"Well, that's nice to hear. Thank you," I said, pleasantly surprised. "But that club is not what you wanted to talk to me about, is it?"

"No," he said, dropping his eyes to the floor, obviously not ready to share his thoughts.

"Why don't you tell me?"

"You've got to understand that what I'm about to say is very hard for me. I don't like betraying my friend. But I think I'd better go with what's right, and this feels right to me." He glanced up, his expression anguished. "I trust you, Tamara. I'm going to take your advice on whatever you say I should do."

"Then you've got to tell me."

"This is hard for me."

"It's about Drew Sampson, isn't it?" I asked, my eyes not leaving his.

"Yeah. I just don't know what to think about what happened this afternoon. Annette, well-" He shook his head.

I gave him a moment. "Do you think he had something to do with his wife's death?"

"I don't know what to think. To tell the truth, he didn't seem as upset about Annette's death as he should have been, and that bothers me. He lived with that woman for years before Celia, she bore him a son, and for that alone he should have shown more feeling, but there was nothing."

"What did he say happened?"

"He told me that the boy came back home, to Annette's house, when he found out that his friend Pikhad been stabbed to death. Drew Junior was scared out of his wits, and Annette was scared, too. She called Drew that night, and he came by to take his boy to his place. They agreed it would be safer for him there. That was late on Wednesday."

So her son was the one who came into the room when Annette called me Wednesday night. But had he been the only person there?

"So what happened then?"

"Drew said his son was with him until he found the body Friday, which was when he called the cops. They went to pick up the boy's clothes. You know the rest."

"So was his son with him the whole time? Did he leave him alone at any point?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know what happened to my brother?" I said after a moment, going in another direction.

Concern for me came into his eyes. "Yeah. I heard when it happened, but I didn't know how to reach you or I would have. It was a real tragedy. He was a good brother."

"My good brother." good brother."

"It happened a long time ago."

"Yeah, and that's why I'm bringing it up now. I'm worried about the Sampson kid. Suicide is a terrible legacy for a child. A lot of studies show that if a parent commits suicide, the child is at high risk, too. She didn't seem depressed when I saw her, and she was a smart woman. I don't think Annette would have put her child at risk like that."

"Liquor can change a mood quickly."

"Yes, that's true," I said, conceding that.

"So you don't think she killed herself like the cops say?" He looked worried, and I found that puzzling.

"I think somebody else did it, and the same person must have killed Celia, too, because they had the gun. It was a .22, the same caliber weapon as the one that killed Celia."

'And you think it would be better for Drew Junior to think that his father killed his mother and her lover? That he's a murderer?" He looked at me in disbelief, and I thought hard about what I was going to say before I answered him.

"I think that he has to know the truth, whatever that is. Once a person knows the truth he can learn to deal with it. Lies are what destroy a child, especially a lie like that."

Larry sat for a while, sipping his tea and gazing out my dirty office window. I didn't rush him. I was pretty sure what he had to say, and the fact that he was here showed me he had decided to level with me. Finally he put the mug down and cleared his throat.

"You know we all came up together, me, Drew, Clayton. I can't think of any other men, not any that I had as much feeling for, that I loved as much as I loved the two of them. I would have done anything for Clay and I'd do anything for Drew if it came to that."

"I remember the three of you as teenagers," I said, wondering when he was going to tell me what I wanted to hear.

"It just about killed me when Clay died as sudden as he did. We'd had a lot of fun together. He was wild as h.e.l.l."

"So I've heard."

"I didn't mention this before, but Clay was the one who put me back in touch with Celia after all these years. He ran into her through Drew. She had contacted Drew looking for a handout, long before she knew his wife, I might add. He gave it to her because Drew can be a very generous dude. Most folks don't know that about him. When Clay died, all I had left was Drew."

"So you felt you had to lie for him about where he was the morning Celia was murdered," I said, eagerly leaping ahead to the point I was sure he was trying to make.

He gave me an odd glance that I wasn't sure how to interpret.

"Most of what I told you was true," he said. "We did get stinking drunk, and I did fall out on his couch. I was still sick about my wife leaving me and about the general state of my life. Clayton, my other best friend, had died in August and it was New Year's Eve, five months to the day of his death. I had been depressed as h.e.l.l at the thought of being alone on New Year's Eve, so we decided to spend it together. I left early the next morning."

"How early?"

'Around five, maybe six. I'd promised my daughter I'd take her to dinner on New Year's Day, and I wanted to get an early start so I'd be there on time. I just stretched the truth a little, Tamara. I was was with my daughter on New Year's Day when Celia was killed." with my daughter on New Year's Day when Celia was killed."

"No, Larry, Celia was killed around eight o'clock in the morning, so you were on the road when Celia was killed, not with your daughter. Why did you lie to me?"

"Because Drew asked me to say I was with him when she was killed."

"You think he killed her, don't you?" I looked him straight in the eye, but despite what most people believe, looking a liar in the eye won't get you anything but a lie told without blinking.

"I don't want to believe it, but maybe he did."

"I'll tell you what you can believe in, Larry," I said after a moment. He had focused his eyes on my window, looking hard at something I couldn't see. When his gaze met mine, I could see there were tears in his eyes. I wasn't sure who he was crying for-Celia, Drew, or himself.

"You can believe in the truth, Larry. The truth always beats out a lie. It's the only thing you can build on. You told me what you know and now I want you to tell the police, because if you gave Drew Sampson an alibi and he killed Celia Jones, then he probably killed his wife, too. And if you don't come clean about what you know, you are as guilty as he is.

"If he's a killer, you could very well be putting your life in danger, and my life, too, for that matter. You don't know what is truly in somebody's heart. You think you know, but you never do, which is why folks are always surprised when the beast living in somebody's soul rears up and bites them on the a.s.s."

He smiled at that, and I offered him some more tea, which he drank without comment until I broke the silence. "Drew Sampson is taking his kid and heading out of the country, isn't he?"

"That's what he told me when I talked to him earlier."

"When did he say he was going?"

'As soon as he can pack."

"I'm going to call a detective I know on the police force here in town and ask if we can have an appointment to see him. Will you come with me?"

"Tell me when and where and we can go in together."

We shook hands then, and I watched him as he went downstairs, his head bowed down, his foot unsteady. He walked like a man who had wrestled with demons and wasn't sure he'd won.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

As soon as Larry Walton left, I made my call to Detective Griffin. The officer who answered the phone put me on hold for a long time. I wasn't surprised. I made my call to Detective Griffin. The officer who answered the phone put me on hold for a long time. I wasn't surprised.

'Ah, Ms. Hayle. What can I do for you this evening?" Griffin said when he finally picked up. I detected that trace of annoyance that creeps into the voice of weary public servants forced to deal with a pain in the b.u.t.t member of society. I could almost see him glancing at his watch.

"Thanks for taking my call, Detective. I know it's late, and I-"

"Yes, Ms. Hayle, you just caught me. I was on my way out the door. My wife has tickets for a concert at NJPAC, and I'm running late. Could this possibly wait until Monday? As a matter of fact, it's going to have to wait until Monday."

"Please don't hang up, sir." I threw in the "sir" for good measure. "I'm sure you heard about what happened over in Belvington Heights this afternoon."

"Yeah. I got a call from DeLorca over there. He wanted some info on Celia Jones confirmed. He mentioned that you were there on some business. By the way, he thinks very highly of you. Well, I guess that solves your case for you. You can go on back to your-"

"She didn't do it!" I said, more loudly than I meant to.

"I beg your pardon?" It wasn't so much a question as a demand for clarification.

"She didn't do it!"

"Do what, kill herself or kill Celia Jones? Every bit of evidence says she did."

"There were a few irregularities at the scene that I'll be sharing with Chief DeLorca shortly. They point to the fact that Annette Sampson didn't commit suicide. If she didn't kill herself, then she didn't kill Celia Jones."

"So you think somebody else killed her?"

"Yes."

"That .22 had her prints all over it. And that drawing she made of Celia Jones found under her pillow points to her guilt and anger. It was as good as a suicide note."

"Someone else could have given her pills mixed with alcohol, placed her fingers on the gun, and planted the drawing of Celia Jones. We both know that what seems is often what's not."

He sighed or yawned, I wasn't sure which. "Please don't tell me that you think this has something to do with Drew Sampson."

I stood my ground. "Yes, I do, and so does Larry Walton." I was bending Larry's words a bit, but Griffin could draw his own conclusions once they spoke.

"Ms. Hayle. This case is on the verge of being closed, and frankly I'm happy as h.e.l.l that it's off my desk. I don't want it opened up again over bulls.h.i.t."

"This isn't bulls.h.i.t, believe me. I think you'd better hear what Walton has to say."

He didn't say anything for a moment. I didn't know whether he was looking through his calendar or thinking of another way to put me off. "Okay, Monday morning. And it better be early because I have a full schedule."

I was supposed to report to Cosey in Short Hills at 10:00 A.M. A.M. If I got to the station early, and put things in Griffin's hands, I could still make my appointment without any problem. The truth would out; I was sure of that. I just needed to give it this last little nudge. If I got to the station early, and put things in Griffin's hands, I could still make my appointment without any problem. The truth would out; I was sure of that. I just needed to give it this last little nudge.

"Yes, early is good for me, too. Will seven o'clock be too early for you?"

"Seven o'clock in the morning! Make it seven-thirty"

"Thank you. I think you'll find it will be worth your while."

"It better be," he snapped, then added, "By the way, we picked up the guy who killed Pik."

"Pik?" The events of the last twenty-four hours had all but erased Pik and what had happened to him from my mind.

"Yeah. The Sampson kid's friend. The kid who was stabbed on Wednesday. When you were here before, I mentioned that we knew who killed Cecil Jones, right, and that fate had taken care of it. Well, Pik killed Cecil Jones, and fate definitely took care of his thuggish little b.u.t.t."

"You're saying that Pik killed Celia's boy? I thought they were friends!"

"Apparently not. You never know with kids. Here's the way we figure it went down. They had beef over that young girl, Cristal. Anyway, it seems like she was Pik's girl until she started tipping on him with that other kid, Cecil Jones."

"But wasn't it common knowledge that she was seeing Cecil? She had a child by him."

"No. That baby was Pik's. Ever wonder why he called himself Pik? Weird sense of humor, that kid had. He had babies by a couple of different girls. 'Pik' was some kind of crude reference to his s.e.xual organ. He was also known for 'pickin' people, in other words, stabbing them. And he stabbed that Jones kid right through the heart with his knife, with what he liked to call his pick, as in ice pick. Who the h.e.l.l knows what motivates these d.a.m.n kids to do what they do!"

I recalled Cecil's funeral and Cristal's reaction to Brent Liston and Beanie's stares at her baby. There had been hatred in Brent Liston's eyes and fear in Cristal's. Now it made sense.

"So Brent Liston killed Pik," I said, realizing just how fate had taken a hand in things.

"You got it. Brent Liston apparently loved something in the world more than his miserable life, and that something was his son. So he took his revenge on the kid who murdered him. He stabbed Pik right through the heart like Pik had his boy. I guess we're lucky the girl wasn't there or she'd probably be dead, too. Violence begets violence. It never ends, does it?" Griffin sounded weary.

"The other kid, the Sampson boy, was lucky, too. No telling what Liston would have done if he'd found him. But after Pik died, we thought he might have had something to do with it, so we kept an eye on him until we had the evidence we needed. His woman put up a fight when we finally picked him up. We thought we'd have to take her down, too."

"Beanie?"

"Was that her name? I knew it was something that started with a 'B' but that wouldn't have been my first choice," he said, chuckling at his own attempt at a joke. "So that's it, Ms. Hayle. Pik killed Cecil Jones, like we suspected, and Cecil Jones's old man killed Pik. He finally admitted it when we questioned him, so that's that."

'And I guess you'd add that Annette Sampson killed Celia Jones then killed herself, and that ties things up nicely, too, right?"

"That's what the evidence points to."

It didn't tie up for me, though, but I wasn't ready to say it.

"You will talk to Larry Walton and me on Monday, right?"

"Yeah, I said I would, didn't I? For what it's worth. Early Monday morning," he said and hung up.

I called Larry Walton, and left a message on his machine telling him that I'd spoken to the detective and requested that he meet me at the precinct Monday morning. I apologized for it being so early, and said I hoped that he would understand. I turned on my computer, waited for it to boot up, called up "redlocket" and added some final notes about Cecil Jones, Pik, and Brent Liston.