All the Beautiful Lies(58)

The next day Jake returned to Amherst, knowing that he would never go back to Menasset. His parents weren’t helping out with any of his college expenses, so there was no reason to ever see them again.





Chapter 24





Now



After spending a good portion of the morning discussing the transportation of Grace’s body with one of the funeral directors back in Ann Arbor, but mainly trying to come up with a way, any way, to meet and talk with Harry Ackerson, Caitlin went back to the police station to see if one of the detectives could help her.

She parked across the street from the station, about five car lengths down from a news van belonging to what Caitlin recognized as a Boston news outlet, and idly crossed the street. A woman who had to be a reporter—shiny blouse, black skirt, streaky blond hair—watched Caitlin as she approached the front doors of the station. Sensing the eyes of the reporter on her, Caitlin walked with neutral purpose. She knew she looked like Grace, the murdered girl, and if she showed any signs of grief the reporter, smelling family member, would pounce.

But she made it into the station unmolested, and was buzzed past the front desk when she identified who she was and said she was looking for Detective Dixon. A uniformed officer met her in the main room of the station house, told her that the detective was currently busy but would be free soon, and could she wait. Caitlin said yes, and she was brought to a chair in front of what was probably Detective Dixon’s desk, which was cluttered but orderly. She wondered if there was information on her sister’s death in one of the neat stacks of manila folders. She waited, checking her phone, texting her mother the details and costs she’d gotten from the transportation company.

When she looked up, she saw that the detective, in a light grey suit, was now standing outside of the same meeting room where he’d shown Caitlin the photograph of Grace the day before. His back was to Caitlin, and he was talking with a young man wearing dark jeans and a green Oxford shirt that was untucked and wrinkled. It had to be Harry Ackerson, even though she’d never seen a picture. He was the right age, couldn’t have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two years old, and he looked enough like that picture of Bill Ackerson that Caitlin had seen on the Internet. Dark hair, lanky, narrow faced.

She stood and walked toward the two men across the open space of the station. When she reached them, Detective Dixon turned and spotted her, smiled. “I’ll be with you in just a moment, okay?”

Caitlin wondered if he didn’t use her name because he didn’t want to say it in front of Harry. It didn’t matter. The young man was staring at Caitlin, his eyes wide, and his mouth slightly open. It was obviously Harry, unnerved by how similar Caitlin looked to Grace.

“Okay,” Caitlin said to the detective, then added, “Is this Harry?” She met his stare. There was fear in his eyes, and something else. He looked distraught.

The detective rubbed the side of his nose, then quickly said, “Harry, this is Grace’s sister, Caitlin. Caitlin, this is Harry Ackerson.”

“Sorry I was staring,” Harry said. “You look just like—”

“I look like Grace. I know.”

“I’m really sorry,” he said, and his eyes now looked sad instead of scared. He had long, thick eyelashes like a girl’s, and high cheekbones.

“Thank you. I’m sorry you had to . . .” She couldn’t quite bring herself to say find the body.

“Caitlin, I’m going to walk Harry out, then we can talk,” the detective said. “Should we meet again in here”—he indicated by turning his head toward the conference room—“or back at my desk?”

“Either one. We can talk here. That’s fine.”

It was clear that, for whatever reason, the detective was hoping to shuttle Harry as quickly as he could away from the police station, so Caitlin said, “Harry. Can we meet, and maybe talk sometime today?”

Detective Dixon answered, saying, “I’d rather that Harry not discuss details of the case.”

“We won’t. He won’t. I just want to talk with him since he was spending time with my sister.”

Harry was alternately looking at Detective Dixon and Caitlin, not speaking, and Caitlin thought of someone at a tennis match, watching the ball go back and forth over the net.

“I can’t stop you,” the detective said, and Caitlin turned toward Harry.

“Will you meet with me?”

“Okay,” he said.

“Will you wait for me, outside of the station?”

Both Harry and the detective, speaking at the same time, said that there were too many reporters outside.

“I could meet you somewhere else,” Caitlin said. “Just tell me where.”

“Where are you staying?” Harry asked.

She told him, and they agreed to meet in an hour at the Agamenticus Diner, near her motel.

“I don’t know what you hope to get from talking with Harry,” Detective Dixon said, after returning to the conference room. “I’d rather you weren’t talking with him at all.”

“He was spending time with my sister. I need to know what she was like during her last few days. Is he a suspect? Is that why you don’t want me to talk with him?”

The detective hesitated fractionally. “No, not a suspect, but we believe that whoever killed Harry’s father also killed your sister.”