Dead Wrong

Sure enough, Trish escorted in yet another handsome man with that unmistakable air of vitality and athleticism. He had changed from high school as much as Will Patton had. Adolescent cockiness had become masculine confidence. But something on his lean face hinted at pain and regret.

Both were obliterated by his grin. “Hey, Will’s mom.”

Smiling, the lieutenant stood. “Travis. It’s good to see you. Congratulations on the Frye Museum showing.”

“Thanks. It felt good. I guess I’m not just a local boy anymore.”

Frye Museum?

“We’d like to ask you some questions having to do with Amy Owen’s murder,” the lieutenant continued. “I understand you’d stayed closer friends with her than Will had.”

“Sure, no problem. Hey, Trish,” he called over his shoulder. “Can I get a cup of that coffee?”

He dragged out a chair and turned it so that he was straddling it, arms crossed on the back. He studied Trina. “I know you, don’t I?”

“I was two years behind you in school. Trina Giallombardo.”

He nodded. “Nice to meet you, Trina Giallombardo. Again, if we ever actually met before.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay, then.” He smiled thanks at Trish when she brought his coffee. Turning back to the police officers, he said, “As for Amy… I don’t know about friends. She was more part of the group. We didn’t have much in common.”

Trina asked, “Did you ever go out with her?”

“Yeah, a couple of times. After she and Doug said bye-bye. But we didn’t have much to talk about, and it didn’t go anywhere. I doubt she was hurt when I didn’t call again.”

“Then the decision not to continue dating was yours rather than hers?”

“I really do think it was mutual. Amy was a sweetheart, but not much of a reader, no interest in art, didn’t like to ski because she got cold…” He shrugged. “In turn, I have no interest in the latest movie opening at the cineplex, fashion, what everybody we knew back to grade school is doing nowadays… We ran out of things to talk about. She looked as restless as I felt.”

“Surely you knew this when you asked her out.”

“You’d think, wouldn’t you? But when conversation is general in big groups you don’t always remember who contributes what. She was fun, pretty, had a nice laugh. So on impulse I asked if she wanted to have dinner. This was…I don’t know. Maybe six weeks ago. The next weekend we had drinks and she came to a gallery opening with me. Afterward she wanted us to join Marcie and Dirk Whittaker at Sister’s, that new brew-house. I made an excuse and left her there. End of romance.”

The lieutenant asked, “Did you sleep with her, Travis?”

His eyebrows rose. “Does it matter?”

“We’re gaining the impression that she tended to end her evenings in someone or other’s beds. I guess I’m asking if that was true.”

Expression conflicted, he appeared to be thinking furiously. “Okay,” he said at last. “After our first date, she came home with me. Are you asking me to rate her performance?”

Lieutenant Patton gave a crooked smile. “No. What I’m trying to determine is whether she would readily have agreed to leave a bar with someone Wednesday night.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I think maybe she would. My take is, Amy liked sex. Or maybe what she liked was having a guy. She always seemed to be looking.”

The lieutenant nodded. “Thank you for your honesty.”

Forehead still creased, he asked, “Why would anyone want to kill Amy? She liked sex, sure. But to the best of my knowledge, she never hurt anyone.”

“Knowingly.”

He shrugged in concession. “Let me put it like this. I think she went out of her way not to hurt anyone.”

Face drawn, Lieutenant Patton said, “Travis, I want you to think back. Way back. Do you know of anyone who has harbored a grudge against Will? Anyone who is still around town?”

He straightened, gripped the back of his chair. His gaze locked with Meg Patton’s. “Will? What does…” He uttered a guttural obscenity. “Amy wasn’t murdered like Gilly, was she?”

“There were…similarities.”

He swore again. “You told Will?”

She nodded.

“How’s he taking it?”

“I don’t know,” the lieutenant said in a voice Trina had never heard from her. “As I’m sure you’re aware, he doesn’t open up to me much.”

“Why didn’t that idiot call me?” He shoved himself to his feet, hesitated, then sat back down. “No. God. I can’t think of anyone who hated Will like that. Everybody liked him.” He shook his head as if he were trying to clear it. “Mendoza was convicted. I called damn near every night during the trial! Will told me about the evidence!”

“Ricky always said there was another explanation. That he left her alive.” The pencil in the lieutenant’s hand snapped. She didn’t seem to notice. Her voice had become raw. “What if he did?”

“God.” Travis scrubbed his hand over his face. “Is Will still at his dad’s? He hasn’t found a place?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll talk to him tonight.” He stood then, and squeezed Lieutenant Patton’s shoulder. “Hey, Will’s mom. You’re super cop. You’ll find out who did this.”

Her smile hurt to look at. “Thanks, Travis. You’re a good kid.”

His laugh wasn’t any more real than her smile. “When I want to shed a few years, I just come see you.”

She watched as he left the room, then met Trina’s eyes. “I’ve known him since he was fourteen.”

“Wasn’t he around during the trial?”

“No, he was in Europe training for the World Cup tour. He had an exciting life in those days. Val d’Isere, Innsbruck, St. Moritz…Will would get postcards. Travis won the opening downhill of the season that year, at Chamonix. I remember how excited Will was.” She fell silent for a moment. “Gillian was killed that spring. Travis was in Japan that week. By the time the trial started, he was back in Europe training for the next winter.”

That’s why she’d felt comfortable telling him as much as she had, Trina realized. He might be the only friend of Will’s his mother could trust.

The lieutenant’s gaze sharpened. “Trina, I’m going to have you go see Mendoza in Salem. You have a fresh eye.”

Trina kept her mixed excitement and trepidation out of her voice. “Do I tell him about this murder?”

“Why not? But first, learn what you can about his friends, cousins, nephews. Anyone who might care enough to think of a sick way to get him off.”

“Or who wants to be just like Ricky,” Trina said slowly.