Chapter 25

When I arrived at 1075 Chantilly Court, the street was quiet. No news vans, no cops. But the blue Taurus was in the driveway, which meant that Richard was probably home.

I rang the bell. The drapes moved a minute later, and Richard opened the door. He was wearing a laundered shirt, I noticed, and he’d shaved recently.

“Hello, Copper,” he said. “Come on in.”

Resisting the urge to hold my nose, I stepped inside. But as my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I realized the stench was gone. The floor was no longer an obstacle course, and all the furniture was upright. The living room was far from a showplace, but it was so much better than the last time I’d seen it, I couldn’t help commenting.

“Wow!” I said.

“I wish you didn’t sound so surprised,” Richard said.

“I’m happy to see you’ve recovered from the break-in,” I said. “I—”

“Thanks for getting the money, Copper.”

“I’m glad it helped.”

“Victoria’s death is being ruled accidental,” he said. “I just found out this morning.”

Our eyes met, and I saw the question in his gaze.

“Oh,” I said. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

“Would you like a Coke or something?” he asked. He started moving toward the kitchen, and I followed him.

“Sure,” I said. “A Coke would be great.”

The kitchen actually looked clean enough to eat in. The table was clear, and I sat down in one of the chairs.

“I’ve got something to show you,” I said.

Richard handed me a can of Coke and sat down opposite me.

“What?” he said.

I pulled out the envelope of photographs.

“Victoria took these,” I said, spreading them out.

“That’s Rick Mack. He’s a V.P. at American Beauty,” Richard said, pointing at the same man Heather had identified. “I don’t know the other guy.” Then his eyes fell on the last two pictures.

“Damn! That’s Jason. Where’d you get these?”

“Victoria gave me lots of stuff,” I said, evading his question. Richard picked up one of Jason’s photos and peered at it.

“December 15th,” he said. “She died that night.”

“Yeah,” I said. “So she talked with the American Beauty guys in the morning?”

“Yes. She met them someplace on her way to the Beavertail.”

“Did she come home that day?”

The look on Richard’s face reminded me of a cornered fox.

“No.”

“Then how did those pictures of Jason get on her camera?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look at them. He was in her car when he took them.”

“How did you get these again?” Richard said.

I took a breath and let it out.

“I stole Victoria’s camera the first time I came here.”

“What?”

“It was in her shoulder bag on the driveway. When you went inside, I took it.”

There it was, my big confession.

Richard was silent for a full minute, and by the time he spoke again, I had identified three escape routes from the house.

“You know I can’t do anything to you for stealing her stuff,” Richard said. “So just give the pictures back and leave. Let that be the end of it.”

I stared at him.

“No,” I said. “I’m not leaving until you explain it to me. If you don’t like it, call the police.”

Richard glowered at me.

I just sat there.

“Okay, then,” I said. “Have it your way.” I unzipped the side pocket on my backpack and fished out my cell phone. “I didn’t call 9-1-1 the last time I was here, but—”

Richard still didn’t speak. I punched the numbers into my phone. Each beep made Richard’s frown a little angrier. I paused. I raised my finger over the call button.

“Victoria came home that day around four,” Richard said softly. I clicked my phone off and set it on the table. “She wasn’t supposed to leave the Beavertail, but I asked her to come home anyway. Jason was having a particularly bad episode, and I needed her help.”

He looked at me and blinked a couple of times. For a second, I was tempted to threaten him with my phone again. But as we stared at each other, I realized he wasn’t stalling. He was pulling his thoughts together. He wanted me to know the truth.

“She got him calmed down, even though a big part of his problem was her. A few days before, when she told him about her—profession—he was upset.” Richard rubbed his head and sighed heavily. “But what really enraged him was that she had lied to him. He just couldn’t seem to get past that. Anyway, they seemed to have worked things out, and Jason asked her to take him out driving. He just got a learner’s permit, and she was teaching him. She was a much better teacher than I am. I just get pissed off and start swearing.” Richard picked up one of the pictures of Jason again. “That kid knows just how to push my buttons.”

Richard stopped talking, but and I didn’t know what to say. I picked up my Coke, intending to take a sip. I set it back down. My stomach was too turbulent to trust.

“They left. An hour or two later, Jason came back. Alone.”

“What happened?”

“Darlin,’ if I knew that—” He paused. “I don’t know. Jason was in worse shape than before Vicki arrived. I tried to get him to tell me where she was, but all he would say is, ‘She can just walk the fuck home!’ I forced him to go with me to look for her, but he was confused, and it was dark by then. We never even looked along the right road. Damn! I should have kept looking. I should have—” He dropped his head into his hands.

“Why didn’t you report her missing?” I said. “I know you hate the cops, but—”

“She was AWOL from the Beavertail. If they found out, she would have lost her job. If she was unhurt, she never would have forgiven me for blowing the whistle on her.” Richard stood up and started pacing. “I told myself I’d call in the morning if I hadn’t heard from her. First the Beavertail, and then, if I had to, the cops. But the early news beat me to it.”

We both just sat there for a while. My head swirled as I tried to process what Richard was telling me.

Suddenly, his head popped up, he gathered the photographs into a pile, and stared at me.

“These are mine,” he said. “You had no business taking them.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m a thief. So press charges.”

“God damn it.”

“Did Jason kill his mother?”

“It was an accident. I still don’t know all the details, but Jason’s remembered bits and pieces. He has nightmares. But other times he knows nothing at all.”

“There was evidence on the car, wasn’t there?”

That surprised him.

“You were washing it when I showed up.”

“They had a fight. She told him to pull over—let her take over driving.” He paused, looking down. I waited, wondering if that was all the story I was going to get. He sighed and went on. “He did pull over. Vicki got out, but Jason didn’t. And while she was walking around the car, he took off.”

He sighed again and shook his head.

“Jason didn’t realize that he hit her, but the mirror on the passenger’s side was broken. The autopsy showed that Vicki died from losing blood from a wound to her neck and shoulder. Their best guess was that she was hit by a car, which is why the police are calling it an accidental death. Well, they’re right. It was an accident.”

He shot me a look that felt like a challenge.

“What I know for sure,” he went on, “is that if the police knew all of this, Jason’s life would be a bigger hell than it already is, and I’d lose him forever. I’ve already lost Vicki. I can’t lose Jay, too.” He stared at the floor. “They can arrest me. They can lock me up. They can shoot me full of poison. I don’t give a flying fuck. They’re just not going to get their hands on my son. This isn’t his fault.”

I looked at Richard McKimber. I had no doubt that he meant every one of those words with his whole heart.

“I’ve got to go out to my car,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

Richard followed me through the living room and stayed at the front door while I crossed the street to the Max.

This was it, I told myself as I opened the door. There was no going back, no changing my mind later. I opened the glove compartment and pulled out a new white business envelope. Shutting the door again, I walked back across the road to join Richard McKimber.

“The pictures are yours, Mr. McKimber,” I said. “And so are these.” I handed him the envelope, and he peeked inside.

“The negatives.”

“Happy New Year,” I said.

:: :: ::

I can’t remember driving from Richard’s house to The Light. Seriously, I don’t know whether I took I-15, Dean Martin, or some other route entirely. A vortex of what-nexts, what-ifs, and what-nows whirled around one enormous “What have I done?” in my head.

Because, really—what had I done? I had just given physical evidence to a guy who might have murdered his wife. After all, I only had Richard’s word that he drove around looking for Victoria. He could have deliberately left her to die in a ditch. Heck, he could have found her and mowed her down. Even if he had told me the truth, Jason might be a premeditated murderer, not just an upset, inexperienced driver. But somehow, I knew none of that was true.

I made a mental list of everything I was sure of. I was sure Bobby Marks didn’t kill Victoria, and I was sure the American Beauty suits didn’t, either, or anybody from the brothel. None of them knew where she was that night.

So who really killed Victoria McKimber? Maybe Jason. Maybe an anonymous hit-and-run driver. But it seemed to me as I sat there in her kitchen that the real question wasn’t “Who killed Victoria McKimber?” It was “What killed her?” It took a whole chain of events, starting with the accident that crushed Richard’s arm. If that hadn’t happened, and if Jason hadn’t had such expensive medical problems, Victoria wouldn’t have gone to work at a bordello. Richard would still be working at Nate’s Crane, and he wouldn’t have entered Victoria in the American Beauty contest. She wouldn’t have won, and she wouldn’t have had to tell her son what was really paying his bills …

But that’s all moot. All those things did happen. So, should her death go unavenged?

My head was spinning. Forcing Julia and her pals to donate money to the Alliance for the Homeless and for Jason McKimber’s therapy seemed like a better penalty than anything a judge and jury might have handed down in either of those cases. And Jaz Cutler was in jail. The criminals had been punished. There had been moral reckonings.

But you’re a criminal yourself, Copper! That silent accusation kept repeating itself in my mind. You’ve stolen, you’ve extorted, and you’ve withheld evidence important to a police investigation.

But another voice kept winning every argument. It was a quiet, little voice, but I heard it loud and clear every time I let my mind slow down. I heard it whenever I stopped thinking about laws and rules and what a judge might say.

Victoria loved her family. Yes, she liked notoriety and she traded sex for money. When I met her, I couldn’t believe she had a husband. Now, I couldn’t believe how much she’d been willing to do to take care of him, and how much both of them loved their son. No, the family wasn’t “up to code.” But hell, neither was mine anymore. I wasn’t sure any family was, if you poked beneath the surface.

Victoria died. Her husband and her son had suffered. I could have made life worse for them. Instead, I decided to make it better. Whether or not Victoria was “smiling at me from heaven,” I had no doubt that she would have approved of what I did.