“Ryan? You okay?” Jake asked again.
“Let it go,” Pam snapped, then her lips resealed shut.
“I want to know how he’s doing.” Jake kept his tone soft.
“How the hell do you think he’s doing? Does he have to spell it out?”
“Fine,” Jake said after a moment, then faced front in the passenger seat. He didn’t want to bug Ryan, and Pam had been looking daggers at him from the moment she met him at her car. He didn’t have to ask why. The memorial service must have been awful for them both. He hadn’t had a chance to explain why he’d texted her because the kids had been there. He’d have to fill her in when they were alone, assuming she wasn’t leaving him.
Just my luck.
Jake tried to shoo his father’s voice from his head, but he wasn’t succeeding. He turned his face to the window in the silent car, idly watching the beautiful homes passing darkly. Warm, golden light shone from within, through iron lattice on arched windows, illuminating spacious family rooms behind tall leafy oak trees. It was a clear night and the moon was almost full, a jagged hole shot through a black sky, glimmering on the SUVs below.
Pam seemed to accelerate, driving faster than usual through the winding streets, and Jake reached instinctively for the hanger strap, as if it could tether him to the world he knew and loved. He could lose his wife tonight, and his son was too upset to talk to him. His family was slipping through his very fingers and the only thing in his hand was a fake plastic strap.
He couldn’t remember when he had felt this low, and the answer was never. Not even when he’d lost his job, because he still had Pam and Ryan. All he had lost then was money, but he still had a family and that was everything, at the end of the day. It struck him then that he really wasn’t like his father, after all. Because his father had always had his family, but no money, and thought that was nothing. But Jake knew better. He had seen it from both sides, and he knew what he was losing. Everything.
Jake flashed on Detective Zwerling and felt a new bolt of fear. He would need to get ahold of Hubbard and get some advice right away. He didn’t know what to expect from the police or how to react, and he couldn’t afford to slip up and arouse suspicion that would up the ante on an investigation. He would have to explain to Pam about the BMW and his suspicions about Slater, as well as how he had blown it when he had a chance to catch the driver.
Jake, Pam, and Ryan made it home, got out of the car, walked to the house and unlocked the door, still without saying a word to each other. They piled into the entrance hall, a tense and sorrowful threesome, tossing jackets and purses onto the chair beside the console table. Only Moose was his usual happy self, trotting from the kitchen to greet them, smiling with his tongue lolling out of his mouth and wagging his feathery tail.
“Ryan, you all right?” Jake tried again, but Ryan lumbered past him to the stairwell, his head still covered by the hoodie and his ears plugged with the earbuds.
Pam interjected, “Jake, please, let me talk to him—”
“Honey, I can talk to my own son. You can’t be my proxy, remember?” Jake hurried up the stairway after Ryan. Moose joined the chase, delighted at the new game, his toenails clicking on the hardwood stairs.
“I don’t want to talk.” Ryan kept walking upstairs. “I want to be alone.”
Pam hurried up after Jake. “Jake, stop, you’re going about it all wrong.”
Jake ignored her. “Ryan, unplug those things from your ears. Please, let’s—”
“No.” Ryan kept going, and Jake caught up with him, placing a hand on his shoulder as they both reached the landing.
“Ryan, I know you feel bad—”
“Dad, stop, you don’t know.” Ryan whirled around, yanking the earbuds from his ears. “I’m not blaming you and I’m not mad at you, that’s why I don’t want to talk right now. But I can promise you one thing for sure—that you do not know how I feel, either of you.”
Jake’s heart broke at the anguish on Ryan’s face, but there was a new tone in his voice, stronger.
Pam reached the top of the stairs, her fair skin flushed with emotion. “Ryan, please, just listen—”
“No, Mom. I was the one who killed her, not Dad and not you.” Ryan stabbed his finger into his chest with conviction. “I was the one everybody was hating on tonight, the one who took her from her friends, from Janine Mae and the rest of the team. And from her computer teacher and her mom, and her dad, and they both loved her so much they were in this big custody fight over her—”
Pam moaned. “Ryan, I know, but I’m worried about you—”
“Mom, it’s not about me. It’s about her. You want me to be happy, but can Kathleen? Can she? She’s not going to prom or the meet against Methacton. She won’t be going to college. She won’t even see the gym bags she wanted so bad. It’s not about me, in the end. I’m alive. She’s not. She’s dead, and I killed her.”
“But not on purpose—” Pam started to say, but Ryan cut her off with a hand chop.
“What difference does that make, Mom? Did you see her picture on the stage? And the one in the program? I killed that girl. So I want to feel horrible, I deserve to feel horrible. That’s fair, right? Me feeling horrible forever, because she’s dead forever.” Ryan paused, dry-eyed, seeming to gather strength from his own words. He backed toward the door of his bedroom, and Moose trotted beside him, his tail still wagging merrily. “You always tell me to take responsibility for my actions, and I am. I’m trying to. I can’t do it in public without Dad going to jail, but I can do it privately. So don’t freak out because I’m not happy. I’m not supposed to be happy. I’m supposed to feel exactly how I feel. It’s the least I can do. For her.”
Jake felt frightened. He had never seen Ryan this way, determined to self-destruct.
Pam sagged against the banister, stricken. “But Ryan, Caleb’s mom said that you were saying something about dying, that sometimes you felt so bad that you wanted to die.”
Jake turned to Ryan, horrified. “Is that true? Did you say that?”
“Of course.” Ryan almost smiled. “Of course. Honestly, I wish I were dead, not her. I wish I could give up my life for hers, right now. Maybe I can. Maybe I will. Nobody gets away with murder. Nobody.”
Pam gasped. “Ryan, no. It wasn’t murder—”
Ryan snorted. “How is it different, Mom? I’m not talking about some stupid legal definition. She’s dead, and I killed her. I deserve to die. I wish I were dead.”
“No, Ryan!” Jake cried out. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that!”
“Leave me alone, go away.” Ryan reached his bedroom door, fumbled with the knob, and then turned back to face them. “Also Mom, tell your boyfriend to leave me the hell alone.” Ryan turned back, went inside his room with the dog, and closed the door behind him.
Jake faced Pam, angry. “What is he talking about, ‘your boyfriend’?”
“Jake, not now.” Pam raked her manicured hand through her hair.
“Yes, now. Tell me.”
Pam sighed, weary. She couldn’t meet his eye. “Dave wants to start seeing Ryan, professionally. Caleb told him what Ryan said, too. Dave thinks Ryan is becoming depressed and it would help to talk to him, as a therapist—”
“Are you kidding me?” Jake exploded. “Dave said that to Ryan?”
“To both of us, before the service. He’s only trying to help him—”
“Doesn’t that violate some ethical code? He was sleeping with you! Or is!”
“No, it’s over, I told you.”
“Then where were you last night? Did you go to him?”
“No, I stayed in a hotel—”
“Thank God for small favors!” Jake charged down the stairs. “The balls on this guy! Enough! I’ve had enough of Dr. Dave! I want him out of my life! Out of my family!”
“Jake, what are you doing?” Pam called after him. “Don’t go over there. You can’t. His wife is in town.”
“So what?” Jake hit the entra
nce hall and grabbed the car keys from the console table. “It’s between me and him!”
“Jake, don’t do anything crazy!”
Jake flung open the door and rushed outside.
Chapter Forty-five
Jake’s blood boiled as he drove along Dr. Dave’s street, a single lane that snaked through dark woods, filled with towering evergreens and oak trees. There were no other houses on the street, much less painted mailboxes, holiday flags, or recycle bins that had to be rolled away by nightfall. Of course Dr. Dave lived in the Pendleton Tract, a beautiful hundred wooded acres under easement to the county, never to be developed. Jake hated that the man who cuckolded him had evergreens that weren’t planted in a zigzag pattern.
He turned onto Dr. Dave’s driveway and parked behind his Prius, in front of a house that was predictably spectacular, an ultramodern series of glass-walled boxes with concrete edges and flat rooflines, situated on at least six wooded acres. Jake cut the ignition, blood pounding in his ears. He’d had only a single second thought on the drive over, which was about Dr. Dave’s wife. He didn’t want to tell her that her jerk of a husband was cheating on her. That would hurt her the way he’d been hurt, so he’d have to make sure she was out of the way, to avoid collateral damage.
He got out of his car and slammed the door behind him, which echoed in the woods. He stalked up a flagstone path, bordered with tiny lights to show the way through the trees. The air smelled fresh and clean, which infuriated him all the more. His enemy even had better oxygen.
He glanced at the floor-to-ceiling window on the left of the house, which looked into a showplace living room, with black leather sofas and chairs. A set of gauzy curtains muted the view, but the living room was empty. He reached the front door, also of glass panels, and he was about to pound on one hard enough to break it when the door opened.
Dr. Dave stood in the threshold, blinking calmly behind his hip graphite glasses, and Jake realized that Pam must have warned him that he was coming, which felt like a body blow.
“Dr. Dave, tell your wife to get lost. She’s not going to like this conversation.”
“She left for the airport. Come in.” Dr. Dave opened the door, standing aside politely. Classical music played in the background, from a crystal-clear sound system. “So what are you going to do, Jake? Punch me in the noggin? Go ahead. You’re bigger than I am. Displace all the anger you want.”
Jake stepped inside. “Hold the jargon. I’m not impressed.”
“I was in the kitchen, having dinner. Would you like something?”
“Are you out of your mind, shrink?”
“Suit yourself.” Dr. Dave turned neatly away on his thin black loafers and sauntered down a short hall to the back of the house.
“Oh I get it. This is the psychology part. You act very cool when the raging husband comes over.” Jake stalked after him into a modern kitchen. Stainless steel appliances lined the back wall, under a large window that was as black as night, reflecting the two men like a dark mirror.
“Not at all, Jake. I’m a therapist, and so I understand the power of a good conversation.” Dr. Dave crossed to an island with tall cherrywood stools and a black granite countertop, which held a complete place setting, a plate with a chicken breast and wild rice, next to a glass of wine and an open bottle. Suddenly a little Siamese cat jumped onto the countertop, but Dr. Dave pushed it roughly to the floor, where it landed on its feet.
“You preyed on my wife and now you’re preying on my son. I want you to leave my family alone.”
“How do you feel about Lambrusco? It’s coming back, you know, and this Lini Vineyard produces such a special grape.” Dr. Dave lifted the bottle of wine, showing off the label.
“Stick your wine up your ass and listen, I’m talking to you.” Jake collected his thoughts. “I’m not going to hit you. I’m not a bully, a thug, or a badass. But I’m not a pushover either.”
“I take it that’s a no on the Lambrusco.” Dr. Dave picked up his glass, swirled the wine around, then took a sip. Meanwhile, the cat walked to the back door, meowed, and sat down, curling its brownish tail around its delicate brown feet.
“I came here to say that I’m trying to save my marriage and my family, and if you can’t respect that, then I don’t know what kind of a man you are.” Jake couldn’t hold back his temper. “Put another way, if I catch you anywhere around my wife or my son again, I will beat you to death with my bare hands.”
“My.” Dr. Dave took another sip of wine, which darkened his teeth. “These are two separate issues, your wife and your son. As for Pam, if your marriage were a happy one, your wife wouldn’t have come to me, and I assure you, she came to me.”
Jake swallowed hard, suppressing a deep stab of sexual jealousy.
“As for Ryan, I’m his shooting coach, whether you think I’m qualified or not, so it would be quite impossible to comply with your demand.”
“Take care of the other kids. Leave him alone.” Jake’s phone rang in his pocket, but he let it go, guessing it was Pam.
“Are you sure you have Ryan’s best interests in mind?” Dr. Dave seemed to be warming up, wanting to spar. He leaned against the counter, palming his glass. “In my professional opinion, Ryan is experiencing situational depression brought on by several factors, such as the conflict between you and Pam, his schoolwork, and the championship. He’s been making statements to his teammates that suggest he’s having suicidal ideation, which is—”
“I know the term, and you’re not qualified to be Ryan’s therapist. You were sleeping with his mother.”
“I know Ryan very well, and we could work together and have a very good outcome. I’m sure that Ryan would love to work with me. We’re very close.” Dr. Dave set down his wine, and the cat meowed again, loudly this time.
“I said, leave my son alone.” Jake didn’t tell Dr. Dave that Ryan knew about his affair with Pam, because he didn’t want Dr. Dave to know more about his family than he already did.
“Jake, you’re making decisions for Ryan that he’s perfectly capable of making for himself. Excuse me, this cat won’t shut up.” Dr. Dave crossed to the back door, twisted the deadbolt, and opened the door. The cat slipped outside, and in the next moment, a motion-detector light went on in the backyard, illuminating a fancy two-car garage.
In front of it was parked a gleaming black BMW 535.
And its license plate read HKE-7553.
Chapter Forty-six
Jake almost gasped in shock, looking out the window. It was the BMW. It didn’t belong to Dr. Dave, so it must have been his wife’s. They must’ve driven separately to the memorial service.
Jake’s thoughts raced. He didn’t realize Dr. Dave had known Kathleen, but he must have. Dr. Dave must have been the one who had an affair with Kathleen, not Slater. Dr. Dave would’ve known about Dolomite Road because that’s where the athletic teams ran. Dr. Dave must have killed Voloshin.
Jake turned around just in time to see Dr. Dave pull a handgun from a cabinet drawer, aim it at his chest, and start firing.
CRAK! CRAK! CRAK! went the gunshots. Flames burst from the gun barrel.
Jake dove out of the way, too late. He doubled over reflexively and hit the tile floor. His stomach exploded in searing pain, like his gut caught fire. He curled into the fetal position, gripping his belly. Warm red blood spurted from between his fingers. He tried to get up. Intense pain felled him. He couldn’t move for the agony. He tried to scream but could only whisper, “No.”
“Wow, you’re still alive?” Dr. Dave set the gun on the island. “No matter. You won’t be for long.”
“No, no.” Jake felt sheer terror. Blood sprayed from his belly, spattering the tile floor. He tried to stanch the flow, but he couldn’t. He shifted to get up again, but agonizing pain seared through his entire body.
“Sorry, Jake. I’d put you out of your misery, but the trajectory of the bullet would be wrong. It has to be level and face-to-face. I saw on TV.”
Blood
gushed everywhere, spattering the tiles, running in rivulets in the grout. Jake watched it leak from him, helpless. He began to lose consciousness.
“I had to shoot you, in self-defense.” Dr. Dave picked up his knife from beside his dinner plate and crossed to him. “You drove here, enraged about Pam and me. She called and said you weren’t the violent type, so I didn’t call 911. You and I were talking it over, apparently reasonably, but suddenly you became angry and tried to kill me.”
Jake felt dizzy and faint. The pain raged in his stomach.
“You grabbed my steak knife and tried to stab me.” Dr. Dave knelt down with the knife beside Jake, picked up his hand, placed the knife in his palm, and wrapped his fingers around the handle. “I managed to get to my gun and protect myself. Unfortunately, by the time 911 arrived, you had bled to death.”
Jake pulled his hand away, but the knife clattered to the floor. The pain was so intense it immobilized him. He was going to die.
“Are your keys in your pocket?” Dr. Dave plunged his hand into Jake’s pocket, fished around, and pulled out his car keys. “Perfect. The police will find Voloshin’s laptop and phone in the trunk of your car. They’ll figure that you killed him because he was blackmailing you. After all, he had proof that you and Ryan killed Kathleen in the hit-and-run.”
Jake looked around wildly. He couldn’t save himself. He couldn’t get away. Dr. Dave was framing him for Voloshin’s murder.
“Kathleen was one of my favorite clients, and she was incredible in bed. Trust me, the ones with father issues are the best.” Dr. Dave straightened up, hurried to a base cabinet, and took out a Whole Foods bag. A gray computer cord hung out of its open mouth. It had to be Voloshin’s laptop and phone.