RANDY CLARK LOOKED dispossessed when Test finally entered the interview room next door. She could hardly see straight after finishing with Merryfield. She’d sucked down a mug of terrible coffee. North called and said, “You handle Merryfield’s assault as you see fit. I’ve got enough shit on my plate with Brad. And the murder of his father.”
North was distancing himself.
“Has Brad confessed?” she asked North.
“Not yet,” North had said and hung up.
Test made a quick call to Claude, so relieved to hear his calm voice and to know he would wait up for her, however late she came in. “I’ll while away my time binge-watching Breaking Bad DVDs,” he’d quipped. She hung up, never so grateful for her husband and family.
In the room now with Randy Clark, who fidgeted at the edge of his seat, hands cuffed in his lap, Test could smell the stink of fear as well as filth rising off of the man.
“What am I being charged with?” he said as his gaze wandered about the room without focus.
“What do you think?” Test said.
He shrugged, his lips were raw and sore. His nose runny and red. “Assault, I guess.”
Test was not going to tell him that Merryfield refused to press charges. Not yet. She wanted him to think he might be held or charged with the murder. She did not want him to know what Merryfield had confessed. Randy could have killed Jessica, she thought. So could have Merryfield. As he’d said, he had motive. And means and opportunity. Perhaps they had done it together and were each playing her, covering. She thought of the sequence of events, of suspects: Victor, Brad, Merryfield, and now Randy Clark. Had she simply needed to work her way through the first three as possible suspects, connect the dots, discover the most plausible motive, to arrive at the correct endpoint? Had she kept an open mind and tracked clues to the final, correct, resolution, let the facts form the theory, or had she done just the opposite?
She could not charge Randy Clark for murder.
“So, are you going to charge me,” a voice said.
Test broke from her thoughts and looked at Randy Clark, whose face was one of resignation. “Charge me,” he said. “At least I won’t have to keep overpaying to stay in a fleabag motel.”
“Did you kill Jessica Cumber?” Test asked. She wanted to catch him off guard.
He blinked. “What?”
“Did you kill Jessica Cumber?”
“I— No. Why?”
Why? What kind of a response was that? Why? Because if you did, you’re in big trouble. Clark stared at her flatly, perhaps bored. Or maybe he was just as fatigued as she was. She imagined he was probably even more so.
“Because evidence points to you,” Test said.
“I doubt that.”
“But you don’t know it for certain.”
“I doubt you’d have that kid him in jail if you thought I or anyone else did it.”
“Sometimes new things come to light.”
“It wasn’t me. Sorry.” He rolled his eyes.
“You had motive.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Of course I fucking know. But he isn’t worth it.”
“Who? Victor?” Test said.
Randy Clark stared at her.
“I know what happened. In the truck,” Test said.
A light came into Clark’s eyes and a sense of relief seemed to overcome him. “So. He told you?”
Test nodded.
“Did you believe him?” he said.
“I’ve no doubt both of you were abused by him.”
The flesh nearly slid off Clark’s face.
“What?” His mouth hung slack with astonishment as his eyes went bright.
He didn’t know. Test realized with a shock. He never knew Merryfield was a victim too. He just knew Merryfield had witnessed his own abuse and walked away from it. He didn’t know their vile bond.
“Oh,” Clark said. “Oh.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I thought. I thought he wouldn’t help me because he didn’t want to get involved or . . . be seen as a coward or—. I see now. I see.”
It was clear that a great deal was dawning on Randy Clark that he had to process.
Merryfield had not reported his witnessing of the abuse because he was afraid his own abuse would be revealed. But Clark never knew it.
“And what is it you wanted from him, the night of the murder?” Test said.
“To drop the case.”
“Why?”
“Those people make me sick. Here was someone who saw me, saw me being . . . hurt. And he did nothing. And then I saw him, years later, so far from home in Virginia and it just seemed a sign. Fate. And he ignored me. I knew he recognized me when I mentioned Coach. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough. And when I was in New Hampshire and started seeing the news about Jon representing that couple, I couldn’t stomach it. I had to try to make him see how hurtful it was. How wrong not to have helped me. To have left me alone as a boy. And now to be helping those two.”
“And what were you going to do if he didn’t do as you said and drop the case?”
He thought about this for a long time. “I threatened to tell all of it, if he didn’t come forward with me. What other leverage did I have? But in the end, I couldn’t force him. All I wanted was for him to come forward. To help me. To be my witness. I knew if I came forward alone I’d be a laughingstock. Dismissed. But if someone distinguished, like him spoke for me. I didn’t know he’d suffered too. How could I?”
“Why did you attack him tonight?”
“I lost it. All I wanted was for him to help me, for others to know, cops to know, that someone else had seen what happened. People would believe Jon. Then, it wouldn’t be just my word against Coach’s. Instead, Jon tried to pay me to go away. I got so mad. I didn’t know why he didn’t want to help. Still, he should have done it. That’s what takes guts. Courage. Coming forward. Not burying the past and forgetting.”
“You got chummy with Victor Jenkins. Used a fake name. How could you be close to that man? Why would you do that?”
“When I came here from New Hampshire a few months back, what sickened me most was that coach did not recognize me. Not that he would. I was an eight at the time. I’d come to town to get Jon to change his mind. I didn’t even know Victor was still here before I came. I’d never have imagined he’d stick around after what he did. My family, lucky for him, moved away shortly after. They thought my strange behavior afterward was from being uprooted. They blamed all my poor behavior, outbursts, petty crime and belligerence after that on their moving to try to better my dad’s career as a history professor at UVA.”
“Why get close to Victor at all?” Test said. “Why run with King and them? You see how it looks, you getting so close to him.”
“When I saw he was still in town, I wanted to get close to him to see if he was still at it. I’ve always had guilt about all the other boys that might have been hurt after me, because I never spoke up. If I even sniffed he was up to that still, I’d investigate it on my own. Report him.”
“And do you think Victor was molesting other boys?”
“I don’t have proof. And. I think I’d sense it. Smell it. I hope I’m right. But no.” A look came into his eyes. “Why do you keep using the past tense for Victor?”
Of course, being cooped up in here, he did not know Victor was dead.
Test told him. She gave him the newspaper article to read.
Afterward, she said: “Jon Merryfield refuses to press charges against you.”
Clark looked dumbstruck, then crestfallen.
In the end, there was no hard evidence, no physical evidence to hold Randy Clark in regard to Jessica’s murder. No physical link. Except for a few minutes after they’d met in the parking lot, he had Jon for an alibi, and Jon had him.
Test had to let him walk.