“So he must have felt pretty pissed, too,” Barry surmised. “You didn’t just go behind his parents’ backs, you went behind his, too.”
“Okay! Fuck! I know!” Derek said, his cheeks flushed. “It was a stupid, shitty thing to do. I’m really, really sorry.”
But I said, to Barry, “There, you see? He did a stupid thing, and he’s admitted it, but that’s where it ends.”
“No,” said Barry, still looking at Derek, ignoring me, “there’s more, right? They came home, found you, and you panicked. You had access to a gun, maybe a gun that was in the house-”
“No!” Derek shouted. “No! I didn’t do anything! Someone else did it! Not me!”
“Then who was it, Derek?” Barry said. “You know who it was?”
“No!”
“Barry,” I said, “can’t you see he’s upset? Ease off a little.”
He turned and looked at me. “I don’t like this any more than you do, Jim.”
Derek was almost sobbing now and Ellen had taken him into her arms. “Look what you’ve done,” she said to Barry.
The detective ignored her. “Okay, Derek, you say you didn’t do it, but we’ve got you placed at the house right around the time the whole thing went down. But you didn’t see who did it. You can’t have it both ways.”
“I never saw anybody,” he said. “I was hiding.”
Barry was shaking his head sadly when one of the tech guys who’d been upstairs appeared in the kitchen. He was using just a finger and a thumb to hold a shoe. One of Derek’s many pairs of sneakers.
“Detective Duckworth,” the cop said, and turned the shoe around, displaying the sole. He pointed to a dark smudge near the heel. “Bingo,” he said.
Barry leaned in for a closer look. “You sure it’s blood?” he asked.
“Pretty sure,” said the cop. “And once we get a DNA test done, we’ll know a hell of a lot more.”
Neither Ellen nor I seemed to be breathing at that moment. But Derek was sobbing, muttering under his breath, “No, no, no. .”
“Barry,” I said.
Then Derek said, “I didn’t see anything. But I heard it! I heard them come in! I heard the shots! I heard all of them die! I swear to God!”
Barry appeared unmoved.
He said, “Derek Cutter, I’m arresting you for the murders of Albert Langley, Donna Langley, and Adam Langley. You-”
“Barry, Jesus,” I said. “He admits he was there. Listen to him for Christ’s-”
“Jim, please,” Barry said, holding up his hand. He continued. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and you can have that attorney present during any questioning. If you can’t afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you.”
He took a set of handcuffs from his belt, turned our son around, and cuffed him.
It seemed to me that our world, at that moment, more or less ended.
TWENTY-ONE
Derek was arraigned the following morning. Ellen and I had been up all night, first just dealing with the shock of his arrest, then scrambling to find our son legal representation. Under other circumstances, of course, we would have gone straight to Albert Langley. We knew him, we trusted his reputation, we knew he knew his stuff.
Not exactly an option at the moment.
Nor did we feel we could call on anyone else in Langley’s firm. Who would want to defend the person charged with the murder of a colleague and his family? And besides, even if someone Langley had worked with agreed to represent Derek, we didn’t want to take any chances there might be underlying animosity. So Ellen put in a call to some people she knew from Thackeray, asking for recommendations, and came up with the name Natalie Bondurant. Eight years working as a criminal defense lawyer in Promise Falls, and according to at least one person Ellen talked to, a “smart cookie.” We put in a call to her service sometime around nine, and she called us back before ten.
I laid it out for her over the phone, my voice shaking at times. Then she had a number of questions for me, which I tried to answer as succinctly as possible. Her questions were clear and direct. She managed to cut through the emotions that were overwhelming us, got us to focus on the facts, to try as best we could to view the situation rationally, even if it was impossible for us to see it very objectively.
“So the police have no weapon,” she said. “That’s a problem for them. Unless they find it, in which case that could change things.”
“They won’t find it,” I said. “He didn’t do it.”
Natalie Bondurant chose not to argue. “It weakens their case. Your son had opportunity, he was there, that’s bad, but he has no record of violence-”
“He was in a bit of trouble once. He went joyriding with a friend, who’d taken his dad’s car without permission, and the car got smashed up. Another time, he was caught with some friends playing on the roof of the school and-”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about those things. They’re a far cry from killing three people in cold blood. But I think there’s more to this than meets the eye. The police are saying your son killed the Langleys because they discovered he’d hidden out in their house, but I don’t know. That doesn’t strike me as much of a motive. I’m worried they haven’t played all their cards yet. We’ll have to see. I’m going to want to talk to this Penny Tucker, find out exactly what Derek’s state of mind was when he talked to her on the phone from the house. I’ll have a chance to speak with him tomorrow morning before he goes before the judge, but I don’t think you should expect he’s going to get bail. He’s a suspect in a triple homicide. The state’s case may seem weak, but until we knock it down, I don’t think he’s going to be allowed out.”
Ellen, on the bedroom extension, said, “What’s going to happen to him? In jail? Is he going to be safe there?”
“I’ll talk to some people. Given the nature of the charges, I think it’s more likely he’ll be put in a separate cell, rather than with the general population.”
I knew Ellen was thinking what I was thinking. Our seventeen-year-old boy sharing a cell with grown men being held for God knows what. I didn’t want to think about it, but all I could do was think about it.
“There’s going to be a lot of media attention, too,” Natalie warned us.
“What do you mean?” Ellen asked.
“An arrest in a case this big, it’ll be a mini-circus outside the court. All the Albany media will be here. Probably a contingent from New York, as well. It’s going to be bad.”
“Oh God,” Ellen said.
“You have cell phones?” We gave her the numbers. “Because if I need to get in touch, I’ll call one of those. Your house phone, you’re going to reach a point where you’re not going to want to answer it. You may want to unplug it altogether. Media, crank calls, threats, the whole gamut. Don’t watch the news. The cops still have someone on the Langley house, it’s still a crime scene, they may keep the media from your door. I’ll talk to Barry and see if that’s possible.”
Barry. Like he was going to do us any favors.
As though reading my mind through the phone line, Natalie said, “He’s an okay guy. I’ll see what I can do. Also, there’s the matter of money. I don’t come cheap.” She outlined her fees. “It could go on for a while.”
Ellen, who looked after the finances in our house, said, “Okay. We’ve got some IRAs we could cash in, but not that much.” I could feel her desperation and hopelessness coming through the line from our upstairs bedroom. “I’ll start looking into that tomorrow.”
“Okay,” said Natalie. “We’ll talk then.”
