Blood Will Tell Page 14

  What was going to happen next? He knew he hadn’t touched that girl. So he shouldn’t be worried about what the DNA test would show. But would the fact that his DNA didn’t match be enough to convince the cops he hadn’t done it? They certainly had seemed convinced earlier. And they had asked if he had an accomplice. So even if the DNA didn’t match, they still might not rule him out.

  His phone rang a third time.

  And even if they decided to move on, they surely wouldn’t move very far. Instead, they would look closer at Kyle, who had admitted to Nick that he had seen Lucy that night. Was there some way Kyle could have touched her coat?

  Or even killed her?

  Either way, Nick was sure something terrible was going to happen. The noose was tightening around their family, and it was going to catch one of them.

  On the fourth ring, he rolled over. And saw OREGON STATE CORRECTIONAL FACILITY on the caller ID. He pressed the button.

  “Hello?”

  A woman said in a clipped tone, “Will you accept a collect call from Eldon Walker?”

  Would he? Should he? The man who had ruined all their lives? The man who had killed some poor guy just because he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time? The man whose blood ran in Nick’s veins, who had given him half his DNA?

  “Yes,” he heard himself saying.

  “Is this Nick?” A deep rumbling voice. Did he recognize it? It was like getting a call from a ghost.

  “Yeah,” he managed. He put his hand on his chest, willing his heart to slow down.

  “This is your dad. Your mom told me you know the truth now.”

  “Mom?” Glancing at his door, he lowered his voice. “You mean she talks to you?” The way his mom had spoken about his dad, it had sounded like she had cut all ties.

  His dad made a sound that wasn’t quite a chuckle. “Not regularly, no. She does let me know how you kids are doing. And she told me about this mix-up about the DNA. About how the police are questioning you. I think she blames me for that.”

  “Well, Dad,” Nick gave the word a sarcastic spin, “I guess if you hadn’t killed someone, they wouldn’t have your DNA to match me to. And they wouldn’t be thinking I might be the killer type.”

  A sigh echoed down the line. “I know you’re angry, Nick, and I guess you have every right to be. But it would mean a lot to me if you would come down tomorrow and talk to me.”

  “What do you mean? You mean, like, visit you in prison?”

  “Of course in prison. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

  Nick stalled for time. “I don’t even know how I would get there. For sure Kyle’s not going to loan me his car.”

  “I’ve already talked about this with your mom. She’ll drive you.”

  Anger flashed through him. He was tired of people making decisions for him. “So you guys have already decided on this without even talking to me first?”

  “She said it’s your call. That she would take you if you agreed.”

  “Whatever you want to talk about—why can’t you just talk about it now? On the phone?”

  “Because I want to see you, Nick. Is that asking so much, for your old man to see you for the first time in twelve years?”

  CHAPTER 40

  NICK

  SUNDAY

  THE SOLDIER OR THE KILLER

  “This way,” the deputy said to Nick. They went through a series of doors, each one closing with a solid thunk. Nick didn’t see anyone besides the deputy, but the cameras mounted in the corners let him know that he was being seen. He breathed shallowly, trying to ignore the stink of sweat, sewage, and disinfectant.

  Was this a foretaste of what awaited him? Surrounded by metal detectors and men with guns, by electronic doors and bad smells? No wonder his mom had said she didn’t want to go in.

  When the deputy opened the last door, they were facing a wall that held a row of Plexiglas windows separated by chest-high cinder block partitions. Each cheerless cubicle held a single battered wooden chair.

  The deputy pointed at the first one and left. Nick was too nervous to sit. Instead, he ran his fingertips over the scratched and scarred counter that jutted out from under the window. It felt like some kind of reverse Braille. How many people had been here before him? Their desperation and depression still hung in the stale air. The ghosts of palm prints marked the Plexiglas, showing where prisoners and visitors had come as close to touching as they could.

  He started back when a man, accompanied by a guard, walked into the room on the other side of the glass. He wore jeans and a denim shirt over a navy-blue T-shirt. On his feet were the same kind of shower shoes Nick had been given at the police station. Yesterday, Nick’s mom had taken him to the mall and bought him a pair of shoes so he wouldn’t have to keep wearing Kyle’s.

  Nick’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. Of all the ways he had imagined his father, it had never been like this. This man was a stranger. The dad in his photos was way younger than this guy, with his hair cut almost to the scalp and flecked with gray. His eyes were set deep in a dark, shiny face full of creases. A mustache bracketed his full lips.

  Even though his mom had talked about their faces having the same shape, Nick could see no way in which they were alike. His hands curled into fists so tight that his fingernails cut into his palms.

  Staring at him through the Plexiglas, his dad slowly lowered himself into a chair, his eyes never leaving Nick’s. The deputy stepped out of sight.

  His dad picked up the black corded phone from the wall and motioned for Nick to do the same.

  After a pause, he sat down. He uncurled his fist and picked up the heavy black phone, trying not to think about how many hands had handled it, how many lips had rested against the mouthpiece.

  “Look at you.” His dad blinked rapidly. His eyes were shiny. “The last time I saw you, you were four. I mean, I’ve seen pictures, of course, but it’s not the same. How tall are you now?”

  It took Nick a second to answer. There was a keloid scar across the back of his dad’s left hand, just above the knuckles. It looked like it had come from fighting. Maybe it had happened the night he killed that guy, ruined so many lives besides his own.

  “Five ten,” Nick finally said, adding an inch. Maybe an inch and a half. He couldn’t believe they were talking about something as stupid as how tall he was. “They let me think you were dead.”

  His dad’s voice sharpened. “Your mom made a good decision. Don’t you second-guess her.” He shook his head and looked away. “Besides, is it that much of a lie? The old Don Walker is dead.”

  Nick wondered which Don he meant. The soldier or the killer? He wished he were anywhere but here. He felt drained. Dull and heavy. What a waste. His dad had taken that guy’s life and ruined his own, and for what? For what?

  “I used to brag about you at school.” The back of his neck heated up as he remembered. “I used to google your name, but I didn’t realize it was just a nickname.” So many things he hadn’t known.

  “Your mom says you want to go into the army like I did. I’m here to talk some sense into you.”

  “You’re here? Don’t you mean I’m here?”

  His dad straightened up in his chair. “Don’t you talk to me like that. I’m still your father.”

  Nick snorted. “How can you say that? You were never there for us.”

  “I wanted to be. Don’t you think I wanted to be?” His eyes burned into Nick.

  “Yeah, well you couldn’t. Because you threw your life away.”

  “Exactly. Do you think I want that for you?” His jaw tightened. “I was the same way when I was your age. Thinking I knew everything. Thinking I knew what I was doing when I joined up. That’s why your mom wanted me to try to talk some sense into you. See, what kind of rational human being is going to sign up to go out and kill other human beings? They don’t talk about that part very much, do they? No, it’s all about travel and adventure and teamwork. And being a man.” Flecks
of spittle were landing on the Plexiglas. “They don’t talk about what it’s like to watch an IED blow up the Humvee in front of you, see your friend with his legs gone, hold him when he dies. They don’t tell you about any of that.”

  Nick was silent.

  “So instead they try to tell you you’ll be part of something special, that you’ll learn all these great skills, that Uncle Sam will take care of you. It’s all bull. The army builds you up. They tell you that you’re larger than life. That you’re like a superhero. And if you feel you’re anything less, well then that just means you’re weak-minded.”

  Listening to his dad, Nick couldn’t believe he was here, as if he had stepped into one of those bad Lifetime movies his old babysitter had liked to watch. Women who found out their husbands had a whole other family in a different state, girlfriends who found out their boyfriend was really a serial killer. He would fit right in. A son who found out his dad wasn’t really dead.

  “When you leave the army, you’re still not gone,” his dad said. “You’re still reacting to it, even when you’re home—what happened back there controls your thoughts, your dreams. Your nightmares. You’re too young to remember this, but I came back afraid to drive. Afraid to talk to people I’d known my whole life. I was so afraid of crowds that I had trouble going to the grocery store or the mall. I couldn’t take you kids to the zoo. A stranger would smile at me and my heart would speed up because I’d think they must be planning to attack. Every night I would patrol the house, make sure everything was locked and shut and that nobody could get in anywhere.”

  Nick nodded, but he wasn’t even sure his dad saw him.

  “One time I saw a man standing on the roof of an office building and I dove to the ground, like he was a sniper. I knew it was crazy. I was thinking, he’s either a sniper or he’s going to radio ahead. And then I tried to tell myself, this is Portland. There’s no snipers on the roof, nobody’s going to blow me up here.” He shook his head, looking disgusted. “I came back a bomb, Nick. And then I blew up.”

  Nick realized he had been hoping his dad would offer some kind of explanation. A reason for everything that had happened. Maybe even claim mistaken identity. After all, if the cops were wrong about Nick, couldn’t they have been wrong about his dad?

  But it was clear his dad had done both things. Gotten a Bronze Star and killed a man with his bare fists. So what did that make his dad? Could his dad still be a hero if he was also a killer? But if Hitler had saved a baby from a fire in between ordering Jews to be carted off to death camps, he would still be just as evil as before. Wouldn’t he?

  “It’s because of you that they think I did this thing,” Nick said. “Killed this girl. Lucy—”

  His dad cut him off with a slash of a hand. “Whatever you did or didn’t do, Nick, I don’t want to know. Don’t talk about it.”

  “You really think I—”

  His dad leaned forward, his teeth gritted. “Shut it. You think just because you’re sitting in that little booth and talking through a handset that no one’s paying attention? There are cameras, microphones. They’re watching you right now.”

  But what did it matter? Nick hadn’t done anything wrong. Everyone else had. His mom had lied to him, and so had Kyle. His dad had killed somebody.

  “That’s why you’re here, Nick.” His dad nodded. “They wanted me to talk to you.”

  “What?”

  “Why do you think we’re alone instead of in the general visiting room? They bent all kinds of rules to make this happen. Usually it takes sixty days to get a visitor okayed. This took one.” He held up his index finger for emphasis.

  “Why?” Nick was still confused.

  “They wanted me to get you to confess. They promised me I could get assigned to the library if I did.”

  “What?” Nick felt a dawning sense of horror. “You sold me out for library duty?”

  “I wanted to see you. See how you turned out. So I got that, but I’m not doing the other.” He breathed in and out, the sound rough. “And I’m telling you right now, Nick. Shut up. Do not say one word to anybody, not me, not your mom, not your friends, especially not the cops. And get yourself a good lawyer.”

  “But I didn’t do it!”

  His dad continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I hear they’re talking about prosecuting you as an adult. Kids your age—they don’t last that long in Gen Pop. Not all in one piece, anyway. But if that happens, I’ll try to protect you. I’ve got some juice in here.”

  “But you’re acting like I did it. I didn’t. You have to believe me.”

  His dad slapped his hand on the counter. “I already told you. Don’t talk about it. Don’t say one word.” His face was closed down, like someone had pulled down the blinds in his eyes. They were pure black, with no pupil visible. “Just know that I love you, Son.”

  The deputy came into the room, his hand on the butt of his gun. “Okay, Walker, this little show is over.” When his dad didn’t move, he grabbed him by the arm and dragged him backward.

  CHAPTER 41

  RUBY

  SUNDAY

  CROSSES OVER THEIR EYES

  Sunday started the way most of Ruby’s days did. Before she even got out of bed, she clicked through the crime stories on local news sites. BOUNCER ACQUITTED IN SHOOTING. $10,000 REWARD OFFERED FOR IDENTITY OF HIT-AND-RUN DRIVER. SUSPECT ARRESTED IN ARSON AT NIGHT CLUB. Nothing too exciting.

  And nothing more about Lucy Hayes. Just the same information the paper had had, with the police claiming that they were building a case against a single teenaged male suspect.

  After breakfast, her phone buzzed with a text.

  911 Assist Clack Co—Elderly mushroom picker—Meet @ 1000

  After she texted back that she could come, Ruby texted Nick. Want me to pick you up?

  Can’t go. On my way to visit my dad.

  Ruby blinked. Then she texted back. In prison?

  Yes.

  She wasn’t sure how to respond. What would a supportive friend do? This particular set of circumstances hadn’t been covered in any movie or book she was familiar with. While a drawled “Wow!” accompanied by a smile seemed to be an acceptable verbal response to almost anything, (a) Nick couldn’t see her expression, and (b) “Wow” didn’t seem quite right. She finally settled on “Good luck.” Without even a smiley face. Then she went out to tell her parents that the team was being called out.

  In the sheriff’s van, she and Alexis sat next to each other. It was the first time they had been on a callout together without Nick.

  “Where is your triple musketeer?” Dimitri asked as he clambered on behind them.

  She and Alexis exchanged a look. “Nick couldn’t make it out today,” Alexis finally said.

  When they were under way, they spoke in low whispers that blended in with the rumble of the van’s motor.

  “I’m worried about Nick,” Ruby said.

  “The DNA’s not going to match,” Alexis said confidently. “It can’t.”

  But Alexis’s reaction was emotional, not logical. Ruby had tried to analyze it objectively. Certain factors were associated with teens who became killers. She was pretty certain Nick’s home life was stable. He wasn’t suicidal or depressed. As far as she could tell, he didn’t use drugs or alcohol. He wasn’t a member of a gang or a cult—unless, she thought with a faint smile—SAR counted as one. He wasn’t mentally ill.

  Was he bullied at school? That she was a little less certain about.

  The one thing that gave her pause was that he liked violence. She had heard him with some of the other guys in SAR talking about playing first-person shooter video games. Although if he was talking about them with other guys in SAR, then that made Nick no better or worse than them, right?

  Ruby had also seen his drawings. Everyone who had happened to sit by him had probably noticed them. On the edge of every handout or piece of notebook paper he doodled dinosaurs, arrows, hatchets, people with guns shooting at other people with guns, people ble
eding, people with crosses over their eyes she assumed were meant to be dead. Sometimes he drew some guy who looked even more like a cartoon than the others, with swollen-looking arms. Even though Nick had never said, Ruby thought this guy was supposed to be Nick. Nick in some alternate universe where he wasn’t skinny with his hair hanging in his eyes.

  But in Nick’s drawings, the buff guy was the good one. Fighting off the bad guys and saving pretty girls.

  Not knifing pretty girls and leaving them in some vacant lot to die.

  “He does like knives a lot,” she ventured to Alexis. How many times had she seen him playing with a knife, showing it off, trying to fling it into a tree trunk (and missing every time). It might be possible to construct a set of circumstances in which he had accidentally killed that girl.

  “So?” Alexis said. “Every person in this van has a knife, even if it’s just a Leatherman tool.” She pressed her lips together. “And there’s no way he could have bashed that girl’s head in with a brick. You saw what he was like just getting some of her blood on his gloves.”

  Ruby wasn’t sure this was convincing. “The cops would probably just say that was his guilty conscience.”

  A half hour later Jon parked the van in a forested area next to two others, as well as a pickup truck. A little farther down the road sat an old blue Ford Taurus.

  Chris, the sheriff’s deputy, briefed them. “The point last seen is that vehicle.” He pointed at the Taurus. “Yesterday a hiker came across an older woman mushroom hunting near it. She said it was just for the day. She was dressed fairly warmly, but all he remembers her carrying are a bag and a walking stick. This morning the hiker was returning when he noticed the vehicle was still here. It was unlocked and there was no sign of the owner. So he alerted the sheriff’s department.”

  Chris looked down at his notes. “The car’s owner is a seventy-seven-year-old woman named Lottie Landsman. She’s about five eight and one-eighty. The hiker says she was wearing black pants and a purple hooded jacket. Her son says she knows the woods well. Then again, she is seventy-seven years old and has a bad knee. She’s on a handful of medications for blood pressure, cholesterol, and acid reflux, but she could go at least another twenty-four hours before she would feel any side effects. Her son says she’s very independent. And maybe getting to be a little forgetful. Daylight saving time only ended a few weeks ago, and she may not have factored that in.”