The Dells (41 page)

“Redemption, Hal. It's the only way.”

“And if I refuse?”

“If you won't save yourself,” Cartwright had said, “I will have to do it for you.”

He could have hung up, of course, and taken his chances. After all, the old man hadn't exactly had all his oars in the water, had he? But even if the police hadn't taken him seriously, they would have been obliged to reopen the old Black Creek rape/homicide case. And while Hal hadn't raped or murdered anyone, that wouldn't have mattered a jot to Jerry Renfrew, to whom appearances were paramount. At the merest whiff of scandal, Jerry would have cut Hal loose “faster than you could say ‘family values,'” as Gord Peters had put it. Hal would have kissed his job, his promotion, and the “Oscar” goodbye.

So, instead of hanging up, Hal had agreed to meet him …

Hal raised his head at the sound of a car pulling into the drive. Peering through the high window over the workbench, he saw his brother help his sister out of his father's car. Oh, shit, he groaned. What do they want? He heard the doorbell ring and Maureen's tread on the carpet as she went to answer the door.

Maureen's car was parked in the driveway. Shoe parked beside it, then went round to the passenger side and opened the door for Rachel.

“Do you think she's changed her mind about leaving?” Rachel asked as Shoe helped her out of the car.

“I don't know,” Shoe replied. For Hal's sake, he hoped so.

Shoe helped Rachel up the walk to the front door and pressed the bell. A moment later, Maureen opened the door. There were three sealed cardboard cartons and two green plastic garbage bags stacked in the front hall. Rachel and Maureen exchanged hugs and sisterly kisses.

“You're serious about moving out then?” Rachel said.

“Yes,” Maureen replied. Looking down, she said, “What happened to your feet?”

“Didn't Hal tell you about last night?”

“No. What about last night? What happened?”

“Is Hal here?” Shoe asked.

“He's downstairs, in his workshop. What happened last night?” Maureen asked insistently.

Shoe left Rachel to explain and went downstairs. Hal's basement workshop was behind the family room Hal had built for the family he and Maureen had never had, and likely never would. It appeared to be equipped with every hand and power tool known to man. “If Stanley or Black & Decker makes it,” Maureen had once said to him, “Hal owns it, sometimes two or three.” Shoe could believe it.

Hal sat on a stool before a long Formica-topped workbench, spine bent, great stomach sagging, a compartmentalized plastic container the size of a large pizza box in front of him. He was lackadaisically sorting assorted screws and plastic anchors into the compartments of the container.

“You don't look any worse for your ordeal,” Shoe said to him.

Hal looked up from his sorting. “Do you want something? Or did you just come here to remind me what a big hero you are?”

Shoe tried to ignore the bitterness in his brother's voice, but was stung by it nonetheless. “What happened between us, Hal?” he asked. “When did we stop being friends?”

“We were never friends,” Hal said. “Just brothers.” He went on with his sorting, yellow plastic anchors in one compartment, red in another, white in another.

“That's not true,” Shoe said. “Once upon a time we were much more than ‘just brothers.' I'm no hero, Hal, but I used to think you were one. Rachel thought so, too.”

Hal snorted.

“You used to stand up for us, Hal. Both of us. Do you remember when I was ten and accidentally released
the handbrake while playing in Dad's car and smashed in the garage door? You took the blame for me.”

“I don't remember that,” Hal said, but Shoe could tell from the look in his eyes that he did.

“I've never forgotten it. And when Rae was seven you walked her to school for a month because some kids were teasing her about having her head shaved.”

“That I remember,” Hal said. Shoe's father had been painting the kitchen cupboards when Rachel had run into the room and bumped the ladder, upsetting a gallon of white oil-based paint over her head.

“So what happened?” Shoe said.

“You grew up,” he said with a shrug. “What's that old saying about gods with feet of clay? You realized I wasn't perfect.”

“I hate to break this to you, Hal,” Shoe said, “but I don't think either of us ever thought of you as perfect. We admired you, looked up to you, but we knew you weren't perfect. No one is.”

“Everyone seems to think you are,” Hal said.

“Well, everyone is wrong, believe me.”

“Oh, I believe you.” Hal said. “Is that what you came here for, to remind me that I'm a loser? I don't need you to tell me that.”

“You're hardly a loser, Hal,” Shoe said. “You have a successful career, a nice house in a good neighbourhood, and a wife who, if you'll let her, loves you.” All of which, Shoe reminded himself, Hal seemed determined to throw away.

“You've got Maureen now, don't you?” Hal said bitterly. “You can have the house and the job, too.”

Maybe he should just let him stew in his own juices, Shoe thought. He knew he couldn't do that, though. It wasn't an option. His brother was in trouble and Shoe would do whatever he could to help him find his way out of it, whether Hal liked it or not. But Hal wasn't making
it any easier.

“You lied about not leaving your office till midnight on Thursday,” Shoe said. “You were caught on video taking a company car out of the garage a little before 8:00 p.m. and returning a few minutes after midnight.”

“So I went for a drive.”

“The park attendant at the Dells picked you out of a photo array.”

“Like I told you yesterday,” Hal said. “He's either mistaken or lying.”

“Why would he lie?”

“Okay, so he's mistaken. I wasn't there.”

“I want to believe you, Hal, but the police have enough circumstantial evidence to get a warrant to seize your clothes and shoes, fingerprint you, and compel a DNA sample from you.”

Hal shrugged. “If you say so.”

Shoe struggled to keep his anger under control. He wanted to take his brother by the shoulders, shake some sense into that thick head of his. He came very close. He came even closer to simply turning and walking away.

“Look at me, Hal,” Shoe said. Hal turned his head, but his eyes were deeply hooded, almost unreadable. Shoe asked the question anyway. “Did you kill Marvin Cartwright?”

“What's the point in denying it,” Hal said, looking away as he said it. “You wouldn't believe me anyway.”

“Hal, if you tell me you didn't do it, I'll believe you.” Would he? Could he? The evidence against his brother, circumstantial as it was, seemed almost overwhelming, but if Hal swore to him that he hadn't killed Cartwright in those woods, Shoe would do his best to take him at his word, to ignore the nagging doubt in the back of his mind. After all, when all was said and done, Hal was his brother. But what if his best wasn't good enough?

Hal finally looked at him, and what Shoe saw in his
brother's eyes was like a knife in his soul. Hal must have also seen something in Shoe's eyes.

“You think I killed him, don't you?” he said.

“Tell me I'm wrong,” Shoe said.

“The great and powerful Shoe,” Hal said with mock astonishment. “Wrong? Can it be?” He waved his hands in the air above his head. “Repent all ye sinners, the end of the world is nigh.” He dropped his hands and returned to sorting screws and anchors.

There were footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, Rachel and Maureen came into the workshop. With bitter, mocking heartiness, Hal said, “Ladies. Join the party. My brother has just accused me of murdering Marvin the Martian. How 'bout that, eh?”

“Joe!” Maureen gasped, face registering shock.

“Oh, don't look so surprised,” Hal said. “I'm not buying your act for a minute. What about you, Rae? I can't remember the last time you were at a loss for words. Surely you must have something to say? Cat got your tongue?”

Shoe said, “This isn't helping, Hal. Tell me you didn't kill him and I'll accept it.”

“But will you believe me?”

“Don't be an idiot,” Rachel snapped. “Of course we'll believe you.”

Maureen turned to Shoe. “Why would Hal kill Mr. Cartwright?” she asked.

“This ought to be good,” Hal said.

“I don't know that you did kill him, Hal,” Shoe said. “Look at it from the point of view of the police. They have a witness that places you with Cartwright a few hours before his death. They have proof you lied about not leaving your office.”

Hal threw up his hands. “Well, there you go, then. Open and shut. I did it.”

“Oh, for god's sake, Hal,” Maureen said. “What's
wrong with you? Just tell him you didn't do it. He'll believe you.”

Hal hunched in silence over the box of screws and anchors.

“You did it, didn't you?” Rachel said. “You stupid, stupid bastard.”

Maureen sobbed, “No. Please, Hal. Tell her you didn't do it. Tell
me
you didn't. Please.”

Hal's face crumpled and a sob broke in his chest.

“Oh, god,” Maureen moaned, hunching and clamping her arms across her middle as though she had been punched in the stomach. She slumped to the hard concrete floor. Rachel knelt by her, wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “Why? Oh, god, why?” Maureen sobbed.

Hal put his face in his hands, breathing heavily and noisily through his nose. Then he raised his head from his hands. He looked from Maureen to Rachel to Shoe. His eyes were tormented, like those of a coyote caught in the steel jaws of a leghold trap, too weak and close to death to chew a leg off to escape. He looked down at Maureen.

“I'm sorry,” he said. Maureen moaned. Hal lifted his gaze to Shoe.
Don't make me do this
, his eyes pleaded.
Please
.

Shoe's throat was tight, as if he were being strangled by an invisible hand. He desperately wanted be somewhere else, anywhere but in that cramped, musty space, surrounded by the useless devices of his brother's life. Black & Decker wasn't going to be able to fix this mess, he thought, as tears rolled down his brother's pale, sagging cheeks.

“I didn't go there with the intention of killing him,” Hal said, forcing the words out, voice strained almost to breaking. “God, if only … ” He shook his head. “He was obsessed with the idea of atonement. Of making things right with everyone he'd failed. His mother. Ruth
Braithwaite. Joey Noseworthy. Janey Hallam. Me. And … ” He hesitated, took a deep, unsteady breath, then let it out. “And Marty,” he said.

“Marty?” Rachel said. “What does she …?” She paled. “Oh, shit.”

“He told me I had to go to the police and tell them about — about what happened, that it was the only way I could atone for — for what I'd done. And that if I didn't, he would. I … ” He looked at Maureen. “We'd have been ruined, Moe. We'd have lost everything.” He fell silent for a moment, eyes half closed. “I tried to talk him out of it,” he said. “Make him see reason. But I couldn't get through to him.”

“So you beat him to death with a goddamned tree branch,” Rachel said, with savage intensity.

“I didn't mean to. I'd picked up a branch to use as a walking stick. It was in my hands. I hit him with it. And just kept on hitting him until — until I thought he was dead. I couldn't let him destroy our lives because of a silly mistake I'd made thirty-five years ago.”

“A silly mistake,” Rachel repeated bitterly. “Is that what you call it. Goddamnit, Hal. She was just a little kid.”

“It wasn't like that,” Hal said. “I — ”

“I don't want to hear it,” Rachel snapped, cutting him off. “You can't rationalize pedophilia.”

“I'm not a pedophile,” Hal cried. “Jesus, Rae.”

“What do you call it, then?”

“I didn't molest her. Not — not like you're thinking. I was sneaking a smoke in the woods when I saw her collecting bugs in a peanut butter jar. ‘It's not safe to be in the woods alone,' I told her. When she asked me why not, I said, ‘That teacher from the junior high school was raped near here.'

“‘Mr. Cartwright said a friend of his was hurt by some man,' she said. ‘Was that her?' I said I supposed
it was. She just shrugged and continued down the path toward the old tree across the bend in the creek. I followed her. Just to keep an eye on her. When she got to the tree, she turned to me and said, ‘Do you want to play a game?'

“‘What kind of game?' I asked.

“‘Give me some money and I'll show you my weewee,' she said.

“I was totally dumbfounded. Dougie Hallam had told me he'd given her money to masturbate him, but I hadn't believed him, any more than I'd believed him about Janey. But then she giggled and I realized she was just teasing me again.”

“What do you mean, again?” Rachel said.

Hal shook his head. “It doesn't matter. Anyway, I thought I'd teach her a lesson. I asked her, ‘How much?' She said, ‘Five dollars.' I said, ‘For five dollars you've got to do more than show me your wee-wee. How about you pretend my thing is a lollipop?'”

Rachel made a sound of disgust deep in her throat. Maureen looked as though she were going to throw up. Shoe just wanted his brother to stop talking, but he seemed compelled to continue.

“She didn't want to do it, of course,” Hal said. “She offered to let me touch her, but I said for five dollars, I expected more than that. She finally agreed to masturbate me and let me touch her vagina. ‘Gimme the money,' she said.”

“‘Uh-uh,' I said. ‘You first.' I showed her the money, but I wouldn't give it to her. She looked scared.”