You just tell everybody the truth, and then trust it all to God, you hear? You’re bein’ watched over, same as always.”
“I know, Mama. Thank you. I have to go now. I’ll call back in a bit. I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
I put the cell phone in my pocket, and the intercom buzzes again. And Robert and I walk out to open the door for the police.
Except when I open the door, it’s not the police.
chapter 13
TOO MUCH
Before I can react, Uncle Hank pushes past me into the front hall, brushes Robert aside and walks through the open parlor door.
“Lawrence?”
I’m inside now, and Uncle Hank’s in the study.
“Robert! In here!” He follows me at a dead run into Grampa’s bedroom, and I slam the door and lock it.
“Lawrence!” His big fist shakes the door in its frame. “Are you in there? Tell Gwennie to open the door. I need to talk to you, right now.”
Robert and I have our shoulders against the door. And I can see Robert beginning to make his old man face, and he takes a breath: He’s about to start talking like Grampa again.
So I poke him in the side, and I shout through the door. “Just go away. This isn’t a good time. So just leave.” Because in the back of my mind I guess I think I can keep Uncle Hank out of all this for another day or so. There’s already too much to deal with.
Uncle Hank bangs the door again. “I want to see him. And who’s that kid in there with you? That your boyfriend or something? What’s going on around here, Gwennie? Open this door, or I’m going to give it a good kick and come in anyway.”
“Hold it, mister! Police! Hands on the wall, and don’t turn around!”
“What the—? Oh, great! Nice going, Gwennie. You had to go and be stupid and call the police.”
I open the bedroom door, and there are two officers, both men, one with a hand on his pistol. The second officer has his left hand against Uncle Hank’s back, and he’s patting around with the other to check for weapons.
It takes all my courage to speak. “I’m Gwendolyn Page. I’m the one who called 911.”
The officer finishes with Uncle Hank and says, “What’s the yelling about?” And to me he says, “You know this man?”
I nod. “He’s my uncle.”
Still talking to me, he says, “And you live here?”
I nod. “With my grampa. It’s his house.”
Uncle Hank snarls, “And it’s my house too.”
The second officer says to Hank, “Just keep it quiet unless someone asks you a question, okay?” Then to me he says, “And you’re the one reported the dead body, right? You want to show me now?”
I nod at the officer, but I’m watching my uncle’s face. The anger drains away. Seconds later I’m looking at a different man, more like a boy. Somebody’s little brother. “Body?” he says. “What body?”
Hank turns from the officer and locks eyes with me. “Gwennie? Is it . . . it’s Lawrence?”
My eyes fill with tears, and I nod.
The crumpled face, the pain in his eyes. And I cross Uncle Hank off the list of suspects. Because I believe his sadness and shock, believe it completely.
The officer nods at Robert and asks me, “Who’s he?”
“A friend of mine. He found it first . . . the body.”
Uncle Hank moves to the couch and slumps into the cushions, face in his hands.
“Okay, then,” the officer says. “Why don’t you two lead the way.”
The next ninety minutes feel like a dream. After Robert and I show the policeman the freezer, he calls for an evidence team. Fingerprint dusting, dozens of photographs, a medical examiner from the coroner’s office, a body bag, an ambulance.
Robert and Uncle Hank each spend about fifteen minutes in the study giving their statements to the man in charge, Detective Keenan. Jason the tenant shows up, and he gets questioned too. And a technician takes fingerprint samples from all of us, “for the process of suspect elimination,” he says.
By the time it’s my turn to give a statement,
“I know, Mama. Thank you. I have to go now. I’ll call back in a bit. I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
I put the cell phone in my pocket, and the intercom buzzes again. And Robert and I walk out to open the door for the police.
Except when I open the door, it’s not the police.
chapter 13
TOO MUCH
Before I can react, Uncle Hank pushes past me into the front hall, brushes Robert aside and walks through the open parlor door.
“Lawrence?”
I’m inside now, and Uncle Hank’s in the study.
“Robert! In here!” He follows me at a dead run into Grampa’s bedroom, and I slam the door and lock it.
“Lawrence!” His big fist shakes the door in its frame. “Are you in there? Tell Gwennie to open the door. I need to talk to you, right now.”
Robert and I have our shoulders against the door. And I can see Robert beginning to make his old man face, and he takes a breath: He’s about to start talking like Grampa again.
So I poke him in the side, and I shout through the door. “Just go away. This isn’t a good time. So just leave.” Because in the back of my mind I guess I think I can keep Uncle Hank out of all this for another day or so. There’s already too much to deal with.
Uncle Hank bangs the door again. “I want to see him. And who’s that kid in there with you? That your boyfriend or something? What’s going on around here, Gwennie? Open this door, or I’m going to give it a good kick and come in anyway.”
“Hold it, mister! Police! Hands on the wall, and don’t turn around!”
“What the—? Oh, great! Nice going, Gwennie. You had to go and be stupid and call the police.”
I open the bedroom door, and there are two officers, both men, one with a hand on his pistol. The second officer has his left hand against Uncle Hank’s back, and he’s patting around with the other to check for weapons.
It takes all my courage to speak. “I’m Gwendolyn Page. I’m the one who called 911.”
The officer finishes with Uncle Hank and says, “What’s the yelling about?” And to me he says, “You know this man?”
I nod. “He’s my uncle.”
Still talking to me, he says, “And you live here?”
I nod. “With my grampa. It’s his house.”
Uncle Hank snarls, “And it’s my house too.”
The second officer says to Hank, “Just keep it quiet unless someone asks you a question, okay?” Then to me he says, “And you’re the one reported the dead body, right? You want to show me now?”
I nod at the officer, but I’m watching my uncle’s face. The anger drains away. Seconds later I’m looking at a different man, more like a boy. Somebody’s little brother. “Body?” he says. “What body?”
Hank turns from the officer and locks eyes with me. “Gwennie? Is it . . . it’s Lawrence?”
My eyes fill with tears, and I nod.
The crumpled face, the pain in his eyes. And I cross Uncle Hank off the list of suspects. Because I believe his sadness and shock, believe it completely.
The officer nods at Robert and asks me, “Who’s he?”
“A friend of mine. He found it first . . . the body.”
Uncle Hank moves to the couch and slumps into the cushions, face in his hands.
“Okay, then,” the officer says. “Why don’t you two lead the way.”
The next ninety minutes feel like a dream. After Robert and I show the policeman the freezer, he calls for an evidence team. Fingerprint dusting, dozens of photographs, a medical examiner from the coroner’s office, a body bag, an ambulance.
Robert and Uncle Hank each spend about fifteen minutes in the study giving their statements to the man in charge, Detective Keenan. Jason the tenant shows up, and he gets questioned too. And a technician takes fingerprint samples from all of us, “for the process of suspect elimination,” he says.
By the time it’s my turn to give a statement,
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