Salem Falls Part 31

"Yeah." The second man laughed. "But what a way to die!"

A m.u.f.fled chuckle. "Well, you know. You come ... and go."

Jack's head rose slowly. He walked out of the bedroom, pus.h.i.+ng past the two surprised men. In the living room, he located his mother. "Can I speak to you?"

"Just a second, sweetheart," Annalise said.

"No. Now." Now."

Jack didn't hear what excuse she made, but she followed him to his father's library, a rich russet room with wall-to-wall bookshelves. "What is so important that it can't wait until after your father's funeral?" Annalise demanded.

"How did he die?"

"I told you. He had a heart attack. The doctors said it came on suddenly."

Jack took a step forward. "Mom," he said quietly. "How did he die?"

She looked at him for a long minute. "Your father had a heart attack. On top of a prost.i.tute."

"He what?" what?"

"I would rather a.s.sume that the people here do not know. I may be fooling myself, but in the unlikely event that they haven't yet heard, I'd like to keep this information private."

"Dad wouldn't do that." Jack shook his head, rooted in denial. "He loved loved you." you."

Annalise touched his cheek. "Not enough."

As a kid in New York City, Jack had been repeatedly warned by his mother to stay out of this part of the town, because you were likely to leave it knifed, mugged, or in a body bag. The taxi pulled up in front of an apartment building that might have been dumped into a run-down section of any city. Annalise paid the cab driver and swept up the pitted sidewalk as if she were entering a castle.

He did not understand his mother. Jack couldn't even forgive his father yet, much less visit the prost.i.tute he'd been f.u.c.king when he died. He wondered with a mild curiosity how his mother planned to get past the first hurdle: a locked front door. But she only rang the buzzer beneath the apartment number she'd been given and said clearly into the speaker, "I'm here about Joseph." Immediately, the door buzzed open.

The woman was waiting for them when they climbed to the third floor-thin, worn, with red hair that came out of a bottle. Her hands twisted in front of her, as if she were pulling invisible taffy. The moment she saw Jack, her mouth rounded into a silent O. "You ... you look like him."

Jack turned away, pretending to study the peeling paint on the hallway walls.

His mother stepped forward. "h.e.l.lo," she said, holding out her hand. Even after years of working with underprivileged women, Jack couldn't understand how she was managing to make this look easy. "I'm Annalise St. Bride."

The woman blinked rapidly. "You're A," A," she said. she said.

"I beg your pardon?"

Remembering herself, the woman blushed and stepped back. "Please come in."

The entire apartment could have fit inside the living room of the penthouse in which Jack had grown up. They stood uncomfortably in the living room-a nook, really, with a battered floral couch and a television. Is this where they did it? Is this where they did it? Jack wondered, his throat burning to shout that he hated this woman, hated her place, hated that she had stolen his father away. With someone like his mother at home, Jack wondered, his throat burning to shout that he hated this woman, hated her place, hated that she had stolen his father away. With someone like his mother at home, this this was what his father had run to? was what his father had run to?

"I thought about calling you," the woman confessed. "But I couldn't get up the nerve. He left something here ... Joseph."

She reached into a drawer and pulled out his father's gold Rolex. Annalise took it and smoothed the engraved words on the back: To J, forever. Love, A. To J, forever. Love, A.

Jack read over her shoulder. He snorted. "Forever."

"It's kind of you to return this to me," Annalise said, lifting her chin. "More like she was going to steal it until you showed up," Jack muttered.

"Jack," his mother warned sharply. "Miss ..."

"Rose. Just Rose."

"Rose, then. I came here to thank you."

"You ... you wanted to thank me?" me?"

"The paramedics said you wouldn't leave his side. If I ... couldn't be with him when this happened, then I'm glad someone else was." Annalise nodded, as if a.s.suring herself that she'd said the right thing. "Did he come ... often?"

"Once a week. But I wouldn't take his money. I'd slip it back in his wallet when he slept."

That was the last straw for Jack. He stepped in front of his mother, the veins in his neck and forehead pulsing. "You cheap f.u.c.king wh.o.r.e! Do you think she wants to hear this? Do you think you could possibly make it any worse?"

"Jack, that's enough," enough," his mother said firmly. "I haven't laid a hand on you since you were ten, but G.o.d help me, I will. Whatever your father did was not this woman's fault. And if she made him happy, when I obviously didn't, then the last thing you should be doing is yelling at her." his mother said firmly. "I haven't laid a hand on you since you were ten, but G.o.d help me, I will. Whatever your father did was not this woman's fault. And if she made him happy, when I obviously didn't, then the last thing you should be doing is yelling at her."

Tears ran down his mother's face, and Jack was certain if he stayed there another second, his heart was going to simply explode. He gently touched his mother's cheek, felt her sorrow slip over his fingertips. "Ma," he whispered brokenly. "Let's just go."

"You made him happy."

They turned at the sound of Rose's voice, quiet as a memory. "He talked about you all the time. He said he didn't deserve someone as fine as you."

Annalise closed her eyes. "Thank you for that," she said softly.

When she blinked and looked at Rose, hard, Jack's jaw dropped. He had seen this expression before on his mother's face-the specter of a crusade. "Mom-don't."

But Annalise grasped Rose's hand. "You don't have to live like this."

"Not much call for my skills in the professional world."

"There are things you could do. Places you can start over."

"I'm not going to a shelter," Rose answered firmly.

"Then come home with me." Annalise bridged the shocked silence with words. "I need a housekeeper," she explained, although Jack knew for a fact she currently had one. "I'll pay a fair wage and offer room and board."

"I can't ...I can't live with you. Joseph-"

"-is smiling," Annalise finished.

There was a poetic justice, Jack supposed, in this prost.i.tute coming to literally clean up a mess she'd made. And this generosity of spirit was certainly nothing new for Annalise, who had a heart so wide that people tripped into it and landed square on her good faith before they realized they had been falling. Maybe it was even a selfish act of his mother's, because between herself and Rose, they couldn't help but keep Joseph's presence strong.

Then again, maybe his mother just wanted to kill Rose in her sleep.

Annalise strapped his father's watch onto her wrist, although it was too large. "Rose," she said warmly. "Meet my son."

"I am going to have to remember her every day for the rest of my life," Annalise said that evening, before Jack left to go back to school. "So I might as well get to like her."

"There's nothing to like," Jack said.

"That's not what your father thought. And I certainly approved of his first first choice." choice."

"She's not your responsibility. Mother Teresa wouldn't even have done this."

"Mother Teresa didn't have a cheating husband." Annalise's lips twitched. "When it's all over, Jack, you're remembered for what you did, not what you said you were going to do. Your father found that out too late."

Jack kissed his mother's cheek. "I want to grow up to be just like you." They were silent, both reading the subtext of what he had not not said. said.

"You will," Annalise answered. "I'm counting on it."

The cab dropped him off at his apartment shortly after eight o'clock. Even from the street, Jack could see the silhouettes in the windows, could hear the heavy drumbeat of the music. It was as if he'd never left, as if this party had been going on all weekend, in spite of the fact that his own personal world had stopped spinning.

He let himself in with the key and found Chad sitting on the couch with a few of the other guys on the team. A girl he didn't recognize was draped across Chad's lap like a knitted throw. "Hey," he said, immediately pus.h.i.+ng her aside, getting to his feet, and approaching Jack. "Sorry about your dad, man."

Jack shrugged. "Thanks. I'm just going to go hang out in my room."

Chad pressed a cold beer into his hand. "Maybe you just need to take your mind off things," he suggested pointedly.

Jack handed back the bottle. "I'm not in the mood, Chad."

"You sure?"

He started to nod, then looked at the girl, who smiled at him. "Maybe you're right."

A knowing grin spread across Chad's mouth. But he turned toward the others with a somber face. "Jack's father just pa.s.sed away."

On cue, Mandy sighed. "You poor thing."

"He could use someone to talk to," Chad hinted.

Jack felt himself go into his room, felt this girl sit down beside him and hold his hand, felt his arms go around her-all without making any of it happen. It was as if his body knew how to go through the motions and his mind didn't have to be there at all. When the tears came-hot, huge sobs that wracked his big frame-Mandy held him tight and stroked his hair. "I'm sorry," he said thickly. "I'm really sorry."

In that instant, Jack thought of Rose. He thought of the girl he'd slept with the night his father had died, and he wondered where she was and what she would remember about that experience, long after all of the team had forgotten. He imagined his mother's shelters overflowing, stuffed with women who no longer understood how to help themselves.

If he died with his next breath, what would he leave behind?

Jack lightly tugged Mandy to her feet. "Come," he said softly. He steered her into the living room, where the others looked up in surprise.

At the front door, Jack raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "You need to go home and pretend that you never came here tonight."

Chad began to curse, loudly and fluently. Jack forced himself to concentrate on the sound of this girl's retreating footsteps. They were light as snow, nearly as silent, but they crashed and swelled within him like an opera.

"Jesus!" Chad yelled the minute Jack turned around. "How the h.e.l.l could you do that?"

How couldn't I, Jack thought. Jack thought.

June 2000 Salem Falls, New Hamps.h.i.+re The blood on the victim's s.h.i.+rt was definitely the suspect's.

Matt felt a smile fight its way out from inside. "I knew knew it," he murmured. He'd met Frankie, at her request, at a 1950s-style restaurant. They sat at an outside table beneath a big green umbrella while waitresses with change counters on their belts roller-skated by to take the orders of other patrons. it," he murmured. He'd met Frankie, at her request, at a 1950s-style restaurant. They sat at an outside table beneath a big green umbrella while waitresses with change counters on their belts roller-skated by to take the orders of other patrons.

She looked up at Matt. "I know you're dying to ask ... so yeah, there was s.e.m.e.n on the swab from the thigh."

"Yes!" Matt smacked his fist onto the table, delighted. Rape cases without DNA evidence were the hardest kinds to win. Matt smacked his fist onto the table, delighted. Rape cases without DNA evidence were the hardest kinds to win.

"Let me finish." Frankie c.o.c.ked her head. "What do you remember about DNA?"

"It couldn't nail O. J."

"Other than that?"

"Well ...it's why I have ten toes," Matt answered.

"And, no doubt, that razor-sharp mind," Frankie said dryly. "Did you even pa.s.s biology in high school?"

"I was a wordsmith, not a scientist."

"Okay. Basic genetics: everything about you came from your mom and your dad. She gives you one allele, he gives you another ... and that's why you wind up with blue eyes or good teeth or dangling earlobes."

"Or excessive charm," Matt added.

"Well, sometimes you get the short end of the straw," Frankie sympathized. "Anyway, all those traits are on the DNA molecule, which is microscopically over six feet long. But for forensic purposes, you don't care if someone has dangling earlobes. So I test eight areas that the general public has no idea about-like TPOX or CSF1P0. Every person is going to have a 'type' at those areas-two alleles ... one from Mom and one from Dad."

Matt nodded, and glanced at Frankie's results.

[image]

Item CSF 1P0.

TPOX.

100.

12, 12.

8,11.