Incriminated (12 page)

“JM, could you try that part one more time?”

John-Michael picked up his guitar pick and tried again. From her expression, he could tell that Lucy hated having to direct. She probably hadn't been the bossy one in her previous band, Whatnot. When she'd been kicked out, she'd asked John-Michael to start a new band with her. He liked Lucy too much to turn her down.

But now, he wasn't so sure. It had been weeks since Grace had told him the truth about Lucy being in the house when Tyson Drew was murdered. And Lucy herself, supposedly his best friend in the house, still hadn't offered up a single word on the subject.

John-Michael was pretty sure that the only reason he was in the band was because of his access to Van Buren High's summer Rock Challenge program, which guaranteed rehearsal space and time in the recording suite. He watched Ruben, who sat calmly behind his drum kit, one stick lightly resting on the high-hat, teasing it. He'd changed
his haircut since John-Michael had last seen him. It was more self-consciously spiky; the blue dip-dye had been freshened up, too. The sleeve of one T-shirt was rolled right to the shoulder, exposing what John-Michael could see was a new tattoo. It might have been his imagination, but was that lip piercing also new?

He caught Ruben's eye for a second, at which point John-Michael fluffed the chord. Instead of the irritation he expected to find, there was nothing but a wry smile, as if to say
Now you're gonna get it . . .

“JM, is something wrong?”

“Mr. Ruben got a new tattoo,” John-Michael said petulantly. He didn't dare to confront Lucy openly about what was really bothering him. Damned if he was going to play nice, though. “It's distracting me.”

“Good eye,” Ruben said, looking directly at John-Michael. His smile widened as he followed John-Michael's eyes, which were staring at his upper arm, just above the older Sex Pistols tattoo.

Lucy shook her head, her face drawn tight. John-Michael instantly felt a shred of remorse over his quip. “Sorry, Luce. This song is a little difficult for me,” he confessed, putting both hands on the neck of his sea-green Fender Stratocaster. “I'm having a hard time making all those changes so fast.”

“It's okay, JM.” She spoke calmly, very reassuring. “What if I take over most of the rhythm section there and you just bring in a walking bass line?”

He gave a hopeful shrug. “Sure. I mean, if that isn't a pain for you.”

Ruben stopped drumming and got up. “While you figure it out, I'm gonna get some air. I'll be over by the bleachers.”

John-Michael turned to watch, surprised and disappointed, as Ruben left the room. “I may have mentioned that there's a girls' beach volleyball match,” he admitted to Lucy. “I bet you a dollar he's going to watch.”

“Yeah.” Lucy began to play some chord transitions. “Puerto Rican dudes with tattoos, piercings, dyed black and blue hair. That's exactly the kind of look ‘those girls' go for.” She stopped strumming, looked thoughtful for a moment, then tried the chords again, playing a variation on the initial sequence.

“Maybe sporty girls are his secret vice,” John-Michael suggested. He hoped not. A horrible cliché for a pretty hot guy. Even if Ruben was straight, he could at least not be
that
straight.

“More secrets,” Lucy said, half to herself, listening to the chords. “Just what we need.”

“Not you,” John-Michael said absently, examining the strings of his instrument. “You're the last person that needs another secret.”

Lucy stopped playing. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“You know,” John-Michael said. He tried the first few notes of the sequence she'd shown him. “
Jelly and Pie
, rehab, Tyson Drew.”

There was a painful silence. John-Michael stopped playing and looked up, gauging her reaction.

Eventually, Lucy seemed to find her voice. “Tyson Drew?”

“Yeah,” murmured John-Michael, turning red as he realized what he'd said.

It wasn't easy to stay calm, but Lucy was clearly trying. “John-Michael, what are you talking about?
What
about Tyson Drew?”

He struggled for words for a few seconds and then finally exploded, “Why'd you never tell me, Lucy? Why?”

Lucy mouth fell open. “Tell you what?”

John-Michael faltered slightly. He'd been meaning to avoid this, but still, it had slipped out. Now that it was out there, he couldn't resist digging further. “That you were
there
, Lucy. That you were at the party where Tyson Drew was murdered? All those conversations we had at rock camp. All the things
I
told you about
my
life. About my mom dying. About my dad and his skank-girlfriends. About coming out, about the first time I kissed a guy. But you—you told me hardly anything.”

“I'm not big on sharing, JM,” Lucy mumbled. “You know that.”

“I do, I totally get that, but it can't all go one way. Then a few weeks back, when I told you Grace's dad was on death row for Tyson Drew's murder. Even then, not a word. You didn't mention that you were at the party where that guy's murder took place? That it was the reason you got
dropped from your TV show? Dude, how could you not tell me about that?”

They were close enough now that their guitars were almost touching. Lucy seemed to be struggling to process her emotions. When she finally spoke, it was obvious that
anger
had won.

“
How did you know?
”
she said, her voice raised. “What, are you stalking me online now?” Lucy faced him with sudden clarity. “You couldn't have known, back in rock camp. Tell me
you
haven't been keeping this from me, all these years.”

Her eyes flashed with danger. John-Michael immediately shrunk back. “Of course I didn't cyberstalk you,” he said resentfully. He pulled away, removed the guitar from around his neck, returned it to its case, which was leaning up against the wall. After a moment, Lucy did the same with her Telecaster.

Lucy popped the Telecaster case shut. “So where's this coming from?” she fired back. “'Cause I know it's new.”

A shadow of guilt crossed John-Michael's face. “Grace told me.”

“Grace?”

“I told you we visited her dad in San Quentin.” He was indignant. “Did you really think Grace wouldn't find out, of all people? She's known about you since she was little. Her dad's on death row for Tyson Drew's murder—she's been keeping that in for a long time. You can't blame Grace for finally cracking and telling
one lousy person
. Not everyone
can be an Easter Island statue like you.”

Lucy visibly reeled. “Grace's father . . . told you I was at the party where Tyson Drew was killed?”

John-Michael's feelings of guilt vanished in a wave of righteous anger. “Grace's father is Alex Vesper, Lucy. He's on death row for the murder of Tyson Drew. But he didn't do it. And now they've set a date for his execution—July fourteenth.”

Lucy sucked in a long, deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Wow. Grace is handling it awfully well, I'll give her that.”

“It's not like she has much choice,” he snapped. “Since she's not allowed to tell us about it.”

“How long have you known about the execution, John-Michael?”

“Since we went to pick out a couch at IKEA—that's when Grace found out.”

“Looks like I'm not the only one keeping secrets from my best friend,” she finished scornfully. “Not only that but you've known for a
month
that I was at the party where Tyson Drew was killed.”

“A month, Luce. I kept quiet for a month.
You
kept quiet about this for
years
. I didn't tell you I knew 'cause I wanted to give you the chance to say something on your own.”

“Oh, I get it,” she said, now indignant. “You were testing me.” Lucy backed toward one of the two chairs in the small rehearsal space. Finding the back of one with an outstretched hand, she slid into it. “Grace has been living with
me this whole time . . . and she never said a word to me about all this.”

“You're overreacting. She respects your privacy. Grace hasn't even told Candace. Not yet.”

A hint of a smile touched Lucy's otherwise tense features. “
Candace
doesn't know? Her own
sister
? Huh. I'd buy a ticket to be there when that particular piece of information leaks out.”

“Lucy,” he said earnestly, “Grace has been waiting all these months, hoping you'll give her some tiny bit of hope, some clue that maybe you remember what happened that night. She won't ask you herself. I don't understand why. If Vesper was my dad I'd be doing everything I could to get you to talk.”

“
Get me to talk
?” She looked at him with disgust. “JM, you seriously think that I would let an innocent man be executed, if I knew something that could help him?”

John-Michael looked crushed. “You really didn't see anything that night?”

“I saw Tyson Drew's dead body in the pool,” she admitted hesitantly. “But other people saw that, too. And—oh, John-Michael . . .” For the first time, he noticed a hint of shame in Lucy's voice. “I
used
so much, in the years that came after,” she added in a dejected voice. “I had dreams, I had hallucinations. That stuff, it messes with your mind, twists memories. It warps them until you don't know what's real anymore.”

Lucy went silent, so John-Michael continued in a more
conciliatory tone, “Grace's dad said that when he left the party he saw the silhouette of a little kid on the balcony that overlooks the pool. One of the kids at the house that night had to have seen something.”

“There were four kids at the house that night,” Lucy said. “Why do you assume it was me?” Then, as though the thought was only just occurring to her, Lucy asked, “Did . . . did Grace have something to do with you asking me to move in?
Did they use you to get to me
?”

John-Michael was stunned. “Who's ‘they'? Candace's mom found Paolo,
he
found me, remember? There was no way to predict Paolo
would know that I knew you. That's insane.”

Lucy's attitude puzzled him. For a moment it had seemed as though she might be on the brink of admitting something and now she was back to being confused. John-Michael wanted to help Grace, wanted to get these secrets out in the open where they wouldn't fester. In the end, though, it wasn't his business, as Lucy seemed eager to point out.

The
Death Note
anime theme broke the silence. John-Michael's ringtone. He turned away from Lucy as he looked at the new text on his phone.

Dude, how much more obvious do I have to be? Make an excuse. Leave Lucy to arrange some music. Wanna get a burger or something?

Amazed, John-Michael texted back,
Ruben?

Who else? Now get over here, I miss you.

John-Michael returned his cell phone to his pocket, mind racing. Ruben wanted
him
? This was huge. He hadn't even suspected because he thought Ruben was into Lucy, but maybe Ruben was bi? Although in retrospect it was starting to make sense. Lucy did nothing but throw out hints that she liked Ruben and he all but ignored them.

“I . . . Uh, I gotta bounce,” John-Michael mumbled. “We were done anyway, right?” He hoped so. Ruben had brightened up the day about a thousand percent. The situation with him, Lucy, and Grace would have to be put on hold.

Lucy just nodded. She looked unhappy, seemed to be mulling over her thoughts. “Yeah, I think we're definitely done for today.”

“I'm just saying—what's the point busting in on her? Can't it wait?”

Grace heard the tension in John-Michael's voice on the staircase outside their bedroom.

The door to the bedroom Grace shared flew open. From her desk at the foot of her bed, she turned slowly in her chair until she was facing Lucy, who stood framed in the doorway.

Lucy looked angry. Instinctively, Grace knew what she was going to say.

“John-Michael told you about my dad,” Grace began softly, with compassion. It was a sincere expression of how she felt. After months of living with Lucy, Grace had come to accept that Lucy was probably not
consciously
hiding the truth. For whatever reason, it seemed that Lucy didn't even understand what she'd seen that night, eight years ago.

John-Michael arrived, slightly out of breath, behind Lucy.

“I did tell Lucy that your dad is on death row for the murder of Tyson Drew,” John-Michael admitted. “But Grace, you two have to start talking about it. I know you don't want to be reminded but, seriously? Time is not on your side, here. It's insane, keeping all this quiet. What if Lucy does know something?”

His words brought instant tears to Grace's eyes. But she quickly wiped them away when she heard a third set of footsteps on the spiral staircase. Both Lucy and John-Michael turned to see who it was.

“Ariana, would you mind? This is kind of private,” Lucy said.

There was a faintly embarrassed pause. Grace dried tear-covered fingertips on her shirt as Ariana stood awkwardly behind Lucy and John-Michael, apparently sizing up the situation. “Hey, no problem,” Ariana said. “I heard raised voices. I thought maybe something was wrong. Totally don't want to butt in on your business. I'm just gonna finish up in the kitchen and head out for some air.” Ariana hesitated a moment before turning for the stairs.

“Thank you, Ari,” Lucy called after her friend. She sounded more than a little embarrassed. That embarrassment continued as she turned back to Grace. The anger had all but vanished.

“I have to ask,” Lucy said. “How long have
you
known that I was at the party?”

Grace took a calming breath. “I recognized your name from the moment I heard you were moving in with us. Then
John-Michael told us that your dad was in the government. ‘Lucy Long' isn't a million miles away from ‘Lucasta Jordan-Long,' the child actress. I looked you up on the internet and—bingo. Found out about
Jelly and Pie
. Saw the names of the other kids who were at the house that night.”

Lucy glanced at John-Michael. “Could you give us a few minutes?”

“Actually, Lucy, would you mind?” interjected Grace. “I'd prefer it if John-Michael sat in. It's kind of a delicate discussion.”

John-Michael hovered close to his own bed, as if waiting for the girls to agree whether he should stay or go. Lucy was clearly taken aback but she didn't object. “If I'd seen anything, Grace, I'd have told.”

Grace didn't reply for a minute. When she did, she spoke carefully, avoiding any accusation in her tone. “I know that if you could have talked, you would have. I'm just . . . I'm just wondering,” she continued, “in fact I always have . . . if maybe someone got to you. Tried to shut you up. When you were a little kid?”

Lucy shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Warily, she asked, “Got to me—how?”

John-Michael turned to face Lucy, his eyes registering anxiety.

Grace struggled to contain the emotions that were bubbling up inside. She had to persuade Lucy to tell them everything she could remember. Even an apparently stupid detail might be crucial. John-Michael was right—they were
running out of time to act. “There are lots of ways to get to a kid. Think about it Lucy, you were little. It was late, you were half asleep. Whatever you saw, maybe you buried the memory. Maybe someone
made
you bury it.”

“Like who?”

Grace replied simply, “I don't know.” She looked over at John-Michael, who had finally settled uneasily onto the edge of his own bed. He was regarding Lucy with a mixture of curiosity and pensiveness.

Lucy paused. “But if I don't remember anything?”

“There are ways to help you remember,” Grace said cautiously. She didn't want to frighten Lucy off, didn't want her to realize just how much thought she'd put into this over the last few months. “Hypnosis. Recovered memory therapy.”

“That actually works?” John-Michael sounded hopeful.

Grace didn't take her eyes off Lucy, who seemed to be considering their words. “It can.”

Eventually, Lucy asked Grace, “And you think it would be enough to get your dad off the hook? If I remember something under hypnosis?”

“Maybe,” she replied. “The evidence that convicted him was circumstantial. That's why he got all the stays of execution. Each time it was like, another chance to find some better evidence for the defense. So far, they haven't found it. He had a motive, he was at the party, and he doesn't have an alibi. They connected his DNA to Tyson Drew's body, but my dad says it's because they got into a fight earlier in
the evening over something stupid like money. But Lucy—my dad was nowhere near the pool that night. He got up to use the bathroom and he saw someone little up on the balcony, looking down. He couldn't see what the kid was looking at, but that balcony overlooks the pool. That little kid saw the murderer, Lucy. My dad is sure of it.”

They all shared a lengthy pause. Then John-Michael said, “Why're you so sure it's Lucy?”

“Think about how you behaved afterward, Lucy,” Grace said gently. “You went into a tailspin. That didn't happen to any of the other kids at the party. You're the only one who acted like they'd been through some kind of trauma.”

“That's not true, Tyger Watanabe was messed up, too.”

“Maybe later, when he hit fourteen, fifteen, but right after the murder, Tyger kept doing the show for another season, whereas you, they dropped. You said it was because you were acting out, Lucy. In one of your interviews,
you
said it.”

To Grace's immense relief, Lucy didn't deny it.

“I . . .” Lucy seemed to be struggling to get the words out. “I have wondered. From time to time. Recently, maybe more.” She seemed reluctant to continue.

“Please, Lucy.”

Lucy was about to speak and then stopped. She tilted her head toward the door. Grace listened for a moment, but heard nothing.

Lucy stood, went to the door, and opened it wider. Grace watched her push open the bathroom door, too.

“What's up?”

Lucy turned back, closing the bedroom door behind her. “Coulda sworn I heard someone on the landing outside.”

“I didn't hear anything,” John-Michael said, shrugging.

“Gotta say, this whole conversation is making me a little jumpy,” Lucy said, sitting down next to John-Michael. He shifted toward his pillows, making space.

Impatiently, Grace got out of the chair and sat between the two of them. She placed a tentative hand on Lucy's bare arm, suddenly painfully aware of how frosty Lucy could appear.

“I know it can't be easy for you to think about that night. If you really did see Tyson Drew being murdered, that would have been a seriously traumatic moment. Just to see it, I mean. I remember the only time I saw a guy throw a real, honest-to-goodness punch at another guy. It happened right in front of me, outside school. And I was physically shaking, Lucy. I can only imagine what it could do to a kid to watch a grown man strangled and drowned. It's no wonder your mind closed it down.”

“I . . . Grace. I really don't know if I wanna . . .”

“All I'm asking is that you try. Lucy, please. If there's something there, something your mind has been trying to suppress . . . it could seriously help my father.”

“It's not going to overturn the conviction, though,” Lucy said doubtfully. “I mean, Grace, I'm real sorry that your dad's in that situation. But I'm not the one who put him there. The jury won't convict him without evidence.”

“It's all circumstantial, though!” Grace cried, rising to her feet.

John-Michael half rose, as if to steady her in case she toppled over. He put a soothing hand on hers, saying, “Gracie, it's okay . . .”

“It's circumstantial evidence,” she reiterated, this time calmly. “A high-profile case—the cops were under a lot of pressure to get a conviction. And the district attorney did a great job with the jury, I have to say. I've looked at the trial records and even though I'm no lawyer, Lucy, I can see that.”

John-Michael stared curiously. “You've looked at the trial records?”

“I'm an expert on the Tyson Drew murder case,” Grace said. “My dad taught me that.”

“If you're such an expert,” Lucy began insistently, “then I guess you must have some idea of who did it.”

Grace allowed herself a tiny nod.

Lucy pressed on. “Who?”

But all Grace could say was, “I can't tell you. I'm sorry, but that might seem like I was leading you. If you're going to try the recovered-memory therapy, you need to go into it with no preconceptions. It won't help us if you and I discuss the case beforehand.” She tipped her head toward
John-Michael. “That's why I asked him to stay. John-Michael's a witness that you and I never talked about who you might have seen.”

“But you have a specific person in mind?” Lucy asked.

Grace turned to John-Michael. “Have I ever said anything?”

He shook his head, emphatic. “No way.” To Grace, he said, “Dude, I had no idea you had any clue who might have committed the murder.”

Lucy sat on her hands now, rocking back and forth very slightly on the edge of the bed. It was like watching her regress from a confident sophomore to an anxious child.

“Is it dangerous, this memory-therapy thing?”

Grace said, “It's a kind of hypnosis.”

Lucy shook her head. “Not what I asked.”

Grace found herself releasing a shaky breath. “I don't know for sure, Lucy. It's kind of like letting out some buried demon, I guess. Not literally, of course. But once that memory is out . . . well.”

“It's probably buried for a reason,” John-Michael said. Grace could hear a slight strain in his voice. “You don't know what kind of crap you're going to dig up. Stirring and stirring. It's sure to release a stink.”

“John-Michael's right,” Grace said a tad cautiously. “Uncovering a repressed memory can be traumatic. Lucy, I'm begging you. This is the fourth time they've set a date for his execution. The
fourth
. His lawyer will appeal—she always does. It might even work out, again. Even if it
does, the fear—it's sapping his strength. Being in prison has changed him. If this goes on much longer, I think he might give in, just to end it all. And then I'd lose my father, forever.”

“A bad odor, I can handle,” Lucy said. But she sounded reluctant.

Grace felt hope like a pressure against her chest. “So you'll try it?”

Lucy nodded, once. “Okay.”