Blind Spot (27 page)

“Well, don’t we all? I don’t know what happened to Miss Farni. If I did, I would have told the police already.”

“Like you told them about the photo of you and Tricia?” I asked.

Dellian pushed the “stop” button. “What are you trying to pull here? You know those photos were digitally altered garbage. Of course I denied seeing them! Do you think I’m an idiot?”

Photos? There was more than one? I had to tread carefully. “No, I don’t think you’re an idiot. I get why you didn’t say anything at first. But Tricia’s dead. Shouldn’t you tell the police who took the photo? Was it Jonathan? Did he try to blackmail you?”

“Don’t play Miss Innocent with me. You and your vile boyfriend made them!”

“I thought you wanted to record this conversation?” Greg asked.

“I want to record the truth, Mr. Martin. So far, I’ve heard only lies.”

This was stupid. Why did I think I could get anything from him? “Look, I didn’t help Jonathan with the photo, okay? But I think Tricia did. They set it up, and got you to leave the dance early to do it.”

“No. T. would
never
do that to me. Besides, how could they possibly know I’d get sick?”

“Because they put something in your punch,” I said. “And she would do it, you know she would, if Jonathan was holding something over her head, like drugs she desperately needed.”

The fight seemed to leave Mr. Dellian. “Yes,” he whispered. “She might, for that.” He let his breath out, slowly. “The ipecac.”

“What?” I asked.

“I found an old bottle of ipecac syrup in my truck. It had been in my home first aid kit for so many years, I’d forgotten I had it. I planned to ask T. why it was in the truck when she . . . came back.”

“Ipecac induces vomiting, doesn’t it?” Greg asked.

I thought about the umbrella Tricia had thrown in his punch at the dance. “That’s what they used to make you sick.”

Dellian nodded his head. “It induces vomiting, but that’s all. I would’ve known if they were taking pictures—.” He paused and let out a long, sad sigh. “I did doze off after the vomiting finally ceased. I was so violently ill, so exhausted.” His voice trailed off.

I softened my voice. “What did Jonathan want? To stay on the team?”

Dellian nodded. “At first, yes.”

“Can we record this now?” Greg asked.

Dellian hesitated. “I’d rather not.”

“Why?” Greg said. “If it was all staged, you have nothing to worry about.”

Mr. Dellian rubbed his face with his hands. “There are too many people this could hurt. I won’t have it recorded.”

“Oh, come on!” Greg threw his arms up. “You can’t just record what incriminates her! Either we record this whole conversation, or we’re out of here.”

“Greg, no!” I looked at Dellian. “It’s okay. I just want the truth. What did Jonathan want?”

“At first he used it to keep his place on the team. I went along with it only because T. was missing. I knew without her around to dispute the photo, it would look exactly how he wanted it to, and there was too much at stake. Abbey was trying to get Tricia out of foster care. An accusation like that, true or false, would ruin that—and we still thought she’d run away. She’d done it before, and she was extremely upset that night. Abbey and I assumed she’d be back once she cooled down a bit. When they found her, I knew Jonathan was behind her death. I was planning to tell the police everything.”

“So why didn’t you?” I asked.

“He got to me first. He threatened me with things I couldn’t afford to have exposed, and with you as his alibi for that evening, I really had no leg to stand on. I had to keep quiet.”

“What do you mean ‘alibi’?” Greg asked.

“Yeah, and what things did he threaten you with?” I asked.

“T. was a very troubled girl,” Mr. Dellian said. “When she was ten, a piece of garbage named Wayne Fresno doped T. up and forced himself on her. Her mother walked in on the assault, stabbed him to death, and is now serving time for it.”

“Jesus,” Greg said.

I nodded. “She told me.”

“Well, she blamed herself,” Dellian said. “The girls were separated, placed in foster homes. I met Abbey when she was barely nineteen and fighting for custody of T. Because of her previous drug abuse and young age, they denied her custody. My position at the high school allowed me to get T. help and keep an eye on her, but because she was to have no family contact, we kept my relationship to her a secret. I sent T. to rehab this last time, after she was kicked out of her foster home. We knew if she went back to yet another home, she’d start again. Abbey and I were going through our own problems, but I agreed to let T. live with me, illegally.”

“That’s what he threatened you with? So what? How could that matter more than nailing Jonathan?” I said.

“It didn’t! I told the police all that.” Dellian blew an angry puff of air out of his nose. “T. had a way of persuading you to do things for her. She convinced me she could keep clean only by smoking pot.” He flashed his eyes up at me for a second. “I had no idea where to find it. I made the mistake of asking Mr. Webb. I don’t know where he was buying it from, and I didn’t care. I just wanted to help T. He got pushy, cocky, using the drug transactions to elicit favors and special treatment. I had to end the supply to T. to end his harassment.”

“That’s when she asked me,” I said.

“Yes, and thanks to you, Mr. Webb turned her on to crack.”

“Are you serious?” Greg said. “How can you blame Roz for something you were doing too? At least Roz wasn’t supplying drugs to her every day for what? Weeks? Months? How can you say you cared about Tricia when you were providing the crutch that crippled her?”

“Don’t you dare lecture me!” Dellian exploded. “I did care for her! T. was like a daughter to me.”

“Then why hide the truth after Tricia was found dead?” I asked. “I mean, I understand being afraid of going to jail, but if you were sure Jonathan was behind her death, why not take that risk?”

“Why not indeed.” The look he gave me made me uncomfortable. “Tell me, Miss Hart, if you are truly interested in the truth, why do you continue to lie to the police?”

“I’m not lying about anything!”

Greg nudged me. “You did say you . . . you know,” he whispered.

Mr. Dellian flipped on the recorder. “Explain what he’s referring to.”

“No.” Greg snatched it off the picnic table. “We didn’t record your indiscretions. We’re not recording hers.”

“Give me my tape recorder,” Dellian demanded.

“Sure.” Greg ejected the tape, popped it into his pocket, and handed Dellian the recorder.

While they had a standoff, I debated my next move. Here was my chance to find out if the four of us had really fought, or if Jonathan had made all that up to scare me into helping him. But what if he used my confession to incriminate me? And how could I be sure that whatever he told me was the truth?

Finding out what happened to Tricia was worth the risk.

“I didn’t lie to the police,” I whispered. “Not intentionally. But I did mislead them.”

Dellian and Greg stopped scowling at each other and looked at me.

“I pretended to know about the entire night, but I don’t remember anything after leaving the cabin with Jonathan. Except you. I think I remember you there.” Dellian was very still, watching me. No, not watching,
examining
me. I stared down at the picnic table. “If you think I lied about something, please tell me what I’m not remembering.”

Dellian was quiet for a second. “You told the police that Jonathan drove you home that night, so you obviously have some thoughts as to what did happen? Perhaps Mr. Webb gave an account of the evening?” When I nodded, he asked, “What was his account?”

Greg shook his head. “No, no, no. She’s not going to tell you. You’re going to tell her.” He held up a finger. “One, were you there that night?” He held up a second finger. “Two, did you see Roz? And three”—he held up a third finger—“did you see Tricia? Tell her what you know or take us home.”

Dellian shot Greg an annoyed look. “Mr. Martin, would you mind leaving us for a moment? I wish to ask Miss Hart something in private.”

“No way,” Greg said. “Whatever you need to say, say it in front of me. I’m her human tape recorder.”

“Well, human tape recorder or not, I’m trying to protect her privacy. Miss Hart? Do you wish to have him here?”

My privacy? Was he talking about the loft incident? “I want him here, and he knows what happened that night with Jonathan.”

“If what you say is true, I doubt very much that he knows what happened with Mr. Webb.” He cocked his head. “You asked me what I think you’re lying about. Quite frankly, Miss Hart, I don’t think, I
know.
You lied about Jonathan taking you home.”

I frowned. I’d expected him to say something about the fight with Tricia, not my transportation home. “He didn’t take me home?”

“No.” Mr. Dellian lowered his voice. “I did. After Mr. Webb tried to force himself on you.”

My heart fell to my feet. He tried to . . . ? How could I not remember that?

“He tried to rape her?” Greg said. “And you didn’t report it?”

“No,” I said. “Tricia attacked me, not Jonathan. He tried to get Tricia off me. That’s what you saw—”

“That’s what you remember?” Dellian asked me. “Or that’s what you were told?”

“Told.” I squeezed the word out. My mouth was dry. I needed something to drink. Despite being outside, I needed air. “He said he fought with you.”

“Yes.” Mr. Dellian nodded. “He did fight with me. That is true.”

My hands began to tremble against the metal picnic table. My fingernails scraped the surface with each shake, typing out an SOS.

Greg curled his fingers around mine and held them still. “Why don’t you tell us what happened?” Greg said to Dellian.

“I was no longer ill, simply weak and tired when T. called me from the party.” He shook his head. “I didn’t want to drive. However, T. was frantic, and I couldn’t reach Abbey. I took a wrong turn and was coming back around, when I spotted Mr. Webb’s vehicle. When my headlights flashed across the side, I saw movement.”

I held my breath, afraid to hear what came next.

“He and T. were struggling; T. was trying to drag him from the car. You were sprawled across the front seat. T. said he attacked you. Do you remember that?”

I shook my head. Cotton coated the inside of my mouth. I tried to swallow.

“I threw him off T. and was helping you into my truck when T. attacked him again. I grabbed her, told her to get in the truck too. Mr. Webb took off on foot. T. said she had to ‘make things right with you’ and went after him. I waited for her. When she didn’t come back, I took you home and returned with Abbey. We couldn’t find her.”

“You just took Roz home? You didn’t call the police or tell her mom or take her to the hospital? You just left her there alone?” Greg said.

“Her mother wasn’t home. Besides, I had no reason to think she was not conscious of her surroundings!” He looked at me. “You seemed inebriated, slightly disoriented, but you were speaking. You said you were okay, and you were able to give me your address and tell me where to find your keys. Quite honestly, I expected you to report the incident yourself.”

He said it as if I were to blame, as if I should’ve known.

I should have.

How could my memory betray me like that?

“And when she didn’t? Did you bother to ask her about it? Ask her how she was? Anything?” Greg asked.

“I thought she had told the police!” He looked at me. “Remember I asked you if you were able to tell the detective everything?”

“I thought you were talking about the loft,” I whispered.

“The loft?” Mr. Dellian asked. When I nodded my head, he continued, “Well, I
thought
you understood me, and when you asked if
I’
d disclosed everything too, I assumed . . .” He sighed. “Your memory loss explains your attitude, I suppose. But at the time, I thought it was an admission that you and Mr. Webb were in on the blackmail together.”

Greg shook his head. “She doesn’t remember that night. How do we know you’re telling her the truth? She’s already been told an entirely different version. How do we know which is correct?”

“Did you bring me into my house?” I asked.

“Yes, I helped you in, looked around for your mother. When I determined she wasn’t at home, I returned to your sitting room. You were resting on the couch, so I—”

“Covered me with a blanket?”

“Yes, I believe it was orange. It was on the back of the couch.”

That ratty old throw blanket. “He’s telling the truth.” My stomach hurt. “Can we go? I don’t feel so good.”

Mr. Dellian stood. “I’m truly sorry, Miss Hart. I didn’t realize you weren’t aware of this. I’ll go with you to the police, tell them all of this, and hand over T.’s cloak.”

“Tricia’s cloak?” I stared at him. “
You
called in the tip and put the pipe in my locker?”

“The tip, no. Until you confessed to helping her buy, I didn’t know anything about that day. But I had my suspicions you were involved, especially after the fire—so, yes, when I found the pipe in her cloak, I put it in your locker and suggested to Principal Ratner that your locker be searched.”

“But why my locker? You knew Jonathan was knee-deep in this—you’d been getting pot from him. He was blackmailing you! Why plant it in my locker, instead of his?”

“Because I thought you were both to blame, and the way he’s always able to talk himself out of trouble, I didn’t want to waste the opportunity. You were the easier target.”

“Easy target?” Greg said. “Is that why you’ve harassed her all year? Because she’s an easy target?”

Dellian gave me a solemn look. “I’m sorry. I’m not proud of a lot of things I’ve done regarding you, Miss Hart, and I owe you a thousand more apologies. When I met you, you reminded me of Renny. In denial about your handicap, stubborn, refusing help—and so capable. Renny was sharp like you. I mean truly sharp—his intelligence astounded me. But his body didn’t always cooperate with that intelligence and it made him stubborn. I thought it was okay to let him refuse help. I thought he could still make it out there, that he’d fight the odds and win. When he committed suicide, I”—he rubbed his face with his hands—“I really was trying to help you, Miss Hart. I didn’t want you to fall like Renny. But my God! You are so stubborn and pigheaded! The more you fought, the more I lost sight of the fact that I was trying to help you—I let my temper get the best of me, and my tactics went a bit overboard.”