Chapter One
At first I thought I heard him wrong. It was
impossible coming from John, my older brother, the firstborn son, the
Most Valuable Devlin. Me, I'm the black sheep, the baby of the family,
the charming disappointment. John was Class President, and I was Class
Clown. He was Most Likely to Succeed, I was Most Likely to Get a
Speeding Ticket. That's why I never expected him to confess to murder.
"What?" My mouth dropped open. "Did you just say you killed somebody?"
"Yes." My brother nodded, jittery. His blue eyes looked unfocused, which never happened. Lasers have nothing on John Devlin.
"That can't be. Not you. You're, like, the best-"
"I did it," John said, panicky. "I killed a man. TJ, what should I do?"
"How do I know? You're the lawyer." I didn't get it. John and everyone
else in my family were lawyers in our family firm, Devlin & Devlin.
I'm a convicted criminal. On second thought, maybe I would've asked me,
too.
"God, no, I can't believe this." Tears filmed John's eyes,
which surprised me. I didn't know he had any emotions except
disapproval. We stood on the large flagstone patio overlooking the pool
and pool house. When he'd taken me outside tonight, I thought he wanted
the two grand I owed him.
"John, who did you . . . kill?"
"A client."
Yikes. I'm an investigator at the law firm. My family keeps me behind
the scenes, but I don't need applause, just a paycheck. Being an ex-con
doesn't pay as well as it should. "Tell me what happened."
"I
don't know where to start. Oh God, this is awful." John grimaced,
stricken. He ran his tongue over his lips. "Okay, well, we were at the
corporate center, Knickerbocker Quarry. I hit him with a rock-"
"A rock?" What is this, summer camp? "Why? When?"
"Less than an hour ago. I came directly here."
Meanwhile there was no blood on him. Only my brother could kill
somebody with a rock and not get dirty. His silk tie was spotless and
his Brioni suit fit him like Batman. "How did you beat him with a rock
and-"
"I didn't beat him. I threw the rock and it hit him in the
head. I heard a crack . . ." John's upper lip curled with disgust.
"Then he dropped."
I figured it was his fastball. John pitched for Villanova, where every Devlin but me went to college. "Then what happened?"
"I came here. I knew Nancy and everybody would be waiting. I panicked."
John raked a hand through thinning brown hair. He was forty years old
but looked fifty and usually acted eighty, but not tonight.
"Okay, let's go. We have to do something with the body."
John recoiled. "Like what?"
"Bury it?" Isn't that why you're telling me?
"TJ, no, we can't. I don't know what to do." John rubbed his face. "We
can't leave now. You know how Dad is about his birthday."
I
glanced through the window to the dining room, where dinner was just
getting underway. My mother was setting an antipasto platter on the
table, and my father stood talking with my sister, Gabby, and her
husband, Martin. John's wife, Nancy, sat with my little nephew, Connor,
who was playing with a Matchbox Jaguar I'd brought him. My father's
birthday was a national holiday in our house. Christmas never had it so
good.
John straightened, blinking. "TJ, I can't live with this. I'm coming clean. I'm going to tell-"
"No, stop." I grabbed him by his hand-stitched lapel. "You'll go to prison."
"I deserve to."
"You can't handle it."
"You did."
"That's how I know you can't."
"I can if you can."
My brother is crazy competitive. If he'd been in the Donner party, he would've pigged out. "John, let's go-"
"Here's Mom now." John turned, and my mother opened the French doors to
the patio, making a chic silhouette in a dark Chanel pantsuit, backlit
by the chandelier. Marie Spano Devlin had the only brown eyes and strong
nose in our family, and her olive skin was spared our regulation-Irish
freckles. Silvery strands gleamed in her onyx-black chignon and lines
bracketed her mouth, but to me, she'd only gotten lovelier with age. I
adore my mother, and she always has my back. She calls me her little
devil, which fits.
"Boys, time for dinner."
"Mom, sorry,
we have to go." I detected Lambrusco on her breath, sipped out of sight
because of my sobriety. The scent wasn't strong, but I'm McGruff for
booze.
"Go where?" My mother blinked, puzzled. "We're about to eat."
"I know, sorry." I tugged John into the dining room, and my mother stepped aside, her lips parting in dismay.
"TJ, what's going on? You can't miss dinner."
"Please, eat without us." I hustled past the table as everyone looked
at us in surprise, especially my father. Paul Francis Devlin had graying
light brown hair, and we looked a lot alike. We had the same blue eyes,
round and set far apart with thick eyebrows, a longish nose, and a
mouth that was on the big side. Every time I looked at my father, I saw a
successful version of myself. I can only guess what he saw when he
looked at me.
"TJ, where do you think you're going? You'll miss dinner."
"I know, I'm really sorry but it can't be helped." I kept moving but my
father was already out of his chair. He'd taken off his tie, and his
white oxford shirt was wrinkled from the workday. He was a big guy, six
three and in decent shape. He'd played basketball at Villanova before
they were Final Four good, a former power forward who still exuded
power.
John added, "I'm sorry, too. We'll be back as soon as we can."
"John, what did TJ do now?" my father snapped, assuming that I was in
trouble and John was helping me, which even I had to admit made sense. I
was the Bad Son and John was the Good Son. Our roles in our family are
like our seats at the kitchen table. Forever.
I dragged John out
of the house and down the flagstone steps to the circular driveway. My
parents lived in a McMansion that reeked of curb appeal, on six acres of
perfect landscaping in Philly's exclusive Main Line. Automatic
sprinklers whirred in the garden, and the air smelled like ChemLawn. I
never felt at home here because we grew up in the Devlin starter house,
and our problems started after we got rich. Not that I have anything
against money. Money has something against me.
We walked to my
car, which was parked behind John's and my sister's black Range Rovers.
My father and mother both have black Range Rovers, too. Sometimes I'm
surprised they didn't name the firm Devlin & Devlin & Devlin
& Devlin.
"I'll drive, let's go." I opened the door and jumped in my car, and John followed suit, frowning.
"New car? You've owed me two grand since forever."
"You'll get it back, I needed new calipers." I'm a car guy. I buy cars
at seized-asset auctions, fix them up, and flip them. This one was a
2020 Maserati Quattroporte, formerly owned by a drug kingpin. Basically,
I put the car in cartel.
"Don't drive crazy."
"Have we met?" I pressed a button, igniting one of the most distinctive engines on the planet.
We took off.
Chapter Two
We whizzed past big stone houses, townhome developments, and strip
malls. John let his anxiety show now that we were alone, raking his hand
through his hair again. I gave him time to calm down, but I had
questions.
"So, John, tell me what happened."
"It's horrible, it all happened so fast, I just reacted."
"What happened? Break it down."
"I don't know where to start." John rubbed his face. "There was so much
blood. I didn't mean to kill him. I wasn't aiming for his head. I was
aiming for the gun."
"Who's the client? Do I know him?"
"No. His name's Neil Lemaire. He's the accountant at Runstan Electronics."
"Why were you meeting with him?"
"Okay, well." John tried to rally. "The company's being acquired, and I
was doing due diligence. I found irregularities in the accounting."
"Like money missing?" My brother has an accounting degree and a law degree, but I can juggle.
"Yes."
"How much?"
"About a hundred grand."
Wow. "So he was embezzling?"
"Ya think? It had to be him because he's the only accountant at the
company. I told him we needed to talk and he asked me to meet him, so I
agreed."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
I realized my brother
was a dumb smart person. I myself am a smart dumb person. If I were
accusing somebody of embezzling a hundred grand, I'd bring an army. "So
then what happened?"
"I confronted him, and he denied it. Then he offered to pay me to cover it up."
I brightened. "How much?"
John shot me a disapproving look. "I didn't ask, TJ. I'm in a fiduciary
relationship to Runstan. I can't countenance criminal acts by its
employees."
"Weren't you curious?"
"Of course not."
"Me, neither," I said, but I wasn't kidding anybody. "Then what happened?"
"I said no, and Lemaire started pacing back and forth. Then all of a
sudden, he pulled a gun on me and told me to get on my knees."
Holy shit. "So that's self-defense. He threatened your life."
"Right, I know, but still . . . I killed him."
"It's not murder, though."
"Technically, self-defense is a defense to murder. Don't play lawyer, TJ."
"Don't play criminal, John."
"Anyway, I knelt down and saw a rock on the ground, so I grabbed it and
winged it at him. I hit him in the forehead. He dropped and fell on his
back. He didn't move. It was awful. There was blood all over his face,
and his legs were bent under him. He was dead."
"Then what did you do?"
"Like I said, I got scared, I panicked, I ran." John shook his head,
and I could see he was getting nervous again, a sight I would have
otherwise enjoyed.
"Okay, don't worry, just calm down."
"How can I?" John threw up his hands. "I killed the guy!"
"Deep breath. Relax."
"Oh, shut up." John fell silent, looking out the window.
I gripped the wheel, driving fast. We'd be there in no time, and my
emotions were catching up with me. I've done terrible things, but I'd
never kill anybody. My destruction is aimed at myself, where it belongs.
I realized that once we got there, we'd have to decide what to do. I knew what I'd do, but I didn't know what John would do.
I focused on the road, and we hurtled ahead.
Chapter Three
It was dusk by the time we reached a deserted stretch near an underpass
to the Pennsylvania Turnpike. There was nothing around, no lights or
security cameras, only a rusted cyclone fence collapsed in sections
around a grassy area, accessed by a service road of gravel, dirt, and
stones that were bad for my undercarriage. I drove the Maserati only on
dry asphalt and never to a murder scene.
"John, this is the place? You said it was a corporate center."
"This is Phase Two of Knickerbocker Quarry Center. They start
construction next month. Phase One is on the other side of the quarry."
"So how'd you end up here?"
"We met at the corporate center, and Lemaire told me to follow him, so I
did. I didn't know it was like this until I got here. Park ahead, near
the opening in the fence."
I drove up, cut the ignition, and we
got out of the car. John bolted ahead through the fence opening, and I
hurried after him on a deer path of weeds and overgrown grass. I was
almost through when I heard John's shocked voice.
"TJ!"
I reached him, standing in a clearing. There was no dead body, only dirt, grass, and brush. "Where is he?"
"I don't know," John answered, astonished. "He was right here. He was
on his back. He was dead, I know it. Blood poured onto the ground."
We both looked down. Blackness glimmered underneath the grass, rubble,
and stones. I crouched and swiped the spot with my fingers, which came
away gritty with blood. "Okay, so he was here. I don't see the gun or
the rock, do you?"
"No. He must've taken them."
"Hmm. Odd. That would be thinking straight, for somebody who had his clock cleaned."
"What do you mean?"
"You know, he'd be woozy, like you feel after a brawl."
John snorted. "I've never been in one."
"You're Irish, bro. You should be ashamed."
"That's a stereotype."
"It's a virtue."
"Whatever, clearly he's alive." John threw up his arms. "Which means I didn't kill him! Thank God!"
"Wait." I realized something. "Where's his car? There was no car out front."
"My God, yes!" John shot back, elated. "His car's gone! He really is alive!"
"It's the likeliest explanation."
"It's the only explanation." John broke into a grin. "He's alive, he drove away. What else could have happened?"
"I'm thinking."
"Of what?"
"What else could have happened. I'm trying to analyze-"
"You? Analyze?"
That stung, but I stuffed it. I'm good at stuffing my feelings, though
apparently it's a bad thing to be good at. "How do you know he was
alone?"
"There were no other cars."
"He could have had somebody already in place, hiding."
John's smile faded. "Why would he?"
"In case something went sideways, which it did. Someone could be
watching us, even now." I scanned the scene but saw nothing suspicious.
The corporate center and apartment complex were on the far side of the
quarry. Beyond that was the Pennsylvania Turnpike, and the whooshing of
traffic was background noise.
John grimaced. "You really think someone's watching?"
"It's possible. What kind of car did he drive?"
"I don't know, a Volvo?"
"A sedan?"
"Yes."
"What color?"
"Maroon. TJ, is everything about cars?"
I let it go. "Let's look around, just in case. You go right and I'll go
left." I took off, searching for a body. There was none, only more
weeds, underbrush, and thornbushes. The wind picked up, and brownish
reeds rustled with a dry sound. Shards of beer bottles glinted in the
grass, and I expected to find a used condom, but didn't. Kids today
disappoint me. Always on TikTok.
I walked through a section of
cyclone fence that had been torn down, then stepped on a metal sign.
danger-cliff edge, it read in big red letters. no trespassing beyond
this point. Below that was a stick figure in cartoon waves. deep cold
water. do not swim. I got the gist.
I reached the quarry, a
massive chasm of about eighty acres excavated into the earth. Its drop
was steep and lethal, and its stone walls striated with gray, black, and
dark brown veins and ledges of vegetation. There was water at the
bottom, its greenish chop glimmering in the waning light. I squinted for
a floating body but didn't see one.
.png)
.png)
