16
The Zampinos hadn’t moved. A plaque with their name hung in the entryway as proof. But Lucy didn’t recognize the woman who’d
answered the door. With pure white hair and a walker, she was shuffling around in a pink fuzzy robe and slippers and had to
be her eighties. Lucy assumed it was a relative who was now living with the Zampinos and suffered from dementia or something
else that made it difficult to think clearly—because after acting as if she knew Lucy, even though they’d never met, she’d
had her come right in and asked for help getting the TV on.
Lucy had said she’d give it a try, but the woman didn’t lead the way. She seemed to grow bewildered as she stood in the middle
of the entry hall, as if she didn’t know what to do next.
After guiding her into the living room, Lucy was lucky enough to find the remote and put on It’s a Wonderful Life. That seemed to satisfy her, because she sat and promptly forgot that Lucy was even there—or just didn’t care. Lucy had to
ask twice if there was someone at home with her. Even then she couldn’t get an answer. When the woman finally looked over,
she simply gave Lucy a blank stare.
Lucy wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when she knocked on the door, but it certainly wasn’t this. She hadn’t been highly confident that whoever she spoke to would let her in, but she’d thought by pleading her case, she might have a chance. The Zampinos certainly hadn’t been friends with the Clarks. During the trial, they’d sat apart, and Lucy understood why. One day, as everyone else was filing out of the courthouse, she’d heard Mrs. Zampino tell the commonwealth attorney how unfortunate it was that the Clarks hadn’t kept better track of their daughter. Aurora had no business coming to our son’s birthday party. It wasn’t as if she was invited. Lance was turning twenty-two.
He and his friends were too old to be hanging out with a seventeen-year-old girl.
Vickie Zampino had been angry that Patti Clark’s laissez-faire parenting had landed her in the middle of a murder investigation.
She and the rest of her family had had to allow their home to be searched, give statements to the police and endure speculation
that they were somehow involved—at least during the days Aurora was missing and her body had yet to be found. And all they
did was host a party!
It didn’t have to be this way, she’d told the attorney. Then she’d glanced over and realized Lucy was standing close enough to hear her and cut the conversation
short. As upset as she was with the Clarks, she wasn’t on Lucy’s side, either.
The TV blared so loudly, Lucy expected someone else to show up, but when that didn’t happen, she realized she might’ve caught
a break. She left the old lady in the living room and wandered through the main living areas, discreetly filming in case the
investigator needed it.
The kitchen was huge and had obviously been remodeled. She had no idea what it’d been like before, but now it had a built-in
refrigerator, tons of cabinets, a farmhouse-style sink and a range with six burners—not to mention a large marble-topped island.
The best part was the back of the house, which was almost exclusively glass, including the doors, and looked out on the river.
The security system beeped to signal that an exterior door had opened when she stepped outside, but that didn’t concern her.
She’d rung the doorbell when she arrived, and that hadn’t drawn anyone, other than the woman who was currently watching a
movie.
A labradoodle approached, wagging his tail as he followed her around the pool and barbecue area. She bent to pet the dog while
making note of the size and layout of the yard. Then, still filming, she walked down the sloping lawn to the dock.
It was growing hotter and more humid as the morning progressed. Lucy pulled her blouse away from her moist skin as she looked
up at the dark clouds gathering in the sky. It was about to rain, but she didn’t hurry back inside. She knew she might never
get the chance to see this place again.
She took more video from the riverbank. Aurora’s body had been found in the Potomac, though farther down, snagged in a copse
of trees. But perhaps her body had been tossed in the water here and the current had carried it away...
“Hello? Can I help you?”
The umbrage in the voice startled Lucy. Sliding her phone into her front pocket, she turned to see Vickie Zampino speed-walking
across the yard. Although the lines in the other woman’s face showed that she’d aged since Lucy had seen her last, there was
no gray in her blond hair—probably because she dyed it—she had a deep tan and was wearing a tennis outfit.
“Lucy!” she exclaimed. “I’d heard you were back in town, but... what are you doing here ?”
“I... I knocked,” Lucy stammered. “A woman let me in.”
“My mother doesn’t know any better. I certainly wouldn’t have done the same. What is it you want?”
Already tense, Lucy felt rooted to the spot. “I was hoping to talk to you about what happened here fifteen years ago.”
Her eyebrows snapped together. “ Nothing happened here. That was established at the trial. All we did was have a birth day party. Everything else happened off-site, and I don’t even want to remember it.”
“I can understand why, but I can’t shove it out of my life quite so easily.”
At her response, the other woman blinked and the lines in her forehead smoothed. “I realize it must’ve been hard for you.”
“It still is,” she said. “But I came back here anyway, because I don’t believe it was my father who killed Aurora Clark.”
“I know it must be a terrible thing to face—”
“And yet I’ve faced it with the Matteos and accepted it, Mrs. Zampino. I’m telling you this case is different.”
Distress once again tightened her face. “You must be mistaken.”
“I’m not!” Lucy was done quibbling over it. “And if I am wrong or deluded, then this won’t come to anything. But if you could just be so kind as to humor me for a few minutes...”
Vickie’s stance softened. “Fine,” she said with a sigh. “What is it you want to know?”
“Did you see Aurora at the party that night?”
“I caught a few glimpses of her, here and there. My son didn’t want his parents hanging around so we were making ourselves
scarce. But I did check on the party now and then.”
“Did you notice who she came with? Who she was hanging around with while she was here?”
“I can’t tell you anything more than what was said at the trial, Lucy. She came with Stephanie Beaumont, who went home fairly
early. She had parents who were doing their job,” she added drily. “My son said Aurora stayed behind and was flirting with him and some
of his friends. We didn’t want to hurt the Clarks any worse by making a big deal of her behavior, so that wasn’t really pointed
out in court. To be honest, we also didn’t want anyone to claim that it was Lance or one of his friends who’d killed her.
We were terrified the wrong person would get the blame.”
Which was exactly what’d happened. The only difference was that her father really did deserve to be in prison, even if Aurora wasn’t one of his victims, so no one cared. “If you think of anything that doesn’t
quite jibe with what came out at the trial, will you call me?” Lucy asked.
“I don’t have my phone on me. I was trying to get in a few practice serves when you came.” She gestured in the direction of
the tennis court. “But I’ll give you my number, and you can text me so I’ll have yours.”
Lucy created the new contact record in her phone. “Thank you. I appreciate your patience and kindness.”
She nodded. “I’m glad to see you didn’t let what happened destroy you.”
It’d come darn close, but Lucy didn’t volunteer that. She just thanked her again and turned to go.
But Vickie spoke, causing Lucy to stop and turn. “Actually, now that I think of it, there was one thing that was never mentioned
at the trial, and I’ve always wondered why.”
Lucy felt an upwelling of hope. “What was that?”
She gestured to the rowboat sitting on the sandy strip that formed the bank of the river. “Someone took this little boat out
that night. We saw that it was missing when we came down to clean up at about... two-thirty? Our son was playing poker
in the house with a handful of friends while we went out to bring in the decorations. It was raining, so we knew we’d have
a real mess on our hands if we didn’t get to the crepe paper before it fell on the lawn. While we were doing that, my husband
thought to check the boat we had moored here at the time. He actually wanted to be sure the motorboat was secured, and it
was fine. It was the rowboat that was gone. We assumed the wind must’ve taken it, but when I got up the following morning,
it was back.”
“And you don’t know who brought it back?”
“No. We just assumed it had to have been a neighbor. How would anyone else know where it belonged?”
“Had the boat ever gone missing before?”
“No. Not since then, either. At least, not during such a mild storm. The wind wasn’t even very strong that night—it was just
rain. We figured one of our guests had been messing with it—that maybe someone took it out and had been drinking too much
to drag it back up on shore. But when we tried to find out who’d been so kind to return it, every single neighbor said they
didn’t know anything about it.”
“Why didn’t this come out at trial?”
“I don’t know. We told the police about it, but no one ever mentioned it again.”
“Did the police examine the boat? Check it for blood or DNA?”
“They did, but they didn’t seem to come up with anything, and they quit pursuing it once your father was arrested.”
“Because his DNA wasn’t found on the boat.”
“I guess.”
They would’ve mentioned it if it had been. That was the missing link they never found, why his conviction for Aurora hinged
on circumstantial evidence and someone like Reggie. “I took some video,” Lucy told her, “just to get a feel for the layout
of this place. I hope that’s okay. I’m only going to share it with a private investigator, to try to help him get a feel for
Aurora’s last night.”
She seemed hesitant—it was an invasion of privacy, which was why Lucy had felt the need to tell her—but ultimately shrugged.
“I can’t see how it would hurt anything.” She started to follow Lucy toward the house. “I’ll show you out.”
Ford left Darren’s totally astonished. He’d been going along with what Lucy said mostly to make up for letting her down so terribly in the past—and because, on some level he didn’t want to examine too closely, he still cared about her. He hadn’t had any real conviction she was right. He just thought she should matter as much as anyone else, which meant she should have the chance to ask questions and do her own investigation in the hope that it could finally bring her some peace.
But that’d all changed while he was standing at Darren’s door. Speaking to the Clarks’ son had made him realize that Darren
wasn’t setting her up or playing games. What she’d been talking about since she came back to town needed to be heard and acted
on. Her father didn’t kill Aurora Clark, which meant the real killer still needed to be brought to justice.
“Whoa,” he muttered as he drove away from Darren’s house. No wonder the Clarks didn’t want to hear what Lucy had to say. It
was hard enough to lose a daughter, especially the way they’d lost theirs. But to believe the monster who’d murdered her hadn’t
been caught and punished? They thought they had that much; losing it wouldn’t be easy.
His phone signaled a call. It was from Lucy. He hit the button that would cause his Bluetooth to pick up.
“How’d it go with Darren?” she asked.
“Surprisingly well,” he said as he turned out of Darren’s neighborhood, a blue-collar section of town filled with older homes
and rentals not far from the trailer park. “He told me the same thing he told you, so now he’s said it to both of us.”
“Will he talk to Friedman?”
“Claims he will.”
“I wonder if he’ll stand by his words once his parents find out what he’s been saying,” she said skeptically.
With what she’d experienced, he could see why she might be reluctant to trust Darren—or anyone else. “I believe he will. He
told me he thought it through before he approached you—that he’s been thinking about it for fifteen years and is convinced
that telling the truth and finding the real culprit is the only way he’ll ever be able to feel good about himself.”
“If he’s been that troubled, why didn’t he come forward earlier?”
“Because it’s a gamble. He could be ripping away what little closure his parents have been able to achieve. And what if we can’t figure out who did it? Then they might never have the answers they need.”
“That could easily happen.”
He adjusted the air-conditioning vents. “Hey, where has all your confidence gone?”
“It wavers,” she admitted. “I have moments of doubt where I think... who am I to solve this? Especially if the police couldn’t
do it.”
“Maybe you’re more determined than they were. You’ve already uncovered a piece of the puzzle they didn’t have.”
“If you’re talking about Darren, he claims he said the same thing back then. It was just that in the horror of finding my
father’s DNA at the Matteo crime scene, no one bothered to listen to him—or they assumed he didn’t have his facts straight.
People could ignore what we say, too. In this situation, denial is far easier than acceptance.”
Unlike Lucy, Ford was used to being heard. Now that he felt it was important to follow the facts, he wasn’t worried about
being shoved to the side. “We’re fifteen years older. We’ll be the ones making the decisions, not those around us. And I think
we can count on Darren. I get the impression he feels it’s about time he spoke his mind, that he’s glad we’re trying to do
something about the situation, because he should’ve done something long before now. In any case, I recorded the conversation,”
he added with a laugh.
“You didn’t!”
“I did.”
“Does he know that?”
“I told him I was going to.”
“That was brilliant! But the poor guy’s in a tough spot. It would be really hard to come forward, knowing your parents might disown you.”
She wouldn’t know what that might be like. She’d never had parents—not parents like his or Darren’s or Chet’s, anyway. And that
was the saddest thing of all.
Ford stopped at the light as he came into town. “We must reach the truth, Lucy. The truth is what matters.”
“I feel the same. I’m just pointing out that there will be a cost—and maybe not a small one.”
“It’ll be worth it. You’re as important as anyone else involved in this. And Friedman should make a big difference. Once we
gather more proof, we’ll get other people on board.”
“Not your friend Chet,” she said. “I don’t think anything could convince him.”
Ford remembered how passionate he’d been when they were talking about Lucy. Even his wife had questioned why he felt so strongly
about Lucy’s presence in North Hampton Beach. “Don’t worry about Chet. He doesn’t really have a stake in all this, so what
he thinks and feels doesn’t matter.”
“If you say so,” she said. “Did you talk to Reggie?”
“On my way to his place now.”
“I wish you wouldn’t go there. You never know what he might do. He’s completely unhinged.”
“ You went there.”
“I was hoping he’d grown into a decent adult. But he hasn’t.”
“I’ll be fine,” he assured her. “How’d the Zampinos treat you?”
“I spoke with Vickie. At first, she wasn’t very welcoming. But then she softened and told me what she could. I got a video
of the house and yard, as well as her permission to share it with the investigator.”
“Good thinking. That’ll give Friedman a feel for where Aurora spent her last night.”
“There’s something else,” she said. “I don’t know if it’s connected to anything, but she told me a strange story about their
boat.”
“Did you say ‘boat’?”
“Yeah. Their rowboat.”
“What happened?” He was eager to hear her response, but he’d just pulled to the curb at Reggie’s duplex and found him and
his sister getting into his truck to leave. “Actually, I’ll come by later,” he said. “I have to go.”
Lucy didn’t like that Ford had gotten off the phone so quickly. It suggested he’d run into something that demanded his attention,
and she guessed it had to do with Reggie. The last thing she needed was for someone else to get hurt, especially because this
time she would feel responsible—for coming back and stirring the pot.
While they talked, she’d been driving to the trailer park where she used to live. As difficult as the memories were, she’d
been happy in this town—until the end. For nostalgia’s sake, she’d wanted to see what was left of her home but found a park
bench where the trailer used to be. And there was a monument where the Matteos had lived.
She’d just gotten out to have a look when Ford cut their conversation short. She wanted a moment to read the plaque, but she
turned around and got back in her car instead. Considering how hostile Reggie had been to her, she felt she had to hurry over
there.
She drove way too fast, glancing apprehensively into the rearview mirror every few seconds. She guessed Chief Claxton would
love to see her get pulled over. Anything that would make it easier to discredit her and her claims—or discourage her so she’d
go away. But the duplex wasn’t far, and she arrived without incident to find Ford and Reggie yelling at each other. Anna was
there, too, next to her brother in the front yard.
Cutting off her engine, Lucy jumped out of the car and came around to stand by Ford.
“Don’t give me that! I know you lied!” Ford’s eyes were as steely as Lucy had ever seen them. He’d been just a boy when they were dating; she’d never
experienced Ford like this—implacable, immovable.
Reggie was so focused on the argument he didn’t even glance at her. He probably didn’t want to be distracted in case this
thing came to blows. At the moment, Ford was all he was concerned about. It was Anna who acknowledged her presence with a
worried look.
“You don’t know jack shit!” Reggie yelled back. “So get your rich, entitled ass off my lawn!”
“You mean your dirt patch?” Ford spat. “I think I’m on what would be considered the sidewalk, if you had one. Anyway, I’m
here to deliver an important message.”
“And that is...”
“It’s time to tell the truth. Because of you, the Clarks think the man who murdered their daughter is behind bars, and we
both know he isn’t.”
“You can’t say that,” Reggie said. “No one really knows who killed Aurora.”
Ford stepped closer. “I thought you knew who killed her.”
“All I did was repeat what that bastard told me in jail. Doesn’t make it true.”
Ford laughed humorlessly. “Oh, so now he’s the one who’s lying? That’s convenient, isn’t it?”
Lucy jumped in, speaking calmly in an effort to deescalate the situation. “Reggie, Darren Clark ran into my father right when
Aurora was being killed—according to the timeline established at the trial—and he wasn’t anywhere near the Potomac. Not only
that but my father was so drunk he could hardly stand up.”
Anna spoke up. “Drunk men do terrible things all the time,” she said. She was trying to defend her brother, but her voice
was small, and she looked as though she’d rather be anywhere else.
“Not when they’re this drunk,” Ford clarified. “Ask Dar ren. When he saw Mick McBride, it was nearly two o’clock, and Mick could hardly remain on his feet. How would he have gotten over to the Zampinos’ in that condition, especially unnoticed?”
Reggie waved a hand. “Who cares? That’s not my problem. The trial’s over. You two just need to let it go.”
“We’re not going to do that,” Ford insisted. “So you can stick with your story until we prove you a liar. Or you can come
forward and tell the truth right now. And I promise, coming out with the truth would be much smarter for you.”
Reggie’s muscles bunched. “I swear if you don’t get out of here right now, I’m going for my gun! I have a right to defend
my home!”
“Reggie, no!” Anna cried, grabbing her brother’s arm.
Lucy faced Ford. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. This isn’t doing anyone any good. We’ll let Friedman get to the bottom of
it. You told me he’s a good investigator.”
Anna spoke from behind her. “You’ve hired an investigator?”
Ford stepped to one side. “We have,” he said. “And he’s digging up all kinds of things. So you might want to talk some sense
into your asshole of a brother and anyone else who might be lying about what happened that night.”
She turned imploringly to her brother. “Reggie!”
“Stop it!” He shook her off before starting for the duplex as if he’d get his gun, after all.
He’d taken only two steps, however, when a cruiser pulled up behind Lucy’s car and an officer wearing the nametag M. Deacon
got out. “Jesus, Reggie!” he said with a weary frown. “What is it this time?”
Reggie shook his head. “It’s nothing. I don’t even know why you’re here.”
“I’m here because we got a call that you’re disturbing the peace again, and it’s drifting toward violence.”
“It’s nothing. My neighbor calls you guys at the drop of a hat.”
“For no good reason,” Deacon said facetiously.
“For no good reason,” Reggie echoed emphatically.
The officer looked to the duplex next to Reggie’s, and for the first time, Lucy realized there was a woman who’d cracked open
her front door and was watching them through it. “You the ‘anonymous’ caller?” Deacon yelled over to her, hooking his thumbs
onto his duty belt.
The door opened wider, until they could see her face and a section of her robe-clad body. “No! I—it had to be someone else,”
she exclaimed, her eyes round, but Lucy owed her success in poker to being able to read people. The woman was lying. She must’ve
heard the argument, which frightened her so much she’d called the cops, but she certainly didn’t want Reggie to know it was
her.
“Go back inside and mind your own business, Naomi!” Reggie called out, and she scrambled to do exactly that.
Deacon frowned but let Reggie’s response to his neighbor go as he looked between the four of them. “What’s happening here?”
“Nothing,” Lucy said. “We were just leaving.”
Although Ford allowed her to drag him to his vehicle, he yelled back, “Think about it, Reggie! We’re not giving up until we
have the truth, so you might want to change the way you’re playing this thing.”