Before She Knew Him(73)

Country Squire Estates was set about a hundred yards from the road, behind a line of pine trees. Matthew had already exited off Route 2A and was about to turn into the parking lot when he saw the two police cruisers parked close to the entrance to Michelle’s building. Even from a distance he could see a line of yellow police tape between the cars and the building. A uniformed officer stood by one of the cruisers, talking on his radio, and a small group of residents had gathered nearby, all talking. Matthew pulled into the lot of the Whole Foods market that was adjacent to the apartment complex, finding a spot and parking the car. He needed a moment to just think. He was too late, obviously, and wouldn’t be able to plant the hair. Part of him was relieved, mostly because it meant he didn’t have to enter that chamber of horrors again, didn’t have to smell all that spilled blood, but also because soon, one way or another, it would all be over. The important thing now was to get to Richard. He didn’t know what he was going to do when that happened, but he knew he had to see him before talking with the police. He needed to make some decisions.

After parking in his driveway, he instinctively checked to see if Henrietta and Lloyd’s car was parked in theirs. It wasn’t, which only told him that one of them was away. Entering his house, he was amazed that it looked the same as it had when he left earlier that morning. He half expected to find a squadron of police officers brandishing search warrants. It was only a matter of time. He didn’t think that Lloyd was going to report him for that morning’s altercation, but he did realize that the death of Michelle was going to put the spotlight on him again.

His phone rang—a 617 number he didn’t recognize—and he chose not to answer it, knowing that it would only be bad news.

He tried to reach his brother again, then checked the voice mail on his phone. It was from Iggy Martinez, the Cambridge police detective who’d come out to question him about Dustin Miller. “I was wondering if you could give me a call as soon as you possible can,” he said casually. “It’s not a biggie, but I have a follow-up question for you. Okay, thanks.”

Matthew went into the kitchen and poured himself a large glass of ginger ale over ice, then brought it into his office, found the bottle that he kept there for when Richard was visiting, and added just a little bit of whiskey to his drink, enough to maybe take some of his nerves away. He called the detective back.

“Thanks for getting back to me,” the detective said, then cleared his throat.

“No problem. What’s up?”

“I have a follow-up question for you from the conversation we had earlier. I’m not even sure it’s relevant, but his name came up so I thought I’d ask you about it.”

“Okay,” Matthew said, not knowing what to expect.

“You have a brother named Richard Dolamore, don’t you?” the detective asked.

Matthew’s scalp turned cold, but he stayed calm and said, “Yes.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

“I’m confused. Do you think Richard had something to do with what happened to Dustin Miller?”

“I don’t. Not really. This is what we do with cold cases. We follow up every little detail, no matter how insignificant, and then we can eliminate all the possibilities. Eliminate enough possibilities and maybe what’s left will tell you something.” Matthew heard the distant bleep of a horn through his cell phone and thought that the detective was probably driving.

“No, I understand.”

“Where does your brother live?”

“He lives in my parents’ house, last I checked. They left it for him.”

“And where’s that?”

“Right here in Dartford, actually.”

“Oh? So you see him quite a bit, then.”

“Honestly, I don’t. My brother keeps to himself. He’s kind of a misfit. I see him, but it’s pretty rare.”

“Okay. Got it. I won’t bother you anymore, except can I have his address? You said it was your parents’ house.”

“Sure. It’s 227 Blackberry Lane. On the other side of Dartford from where I am.”

“And what about a phone number? Do you have that for your brother?”

Deciding that any delay would be beneficial for Richard, Matthew said, “I don’t. Sorry. For all I know he doesn’t have one. The only way we keep in touch is if he drops by here or I drop by there.”

“Thank you, Matthew. You’ve been very helpful. By the way, I did hear you had a little bit of trouble with your neighbor.”

“Oh, that. I’m hoping I nipped it in the bud.”

“So she’s been leaving you alone, then?”

“Yeah, it’s been fine.” Matthew wanted to ask the detective how he even knew about the protective order, but he stopped himself. Of course, he knew. The police were putting it all together. “Look,” he quickly said. “I actually have to—”

“Yeah, you go. Sorry about that, and thanks again for the information.”

Matthew stared at the phone in his hand after the call had ended. He’d been pacing throughout the call and now was standing in the kitchen. Something smelled bad and he looked in the sink, where a cellophane-wrapped steak was floating in a bowl of pinkish water. He remembered taking the steak out of the freezer the night before for dinner and then forgetting all about it. He picked it up by one of its edges and dropped it into the trash. Back in his office, he stared at the one picture he kept of him and his brother, a faded print from when Richard was a baby. Their mother had insisted on the photograph: Matthew dressed in Sunday school clothes (chinos and a button-down shirt), holding Richard, bundled in a blanket, on his lap. Matthew was looking directly at his new baby brother, and he imagined that they were making eye contact, even though he knew that newborn babies had terrible eyesight. Still, it was a good picture, one of the few good pictures from their childhood. Looking at the picture now, Matthew wished he would hear from Richard. He needed to warn him that the police were coming. He needed to give him a chance to flee. Matthew kept calling.