Somewhere Over Lorain Road, page 21
“Yeah, they’re good. I’m lucky to have them. If you’re going to die of cancer, you might as well be comfortable. I guess that’s all I can ask for. How’s your work going?”
“Not bad,” he said, remembering the conversation with his client the other day when he told them he was withdrawing from the account. They begged him to reconsider, whipping together a conference call with the CEO and promising a healthy but unspecified bump in his hourly rate, but he said they could find younger, hungrier marketing analysts for a lot less. He’d managed the company’s social media for six years, and it was time for fresh blood. After he hung up, he was down to three accounts and seriously considering his options on those.
He looked at the books on his dad’s table, and an idea suddenly popped into his head. “Would you be interested in watching some movies or something? I can get you a tablet to play them.”
His dad looked intrigued by the offer. “I wouldn’t know how to work something like that.”
“It’s super easy, Dad. I could set it all up for you so you’d only have to touch one icon and type in the title of what you want to watch. I promise you’ll have no problem with it.”
“Could I watch some documentaries, too?”
“Yeah. Tons of them.” He stood, wondering why this hadn’t occurred to him before. “I’ll head out now to buy one.”
“Have your mother give you the money.”
“Okay, will do.”
Within two hours, his dad held a tablet with two icons on the display that Don labeled “Movies and TV” and “Documentaries.” In addition to buying the tablet, Don also paid for six streaming subscriptions and consolidated the search features, so his dad only needed to punch in the title or category once. He left him sitting up in bed, scrolling through the options, amazed by so many choices.
His mother dealt with bills and a checkbook at the kitchen table. “I checked with your brothers. They can both make it tomorrow night for dinner, so ask your friend. Bruce, I mean.”
Surprised again at her determination to meet Bruce, he sent off a text. Within in a minute, Bruce replied: Terrific!
“Okay, we’re on for tomorrow, Mom.” He felt a beat of anxiety but pushed it away.
“Great. I’ll make a nice pork roast.”
Don joined his mom at the table, opening his laptop to type out his thoughts about the murders, now that Hank was in the clear and he’d chased down every other lead. He wrote a short argument naming Tom Malicheski as the killer. He was surprised the case against Tom was stronger than he thought. Short of finding the Polaroid photos or the clothes, he had no way to connect the crimes to anyone, but he liked Tom as the killer.
He suddenly realized he might know a way to get physical evidence implicating Tom. He opened his web browser and typed in Tom’s name, getting several links to sites that detailed the crimes of serial killers. He clicked, and a picture of Tom blipped on the screen. Don felt a stab of ancient hatred. The photo was taken just after Tom’s sentencing, and he wore the same vacant smile, unconcerned with the anguish and turmoil he’d spread. Don checked some of the other links. Tom’s case was apparently routine, and all the web sites seemed to use the same source material.
But maybe, during the investigation after Tom’s arrest, the police in South Dakota discovered the clothes of three unknown boys, garments that reeked of sinister things. They didn’t find the photos, obviously, but it was plausible they’d arrested Tom, discovered the clothes, and didn’t know what to make of them.
Linnette arrived for her afternoon appointment, and Don joined her as she chatted with his dad, who proudly demonstrated the tablet for her.
“Don said it would be easy, and it is!” he enthused. He typed War Movies into the search field and scrolled through the choices. “I haven’t seen The Longest Day in years,” he said. “I’m going to watch it just after Bridge on the River Kwai. That’s a terrific movie, one of the best. Man’s ego blinding him to everyone else’s concerns, the search for immortality, the disregard for everything when your own accomplishments are on the line. The only problem with this tablet thingy is the volume. I can’t seem to adjust it properly.”
“I should have gotten you some headphones,” Don said. “Why don’t I run out to the store and get them right now?”
“Are you going to the mall?” Linnette asked. He nodded and she turned to his dad. “Rob, do you mind if I go with Don? You seem to be doing great today, and I need to pick up my new glasses.”
His dad lifted the tablet and said happily, “I don’t mind at all. I got a lot of watching to do.”
Don drove, and after Linnette finished praising the car interior, she said, “Your dad has really adjusted to the new dosage. I’m glad we started him on it so early. He might be able to go as long as a month or more without an increase.”
“He hasn’t asked for any morphine beyond the shot I give him after putting on the patch.”
“That’s good, but remember to give it to him whenever he wants. How have his spirits been?”
“Up and down, as usual.”
“Well, like I said, people who are good-natured maintain that up until death, at least that’s what I’ve observed. There’s no difference between how saints and sinners feel on the inside. They all get angry and feel like breaking something or spitting in someone’s face, but it’s how you deal with those emotions that counts, and your dad is a good person.”
Don shot her a look of admiration. “That was a very insightful thing to say about saints and sinners.”
“Thanks.”
The moment dropped into his lap. Now was the time to ask. If she knew about his dad, all would be well. If not, she could ask for another client if she wanted to. “Linnette, did you recognize my dad’s name when you first got him as a client?”
Her face went blank. “What do you mean?”
“I mean do you know about the rumors that have been following our family for more than forty years?”
She blinked. “Of course, Don. Everyone who was alive and thinking back then remembers what happened to the Eskers. It was disgusting.” She made a delicate high-pitched whine in her throat, like a kitten testing its voice. “Did Bruce tell you Danny was my brother?”
“Yes. He wasn’t gossiping. He just wanted me to know.”
She nodded. “I knew it would all come out when you started dating. Sometimes when I think about God, I’m not sure I believe, but I’ll always be a Christian because of my parents’ example. They were the only people in this town who had the right to be irrational about your dad, but they refused to be so unkind. It’s just the most beautiful example of Christian charity I can think of.” She went quiet for a while. “I relive what happened to Danny every day. I was only inside for a few minutes. He was right there in the front yard, and then he was gone. I tried believing an angel came and took him directly to heaven. I tried so hard to believe that, but I could never escape the fact that they found his body behind McDonald’s, and no angel scooped him away. It wouldn’t have happened if I’d been there.”
“How old were you?”
“Twelve.”
“That’s a big burden for anyone to carry around, let alone a twelve-year-old girl.”
“I’ve been carrying it my whole life.”
“Linnette, this might sound corny, but there came a point in my life when I had to make an active decision to forgive almost everyone for years of insults and put-downs. They didn’t know they were doing that to me, but they still did it, and I cleared the slate for all of them and started fresh. It was years before I realized I’d neglected to forgive someone.”
“Who?”
“Myself. All the anger and frustration of those years. I could be cruel sometimes, and thoughtless. Self-righteous. All the things other people did to me. And I took responsibility for things that weren’t mine. But I had to wipe my own slate clean. It changed a lot of things when I realized I could also forgive myself.”
“Did it work?”
“Better than I ever hoped. Give yourself a break, Linnette. You were a child and didn’t expect anything to happen to your brother. Nobody ever does, believe me.” He paused. “I know what I’m talking about.”
“Thanks,” she said softly. “I’m glad that worked for you. I can’t tell you how many people have said something similar to me, and I appreciate the thought, but I don’t even know how to begin wiping my own slate. If you can tell me how to do it, I’d love it.”
“I wish I could.”
The parchment leaves gathered in drifts outside, and the wind lifted them at the crests. They sailed and swirled, evolution’s artistry, before landing to mulch the ground. Every year for tens of millions of seasons, the cycle renewed with the stillness of certainty, oblivious to humans who build, roam, kill, and suffer. Nature’s repetition is the universe in meditation, the only tranquility. People don’t stand a chance.
He sat up with a thought. “Linnette, maybe it will help you to know I may have discovered who killed your brother and the others.”
She took a deep breath. Her expression was disbelieving, but at the same time desperate for it to be true. “You have?”
“Maybe. I still have to check on some things, but it looks good.”
“I gave up hope years ago.” Her eyes brightened with tears.
He shouldn’t have said anything, and he rushed to quell her hopes. At least he knew how to do that. “I’m working on a very thin lead. I’ve learned some things I never knew about the case, and it’s taken me on some interesting paths, but it’s more than likely that the best I will come up with is an educated guess. I doubt we can expect more than that after all these years.”
“Do you have someone in particular in mind?”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t want to say just yet.”
She seemed disappointed but was apparently used to it. “I’ve always felt if they caught him or we knew who he was, I could find some relief. It would never take away my failure to look after Danny that day, but it will settle responsibility on someone else, a person, not a phantom. That’s what I’ve been hoping for all these years. Do you know what kind of a person he was?”
“I don’t know if he was the killer,” he reminded her. “I actually knew him a little back then but not very well. I have only the roughest outline of his life, so I can’t say what made him tick. I can tell you he was as evil a person as I’ve ever set eyes on.”
She looked out the window. “Obviously anyone who could do what he did must be evil, but that’s not the main thing to know about him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve thought about this a lot over the years, and the biggest thing is that he was a liar. I don’t just mean he had to tell a thousand lies to cover his crimes. I mean he was a fake, through and through. He didn’t fool the people closest to him, but a lot of people were taken in. I always knew if I found someone whose whole life was based on a lie, he’d be the one who did it.”
It was a powerful insight, he realized. She was most likely correct, and it almost certainly applied to Tom, acting normal to lure desperate women into the cab of his truck for the final moments of their lives. Linnette was describing that very degree of dishonesty, but it was too soon to share his theory with her.
That night after he cleaned the kitchen, Don carried spaghetti and meatballs to the Tedesco home. As usual, Billy greeted him wordlessly at the door, his eyes pleading for his friendship. Don wondered whether to tell him that he’d met his son but didn’t see the point. Don handed him the containers and turned to leave.
“Donnie?” Chief Tedesco called.
Shit. “Yes, Chief Tedesco?”
“Can you come in here for a minute? I need your help with something.”
Shit, shit, shit. He stepped inside and a black picture frame, already split at the joints, crunched underfoot. A group of about twenty young men in white Navy uniforms and hats looked out from behind a web of cracked glass, a young Chief Tedesco among them. Don remembered Billy’s mom pointing him out in this very picture, but like most photos of groups of men in uniform, they looked identical.
“Watch where you walk,” the chief said. “My son, the pride of North Homestead, had a little fit yesterday.” As Billy carried the containers to the kitchen, the chief motioned to the living room, strewn with the shattered remains of his Navy SEAL memorabilia. Divots dented the plaster where the mementos had hit the walls.
“What happened?”
“It’s the head wound. They said it would make him crazy at times, but he was always that way. If he’d had any sense at all, he’d have used his temper to make a decent living. There are plenty of ways for men to do that. But Billy wasted his anger on bar fights and women. Useless shit.” He shrugged. “Well, it’s been that way forever. Weak men outnumber the strong twenty to one, but all the heavy lifting falls on our shoulders. I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Billy’s silhouette, just behind his father, listened to every word.
“I’m not interested, Chief,” Don snapped. “What is it you want?”
“Over there.” He pointed. “In the corner behind that table. I can’t reach it. My SEAL insignia medal.”
Don stepped around the debris and crouched. He picked up a gold object he recognized as the central object of the SEAL wall display. He’d never really looked at it. It was a heavy pin featuring an American eagle whose wings were braced to land atop an artfully designed gathering of an anchor, a trident, and a musket.
He gave it to the chief, who looked relieved.
Don was leaving when the chief said, “Hang on a minute. I have something important to say.” He held up the gold pin. “My son shattered the frame. The rest of this junk,” he waved and shrugged, “it’s just display stuff, something for guys to put on their walls and impress people, but that never mattered to me.” Don remembered awestruck visitors responding to the objects as if they were in church while the chief beamed. “But this is my SEAL insignia medal, the one I got when I graduated from training.”
The chief breathed a light dew across its golden surface and rubbed it to a shine with a finger that tented his T-shirt. “I need to have it reframed. It needs to be in the exact center of a red velvet-lined shadow box, a square foot, sticking out an inch or two. The mounts have to be solid gold to match the medal. Polished wood frame, but a hardwood. Cherry. Teak. Ash. Something nice. It’s going into the ground with me, in my arm.” He held it up to Don. “I hate to let it out of my sight, but I need you to take it to that frame shop on Lorain Road, the one near the furniture store. I don’t care what it costs.”
“That frame shop closed years ago,” Don said, not taking the medal.
The chief looked surprised. “Okay. I’m sure there’s another frame shop around.” Don didn’t move. The chief lowered the pin to his lap. “It’s not too much to ask. I’ll throw in a hundred bucks on top for your trouble. I know you’re loaded, but a hundred bucks is a hundred bucks.”
A previously inconceivable idea came to him. “That’s not enough. I’ll take the hundred bucks because it will be a hassle, but you can make the rest of your payment with information.”
The chief looked cautious. “What kind of information?”
“I want to know everything about those murders. I want my dad to die in peace. Right now, he can’t because of how badly you mismanaged that case, but you can make it up to him now.”
“We cleared your dad. His alibi held up.”
Don ticked his tongue, shaking his head. “The suspicion has followed him ever since, and you know it. People remember. I want to find the killer. That’s the only way to clear his name.”
“You can’t find the killer. He’s long gone. It’s the one thing I regret more than anything else, that he got away from us.” His face hardened, and his voice cut through the air. “He killed my son. The smart one. Eddie would have made something of himself. Nobody wanted to find him more than I did.”
Don glanced at Billy’s shadow again, still listening.
Fuming, Don replied, “You’re wrong about that, and I’m going to find him.”
“Okay, it’s a deal, but I’ll need some time to remember. Dust off the cobwebs. It all happened a million years ago. Bring this back framed the way I told you, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
Don closed his fist around the medal. The points pressed like needles. “You’re not getting this back until I get all the information I want.”
Billy shuffled into the light. “Don,” he said. Don waited for him to finish, but the chief growled, “Go serve our dinner.”
Billy stepped past the wheelchair. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Don looked into the living room and shrugged. “Don’t apologize to me, Billy. I don’t care.”
“That’s right,” the chief said. “How about telling me you’re sorry?”
Billy ran his eyes over the debris. He shook his head quickly. “No. The recreation center.” His features went tight. “I’m sorry.”
It’s the classy thing to do.
The memory of the bell rang in Don’s ears. Images raced: dental surgery, chest casts for a broken rib, a bedside table of white pill bottles. Billy’s hair flying, with a trim of white light. The pain, the humiliation, the way Billy flipped him the bird the first time they saw each other afterward.
I’ll never say it. Shut up.
Billy took another tentative step. His lower lip trembled and his eyes glinted.
“What the hell are you talking about?” the chief said.
Forgiveness heals, he’d told Linnette just a few hours ago.
Don could only nod, slightly, and Billy’s face went wide with hope.
Don left. He felt nothing.
The next day, Bruce arrived an hour before the others were expected. Don was surprised he was so nervous about introducing Bruce to his family. This was a new and important step. He was sure everyone would be perfectly civil, but would they like Bruce? Would Bruce like them? He’d never faced these issues before. He was fifty-three years old, and as nervous as a teenager introducing his prom date.
