In the car, Jenny asked her parents to take her directly to the police station, but they insisted she come home and rest. If Jenny had something to report about what happened last night, her father said, she could call, and an officer would come interview her.
They arrived at the house to find a long, shiny black Mercedes parked in front of it. As Jenny’s dad pulled into the driveway, a uniformed chauffeur got out and came around to open the door for Keniston Eastman, who was followed out of the backseat by a distinguished-looking man whom Jenny didn’t recognize.
“That’s my roommate’s father,” Jenny said in surprise.
“We know,” her mother said. “He came last night, and paid for your hospital room. Such a nice man.”
Keniston waved at them, and her mother waved back.
“Why did he pay for my room?” Jenny said, with a sinking feeling.
“Because you helped his daughter. You know we can’t afford a private room. The insurance doesn’t cover it.”
“Who’s that with him?”
“His lawyer. He wants to thank you. Let’s go inside, I’ll make coffee.”
His lawyer? This was not a get-well call.
“Mom, I’m tired. Can you talk to them for me, so I can go up to bed?”
“Just spend five minutes. Be polite, say thank you, then you rest.”
Inside, Jenny sat down at the kitchen table with Keniston and his lawyer, whose name was Warren Adams, as her mother bustled around making the coffee. Keniston looked her mother’s way, then exchanged fraught glances with Adams.
“Jenny,” Keniston said, “I wanted to express my gratitude. You’ve been a good friend to Kate. I know the police are going to want to speak to you about Mr. Arsenault’s suicide, and as a token of my gratitude, I wanted to offer Warren’s help as you go through that process.”
“Mr. Eastman, thank you, but I don’t need a lawyer.”
“It’s a stressful situation, speaking to the police about a suicide,” Keniston said.
“Yes, well, before we go any further, you should know, it wasn’t a suicide. What I saw—”
Keniston stood up suddenly. “It’s best if you speak to Warren about this. He’s the legal expert, and I have to make an important phone call. Mrs. Vega, could I trouble you to show me to a telephone?”
“There’s one right here,” Jenny’s mother said, pointing to the phone on the wall.
“A private one, if you please.”
Jenny watched as Keniston shepherded her mother from the room. He carried a cell phone, so why did he need to use their telephone? It occurred to Jenny that this was a ruse to leave her alone with the lawyer.
“Miss Vega,” Adams said, “I know you’ve just gone through a difficult experience. If you like, I can take a signed statement from you right now and relay it to the Belle River Police so you don’t have to go down to the station. Our understanding, based on eyewitness accounts from Kate Eastman and Aubrey Miller, is that the young man threw himself off the bridge. He was apparently distraught over a recent injury that ended his hockey career.”
Jenny cleared her throat nervously. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I saw.”
“Well. You were standing farther away, so perhaps you didn’t have a clear view.”
“Was it Kate who said Lucas jumped? He wasn’t pushed?”
Adams fixed her with cold, blue eyes. A nerve pulsed in his cheek. “Pushed? Absolutely not. Nobody said anything of the kind. Both Miss Eastman and your other roommate, Miss Miller, are very clear that he jumped, and that, frankly, he wanted to die.”
Jenny wasn’t surprised that Kate would lie to save her own skin. As for Aubrey, she worshipped the ground Kate walked on, and wouldn’t say a word against her. Besides, Aubrey was in trouble at Carlisle. Big trouble. Trouble that Keniston Eastman could make go away with one phone call. It would be Jenny’s word against theirs.
“Just so you know,” Adams continued, “the conclusion that Mr. Arsenault’s death was a suicide is backed up by other sources. We have doctors’ reports concerning his head injury. The hockey coach confirmed that he was forced to leave the team. Provost Meyers says that Mr. Arsenault filed an application for permission to withdraw from school, which is a very serious step to take. The facts, in our view, show a young man who was going through a very difficult time, difficult enough that he chose to take his own life.”
“People in Belle River don’t kill themselves. We suck up the hard times and go on.”
“Miss Vega, I’m sure his death comes as a shock. But your roommates’ statements have been vetted and verified, and as far as we know, nobody contradicts them. Unless you know someone who does.”
Jenny understood that he was asking what her own account to the police would be, but she wasn’t ready to answer that yet.
“What about Tim Healy?” she asked. “He saw everything. You might be surprised at what he has to say when he wakes up.”
“I’m sorry to say, he may not wake up. We’re very concerned for Tim, and his family. We’ve offered to fly in specialists. But given the severity of his head injury, I’ve been told that should he recover—which we sincerely hope he does—it’s unlikely he’ll have any memory of what happened.”
“Tim’s doctor actually told you that?”
Adams’s eloquent shrug reminded Jenny that Tim was in Carlisle General Hospital, in the Eastman Wing. Patient confidentiality would count for squat there if the hospital’s great benefactor started asking questions. The Eastmans had many allies; Jenny had none. If she wanted to go to the police and turn Kate in, if she wanted to make enemies of the Eastmans, she would take the consequences on her own.
“Miss Vega, I have to ask,” Adams said, “what are you planning to say to the police?”
The question hung in the air. If only she could reverse time—make Kate not push Lucas, make him not fall, not die. But she couldn’t. It was time to decide: Tell the truth and pay the price, or fall in line.
“What if—” she began, and hesitated.
“What if what?”
“What if I said I had seen Kate … I won’t say push Lucas, that’s too strong. What if I saw her hitting Lucas, and he was backing up, and then he fell off the bridge? What about that?”
“Well, I would say you were wrong, that your version of the facts is untrue. Beyond that, I might think you bore some grudge against Miss Eastman for alienating Mr. Arsenault’s affections, and that you were lying out of spite. Other people might think that, too. Maybe they’d even think you were so twisted from romantic disappointment that you needed psychiatric help. Or that you had a substance abuse problem.”
“Substance abuse? Me?” Jenny exclaimed.
“Several witnesses say they regularly detect the smell of marijuana coming from your room.”