‘Who was Richard Linden?’ Clay asked. ‘The brother of today’s victim.’
‘The school bully,’ Phil said bitterly. ‘Goddamn, I hated that kid.’ He aimed a look of challenge up at Jamie. ‘I can say that now. I’m almost retired.’
Jamie smiled down at him. ‘I was fine with you saying it then. He was a piece of shit. So were his parents.’
It was true. ‘They were very wealthy and they donated a lot of money to the school. They donated the money for our scholarships, actually. And never let us forget it.’ Thorne raised a brow. ‘Because we had little originality, we called Richard “Richie Rich”. He really was a total piece of shit. Thought he was entitled to everything. And anyone.’
Sam frowned. ‘He went after Sherri?’
Thorne found he could honestly chuckle at that. ‘Hell, no. Sherri was only five feet tall, but she would have kicked his ass if he’d laid a finger on her. No, there was another girl. Another scholarship student. Her name was Angie. And Richard thought she was his private little toy. I disagreed. We’d had a shouting argument about it earlier in the week that everything went to shit. I told him he was a privileged little . . .’ He winced. ‘Well, it wasn’t very nice.’
Phil laughed. ‘He called him a “privileged little limp-dicked Napoleon”.’
‘You remember that?’ Thorne asked, surprised.
‘I thought it was fantastic. You managed to blend an honest insult with a historical one. I gave you an A.’ Phil sighed. ‘But Richard had a posse and Thorne didn’t.’
‘I was known as a bully, but I’d never laid a finger on him,’ Thorne said sadly. ‘I was huge by then – six-three and still growing. I was also browner than tan because my father, my birth father, had been part Maori. I did not fit in at Ridgewell Academy. That I had the highest GPA in the school after Sherri made Richard even angrier. He went after Angie when he knew I’d see. He was pawing her in the hallway right near my locker. I pulled him off her. It was the first time I’d ever touched him. Next thing I knew, his friends were on me.’
Phil’s smile had evaporated. ‘Coach and I had to drag them off him. The boys were vicious. They were all athletes, all big guys. Not as big as Thorne, but there were four of them. And they kicked his head first. Then his ribs. It was . . . shocking. I’d never witnessed a fight like that. I was a good bit more sheltered then. But even later, after I’d gone to the inner-city schools, I rarely saw fights like that. Coach and I got Thorne up and took him to the office to see the nurse. He could barely walk. They’d destroyed his knee.’
‘Well, not destroyed,’ Thorne grumbled. ‘It got better.’
‘It took a year, some surgery, and a lot of physical therapy,’ Jamie said mildly. ‘But because the boys who’d attacked him said Thorne had started it, he was expelled. The girl – Angie – had been threatened into silence by Richard, I’m sure. She denied he’d ever touched her. No cameras back then. It was Thorne’s word against Richard’s.’
Thorne shrugged. ‘When I got expelled, my mother was upset. My stepfather was publicly upset but privately smug. Said he always knew I’d be a thug like my father.’
Stevie’s brows lifted. ‘Your father was a thug?’
‘My father was a professional rugby player. He was a good man.’ His voice cracked again. ‘A damn good man.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Gwyn murmured as her hand ran down his arm comfortingly. Then it was gone. But it was enough.
‘Thank you,’ he managed. ‘My father also played the bass guitar, and I’d taken it into school that day because we were practicing for a music assembly. The principal refused to let me take it home and wouldn’t allow the teacher to give it to Sherri either.’
All eyes shifted to the bass standing in the corner, then back to Thorne.
‘Why not?’ Ruby asked, then sighed. ‘Because he was afraid of the Linden family. They were the deep pockets.’
‘Essentially,’ Thorne said. ‘That was on Thursday. But on Friday, the music teacher slipped Sherri the keys to her room. That Sunday night, Sherri and I broke into the school to find my guitar, but we found Richard instead. He’d been beaten and stabbed, and he was bleeding badly. I wanted to run.’
‘But you didn’t,’ Lucy said confidently.
‘You wouldn’t,’ Gwyn added, and he met her eyes in the mirror. She looked defiant and pissed off. Just like her old self. It almost made him smile. But he was thinking about Sherri and what came next, and the almost-smile faded.
‘No, I didn’t. I gave him first aid, tried to stop the bleeding. Told Sherri to call 911 and then run. I didn’t want her involved because I knew the cops would assume I’d done it. Richard and I hated each other. But I couldn’t leave him there to die.’ He dragged air into his lungs. ‘Sherri had just called 911 when the cops piled in. She’d barely started talking to the operator. Someone else had called first.’
‘We never found out who,’ Jamie said with a sigh. ‘But that Sherri had called at all was one of the things that saved Thorne. That and the fact that they found a bloody knife outside in the bushes. The prints didn’t match Thorne’s.’
Lucy straightened. ‘Someone left a bloody knife with your prints on it at the crime scene this morning.’
‘Yeah,’ Thorne said grimly. He’d noticed the knife immediately while looking at the photos that Gwyn had so cleverly taken. ‘Back then I was arrested because I’d fought with Richard a few days before. It didn’t matter that he’d started it. It didn’t matter that his friends beat me up. It only mattered that I was seen putting my hands on him.’
‘But Sherri was a witness that you hadn’t murdered Richard Linden,’ Clay said, studying Thorne carefully as he made the observation.
‘Yes. She was arrested too. For trespassing, as it turned out. Her father came to bail her out, but I hadn’t been arraigned yet so I was stuck in jail.’ He closed his eyes. ‘She and her father were struck broadside by a pickup truck on their way home from the jail. Neither survived.’
A heavy silence filled the room. Then Gwyn’s hand gripped his biceps and squeezed. He covered her hand with his and held it there. She laid her head against his back, cuddling him. Comforting him.
‘I was . . . devastated,’ Thorne confessed, his eyes still closed because they’d filled with unexpected tears.
‘The police ruled that the crash was deliberate,’ Jamie said into the silence. ‘The truck had been waiting for Sherri’s father’s vehicle. Witnesses said that it accelerated, knocked them off the road, then sped away. Its license plate was covered in mud. No one got the number. The truck was never found. That was the other thing that saved Thorne. His only witness was murdered.’
‘Jamie and my brother had their own firm back then,’ Phil said. ‘My brother’s specialty wasn’t criminal law, but Jamie’s was, so I asked him to review the case.’
Jamie nodded. ‘I would have done it because he asked, but I was compelled to fight for Thorne after talking to his mother and stepfather. He was this awesome kid, and they just threw him away,’ he said sadly, and Thorne’s throat closed at the memory.
Jamie cleared his throat. ‘His stepfather painted Thorne as a violent boy, said he feared him. Told the police that too. He told the jury that Thorne had beaten his mother, that when he tried to stop him, Thorne would hit him too. He made a credible witness on the stand. The fact that Thorne was so much bigger than he was by that point didn’t help. The jury believed Willy White. I could tell.’
‘But that night after he testified,’ Thorne said bitterly, ‘Willy went home, argued with my mother, and she ended up dead.’
‘Oh, Thorne,’ Lucy murmured. ‘I’m sorry.’
He shrugged. He’d never stopped missing her, despite her betrayal. ‘My stepfather was tried for her murder. Went to prison. Died there.’
‘Good,’ Ruby stated furiously, and Thorne found himself smiling at her again.
/> ‘You’re very bloodthirsty, Ruby,’ he said.
She firmed her trembling lips. ‘Damn straight.’ Then leaned into Sam, who kissed the top of her head tenderly.
‘Jamie was able to get the judge to issue special instructions to the jury to disregard my stepfather’s testimony. The prosecutor didn’t fight him because he’d witnessed my mother and stepfather arguing over it. My mother apparently had some conscience. She wanted to tell the truth the next day, that I had never laid a finger on her, that my stepfather lied. But she never got to. That’s what they’d argued about the night she died.’
Gwyn rubbed her cheek into his back and he could feel his shirt growing wet. She was crying. For me. It gave him . . . hope. ‘So, the jury found me not guilty because there were 911 records of an earlier call. And they did have Sherri’s statement from her trespassing arrest. That was allowed into evidence. And right after that, I changed my name to Thorne and moved in with Phil and Jamie. Tried to put all the ugliness behind me.’
‘Until today,’ Frederick said. He’d been so quiet that Thorne had almost forgotten he was there. Frederick had a way about him. Like he could fade into the woodwork if he wanted to go unseen. But the older man’s eyes were sharp and Thorne wondered what he was thinking. Frederick had proven himself a formidable man. He never spoke much about his past, but he wore . . . strength like an invisible mantle. It was something about the way he moved. The way his eyes were always assessing. Clay moved that way. So did JD Fitzpatrick. Thorne attributed it to their military training.
Thorne himself was far too big to disappear. He’d never wanted to. His strength was his physical presence and he’d learned to use it to his best advantage.
Regardless of how Frederick moved in the physical plane, his mind was always working the angles. He’d proven himself invaluable in the short time he’d been handling cases for the firm pro bono. Thorne was interested to hear his proposal for action. That the man already had a plan was not even in question.
‘Until today,’ Thorne agreed.
Stevie’s forehead was bunched in a frown. ‘Was no one else ever arrested for the murder?’
‘No,’ Phil confirmed. ‘I don’t think the cops even tried.’
‘So the real killer walks free,’ Stevie said thoughtfully. ‘At least one person knows what really happened that day.’
Gwyn came to her feet, her hands on Thorne’s shoulders. In the mirror he could see her looking at the assembled group with grim determination.
‘Somebody knows about Thorne’s past. Somebody who wants to hurt him. All this shit is going to come to light and people will wonder. They’ll make assumptions. That the victim this morning is the sister of the victim from nineteen years ago will make everyone ask if Thorne was guilty before as well. Just the hint of scandal could ruin his career. Let’s figure out how to keep that from happening.’
Annapolis, Maryland,
Sunday 12 June, 8.00 P.M.
He was smiling as he rejoined Margo, who’d taken her brandy to the library, curling up in one corner of the sofa. She smirked when he sat beside her. ‘How many times did Benny get you to read it?’
He had to chuckle. ‘Only three. Well, two and a half, technically. He fell asleep halfway through the third time.’
‘You spoil him,’ she said without any real heat.
‘He is my grandson.’ His throat grew suddenly thick as grief for Colin hit him hard. ‘My only grandson. All I have left of my son. Lo extraño.’ I miss him. Sometimes so much he thought he’d die from it. That his heart would simply stop beating.
He missed Madeline. She was his heart. His soul. But she’d been sick for a long time before she died, and he’d had time to prepare himself. Colin . . . ‘He was too young.’
Margo leaned toward him, brushing her fingertips over his upper arm. Her dark eyes were haunted. ‘I miss him too.’
‘I know you do,’ he murmured. Closing his eyes, he held out his palm and she grasped it, sharing his pain. ‘How could you not?’
They’d grown up together, she and Colin. They’d been best friends from the time they could crawl, and from there had become so much more.
‘When did you know you loved him?’ he asked, his eyes still closed.
‘I always loved him,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘From my first memories, I loved him. But when did I know that I loved him like I do now?’ She cleared her throat. ‘We were fifteen and he brought a DVD of my favorite movie when I had a bad cold.’ Her chuckle was teary. ‘He hated that movie, but he endured it so bravely. That’s when I knew.’
He smiled, grateful for the shared confidence. For just a little bit more of his son to tuck away in his heart. ‘What was the movie?’
‘Twilight.’
He grimaced. ‘My son has more bravery than I.’ And then he realized . . . ‘Had,’ he corrected himself. ‘He had more bravery than I.’
For long moments they said nothing, the ticking of the grandfather clock the only sound in the otherwise silent room.
‘We will make him pay,’ Margo whispered.
‘Yes.’ His tone was flat to his own ears. ‘We will.’
She squeezed his hand hard. ‘Let’s get down to business, Papa.’
Opening his eyes, he drew a breath and sat up straighter. ‘You have all the information we need?’
‘Of course.’ Margo looked insulted. ‘I know how to dig for information, Papa.’
He released her hand, then patted it fondly. ‘I know you do.’ His daughter-in-law had many talents, including fluency in six languages, necessary for the international trading deals he made routinely. He’d long planned for her to take her mother’s place as his office manager, but now . . . now he was considering grooming her to take over the organization he’d built over the course of his life. She might even be better at it than Colin would have been. I mean, I loved him, but I knew his strengths . . . and weaknesses. ‘Indulge me, if you would. They do not suspect you?’
‘Not even a little bit.’ Her lips curved, giving her a feline look. ‘They’re distracted at the moment.’
‘All part of the plan,’ he murmured. ‘Tell me everything you’ve learned.’
Five
Baltimore, Maryland,
Sunday 12 June, 10.00 P.M.
‘Thorne, wake up. Wake up, honey. Goddammit, Thorne, wake your ass up!’
Thorne blinked hard, the voice familiar but his surroundings not. Gwyn was punching his shoulder and he winced. ‘Fuck, Gwyn. That hurts.’
She pulled back immediately. ‘Sorry. I couldn’t wake you up. I got scared.’
He rolled onto his back and looked around the room. Gwyn’s bedroom, actually. Over the years, he’d had a lot of fantasies about this room. This bed. But nothing like that had ever happened. And it definitely hadn’t today, especially since he appeared to be fully clothed, dammit. ‘How did I get here?’
She perched on the side of the bed. ‘That you can’t remember should tell you that you really did need to sleep. You’re a stubborn sonofabitch, Thorne.’ But her voice was soft, the fingers on his cheek gentle. ‘I kept trying to get you to lie down, but you wouldn’t. Then you just . . . passed out. Nearly rolled off the sofa.’
At least that sounded right. ‘Because it’s too small.’
‘It’s not too small for me, and it’s my place. It’s just right.’
He made a face. ‘How did I get in here?’
‘Sam, Clay and Paige.’ Gwyn smiled. ‘Stevie directed the effort. I videotaped the whole thing so we can laugh about it later.’
‘You didn’t.’
She rubbed her thumb over his lip. ‘No. I didn’t. Lucy did.’
Thorne rolled his eyes. ‘Ha ha. Just keep your stand-up routine off the stage or they’ll throw rotten fruit at you.’
‘So noted. But the others are ready to talk to you about next steps. W
hile you’ve been sleeping, we’ve been planning.’
Others? Next steps? He frowned, and then it all came back. ‘Fuck,’ he whispered, now fully awake. ‘This is bad, Gwyn. Really bad.’
‘I know. But we’ve been through other bad shit. We’ll get through this.’
He lifted his hand to her hair, which fell in dark ringlets around her pretty pixie face. It had gotten long in the last four years, now halfway down her back. But her face was exactly the same as it had been that morning twelve years ago when she’d shown up to interview for lead singer of the band he’d played with back then. ‘You don’t ever age.’
She leaned into his caress and his heart did a slow roll in his chest. ‘Oh, I age all right. I just moisturize.’
He pressed a fingertip to her mouth. ‘Just say thank you.’
Her swallow was audible, her cheeks going rosy. Thorne stared. Gwyn Weaver did not blush. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered against his finger.
It was his turn to swallow. ‘Why were you at my house this morning?’
Her eyes narrowed, the soft moment abruptly over. ‘Because you canceled my date. He said you insinuated that I was unbalanced.’
Shit. Busted. He hadn’t thought she’d actually ask her dates why they kept canceling. ‘I never said that.’
Her eyes narrowed further. ‘Then what exactly did you say?’
‘Um . . .’ He tried to sit up. ‘You said the others were ready to talk to me?’
She shoved him back to the mattress. ‘They can wait another few minutes. They have pizza and beer, so they’re occupied.’
He blinked up at her, stunned that she’d been able to push him back so easily. ‘You are either surprisingly strong or I’m more out of it than I thought.’
‘A bit of both. Fess up, Thorne.’ She winced, her eyes vulnerable. Not a look she ever let anyone see. ‘You . . . you had no right to do whatever it was you did.’
He closed his eyes, not wanting her to know what he was thinking, what he was feeling. Not wanting her to guess that he’d do it again in a heartbeat. ‘I didn’t say you were unbalanced. I just said they would be very unhappy if they went out with you.’