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Ford stood at the window of the penthouse apartment Christina had insisted they buy when they got married. He’d thought he’d
hate living in such a sterile, ostentatious place. She’d had to use quite a bit of emotional blackmail to get him to do it.
But he liked the neutral colors, floor-to-ceiling glass and clean, contemporary lines. The amenities were nice, too. Still,
it was the view that made the incredible expense worth it. The sight of Washington DC below him, lights twinkling in the darkness,
helped calm him when he got angry or frustrated—or sad. Today, he’d been all three. A few hours ago, Friedman had told him
about Chet. He’d said Chet had tried to escape prosecution, but the police had picked him up just before he could fly out
of Richmond for South America.
Ford shook his head, still grappling with the knowledge that one of his good friends had committed murder . He didn’t want to believe it. But there was no other way to explain what Eddie had dug up in the Anthony yard. Chet could claim it must’ve been someone else who’d buried Aurora’s bra, shirt, wallet, and sandals, but that wasn’t very believable. Friedman was guess ing the police would find saliva and/or semen evidence on her clothes that would prove otherwise. That was probably why he’d tried to flee, Friedman said. He knew the game was up.
Aurora’s face appeared in Ford’s mind. He hadn’t been interested in her romantically, but he still felt bad for what Chet
had done to her. Given the opportunity, she probably would’ve grown into a decent adult. She’d deserved to have the chance,
but Chet had robbed her of it.
Ford thought about Lucy and how this had to be affecting her. To know her father was innocent, at least of strangling Aurora—a
young woman her own age and someone she knew—had to bring her some relief. After all, she’d tried to tell everyone that her father hadn’t murdered Aurora. Darren had confirmed it. But no one
would believe them, even the police. Especially the police.
At the very least, Chet’s arrest removed the stigma, the assumption that she’d contributed to Aurora’s death in some way.
Ford wished he could be in North Hampton Beach to share her excitement and celebrate the truth, hard as that truth was for
him in other respects.
He wondered how Patti and Nelson were faring. They had to be devastated all over again—and feeling a little sheepish. They
should feel sheepish, he thought, after the way they’d treated Lucy. Lucy had never done anything to Aurora. As a matter of fact,
it was Aurora who’d wronged Lucy by calling him and coming on to him when he already had a girlfriend.
He checked his phone. It was too late to call Kira now, but he’d asked one of the friends he and Chet used to hang out with,
who’d remained in closer touch with Chet over the years, to get him contact information. He wanted to offer her some financial
assistance over the next few months, if she needed it. She was as much a victim in all of this as anyone.
Fortunately, she’d had the presence of mind to get away from Chet as soon as she realized the truth. Ford hated to think Chet would harm the woman he loved, but someone as desperate as he must’ve been in that moment...
It was better if she didn’t take anything for granted.
Seeing that he’d received her number as requested, he sent a quick thanks in return and was just sliding his phone in his
pocket, planning to call her first thing in the morning, when he heard a creak behind him and knew Christina had come into
the room. She’d gone to bed at least an hour ago; he hadn’t expected to hear from her until morning. Since he’d returned,
they hadn’t been sharing a bed. They didn’t even share a bedroom. He’d told her he wanted to ease into the relationship, take
it slow and make sure it was going to work this time. But the truth had more to do with the fact that he didn’t want to be
with anyone except Lucy and needed time to get over her—if he could.
“Ford?”
The French bulldog he’d given her came trotting over to him as he turned to face her. “Something wrong?” he asked, bending
to pet Mo.
“With me? No. I’m worried about you .”
That would be a first , he thought, but immediately chided himself. He couldn’t be cynical if he was going to make this work. Christina had been
so tractable since he’d returned, so sweet. She was behaving like she had while they were dating. She was smart, always on
her best behavior when she had to be.
Once again trying to silence that inner critic, he cleared his throat as he stood. “You’re the one who needs your rest. Why
are you worried about me?”
“You’ve been up, rambling around most nights since you returned from North Hampton Beach.”
“I’m dealing with a lot of issues with my father’s estate and the woman he left behind. You know that.” Those issues weren’t currently the burden they’d been. Although he’d have to resolve them over time, it was more that he wasn’t eager to share what was going on in North Hampton Beach. He didn’t want to mention anything that had to do with Lucy, was afraid Christina would be able to tell how much he’d rather be with her—and that couldn’t be healthy for their relationship.
She walked over and took his hand before leaning her head on his shoulder. “So it’s not the woman Houston told me about?”
Ford felt himself go cold. Houston had been talking to Christina? Why now? They’d never really liked each other. “I didn’t
realize you and Houston were friendly again.”
“He’s my brother-in-law, Ford. He asked me if I wanted to go to North Hampton Beach with him, but then we decided it’d be
better for you to come back here before you made a rash decision—just because you were mad at me—and hurt everyone.”
What he was doing in North Hampton Beach had been anything but rash. It’d felt like he’d gone home, that being with Lucy was
where he was supposed to be. Except that couldn’t be right. He had a marriage to save for the sake of their baby. But it was
the “we” in her statement that stood out. “I’m touched that you both care so much about me,” he said.
He knew she’d heard the sarcasm in his voice when she pulled away. “Are you saying we don’t?”
When he didn’t respond, she must’ve realized he was willing to leave the conversation just as it was rather than try to placate
her, as she expected. Normally, she would’ve gotten mad and left the room. Tonight, she sidled up to him again. “Come to bed,
babe. Let me give you a massage. I can tell you’re so wound up.”
He knew what would happen if she coaxed him into her bed. She’d been trying to get him to have sex with her since he got home.
She’d been so insistent about it, so suggestive at every turn, he assumed that was how she believed she could truly get him
back. Or at least to where he’d been before, when he was trying to please her, hoping for the best and magnifying any crumb
of kindness so he wouldn’t be quite so unhappy.
But he didn’t have that in him anymore. It was simply gone . All that was left was duty. He hoped to change that, but he certainly wasn’t there yet. “Not tonight,” he said. “You need to sleep. It’s important for the baby. I’ve been reading up on preeclampsia. It can be dangerous.”
“A lot of women do just fine with it,” she said. “They can have sex and everything.”
There it was. A stronger hint in case he’d missed the earlier ones. “I wouldn’t want to take the chance, just in case,” he
told her. “Maybe after we’ve visited the doctor together, and I learn a bit more about her concerns and how we can keep you
and the baby safe, things will be different.”
“Well, a blow job certainly wouldn’t hurt me,” she said with a laugh.
That wasn’t something she’d been willing to do, not since they were dating. But he still couldn’t summon the interest. “I
just found out a friend of mine murdered a girl I used to know, Christina. Maybe another night.”
“You’re talking about those murders your mother once told me about in North Hampton Beach?”
He nodded.
“That’s terrible!” she exclaimed.
“It is,” he said. The most recent revelations hurt even more people, some who hadn’t been involved before. But he was happy
for Lucy.
Over the next week, Lucy felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She hadn’t yet heard back from her
father, but she smiled every time she imagined him opening her letter. After being accused of such a terrible crime, nothing
could feel better than being cleared of any wrongdoing, even if it was only for one of the murders. She hoped she’d be able
to prove that he hadn’t killed the Matteos, either—although she hadn’t promised him that. She didn’t want to get his hopes
up, just in case.
While she was waiting to hear from Friedman on Reggie’s DNA, she was trying to move on without Ford. It helped that news of Chet’s involvement in Aurora’s murder was spreading fast. Now everyone knew—or soon would—that she hadn’t had anything to do with it. That alone was worth what it’d cost her in angst, money and lost work to come here.
On Tuesday, she felt light as air as she went out to do a little shopping. She wanted to send a gift to Missy, so she was
looking for something she felt her friend would like and found herself smiling the whole time. She could finally hold her
head high in this community again. The fact that the police had gotten it wrong where Aurora was concerned had to at least
make the people of North Hampton Beach feel they shouldn’t have treated her so badly. Some still looked askance at her. They
were probably thinking it didn’t matter if her father didn’t kill Aurora if he’d killed the Matteos. But she was growing more
and more confident the truth would come out in that case, too. It was just a matter of time.
As she passed the restaurant where Ford had taken her, she paused, feeling a certain melancholy. She still missed him, probably
always would. But she was going to press on. She’d battled so much; nothing was going to get her down.
She was just taking a picture of a cute skirt she thought Missy would like, so she could text it to her, when she heard someone
say her name.
She looked up. Patti Clark was in the store, standing at her elbow.
Instantly nervous, Lucy put the skirt back on the rounder. “Hello.”
Patti began fidgeting with the strap of her purse. “I’m sorry for... for following you in here,” she said. “When I saw
you on the sidewalk, I... Well, I told myself to quit being such a coward. I owe you an apology—”
When her voice broke, Lucy lifted one hand in the classic stop position. “It’s okay. You don’t owe me anything. I understand how you felt and why you did what you did, and I don’t hold anything against you. I promise. I actually wanted to make you a casserole the other day and would have, except...”
“Except you were afraid such a gesture wouldn’t be welcomed,” she finished.
“I, um, didn’t want to intrude at a difficult time,” she said, stating the truth more euphemistically.
Patti studied her for several seconds. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”
Lucy smiled. “No problem. I’ll go ahead and make one and... and drop it by once you’ve had a chance to recover.”
“I’m actually doing better than you might expect,” she said. “It helps to know what happened—know without having to convince
myself I’m right in spite of unreliable testimony and the lack of evidence. We don’t have that problem this time around. The
clarity helps. Nelson feels better about it, too.”
“I’m so glad.”
She smiled. “I can see why Ford is drawn to you. You’re just as beautiful inside as you are out,” she said and wove through
the racks of clothes to reach the door.
A ding sounded as she left, but Lucy didn’t move. She wasn’t sure she’d ever received a better compliment—one that did more
to heal what had been broken inside of her.
The shopkeeper caught her eye and, embarrassed, she turned back to her shopping.
She wound up buying the skirt without even asking Missy, as a surprise, and drove back to the cottage. She planned to work
in the yard. She couldn’t bear to let everything Ford had done go to ruin. It was her only way of feeling close to him. But
just before she got there, her phone rang and Friedman’s name appeared on her screen. “Finally!” she said aloud and pulled
over so she could give him her full attention. “Hello?”
“Lucy, I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he said.
The air rushed out of her lungs as if someone had slugged her. Bad news? No...
“The DNA in the sink doesn’t match Reggie Burton’s,” he said.
“But—but he was in the trailer park that night,” she heard herself stutter.
“That may be true, but there’s nothing to indicate he killed Tony and Lucinda Matteo.”
Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back on the headrest. She’d been so sure it would all soon be over, that her father would be able to get his life back. “If the DNA in the sink isn’t in CODIS, and it doesn’t
match Reggie, how do we find who was in the trailer that night?” she asked despairingly.
“I’m not convinced we can,” he replied. “I’m sorry.”
Lucy drove home at a much slower speed than she’d been traveling before. Another car honked and whipped around her, but she
didn’t care. She’d been so hopeful—and now she was completely deflated. It had to be Reggie, she kept telling herself. Everything pointed to him.
But that kind of thinking was how her father had wound up in prison. She, of all people, knew how dangerous it could be.
When she arrived at the cottage, she got out, gathered the sack that contained Missy’s skirt and went to the mailbox, where
she found a letter from her father waiting for her.
She’d wanted to be able to give him even better news, but now...
With a sigh, she carried the mail inside, where she opened it—and began to weep when she saw that he’d written only two words:
Thank you.
He was already managing on very little sleep, but it was another late night for Ford. The call he’d received from Lester Friedman had been surreal, unbelievable—except, when he really thought about it, it became believable. That was the problem. It was more that he didn’t want to accept it. The DNA under Tony Matteo’s nails, which Friedman now believed had come from some clippers Lucy had lent him of her father’s, had led to the wrong suspect. Could the DNA in the sink lead to the wrong person, too?
He dearly hoped so. But he didn’t see how. His brother would’ve had no reason to be in the Shady Lane Mobile Home Park, let
alone the old couple’s trailer.
Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose as the conversation he’d had with Friedman once again ran through his
mind.
Wait, explain that again?
When I couldn’t get a hit on CODIS, I turned to the large genealogical sites, the ones that don’t require a warrant, hoping
to get a familial hit.
You were looking for members of the killer’s family.
Yes. I was searching for DNA similar to that of the perpetrator, hoping to find one or more people who were related to him I could use as a starting point. Then
I was hoping to narrow the field by using other logic—who in the family lived or was visiting the area, who might’ve had reason
to be in the Matteo trailer, etc.
And I’m a relative to whoever left their DNA in that drain?
That was what the investigator had said, but here Ford remembered sinking onto the couch because his knees had buckled.
It leads to someone in your immediate family, someone with 50 percent of your father’s DNA.
Ford remembered giving his father the DNA test that’d put his genetic information in the databank for Christmas one year. John had wanted to find a brother who’d run away when they were teenagers and never turned up again. That attempt hadn’t yielded any results—the family assumed he was no longer living—but it was certainly revealing something significant now. A 50 percent match meant the DNA belonged to one of John’s children, and he had only two. That meant it had to be Houston, who’d been running around raising hell at that age—not as bad as Reggie Burton but almost. The only difference was that their parents had the money to bail Houston out of every scrape he got into.
The TV was still on in Christina’s room. Ford had been so blown away by what he’d learned that he’d barely spoken to her all
evening, and she’d finally given up trying to engage him, taken Mo and gone off to entertain herself. But she must’ve known
something was wrong because she kept coming out to check on him. “Don’t tell me you’re going to do this to yourself again
tonight,” she’d said several minutes ago.
He’d told her he’d be getting to bed soon, and she’d once again picked up Mo and gone back to her room. He wasn’t going to
tell her he was dealing with an entirely new problem, one he could never have seen coming. But at least in some ways, this
piece of the puzzle seemed to fit, and that was what frightened him. Now Ford understood why Houston had never wanted to go
back to North Hampton Beach—and why he’d finally returned this summer, determined to get Ford to reconcile with Christina,
even though he’d never liked her. Houston hadn’t wanted Ford to remain with Lucy, hadn’t wanted him in North Hampton Beach.
He couldn’t allow Ford to continue digging in the past because he’d been hiding a secret as big as Chet’s.
The question was why would Houston break into that trailer? And why would he harm those old people?
The TV snapped off. Since Christina generally set a timer, she was probably asleep or she would’ve added more time. Thinking he didn’t have to worry about her coming out to check on him again brought a measure of relief. He was finally ready to talk to his brother, to give Houston the chance to explain. He owed him that much. But he’d been loath to alert Christina to what he’d learned. He knew she’d freak out, claim that being around his brother had put her in danger or something like that—something that would make it all about her. Until he decided what to do with the situation, he wasn’t going to tell anyone. Friedman hadn’t even shared his findings with Lucy. Ford was the one paying his bill, so Ford was the only one he’d told.
Ford had always wished his brother would straighten out his life, become productive, reliable, fully functional. But with
a skeleton in his closet like this one, Ford could see why he hadn’t—although he didn’t know which came first, the chicken
or the egg. If not for what’d happened at the Matteos’, maybe Houston would’ve straightened up eventually—although a normal
person couldn’t do what’d been done to them, so maybe not.
He winced at the vision that popped into his head and immediately shoved it out.
After waiting another ten minutes, just to let Christina sink even deeper into sleep, he went into one of the spare bedrooms
on the other side of the apartment, closed the door, sat at the desk and called his brother.
“Yo, Ford.” Houston’s voice suggested he was fully awake, but that didn’t surprise Ford. He was often up late. “You still
mad at me, bro? Or are you finally calling to apologize?”
Ford dropped his head in his hands. “Did you do it?” he asked.
The line when silent.
“Houston?” Ford prompted.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“I’m talking about what happened to the Matteos. I’m talking about the blood in their sink containing your DNA.”
The resulting silence was absolutely deafening, which made the sick feeling Ford had been battling ever since Friedman’s call
even worse. “Please don’t lie to me,” he said. “The DNA proves it.” It wasn’t quite that clear-cut. They hadn’t actually tested
Houston’s DNA, so this was a bit of a bluff. But they’d gotten DNA that was darn close, and Ford knew he hadn’t done it.
“The DNA proves Mick McBride did it,” Houston said, but his voice wasn’t nearly as strident as it should’ve been.
“You let an innocent man go to prison!” Ford said. “That’s like taking another life!”
Again, his brother didn’t respond immediately. Eventually, he said, “You provided my DNA for testing?”
“Not yet, but Dad gave his DNA to that genealogical site, remember? That’s what made it easy to trace the DNA in that sink
to you.”
“Like they did with the Golden State Killer.”
There was a fatalistic tone to his voice. “Yes.”
He swore. “I was afraid that would happen one day.”
Was that an admission? “ Why , Houston?” Ford asked. “You had everything. You didn’t need to steal from anyone. And you sure as hell didn’t need to hurt
people who couldn’t even fight back.”
“It wasn’t me, man! It was Kevin!”
Ford shoved the chair back as he came to his feet. “What’d you say?”
“I said it was Claxton! We were hanging out, bored and looking for some fun, and he told me about this really cool baseball
card collection his father had been shown when he went over to unplug the Matteos’ sink. Kevin’s always been crazy about baseball.
He wanted to get those cards, said they weren’t doing that old man any good.”
Kevin was the son of a plumber, hadn’t enjoyed the same affluence Ford and Houston had. He’d been a talented athlete, though,
and that had put him in good stead with the popular crowd. “He was already a police officer by then!” Ford said in amazement.
“He’d just gotten on the force, but he said it’d be so easy to get that collection—we could just walk in and take it. He said
he’d been keeping an eye on the old couple’s trailer and knew they were out of town. I just went with him, Ford. I had nothing
else to do with what happened, I swear!”
Ford gripped his phone that much tighter. “Then why was your blood in the sink?”
“Because I tried to intervene! When the old folks walked out of the back end of the trailer, surprising us, Kevin went off on them. I tried to stop him, but he pushed me so hard I fell, and the corner of the table took a chunk out of my arm. I just wanted to get the hell out of there, but Kevin wouldn’t stop hitting those poor people with the hammer we took out of their own shed to help us break in. He just kept yelling that they’d seen his face. His father would find out, he’d lose his job, everything. It happened so fast. All I did was wash off my arm, grab a paper towel and run out of there. He did the rest, I swear.”
Ford sank back into the seat and propped his head up with a fist to his forehead, staring down at nothing but wood grain on
the desktop. “Why didn’t you say something? Why would you ever let another man take the fall? My girlfriend’s father ?”
“Because you don’t narc on a friend, man. And I didn’t want to get into trouble! I mean... I certainly thought about it.
I wanted to come forward, but Kevin said I’d be prosecuted right along with him even though I didn’t do it. He said he’d make sure
of it. Then Mick McBride strangled that girl—or I thought he did—so it wasn’t as if an innocent man would be going to prison.
It felt like we had an out for a night that shouldn’t have happened to begin with.”
“So you have heard that it wasn’t Mick McBride who killed Aurora.”
“Just recently. But it’s been so long since the murders now. What happened happened, Ford. That dude wasn’t up to much anyway!”
“Are you saying you’ve accomplished more?”
“You arrogant ass!” he said.
“I’m just finally speaking the truth instead of praising you for nothing like Mom does.” Suddenly he remembered the fact that Houston had been hanging out with Claxton again. “You came to North Hampton Beach to make sure I didn’t discover your dirty little secret, didn’t you? You and Kevin Claxton have been doing everything you can to keep the truth from coming out. He’s the one who broke into the cottage, because he was trying to scare Lucy away.”
“I don’t know. It’s not like he’d admit that to me. All I can tell you is that I didn’t hurt anyone,” Houston insisted. “I didn’t steal anything, either. I just went with him that night. That’s it. And
when everything went wrong, I ran out of there.”
“You didn’t stop him, and you didn’t get help.”
“I tried to stop him. That’s how I got hurt! And I was nineteen, Ford. I didn’t know what to do.”
“So you protected a murderer? How did Reggie get hold of that baseball card collection?”
A tortured sigh came through the phone. “Kevin told me he threw it in the dumpster behind the school. He wasn’t even sure
why he took it after what happened. He’d come there to get it, so he just grabbed it when he left. That’s what he said. He
told me he didn’t want it all to be for nothing. But then he realized he couldn’t hang on to it, and he couldn’t sell it,
either—couldn’t do anything that might lead back to him. So he threw it away, and I don’t know what happened to it from there.”
Someone must’ve found it and traded it to Reggie for a set of tires.
Ford rubbed his temples. He believed Houston wasn’t the one who’d harmed those people. He even believed it hadn’t been Houston’s
idea to break in. Houston was lazy and weak and did some stupid things, but he’d never been angry or violent.
Still, he’d been there, part of the whole mess...
“Shit,” Ford muttered. He held the key to Mick McBride’s release—to what Lucy wanted more than anything else in the world—but to get it for her he’d
have to give up his brother.