Too Close to Home

say that this student, this Brett Stockwell, was an extraordinary young man,” she said. “Absolutely brilliant.”

“So everyone says.”

“He’d never had a kid like him. A sensitive young man, whose insights were that of a much older person.”

I waited.

“But he was not brilliant enough to have written A Missing Part,” she said. “A boy like him, smart as he was, wasn’t capable of that.”

“Whatever you say, Illeana,” I said. I was about to say that it was in Barry’s hands now, but didn’t. Barry had seemed strangely uninterested in what I’d had to tell him, as though he’d already made his mind up about something and didn’t need the story about the missing computer clouding his vision.

“What happened was, Conrad had already written that book,” Illeana said. “He’d finished it about three years before it was published, but he hadn’t shown it to anyone. He kept tinkering with it, rewriting it, but he just wasn’t sure whether it worked or not. He wanted an opinion on it, so he gave it to Brett to read. On a disc, not a printed- out version. That explains why it was on the boy’s computer.”

I moved my tongue around the insides of my cheeks, thinking about it. “This is what Conrad told you,” I said.

Illeana nodded confidently.

“So before Conrad gave it to a colleague, or a literary agent, or some other published author, he decided to give it to one of his students,” I said.

“Exactly,” Illeana said.

“Well,” I said. “So it’s as simple as that.”

“Simple as that,” she said, smiling, showing off her perfect teeth.

I said, “Well, there are clearly sides to Conrad I’d never have guessed. A professor of his experience and reputation, and he gives the book to a kid to read.”

“I think what he was looking for was an honest, unvarnished opinion,” she said, still smiling, like she thought I’d buy it. I think she’d bought it herself. Maybe she had to believe it. The alternative would be unthinkable. “I know Conrad comes across sometimes as a bit full of himself, but he’s no different from anyone else. Once you’ve created something, there’s a certain amount of fear, handing it over to someone else to be judged. He wanted to take a smaller step before giving it to anyone in the publishing industry.”

“I see.”

“So I’m here to ask you a small favor. I understood from what Conrad revealed to me about your conversation that there exists a copy of this book, presumably on a disc? I can understand how you might have reached a conclusion that might reflect negatively on Conrad, and if someone as insightful as yourself could do that, others might as well. So I’d be grateful if you could give that disc to me to prevent any further misunderstandings.”

Not a bad speech for someone who had taken her top off in, among other things, Scream Fever.

I said, “You should have stayed in Hollywood, Illeana. That was a terrific performance. You learned your lines well, delivered them absolutely convincingly. Did Conrad write them out for you?”

She didn’t flinch. “Conrad doesn’t even know that I’m here.” The way she said it, I was inclined to believe her. “You’re only going to make a fool of yourself if you pursue this, suggest somehow that my husband didn’t write A Missing Part. Because his new novel is going to blow people away. It’s even more brilliant than his first book. There’ll be no question as to his talents and abilities. Not that there are now, except from you, Jim.”

“I wish him good luck with it,” I said.

She smiled. “You really do have it in for him, don’t you? Why don’t you grow the fuck up?” This didn’t sound like the college president’s wife talking. “Where I come from, people fall into each other’s beds all the time and they get over it. Bruce Willis, he goes on trips with Demi and Ashton.”

“I bet that’s fun,” I said. “Maybe they’d let you go with them sometime.”

For the first time, she looked wounded. “What have I ever done to hurt you, Jim? We hardly even know each other.”

And for the first time, I thought maybe I’d gone too far. “You’re right, Illeana. Any quarrels I might have are with Conrad, not you. But I’m not going to give you the disc.”

She nodded, as though she accepted that my decision was final. But she still had more to say. “Conrad and Ellen had their thing a very long time ago. We’re all adults.” She came off the car and stood less than a foot away from me. Even on a day like this, you could feel the heat her body threw off. “A bigger man might find it in his heart to let bygones be bygones, to forgive and move on.”

I started to say something but stopped. I had no comeback for that, maybe because I recognized the truth in it.

Illeana turned away, opened the door to the Audi. “Nice talking to you, Jim,” she said, then slid into the car and put it into first, kicking gravel up against my jeans as she turned the car around and sped off. She went through the gears just fine, didn’t stall it once.

Ellen showed up not long after that, and around six we threw some burgers onto the grill. After Derek had eaten and gone up to his room, I filled her in on my encounters with Barry and Illeana. I made my visit from Barry sound like we’d just bumped into each other, since I didn’t want to tell Ellen that he wanted to know about me and Donna Langley. While it was true that nothing had happened between me and Donna, I didn’t want to reveal how close we’d come.

But I told her that Colin McKindrick, while dead, was not a suspect in the Langleys’ murders. I also told her that I had told Barry about the book on Brett Stockwell’s missing computer, and whose work it bore a remarkable resemblance to.

Ellen stared at me a moment before saying, “And what was his reaction to that?”

“He didn’t give a rat’s ass,” I told her.

“Really?”

“Really. It was like he already had a better lead to follow.”

And then I told her about Illeana’s visit, and her explanation on Conrad’s behalf. That he had given an early draft of the book to Brett for feedback.

She thought about that for a moment. “I suppose it’s possible,” she said.

“You think?” I said. “Everything you’ve ever told me about him suggests that he’s always viewed even the smart kids with contempt. To him, they’re still a bunch of babies.”

“Yes, but. .”

“But what?”

“Maybe-”

There was a sharp knock at the front door that made us both jump. We hadn’t heard a car come down the lane, but we had the house shut up tight and the air-conditioning on.

We both got up from the table, went from the kitchen and through the living room to the front door. Through the sheer curtain at the window I could make out Barry, and it looked as though he was holding something in his hand.

I opened the door. Standing behind Barry were three other police officers, all wearing those surgical-type gloves. “What is it, Barry? What the hell is going on?”

He held up the paper. “It’s a warrant, Jim. To search the house.”

“What?” said Ellen. “What are you talking about?”

“Get Derek,” Barry said, his voice no-nonsense.

“What do you want Derek for?” I asked.

“Jim, please, don’t make this any harder than it has to be,” Barry said. “Just call him down here.”

I hesitated a moment, then shouted, so that I could be heard upstairs: “Derek!”

“What?” Muffled, from behind his bedroom door a flight up.

“Down here! Now!”

A moment later, his footsteps thundering down the stairs. When he got to the bottom, he met the cops, heading up. “Oh shit,” he said, with less surprise than I might have expected.