It was a supremely unpleasant ride, one of the worst I’ve ever had to endure, and that includes the 350-mile trip from New York City to Waterfield that I took with my mother at age five, when we had to pull over every twenty minutes so I could throw up.
I didn’t get carsick this time, in spite of driving with my back to traffic. It was probably because I was too worried about where we were going and what would happen when we got there to have time to think about anything else. Not to mention that I was worried about Brandon. I couldn’t risk examining him, for fear that Lionel would notice me. And he couldn’t talk, but every time the car went over a bump in the road, he groaned. I hated to think what the drive was doing to him; maybe he had internal injuries, maybe Lionel had shot him and he was slowly bleeding to death. Whatever was wrong with him, it didn’t sound good.
And where was Derek? Hopefully he had realized I was inside the van and was following us. Hopefully he had called Wayne to report what had happened. Hopefully the police were closing in on us even now. Hopefully they’d reach us before Lionel murdered us both. He didn’t have much to lose at this point, if indeed he had killed Holly and Venetia, as I thought he must have. There was no doubt that he’d abducted Brandon, and I didn’t think it was so he could bring him to a surprise party. If he planned to kill Brandon, and I thought he’d have to, he likely wouldn’t have any qualms about killing me.
I had no idea where we were going, and I couldn’t raise my head up high enough to look out the front window, for fear that Lionel would notice me. The back of the paneled van had no windows. The road we drove on felt smooth, paved, but beyond that, I had no idea whether we were going east or west, north or south. Toward the coast or away from it. Occasionally I’d hear the humming of another car passing by, coming closer then fading, but other than that, I didn’t hear a thing.
I also couldn’t tell how much time had passed. I’m not good at telling time without a clock. A couple of months ago, I’d been locked in an underground tunnel with a rotting corpse for fifteen hours, and it had felt like days had passed before I finally got out.
After a while the van slowed, and the surface under the wheels changed. Now it felt more like we were bumping over a rutted track of some sort, or at least a less-trafficked road. Eventually the van rolled to a stop, and Lionel cut the lights and the engine. He sat for a second in the dark, maybe bracing himself for the task to come, then took the key out of the ignition and got out.
As soon as the driver’s side door closed behind him, I was on the move, slithering between the seats into the front compartment, squeezing myself into the space under the dashboard on the passenger side. If he remembered something he’d forgotten, and opened the front door again, I didn’t have a hope of remaining undetected, but chances were good he was on his way to the back doors, and I didn’t want to sit there in plain view when he opened them.
No sooner had I curled up, than the double back doors opened, and I heard Lionel root around among the tools. He removed something-I could hear the slide of metal, something long, against other metal and plastic objects, and another groan from Brandon.
“Sorry, old buddy,” Lionel said, without sounding like he meant it. “Don’t go anywhere, OK?”
He laughed merrily at his own wit before closing the door again. I could hear his steps walking away and then the rhythmic sound of digging. Grasping the edge of the door, I levered my head up high enough to peer out.
Yep, that was what he was doing, all right. Digging. A grave, most likely. If he saw me, he’d probably make it big enough for two.
I crawled back to where Brandon was and went to work on unwrapping him. Lionel had stuffed a dirty rag in his mouth, and as soon as I’d removed that, Brandon started breathing a little easier. He still seemed pretty weak, though. His eyes stayed closed, once he’d ascertained who I was, and he didn’t talk, either. And getting him free of tarps, blankets, and the electrical tape Lionel had used to tie his hands and feet together was no easy task.
Five or ten breathless minutes might have passed when we heard a sound at the back door, and froze. I could still hear the rhythmic sounds of the spade cutting into the ground, though, so unless Lionel had an accomplice, it wasn’t him.
The door opened soundlessly, and I lowered the wrench I had just picked up.
“Whoa!” Derek whispered.
“You took your time,” I answered, although my voice wasn’t near as brave as my words.
“I had to park somewhere else, so he wouldn’t see me. Wayne is on his way. C’mon.” He reached out.
“Look at Brandon first. I can’t tell how badly hurt he is. He’s wrapped in blankets, and he’s not speaking, just groaning. But he’s breathing, anyway.”
“C’mon out.” Derek held out a hand to me. “Keep an eye on Lionel. We don’t all want to be stuck in the van if he comes back.”
Decidedly not. I slid out of the car and looked around. “Where are we?”
“Don’t you recognize it?” Derek said. “There’s Melissa.”
He pointed to a big, white rectangle floating above ground some yards away. I stared at it in incomprehension for several seconds before I realized what I was looking at. It was the back of Melissa’s billboard, welcoming visitors to Devon Highlands. Lionel had driven to the construction site.
Derek crawled into the back of the van and got busy. I located Lionel and watched him. “How’s Brandon?”
“He’ll live,” Derek said, “if we can get him outta here before Lionel finishes burying him. That wouldn’t be good for him.”
“He’s still digging. No, wait.” Thirty feet away, Lionel planted his shovel in the ground and straightened his back. He must have picked a spot where less digging was necessary to achieve a nice, deep grave. Working here, of course he’d know where that’d be.
“Move!” Derek hissed. I slipped around the corner of the van just as Lionel turned around. And although I couldn’t see him, I could feel his reaction when he saw the open van door. He hesitated for a second, then I heard him pull the shovel back out of the ground and bring it with him.
“Hello?” he called. His footsteps were slow and careful as he walked back toward the van. Just as deliberately, I slipped around the front. After a second I heard the shovel bite the dust again as Lionel apparently decided that he must have just neglected to shut the door tightly enough, and it had opened on his own. I sidled back down toward the rear of the van. If I could just get my hands on that shovel…
“C’mon, buddy,” I heard Lionel say, “it’s time to move. I made a nice, comfy, quiet spot just for you. Nobody’ll bother you here. Not for a long, long time.” He chuckled and reached in. I went for the shovel at the same time as Derek went for Lionel, and I had to scurry out of the way, still clutching the shovel, as the two of them exploded from the rear of the van.
Under normal circumstances, there wouldn’t be a question in my mind about which of these two would win a fistfight. Derek was several inches taller and probably twenty pounds heavier. He was also considerably more muscled than the scrawny Lionel. And a childhood spent being picked on and tormented by the much larger Stenham twins had taught him to fight dirty when he had to. But Lionel had nothing to lose at this point. He had killed two people and was preparing to bury a third; what was another murder now? So he fought like a madman, lashing out with fists and feet and teeth, as well as any other kind of weapon he could lay his hands on.
I waited until they’d been at it for a minute or two and were circling one another warily, catching their breath while looking for another opening to close in again. Both of them were breathing hard, moving in a crouch with fists clenched. Derek was bleeding from a split lip, but he didn’t look like he was ready to give up anytime soon. Lionel’s hair was standing straight up and one of his eyes was swelling shut, but he gave no indication that he was ready to throw in the towel, either. I waited until he had his back to me, and then I jumped out from behind the van and whacked him on the back of the head with the flat part of the spade. Using the edge was tempting, I’ll admit, but I didn’t want to decapitate him, and I figured I’d best use some self-control.
The back of the shovel connected with the back of Lionel’s head with a satisfying thunk, and Lionel fell forward, right into Derek’s waiting arms.
“Ooof!” my boyfriend exclaimed, lowering Lionel’s unconscious body to the ground before turning to me. “Hell’s bells, Tink, you took your time about it, didn’t you?” He gave me a wry, if shaken, grin.
“I was getting you back for earlier,” I answered, dropping the shovel from hands that had suddenly turned useless. A shudder ran through my body. “God, Derek, I thought he was going to kill you. Are you OK?”
He shook his head, like a dog coming out of the water. “Fine. I used to get beat up worse by Randy and Ray. I think I need to sit down for a minute.”
He did, hard. “I’m just going to find something to tie him up with,” I said, running for the van. I rummaged around until I found something I thought might work.
“Electrical tape?” Derek squinted at it. “Ought to work just fine. It’s what he used on Brandon. Here, I’ll do it.” He held out a hand.
“Just as long as you don’t hurt him,” I said. “Not much, anyway. Remember your Hippocratic oath.”
“Do no harm? It’s not my oath anymore. I’m not a doctor.”
“Once a doctor, always a doctor,” I said as I watched Derek secure Lionel’s hands behind his back with lots and lots of electrical tape and haul him to sit upright against one of the van’s tires. “Go check on Brandon again, would you? Untie him. Make sure he doesn’t stop breathing.”
Derek nodded and walked unsteadily to the back of the van. I squatted in the dirt and watched Lionel until sirens and flashing blue lights heralded the arrival of the ambulance and police.
The paramedics treated Derek and then released him. He had some cuts and bruises but nothing that needed hospitalization. Brandon, on the other hand, was loaded into the ambulance and whisked away to the nearest hospital, where he would get the care he needed. He had a concussion, after a severe blow to the back of the head-Lionel seemed to have made it his MO-and because the wrench Lionel had used to hit him had broken the skin, and because scalp wounds bleed terribly, he had also lost some blood. Not enough to require a transfusion, but enough to need to replenish his fluids as soon as possible. So the paramedics had started a drip and then had taken off with their burden. Wayne turned to Derek and me.
“You two all right?”
Derek nodded, dabbing at his bottom lip with a paper napkin he had unearthed from inside the van.
“I’m fine,” I said. “He didn’t touch me. Didn’t even know I was here until I hit him with the shovel.”
“A pity you didn’t hit a little harder,” Derek said, contemplating the bloodstained napkin.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not have his death on my conscience. I’m not sorry I hit him. I’d do it again, but I’m glad I didn’t kill him.”
“He’ll pay,” Wayne promised. “He’ll spend a long time in prison. And this way, maybe we can get some answers from him before we lock him up.”
“I wouldn’t mind asking him a few questions,” Derek muttered, his free hand curled into a fist, the knuckles abraded. I took his arm, and after a moment, his muscles relaxed and he smiled sheepishly down at me.
“Sorry. Thanks for rescuing me, Avery.”
“Anytime.” I linked my fingers through his.
We all turned to where Lionel was sitting, still on the damp ground with his back against the wheel of his van.
He was conscious now and scowling at us as we approached, his boyish face set in a snarl. “I should have killed you when I had the chance,” he told me.
I put my hands on my hips. “And when exactly did you have the chance to kill me?”
Lionel grinned. “I spent some time outside your house a couple of days ago, looking in. Nice pajamas.”
“Yuck,” I said. So that’s who had been outside that night I’d been on the phone with my mom. Not the neighbors’ Weimaraner at all. I should have thought of Lionel as soon as Derek explained that the doohickey I’d found was something electricians use, but of course that was a clue that had gone right over my head.
Derek lowered his head and looked ready to charge, but Wayne moved an unobtrusive step left to stand between them.
“I should warn you,” he said, clearing his throat, “that you do have the right to remain silent and that anything you say can be used against you in a court of law…”
Lionel listened to the Miranda warning, then shrugged. “I don’t figure it matters much now,” he said. “What do you want to know?”
The three of us looked at each other. I don’t know about the others, but personally, I was too full of questions to have an easy time isolating just one.
“That a grave you’ve been digging?” Wayne said eventually, nodding to the dark rectangle in the ground a ways away. “What were you planning to do with it?”
Lionel didn’t respond. Since the answer was self-evident, Wayne continued, “Were you planning to bury Brandon alive? Or were you gonna kill him first?”
Lionel shrugged again. For indicating that he was willing to answer questions, he wasn’t being very forthcoming.
“Was Holly alive when you buried her, too?” I shot in. Lionel turned his attention on me, his eyes suddenly burning in his freckled face.
“I would never do that to Holly! I loved her!”
“Strange way of showing it,” Derek muttered.
I nodded. “Why did you kill her, then? If you loved her?”
“I didn’t mean to!” His voice rose to a register it probably hadn’t reached since before puberty. “She was leaving. Waterfield. Me. Everyone. She’d asked Brandon to go with her, but he’d said no. Didn’t want to leave his mommy.” He said it with a sneer, as if Brandon ’s decision to stay in Waterfield with his sick mother instead of going to law school somewhere else, somehow made him a mama’s boy rather than a devoted son. And this from a guy who was also still living with his own mother.
“So you offered to go instead?” Wayne asked, trying to inject some calm into the conversation. “To California? And Holly said no?”
“She laughed at me.” Lionel’s cheeks darkened with spots of color. “She said she was going to Hollywood to be a star, to be discovered, and she couldn’t have someone like me along, always watching what she did.”
“So you killed her.”
His voice rose. “I told you, it was an accident! I tried to make her change her mind. She turned to leave, and I grabbed her. All I wanted to do was make her stop and listen. But she wouldn’t. I had to make her.”
“So you hit her?” Wayne asked.
“I had to stop her,” Lionel repeated stubbornly. “I had to make her listen. We could have gone together. I wouldn’t have stood in her way. I could have helped her. I could have gotten a job and supported her. But she wouldn’t listen. She laughed at me, and then she tried to push me away. So I grabbed her throat, and when she kicked me, I hit her head against the corner of the stove.”
“What were you doing inside the Murphy house in the first place?” I asked. Lionel turned to me.
“It was private. And I had a key. From when the Murphys lived there. They had a key to our house, and we had one to theirs.”
“So you talked Holly into going to the Murphy house to talk,” Wayne said, “and then you offered to drive her to California, and when she tried to leave, you grabbed her, and she hit her head and died?”
Lionel nodded.
“And then you waited until it was late and came back and buried her under the house?”
Lionel nodded. “But she was dead, I swear. She wasn’t breathing at all. And there was a lot of blood.” He shuddered.
“Did you realize she’d lost an earring?” I wanted to know. Lionel shook his head.
“Not then. After I’d gotten her downstairs, I saw that one was missing. I went back, but I couldn’t find it.”
“It fell under the fridge,” I explained. “I found it a few days ago, when we took the fridge and stove out.”
“What happened to the other earring?” Derek wanted to know, his voice still muffled by the napkin. “It wasn’t buried with her.”
“I gave her those earrings,” Lionel said, face darkening. “For Christmas.”
“You took it?” Wayne guessed. Lionel shrugged as well as he could with his hands secured behind him.
“So you buried her in the crawlspace,” Wayne continued, “figuring that no one would find her, since Patrick Murphy owned the house, and he wasn’t around anymore?”
Lionel nodded. “But then you two showed up,” he scowled at Derek and me, “and said you were buying the house. I thought I’d get rid of you before you could find a reason to go into the crawlspace, so I tried to scare you away. When that didn’t work, I punctured the brake cables on the truck. You had told me where you lived; it wasn’t hard to find. But instead of an accident the next day, the brake cables held, and you had time to find the body.”
“By the time I drove off the road,” I said, “Venetia Rudolph was dead, too. How did that come about?”
“You said that Venetia had told you that she had seen everyone who came and went in the house for the past twenty years. I figured she’d seen me and Holly, so she had to go.”
“And that wasn’t an accident at all?” Wayne ’s question was just for form’s sake, since Lionel had clearly indicated that it wasn’t. “What about Brandon Thomas?”
Lionel bit off a couple of descriptive words about Brandon and what he thought of him. Chief among the complaints seemed to be that Brandon was everything Lionel wasn’t, and Lionel was jealous. Brandon had been good-looking, popular, and most likely to succeed, and he had also been Holly’s boyfriend. Lionel had been short and unpopular, and Holly had laughed at his no doubt heartfelt advances. When the opportunity had presented itself to shift the blame onto Brandon ’s broad shoulders, Lionel had grabbed it.
“You suspended him because he’d been dating Holly,” he said, “so it made sense to put the bag at his house. I couldn’t get inside with Brandon ’s mom there, but I knew about the shed. Brandon used to take Holly there sometimes.” His face darkened again.
“And then you called in an anonymous tip to make sure we found it.”
Lionel nodded. “I wasn’t planning to do anything to him, though. I figured he couldn’t prove that he didn’t kill anybody-he was home with his mom those nights, and everyone would expect her to lie-so I thought I’d just let him go down. Even if he didn’t get arrested, his life would be ruined.”
“What happened to change your mind?” Wayne put his hands behind his back and came to parade rest; I suspected it was because he wanted to allay the temptation to throttle Lionel.
Lionel looked disgusted. “There’d been people crawling all over the house for days. When I saw you two driving away,” he nodded to myself and Derek, “I figured I had an hour or so to get rid of those wires and microphones I’d used for the spooky sound effects. I didn’t expect anyone else to be there.”
“Where were the microphones and wires?” Derek wanted to know. “I looked.”
“In the walls,” Lionel said, with the barest hint of a smug smile. Derek looked chagrined; naturally he hadn’t thought to actually check the wiring itself. “Behind the outlets and switches. The footsteps are in the outlet in the hallway, opposite from the bathroom, and the screams were behind the switch plate next to the front door. I had to disable the porch light, because I needed the wire to trip when you opened the door that first time.”
“And that’s why the front porch light didn’t work,” I said, “even when we put in new lightbulbs.”
Derek grimaced.
“So Brandon caught you,” Wayne brought the conversation back on track, “and then what?”
Brandon had caught Lionel hard at work on the switch plate just inside the front door. The two of them had had a question and answer session, rapidly degenerating into an argument about what Lionel was doing there, and then Lionel had lost it-whether from anger or fear or a mixture of both-and he had whacked Brandon on the back of the head with a wrench when Brandon brushed past him to leave the house. That must have been when Brandon ’s cell phone got lost in the weeds beside the stairs; at least Brandon had had it in his hand when Lionel hit him. But at that point, Lionel had too many other things to worry about to look for it. He had to get Brandon and himself out of the way before Derek and I came back, and he didn’t know where we’d gone or how long we’d be. So he tied Brandon ’s wrists and ankles with electrical tape and wrapped him in some tarps and drop cloths we had sitting around before bringing the van around and somehow managing to get Brandon into it. Then he drove the van down to his own driveway and parked it there while he went inside. He had to eat the dinner his mom cooked, because she’d get upset if he didn’t, but as soon as he could get away, he planned to take Brandon to Devon Highlands to bury him.
“They’re pouring the concrete for the foundation tomorrow,” he explained. “I figured nobody’d ever find him.”
Wayne looked disgusted. “I guess you also figured we’d think he’d killed Holly and Venetia Rudolph?” he said. “And that he ran away when he realized we suspected him?”
Lionel shrugged modestly. “It seemed to make sense.”
“I think I’ve heard enough,” I said. Derek nodded.
“Me, too.” Wayne reached down and hauled Lionel to his feet. “C’mon, Mr. Kenefick. In you go.” He loaded Lionel into the back of the police car and turned to Derek and myself. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Please do.” I snuggled closer in to Derek and watched the police car drive away.
He looked down at me. “Home?”
“Sounds good.”
“Your place or mine?”
“Are you sure you feel up for… you know… strenuous activity?”
“I feel,” Derek said, pulling me closer, “like it’d be a good time for reaffirming a few things. Like the fact that we’re alive.”
I nodded. I could get behind that.