“What? Why?”
“Because you falsified a death certificate for James Ross when you knew full well that he’s alive. And I want to know why. I doubted you’d tell me, so I figured I’d see if the police have any luck when they take you in for questioning regarding the murder of Eleanor Ross and the disappearance of her grandchildren.”
Jeffrey had always admired that Lydia could lie with such complete self-righteousness.
“That’s ridiculous,” said the doctor, who suddenly seemed to need the doorjamb for support. “I’ve done no such thing.”
“Then explain how I was attacked by James Ross just a week ago when I have this document,” she said, pulling a copy of James Ross’s death certificate from the pocket of her coat. “With your signature on it.”
“You can’t prove that the man who attacked you was James Ross.”
“I have the DNA evidence to prove it. I recovered a candy wrapper from the basement with his saliva all over it.”
This half lie hit the doctor right between the eyes. He caved like a good man who’d done a wrong thing and worried every day since that it might catch up with him. What Lydia said was nothing less than his worst fears realized.
“Oh, Christ,” said the doctor, his giant shoulders sagging as he put his head to his hand.
“Now tell me what you know and you just might keep your medical license.”
The lighting in his office was dim and the room smelled of bandages and antiseptic. He leaned on the edge of his desk, which was covered with files, pictures of people she assumed were his kids and grandkids. Predictably, there was the Norman Rockwell print that every doctor has hanging on the dark-paneled wall of his office. His computer screen saver had turned on and a galaxy sped past.
“Eleanor Ross wanted her son declared dead,” he said, sitting down in one of the chairs across from Lydia and Jeffrey.
“Why?” asked Lydia.
“Because there were funds and properties held in trust for him that she couldn’t touch until he’d been declared dead.”
“Did she have money problems?”
“Not really. More than the money I think it was a matter of her wanting to put the past behind them. And also because of Julian.”
“What about Julian?”
“She dreaded him. He was her worst nightmare. Her fear of him led her to periods of deep depression. And Eleanor believed that if she thought he was dead, it might alleviate some of her suffering.”
“So how did it work out?”
“A drifter hung himself in the Ross home last year and there was suspicion that it was James Ross; he was about the same size and build. The body was so decayed as to be unidentifiable. Eleanor was informed and she came to me with her request.”
“And why would you oblige?”
The doctor shrugged and gave a sad shake of his head.
“She offered to pay you?”
“It wasn’t just the money. I wanted to give some peace to an old…”
“Flame?”
“Friend,” he said, glancing toward the door that led to his house. “And I thought, if it helped Julian, more the better. She’d suffered so much.”
“Part mercenary, part altruist. You’re a complex man, Doctor,” said Lydia.
“When Richard Stratton was murdered, did you think about coming clean?” asked Jeffrey.
“I thought about it. But that’s why Eleanor hired you.”
“What?”
“She and I agreed that if the evidence indicated that James was still alive and responsible for Richard’s murder, we’d come clean about what we did. Hopefully, you or the police would catch him and put him away for good. And we’d bear the consequences of our actions.”
“But when we came to you the first time, you could have lied. You could have said he was dead, but I noticed you stopped short of that.”
He shrugged. “Maybe part of me wanted the truth to come out.”
“And if we found someone else to be guilty?”
“The secret would die with us.”
“Good plan. You’re halfway there.”
He nodded his head slowly and he looked someplace inside himself.
“What can you tell us about Maura and Annabelle Hodge?” Lydia asked.
“I can tell you that they are two women with a lot of hatred in their hearts for the Ross bloodline.”
“How do you know that?”
He gave her a flat look that she couldn’t read and lifted his hands. “It’s common knowledge.”
“Or is it just a myth, like James Ross haunting the woods?”
“I guess it’s not as easy to tell the difference as one might think. Anyway, as far as their involvement in any of this, I don’t have the first idea.”
Lydia didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but she did believe he’d said all he was going to. He looked at her with tired, resigned eyes. But there was relief there, too. He’d unloaded a burden, and for better or for worse, at least he wouldn’t have to carry it around on his back any longer.
“So, who’s Annabelle’s father?”
The doctor shook his head. “Now, that’s something that only Maura Hodge knows for sure. I asked her that question many times.”
“And she told you Austin Steward.”
“That’s right… the ghost of Austin Steward. Tell you what, she was so adamant about it that I started to believe it myself.”
“I guess ghost stories are like that. Part of us wants to believe in the fantastic, no matter how frightening and horrible it might be.”
The doctor walked around to the seat behind his desk and sank into the leather chair. He was pale, and dark circles had appeared under his eyes.
“I noticed the police haven’t arrived,” he said after they’d all been silent for a long moment, realizing maybe that Lydia hadn’t quite told him the truth.
“Must be caught in traffic,” said Jeffrey, looking at his watch.
Lydia got up and moved toward the door. Jeffrey followed.
“That DNA evidence you mentioned?”
Lydia just smiled. “Might be a good time to start considering retirement, Doctor.”
“I was just thinking that.”
They stepped out of the office and into the cold, Lydia pulling the door closed behind them.
“You’re an accomplished liar,” said Jeffrey as they got into the Kompressor and pulled to the end of the drive. They paused there as a pair of headlights approached from the right.
“Thank you,” she answered.
“I’m not sure I meant it as a compliment.”
“There are lots of different ways to get to the truth. Lying is just one of them.”
“Well, when you’re right, you’re right.”
“So where to?”
“To the only place we’ve ever seen James Ross.”
Jeffrey didn’t pull out into the road right away. Instead he put the car in park.
“What’s wrong?” asked Lydia.
“I’m just afraid of what we’re going to find up there.”
Jeffrey sighed and rested his head on the steering wheel. Cold air blew from the vents but started to warm as the car heated up. They sat in the darkness, with only the glow from the dashboard lights. Mick Jagger and the Stones sang “Start Me Up” softly from the radio. Lydia reached over and turned it off. She wasn’t sure what to
