The Accomplice(86)

The girl appeared shaky and pale, Murdoch thought. Something was happening that he was ill-equipped to handle.

“You were eleven years old,” Murdoch said. “Don’t let old mistakes poison a new life. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Murdoch and Luna stopped at a diner on the way back. Luna ordered a vanilla shake after Murdoch dissuaded her from the spinach salad.

“Did you tell your mother you were coming out here?” Murdoch asked.

“No,” Luna said. “It’s better if she doesn’t know.”

“The parent is supposed to protect their child. Not the other way around.”

“Maybe,” Luna said. “But I understand. Mom left me alone with him all the time. I think she felt guilty about that.”

“When did your father pass away?”

“A month or two after John was found not guilty. Heart attack. If you see photos of him before and after the trial, he was like a different man. I think he might have suspected the truth. I’m glad he didn’t live long enough to be sure about his son or to know what I did. That part would have killed him.”

“This visit, it might stick with you for a while. Make sure you talk to people, okay?”

“Okay,” Luna said.

“Have you or your mom gotten letters from Gregory Wells recently?”

“How do you know about that?” Luna asked.

“Your aunt mentioned it when I was trying to track you down.”

“He used to write a couple of times a year. It’s been a while. Did something happen to him?”

“He was hospitalized after a suicide attempt. He’s been out for a few months. I just wanted to be sure they hadn’t resumed.”

“No,” Luna said.

“Let me know if that changes.”

Murdoch drove back to the Denver field office. Luna signed some paperwork there and talked to a shrink for a while. She promised to follow up with a phone session a week later.

Murdoch offered to buy Luna dinner. She said she was tired and wanted to order room service again. Murdoch understood. There were some days when the mere thought of hiding out in a hotel room at night, wearing a white robe and eating food on a tray, seemed like heaven.

Luna just wanted to get away from him before she fell apart. It was like she was holding off an avalanche. Once she returned to the hotel, she took cover in her room. She didn’t know what would happen when she didn’t have to pretend anymore. She waited for tears. There were none. She bent over the toilet, thinking she needed to vomit. Nothing. Instead, what she felt was like a poison going through her. Not enough to actually kill her, but enough to feel like a half death. It just stuck there, stagnant in her body.

She decided to go to the bar. Maybe another poison would mask the feeling of the first. She ordered a whiskey. The bartender asked for her ID.

“Happy birthday,” he said.

It had been a week before, but she thanked him. Luna drained the whiskey and ordered another. The bartender nodded and gave her a look that said, Let’s be careful, now. Luna thanked him for the second drink. He knocked on the bar. She’d never seen anyone do that before and wondered what it meant.

A businessman sat down next to her and smiled. He didn’t give off a man-on-the-prowl vibe. It was more like What’s this kid doing alone in a hotel?

“Business or pleasure?” the man asked.

Luna laughed. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

The businessman’s curiosity was piqued. “Try me,” he said.

Luna almost blurted it out; she thought it might lessen the poison sensation. She felt a presence on the other side of her. Luna’s drink disappeared. Griff was standing there, finishing her whiskey. The bartender scrutinized the bold customer, debating whether he’d need to intervene.

“Miss, do you know this man?” the bartender asked.

Luna nodded. “I think so,” she said.

The poison lifted, like Griff was the antidote.





October 15, 2019


“Let’s recap,” Detective Goldman said. “Owen tells us he met his wife five years ago. But we find a picture of him on Irene’s camera roll from fourteen years back. When we show the evidence to Owen, he has a brain melt—a convincing one, I admit—and suddenly remembers that he spent a night with Irene in London back then. He also remembers a rather damning story she told that night. Do you believe him?”

“I think I do,” Burns said. “Memories are flexible and unreliable. And he seemed genuinely confused.”

“If we believe him,” Goldman said, “all it tells us is that Leo is a creep. What does it give us for Irene’s murder?”

“Not sure. But it does establish Leo’s murky ethics. It’s possible he thought he’d get something upon Irene’s death. Either way, let’s bring him in.”

“You’re going to enjoy this, aren’t you?” Goldman said.

“Well, I won’t not enjoy it.”

An hour later, Whitman was sitting in an interview room with Detective Burns. Noah watched the proceedings on a monitor. Burns started the interview by asking for insight into Irene and Owen’s marriage.

“I can’t say I was hopeful about it, even at the beginning. Of course, not in a million years did I think it would end like this. God, her mother would kill me if she knew I let this happen,” Leo said.