“Thanks for taking care of them,” she said, ignoring the comment. “Hopefully I’ll be out of here tomorrow.”
“But for how long?” Rachel said nothing. Serrano nodded. “Think about what I said to you the other night.”
Then he left and went back to his partner.
“How’s the Marin family doing?” Tally said.
“Fine. Which is bizarre in and of itself.”
“Well, guess who I just got a call back from. Man named Aleksy Bacik. He’s a senior Realtor with Irongate Properties. He sold Rachel Marin her house.”
“No shit. What did Mr. Bacik say?”
“Well, he wouldn’t give me her application package without a warrant,” Tally said. “And since the charge we’re holding Rachel Marin on is unrelated to her financial situation, I don’t think a judge would grant us one.”
“It was worth a shot.”
“But,” Tally said, “he seemed a little spooked that he was getting a call from the police to begin with regarding Rachel Marin. So he gave me the name of the lawyer she used to negotiate the contract. Bacik said this guy could give us more information. He strenuously implied that he wanted no part of anything Marin related. Then he hung up.”
“Who’s the lawyer?”
“His name is James R. Franklin, of Franklin and Rosato, a law firm in Darien, Connecticut. They specialize in personal injury, medical malpractice, and sexual assault. And they’re not ambulance chasers. These guys are heavy hitters. Franklin is a civil litigation attorney who’s settled suits in the millions.”
Serrano said, “Why the hell would a litigation attorney in Darien, Connecticut, be involved in a real estate transaction in Ashby, Illinois?”
CHAPTER 31
Rachel had been right. Because her lawyer could legitimately argue that she had no knowledge of Sam Wickersham’s involvement in an ongoing police investigation, the charge of interfering with a criminal investigation didn’t stick. She was released in the morning having paid no fine, with an extra crick in her back from the metal bench in the holding cell, while having been up all night worrying about her children.
She thought about everything Serrano had said. Rachel was at war with herself. Everything she did to try to expose Constance Wright’s killer pushed her children further away. Further away from her. Further away from a normal life. Their grasp on normalcy was already a thread, already tenuous. Now it seemed like Rachel was standing over that thread with a chainsaw, revving it with glee.
She drove the kids to school. Megan sat in the back, reading a Vanity Fair. Eric stared out the window. Silent.
“Where did you get that magazine?” Rachel asked, peering at Megan in the rearview mirror.
“From the Bunk,” she replied.
“The Bunk?”
“It’s where we slept. Mr. Serrano said we could play with anything in there.”
“Did he say you could take that?”
“No,” she said, concerned. “Are you going to tell him?”
Rachel smiled. “No. But if you get to any bad words, you have to promise me you’ll put it down.”
“OK. Hey, Mom?”
“Yes, hon?”
“What’s . . . lin-ger-ee?”
“Lingerie,” Rachel said. “Put it down now. That’s the last copy of Vanity Fair you get to read until you go to college.”
“That’s fine. Everyone in this magazine is in their underwear. It’s weird.”
Rachel laughed. Then looked at Eric. He didn’t move. Said nothing.
“Eric, are you OK?”
He didn’t reply.
“Eric?”
Nothing.
“Are you ignoring me?”
Still nothing.
“Please, talk to me, hon.”
Silence.
She took a deep breath and said, “Sean!”
Eric’s head sprang up. His eyes were wide. Megan’s mouth fell open.
“You told me we needed to forget about those names,” he said quietly.
“I needed to do something to get your attention,” she said. “Answer me, please. Are you OK?”
“Why do you care?” he said. “We had to sleep in a crappy bed in a police station because you got arrested. And just a few days ago, we had to stay in a hotel after someone broke into our home. People with guns came to Megan’s school.”
“Am I still Megan?” her daughter asked. “Or am I Chloe again?”
Rachel felt her heart ascend into her throat. Tears welled up, but she fought them back.
“You are Megan, and you are Eric,” she said. “But you are my children first and foremost.”
“You told us these names were for our own protection,” Eric said. “So we’d be safe. You made us swear not to use the old ones ever again. That we could be in trouble if we did.”
“You’re right. I said that.”
“How are we safe now? How do you protect us by getting arrested?”
The dam burst. Rachel began to weep.
“Mommy?” Megan said. She, too, began to cry. “Mommy, are you OK?”
Rachel pulled the car into a strip mall. She put her hand to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. How had it come to this?
“Mommy, please stop crying,” Megan said.
“I’m sorry,” Rachel said. She got out of the car and went around to the back seat. She opened the door and motioned Megan to move over. She did. Then Rachel got into the car, leaned over, and threw her arms around both her children.
It was uncomfortable and awkward, and Eric was not the kind of son who appreciated sudden hugs from his mother, but within seconds the three of them were embracing and sobbing.
“I love you both with all my heart, with everything I am,” Rachel said. “Something in me changed after your father died.”
“I know it did,” Eric said. “That’s why when I saw the basement, for the first time it actually kind of made sense.”
“What do you mean?” Rachel said.
“Where you go every night. You don’t think we know you go down there every night, but we do.”
Rachel looked at Megan. “You knew too?”
Megan nodded. “Sadie Scout has a supercool basement. Like ours.”
This caught Rachel by surprise. “You’re both much more clever than I gave you credit for.”
“Come on, Mom,” Eric said. “I mean you could crush soda cans with your biceps. You could kick my gym teacher’s ass. And he played football.”
Rachel laughed and wiped her eyes. “Don’t use the a-word in front of Megan.”
“What a-word?” Megan said. “Asses?”
Rachel was laughing too hard to be angry. When the laughter subsided, she said, “I couldn’t do anything to save your father. And it eats at me every day of my life. So when that woman, Constance Wright, died, it felt like nobody did anything to save her either. I thought I needed to do something, even if it was too late to save her.”
“You’re, like, a superhero,” Megan said. “Trying to bring the bad guys to justice.”
“I’m nothing like a superhero,” Rachel said. “Superheroes don’t let their children sleep in police stations.”