Savage Lane (35 page)

“Sorry, man,” Stu said. “I really like you, you know that, but I have a family, I have kids. You knew this from the beginning.”

“You really like me?” Larry said. “You really
like
me? What do you mean, you really
like
me? You fucking love me, man.”

“I can’t have this conversation,” Stu said.

“You can’t do this,” Larry said. “You… you don’t want this. How can you do something you don’t
want
? How could you do that to me? How could you do that to
yourself
?”

“Goodbye, bro.”

“Wait, Stu. Stu? Stu, you there? Stu?”

Had he seriously
hung up
on him? That was it, “Goodbye, bro,” and the most meaningful relationship of Larry’s life had ended, forever?

Larry called Stu back, but voicemail answered—the son of a bitch had turned off his phone.

“Shit!” Larry shouted. “Damn it!”

He knew he wasn’t thinking logically right now; he had to resist impulsivity. He wanted to go over to see Stu, talk to him in person. He knew if they were together, could see and touch each other that there was no way he would be able to leave him. Or if Stu was stubborn, or being a chickenshit, and didn’t want to tell his wife the truth, that he was gay and in love with a man, then maybe Larry should do it for him. Yeah, Stu would be upset, blame Larry for hurting his wife, and causing drama, but someday Stu would thank him, for helping him get out of his marriage, for ending the huge lie he’d been living for years.

But Larry didn’t want to do something stupid, something he might regret big time. Fortunately, focusing on the Deborah Berman case was the perfect distraction.

Larry remembered where the Harrisons lived and figured it would be better to show up in person, unexpected, rather than give Owen a heads up. It seemed like seconds later he was driving, replaying snippets of the conversation with Stu,
I’m sorry it’s for the best
…
I really like you
.

It still didn’t seem real. It seemed like something he’d imagined.

His cell rang, but hope fizzled when he saw it was Karen Daily calling and not Stu.

He took the call on speaker. Karen was upset, like she’d been at the school earlier, and was insisting that Mark should be the focus of the investigation, and not her. Larry assured her that they were exploring all possibilities, which was true; he just hoped this trip to Owen Harrison’s house wasn’t taking the investigation way off course.

Larry parked in front of the Harrison’s house, noticing two cars in the drive. Some lights were on in the house, so he hoped he’d at least have someone to speak to and the trip wouldn’t be a total waste.

He rang the bell, heard footsteps inside, and then the peephole cover shifted. Several seconds passed, long enough for Larry to consider ringing the bell again, and then Owen’s stepfather opened the door. Larry couldn’t recall his name but remembered speaking to him during the Melanie Foster investigation. He was gruff, middle-aged, had seemed like an asshole.

“Detective Walsh, Bedford police.” He showed his badge.

“I know who you are,” the man said.

Larry was waiting for him to go on, but he didn’t.

“I’m sorry, I forgot,” Larry said. “Your name is…”

“Raymond.”

“Right, Raymond. Is Owen at home?”

“Owen doesn’t live here.”

“Really?” Maybe showing up unexpected had been a waste of time after all. “Where is he living now?”

“No idea.”

Okay, this was odd. A stepfather doesn’t know where his stepson is living?

“Well you must have some idea.”

“It’s not my problem anymore.”

Still an asshole.

“When did he move out?” Larry asked.

“Yesterday,” Raymond said.

This piqued Larry’s interest. Maybe there were no facts yet, but the coincidences were adding up. Owen just happened to move out the day after Deborah Berman disappeared?

“Do you mind if I come in for a few minutes?” Larry asked.

Raymond did seem to mind, but he moved aside anyway.

In the house, Larry glanced around. There was a putrid odor, as if someone had been farting.

“What’s this about?” Raymond asked. “Owen in some kind of trouble?”

“Not necessarily,” Larry said.

“Well, he was nothin’ but trouble when he was living here,” Raymond said. “Didn’t do any chores, was only out for himself. He had to get on in the world so I did him a favor.”

“Favor?” Larry asked, realizing that Raymond’s breath reeked of beer and that he was probably drunk.

“I told him that it was time to get out, fend for himself.”

“Oh, so you
kicked
him out?”

“Damn right. Kid’s eighteen years old and he was living here like a child, eating free food, waiting for meals to be cooked for him. What kind of man does that?”

“Do you know if Owen was involved at all with a woman named Deborah Berman?”

“You mean the one I heard about on the news?”

“Yeah, her.”

Raymond laughed.

“What’s funny?”

“Just the idea of Owen with a woman. I can’t picture that at all. If you want to know the truth, I think the kid’s a faggot.”

Larry wanted to punch this drunk asshole in his gut, follow with a big uppercut to his jaw that would snap his head back and splatter blood.

But, calmly, Larry said, “If you can avoid the slurs, I’d appreciate it.”

“Slurs? What slurs?”

“Faggot,” Larry said.

“Since when is a faggot a slur? Is that some new political correct bullshit that’s goin’ around?”

“Hello?” a woman said.

Larry looked over toward the entrance to the kitchen, saw Owen’s mother, Linda Harrison, along with a young boy. That’s right, Owen had a little brother.

“Larry Walsh, Bedford police.”

“Yes, I remember meeting you before. Is there some sort of problem?”

“I’m handling it,” Raymond said. “Go back to the table.”

“No, stay,” Larry said, not letting this homophobic prick usurp him. He said to Linda, “Do you know how I can get in touch with Owen?”

Her eyes shifted, maybe nervously. “No… no, I don’t.”

“Is there a number where he can be reached?”

“Yes,” Linda said and gave Larry Owen’s cell number. Then she asked, “Is Owen okay?”

“Yes, as far as I know,” Larry said. “I just need to ask him some questions. Do you know anything about a relationship he’s been having?”

Raymond said, “I already tol—” and Larry shouted, “I told you to shut your fuckin’ mouth, okay?”

That felt good. Linda seemed to like it too.

“No,” she said. “No, I don’t.”

“I do,” the boy said.

“What’s your name?” Larry asked him.

“Kyle.”

“What did he tell you, Kyle?”

“He didn’t tell me, but I heard him talking about stuff with Elana.”

“Elana Daily, right?”

“Owen doesn’t have a girlfriend,” Raymond said. “He wouldn’t know what to do with a girlfriend.”

“Hey,” Larry said. “I’m telling you for the last time.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m confused,” Linda said to Larry. “Why are you looking for Owen? What does this have to do with Elana Daily?”

“It has nothing to do with Elana,” Larry said. “You’ve probably heard on the news about Deborah Berman, though. I’m just trying to find out if Owen had any involvement with her.”

“Involvement? What kind of involvement?”

“Perhaps some sort of relationship?”

“Oh, really?” Now Linda was upset. “Just like the last time when you harassed us with that ridiculousness about Owen and Melanie when there was no evidence at all that Owen had anything to do with anything?”

“That’s right,” Larry said. “And you were his alibi.”

“That’s right,” Linda said.

“Are you protecting your son again?”

“Hey, what the fuck?” Raymond said.

“Are you?” Larry persisted.

“No,” Linda said.

Larry looked at Linda for a few extra seconds, getting a vibe she was lying about something, then said, “Do you know where he was Saturday night from seven to ten p.m.?”

Linda’s eyes widened. “This is harassment,” she said.

“My wife’s right,” Raymond said. “This is fuckin’ bullshit.”

“If you know anything,” Larry said, “you have to let us know.”

“Yeah, we’ll let you know,” Raymond said, “with our fuckin’ lawyer we’ll let you know.”

“It could save a woman’s life,” Larry said to Linda, “and you know what your son’s capable of.”

“I’m gonna sue your ass,” Raymond said. “Watch me.”

Larry didn’t see the point in staying any longer.

“Well, thanks for all your help,” he said sarcastically.

Then, as he was heading toward the door, Kyle said, “I saw them together once.”

Larry stopped, turned, said, “Saw who together?”

“Owen and Justin Berman’s mom.”

“What’re you talking about?” Linda asked him.

“Go on,” Larry said to Kyle, “Where’d you see them?”

“At swim practice once, like last month,” Kyle said. “I followed Owen up to a classroom, wondering where he was going… and then I looked in and saw him and Justin’s mom, and they were doing all this weird stuff.”

“What kind of weird stuff?” Larry asked.

“Really weird stuff… They had their clothes off.”

Now Larry was bending down, to talk to Kyle at eye level.

“This is very important,” he said. “Do you know where your brother is now?”

“He’s just a dumb kid,” Raymond said, “what’s he know?”

“Shut the fuck up!” Larry screamed at Raymond. Then to Kyle, calmly, “Do you know where your brother is?”

“No.” Kyle looked and sounded scared. “I’m not gonna get him in trouble, am I?”

Larry rushed out of the house, calling Nick, telling him that Owen was probably their guy.

“I’ll get the word out immediately,” Nick said, “and we’ll try to track down the GPS. What’s Owen’s number?”

Larry gave it to him.

In the car, Larry called Owen, figuring maybe he’d just pick up. He was surprised when he did.

“Hello.”

“Owen?”

“Yeah.”

Larry went for a relaxed tone. “This is Detective Larry Walsh with the Bedford Police.”

Pause, then Owen said, “Okay,” sounding suspicious.

Larry didn’t want to tip him off that they were onto him. Calmly, he said, “I’m calling about Karen Daily. I understand you were at the country club when Deborah Berman and Karen were fighting the other day, and I just wanted to meet with you, to ask you a few questions about—”

The call disconnected.

Larry called back, but got voicemail. He’d probably turned his phone off—so much for tracking his GPS.

“Shit, goddamn it!”

Larry knew he’d made a mistake; calling Owen had been impulsive, stupid. Now Owen might try to run or, worse, he might go to his girlfriend, Elana Daily’s house, if he wasn’t there already.

He called Karen, to try to warn her, but the call went right to voicemail as well. Did Owen turn her phone off?

It was all Stu’s fault. Larry was usually level-headed, rational, but tonight he had too much on his mind, wasn’t thinking straight, and now a suspect who may have killed two women, might get away, or might kill again.

“Fuck you too, Stu!” Larry shouted as he sped toward Karen Daily’s house on Savage Lane.

F
OR
M
ARK,
it was all hitting home. For the past couple of days he’d been so absorbed with being angry at Deb for causing a drunken scene in the country club, and asking for a divorce, that he hadn’t really considered the possibility that she could be dead. But after he returned from Karen’s, trying to get her to confess—he’d recorded their conversation on his phone just in case—he was overwhelmed by everything that had happened and broke down crying. He didn’t want the kids, especially Justin, to see him so upset, so he went into the bathroom and sat on the closed toilet seat, sobbing so uncontrollably that he used up almost an entire roll of toilet paper to soak up his runny nose and tears. His thoughts were jumbled, but mostly he kept flashing back to the good times with Deb, when they’d first met in the city at that bar on Amsterdam Avenue. She was with friends and he was with friends and his first words to her were, “Do I know you?” They joked about that for years, because it had sounded like such a shitty, corny pickup line, but the truth was he really did think he knew her. There was something familiar about her, she was like an old friend. When they were dating, those first few years, they were best friends, went everywhere together—Europe, Mexico, to a share in the Hamptons in summers—and he couldn’t imagine that things would ever change. But now, as he was crying, and thought,
Do I know you
? It had a different meaning, because somehow, after getting married, kids, a house in Westchester, she had become a total stranger. He had no idea how things had changed so drastically, gotten so fucked up. All those things should have brought them closer together, not farther apart, but look what had happened. He didn’t know how they’d gotten from point A to point B, from the smiling, happy kids at that Upper West Side bar, to
this
. They weren’t even the same people. They’d become characters in a movie, strangers.