Memory of Murder

After listening to her silence for several seconds, Alan said in a soft-gruff voice, “Look…Lindsey. I know how you feel-I do. Please believe me when I tell you, I’m not trying to railroad your dad. I’m not accusing him of anything. I’m just trying to find out what happened to your mom that she’s having these terrible memories. It could very well be that she’s mistaken about who shot her-if anyone shot her. It could be your dad is guilty of nothing more than trying to protect her. Be that as it may, there is something in that desk of his he’s nervous about. Maybe it’s nothing more than his personal diary, or…I don’t know, his secret stash of…whatever. But I really need to find out what it is he doesn’t want me to see. Okay?”

He waited, and she still couldn’t answer. After a moment she heard him sigh. “Okay, look. If you don’t want to do this, just tell me now. Tell me you’ve changed your mind about wanting to find out whether there’s any truth to your mother’s nightmares, and I’ll back off right now. Is that what you want?”

Yes! Oh, yes-I wish I’d never brought this to you. I don’t want to know! Her heart cried out in anguish, but she knew it was lying. The genie was out of the bottle, and there was no putting it back.

She put her hand back over her eyes and, after unsticking her tongue from the roof of her mouth, managed to croak, “No. No, it’s okay. I’ll…um. Okay. He golfs with Mr. Norwood, our-the next-door neighbor. On Mondays.”

“What time?”

“I don’t know-mornings, I think. No, wait-yes, it’s mornings, and they usually have lunch together afterward. So, anytime before noon should be good.” She pressed her fist tightly against her chest. “Let me know what time you want to go and I can meet you there.”

Waiting tensely, she heard a long exhalation. “Okay, good. I’ll call you Monday morning once I know what my day’s going to look like. And Lindsey…thanks…I know this isn’t easy.”

She didn’t know what she replied. All she wanted was for him to be gone so she could curl herself up in a ball underneath the covers and give in to the ache in her throat, her chest, her entire body. But once the connection had been broken, instead she went on sitting with the lifeless phone in her hand, listening to the far-off shushing of waves against the rocks below the cliffs.

After a while she laid the phone back on the nightstand and unfolded herself, stiff as an old woman. She got out of bed and went to the bathroom, where she washed her face with cold water. As she patted herself dry, she stared at herself in the mirror, noticing the shadows under her eyes…the lines around her mouth she’d swear hadn’t been there before.

Oh, God…what have I done? Mom’s illness is tearing our family apart, and now I have to destroy everything that’s left? And, as if that weren’t enough, I have to go and develop some kind of… something-a crush? Lord knows what this is, because it can’t possibly be love!- for the man who is the instrument of my family’s destruction? How could I?

And please God, tell me…how can I stop it?

She didn’t know how long she stood in front of the mirror, gazing into her own anguished eyes, before she felt it-the slow relaxing of tension in her body, the easing of the muscles around her mouth and eyes. A quietness came over her…a sense of something like peace-or acceptance, perhaps.

Because, she thought, whatever else happens, I know Dad loves me, and I know he loves Mom.

It doesn’t matter if I take Alan to the house, and it doesn’t matter if he searches Dad’s desk. He won’t find anything. Because my dad has nothing to hide.

Alan stared down at the square of unfinished wood, not wanting to believe, not wanting to accept what lay there before him.

“I don’t understand.” Lindsey spoke in the voice of a bewildered child, and he refused to hear the pain in it. Frustration vibrated through his insides and fury burned behind his eyes.

Too late, dammit. Too late!

“It was here,” he said flatly. “You can see it yourself.” He pointed to the dark rectangle of glue residue about half an inch wide, framing a space the exact size of a standard manila envelope. He gave the brush in his hand another twitch, and a few more grains of fine black powder sifted down onto the bare wood surface. “Something was taped to the bottom of this drawer-with masking tape, probably. But it’s gone now.” He exhaled slowly through his nose and reeled in his disappointment, allowing himself only a whispered, “Damn.”

“It could have been anything,” Lindsey said, her voice now unsteady but defiant. She was hugging herself, he saw when he glanced at her. Had the shakes, probably.

“Yes, it could. Anything at all. And whatever it was, your father couldn’t take even the remotest chance that a police homicide detective might get his hands on it.”

“You don’t know that!” It was a cry of pain, as if he’d wounded her. “You can’t possibly know when-” She froze.

An instant later, so did he. They’d both heard it-the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. The creaking of a garage door rising.

“I thought you said-”

“It’s too early! Something must have-it’s not even noon!” Her eyes were huge above the hands clamped across her mouth. She moved them long enough to whisper hoarsely, “Oh, God-what am I going to do?”

“Go-now. Stall him. I’ll get this cleaned up. Tell him-hell, never mind. Tell him anything. Just stall him.”

She nodded and went, leaving the office door partly open. He had to admire her for that presence of mind, since the sound of the door closing and then reopening would have given him away for sure.

He moved quickly, sliding the drawer back into place with as little noise as possible, then putting everything back in it, careful to put things exactly as he’d found them. Knowing that, if Merrill was as knowledgeable as he appeared to be, he’d have left some kind of “tell” that would let him know instantly that someone had violated his secret hiding place. Couldn’t be helped.

As he worked, he followed Lindsey’s progress with his ears, listening to the sound of the kitchen door opening, a brief snatch of conversation:

“Dad-you’re home early! What happened-”

“Lindsey? What are you doing here at this time of day, honey? Is that Alan’s-”

Before the door closed, cutting off the rest.

God help us, he thought. I just hope she can stall him long enough.

Chapter 7

The woman talked a lot. She told me about her child, a little boy, how much she loved him, and how much he needed her. I knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to make me see her as a human being, a mother with a child. Hoping to soften my heart, I think. But I had a job to do. You must understand-they were not human beings to me. Simply objects to be disposed of.

The man, though…the man was very quiet. He barely spoke, but his silence didn’t reassure me. I could hear determination in that silence.

Excerpt from the confession of Alexi K.

FBI Files, Restricted Access,

Declassified 2010

“I thought you’d be home,” Lindsey said with a nervous laugh. “We, uh…”

“You know Ev and I always play golf on Mondays.” Her father’s lips were tight, his eyes narrowed with suspicion, and there was a coldness in them she’d never seen there before. “So, where is Alan?” His eyes darted to one side, aimed past her at the door she’d just come through.

Choosing to ignore the question, Lindsey shifted slightly, trying to block his path, saying brightly, “Oh-gosh, Daddy, I forgot about your golf date. Wait-that’s right-this is Monday, isn’t it? But don’t you usually have lunch together?” And oh, it felt so wrong. So awful. “Is everything okay? Is Ev-”

“Everything’s fine. Ev’s fine-just had an appointment with his chiropractor. Took a rain check on lunch. Alan