The Perfect Son by Freida McFadden(47)

“What happened?”

“Carbon monoxide poisoning.”

“But you recovered?”

“Yes. Thank God for my dog. We spent several days in the hospital, but we were okay. But if Daisy hadn’t woken us up, we would’ve been dead by the morning. All three of us.”

“Did they find out how it happened?”

“There was a crack in our radiator. Supposedly, this sort of thing can happen, but we have a relatively new house. It was suspicious, to say the least.”

“Didn’t you have a carbon monoxide detector?”

“Yes. That’s the other thing. Our detector was disconnected.”

“That’s a little suspicious.”

“Exactly.”

“Did you suspect Liam Cass?”

“No. Not at first. I mean, I didn’t like the kid, but he was only thirteen years old. I didn’t even think he knew what carbon monoxide was.”

“So what made you suspect him?”

“One of my neighbors told me and the police they saw a kid skulking around my house shortly before it happened. I found a photo of Liam from his school records, and they confirmed it was him.”

“Did the police investigate further?”

“They questioned Liam, but apparently he had a friend living in my neighborhood, so that was his excuse for being there. There was no other evidence he did anything. If he was ever inside my house, he left no trace.”

“But you believe it was him?”

“I absolutely do.”

“So he got away with it?”

“He sure did.”

“Did you do anything further?”

“I’ll tell you, Detective, there is one thing I did.”

“What’s that?”

“I gave the kid an A in English. Some things are not worth dying over.”





Chapter 41


Erika



Liam barely said a word during the drive home. I made a few attempts to get him to talk, but he only answered in monosyllables. I wanted to know what Landon said to him when they were alone. Or more importantly, what he said to Landon. Did he tell the attorney the truth?

It’s a relief to find Hannah is in her bedroom where we left her when we get home. After the way Olivia Mercer disappeared, I was almost scared Hannah might be gone too. Of course, why would she be? The monster was in our car.

As soon as I get into the bedroom, I dig around in the medicine cabinet for my Xanax. If there was ever a time I’ve needed it, it’s right now. This is too much for me to deal with. My son getting arrested? You don’t see that in many parenting books.

Damn it, where’s my Xanax?

It’s not in the medicine cabinet. I fumble through bottles of Tylenol, Motrin, Benadryl, triple antibiotic cream, antifungal cream, face lotion, hand lotion, expired antibiotics—God, why do we have so much crap in the medicine cabinet? But no Xanax.

Then it hits me. I shoved the bottle back in the drawer of my nightstand last time I took them. I wanted them next to my bed for easy access the next time I woke up in a cold sweat.

I make a beeline for the nightstand and open the drawer. The pill bottle rolls to the front, and I feel a jab of relief. I grab the bottle, wrench it open, and pop one in my mouth. I swallow it dry.

There’s something else that catches my eye from within the drawer in my nightstand. At first, I think it’s a photo of Liam. But then I realize it’s the photo of my father. The one I always keep in my nightstand, so I don’t ever forget him.

Of course, I put it there before I realized who he really was. What he did.

I pulled out the photograph to get a better look at it. My father looks like he’s in his late twenties, about ten years older than Liam, but God, they look so much alike. The photograph is like looking into a time machine showing my son in the future. Same hair, same eyes, same crooked smile, same build. It’s uncanny.

I can only imagine what else Liam inherited from this man.

I don’t remember much about my father. I have a vague memory of holding his large hand as he walked down the street with me. I also remember when there was a mouse in our home and my father put out a trap to catch it. He showed me the trap, the mouse’s tail captured by the metal bar, as the tiny animal squealed in distress. He laughed when I cowered behind my mother’s legs. It’s one of my first memories.

I always looked at that memory as an example of my father taking care of our family by getting rid of our rodent problem. But now I wonder if there was more to it than that. Did he enjoy torturing that little mouse the same way Liam enjoyed starving those hamsters to death?

In the past, when I’ve looked at this photograph, I experienced a rush of affection for this man who never got to see his daughter grow up. But right now, I feel something very different. Jason and I tried to do everything right as parents, but we couldn’t change our son. There was something innately wrong with him. Something in his genes.

Liam is, after all, the grandson of a murderer.

I pick up my phone and punch in my mother’s number. She answers after the second ring. “Oh, Erika, thank God. I was scared you were never going to speak to me again.”

She has no clue what we’ve been through with Liam in the last twenty-four hours. Any resentment I might have felt for her keeping a secret from me takes a backseat to everything else. “You did what you felt was right. I can’t be angry at you for that.”