Chapter Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Seven
“Excuse me,” I said as I bounced back off the woman. From their ill-fitting bargain suits, I was pretty confident they were cops or IRS agents or bank managers, but cops were the most unfortunate option and therefore probably the reality.
“Hello, we’re looking for Dominic Joyce,” she explained.
I wanted to ask why or say he didn’t live there or push them both down the five steps like maybe they would land in such a specific way as to snap both their necks. “Second floor.”
The woman nodded while they both maneuvered past me and headed up the stairs. I knew I should get the hell out of there, but instead I found myself behind them, creeping back up to Dominic’s apartment.
Dominic opened the door with gusto, thinking it was me knocking, back to be like, Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I do need your help! You are the only person who can save me! His body stuttered once he saw my two companions and then he furrowed his brow when he noticed me cowering behind them.
“Mr. Joyce?” the woman asked.
“Yes.” Dominic’s eyes darted between the three of us.
“I’m Detective Ellison.” She held up her badge for him to see. “And this is my partner, Detective Hanson.”
“How can I help you?” Dominic was fidgeting too much already.
“May we come in?” Ellison asked.
Dominic shot me a look as if I had sent out some sort of smoke signal that summoned these detectives to his door five minutes after I’d begged him not to tell anyone. I did the subtlest of shrugs to communicate that I had no idea what was going on.
I shadowed behind the two detectives into the apartment as if I belonged.
“And who are you?” Detective Hanson finally spoke.
“A friend.” I hoped I could avoid giving my name.
“She can stay,” Dominic said, tugging at his hair. “If that’s okay.”
Detective Ellison nodded and Hanson took his suspicious eyes off me.
“Do you want to sit?” Dominic asked them. “Or can I get you a drink? I’m sorry, what is customary here? I’ve never had cops in my home before.”
“We have a few questions,” Ellison said, almost smirking. Dominic’s panicky consideration was adorable, if not insane. Ellison planted her feet and Hanson joined her—this is where the talking would take place.
“Right,” said Dominic.
I tried to stay behind the detectives so that I could signal to him if he was blowing it, but Ellison noticed I was lurking behind her and rotated her upper body to stare at me until I acquiesced and sauntered over next to Dominic.
“Mr. Joyce, we’re here in regard to Abel Haggerty. Prison logs show that you visit him quite frequently.”
“Yeah, I’m writing a book about him.”
“That’s great. I look forward to reading it someday.” She reached into her suit jacket and pulled out a small notebook, letting the silence build. She flipped it open as if she needed to check her notes. “Are you aware that Reanne Haggerty is missing—presumed dead?”
He was. I’d just told him. I was the reason he knew and was going to have to pretend he didn’t.
“Huh?” he said, buying time to craft the appropriate reaction.
“She’s missing, and we found quite a bit of blood at her home,” Ellison said, watching him, then me.
Oh shit, I forgot I was there and had to react too. I crinkled my forehead and looked to Dominic for answers as if I was some dumb girlfriend in way over her head.
“She was murdered?” Dominic asked, stalling with another question. “Was it the same person who killed James Calhoun?”
Ellison glanced up from her unnecessary prop notebook. “We’re looking into it.”
“And what about the other man? Oswald Shields. Is it connected?” Dominic’s voice regulated as he gained some control in the conversation. He was doing much better than I’d anticipated.
“We aren’t at liberty to share those details,” said Ellison.
“Sorry, I got too excited. You know, with the book and all. Anyway, how can I help you?”
“Have you had any interactions with Reanne Haggerty?”
“No. I was thinking of adding her house to the tour—I run the only Abel Haggerty–themed tour, by the way—but she lives in Saugus now and it’s really out of the way. Plus I’ve found that when you give customers the hope that they might see someone and then they don’t, they leave bad reviews.”
“What about Abel?” Hanson asked, inserting himself into the conversation. “Has he said anything suspicious?”
Dominic thought for a second. “Well, he says a lot of suspicious things. He’s a serial killer, after all, but he never said anything bad about Reanne, if that’s what you mean.
He’s an old man with a lot of mental problems. If you think he’s orchestrating some murder plot from his cell, I doubt it.
He doesn’t have much contact with the outside world, except me. ”
“And why are you so special to him?” Ellison asked.
“I have no idea, but I try to be grateful and not push it. He trusts me and wants his story heard.”
Detective Ellison closed her notebook and shoved it back into her jacket. “We’re going to need you to be available for further questioning. I hope you understand that your relationship with Abel Haggerty is not protected. If you know anything, you are obligated to share that with us.”
“I understand.”
The detectives turned and walked to the door. Dominic followed to let them out. Hanson left first, and as Detective Ellison crossed the threshold, she turned back toward me. “I’m sorry, what was your name?”
“Gwen,” I said.
“Gwen…”
“Tanner,” I whispered, hoping she couldn’t hear but would accept that I had tried.
She nodded and left, reaching into her pocket, presumably for that stupid little notebook, as Dominic closed the door behind her. He didn’t even look at me as he walked to the couch and flopped down.
“You were great,” I said.
“Just go.” He buried his head under a throw pillow. “If you don’t want my help, at least try not to take me down with you.” Muffled. Defeated. A little overdramatic.
“What’s your problem?” I reached out and yanked the pillow from his face and threw it down on his chest. “You’re one hundred percent to blame for the position you’re in.
Are you scared? You weren’t scared before when you were trying to find Marin Haggerty, even though the Marin Haggerty in your mind wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you.
If anything, you should feel safe because Marin Haggerty actually likes you and has no interest in killing you.
The real killer probably couldn’t care less about you. That’s a good thing.”
That was a lie, but I had to say something to try to put him at ease, even if it was mean.
If the real killer knew how fond I had become of Dominic, that would absolutely put him in the crosshairs.
It’s not like I was shy about spending time with him.
He was probably on deck for a severed limb or exsanguination at some point.
“Great monologue,” said Dominic, throwing the pillow at me. “If you don’t want my help, then just get out of here.”
“Boo-hoo,” I said, mocking. “I need a few days to think and not worry about your arm being on my doorstep when I come home because you couldn’t help yourself and revealed the wrong thing to the wrong person.”
“I get it,” he said.
“Good.” I was not having his little tantrum. “And don’t come to Jake’s tonight.” With that, I walked out of his apartment again, not knowing if I was helping him or hurting him by doing so.
- - - - -
Jake’s party was not where I wanted to be headed, but I wanted to see Elyse, and a desperate part of me still hoped Porter might be there.
I wore my new jeans and sweater and felt pretty good about it. Hey, I might get you all killed, but don’t I look kind of good in this? I wondered how severe things would have to get for me to stop considering what other people were thinking. Maybe that Chinese satellite blackout thing.
The door opened and a guy stood there who I can best describe as: not Jake.
“Hey, Gwen!” He was happy to see me.
“Hey…”
“John.”
It was John! Fake ID John! “Sorry, I know, I was spacing. Happy birthday!”
“Come in, come in.” He ushered me inside to the sausage fest.
Thankfully no ritual mutilation games were taking place. Everyone was hanging out, drinking, smoking; there was music on. I got a few waves, but no real attention. I wished for Porter’s arms to grab me from behind and assault me in some ridiculous yet welcome way, but I remained untouched.
I meandered toward the window to the fire escape, but when I lifted the curtain, the landing was deserted.
“Elyse isn’t here.” I heard over my shoulder.
I whipped around. “God, you scared me.”
Jake thought it was funny.
“Where is she?” I asked, no need to pretend we both didn’t know who I was looking for.
He shrugged. “I was hoping you knew. She’s ignoring my calls and texts. I think she’s mad at me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. She’s been acting kind of odd.”
I wasn’t sure what acting odd meant to someone like him. Over his shoulder I watched a guy pour hot wax from a candle onto his friend’s forehead.
“Well, she hasn’t said anything to me.” I wasn’t particularly interested in talking about their relationship for multiple reasons. “Sorry,” I offered, using it as an excuse to take a few steps back.
“You don’t have to go. You can stay even though she isn’t here. We all consider you one of the gang. Right, guys?” He yelled out the question as if anyone had heard what he wanted them to agree with. No one responded.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll grab a drink.”
He seemed content with that, so I walked away. Once I was back in the kitchen, I went right for the door and headed out. Where was Elyse?
I heard the door open again behind me, but I tried to ignore it.
“Gwen!” Jake shouted down the stairs.
I turned, a little embarrassed to be caught running away.
“If you talk to her, tell her to call me? Tell her I’m sorry, okay? Please?”
I nodded with a reassuring smile. I wasn’t sure what was going on between them, but I was probably a little to blame and definitely biased. Of course, none of that would matter very much if Elyse was already dead.
- - - - -
I knocked on Elyse’s apartment door a half hour later and experienced an enormous sense of relief when she cracked it open. I could only see half her face, but I could tell she was upset; she needed to invest in some waterproof mascara.
“Why are you crying?” I asked as she allowed me inside.
It must have been Jake and whatever fight they’d had.
What an ass, hosting a party while she was at home crying.
I hoped whatever was going on meant she was finally going to leave him and all of those supposed friends who were obsessed with her trauma.
She ignored my question at first, leaving me by the door.
“Elyse…” I said, stepping after her.
She turned to look at me and inhaled a ragged breath before speaking. “Marin Haggerty…” She paused. No verbs, no context, just the name.
I froze. Possibly I lurched forward first. She knew. Dominic must have told her. Or she already knew? But she was crying. Why would she be crying if this was the crescendo to her ultimate plan? What was she going to say next? How was I going to react?
Her lip quivered. “She’s come out of hiding.”
“Excuse me?” I said.
Elyse reached for her phone. She hit play on a video she already had queued up.
The caption beneath it read, I AM MARIN HAGGERTY.
Sitting in front of a blank wall, a blonde woman in a polka-dot blouse and white blazer read from a prepared statement.
I knew those eyes. I knew that nose. I knew that jawline, and not from looking in the mirror.
I had watched that face form during her prepubescent years.
It was Natalie Shea—my old roommate, confidante, and accomplice.