Don't Believe a Word Read online

  Flynn gazed at her. ‘How totally arrogant of you,’ he said.

  Eden’s temper flared. ‘I don’t know where this is coming from. I’m agreeing to protect you. And I’m not doing it for your sake. I have my own burden of guilt. I turned my back on my mother, and I shouldn’t have. Maybe if I had listened to her, I would have known how desperate she was. I might have been able to help her.’

  ‘You’re not going to try to incriminate me because of your own guilt,’ he said evenly.

  ‘This isn’t just about you,’ she said, disliking him all over again. She had offered him absolution and safety, she thought, and he chose to act insulted.

  ‘Who else is it about, I’d like to know?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, for one, Aaliya. Your alibi. I would be positively fearful for Aaliya if it all came out about the female prostitute you hired for her. Homosexuality is a stoning offense in some Middle Eastern countries. For all I know, she could seriously be in harm’s way right here if this all was made public. Even though she didn’t succumb.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘You know about Aaliya? My, you have been busy.’

  ‘Yes. How could you be so disrespectful of her convictions?’

  Flynn nodded and lit another cigarette, tossing the expended wooden match into the overflowing ashtray. Still sitting on the floor, he pulled his knees close to his chest and wrapped his arms protectively around them as he took a drag on the cigarette. He did not look at Eden and the silence in the room was oppressive.

  Eden refused to be the first to speak. She had made what she considered to be a sacrifice, and a generous offer. It was Flynn’s turn to acknowledge it.

  ‘All right,’ he said slowly. ‘You’re right about that. I admit it. I couldn’t imagine being young and beautiful like Aaliya, and not wanting to have a … taste of life. So, in a completely stupid and ignorant move, I hired someone to initiate her. I thought I was doing her a favor. My mistake, I confess. I was an ass, and she let me know it.’

  Eden stared at him. ‘And …’

  ‘As for your mother, and my son,’ he said, with exaggerated patience. ‘I am only going to say this once. I would never have hurt them. No matter what. Period.’

  Eden gazed at him, both fascinated and repelled. ‘You must have,’ she cried. ‘My mother could never have done that to Jeremy. I don’t believe it. It had to be you.’

  Flynn clambered to his feet. ‘I really don’t care what you believe, you little bitch. I don’t care what you think or who you tell about it. I just don’t ever want to see your face again. Now get out of my house.’

  Eden rose slowly to her feet.

  ‘Go,’ he cried. ‘Get out.’

  It was still raining as Eden left the house, though it had let up somewhat. She hurried down the block under the streetlights, got in the car and drove directly back to the motel. Back in her suite, the rain pelted the locked sliding glass doors. For a while she stared out at the darkness of the courtyard, which was relieved only by the glow of small white lights which had been haphazardly threaded through the scrawny trees. Finally, she closed the curtains. She turned on the TV to keep her company while she packed. She thought about who she should call to tell them she was leaving. Lizzy and DeShaun? Marguerite and Gerard? Dr Tanaka? People here had been nice to her, and tried to help. But they had already moved on with their lives. Their concerns had diverged from the tragic deaths of Tara and Jeremy.

  For a moment she toyed with the idea of knocking on Andy’s door and telling him that she had a flight home tomorrow. But she knew that the chubby salesman would be curious to find out what she had learned about her mother’s death. And what was she going to tell him? That she had been sure that her stepfather was to blame, and now she no longer believed it? The contempt, the righteous indignation in Flynn’s eyes when she offered up her theory had collapsed her conviction. Eden shook her head, as if she could shake the image of those outraged eyes free from her mind. It had seemed to her that everything pointed to him. She had presented her theory with no recriminations. She had vaguely expected acknowledgement and an apology, which she would gracefully accept.

  But she knew shock when she saw it. Eden had never seen anyone so clearly stunned as Flynn was by her interpretation of events. Maybe he was the world’s greatest actor. It seemed unlikely. No, it was beginning to become clear that she had it all wrong. But if it was not Flynn, and not her mother … Stop, she thought. Stop. You have tried and failed. The case is officially closed. Perhaps there are some things you can never know. Maybe that is your punishment for being so unwilling to ever forgive.

  The packing finished, Eden ate some cheese and crackers, drank some wine and took a sleeping pill. The morning would be here soon enough. She could not wait to leave this place behind. She felt as if the thought of being home again was the only thing that was keeping her sane.

  The next morning she arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare, so that there would be no question of missing her flight. At this hour, the concourse was practically deserted. She checked her bag filled with dirty laundry, and kept only her carry-on bag with her, holding some spare clothes and a few essentials. She made it easily through security. Everyone was pleasant. Almost solicitous. As if they knew that she had had a terrible time in Cleveland. As if they could tell by looking at her that everything had gone wrong, and that she couldn’t get out fast enough.

  Eden bought herself some breakfast at Cleveland Bagel, and sat down in a chair at the gate for her flight. Only two other travelers were seated at the gate. The ticket clerk for the desk had not even arrived. She took out a book and tried to read, but it was no use. She sat back in the chair, sipped her coffee and stared at the local news on the television at the center of the lounge.

  ‘Good morning, Cleveland,’ said a cheery black woman with a gap between her teeth, wearing a turquoise dress which popped beautifully against her dark skin on camera.

  Eden closed her eyes and let the voices from the news drone over her. And then, suddenly, she let out a cry, as if she had been wakened by a bad dream.

  ‘Police say that the victim, writer and college professor, Flynn Darby, was found lying in the street a block from his home, in the early morning hours. Police have no witnesses but are canvassing the neighborhood in an effort to find anyone who might have information about the shooting. Mr Darby was rushed to the Cleveland Clinic, where he is in a critical condition with three bullet wounds to the head and torso. Mr Darby’s wife and his son died in a murder/suicide at their home only two months ago …’

  Eden stared, frozen, at the screen as the woman continued to run down the general information they had about the Darby family. For a moment, she could not take it in. She felt as if she were seeing it through a fog. But the reporter moved on to the story of a hijacked car, and Eden knew, with a sickening certainty, that what she had just seen was real. She wadded up the waxed paper around her bagel and her empty paper coffee cup. She stood up on trembling legs, threw the trash into a nearby can and pulled on her coat.

  I have to get to the hospital, she thought. For a moment she fretted about her suitcase, which she had already checked. Too late to worry about it, she told herself. It’s not important. They’ll deliver it to me when I get home. Checking repeatedly to see that she had all her other belongings, she started back toward the security gates, walking at first, and then running, her carry-on bag careening along on two wheels behind her.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Eden was directed to a waiting area outside of the double doors leading to the surgical wing. A nurse at the entrance told her that the doctors were working on Flynn, trying to save him.

  As she awkwardly pulled her carry-on bag up to the designated chair in the crowded waiting lounge between surgery and the ICU, she saw that Lizzy Jacquez was there too, standing in the corner of the small lounge, engaged in a heated discussion with her husband, DeShaun. Eden thought to hail them, but held back. The glower on Lizzy’s face did not invite an interrup
tion. DeShaun, wearing his lab coat, was saying something to her close to her ear, his dark face twisted with anger. Lizzy was shaking her head, her fists clenched in front of her. DeShaun finally threw up his hands in exasperation and stormed out of the lounge. Eden did not try to catch his attention. He clearly had too much on his mind.

  Lizzy flopped down into a nearby chair and buried her face in her hands. Eden could see her shoulders shaking. What were the chances, Eden thought, that she was here for anyone else but Flynn? And why would she be so distraught? She could imagine Lizzy being shocked and saddened by the news, but this reaction was way more than shocked or sad. And then she began to wonder. Eden thought briefly about the woman she had seen leaving Flynn’s house the night before. The woman had been slim like Lizzy, and Eden had had the impression of someone young, even though she had not seen the visitor’s face. Was it Lizzy? Was that why Lizzy was now so upset? Eden tried to wrap her mind around the idea. Was it possible? Flynn and the young researcher who had been so devoted to Tara and Jeremy … In their grief, had they turned to one another?

  Eden looked worriedly at the door where DeShaun had just exited. Did he suspect there was something going on between his wife and Flynn Darby? She thought back to her meeting with him just yesterday. She tried to remember how he had seemed when he talked about Flynn. Somewhat impatient. Maybe a bit disrespectful. But not angry. Not mad at all. She wondered if something had changed between now and then. Had this even-tempered intern suddenly learned something private and devastating about his wife and Flynn Darby? Something that might turn him into a would-be killer?

  Eden glanced back in the direction of Lizzy Jacquez, just as the young woman lifted her face from her hands. Their eyes met across the room, and Lizzy’s eyes widened in alarm. Or was it fear? Eden wondered. What does she have to fear from me? For a minute she hesitated. I should go over there and ask her.

  Just then, Eden felt her shoulder gripped by a strong hand.

  ‘Ms Radley,’ said a voice behind her.

  Eden turned around, trying to free herself from the unwelcome grip. Detective Burt was standing there, flanked by two uniformed officers.

  ‘What do you want?’ Eden demanded. ‘Let go of me.’

  Burt loosened his grasp, and Eden straightened out the collar of her coat.

  ‘Please come with me. We want to talk to you,’ said Detective Burt.

  ‘About …?’

  ‘About what happened to your stepfather, obviously,’ said the detective.

  ‘I’m sure you know more about it than I do,’ said Eden. ‘I was in the airport on my way back to New York when I saw the report on the TV news. I grabbed a cab and came over here.’

  ‘We can discuss this at the station,’ said the detective calmly.

  ‘I’m waiting here to find out about Flynn’s condition,’ she protested.

  ‘Frankly, your concern surprises me,’ said Detective Burt. ‘Unless perhaps you’re worried that, if he survives this, he might be able to identify his assailant.’

  Eden was about to yelp indignantly, and then her dudgeon subsided. She realized that she was in no position to protest. She had gone to the police and all but accused Flynn of killing her mother, her stepbrother. Of course she was a suspect. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘it’s true that I disliked Flynn, but I had nothing to do with this.’

  ‘Please come along with us,’ said Detective Burt.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Eden. ‘Are you arresting me?’

  ‘We just want to talk to you,’ said the detective. ‘We would appreciate your cooperation.’

  Eden thought about refusing. She thought about threatening to call a lawyer. But somehow that seemed to imply that she did feel guilty. And, of course, she did not. ‘Okay, I’ll come and speak with you. But I will need to come back here,’ she said.

  ‘Understood,’ he said.

  ‘There’s not much I can tell you,’ Eden warned him. She turned to see if Lizzy Jacquez was still watching her. But Lizzy was gone from the lounge. A weary-looking woman with a baby had sat down in the chair that Lizzy had vacated.

  Detective Burt signaled that Eden should go out into the hallway first. She did as he directed, and the detective and two patrolmen followed her. They went to the elevator and waited for it to arrive at their floor. When the doors finally opened, Aaliya Saleh hurried out.

  ‘Hey,’ said Eden. ‘Aaliya!’

  Aaliya looked up and seemed shocked to see Eden there. Then she quickly recovered her composure. ‘Ms Radley. How is Professor Darby?’

  ‘I haven’t been allowed to see him,’ said Eden. ‘They’re not giving out much information.’ She turned to Detective Burt. ‘This is Aaliya Saleh. She was my stepfather’s assistant.’

  ‘How do you do,’ said the detective formally, gripping Eden’s elbow and guiding her through the elevator doors.

  ‘She might know something,’ Eden whispered.

  Detective Burt nodded at one of the patrolman. ‘L,’ he said, gazing at the lighted buttons. The patrolman leaned over and pushed it.

  As the doors began to close and the elevator descended to the lobby, Eden felt her heart sinking. She had the distinct impression that Detective Burt was not interested in any other possible suspects.

  Once they arrived at the police station, Detective Burt opened the door on a small waiting room and indicated that Eden should go inside. She went in.

  ‘Have a seat,’ said the detective.

  Eden sat down. Detective Burt sat down opposite her. The patrolmen filled up the doorway. Eden glanced at them, feeling faintly uneasy.

  ‘Now Ms Radley,’ said the detective. ‘You say you knew nothing about this shooting until you saw it on the news.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Eden.

  ‘May I ask where you were last night?’

  Eden’s cheeks flamed. ‘A number of places. Why?’

  ‘Did you pay a visit to your stepfather, Mr Darby, around midnight, last night?’

  How would he know that? Eden wondered. Who told him that? Someone had seen her and reported it. Burt clearly wasn’t just fishing. He knew it. It seemed pointless to lie. ‘Yes. I went to see him.’

  ‘For what purpose?’ asked the detective.

  Eden licked her lips and looked away from Detective Burt. ‘I went to say goodbye. I knew I was leaving today. I felt as if it was the right thing to do.’

  ‘After the suspicions that you expressed to me in my office? That he had arranged for your mother and half-brother’s murder/suicide? You made a courtesy call to say goodbye? I find that a little strange, frankly.’

  Eden hesitated. She thought about her encounter with Flynn and the imagined scenario that she had presented to him. How outraged Flynn had been, even in the face of her absolution. It was better, she thought, not to put her discredited theory on the table. But someone had shot Flynn today, and the detective was looking directly at her. The important thing was to remove any idea of her own possible motive from his mind. She could feel the weight of his suspicions bearing down on her like a wet rug. She chose her words carefully.

  ‘In the time that I’ve spent here in Cleveland, I had an opportunity to learn a lot more about my mother. After digging around into the circumstances of her life, I found out that my mother was suffering from a terrible illness. An incurable, inevitably fatal condition, which made me realize that the idea of her suicide was completely understandable.’

  It was Burt’s turn to be surprised. ‘What illness? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Didn’t you read the autopsy report?’ Eden asked.

  ‘It still hasn’t been delivered. What do you know about it, anyway?’

  ‘I went down to the coroner’s office and for two dollars and fifty cents I was able to obtain a copy,’ she explained pointedly.

  Burt looked irritated. ‘Really? They still haven’t sent it to me.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘How am I supposed to do my job?’ he asked, to no one in particular.

  ‘D
idn’t the coroner mention this when he talked to you about his results? It was in her toxicology screen. My mother was taking medication for early-onset Alzheimer’s. Apparently, the deterioration had already begun, and with early onset it’s known to be swift. Her prognosis was grim. Hopeless, in fact.’

  Burt sat back in his chair, and placed his hands on the armrests as if he were on a plane, coming in for a rough landing. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘I asked a doctor to explain the report to me. The coroner never mentioned it to you?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, no one doubted it was a suicide … I suppose he didn’t think it was important,’ Burt grumbled.

  ‘Still,’ said Eden.

  Burt nodded. ‘Right. It might have been useful to know.’ He rubbed his face absently. ‘So your doubts were … allayed by this information. You no longer suspected your stepfather was involved.’

  Eden knew she was shading the truth, but so be it. ‘No, I no longer suspect him,’ she said.

  ‘So you’re saying that you no longer had any reason to want him to come to harm?’ he asked, his voice saturated with doubt.

  ‘No. None,’ she said.

  ‘Can you think of anyone else who might want to harm your stepfather?’

  Eden thought immediately of the scene she had witnessed in the lounge. DeShaun and Lizzy Jacquez. Lizzy was so distraught. Was it possible that Flynn and Lizzy had grown unacceptably close? That her husband had just found that out? Eden felt as if she owed DeShaun some loyalty for deciphering the autopsy for her. She was not going to bring up his possible involvement to this detective. It certainly was not her place to voice her suspicions. Besides, there were probably many other suspects. Flynn Darby was, at best, a self-absorbed, difficult man, but she wasn’t going to implicate anyone else in shooting him. ‘I really don’t,’ she said.

  ‘Of course, thanks to your mother’s death, he’s a rich man now. You probably wouldn’t have minded being the beneficiary of some of that money.’