In the Drink (28 page)

“I didn't think Erik killed Lori and Anna,” I said. “I wasn't sure who had, but now I know. You did it, didn't you?”

She arched her eyebrows at me. “Why would you think that?”

“It all makes sense. Anna's diary entry about someone she called “D” who had a crush on her brother, someone who spread rumors about Lori, and left nasty notes in her locker. That was you, back when you still used the name Dylan, wasn't it? You were in love with Erik, but he was in love with Lori.”

Her smile disappeared. “He never loved her,” she scoffed.

I gestured toward the letter on the desk. “That suggests otherwise.”

“That stupid note,” she said with a spray of spittle. “I went over to Erik's house that morning as soon as my mother left for work and I saw that note on Erik's dresser. I thought he was going to tell Lori to go to hell, but then I realized he was happy about it. I mean, hell, the girl slapped him when he kissed her.
Hmpf!
What kind of love is that? That's not love.” She poked herself in the chest, hard, her eyes taking on a steely glint. “I'll tell you what love is. Love is making sure the person you care about stays safe. Love is making sure the person you care about doesn't get arrested for a crime he didn't commit. Love is sticking your neck out and doing whatever it takes to make sure the two of you stay together.”

Her expression softened and tears welled. For a brief moment I felt sorry for her, but then she turned her laser focus back on me—cold and brittle—and any sympathy I had for her vanished.

“You and Erik never went riding in the country the day the girls disappeared, did you?” I said.

She smiled. “No, we didn't. I overheard Anna on the phone with Lori, arranging to meet up in their secret place in the park.” She scoffed and shook her head. “Afterward I asked Anna about it, telling her some lie about a secret place I had once, and she told me where it was. So I came up with a plan to make Lori go away. I never meant for Anna to be involved, but I underestimated how resourceful that girl was. I found some scissors on the desk in Erik's father's den and used them to slash one of the tires on Anna's bike so she wouldn't be able to ride it. I thought that would keep her home. But after she tried to fix it and realized she couldn't, she dug her brother's old bike out of the garage and rode it instead.”

“And you went off to meet Lori in the woods,” I said.

“I did,” she said with a wistful look on her face. “I still had the scissors with me and when I went past the Andersons' place and saw that clothesline in the backyard, I cut it down and took it with me. I knew they weren't home because they always go south for the winter, and I wanted something to scare Lori with. I really didn't mean to kill her, at least not at first. I just wanted to put the fear of God into her and scare her away from Erik.”

Her expression turned spiteful and mean. “But the little bitch told me to go to hell, and no one speaks to me that way! It made me so mad that when she turned to walk away from me, I grabbed a big rock and hit her over the head with it. Then I started to tie her up. She was out for a little while, but then she came to and started cussing at me and fighting. Next thing I knew, the rope was around her neck and I was pulling it as tight as I could to shut her up.”

“You killed her in cold blood,” I said with disgust.

“It wasn't my original plan, but”—she shrugged and smiled—“shit happens.”

“And Anna?”

“She showed up after Lori was dead. I'd already decided I was going to make it look like that creep Carlisle had attacked Lori. I was about to set the stage when Anna showed up. I didn't want to hurt her. I mean she was my boyfriend's sister, after all. But when she saw Lori and realized what had happened, I didn't have much choice.”

“You killed them both in cold blood,” I said. “Of course you had a choice. Did you feel any remorse at all?”

She ignored my question. “All those
Law & Order
shows my mom and I used to watch finally paid off. I knew I had to put the girls in the water to wash away any trace evidence that would lead back to me.” She paused and sighed. “In retrospect, trying to frame Carlisle might have been a miscalculation on my part. I took Lori's pants off and used a stick I found on the ground to . . . well . . . to make it look like she was sexually assaulted, so the cops would think that pervert Carlisle was the one who had killed her. Everyone thought he was creepy. But the rape thing kind of backfired because it made the cops focus on Erik instead.”

“So when the police started sniffing around Erik as a suspect, you came up with that story about going for a ride in the country and told Erik you'd provide him with an alibi. And in doing so, you conveniently gave yourself an alibi, as well. Very clever.”

“Thank you,” she said with a Cheshire cat smile. “But it still didn't work out the way I wanted it to. The cops kept coming after Erik. I thought I could keep him safe by using my father's influence—he was a judge here in the city at the time, though he's retired now. Between his connections and our family money, I figured we could get Erik cleared. But the cops wouldn't let go. So I had to come up with a better idea.” That disquieting smile returned. “I think it was a stroke of genius.”

“I'm curious. Did Erik know then that you were a coldhearted killer, or did he figure it out later on?”

“He guessed after the second incident with that creep.”

“What creep? You mean Lonnie Carlisle?”

She gave me a grudging look of impatience. “I thought you were so smart and had this all figured out. Guess not, eh?” She
tsked
at me.

Marie was right; I hadn't figured all of it out until that moment. With the mention of a second incident involving Lonnie Carlisle, more of the puzzle pieces fell into place. “You were one of the two girls involved with the sexual assault he was arrested for,” I said with dawning. “You framed him.”

“Just covering all my bases,” she said with a smug tone. “He liked Lori, too. Everybody liked that dumb bitch, though I never understood why. After the bodies turned up, Carlisle kept going out to the woods where they were found, so I planned a little . . . intervention for him. I took along my friend Brittany Aldrich after convincing her that Carlisle was the one who had killed Lori and Anna, and that he kept going back to the scene of the crime.”

The name Aldrich rang a bell—literally—in my mind and it took me a second to place where I'd heard it before.

“Brittany is the one who ended up in a coma.”

Marie nodded. “Yes, very unlucky for her,” she said with no sincerity at all.

“Her father visited Carlisle in prison.”

“Did he?” Marie thought about this for a moment and then shrugged. “I told Brittany that if we spied on Carlisle, maybe we could catch him doing something, or saying something that would implicate him. We took along a pocket recorder and rode our bikes out into the woods after I saw him heading that way, and we snuck up on him. But Brittany got scared and wanted to leave and I couldn't let that happen because if she blabbed to anyone about us being out there, the cops might start looking at me. So I gave her this rah-rah speech about how we were going to be heroes, save the day, and solve the murders. I told her we should go out and flirt with Carlisle a little, and when he responded, turn on the recorder and get it all on tape.

“Brittany didn't want to do it, but I shoved a rock in her hand, grabbed one myself, and told her if she abandoned me, she was signing my death warrant because it would take both of us to take him down.” She paused for a moment looking lost in memory. “Brittany bought it, and it would have worked, too, if Carlisle had done what he was supposed to. But the creep wouldn't play along. He kept backing away from us and telling us to leave him alone. I even went right up to him and started rubbing up against him . . . and let me tell you,
that
was no easy task.” She rolled her eyes and grimaced. “That guy didn't look or smell very good. But even then he wouldn't play. He pushed me away and tried to leave. I saw my whole plan falling apart, so I chucked my rock at him and screamed at Brittany to do the same.”

“And did she?”

Marie let out a perturbed sigh. “No, she started to cry. That Carlisle creep saw her all sad and scared and everything, and he started walking toward her, telling her it was going to be okay.” Marie shook her head in disgust. “Freaking pervert,” she muttered. “I yelled at Brittany to hit him, but she wouldn't. She started backing up, heading for our bikes. I had to do something, so I picked up another rock and hurled it at Carlisle. It hit him in the chest just below his neck and that must have scared him because he stopped, stared at me for a second, and then he ran. I started to go after him, but figured I'd better deal with Brittany instead. She was crying pretty hard by then, and she kept saying that what we were doing was wrong and she was going to tell our parents. We argued, and at one point I shoved her. I didn't mean to hurt her, but she fell backward, smacked her head on this sharp-edged rock, and then she just lay there, not moving. I thought she was dead, so I came up with a story to explain what happened. I punched myself a few times so I'd have some bruises, tore my clothes, and then ran for help, telling everyone that Lonnie Carlisle had tried to attack the two of us.”

She paused and sighed again. “I admit it gave me a bit of a start when I learned that Brittany wasn't dead, but fortunately, she never recovered enough to be able to talk about what happened. And that pervert Carlisle is right where he belongs—in prison.”

“But he didn't do anything.”

“The hell he didn't,” she snapped. “He was a pervert, a sex offender. Everyone knew it.”

“It was a statutory rape charge, and he was only eighteen when it happened.”

“What the hell do you know?” she spat out.

“Erik figured it out, didn't he? That's why he felt guilty. That's why he drank. He realized that you killed his sister and the girl he loved, and he was covering for you.”

“He didn't love her, he loved me,” she snapped. “And yes, he did figure it out eventually. He went to my father to tell him the truth, but my father convinced him that revealing the truth at that point would be disastrous for everyone involved. He told Erik that if he breathed a word of it to anyone else, he would twist the story around to say Erik had killed the girls and I lied to cover for him. Erik didn't have an alibi without me, and when he said something about leaving me, I let him know I still had the scissors used to cut that clothesline and that I wouldn't hesitate to use them to implicate him. They did come from his house, after all. So he went along with it.”

“Your father knew what you did and covered for you?” I said with disbelief.

“That's what family does,” she said in a dismissive tone. “I think Brittany's father began to suspect that something was up, too. That's probably why he went to talk to Carlisle in prison. But my father got to Carlisle first. He sent a law student he knew up to the prison under the guise of studying Carlisle for a thesis. And that student told Carlisle that if he kept his mouth shut, some powerful people would pull some strings, help him get paroled, and see to it that he got some financial assistance when he got out. Money and power talk, you see.”

“All those lives you ruined,” I said, shaking my head.

“Lives
I
ruined?” she said, furious. “What about the life
you
ruined? I sacrificed everything to be with Erik, and look at where I am now.”

“You're crazy. That's where you are.” I reached into my pocket, pulled out my cell phone, and went to hit the speed dial number for Duncan. Before I could, Marie lunged toward me and knocked the phone out of my hand. It fell to the floor and skittered under the desk, and then Marie grabbed my arm and tried to pull me out from behind the desk. I pulled back and looked around for something I could use as a weapon. I tried to grab the vodka bottle, but Marie yanked so hard on my other arm that I couldn't reach it. Then I saw a letter opener on top of the desk—a long, stiletto-type thing—and tried to grab it, but I couldn't get a grip. I started to lose my balance so I shifted my full body weight toward Marie, slamming her into the credenza. She was extremely fit, and I knew it was unlikely I'd be able to overpower her, so I tried to dash past her toward the door. Her hand grabbed at my collar and yanked me backward. I fell to the floor hard, knocking the wind out of me for a few seconds.

I craned my neck around and saw Marie reaching for the letter opener. She still had a hold on my collar and she was trying to drag me closer to the desk. I shifted my legs and my weight, and pulled as hard as I could in the opposite direction, and it tightened the collar of my coat even more. Marie abandoned her efforts to get the letter opener and switched both hands to my collar. My coat became a noose around my neck, cutting off my breath. I grabbed at it frantically, futilely, trying to loosen it even a little so I could suck some air into my lungs.

The room narrowed and darkened. An explosion of fireworks appeared before my eyes. I knew I was seconds away from losing consciousness so I quit tugging at my coat and made one last desperate grab, reaching for anything I could find. My hand felt the edge of the credenza and after inching up a little more, I found the handle to the coffeepot. I grabbed it and swung it behind me as hard as I could. The glass pot shattered against something hard and with a little
oomph
Marie's grip finally loosened.

I sat on the floor, gasping for breath, welcoming the harsh burn of the air as it entered my throat. My mind was foggy; the fireworks were fading but still there, and my legs felt rubbery. I scrambled for the door on my hands and knees, grabbed the knob, and pulled myself up. I spared a quick glance behind me to see where Marie was, and saw her standing next to the desk, blood streaming down from her forehead. In her right hand she held the letter opener. She positioned it in her fist and came at me.