Liar Liar Read online

  Nicole introduced herself and explained why she was there. Lyons listened attentively, but there was something about him that made her uncomfortable. Perhaps it was his aggressive use of eye contact. It was as if he was trying to draw her in and, if such a thing were possible, hypnotize her. She found herself having to look away once in a while.

  “Mary Ellen Barnes, that poor young woman,” he said. “Such a tragedy. Such a terrible thing for her family and for our community of young people.”

  “I understand Mary Ellen came to your Bible sessions.”

  “Yes, indeed. She was a very dedicated student.”

  “I wonder if you could tell me anything about her. Maybe she asked you for advice about a problem she was having?”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss my counseling sessions with an outside party. I can’t even say whether or not she sought counseling. These communications are confidential.”

  He paused before continuing, “But what about you? Why are you really here? I sense that you’re troubled in your own life. That you’re searching for something you haven’t yet found. Am I right?”

  Nicole was taken aback. Where was he getting this? “You’re mistaken,” she said. “I’m just trying to figure out what happened to Mary Ellen.”

  “It all goes back to God’s plan, doesn’t it?” Lyons said. “As they say, He works in mysterious ways. Just look at how He led you into my office this afternoon.”

  Nicole was getting goosebumps. This guy wasn’t hot, as Veronica had put it. He was creepy. She stood up. “I gather you won’t be telling me anything about Mary Ellen then. Thanks for your time.” When she reached the door, she turned back. “Do you want me to leave it open?”

  Once again his eyes locked on hers. “My door is always open. When you decide you want help, I’ll be waiting.”

  She left the door ajar and walked quickly away. The girl who was in his office earlier had come out crying. Nicole wondered why. She couldn’t understand how anyone would be taken in by Lyons’s Svengali stare and mind-reading act. As for her, she couldn’t wait to get away.

  As she left the student center and walked down the hill to the parking lot, something occurred to her. Was it possible Lyons was the killer? According to Veronica, he’d declared war on the school’s athletic department, and Doshan was its biggest star. But would a man like him commit murder to discredit a member of the football team? It seemed preposterous. She was letting her imagination run wild.

  Reaching the row of the parking lot where she’d left her car, she was surprised to see a young man kneeling next to her rear tire. He was running his hand around the edge, as if he were feeling for something.

  “Hey!” she shouted, hurrying toward him. “What are you doing? That’s my car.”

  Startled, the young man jumped to his feet. She didn’t recognize him as one of the group she’d run into earlier. He had a baby face and looked as if he should be in high school. She could tell by his expression that he‘d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

  She repeated her question, softening her tone. “What were you doing?”

  “Uh,” his eyes were darting about, as if he were trying to come up with an answer. “I was checking your tire.”

  “Checking my tire?”

  “I thought you, like, had a flat.” He was visibly sweating and looked as if he wished he were anywhere else.

  “A flat? Let me see.” Nicole studied the tire and then checked the front tire for comparison. “It looks fine to me.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “It’s fine.”

  Only then did it occur to her that he might have been about to let the air out of her tire. But why? She didn’t know him. Still, his guilty look told her he’d been up to something. Maybe it was fraternity hazing. Perhaps some frat boys had ordered this kid to let the air out of tires in the public lot during broad daylight, figuring he might be caught and get in trouble.

  She pulled out her keys. “All right, then,” she said. “Thanks for checking my tire.” He swallowed hard, bobbed his head, and walked quickly away.

  She’d started the car before she noticed a piece of paper tucked under her windshield wiper. She turned off the engine and got out to retrieve it. It was a sheet of paper folded into a square. She unfolded it. In large, hand-printed block letters, it said:

  IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU, YOU’LL MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS.

  She read it over several times. The threat was vague and could have been directed at anyone, but she had the feeling it was meant for her. She stepped back from the car and looked around. The young man had disappeared.

  When Nicole left the campus, she headed in the opposite direction she’d come. No one left the parking lot after her. She drove a mile or so. Then she took a left into one of the beach parking lots, turned the car around, and headed home. She was watchful all the way, but as far as she could tell, no one was following her. Still, the note troubled her, giving her the feeling she was being watched.

  §

  Once she was safely in the house, Nicole leaned against the front door and thought about her last glimpse of Mary Ellen as she ran away and disappeared into the darkness. Nicole put her hands over her face and gulped back tears. She was never going to get over this, she thought. Mary Ellen’s ghost would always be with her.

  At last she went into the bathroom and splashed her face with cold water. Then she got the Bible and notebook from where she’d left them on the hall table. She settled on the couch with the Bible in her lap and checked her watch. It was after three, and Josh wouldn’t be home before 5:30 or 6:00. She had plenty of time.

  She started with Mary Ellen’s scribblings in the margins of the Bible. As Veronica had pointed out, they were hard to decipher. Mary Ellen had penciled in tiny notations to fit in the margins. Nicole read some notes at the beginning of Genesis, then flipped through the book, reading comments at random. From what she could make out, they all seemed to be about the scriptures, questions about the meaning of certain passages, and brief exclamations of agreement. Mary Ellen had noted things like, “For Bible Study,” and “Have L explain.” There didn’t seem to be anything of a personal nature.

  Next, she picked up the journal. Here, in much more readable form, was the sad story of Mary Ellen’s life in the months leading up to her death. The girl’s mother was working two jobs, barely managing to support herself. She was divorced from Mary Ellen’s father, but he regularly stopped by the house drunk, looking for a fight that often turned physical. Mary Ellen complained about her overwhelming load of homework and the fact that her grades were so low she was in danger of losing her scholarship. She also fretted about her run-ins with Veronica and her failure to find friends at the university.

  After her first finals, Mary Ellen wrote that she’d barely passed. She started off the next quarter with the news that she’d joined the Bible studies group. Soon after, she wrote, “I saw him close up for the first time. He is so handsome I could die. My parents would have a fit if I had anything to do with this guy. But I don’t care. As my roommate would put it, I ‘have the hots’ for him. I’ve always been the goody-goody who never gives in to her feelings. I took that stupid oath about saving myself for marriage, but now I’m taking it back. Why can’t I let go of those stupid rules and have fun like everybody else. ”

  Nicole wondered if the unnamed crush had been Doshan. Mary Ellen had said she’d met him in Bible study. The journal entry went on to list her strategies for attracting his notice. It sounded like she was all but stalking him.

  Her last long entry was mid-January, about five weeks before her sexual encounter with Doshan. After that, there were only a few entries. Mary Ellen seemed to have lost interest in keeping the journal. For the next few weeks, she just noted events and times, but nothing of a personal nature. The rest of the book was blank.

  Nicole glanced at her watch. It was almost 5:30 p.m., and Josh could be home any time now. She took the books upstairs and put them on her night tab
le. She’d call Detective Martinez in the morning.

  She thought of the note she’d found on her car telling her to mind her own business. It was a moot point—she had no intention of poking into the murder investigation again. She was leaving it to the police this time. But what if she had to testify? One step at a time, she told herself.

  Nicole tried to focus on the evening ahead with Josh, but she couldn’t shake off her sense of regret and dread. She had the feeling that, while this tragedy had all but crushed her, something else was about to happen, something bad.

  Eight

  When she woke up the next morning, Josh was standing by her night table. He was just out of the shower, dressed only in his underwear. She smiled, taking in his muscular legs, the trail of dark blond hair leading from the top of his briefs to his navel. Her eyes moved up, and she saw he was reading Mary Ellen’s journal. Only now did it occur to her that she should have put it in her night table drawer instead of on top, where he was likely to see it.

  Josh sensed her attention and gave her a puzzled look. “What’s this?” he said.

  She felt herself flush. Reluctantly, she admitted that the reason for her outing the day before was Veronica’s message and the drive to Oceanside University.

  “Hey!” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It wasn’t that big a deal. I was going crazy in the house. Then Veronica contacted me, and I said I’d drive out there and meet with her.”

  “Okay,” he said. “But I’m still wondering why you didn’t tell me.”

  “Because you’ve made it clear you don’t want me involved in this case.”

  “I don’t. You should have put this Veronica in touch with the cops. What really worries me is that you felt you couldn’t tell me. We’ve discussed this, remember? No secrets.” He tossed the journal back on the nightstand. “Do everybody a favor. Get this into the proper hands, and leave the investigation to the authorities. Next time you’re tempted to get involved—and I hope there isn’t a next time—just don’t. Okay?”

  There it was. He was doing it again. “I don’t want to keep things from you,” she said, “but I don’t like the way you assume you can make decisions for me, and I don’t like your tone.”

  “Sorry.” He flushed, as if just realizing he was talking down to her. “But when did I ever try to make decisions for you?” His voice was softer now, more conciliatory.

  “Let’s see,” she said, “how about just now? And when I told you I was going for my P.I. license, you objected. I got stuck babysitting Mary Ellen, and you threw a fit. I don’t like being told what I can or can’t do.”

  “I’m not—” He paused, formulating his words. “All I’m asking is that you let me know what’s going on, okay?”

  She gave a noncommittal nod, then got up to go downstairs and call Detective Martinez. The case was no doubt in the hands of a murder squad by now, but Martinez would know who to contact. She didn’t answer, so Nicole left a message.

  Still perturbed, she sliced a couple of bagels, got out cream cheese and jam, and set the table. She was drinking coffee and reading the paper when Josh, now dressed for work, walked into the kitchen. Noticing the sliced bagels, he popped them in the toaster and sat down across from her. “Are you going in to work today?”

  “Might as well,” she said, gazing at him over the paper. “Staying home doesn’t seem to be helping.”

  “Good,” he said. “It will get your mind off things.” He lifted one eyebrow and tilted his head in half-joking disapproval. “And keep you out of trouble.”

  §

  Nicole was digging into a pile of reports when her boss walked into her office. “Mary Ellen’s lawyers want us to handle arrangements for her body,” Jerry said. “Can you get the ball rolling on that? Start with the coroner’s office. Find out when they plan to release it. Then contact the girl’s mother and see what she wants done.”

  She put in a call to Deputy Coroner Ortega. He told her it would be at least another few days, perhaps as long as a week, before the body could be released. Next, she called Mary Ellen’s mother, Linda Barnes, and expressed her condolences.

  “Thank you,” Linda sniffled.

  “Do you know what you want done with Mary Ellen’s remains?” Nicole paused a beat, regretting the word remains. “Do you want her cremated or shipped home for burial? You can have a service either way.”

  “Look,” Linda said, “I don’t have that kind of money. No way I can pay for this.” She sounded aggrieved, even a little angry.

  There was a silence while Nicole considered this. “Maybe the Women Against Rape organization will cover the expense. I’ll get in touch with them and call you back.”

  She was put right through to the organization’s director, Maddy Corrigan. “Of course we’ll take care of it. Sorry I didn’t think to offer. We’ll also pay for a memorial service. Several of our board members will want to speak, especially Geneva Ford. Aside from being Mary Ellen’s attorney, Geneva felt very close to her.”

  Nicole fought the urge to say, “You’ve got to be kidding.” Geneva had shown no interest in Mary Ellen other than making sure she appeared in court and testified in a way that didn’t blow the case.

  “Ask Mrs. Barnes what she wants,” Maddy added. “It would be good if you can go to Georgia and help with the arrangements. We’ll pay for that, too.”

  After the trauma of the last few days, Nicole shrank from the prospect of having to comfort Mary Ellen’s mother and make funeral arrangements. “I’m afraid I have other commitments,” she said. “But I think one of my associates might be available. I’ll have her call you.”

  While they were talking, Nicole had seen Joanne walk into her cubicle. Once off the phone, Nicole got up from her desk and made her way over. Joanne didn’t look well at all; her nose was red, and she was coughing. “Hey,” she said in a hoarse whisper, “I finally managed to drag myself out of bed.”

  “Welcome back,” Nicole said. “But are you sure you should be here? You sound like you’re still sick.”

  “It’s been five days, and I feel better than I sound. Besides I’m no good at staying home.”

  “Can you take over the Barnes case? WAR wants someone to go to Georgia and help Mary Ellen’s mother with the arrangements.”

  “I’d love to go,” Joanne said. “I’ve never been out of California.”

  “Great,” said Nicole. “There’s nothing I need less right now than an out-of-town trip.”

  “Right. You want to get on with your wedding arrangements. Do you have a date yet?”

  Nicole shook her head. Now, with tension growing between Josh and her, she didn’t want to think about the wedding. “The venues we wanted are booked through the summer,” she said. “So we’re still trying to figure out a date.”

  It must have been Nicole’s tone, for Joanne was giving her an odd look. “Are things okay with you two?”

  Nicole managed a smile. “Of course. Everything’s fine. I’ll let Jerry know I’m handing over the assignment.”

  After conferring with Jerry, she wrote a memo of instructions and contact numbers for Joanne. Then she went back to clearing her accumulated backlog.

  Around 4:00 p.m., her sister called. “Have you seen what XHN is saying?”

  “Wait. I’ll take a look,” said Nicole, as she typed XHN.com into her browser. There it was—the headline she’d been dreading: “Doshan Williams Charged in Murder of Mary Ellen Barnes.”

  “Thanks for the tip, Steph,” Nicole said. “I’ve got to go.” She immediately called Sue and told her about Doshan’s arrest.

  “Really?” Sue said. “Where did you hear that?”

  “It’s on XHN. If he has a defense lawyer, I need to tell him about Mary Ellen’s confession. Can you find out who it is?”

  “First of all, let’s make sure he’s actually been arrested,” said Sue. “The tabloids don’t always get the story straight. I’ll make a few calls to verify the arrest and see if he has leg
al representation. I’ll call you back.”

  While Nicole was waiting, she pulled up another news site. One of the top stories showed a photo of Doshan in his football uniform. A video featured Geneva Ford in the dark, shiny wig she’d worn in court. Nicole clicked on the link, and the video clip began. In contrast to her calm demeanor in court, Geneva was shrill and angry. “The perpetrator has been arrested and will be tried for this terrible crime. But justice has yet to be served. If Oceanside University had done its job—if the school had gone after rapists to keep coeds safe, Mary Ellen Barnes would be alive today. That’s why WAR is continuing its civil suit against the university. The criminal courts will take care of Doshan Williams.

  “The authorities need to listen when a woman reports a sexual assault, even in these so-called he-said, she-said cases,” she went on. “Studies show that ninety-five percent of all rape charges are valid. Many women don’t even report attacks because they don’t have the strength to fight a system that is stacked against them. If you aren’t familiar with the epidemic of campus rapes, I invite you to view the public service video posted on WAR.org.”

  Nicole did just that. The WAR video included interviews of campus rape victims, and she was struck by how Mary Ellen’s behavior differed from that of the young women who appeared in the short video.

  Nicole could see these women had been severely traumatized in ways that Mary Ellen did not appear to be. Several expressed fear their assailants would hunt them down, rape them again, and perhaps kill them. This was a recurring theme. Such fear had driven a number of victims to withdraw from school. Some even refused to leave their homes.

  Nicole searched the web, curious about Geneva’s ninety-five percent figure. What she learned, after reading several articles, was that the percentage of false rape charges was unknown and unknowable. Estimates of false claims ranged from two percent to forty percent, depending on the source. But according to all estimates, most of the victims were telling the truth.

  She ran across another statistic that was more disturbing. According to the Federal Bureau of Labor Statistics, sixty-five percent of all sexual assaults went unreported. She thought about it. If they were unreported, how could anyone come up with a percentage? Through public surveys? Maybe.