Beneath the Weight of Sadness (13 page)

“Well, if Frank gives you a hard time about questioning her, before you do anything else will you come to me?”

“I can’t promise I’ll do that. I’ll try, but if this looks like it’s headed in her direction, I can’t promise anything. Like I said, I have the law to uphold.”

The way he looked at me made me think of the times he’d sat in his pew with his step-father and mother and thrown tantrums in the middle of a service. But one of the things the mayor knew was that I was an elected official just as he was. He didn’t write my paychecks, and he couldn’t fire me, although I did, in an indirect way, work for him. But I wasn’t about to let him hamper my work because of his political aspirations. I’d seen the pain Truman’s parents were going through. I knew that there was a good chance their marriage would suffer because of what had happened to their only son. I’d taken enough psychology courses to know that some people had to grieve alone, and it seemed to me—though I wasn’t certain—that each of the Engroffs were on a lone journey to deal with their devastating loss. I also knew that if the person or persons responsible for the murder of Truman Engroff were found, it might help them heal, maybe together. I’d seen it happen before.

“Well,” Mayor Riddle said. “Hopefully this will be solved before anyone else is damaged by this tragedy. I can’t imagine the pain those parents are going through right now. My heart goes out to them. I expect finding who did this will lessen their grief.”

I expected this was Mayor Riddle practicing for what ultimately might be cameras trained on his face. I knew him well enough to know that whatever the Engroffs were suffering, he was not sympathetic, unless it was somehow to his advantage.

I stood to leave. He eyed me for a moment. It was clear there was something more on his mind.

“Should we call in the state police, Nelson? I mean, should they take over the entire case? They certainly have greater resources.” He folded his hands together and leaned forward conspiratorially. “I have a feeling this is going to get out of hand.”

He tapped the newspaper before him, knuckles down. “We need to find the perpetrator of this…this tragedy.”

I had to admit the pressure would be off me if we handed this investigation completely over, but doing so would prevent me, for all intents and purposes, from having any say. I’d seen the faces of the Engroffs. I wanted to find who’d done this to their son. I was invested.

“Let me see what I can find, mayor. I’ll get back to you on that.”

“Do it soon, Nelson. I sense the hounds at the door.”

As I walked out I wondered which door: His or mine?

I have always been perplexed by the views people have on politicians. My father cried when FDR died. I never understood that, as much as I loved my father. It’s true politicians are seen in a different light in this country than they once were, but most people still have allegiance to one or the other of them. They vote for them and put stickers on their cars and still want their babies kissed by some of them, all in an attempt to believe in them or a cause they ostensibly adhere to and wish to enact.

I see them as clowns, mostly. Clowns dress up in funny costumes and do things they wouldn’t do if their identity weren’t hidden. But if you stop and really take a look at them, mentally wipe away all the makeup and change them into their regular street clothes, you can see the real person. It’s not often you are able to do that, though. Mostly you only see the politician, just as mostly you only see the clown. But I know John Riddle, and he knows I know him. It doesn’t prevent him from going right on with the charade, though. I had to admire him for that, anyway.

Carly

Five days after Truman’s death

My dad wanted me to have a lawyer present, but I told him I wanted to see Mr. Parachuk alone. I didn’t want anyone else in the room with me.

“All right then,” he said, “I’ll be the one who goes in there with you. I won’t let you be with him alone.”

“Why?” I asked. “I don’t have anything to hide and I need to help as much as I can. I don’t want you there.”

I began to cry. He stood over me, but I could tell I’d made my point.

“I don’t want you there,” I said again.

We met at the square in Persia, at George’s Restaurant. Mostly old people went there, hardly any kids that I knew, and that’s why my father chose it for the interview. It was a compromise I could live with.

“If he insists on the police station, either our lawyer or I will be there.”

My dad can be a royal pain. As it turned out, Mr. Parachuk, Detective Parachuk, was fine with the arrangement.

He was hot for an older man. I’d say he was about fifty or so, my dad’s age. I’d seen him around town, of course, but he wasn’t anyone who socialized with my parents so I’d only seen him from a distance. Truman always said I was horny for older men—I think he meant because Tommy was a year older—but I did like older men, especially Mr. Engroff.

I was nervous, especially after I saw Detective Parachuk’s eyes. They were brown, and pretty intense, not soft like Truman’s, and they looked like what I thought a cop’s eyes would look like. It was like he could see through me and into my brain. He ordered coffee and I ordered tea. The waitress wasn’t happy—it was lunchtime—but she seemed to know him and so she smiled even though she looked too busy for just tea and coffee.

First thing he did when we’d gotten settled and ordered was take out a notepad and a pen. My heart went to my stomach. I’d thought it was going to be more informal. He looked at me and smiled.

“I have a bad memory.” He poked the side of his head with his finger.

His jaw was strong and he had nice ears. They stuck out a little. He had full lips and dark eyebrows. His hair was short with some streaks of gray. His hands were large and seemed out of place with the rest of him. He had a gentle face, mostly, but his hands seemed like they could be dangerous. I wasn’t thinking any of this at the time. It was only later that I thought about him outside of the questions he asked.

“You were very close to Truman.”

As soon as he said it I began to tear up. I stopped myself. I knew I had to get through this and be strong. I knew I did.

“Yes,” I said. “Truman and I were friends since kindergarten. We’ve lived two houses away from each other for all of our lives. Well, almost. I was born in Brussels. My mother and father were there visiting my grandparents when I was born, but that was the only time I was ever away from this town. Truman was born at Persia Medical Center. Our birthdays are only four days apart.”

I stopped then, not knowing if I was telling him more than he wanted. He nodded.

“Best friends, from what Mr. and Mrs. Engroff both said.”

“Yes, best friends.” I could hear my voice quaver. “Until the last few years I guess we were inseparable. Mr. Engroff always said we were attached at the hip. Truman said the same thing.”

I had my hands together like people who are about to arm wrestle, and he put his large hand on top of mine and patted them.

“I know this is going to be difficult, Carly. I’m sorry I have to do this, but…well, sometimes best friends know more about a person then their own parents. Especially at your age.” He paused. “Why ‘until the last few years?’”

“I don’t know, exactly. I mean part of it was we just had different people we hung with. I’m a good softball player and Truman was anti-sports. Of course, like everything else he ever did, he was a great athlete. He played soccer when he was a kid. He was so fast.”

He wrote that down and I waited. While he was doing that the waitress came with our coffee and tea. She put it down for us and then put her hands on her hips. She was a slim woman and pretty, even though I could tell she smoked. “Anything else for you?”

Detective Parachuk looked up and smiled. “That’s it for now.”

“I better see a nice tip on this table.” She looked at him seriously and then smiled and walked away. He watched her go and I saw his eyes head down toward her butt.

“But that was only part of it. What were the other parts?”

I put a packet of sugar in my tea and stirred. He took a sip of his coffee.

“Truman was very private. He got more and more so as he got older. I felt sad when he didn’t call me anymore. If we hung together at all, I had to do the calling.”

I wanted to tell him we smoked weed together. I wanted to say that was the only time, but I knew I couldn’t.

“When did you first know he was gay?”

“I think I knew before anyone. I know he told his dad pretty early on, but if he didn’t tell me, I already knew. I forget which came first.”

“But he did tell you.”

“Yeah, he told me.”

“How did you feel about that, Carly?” He took a sip of his coffee and then set it down. He smiled at me as if he were my uncle instead of a cop. I liked him.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I was sad, but I guess I knew it all along.”

“Why were you sad? Why did you know it all along? Please try and answer both of those questions for me. It’ll help.”

I could feel the heat come to my cheeks. I looked down at my cup of tea and then up at Detective Parachuk. He’d picked up his pen as if I were about to say something he’d use to solve the crime.

“Almost my entire life I thought Truman and I would get married. I know that sounds really lame, but it’s true. I’ve always loved him.”

I could feel tears come to my eyes. He watched me as I took the napkin from the table and wiped my eyes with it.

“We talked about it when we were younger. I never wanted to be around anyone else but Truman.”

“So that must’ve been bad for you when he began pulling away from you.” He looked at me, his head tilted slightly. “It was Truman who pulled away from you, right? Mostly?”

“Yes.”

“And how did you feel about that?”

“It was gradual so I’m not sure exactly. I mean, I had a boyfriend for a long time.”

He took up his notepad and leafed through it. I could feel a trickle of sweat roll down my spine. “Yes,” he finally said. “Tommy Beck. Is that his name?”

“How do you know that?” I hoped my voice didn’t sound defensive.

“Mrs. Engroff told me you were seeing him.” He smiled at me. “I think she also thought you and Truman were going to marry. It’s why I wasn’t surprised when you told me just now about you and Truman. How did your boyfriend feel about Truman?”

“He didn’t like him,” I said. “I think he was jealous of him.”

“Did he tell you he didn’t like Truman?”

“I mean, he’s a jock. He thought Truman was weird.”

“Did you tell him how you felt about Truman? Did he know how close the two of you were in the past?”

“I guess everyone who grew up around Truman and me knew that. I don’t think it was ever a secret.”

“Did he know Truman was gay?”

“He made remarks about it, sometimes, but I would shut him down. He knew not to say anything bad about Truman.”

He put down the pen and rested his chin on his palms. He smiled. I could feel my heart begin to beat rapidly and suddenly I wished I’d allowed my dad to be here. I didn’t avert my eyes.

“I don’t get it, Carly. You have this boyfriend and you won’t allow him to say anything bad about Truman even though Truman’s the one who began to pull away from you. I don’t see you as a girl who is flippant…silly about relationships. I’m assuming you care very much for Tommy.”

He kept his face in his hands and looked at me for a long time with his brown eyes—now I saw they had some flecks of yellow in them. I wanted to look away, but I didn’t. I tried to smile, but I knew it was weak. I shrugged my shoulders and bent my face down to sip from my tea. I could feel his eyes on my face.

“I know what flippant means.” I laughed. I kept my eyes on my tea.

“You said
was.
”

I looked up at him. “What?”

“You said Tommy Beck was your boyfriend, or did I mishear?”

“I don’t see him anymore. We don’t hang out anymore.”

“Since when?”

I thought about that. “He had a fight with a boy in school I was friendly with. He beat up the kid. I haven’t really wanted to be around him since then.”

“Did the school know about this?”

“No,” I said. “It didn’t happen at school. It happened at a party.”

“Were the police called?”

“No one called the police. No. I mean, they eventually came, because we had to call an ambulance.”

“What was the reason for that?”

“My friend had a broken nose and was bleeding. I guess it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Apparently it was to you. You indicated the reason you were no longer seeing Tommy was because of this fight.”

“I decided I didn’t want to be around anyone like that.”

“Like what?”

I let out a sigh and he looked down at his pad.

“What was the name of the boy Tommy had a fight with?”

“I don’t want to answer that. Plus I don’t see what this has to do with Truman.”

“Okay, Carly.” He studied his notepad for a moment, bouncing his pen on the table. “Why don’t you want to answer that question?”