was doing her job, making her rounds, and you came out of your cottage around 10:30 and you talked to her."

"That's accurate."

"What did you say?"

"That—" He let out another long sigh. "That I forgive her."

Will watched Paul start back in on the pleats.

"I forgave her," Paul said. "I blamed Mercy for so many years. It ate me up inside, you know? Gabbie was my big sister. I was only fifteen when it happened. There was so much of her life—our lives together—that was stolen from me. I never got to know her as a real person."

"Is that why you killed Mercy?"

"I didn't kill her," Paul said. "You have to hate someone in order to kill them."

"You didn't hate the woman who was responsible for your sister's death?"

"I did for many years. And then I found out the truth." Paul looked up at Will. "Mercy wasn't driving the car."

Will studied the man, but he gave nothing away. "How do you know she wasn't driving?"

"The same way that I know Cecil McAlpine raped her."

Will felt like all of the oxygen had been burned out of the room. He checked in with Faith. She looked just as thrown as Will.

Paul continued, "I also know that Cecil and Christopher put Gabbie in the car with Mercy. I'm hoping that Gabbie was dead by then. I don't want to think about her waking up like that, watching the car barrel toward that sharp curve in the road and knowing that there was nothing she could do to stop it."

Will glanced at Faith again. She had moved to the edge of her chair.

"Her pelvis was crushed, too," Paul said. "My mother told me that little detail last year. The poor woman was on her deathbed. Pancreatic cancer, plus dementia, plus a raging urinary tract infection. She was on high doses of morphine. Her brain—her beautiful brain—kept her trapped inside the summer Gabbie died. Helping her pack for the mountains, making sure she had the right clothes, waving goodbye as my father drove her away. Then picking up the phone. Hearing about the car crash. Learning that Gabbie was dead."

Paul leaned down and picked up the bottle from the floor. He took a long drink before continuing.

"It was just me at my mother's bedside. My father died of a heart attack two years ago." Paul hugged the bottle to his chest. "Dementia knows no patterns. The strangest little detail would come and go from her mind—that Gabbie had forgotten to pack her stuffed bear. Maybe we could mail it to her. Or that she hoped the McAlpines were feeding Gabbie well. Weren't they such nice people? She'd talked to the father on the phone when Gabbie applied for the internship. His name was Cecil, but everyone called him Papa. He was the one who called to tell us that Gabbie was dead."

Paul started to drink, but changed his mind. He handed the bottle to Will. "That phone call from Cecil—that's what really stuck with her. Papa gave her all the details from the accident. My mother assumed that he was trying to be helpful with his brutal honesty, but that's not what it was about. He was reliving the violence. Can you imagine what kind of psychopath you'd have to be to rape and murder a woman's child, then call her up and tell her all about it?"

Will had met that kind of psychopath, but he hadn't realized that Cecil McAlpine was one until now.

"That phone call hounded my mother to the grave. She only had a few hours left, and it was all she could talk about. Not the happy times, like one of Gabbie's violin recitals or track meets or when I surprised everybody and got into medical school, but that phone call from Cecil McAlpine telling her all the gory details about Gabbie's death. And I had to listen to every single word, because those were the final moments that I would ever have with my mother on earth."

He looked out the window, his eyes glistening in the light.

Faith asked, "How did you find out that Cecil killed your sister?"

"I had to go through my mother's papers after she died. My father's too. She had never really bothered to sort them out. There was a folder in the back of his filing cabinet. It had everything to do with the accident. Not that there was a lot to see. A four-page police report. A twelve-page autopsy report. I'm a plastic surgeon. I've worked on people after car accidents. I've testified at criminal and civil trials about the damage. I have never seen a case that didn't have boxes of paperwork. And that's not even with a death. Gabbie died. Mercy almost died. You're telling me that only took sixteen pages?"

Will had read his share of autopsy reports, too. The man was right. "Did they run a toxicology?"

"You're not just a pretty face after all." Paul's smile had a sad quality. "That was what really stood out. Gabbie had marijuana and a high concentration of alprazolam in her system."

"Xanax," Will said. The McAlpines had a predilection for the drug.

"Gabbie smoked, but she liked being up," Paul said. "She took stimulants—Adderall, molly, sometimes coke if anybody had it. She wasn't addicted. She just liked to party. It's one of the reasons my father forced her to do the internship at the lodge. He's the one who found the listing. He thought the fresh air, hard work and exercise would put her on the right track."

Will said, "Mercy was never charged with anything related to the accident. Your parents didn't find that odd?"

"My father was a big believer in truth, justice, and the American way. If a cop said there was nothing to see here, then there was nothing to see here."

Faith cleared her throat. "Which cop?"

"Jeremiah Hartshorne the first. Number two has the job now, which is an appropriate designation."

"Did you talk to him?"

"No, I hired a private detective," Paul said. "He made phone calls, knocked on doors. Half the people in town refused to talk to him. The other half seethed every time he mentioned Mercy's name. She was a whore, a junkie, a murderer, a bad mother, a waste, a witch, possessed by Satan. Every single one of them blamed her for killing Gabbie, but it wasn't really about Gabbie. They just fucking hated Mercy."

Will asked, "How did you find out what really happened?"

"We were approached by an informant. Very cloak and dagger." Paul's smile turned bitter. "It cost me ten grand, but it was worth it to finally hear the truth. Obviously, I wasn't able to do anything about it. The asshole shut up as soon as he had the cash. Wouldn't testify. Refused to go on the record. We looked into him. He's an oily little turd. I doubt his testimony could've sent Jeffrey Dahmer to jail for jaywalking."

Will knew the answer already, but he had to ask, "Who was the informant?"

"Dave McAlpine," Paul said. "You arrested him for Mercy's murder, but for some reason let him go. You know he's not just her ex-husband, right? He's also her adopted brother."

Will rubbed his jaw. There wasn't anything Dave touched that didn't turn to shit. "What did you say to Mercy on the trail last night?"

Paul slowly let out a long breath. "First, you should know a bit more about Gabbie's letters. She wrote at least once a week. She loved Mercy so much. They were going to rent an apartment in Atlanta and—you know how stupid you are when you're seventeen. You do the math and you can live off mac and cheese for ten cents a week. Gabbie was so happy to have found a friend. It wasn't easy for her in school. I told you about the violin. She was in band. She'd been teased for years. It wasn't until she blossomed into her looks that she finally had some kind of life. And Mercy was her first friendship as part of that life. It was special. It was perfect."

Will asked, "What's the second thing?"

"Gabbie also wrote about Cecil. She felt like he was hurting Mercy. Abusing her physically, maybe something else. I don't know the specifics because she didn't say. I doubt she had the words, really. Gabbie didn't grow up with fear. This was before the internet took away our innocence. We didn't have twenty zillion podcasts about beautiful, young women being raped and murdered."

Will could hear the sadness in his voice. The one thing that was clear was that Paul had loved his sister. Still, he hadn't answered the original question. "What did you say to Mercy on the trail last night?"

"I asked her if she knew who I was. She said yes. I told her that I forgave her."

Will waited, but he had stopped.

Faith prompted, "And?"

"And, I had this long speech prepared about how I knew that she had loved Gabbie, that they were best friends, that Mercy hadn't been at fault, that it was her father all along, that she had nothing to feel guilty about—all of those things. But Mercy never gave me the chance to say any of them." Paul forced a smile onto his face. "She spit on me. Literally. Just horked up something ungodly and let loose."

"That's all?" Faith asked. "She didn't say a word?"

"Yeah, she told me to go fuck myself. Then she walked toward the house. I watched her until she went inside and slammed the door."

Faith asked, "And then what?"

"And then—nothing. I was stunned, obviously. And I wasn't going to chase her down after that. She made it clear how she felt. So, I walked back inside and sat down exactly where I'm sitting now. Gordon had heard everything. We were both kind of speechless, to be honest. I hadn't been expecting a Hallmark moment, but I thought I would at least start a dialogue, maybe help both of us get some closure."

The sadness had left his voice. Now, he sounded perplexed.

"Okay, I need to rewind a bit." Faith obviously shared Will's skepticism. "Mercy spit on you, and you didn't do anything?"

"What could I do? I wasn't mad at her. I pitied her. Look at how she's living up here. Everyone in town despises her. She's trapped on this mountain with the father who framed her for killing her best friend. The whole family buys into her guilt. She lost her face because of that man. Think about that part. Mercy's own father took away her face, and she's living with him, working with him, eating meals with him, taking care of him. And on top of that, her own ex-husband, or brother, or whatever you want to call him, took ten grand off me for the truth, but he's never told her what really happened? It's just so fucking sad."

Will asked, "How did Dave know the truth?"

"That part I cannot tell you." He shrugged. "Offer him another ten grand. I'm sure he'll capitulate."

Will would get to Dave later. "You didn't seem fazed this morning when I announced that Mercy had been stabbed to death."

"I was very drunk and very high," Paul said. "Gordon stuck me in the shower to sober up. That's why I wasn't at my best when you saw me. The water had turned brutally cold."

Faith asked, "How are you sure that Mercy didn't know her father was responsible for Gabbie's death?"

"The husband/brother told me she had no idea. Worse, he came across as a bit of a prick about it. Arrogant, like ha-ha I know this thing that she doesn't know, look at how clever I am."

That sounded like Dave all right.

"I knew it was true the very first time I talked to Mercy," Paul said. "I was trying to pull it out of her, right? To see if she really knew what her father had done. I talked about the money this place brings in, how nice it is up here. I thought maybe she was in on it, or was covering for her father."

"But?" Faith asked.

"I asked her about the scar on her face, and she tried to cover it with both hands." Paul shook his head. The memory clearly stirred up some emotion. "Mercy looked so damn ashamed, you know? Not just regular ashamed, but the kind of shame where you feel like your soul has been punched out of your body."

Will knew about that kind of shame. The fact that Dave had forced it onto Mercy, that he had used it to punish the mother of his child, was unconscionably cruel.

"That's why Gordon and I were fighting on the trail. I knew I had to tell her the truth. And I tried, but she made it clear she wasn't interested. Gordon was right. I've already lost my sister and both my parents. It's not my job to fix this fucked up family. It's all beyond repair."

Faith put her hands on her knees. "Do you remember anything else about Mercy last night? Or the family? Did you see anything?"

"Maybe I listen to too many podcasts, too, but it's always the thing you don't think that matters that actually ends up mattering. So—" Paul shrugged. "When Mercy went into the house and slammed the door, I was still absolutely stunned. I stood there for a moment staring in disbelief. And I swear to God I saw someone on the porch."

"Who?" Faith asked.

"I'm probably wrong. I mean, it was dark, right? But I swear it looked like Cecil."

"Why would you be wrong about that?"

"Because after the door slammed, he stood up and walked back inside."