Page 92 of I’ll Be Watching You

“What if Dad didn’t go along with it?” Jack said as he navigated through traffic. “What if he called their bluff and turned everything over to the police?”

“Remember what Mom said? That the pictures disappeared?”

“But Dad was a respected doctor, Mom was the former county attorney. The police would have listened to them. He tells the truth, and they investigate.”

“And maybe one of us dies. Maybe they make it look like an accident, but Dad would know it was because he didn’t do what they wanted—he didn’t confess. He would be destroyed, even if the police caught the real killer.”

Jack didn’t say anything. “Maybe they wouldn’t have gone after us.”

“Someone killed Devin. Dad logically assumed they would kill again.”

Jack drove through one of the original Avondale neighborhoods. The houses looked identical, most clean and neat, many with patio chairs and toys strewn across small porches.

Christina Aberdeen’s older sister, Rachel Davis, was a stay-at-home mom of four kids. We didn’t call her in advance because it would be harder for her to refuse to talk to us in person than over the phone. Tess’s basic research said that her kids were all school age, so we timed the visit for after the kids would be in school. We were successful: A large SUV was in the driveway when we arrived.

I knocked and stood in front of Jack, since my appearance was less intimidating than my brother’s. A dog barked, a woman swore, and a moment later she opened the door with admonitions to the dog to be quiet.

“Yes?” she said.

“Mrs. Davis, my name is Margo Angelhart and this is my brother Jack. We’re private investigators and have a couple of questions about your sister’s death, if you have a few minutes.”

She frowned and I thought she might tell us to go to hell, but then she said, “Jack—you’re Austin Angelhart’s dad.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“My daughter was in his class in third and fourth grades. I thought you looked familiar.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I don’t remember,” Jack said with a half smile.

She dismissed his apology. “I don’t think we formally met. You want to talk about Christina? Can I ask why? She died nearly four years ago.”

“It’s about the drug trial that she was a part of before her death,” Jack said.

“You can say suicide,” Rachel said. “It was hard on me at first, but I’ve come to terms with it.” She unlocked the screen door and held back the large mutt. “I’m going to put him out back, he gets hyper around guests.”

They entered and stood in the small living room that was neat and mostly unused. An upright piano with a family portrait above it was the focal point, and two love seats faced each other with a coffee table in between them. Bookshelves with both books and knickknacks framed the piano. On the other side of the tile foyer was a dining room with a farm-style table that sat six. Stairs went up and, though I couldn’t see the back of the house clearly, there appeared to be a large kitchen and family room.

“I looked at this model when Whitney and I got married,” Jack said wistfully. “I liked it, but she felt it was too small.”

I didn’t want to talk about Jack’s ex-wife, who I had never liked. Of course she thought it was too small—she wanted big and grand. Now she lived in a 3000-square-foot house with her eleven-year-old son and no husband because she had betrayed and divorced one of the best men in the world.

But now, it didn’t bother me as much as it used to. Jack had found love a second time around and I genuinely liked Laura and her kids. Laura was good for Jack, and vice versa.

Rachel came back into the room. “Please, sit.” She motioned to the two couches, then sat on the piano bench. “Tell me why you’re interested in Christina’s suicide.”

Because Jack was uncomfortable with lying, I began. “We’ve been hired to investigate a drug trial conducted through the VA four years ago,” I said. “There were some irregularities. Your sister was part of that trial.”

She nodded. “I didn’t know about it at the time. Christina was very private.” She hesitated, then said, “When Christina was in high school, she had been raped by a teacher. She was sixteen, and while her rapist was fired, he didn’t actually do any jail time. He fought it, said she was willing, that he was wrong because she was a student, and ended up pleading to statutory rape. Because Christina was confused and he had convinced her it was her fault, her story wasn’t consistent. And it got out. Everyone at the school knew. At the time, Avondale was a much smaller community. She enlisted in the Army when she was eighteen.”

“I’m sorry she went through that,” I said. “I hope he rots in hell.” I meant it.

“I wish I had been here. I think it would have helped her, but I was at college in Los Angeles. The military helped. I didn’t see her for a year, but when she came home for leave, she was confident and content with her life.”

Rachel paused.

“I was in the Army for six years,” I said. “Do you know why she didn’t reenlist?”

“She served for nearly nine years. She was engaged to another soldier. He was a great guy—my husband and I both adored him. He was killed in a training accident a month before they were supposed to be married. It gutted her. She was granted a medical discharge. She was so depressed, worse than after the rape. She went to see a psychiatrist with the VA, Dr. Klein. He was good for her. She also joined a church group for grief and I thought she was making progress. Then . . . she killed herself.”