About That Night (22 page)

“The button.” Tritt nods. He unclasps his hands and reaches for his coffee. He takes a sip. “Let's say Ronan was in Derek's house and saw what he saw. There's no reason to think he wasn't. But let's say it plays out this way: Ronan saw Diehl, but Diehl didn't see him. It's possible. Diehl hasn't said anything about seeing anyone that night—not when he was talking to Ronan this morning, not when he was talking to me just recently, not anytime. In fact, he denies that he saw anyone.”

“If he didn't see anyone—if he didn't see
someone
and assume it was Derek—then why would he kill Derek?” Jordie says.

“That
is
the question.”

They look at each other again.

“We have nothing to tie Diehl to Derek's murder,” Tritt says after a moment. “No physical evidence at all. We'll keep looking. There's a forensic team at his house even as we speak. But—”

“But he's a cop,” Jordie says. “A detective. He knows what you'd look for. He washed off the blood. Maybe he wasn't thorough, but he knew no one would doubt his story. It's only because Ronan saw him—” She stops, thinking about the implication of what she has just said.

“Diehl denies that he saw anyone,” Tritt says again. “It's possible he's lying. But it's also possible he's telling the truth.”

“But if he didn't do it—”

“Ronan admits he saw Derek that night. He admits being in a physical altercation with him. And we have physical evidence of that.”

“The button,” Jordie says.

Tritt nods. “So with regard to Derek, we really have two possible suspects. And each one is pointing at the other. Each one claims that the other had a motive for killing Derek. I'm not sure if the charges against Ronan will be dropped or not. It depends on the Crown, on which one they think they can make a case against. But let's say, for sake of argument, that they retain the charge against Ronan. Well, I don't think his lawyer will have much trouble sowing reasonable doubt in the minds of the jury, and that's assuming it ever gets past a preliminary inquiry.”

Jordie has to think about this for a moment. While she thinks, Tritt makes it crystal clear.

“The way I see it unfolding, if Diehl gets charged, his lawyer is going to paint Ronan as Derek's murderer. If Ronan gets charged, his lawyer has plenty to go on to hang it on Diehl. Either way, there's going to be enough reasonable doubt to flummox a jury. It's even possible that if one gets off, the other will get charged—and get off. On the other hand, they could convict. You never know with a jury.”

“You mean Ronan could be charged with murdering Derek—and found guilty?” Jordie says. Ever since Ronan told her about that night, she has never considered that possibility.

“You could put it that way,” Tritt says.

“So he's still under arrest?”

“He's being held until the Crown sorts out the charges.”

Twenty-Three

I
n April, three months after Diehl is arrested and charged with the murder of his wife and of Derek Maugham, Diane Barthe dies. Jordie hears about it from her mother, who heard it from a friend of hers who worked for the home-care agency that had been providing care to Mrs. Barthe and who knew that Jordie had been seeing Ronan at one time. There is no notice in the newspaper, and Jordie has to visit every funeral home in town before she finds the one that received the body. She is told that there was no service.

“Why not?”

“The deceased was cremated.”

“Already? But she only just died.”

“The deceased has been cremated,” the funeral director, a middle-aged man with a soft voice, says again. “I am afraid that is all I can tell you.”

If Jordie wants to know any more, she will have to talk to Ronan.

He's stopped coming to school. Jordie thinks she can guess why. He never made many friends, and there are still a lot of kids—a lot of other people too—who are convinced that he killed Derek and got away with it. He's called and texted Jordie's cell dozens of times, but so far she hasn't answered. Every time she thinks about Ronan, she thinks about that button. Maybe Diehl really did do it. Maybe he deserved to get charged. Maybe Tritt came up with more evidence against him, and maybe that will come out at the trial. But—and there is something in her that's ashamed to admit it—maybe Ronan really did get away with something. Maybe he did exactly what she worried he'd done when she first realized that button was his. Maybe he did what she thought Diehl had done after she realized what Ronan had seen that night. Maybe he took the opportunity to point the finger at Diehl.

But now his mother has died. There are certain things you have to do in life whether you want to or not. You have to go to school. You have to brush your teeth and clean your room, and when you are old enough, you have to do your own laundry.

You also have to acknowledge the passing of people you know or whose families you know. You have to show that you care. You have to pay your respects. These things, she knows, even if others don't, are not optional.

There is a For Sale sign in front of Ronan's house. Slapped across it is a second, smaller sign: Sold. Both signs hit her with the force of blows to the belly. She hasn't seen Ronan or spoken to him in months, but somehow it has never occurred to her that he is going to leave.

She walks past the signs and climbs the steps to the porch. She rings the doorbell. She can hear it sound inside the house. It seems louder than she remembers and echoes in what she now imagines is an empty house.

She waits. No one answers.

She rings again.

When there is still no answer, she steps to the living room window and tries to look inside. But the curtains, made of heavy fabric, are drawn. She can see nothing on the other side of them.

She goes back down the steps and stands in the driveway, looking up at the house. He can't have gone already. But there is nothing to hold him here. His mother is dead. His father is long gone. The cremation has already happened. The house is sold.

She has no idea where he might have gone. She could ask the real estate agent whose name and photograph are on the For Sale sign. But she knows Ronan well enough to guess that he has volunteered no information. If he is gone, he is gone, and that's that.

She digs in her purse for a notebook and pen. She scrawls a note—
If you get this, call me
—signs her name and goes back to the porch to shove the note through the letter slot in the front door. She hears it hit the floor with a soft little scrabble. She hears nothing else.

As she starts down the street, she casts one last glance over her shoulder. A curtain flutters in the front bedroom window. It's probably just a draft, she thinks. It's an old house.

Norah McClintock
writes mystery and crime fiction for young adult readers. She is the author of the Chloe and Levesque, Mike and Riel, Robyn Hunter, and Ryan Dooley series, as well as many stand-alone novels. Norah grew up in Montreal, Quebec, is a graduate of McGill University (in history, of all things) and lives in Toronto, Ontario. She is a five-time winner of the Crime Writers of Canada's Arthur Ellis Award for Best Juvenile Crime Novel. Her novels have been translated into sixteen languages. Visit
www.norahmcclintock.com
for more information.