‘What do you mean, you did?’
‘I lost it. I left it by the bleachers when I went inside to go to the bathroom, and when I came back, it was gone.’
‘No you didn’t,’ Malcolm said.
‘Huh?’
‘I’m sure I’ve seen your bat. Hang on.’ He left the room and returned about a minute later with a baseball bat in his hands.
‘It was in the garage,’ he told Chandler.
‘Oh, okay. Maybe Mike found it and left it there.’
‘Well, that’s good news,’ I said. ‘But I’m afraid I have some bad.’
Five
‘What do you mean?’ Chandler asked.
I motioned to Greta and Malcolm, who had been standing this entire time, that maybe they should take a seat. They did, although Malcolm appeared reluctant.
‘What’s going on?’ they asked.
‘I think you can expect a visit from the police before long. They’re going to want to talk to Michael Vaughn’s friends.’
‘Why?’ Chandler asked.
‘He’s dead.’
The stunned silence was short-lived. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Malcolm Carson asked.
‘Do you have a lawyer?’ I asked him.
‘Why the hell would I need a lawyer?’
‘For Chandler. I think there’s a chance he might need one.’
‘Why?’ the teenager asked. ‘What happened to Mike? What’s going on? How can he be dead? I talked to him, like, yesterday.’
‘Mike was found in the woods near Clampett Park. It looks like he was beaten to death. With a baseball bat. It’s only a matter of time before the police go to the school and find out that Chandler’s story bears a stunning similarity to what happened. Characters with similar names and situations, and the murder you write about in here pretty much predicts what happened.’
‘This is totally fucked,’ Chandler said.
‘Unbelievable,’ Malcolm said. ‘The Vaughns... I can’t imagine what they’re going through. But surely the story, in and of itself, isn’t that damning?’
‘What if it is?’ Greta asked. Suddenly pointing to the computer, she said, ‘Delete it! Just in case. Get rid of it.’
‘Greta,’ her husband said, shaking his head. ‘That’s pointless.’
‘Then throw out the whole computer!’ she said.
Chandler gave me a look of hopelessness. ‘There are copies of it,’ he told his mother. ‘The principal has it, my teacher has it. They’ve emailed it to each other.’
Greta looked desperately at her husband. ‘Can we get them back?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘The horse is gone from the barn.’
‘What?’ she said.
‘Never mind.’ Malcolm looked at me. ‘Why did you wait so long to tell us this?’
I dodged by asking Chandler, ‘When was the last time you spoke to Mike?’
‘No, hold on,’ Malcolm said. ‘On whose behalf are you acting right now? Are you working for us? Are you working for the police?’
‘I’m trying to find out what happened,’ I said. ‘The Vaughns asked for my help in finding their son. While I was at their house, the police showed up.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question,’ Malcolm Carson said.
‘No,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t. I’m not officially working for anyone. But what I learn may end up helping both you and the Vaughns in what steps you take next. If Chandler had something to do with what happened to Mike, you’ll know enough to get on the phone to your lawyer.’
‘I didn’t do anything to Mike!’ Chandler said.
‘So tell me when you last communicated with him,’ I said.
‘I told you. Yesterday.’ His eyes were starting to brim with tears. ‘This is awful. I can’t believe it.’
‘When yesterday?’ I asked.
‘Maybe before dinner, something like that.’
‘What about later?’
‘No.’
‘You didn’t meet up with him? Get together someplace?’
‘That’s not possible,’ Greta said.
‘Why not?’
‘Chandler was here,’ she said. ‘In the house. Malcolm and I told him he wasn’t going anywhere until we’d sorted out this issue with the school.’
‘And the first thing she thought of was to hire you,’ Malcolm said derisively. ‘Nothing against you, Mr Weaver. It’s just not the first thing I’d have thought of.’
‘Oh, and what would you have done?’ Greta asked, turning on him.
‘I’d’ve asked the same damn questions the school did. Why the hell is he writing something like that in the first—’
‘Enough,’ I said. ‘Let’s get back to Chandler’s whereabouts. So you can say absolutely that he was here from when you got home from the school yesterday right up to this moment?’
Everyone exchanged glances. ‘Pretty much,’ Malcolm said.
‘What does that mean?’
‘He was here, that’s all there is to it,’ Greta said.
I looked at Chandler, daring him to avert his eyes. ‘Did you leave the house at all last night, with or without your parents’ knowledge? Did you sneak out after they were asleep?’
His hesitation was all his parents needed to pounce.
‘What did you do?’ his father asked.
‘Where did you go?’ Greta asked. ‘Oh God, you left the house?’
‘Only for a little while,’ he said.
I was about to ask Chandler how and when he had slipped out unnoticed by his parents when the doorbell rang.
Six
Greta and Malcolm Carson exchanged looks of sheer panic. I think we all figured the police had arrived. The doorbell seemed to have paralyzed them, so I got up and answered it myself, expecting to come face to face with Barry Duckworth.
It was not Barry.
Standing on the front step was a woman, looking at me through wire-framed oval glasses. Good-looking, mid thirties, straight brown shoulder-length hair, almost as tall as me, and I’m just under six feet. She had an athletic bearing about her, and was dressed in black slacks and a blue sweater with an elaborate puffy collar, a long-strapped purse slung over one shoulder.
‘Mr Carson?’ she said.
‘No. My name’s Cal Weaver.’
‘Oh, well I’m here to see Chandler’s parents.’
‘Who should I say’s here?’
‘Lucy Brighton.’
I recognized the name. One of the school officials who’d been at the meeting to discuss Chandler’s story. The head of the guidance department.
She said, ‘I came by to—’
‘Oh great,’ said Greta, who’d been listening from the couch.
Lucy leaned her head in far enough to see into the living room.
‘Hello, Ms Carson,’ she said. ‘Hello, Chandler.’
‘Hi, Ms Brighton,’ he said.
‘What do you want?’ his mother asked. ‘Haven’t you caused us enough trouble already?’
‘I came by to see how Chandler was doing,’ Lucy said. Then, cautiously, ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard...’
I said, ‘About Mike Vaughn?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said. ‘The police came to the school a short while ago, asking questions.’ She touched the fingers of her right hand to her lips. ‘It’s such a horrible thing. Just horrible. I’m sorry, Chandler. I know he was a good friend to you.’
The teenager nodded.
Seeing as how a conversation seemed to be starting, it struck me as rude to keep the woman standing outside. I gestured for her to come in without waiting for Greta or Malcolm to offer an invitation. She moved forward two steps and I closed the door behind her.
Lucy rested her eyes on Malcolm, probably waiting for the man to introduce himself. I said, ‘This is Malcolm Carson, Chandler’s father.’
He stood.