Moving Target (12 page)

“You’re saying that you think one of the other kids did this?” LeAnne pressed.

“I’m saying I think one of the other kids probably had a hand in it, but there’s a problem with that. Ain’t none of them other kids smart enough to turn off the cameras.”

“It sounds like you’re suggesting this was an inside job of some kind.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lowell said. “Much as I hate to admit it, I suppose that’s exactly what I’m sayin’. And most likely somethin’ changed hands in the process. There’s a lot of what you call currency in a place like that that’s got nothing to do with the United States mint, and I’ve got me an idea of a guard or two who might not be above gettin’ involved in somethin’ dirty.”

“So what should I do?” LeAnne said.

“If I was you, I’d get myself a lawyer. My guess is that’s why they’re tryin’ to put this whole thing on Lance. If they was supposed to be lookin’ after him and didn’t, then maybe a good lawyer can see to it that they’re liable for what happened to him. And if you get one of them, feel free to give ’em my name. I’ll be glad to give ’em my two cents’ worth.”

LeAnne was overwhelmed with gratitude. “Mr. Dunn,” she said, “how can I thank you for this? And what about your job? If you go up against what you call the powers that be, what will happen to you?”

“Don’t you worry none about that, Ms. Tucker. I happen to be seventy-two years old, which is a good six years beyond when they all thought I’d retire. My wife died the year before I turned sixty-five. No way was I gonna stay home in that empty house where we lived together for all those years and pine away all by my lonesome. So if somebody looks at me crosswise for what I’m saying, I’ll quit faster ’an they can spit in my eye.”

“I’ve been too busy here at the hospital to even think about contacting an attorney,” LeAnne said, “but if I do and I need to reach you, do you have an e-mail address?”

“Not at home,” Lowell Dunn said. “Never had no need to have a home computer or one of them Facebook thingamajigs, either. But if you need to reach me, you send an e-mail to my grandson, LaVonn, no spaces, no caps. He’s at something called AOL. He’ll stop by and give me the message on his way home from school.”

“Tell me one thing,” LeAnne said. “Why was Lance in the rec room in the first place?”

“Me and Ms. Stone, his teacher, we look at things pretty much eye to eye. She’s of the same mind I am about Lance—that he’s a good boy who got a raw deal and who got a sentence that was way more than what he deserved. She also thought he was too smart to be wastin’ time sitting in her class with all those other kids who are dumber than stumps. She was glad to let Lance loose from class to come help me put up that tree. We worked on it one day, stringing lights and putting the sections of the tree together. The next day was my day off, but I made arrangements for Lance to get into the closet by my office to get the rest of the decorations. He was almost done when it happened, so he’d been using that spray can and glitter all morning long without nothin’ bad happening. That’s why I’m sayin’ that whatever went on wasn’t no accident.”

Having said his piece, Lowell Dunn stood up abruptly. “I best be going, ma’am. My daughter Susannah is waitin’ downstairs to give me a ride back to San Leandro. She don’t trust me to drive this far on my
own. Says I’m too old to be out there on the highway all by myself in case the car breaks down or somethin’. Truth is, I’d be more likely to fix a broke-down car than she would be. All she’d do is to call AAA and get them to send out a wrecker. But you remember what I told you: If you need any backup on this, you call me.”

“Backup?” Sister Anselm asked. Unnoticed by the other people in the waiting room, the nun had emerged from Lance’s room.

“This is Mr. Dunn,” LeAnne explained to Sister Anselm. “From the detention center. Lance was working with him on the tree decorations when the incident happened. He thinks I should hire an attorney. If we do, he’s willing to speak up on Lance’s behalf.”

“In that case, Mr. Dunn,” Sister Anselm said, holding out her hand, “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

A
li had been back in her room for under half an hour and was putting the finishing touches on an e-mail to B. when he called. “It’s about time I got to talk to you,” she said. “I’m having a tough time making our new time-zone situation work. I know what time it is when you’re there and I’m in Sedona, but now that I’m in England my internal clock isn’t working as well. I’m glad to hear your voice for a change.”

“What time is it there? I just got back to the hotel from dinner,” he said.

“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon here.”

“What are you doing?”

“I was writing you a long e-mail.”

“I thought you were supposed to go out shopping today,” he said. “Something about finding a wedding dress.”

“That’s done,” she said.

“Done?” B. echoed. “Already? That didn’t take long.”

“No, it didn’t,” Ali agreed with a laugh. “It will probably go down as one of the shortest wedding-dress shopping excursions trips in history. We stopped by the shop Leland’s nephew recommended. I was in the fitting room trying a dress on when Leland showed up with another dress, one he’d found on a rack out front. That one turned out to be
perfect. It’s gorgeous. It’s an Amy Childs, an ivory silk sheath covered with exquisite lace that fits like a glove. The wonderful thing is, I already have a pair of shoes that will work with it perfectly.”

“Did you send me a picture?” B. asked.

“No, I did not. The groom isn’t supposed to see the dress until the wedding, remember?”

“I wouldn’t think you’d turn into such a stickler for all those niggling details,” B. said.

“They’re not niggling details,” Ali countered. “They’re traditions. I told you when I said yes that if we were going to do this, we were going to do it right, but if you really want to see the dress, you can Google Amy Childs.”

“That’s okay. I wouldn’t want to violate any serious taboos. What else is new?”

“Well,” Ali said after a pause, “we have a new client. I just sent Stu a list of what I need him to do.”

“A new client? For High Noon? How is that possible? You’re supposed to be on vacation with Leland Brooks.”

“I am, and Leland Brooks is the new client,” Ali replied. “His father died weeks after he left home to come to the States. There was bad blood between Leland and his older brothers, especially one named Langston. When Langston notified Leland of their father’s death, he didn’t give out any of the details. Years later, when Leland’s mother died as well, the estrangement was still in effect. We know when they died—I took photos of both headstones. What Leland wants to know is where they died and why. Since Jonah, the father, was only in his fifties at the time of his death, there could have been some underlying health issue that Leland knew nothing about.”

“If you gave Stu their dates of birth and death, he should be able to run with it. Once he gets into the right database, he’ll have answers for you in a matter of minutes. But couldn’t Leland just ask his nephew, the one who met you at the airport?”

“The problem is Langston, the problem brother, was Jeffrey’s grandfather, and Leland doesn’t want to step on his toes.”

“What was behind this brotherly feud if it still carries weight all these years later, the fact that Leland is gay?”

“Yes,” Ali said. “To hear the redoubtable Maisie and Daisy talk, being gay in Bournemouth in the twenty-first century still isn’t all that cool. There was a whole lot of tsk-tsking from them about Jeffrey and Charles, and I suspect that’ll go into overdrive this summer when the two of them show up with their new baby in tow.”

“So having you there to play backup with Leland’s relatives is still a good thing?”

“I’ll say,” Ali answered. “So how are things on your end?”

She heard the buzz of an incoming call. “Oops,” he said. “I need to take this.”

“Bye,” she said to an empty phone, and then lay there on the bed staring at it and wondering what kind of call would be coming in that B. would have to take in the middle of the night and in the middle of a call to her. She was still sitting with her phone in her hand puzzling about that when an e-mail showed up from Stu:

I found what you were looking for. The mother’s case is pretty cut-and-dried. Adele Mathison Brooks died in Cheltenham Royal Hospital, July 23, 1968, of a heart attack. The problem is the father. Jonah Andrew Brooks died October 1, 1954, as a result of blunt force trauma. His death was and is considered an unsolved homicide. Records from back then have not been uploaded to any computerized databases. If you want to know more, you’ll probably need to pay an in-person visit
.

Ali stared at the words as if willing them to dissolve on the screen and turn into something else. Though this was not news that she wanted to give Leland, she didn’t give herself a chance to think about
dodging the issue. Instead, she hopped off the bed, went straight through the sitting room, and tapped on Leland’s door. “Come on out,” she said. “We need to talk.”

Leland sat bolt upright on the chair, looking out to sea while Ali read Stu’s brief e-mail. She glanced up at him when she finished. “You suspected something like this, didn’t you?”

Leland closed his eyes for a moment, then he nodded. “At the time I never really considered the idea of homicide. I assumed it was something else—some sudden health issue or else . . .”

“Or else what?” Ali asked.

“You have to take the times into consideration,” Leland said with a sigh. “This was a small town back then. I was convinced that the shame of having a homosexual for a son had caused my father to commit suicide.”

“But you never asked?”

Leland shook his head. “It wasn’t like it is today. You couldn’t get news from all over the world with a simple click of a button, and I was so wounded at the idea of having been disowned that I couldn’t bring myself to ask any questions. Besides, whom would I ask? My mother had already told me that she wanted nothing more to do with me.”

“Your mother told you that herself?”

“Through Langston,” Leland said. “He was the messenger.”

“Do you recall exactly what was said?”

Instead of answering, Leland stood up and left the room. He returned, carrying an envelope that he handed over to Ali. The ink on the outside had faded away to almost nothing. Ali was able to make out the words: “In care of Anna L.” That and the words “California, USA.” Inside the envelope she found a piece of simple stationery with a handwritten note. Protected from light damage by the layer of envelope, that ink was completely legible. The note was dated November 1, 1954.

I regret to inform you that our father passed away suddenly a little over a month after your abrupt departure from Bournemouth
.
He took the news of your vile behavior very badly. Before his death, he and Mother made arrangements to remove you from their lives as well as from their wills. As you can imagine, this has been a most hurtful process for both of them, and Mother entreats you to make no further attempts to contact her in the future
.

Sincerely
,

Langston

“Langston was an asshole!” Ali exclaimed.

To her surprise, Leland laughed outright at her blurted comment—a regretful laugh rather than a hearty one. “That’s certainly calling a spade a spade.”

“And what’s this about vile behavior?” Ali asked. “You told me you and Thomas hadn’t gotten around to doing anything.”

Leland nodded. “That’s true. We hadn’t, but if Langston was carrying tales to our father, as I have no doubt he did, he probably neglected to mention what he and Frances were up to. What they were doing when Thomas and I stumbled across them was a bit more risqué than a bit of snogging.”

“Tell me about your brother,” Ali said.

Leland looked off into space a moment before he answered. “Langston always thought he was smarter by half than anyone else. He’s the only one in our generation who went to university. He always saw himself as something of a gentleman, and he married well. Frances was a plain-looking girl, but she had some money of her own, which, to my way of thinking, made up for her looks and was most likely her main attraction as far as Langston was concerned. My father was an entrepreneur with a farm just north of Bournemouth and a print shop in town. When Father died, the farm went to Langston, and Lawrence got the print shop. With the benefit of Frances’s money, I’m sure Langston was able to lark about posing as a gentleman farmer. Years later, he sold the farm so it could be turned into housing estates. I’m sure Langston made a fortune on that.”

“When your father died, there were only two sons to take into consideration,”
Ali observed. “That must have made divvying things up much easier: One got the farm; one got the shop. If you’d been around, dividing the estate would have been more complicated.”

“I suppose,” Leland agreed.

Ali stood up and reached for her purse. “I think I’m going to go for a ride,” she said.

“Where are you going?”

“To pay a surprise visit to Jordan’s-by-the-Sea and see if I can wrangle a spot of tea with one or both of your cousins.”