“Protecting Mary?”
“That’s what I was trying to do—protect my family. I didn’t know until Mary came today that she’d seen me and Hattie together. She . . . said she’d testify against me, about what she saw. At that point I knew there wasn’t any hope in lying further. I wasn’t going to get away with it.”
Lund looked up again and met my stare. “To be honest, I’m kind of relieved. I’d just like to get all this over with and start serving my time. Can I do that?”
He glanced at the lawyer, who seemed to remember he was there as more than just a rapt audience member, and the two of them asked to have a minute alone to discuss sentencing options.
We tossed him back in the cell with his lawyer for company and drove to the school, found the key, and took it to the Greyhound station in Rochester. Inside the locker we found Hattie’s missing suitcase, still gleaming and smelling like new, and an envelope holding three hundred-dollar bills, a note from Lund breaking off the affair, and two one-way tickets to New York, exactly as he’d described.
After we photographed and bagged everything, I turned to Jake and nodded.
“Book him. Murder two.”
I left the terminal and drove straight to Bud and Mona’s. It was heading toward evening, and even though the burial and lunch were long over, it looked like half the funeral procession had followed them home. Over a dozen vehicles were parked in the driveway, on the lawn, and along the road.
One of Mona’s sisters let me in and showed me to the living room. Photo albums were scattered everywhere and tagboard posters with pictures of Hattie were propped up against the walls. People crowded on chairs and the floor, surrounding Mona and Bud on the couch. Some were laughing and looking at pictures, some were crying, some were doing a bit of both, but they all stopped and fell silent when I walked into the room.
When Bud saw me in uniform, he took Mona by the hand and they stood up together.
“Let’s get some air,” he said.
We walked out toward the silo with Bear the retriever shadowing our steps. The sky roiled with fat spring clouds that kept the sun at bay, making our path muddy and precarious.
Once we got out of view of the house, Bud and Mona turned toward me. I didn’t beat around the bush.
“The DNA came back.”
Although neither said anything, a fire lit in both their eyes, a terrible anticipation.
“It was Peter Lund, Hattie’s English teacher.”
“What?” Mona staggered backward.
It took Bud a moment to find his voice, but when he did it was at a full bellow. “Her goddamn teacher? He forced himself on her?”
“No.” I looked him square in the eye. They deserved better than the truth, but the truth was all I had to give them. “They’d been having an affair since January.”
I registered the fist coming at my face and let it happen. Mona’s scream followed me to the ground, drifting in and out of my ears as the blow rang through my head and Bear barked and jumped around everyone. Bud stood over me, fists up, ignoring Mona’s attempts to haul him back.
“That’s a filthy lie, Del. A filthy lie! Don’t tell me Hattie was bedding some sick, pervert teacher. She wouldn’t do that.”
I rubbed my jaw and spoke to Mona, filling in the details, from the emails last fall all the way to the meeting on Friday night.
Mona was crying hard by the time I finished, still holding on to Bud’s arm. Bear had quieted down and was standing guard by his master. Bud stared through me, past arguing but no less wrathful.
“I’ll kill him.”
I stood up cautiously. “You’re not going to kill anybody, Bud.”
“Where is he now?” Mona managed to ask and Bud echoed her, but in a different voice, a planning voice.
“Yeah, where is he?”
“He’s in custody. Locked up. It’s done.”
Bud’s expression didn’t change, so I tried again.
“He gave a full confession this afternoon and he’s not going to see light from the free side of a cell anytime soon.”
Mona leaned against the wall of the silo and covered her face while Bud’s hands were still fisted at his sides and veins popped in his forehead. A crow cawed from some hidden place nearby. I didn’t know what else I could say. There was no peace here, no sense of justice. I’d done what I’d said I would, sitting on their couch not five days ago; I’d handed them a murderer, but stole the last bits of their daughter in the process.
Greg appeared around the barn, walking toward us, looking as grim and hell-bent as his father. I touched Mona’s shoulder and made my way back to the cruiser, leaving them to their despair.