A Necessary Evil(64)
Since he was the last person to leave, aside from the gravediggers, he was able to quickly exit the cemetery and pull onto the main road. Traffic was heavy in downtown Lexington, as it always was around five o’clock on a weekday. It seemed wrong to Lonnie for life to be continuing as if nothing had happened. It felt like the world should stop, if only for a brief moment, and mourn the loss of a great cop. But that didn’t happen, and when he slunk into the building and toward his office, he kept his head down to avoid seeing all the empathetic stares and sorrowful glances from his colleagues. When the lieutenant tried to stop him and offer his condolences once again, Lonnie just held his hand up and kept walking.
When he made it into the small office he’d shared with Kurt, it somehow seemed bigger and emptier without him there. One glance over at Kurt’s desk was enough for tears to sting his eyes for the third time that day. Lonnie had promised Kurt’s sister he’d pack up his belongings for her, so he would somehow have to muddle through it for her sake.
He grabbed a box full of copy paper, dumped it out, and set it on top of Kurt’s desk. Lonnie smiled when he saw how disorderly Kurt’s area was. Kurt was one hell of a detective, but he was horrible at organization. Slowly, he picked up a framed photograph of Kurt’s sister and nephews and placed it in the box. Next, he placed his favorite coffee mug, the white one with blue letters that read BEST UNCLE EVER, and placed it beside the frame. One by one, he picked up all of Kurt’s personal belongings. Within five minutes, he was done. Kurt never brought many personal things to the office. He’d said he wanted to keep his two lives completely separate.
Lonnie dropped down into Kurt’s chair and chuckled softly when he recalled an argument they’d had over why Kurt’s chair was so much better than Lonnie’s. Kurt had explained that he’d had to buy it himself because the department wouldn’t spring for a chair that would better support his bad back. That didn’t stop Lonnie from ragging on Kurt for being a spoiled old man.
Something caught his attention as he looked around one last time, making sure he had everything. He bent over and picked up a book that had apparently fallen face down and was open in the middle. Where on earth had this come from? It was made of red leather and had long, thin red straps attached to the front and back. He laid it on Kurt’s desk and flipped it over onto its back. Lonnie could tell by the warning etched into the first page in large letters that the journal belonged to Mollie Cartwright.
Where did this come from?
The journal was open to a page near the middle. Lonnie looked down and read the pretty cursive script.
Dear Journal,
I’m having a particularly bad day today. It’s been three years since Dalton died…
Lonnie vaguely recalled Mollie’s best friend mentioning that her boyfriend had committed suicide near the end of their senior year. The poor girl had had it rough.
…and I still can’t believe no one knows the truth. I mean, how stupid are people? Do they really think he killed himself? The kid was an honor student, the starting quarterback, and had a full-ride scholarship lined up to UK. Nobody with that much going for them ever takes their own life. But I guess if you think about it, he was kind of stupid. He believed that I really did love him. And he believed I would never hurt him. I wouldn’t have…if he hadn’t cheated on me with that slut Rebecca. That’s why I had to shoot him in the head.
Lonnie’s eyes went wide as saucers. Had he really just read what he thought he’d read? It was like Jekyll and Hyde. One minute her journal had been nothing but typical ramblings of a teenage girl. The next minute, she’s confessing to murdering her boyfriend.
I wasn’t sure everyone would believe my story about Dalton committing suicide, but I guess I got lucky.? But with today being the anniversary of his death, I have to pretend to be sad and mope around like I’m totally depressed. Mom even offered to buy me a puppy to make me feel better. She said maybe I wouldn’t feel so lonely, and it might even distract me from thinking about Dalton so much. Does she not realize how much I hate animals? You’d think she would have gotten the clue when I killed every single pet she ever got me. But she just assumed they ran away or got sick or something. She can be so dense sometimes.
Lonnie rubbed his brow then covered his open mouth with his hand. His stomach clenched as he forced himself to read on.
Take Pops, for example. She knows he’s different and that he hides things from her, but she chooses to stick her head in the sand like an ostrich. I, on the other hand, wasn’t surprised when the kids at school told me the truth about Pops. He’s supposedly the biggest crime lord in Kentucky, which is pretty cool when you think about it. He’s, like, the John Gotti of the Bluegrass. I don’t think he kills people, but I don’t know. Maybe he does. He does spend a lot of time at Granny’s horse farm. I’ve followed him there before, and he’s there a lot when I’m visiting her. Maybe he’s hiding bodies out there! It’s where he goes when he doesn’t want to be found, I know that much. If I ever need to hide a body, I know where to go!?
So, this was how Kurt had found Frankie. He’d read Mollie’s journal, and besides realizing she was a sociopath who’d murdered her boyfriend, he’d read about the horse farm in his ex-wife’s name. Lonnie silently cursed himself for not even thinking about properties that weren’t legally in his name when he was searching. If he’d found the farm himself, they’d have gone together, and maybe Kurt would still be alive.