Chapter 9 #2
In the dusk, Jem’s grin was a sliver of crooked white.
“Oh my gosh,” Tean whispered as he stepped up onto the porch. “I hate you.”
Tean knocked. After a moment, he reared back to study the house again. The windows were dark, and when he strained to catch a sound, he didn’t hear anything except the distant hum of tires. He knocked again.
“Somebody’s home,” Jem muttered.
Tean cast him a look.
Jem shook his head at the unasked question, but his face was set in a wary watchfulness.
“Hello?” Tean called as he knocked again. “I’m sorry to bother you, but my name is Teancum Leon. I wanted to ask a few questions.”
Nothing.
“Stay here,” Jem said. “Keep trying.” Before Tean could ask any questions, Jem trotted around the side of the house. The gloom swallowed up broad shoulders, the pale shine of his hair, and then he was gone.
With no other options, Tean knocked again. “I’m not a journalist, and I’m not with the police. I’m looking into Brennon’s death—”
“Go away,” a woman called through the door. The voice was raw, with a brittle edge. “Leave us alone, or I’m calling the police.”
“Mrs. Lee? I apologize for disturbing you; I know this is a difficult time for you and your family. But if I could ask you a few questions—”
“I said go away!”
“Please, I want to help.”
“I’m calling the police!”
With a grimace, Tean headed back toward the street.
The clip of his steps and the faint buzz of the streetlights only underscored the oppressive silence that hung in the air.
He went as slowly as he could, moving down the driveway and toward the truck, somewhere between praying and wishing that Jem wasn’t doing anything foolish.
A sudden hiss from around the side of the house drew Tean’s attention. For a single instant, his brain registered it as Jem trying to get his attention. But the hissing sound was too regular, and it went on too long. It sounded like—
Tean altered course, moving onto the strip of lawn that separated the Lee home from the house next to it.
In the shadows between the houses, a girl with a can of spray paint was vandalizing the side of the house.
The low light made the paint’s color indistinguishable, but the letters were clear: P-E-D-O-
A heartbeat after Tean saw the girl, the girl saw him. She let out a small scream, followed by, “Fuck!” Then she dropped the can of spray paint and stumbled back a few steps.
The privacy fence’s gate swung open, and a shadow emerged. The girl turned, saw the newcomer, and froze.
In Jem’s voice, the shadowed figure said, “What’s up?”
“She was graffitiing the house,” Tean said.
The girl’s high, rapid breaths tore big holes in the silence.
When Jem spoke again, his voice was flat. “Shitty thing to do to your own house. What’s your mom going to say?”
The girl flinched. As Tean’s eyes adjusted to the lower light, he began to make out more details.
Something about her build, about the way she carried herself, said she couldn’t have been out of high school.
But she’d made her face up with a thick layer of white foundation, dark lipstick, and smudgy eyeshadow, and it was hard to tell her age under all the cosmetics.
A black leather jacket with chrome hardware and leopard-print leggings were brought together by a graphic tee of a finger held over a pair of lips, with the words SHUT THE FUCK UP printed underneath.
She was shivering, one arm held across her body.
Her other hand she clutched at her side.
“Please don’t tell her,” she said, and she sounded like she was on the brink of tears. “You can’t tell her.”
One thing Tean had learned from Jem—and he wasn’t sure this was a good thing—was never to give up an advantage, especially when someone handed it to you on a silver platter.
In what Jem had referred to more than once as his disappointed-dad voice, Tean said, “We’ll see about that. Let’s start with your name.”
“Tilar.”
“All right, Tilar. I’m Tean. This is Jem. We’re trying to figure out what happened to your dad.” When he hesitated, she didn’t speak, so he asked, “Want to tell us why you’re vandalizing your own house?”
She held herself more tightly, and when she spoke, the words were hard. “It’s what he is, right?”
“I don’t know,” Tean said. “I guess that’s part of what we’re trying to figure out.”
“Maybe you could help,” Jem said. “Tell us what’s been going on.”
“We’re not supposed to talk to anyone.”
Jem moved around, making a wide circle to avoid approaching her, and took his place next to Tean. “But you might be able to help us.”
“Brother Young killed him. That’s what happened.”
“Maybe,” Jem said. “But maybe not. That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
“The police arrested Brother Young.”
“Yeah, they did. But the police make mistakes sometimes. Did you know Daniel is missing?” He let the question hang a moment before he said, “What if the police made a mistake? What if whoever did this to your dad is still out there, and he wants to hurt more people?”
Tilar’s silence lasted longer this time. “Why would he want to hurt Daniel?”
“That’s a good question.”
The leather jacket creaked when Tilar rolled a shoulder.
“But I don’t know anything. I mean, one day everything was normal, and then—” She let out a laugh that tried for what was probably meant to be an adult sound—cynical, contemptuous.
It snagged at the end, though, with a teary childishness she couldn’t quite suppress.
“That’s what we want to know,” Tean said. “What happened?”
For several seconds, the girl seemed to be considering something—either the question itself, or the prospect of helping them.
Some of the stiffness in her posture eased, and the arm she’d held at her side now came up so that she could hug herself against the late October chill.
“I wasn’t here when Brother Young—when he, you know, punched my dad. ”
“We heard about that. What happened after the neighbors made Brother Young leave?”
She let out that same laugh, a little sharper this time. “Mom and Dad fought. I mean, they fight all the time, but it was so bad Eljay called me. He was crying so hard I didn’t know what he was saying.” She thought about this and added, “He’s eleven.”
“What were they fighting about?” Tean asked.
“About Brother Young. About what Dad…did. To Daniel.”
“Your mom believed what Amm—what Brother Young said?” Jem asked.
Tilar swung her gaze away.
“What about after?” Tean said. “What happened next?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing, as in…”
“It was just the same. Mom made dinner. Dad stayed in the basement with an ice pack; Mom told us not to go down there. Eljay and Nash and Almon—” Without a trace of irony, she explained, “—the kids—were freaked out, but Mom said it had been a misunderstanding, and Brother Young made a mistake, and he was going to apologize.” Tilar hesitated and then said, “She acted like everything was normal, but I know Dad slept in the basement. I heard the slider when he went out the next morning to run.”
“The basement has a separate exit?”
“Yeah, like, a sliding door.” Tilar toed the fallen can of spray paint, and the ball bearing inside rattled softly. “He did it, you know.”
“I know it looks like that right now,” Tean said, “but that’s why we’re asking these questions—”
“No, not Brother Young. My dad. What they say he did. He did it.”
Tean’s chest was so tight that he couldn’t say anything. But Jem, with surprisingly gentleness, said, “What do you mean?”
“With Daniel.”
“How do you know?”
“I didn’t know,” Tilar said, and she started to cry. She wiped at her cheeks, voice thickening as she continued, “I didn’t. I would have—I don’t know. I would have told someone.”
“I know,” Jem said. “How do you know what he did?”
“It was just…weird. From the beginning. I mean, I knew it was weird, but I just thought it was because Dad’s always so, like, into church, and Daniel’s always been so messed up.
” She gave a tiny shake, as though dismissing something, or perhaps chasing a memory away.
“Daniel was always so happy to see Dad. And Dad was always picking him up for Mutual or driving him to activities, and every once in a while, Mom would—it’s not even that she said something, but I could just tell it bothered her.
One time, I skipped seminary and came home to get something to eat, and I was going to come in through the basement so the neighbors across the street wouldn’t see, and Dad and Daniel were standing down there, and it’s not like they were doing anything, but they both—” She seemed to grope for words before settling on “Freaked the fuck out. Dad kept saying how Daniel had an emergency, and Daniel froze, like he couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t do anything.
I finally told Dad I was having my period, and he shut up. But it was so weird. So, I told Mom.”
And then she stopped. In the darkness, her rapid blinking registered only as an impression of movement.
“What did your mom do?” Tean asked gently.
“She told me it was fine, but I knew something was wrong. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. She was kind of quiet that night, but I don’t think anybody else noticed. After the boys went to bed, I…I heard them. Fighting.”
“What were they fighting about?”
Tilar wiped her eyes again, and this time, she held her hands out to catch the weak spill of light.
The tips of her fingers were smudged white from her makeup, and she studied them now, rubbing her thumb over them as though she might wipe the color away.
“Mom kept asking about Daniel. And Dad kept saying it was an emergency. And—and he was lying. I don’t know how I knew, but I did.
” But she immediately corrected herself, saying, “He sounded scared. He kept saying the same thing over and over again. Mom could tell too, I think, because she kept getting angrier and angrier. And then she said he promised her it was never going to happen again, and Dad said nothing was happening, and Mom said, ‘You got lucky once with Kazen—’ And Dad said he wasn’t going to talk to her anymore, and he slammed the door and went down to the basement. ”
A car rolled past, headlights making their shadows balloon against the side of the house, music with a heavy beat shaking the air. Then darkness squeezed tight around them again.
“That’s how I know he did it,” Tilar said, her voice broken and empty now. “What they say he did. Mom doesn’t want the boys to know, but they’re going to find out. And it’s true. What he did to Daniel. What he did to Kazen.”
Tean chafed his arms. “Who’s Kazen?”
“Kazen Shumway.” She turned her head, as though indicating a direction. “I don’t really know him, but he’s in our stake. Was in our stake, I guess, because he’s gay, and he doesn’t go to church anymore.”
Groping for a way to ask about Brennon’s relationship with Kazen, Tean finally settled on “Is he a friend?”
“He’s, like, twenty,” Tilar said, shaking her head. And then, as though explaining something that should have been obvious. “He didn’t go on a mission.”
“Was your dad his Young Men president too?”
Another shake of her head. “He’s a different ward, you know? I didn’t even know Dad knew Kazen.” Her voice shrank. “But that’s what Mom meant, right? That he did something.”
“You said you heard your dad go for a run Sunday morning,” Jem said. “Did he come back?”
Tilar looked at him like he was an idiot. “Yeah.”
“Do you remember what time?”
“I don’t know. I was asleep.”
“But you saw him again.”
“Yeah. We didn’t go to church. He stayed in the basement all day.”
“Did he leave again?”
“Yeah, that night.” She frowned. “I already told the police all of this.”
“I know,” Jem said, “but it’s really helpful to go over it again. Do you know what time he left?”
“Late. Ten-thirty? Eleven?”
“And when did he get home?”
“He didn’t. That’s when—that’s when Brother Young killed him.”
“How do you know that?” Tean asked.
“Because he didn’t come back.”
“No, I mean, how do you know it was Ammon?”
“Because of Daniel.”
“But—” Tean began.
Jem cut in. “Do you know where your dad was going that night?”
Tilar shook her head.
“Maybe the police found something on his phone?” Jem asked. “Or in his car? Anything that might have given them an idea where he was going and what he was doing.”
Tilar gave the makeup on her fingers another considering look and then wiped them on her tights. “But they didn’t find his phone. Or his car.”