‘Why would I want to…?’ He flushed and looked away. ‘What happened?’ His hands shook as he picked up his drink and abruptly set it down again.
‘He died from a fall. Two weeks ago.’
He ran his finger round the edge of his glass. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘I imagined you would be.’ Erin reached into her bag for the photograph from Stern’s bedroom. Lydia had swiped it for her when she went to the house to collect Tim to drive him to the group home near Albany, where a place had become available at just the right moment.
‘This was in Warren Stern’s bedroom.’ She pushed it across the table. ‘It’s an exact copy of the photo I saw in your apartment, and I couldn’t help wondering why he would have a picture of you and your dad. But it’s not your father, is it?’ She studied his face. ‘It’s you and Stern.’
When he looked up at her, his skin was the colour of putty. ‘What were you doing in Stern’s bedroom?’
She nearly laughed, but then grew serious. ‘I was running for my life.’
He struggled to connect the dots. ‘Running…? I don’t understand.’
A stream of chatter from the crowd on the terrace drifted through the open window.
‘Tim didn’t kill his mother and sisters. When Doris Stern found out her husband was having an affair with another woman, she killed her daughters in revenge. When Stern discovered what his wife had done, he murdered her and made it look like Tim was to blame.’
In front of her eyes, Ray seemed to shrink, until he took on the shape of a sullen boy, angry at the world. ‘All this time, it was Stern?’
Erin looked at him, but said nothing. Around them, the air fell still.
He finished his drink, and when he spoke, his voice was hollow. ‘My father was a violent drunk. He used to beat the crap out of me when I was a kid. And my mother…’ He shook his head. ‘To escape the chaos at home, I joined a Little League baseball team, even though I didn’t like sports, just so I could get out of the house on Saturdays. Stern was one of the coaches. I was twelve and desperate for any sign of kindness. He took me under his wing, encouraged me to work hard at school. Kept telling me that good grades and a fine character would be my ticket out.’
He signalled the waitress for another glass of sangria. ‘By the time I was fifteen, I’d started to pull away from him. When I quit playing baseball, I could tell he was hurt. He’s the one who got me the job at the yacht club, though by that time I was a mess. Drugs, skipping school, petty theft.’ He paused. ‘Even, on occasion, arson.’ His crooked smile fell flat. ‘If it was bad, or against the law, it was like honey to a bee.’
Arson. A picture of Tim’s charred house rose in Erin’s mind. ‘A year after the murders, before he moved to California, Stern came to see me in New York. I’d gotten a scholarship to Columbia and was over the moon at the chance to escape Belle River. He said he thought of me as family, that with his wife and daughters dead, and Tim locked away, I was the son he was meant to have. It wasn’t always a welcome or easy mantel to wear, but we kept in touch. Cards at Christmas and on my birthday, and every couple of years, when he flew out here on business, he’d take me out to some slick restaurant.’
Ray picked up the photo. ‘This was taken about ten years ago. He’d remarried by then and the new wife wasn’t happy about him keeping up with the old Belle River crowd, such as it was. So, we drifted apart. The last time I saw him was about four years ago, when we met for lunch at a steakhouse in midtown. That’s when he told me his wife had cancer. About a year ago, I got a card saying he’d moved back east. Bought a house in Vermont and wanted me to come up for a visit. I never got around to writing him back. By that time, our relationship had started to feel a bit forced.’ His voice fell away. ‘I didn’t know he’d kept this picture in his bedroom.’
In the space of a few minutes, Ray’s face had aged ten years. The lines around his eyes were deeper, and his skin an unhealthy grey.
‘I called him once, but I never went up to the house. Always had some excuse. Work, travel, whatever. But the truth was, I didn’t feel like rekindling the relationship. It was fine when he was out on the West Coast, but with him living in Vermont, it felt like an obligation. It was like he wanted something from me I didn’t have to give.’ He reached for her hand, but she pulled away. ‘When you turned up at my door, asking about Tim Stern… it was a huge shock. The last thing I heard about Tim was that he’d been sent to a state asylum. Stern never mentioned him.’
His tone seemed sincere, but she wasn’t convinced. Something told her there was more to the story. Much more. ‘Okay, I get that you were surprised, but why lie about knowing him?’
‘Habit, I guess.’ He rattled the ice in his glass. ‘I learned to keep secrets as a kid. Safer that way.’
That she could understand. Two people with miserable childhoods. It should have formed a bond between them. But something didn’t ring true.
He tossed some bills on the table. ‘Do you mind if we go outside? I could use some air.’
*
They walked north along the river, where the swirls and eddies rippled in the light. On the other side, high bluffs cast shadows across the water.
‘When you started asking all those questions about the Sterns, I had the idea you might
