She laughed, if only feebly. “God, it feels good to get it out.”
I kissed the side of her head, the smell of her hair so familiar.
“You know,” she said, snuggling closer, “if I do take this job, it would probably mean spending most of my time in Montpelier, at least to begin with. I asked them about working from down here later, what with computers and all. They said that would be fine when the Legislature’s out-like having a branch office.”
She tilted her head back to look at me. “A while ago, you said that the reason we worked so well together was that we gave each other lots of space. You want to try turning the clock back a little-live apart like we used to, and see if we can’t sort this out? I want this new job to be a part of making life normal again-but I want us there, too.”
I hesitated, wondering how much we should tackle at one time.
But she seemed so much like her old self again. “Since we’re laying our cards on the table, I gotta admit, I have sort of missed having a place of my own.”
She gave me a long kiss and then said, “I know. And I know this house was never really a home for you. But I’m going to hang on to it. Maybe you’ll like it better as a place to visit.”
I let out a long, bottled-up sigh, stretched out on the couch alongside her, and hit the off button on the TV remote, plunging the room into darkness.
The pizza would taste just as good cold.
25
The good news was that both the medical examiner and the crime lab eventually confirmed that everything we’d sent them connected Walter Freund to the death of Brenda Croteau. His DNA matched the tissue under her fingernail, minute traces of oilstone grit were identical to those found on his Bowie knife-and made matching the various wounds to the two knives that much easier-and the soiled clothes had been stained by Brenda’s blood.
The bad news was that Walter Freund had disappeared, influenced, no doubt, by my all-too-clever conversation with him.
A general be-on-the-lookout order was issued throughout the country and entered into the NCIC computer, and Freund’s background was analyzed for leads on his whereabouts. But no one I knew was holding their breath. We knew Walter would resurface in the long run-people with his habits always did-but we also knew our efforts would have little to do with it. Sooner or later, he’d rob a store, beat up a girlfriend, buy some dope from an undercover cop, or even run a red light, and he’d be back among us.
None of which made me feel any better.
At least as far as Gail was concerned, things improved immeasurably. She and Reggie McNeil worked out a proposal lessening his client’s charges at Walter’s expense-pending Owen’s full explanation of his role in Brenda’s death-and Derby was forced to admit that, Walter’s disappearance notwithstanding, this deal made him look a whole lot better than if he had crucified Owen and never given Freund a second’s thought.
Which was just as well, since when Stanley Katz broke the news of the deal prematurely, Jack Derby was able to claim almost full credit. And at this point, with her future discreetly in her pocket and the two of us back on track, Gail couldn’t have cared less.
Unfortunately, the hinge pin for success was Owen Tharp, and nobody knew if he’d play along.
Gail and I drove up to the Woodstock correctional facility in early April to meet with Reggie and Owen and see if he’d help decide his own fate. Reggie had been spending weeks with him, revealing the evidence against Walter and telling him how Walter had manipulated him into sacrificing himself-trying, with time and effort, to wean Owen from his loyalty to the man who had killed his girlfriend and ruined his life. But according to Reggie, it had not been easy going.
The room we met in was bland, bare, windowless, and small, adorned with a single table and a few chairs, two of which were already occupied by Reggie and Owen when we were ushered in.
It was odd meeting Owen after all this time. The first and last time I’d seen him was in the middle of a snowstorm when we’d all been dying of hypothermia. Despite his importance in my life since then, he’d almost become an abstraction. Watching him sitting there now-pale, thin, and nervous-helped reduce all our machinations to a pathetically human level.
Introductions were made all around. No one bothered shaking hands. Owen didn’t look like he had the energy for it anyhow.
Gail placed a tape recorder on the table and depressed the record button, raising her eyebrows at Reggie. He shrugged his agreement without comment.
Gail recited the time, date, location, and the names of everyone around the table and then asked Reggie if his client had been apprised of the reasons for this meeting. Reggie stated that was the case.
It was then my turn to address Owen.
“I’m sorry for all the mumbo-jumbo,” I began, “but with any luck, this’ll be the beginning of the end of this mess for you. They treating you all right in here?”
“It’s okay.”
“Good. Would you like a smoke or something to drink while we’re doing this?”
He shook his head.
“Okay. We want to hear about your relationship with Walter Freund and how it led to what happened in Brenda Croteau’s home the night she died. Why don’t you start with Walter?”
Owen’s eyes hadn’t moved from the tabletop from the time we’d entered the room, and they stayed there now. “We were friends. I thought he wanted to help me out.”
“How?”
“Just doin’ stuff. I have a hard time that way. I don’t see everything real clear in my head. He explained things.”
“Like what happened to Lisa?”
“Yeah-later.”
“Long after she died, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“How long? Months? Years?”
“Years. He told me he didn’t want me to know at first, ’cause it wouldn’t bring her back, and he didn’t want to make me more unhappy. But he knew she’d been murdered all along, and he told me when he found out who’d done it.”
“Is this what he told you, or what you still believe now?” I asked carefully.
He shook his head. “I know what happened now. He lied to me. He killed Lisa to foul me up.”
“Is this something you know for a fact? Or is it something that’s been told to you, and you think might be the truth?”
I noticed McNeil getting restless, but Owen beat him to it, looking up at me, open and guileless. “I know what you’re thinking. I’m not too smart and I let people push me around. I know they all think I’m stupid, but I have a brain, and I see stuff, and I can figure things out. I see what Walter did. I believed him then, but I know he lied to me. He used me to kill Brenda like he’d use a car to run her down.”
I was impressed. Reggie had done his work well. “Let’s focus on the period leading up to that. Walter told you he’d discovered that Brenda had poisoned Lisa’s dope. Did he say why she’d done it?”
“Just that she was a crazy bitch-that Lisa had stolen her boyfriend from her once, and she’d wanted revenge. Walter made her sound like a real nutcase-a hooker, a doper, a blackmailer, a thief. He used all sorts of words to put her down. Made her sound like scum.”
“How did the subject of killing her come up?”
“We were getting pretty blown. That part’s a little fuzzy. I remember being in Walter’s office-that’s what he called it-and him asking me if the world wouldn’t be better off without people like her. Next thing I know, we were talking about how to do it. He talked a bunch about Lisa and how sweet she was. It really got me mad. I mean, I know it was wrong, but I really did hate Brenda then. Walter told me it wasn’t a one-shot thing with her, either-that she’d done this junk to other people. Like a bloodsucker. He kept asking me, what do you do to a bloodsucker?”
He paused. He was back to addressing the table. “I don’t really remember going there-just standing in her kitchen door, hearing her yell at me. I accused her of killing Lisa, and she started calling me names-puttin’ me down like everybody does. But I kept hearing Walter in my head, too, telling me to shut her up. He told me she’d be like that, and he was right… It wasn’t till she hit me that I grabbed the knife. It was just lying there. And then she went down. And I ran.”