Dead Lies (9 page)

“This time she was just calling to offer her condolences,” he told Tim. “She heard about the”—it was so hard for him to say the word—“
murders
on the news.”

Tim paused. “That’s all?” he said, after a moment. “She didn’t remind you that life is short and beg you to get back together and give her a baby?”

“Ah, but life
is
short,” Web said, looking away.

“I’m sorry, Buddy, I didn’t mean to put it that way,” Tim said apologetically. “I was just making a joke. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay, Tim,” Web said. “I know what you meant.” A moment later, he began chuckling. “Maybe you should consider stand-up,” he told Tim. “You sounded
exactly
like Justine.”

Even as he laughed, Web cringed at the memory of how the relationship had ended. He and Justine had been dating for four or five months, and one Sunday she’d come over to his apartment after having spent the weekend in Connecticut with her sister, who was married with three kids under the age of ten. “I’m exhausted,” she’d said, throwing her coat over a chair and plopping down on the couch. But her eyes were alive with excitement, belying her claims of fatigue. She added, “But I had such an amazing time!”

“Tell me about it,” Web had encouraged, bringing her a glass of wine and joining her on the couch. He’d been happy to see her. He’d worked all weekend to close a high-stakes deal and was badly in need of some female attention.

She’d tucked her feet under her body and taken a sip of wine. “On Saturday morning we went to the zoo, and after lunch we took the kids to a farm to pick out pumpkins for Halloween. We walked around the patch, and each of them got to choose their own perfect pumpkin.” She’d paused a moment to flash him a huge smile that lit up the room, and he couldn’t help but return it. “That night we carved them, and when we were done, we stuck them in the window and lit candles and went outside to admire our handiwork,” she’d continued. “Afterward we cleaned the pumpkins seeds and roasted them. They tasted great. I’d never had fresh ones before. Have you ever had fresh pumpkin seeds?”

“No, I haven’t,” Web had smiled. “Didn’t you bring me any?”

“No, I’m sorry, we ate them all,” Justine had answered absently, unaware that he’d been teasing her. “Early the next morning my nieces and nephew woke me up by jumping on my bed until I was awake. They were so cute! They insisted I make them breakfast. They wanted pancakes. Smiley-faced pancakes with chocolate chips to make the eyes, nose and mouth. And they wanted
me
to make them, Web. Not Erica, me! Then they told me I was their favorite aunt.” She’d looked off in the distance, beyond his shoulder, as if searching for something just out of reach. A wistful look had appeared in her eyes and then she’d gulped some wine, just as a fat tear began to slide down her cheek. It was like a light switch had gone off, causing her to go from happy to sad in a blink. He felt like he’d been blindsided.

Uh-oh,
Web had groaned inwardly, knowing what was coming.

Web blamed himself for allowing it to happen. It wasn’t the first time Justine had expressed her desire to marry and have children. In his defense, though, he’d never taken it too seriously because she’d only ever referenced it casually, in a joking way. Like once, when they were walking down Fifth Avenue, she’d pulled him over to the Tiffany window and pointed out a ring she liked, saying, “Maybe you can tell my next boyfriend about it!” He’d laughed the comment off, telling himself how great she was for respecting his desire not to marry, which he’d been honest about from the beginning. He’d congratulated himself for having found such an easy-going girlfriend who really understood him and wouldn’t pressure him.

Now, of course, he saw how wrong he’d been. He’d obviously been way too blasé about the jokes, which had probably been her way of testing him, of gauging his resistance to the amount of influence she had over him. And by responding as good-naturedly as he had, he’d passed the test, given her reason to hope that one day she could get him to change his mind.

Web had risen from the couch, muttering something about getting some snacks to go with the wine, but Justine had put her hand out to stop him. She’d grabbed his wrist and fixed him with a deeply pleading look. “Web, don’t you ever think about settling down and having a family?” she’d asked. “Isn’t that a possibility for us?”

Thoroughly uncomfortable, he’d pulled away and sped off toward the kitchen. Justine had followed him, her wispy tears now replaced with a look of grim determination. “Is there any chance we’ll ever get married, Web?” she’d pressed as he reached deep into the refrigerator, looking for something, anything that would occupy his attention. “Things have been going well, and I thought, well…”

He’d whirled around to face her. “I told you on our second date that I wanted to keep things casual, and you told me you understood. You can’t go trying to change the rules on me now.”

“But I want to have a baby!” she cried. “I’m thirty-four and I’m not getting any younger!”

“Well, you’re going to have to find somebody else to do it with,” he said, exasperated, “because as I said all along I’m not your guy!”

She looked like she’d been slapped, and for a moment Web regretted his harshness. “I’m sorry to be so blunt, Justine,” he back-pedaled. “But I was honest with you when we met.”

“But people always say that Web,” she said, sounding almost reasonable, “and relationships change. The good ones do, anyway. I thought this was one of the good ones.”

He’d closed the refrigerator door and stood there empty-handed. He’d run out of responses.

They were at a standoff, and she wasn’t going to take it lying down. Something in her eyes shifted, and he saw a coldness he’d never seen before. “Let’s just talk about this,” she said in a way that suggested she scoffed at his protests, like he was a boy who didn’t really know what he wanted.

“How many times do I have to say it?” he barked. “I don’t want to get married right now!”

As soon as the words had come out of his mouth, he realized his mistake.
I don’t want to get married
right now.

She pounced. “Okay, then, we can have this conversation again in six months.”

Of course,
never
seemed like a good time to have the conversation again. Web’s only choice was to protest in a way that would make his feelings abundantly clear. “Justine, you’re not hearing me. I don’t want to get married.”

She shook her head, looking like she was about to put her hands over her ears. “I don’t understand. Are you saying you don’t want to get married, or that you just don’t want to marry
me?
”

Hello, rock. Hello, hard place.

He had mere seconds to decide how to answer, and he chose badly. What he should have said was that he just wasn’t ready and didn’t want to keep her waiting around while he figured everything out, especially when there were plenty of other men out there who were dying for the chance to marry her and give her what she wanted. But he didn’t. He wanted the night to end. He wanted her out of his life. He didn’t need the drama. His life was crazy enough. “I think we should stop seeing each other, Justine,” he said, expecting her to dissolve into tears right there in the kitchen. But that wasn’t what happened.

“You fucking bastard,” she’d hissed.

From there things had gone from bad to worse. She’d started screaming at him, hurling vicious accusations about how he’d used and deceived her. In a parting shot, she’d proceeded to smash each of the twelve leaded crystal brandy snifters he’d received from his first big client after scoring a deal that had made the front page of
The New York Times
Business Section. Web’s cleaning lady had later said that she was vacuuming up bits of crystal for a month.

When Justine finally ran out of steam, she’d stormed out the front door, leaving Web stunned and shaken by how badly things had gone down. He felt like he’d just survived a tornado. Barely.

Web shivered involuntarily at the memory, silently acknowledging once again that it had been the worst break-up he’d ever had. He never wanted to go through anything like that again. It was the reason that since the break-up he’d only gone out with women who already had children.

Web turned to Tim. “We didn’t speak,” he told him. “When I saw her number come up on the I.D. screen, I let the call go into voice mail.”

“Sounds like you finally need to change your number,” Tim replied ruefully.

“You might be right. But that’ll be such a pain in the ass. Do you know how many people I’d have to tell?”

“That’s what secretaries are for, Web.”

Ahead, Web saw a car pull out of a parking space, a minor miracle on such a busy shopping day. He pointed it out to Tim.

“I’m already on it,” Tim said, flipping his blinker. He expertly slid the Audi in between a gold Lexus and a black Mercedes with a wreath attached to the hood. Web smiled at the sight. While he’d had always admired the way suburbanites lavishly decked out their homes for the holidays, he thought the wreath-on-the-car thing went a little too far.

Tim turned off the ignition, and after they unhooked their seat belts, Web paused with his hand on the door and said, “I think I need to call Justine back this time, though.”

“Why?” Tim challenged. “That’ll only encourage her.”

Web sighed. “If I don’t, I’m afraid she’s going to show up at the funeral.”

CHAPTER 11

T
HE GRAPE WAS AN AVONDALE INSTITUTION. IT WAS A LONG, CAVERNOUS
room with a mahogany bar on the right, a line of brown-leather booths along the left, and tables in the back. The eighteen-foot-high ceilings were lined with hammered tin, and the rough-hewn floorboards hailed back to the days when the town was still mostly farmland. It was a traditional saloon that had been run by the same family since 1916. The Grape was something of a misnomer because it was the home-brewed beer, rather than wine, that actually drew people there.

At 3:00 in the afternoon, the place was virtually empty except for a pair of businessmen eating a late lunch at the bar. When Web and Tim came in, the owner, who was standing behind the bar wiping down glasses with a rag, gave them a friendly smile and a wave. Web and Tim waved in return then made their way to the den-like area in the back where so many of their life’s dramas had played out. They claimed their regular booth, and Danny slid in two minutes later, choosing the seat next to Tim.

Web had always loved The Grape’s comforting smell of fryer grease and sawdust. He still went there nearly every time he came out from the city. He, Danny, and Tim had been regulars since their late teens when they got in with fake IDs they’d purchased in Paterson. They’d hang out there and goof off, playing drinking games and having drunken gropes with girls they’d known their whole lives.

A middle-aged waitress Web didn’t recognize came over carrying menus. She wore jeans and a red tee shirt with a restaurant logo over her heart. Her name tag read “Deena.” She held out a menu, and Web waved it away. “We know what we want,” he told her.

“All right,” she smiled, tucking the menus under her arm and whipping out her order pad. She pulled out the pen tucked behind her ear and placed the tip on the pad. “What can I get you, Honey?”

“A pint of Amber and a cheeseburger with Swiss, medium rare.” His usual order.

“You want fries with that?”

“Sure,” he said, suddenly realizing how hungry he was.

As Tim and Danny placed their orders, Web ran his fingers across the scarred wooden table top, searching for the familiar carving. There it was: the initials SM and DC, joined by a plus sign with a heart around it. Serena Marino and Danny Callahan. His sister and his friend had dated for almost two years until Danny got his now-wife Tanya pregnant.

The booth was also the site of Web’s bitter, post-dump confrontation with Danny. The black eye Web had given his friend had gotten him ejected from the bar—and a ride down to the police station. Afterward, Web had refused to speak to Danny for weeks, until Danny had finally shown up at the house begging for forgiveness. Web had tearfully granted it, and a few months later he’d stood up for his friend at his wedding.

When Deena moved on to another table, Danny caught Web’s eye and nodded toward the carving. “Long time ago, huh?”

Web looked away. He’d long ago gotten over his anger at Danny for having betrayed his sister. That was kid stuff, really. “It’s just that I see Serena everywhere in this town, you know?” he told his friends. “She is standing on the steps of the high school and outside the Warner Quad theater. I see her playing frisbee in the Buckley’s yard and at every other house we visited growing up. And each time I get one of those visions of her in my head, I think
Serena can’t be dead. She just can’t!”
He paused and shook his head. “And then I remember she is.”

Web met Danny’s eyes. His friend looked crushed.

Deena returned with three pints of beer and set the glasses down on the table. “Your burgers will be up in no time,” she said, oblivious to the content of their conversation.

When they were alone again, Tim said lightly, “So, has there been any progress on the investigation?”

Web was about to answer no when he heard the bell over the front door jingle. He looked up and was surprised to see the detective who’d interviewed him at the station house walk in. Keebler was his name. No,
Kreeger
. And he was with the female cop who had taken him down on Serena’s driveway.

At the sight of two cops walking into
his
bar, an image of his golden-headed sister struck him, and Web felt pain and anger slice through his gut. Serena was gone! His emotions had run to every extreme since this horror show began—shock, anguish, fury, desperation, the whole gamut—and now he found himself fighting for control.
Breathe, just breathe,
he told himself.

Then hope surged within him. Why were the cops here? Was it possible they’d made an arrest?

Web jumped up from his seat and bore down on the two approaching cops, who had spotted him just as soon as he had seen them. “Did you find the guy who did it?” he barked.

Neither cop was fazed. No doubt they were used to dealing with crazed family members of their victims.

“No, Mr. Marino,” Kreeger responded, sinking Web’s hopes. “But we have made some progress in the investigation. We’d like to fill you in.”

“Please call me Web,” he said more softly now, rubbing the stubble on his face as if to show them he had his emotions under control. He turned to the female officer and stuck out his hand. “Officer Valentine, right?”

“Yes,” she said, somberly, taking it. “Hello again.”

Web looked back at his friends, who were making motions to leave. “Do you mind if my friends stay?”

When the detective paused, Web said, “They’re my oldest friends and anything you have to say to me you can say in front of them.” The statement was a TV movie cliché, but it seemed to work.

“All right.”

Danny and Tim shoved over in the booth to make room for the new arrivals. Kreeger sat down on their side; the female officer slid into the empty spot next to Web. She was so small she barely made a dent in the seat.

Web introduced his friends and everyone nodded at each other politely. “Can I get you anything to drink?” he asked the officers, as his eyes searched out the waitress. It was absurd to be making social niceties at a time like this, but he was grateful for the ritual all the same. It was helping him focus.

“No, thank you,” both cops replied.

Web had another ridiculous thought. Was there some kind of police procedure for this sort of thing, he wondered? Maybe a manual for cops containing a passage that read, “When interviewing the murder victim’s family, always refuse refreshment.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Web watched Valentine remove her hat and gently place it on the bench next to her. Both officers had been holding notebooks when they’d come in; now they pulled pens from their pockets and clicked the ends almost in tandem.

Kreeger spoke first. “So, I want to tell you what’s happened since last night…”

What’s happened is that my sister and her husband were killed
, a voice inside Web raged.

“We found the jewelry taken from Mr. and Mrs. Vance’s home.”

A sliver of hope pierced Web’s bitterness. “So you know who the…killer is?”

“Not yet,” admitted the senior detective. “What we know at this point is that the perpetrator dumped the jewelry.”

“Where’d you find it?”

“In a dumpster in Perona.”

Perona? The only thing he knew about the place was that it was the home of the motor vehicle office where he’d gotten his driver’s license, along with every other kid at Avondale High School who turned 17. That and the fact that it was a crummy town right next to Paterson, otherwise known as Crime Central. “Do you think the killer lives there?” he asked.

Kreeger shot his partner a look. “We’re not sure yet, but we’re looking into it.”

Web’s brow crinkled in confusion. “Why would he get rid of the jewelry?”

Kreeger and Valentine exchanged brief glances. “I know this will be hard to hear,” answered Kreeger, turning to him and looking him straight in the eye, “but we don’t think Mr. and Mrs. Vance were killed for their possessions.” The detective paused. “We believe their murder was deliberate.”

Web froze. He heard a buzzing noise in his head and felt like he was going to pass out. He realized he was holding his breath again and let it out, looking wildly at Danny and Tim. His friends looked similarly stunned.

“I…don’t understand,” he stammered.

“We think the robbery was just a diversion, and that the real motive was murder,” said Kreeger. Web tried to digest what Kreeger was saying, but he felt slow and stupid.

Kreeger gave him a few seconds before continuing. “I know I already asked you this, but I need to go over it again. Please think hard. Were Mr. and Mrs. Vance having any trouble with anyone? Is it possible someone threatened or harassed them in the last few days or weeks?” His eyes bored into Web’s, as if he could somehow will him to remember something.

Regaining some of his composure, Web shook his head and offered the same response he had last night. “No. As I already told you, neither of them complained of anything like that.”

“The Marinos are an incredibly close family,” he heard Tim pipe in. “Serena would have told them if something was wrong.” Web looked at Tim gratefully, as if his friend had just defended his family’s honor.

“How about you, Mr. Marino,” the detective said. “Do you have any enemies?”

Web looked at him incredulously, even as an image of Justine popped into his head. He opened his mouth then closed it. Was it
possible?
No, he quickly decided, forcing the unthinkable idea from his mind. Sure, Justine had been acting a little nutty since the break-up, but she definitely wasn’t violent…or was she?

He recalled something Tim had said a few weeks after the break-up, when he’d told him how he kept running into Justine. “Dude, she’s stalking you,” Tim had pointed out. “Maybe you should hire a bodyguard. I think Kevin Costner’s looking for work.”

Web had known his friend was kidding, of course, but now he wondered if he should have taken his friend’s casual warning more seriously. No, he thought. The idea was preposterous. Justine wasn’t the crazy type; she was just lonely. Besides, they ran in the same social circles, so it was only natural they’d bump into each other once in a while.

He exchanged a look with Tim that told him the same thought had crossed his friend’s mind. But Tim didn’t say anything. Web turned back to the detective, and said, “I have no enemies.”

“What about your parents and sister?” the detective pushed.

“I…I guess you’ll have to ask them,” Web said helplessly, thinking how quickly the interview had sunk into the absurd.

The detective nodded.

Valentine spoke next. “We found a prescription for Lexipro in the medicine cabinet. Did you know your sister was being treated for depression?”

“Yes. She was diagnosed five or six years ago.”

“Do you think there’s any chance the depression could have something to do with her death?”

“I don’t see how. Her condition has been under control for years.”

“We understand Mr. Vance was a defense attorney,” Kreeger said, switching tack.

Web fixed his gaze on the detective, trying hard to keep up. He felt like he was in the middle of a dream and trying hard to wake up. “Yes. As I told you last night, he works”—he paused and corrected himself—“
worked
at White & Kelly in the city. The office is in midtown.”

“He hadn’t complained recently of a difficult client?” she said, repeating another question from last night.

“No. Everything seemed fine. In fact, I called Bill at the end of last week and he told me he was excited about having the Christmas week off. He’d just finished up a big case, and he’d won it, so he felt he’d really earned the vacation. He and Serena were going to spend Christmas here with us then head down to D.C. to spend New Year’s with Bill’s family. After that they were going to Caneel Bay.”

The cops exchanged looks, and Web guessed they had no idea what he was talking about. They were cops. With cops’ salaries. They had probably never been to the Caribbean. “It’s a resort in St. John,” he explained. “Serena and Bill went there the first week in January every year.”

The pair nodded and moved on. “And what about your sister?” Valentine said. “She was in advertising, right? Was she having any problems at work?”

Web turned to answer and was suddenly struck by how pretty the uniformed officer was. Here under the soft lamp light, her femininity transcended the mannish blue uniform that until now had obscured her delicate frame. A thick mass of curly brown hair fell just below her shoulders, and her skin had a faint olive tone, which suggested an exotic strain in her genetic background. But it was her eyes he found most striking. They were spaced a bit too wide apart for her to be called classically beautiful, but their unusual shade of gray-blue made her look otherworldly. They could draw you in, and you could lose yourself there. Web felt slightly dazed.

“Serena was a copywriter with an agency in SoHo,” he answered, wondering how he could possibly feel an attraction to a woman at a time like this. He pushed the feeling aside. “She was working on a big liquor campaign. She and her partner got along great from what she told me. I can’t imagine she had any enemies.” He turned back to Kreeger. “As I keep trying to tell you, Detective, there was nothing out of the ordinary going on in her life.”