The Hand on the Wall(10)

Because this was not something you said out loud. You didn’t tell someone in law enforcement that you knew who committed one of the most infamous murders in American history because you found an old recording and had some strong hunches. That’s how you blew your credibility.

“What is it?” he asked. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Since she was going to keep her biggest piece of information to herself, she looked around for the next available offering, something worthwhile. Her mind seized on the closest bit of information and shoved it forward before she could consider whether she wanted to share.

“David,” she said. “He got himself beat up. He left.”

“I saw the video,” he said.

“You did?”

“I have a phone,” he replied. “I’m old but follow along with things related to Ellingham. What do you mean got himself beaten up? And left?”

“I mean,” she said, “he paid some skaters to do it. He filmed it. He uploaded it himself, right there and then. I was there. I saw it happen.”

Larry pinched his nose thoughtfully.

“So you’re telling me he got himself beaten up and uploaded the video right then?”

“Yes.”

“And took off into Burlington.”

“Yes.”

“You mean just as Dr. Fenton’s house burned down.”

“Those things don’t go together,” she said. “He didn’t even know Dr. Fenton.”

Even as she said the words, something occurred to her. Had she not been so preoccupied, she would have put it together before. While David did not know Dr. Fenton, he had just met her nephew, Hunter. Hunter and Stevie were walking together. You work fast, he’d said. Your new buddy. I’m very happy for you both. When will you be announcing the big day?

Was David jealous? Enough to . . . burn down Hunter’s house?

No. The way he’d said it was so flat, like he felt like he had to be sarcastic. Right?

Larry put on his reading glasses and got out his phone. He watched the video of David, freezing it at the end.

“Stevie,” Larry said, holding up a shot of David’s bleeding face, “someone willing—as you’re telling me—to pay someone to do this to him and then put the footage up online is capable of lots of things. The King . . .”

He lowered his voice quickly.

“. . . that family, there’s trouble there.”

“He did that”—Stevie pointed at the phone—“to get at his dad.”

“You’re not helping his case,” Larry said. “Look, I feel for the kid. He’s not all bad. I think the dad’s the problem. But he always acted out. I know he was good friends with Element Walker. I bet he took it hard when she turned up dead and he found the body. That does something to a person.”

It had. David had broken down completely, and Stevie, unable to process what was happening, had freaked out. She’d let him down because she could not handle it all. Guilt crept around the edges of everything—the taste of the coffee and the smell of the room and the cold coming from the window. Guilt and paranoia. She felt the thrumming in her chest, the engine of anxiety rumbling, making itself known.

“Do you have any idea where he might be?”

She shook her head.

“Have you been in touch?”

She shook it again.

“You willing to show me your phone and prove it?” he asked.

“It’s the truth.”

“You need to promise something to me right now—if he gets in touch, you tell me. I’m not saying he had anything to do with the fire—I’m saying he could be a danger to himself.”

“Yeah,” Stevie said. “I promise.”

The room was starting to throb a bit, the edges of things jumping out in her vision. There was a panic attack just under the surface, and it would arrive quickly. She surreptitiously reached into her bag, grabbing at her key ring. She kept a little screw-top vial on it. She got this off with a shaking hand and poured the contents into her palm under the table. One emergency Ativan, always there if needed. Breathe, Stevie. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight.

“I need to get back,” she said, getting up.

“Stevie,” Larry said. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

He didn’t need to say what it was she needed to be careful about. It was everything and nothing. It was the specter in the woods. It was the creak of the floors. It was whatever was underneath all these accidents.

“I’ll keep in touch,” she said. “I’ll tell you if I hear from him. I promise. I just have to use the bathroom.”

She grabbed the bag and stumbled back toward the restrooms. Once inside, she popped the pill into her mouth and stuck her face under the faucet for a swig of water. She stood up, wiped the dripping water from her mouth, and looked at her pale face. The room throbbed. The pill wouldn’t work immediately, but it would work soon.

She left the bathroom but waited in the hallway for Larry to leave. As she waited, her eyes ran across the community bulletin board, with its cards for yoga instructors, massage therapists, music lessons, pottery classes. She was about to turn and leave when something about the blue flyer at the bottom right caught her eye. She stopped and read it more carefully: BURLINGTON CABARET VON DADA DADA DADA DADA