Superposition (18 page)

It would be months before the trial would start. There had to be all manner of preliminary hearings, and the pretrial, and the discovery process, and myriad motions by both parties, before it could begin. I had missed Jacob's first appearance in court, which occurred only two days after his arrest, and involved his arraignment and the bail argument, although on a murder charge there was no chance of him getting out on bail. The first preliminary hearing was scheduled for early in January. I insisted to Terry on the phone that I wanted to come, but he shut me down.

“You're our ace,” he said. “The prosecution has no idea what we have up our sleeve, and if we bring you out now, they'll have two months to work up a way to discredit you, or even get you barred from the trial.”

“But how can they do that?”

“I'm your attorney, remember? Trust me, the less the prosecution knows about our case for as long as possible, the more likely we are to win. The preliminary is the prosecution's show—they're on the hook to prove to the judge they have enough evidence to continue. We don't have to reveal anything we've got planned, unless I choose to in order to get evidence struck down. So be patient. Lie low, and let me do my job.”

So I lay low. I had promised my double that I would do what I could to prove his innocence, but I was no lawyer; I couldn't help with any of those things. I couldn't think of anything I could do to find my family, either, or even to confirm that they were dead. So I drank and slept and pretended I was fine and told Alessandra that tomorrow we were sure to find them.

“I know what you're going through,” Marek said on one of his rare visits. “When I lost my wife, just breathing seemed like more trouble that it was worth.”

“Your wife is still alive,” I said. “Both of your wives are still alive.”

“I expected her to come to the United States, eventually,” Marek said, ignoring me. “I was doing it all for her, sending her money, trying to save as much as I could. And she left me.”

“What are you telling me?” I asked. “That the pain will go away, in time, and I'll find someone else?”

“I'm just saying, I know what it's like,” Marek said. “It's hard. It hurts. It'll keep hurting for a while. But don't let it crush you. Get out of this room. Go do something.”

“Where am I supposed to go?”

He shrugged. “You have a daughter. Take her to a movie. Go out for ice cream. Anything.”

“I'm drinking too much, is that it?”

“It'll get better,” Marek said.

“I don't want it to,” I said.

January was even worse than December. I got news that my teaching position at the college had been filled by someone else. I heard that Elena's parents had visited my double in prison a few times, but that most of her family were keeping their distance. Of course, they all thought I was a murderer. The only family I had left was Colin and Alessandra.

“Claire would have been starting to look at colleges about now,” I told Alessandra one day. I was sitting on the bed, flipping through pictures on my phone.

“Who cares?” she said.

“What?”

“Who cares? Claire's dead. Everybody knows that but you.”

I put the phone down. “Don't say that.”

“If they're not dead, then where are they?”

“I don't know where they are. Maybe they are dead. But it doesn't mean we stop caring about them. Claire was your sister. She was pretty and smart and kind, and now she's gone. Maybe she's dead and maybe not, but she was a special person, and I miss her.”

“Claire?” Alessandra shouted. Tears were streaming down her face. “All you talk about is Claire and Sean and Mom. What about me? I'm
alive
. I'm
here
.”

“I know,” I said, bewildered by her outburst. “But I miss them. Don't you understand that?”

She turned away. “Yeah, I understand.”

“Alessandra,” I said.

She stomped up the stairs. “I know. Just forget it.”

I knew I should go after her. That's what a good father would do, but I didn't have the energy, and didn't know what to say. My head was pounding. I picked up the phone again and flipped to the next picture of Claire.

Finally, Colin told me we would have to leave the safe house. “Too many people have seen you here,” he said. “The church leaders are getting nervous.”

“Where am I supposed to go?” I asked.

“I know people,” Colin said. “I can help the two of you get new identities. Go to the West Coast, find a quiet spot, get a job, and try to start over. There's nothing left for you here.”

“I can't do that. What about the trial?” I asked.

“What about it?”

“I can't just leave.”

“Yes, you can. If they need you, you can come back for a few days. In the meantime, you need to find a new life.”

Alessandra came over and touched my arm. I saw that she had already packed a bag with the clothes Marek had brought from our house. “Come on, Dad,” she said.

“I'm not ready,” I said.

“Yes, you are,” Colin said. “It's time. You need to see people. Life goes on.”

I stood and turned my back on them. “Why does everyone insist that I move on? Am I supposed to forget my wife and kids? Act as if they never existed?”

“You have a daughter,” Colin said. “She needs you.”

I shook my head. “I can't.”

“So what are you going to do?” Alessandra asked, her voice breaking. “Live in a basement forever? Mom and Claire and Sean didn't make it, but we did. We're alive. You're alive. So live.”

I turned back to face her, feeling more exhausted than ever in my life before. “I can't do it, Alessandra.”

“Then what?” she asked. “What does that mean, you can't do it? Are you going to kill yourself? If so, then get on with it. I'm tired of you.”

“Don't talk to me that way,” I said.

“Or what? Are you going to ground me? Take my allowance? You can barely get out of bed. I hate you.”

I could feel the heat rising. “Hold your tongue. What would Mom think, if she heard you talking like that?”

“I hate you,” she said. “You never loved me. It was always Claire, Claire, Claire.”

“That's crazy. Of course I love you.”

“Then show it,” she said. “Take me away from here.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but something was blocking my throat, and before I knew it, I started to cry. It started as a kind of hiccup, then burst out of my throat in strangled sobs. It made me feel ashamed and weak and ridiculous, and I knew it was partly the alcohol, but I couldn't help it. They just stood there and watched me until I got under control.

“I can't,” I finally said. “Don't you see? I can't leave. They might still be here somewhere. Maybe it's crazy, but it just might be true. How can I go to the West Coast when it still might be true?”

Alessandra stared at me, and it wasn't disgust in her eyes, as I had feared, but compassion. She nodded slightly, but her eyes were still determined. “So figure it out,” she said. “Solve the puzzle. You're supposed to be so smart. Find out what happened to Mom and Claire and Sean. Or track down the varcolac, and we'll kill it. Just let's get out of this basement and
do
something.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I said.

“Okay?”

“You're right,” I said. “We'll do it.”

CHAPTER 22

DOWN-SPIN

“The defense calls Marek Svoboda to the stand,” Terry said.

Marek took the stand in a suit and tie that I had never seen him wear before. He gave his name, took his oath on the Bible, and sat down.

“What is your relationship to my client?” Terry asked.

Marek explained that he was married to Elena's sister Ava and answered a few more questions about his background.

“What time did you meet Mr. Kelley on the morning of December third?”

“It was about nine o'clock,” Marek said.

“And what did you plan to do?”

“His friend Brian had come over to the house the night before. He said and did some strange things and took a shot at Elena. Jacob wanted to go to the NJSC and try to find out what was going on.”

“Did he say anything about wanting to kill Mr. Vanderhall?”

“No.”

“What about wanting to hurt him or make him pay or anything like that?”

“No.”

“So, you met him at nine o'clock in the morning,” Terry said. “On December third. Five hours after the prosecution's witness says Mr. Vanderhall was killed. Is that right?”

“That's right,” Marek said.

“So, if my client had killed Mr. Vanderhall, he would have to have driven back from New Jersey in time to meet you at nine o'clock, and then drive with you back to New Jersey again. Why would he do that?”

“He wouldn't, if he was the killer,” Marek said.

“Objection.” Haviland stood. “Speculation.”

“Sustained and stricken,” Judge Roswell said.

Terry nodded. “When he got in the car with you at nine o'clock, were his shoes bloody?”

“Nope.”

“Did he have a gun in his pocket, that you could see?”

“Nope.”

“Did you tell the police this, Mr. Svoboda?”

“Yes.”

“Did they believe you?”

Haviland stood. “Speculation again, your Honor.”

“Sustained,” the judge said. “Mr. Sheppard, please stick to the witness's direct experiences.”

“I'm sorry, Your Honor. I'll rephrase,” Terry said. “When the police interviewed you, did they say whether they believed you or not?”

“They said they didn't believe me,” Marek said. “They kept pushing, asking the same questions over and over again, asking me if I was an accomplice.”

“And were you?”

“Was I what?”

“Were you an accomplice? Did you help Jacob Kelley kill Mr. Vanderhall or cover it up?”

“No.”

“All right, Mr. Svoboda. When you arrived at the NJSC, where was the first place you went?”

“To Mr. Vanderhall's office.”

“Why did you go there? Surely you didn't expect to find him in such an obvious place, with the police searching for him.”

“Jacob wanted to see if he could find anything that would tell him about Mr. Vanderhall's research,” Marek said. “Anything that could explain what Mr. Vanderhall had done in his house.”

“And did he find anything?”

“Yes. He found a suicide note.”

The courtroom exploded in buzzing. Haviland jumped to his feet, objecting loudly.

“Your Honor, this is the first I have heard of any such document,” Haviland said.

“I have no document to submit as evidence,” Terry said smoothly. “I am merely asking the witness for his recollection of the events of that day.”

“It's hearsay, then,” Haviland said, but the judge raised her hand before Terry could respond.

“I'll allow it, Mr. Sheppard,” she said. “But you're walking a fine line.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Terry said.

Haviland looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. There was no possible way he and his team could have seen it coming. I hadn't told anyone about Brian's letter, and I didn't have it anymore, since the varcolac had destroyed it.

“A suicide note?” Terry said. “Could you describe it for us?”

“Yes, sir. It was in an envelope with Jacob's name on it, so he felt perfectly within his rights to open and read it.”

“Do you remember what the note said?” Terry asked.

“Yes, clearly,” Marek said.

“Tell us, to the best of your recollection.”

“It said, ‘I should have told you about this in person, but I didn't have the nerve. I think it's for the best this way. You're smart; you'll figure it out. Say goodbye to Cathie for me. Brian.'”

I noticed that Marek had left out the “maybe someday you'll join me” line, which we hadn't understood at the time. I was pretty sure I knew what that meant now. At the time he wrote it, Brian still thought that the varcolacs were going to make him a god, immortal and with all their powers. He was expecting to be missing, not dead, and he thought I could read the notes on his smartpad and figure out where he'd gone, maybe even contact the varcolacs myself and join him. He didn't expect to turn up dead.

“Did you actually read the note yourself, or did Mr. Kelley read it to you?” Haviland asked.

“I read it myself,” Marek said. “It was handwritten on password-protected smart paper.”

“And Jacob knew the password?”

“He figured it out. It was some number that was important in quantum physics.”

“So it was clear that Mr. Vanderhall wanted Mr. Kelley to get this note?”

Haviland shot up. “Objection. The witness can have no knowledge of the victim's intentions, or even that he wrote the note.”