she doesn’t know the whole story, or she wouldn’t have called you. All she knows is that Uncle Owen died in a car accident. Once Jack got his shit together, he vowed never again to blame himself for what happened.”
Not when there was someone else to blame. I glanced down the hall to make sure that Buckley was still out of earshot.
“So just how much did Jack despise Malcolm Neeley?”
“Well, he definitely didn’t sympathize with the guy. Or understand him. Jack is the most devoted father in the world. He’d do anything for Buckley. So imagine how he felt about this prick who knew his kid was a head case, but couldn’t dare get him any help because, of course, no son of his could possibly be imperfect. Instead, he insisted on trying to butch the kid up, pushing him to follow sports and then—lo and behold—the kid likes guns. Yay! Let’s encourage that. Great idea, asshole. So, yeah, Jack wasn’t a fan. But all that means is he’s got neurons firing in his brain. The lawsuit against Neeley wasn’t even his idea. Some of the other families thought of it. He just ended up with more media coverage. You know, with Molly being the one who tried to stop Todd before he opened fire. Plus he’s all squeaky clean and shiny and writes books that win awards. Not to mention the dead-cop brother. He made for good copy.”
“Speaking of you media types, I need to talk to you about that missed-moment post.”
She looked taken aback at the sudden change in subject. “How did that come up in conversation?”
“It’s why he was at the waterfront today.”
“That’s where he jogs.”
“I know, but that’s not why he was there. He was there to meet Madeline—the champagne, picnic, book girl.”
“You mean he was actually going to meet her? I knew they were e-mailing, but he was being pretty hush-hush with the details.”
“They arranged to meet today. She picked the time and the place. Seven AM this morning, right at the football field.”
I waited while the implication set in. “And Malcolm Neeley just happens to get killed there a few minutes later?”
I nodded.
“So that’s an awfully big coincidence,” she said.
“Unless it’s not.”
Chapter 7
I ASKED CHARLOTTE who Jack might have told about his plans for the morning.
She shrugged. “If he didn’t even tell me, I can’t imagine that he mentioned it to someone else.”
“But Madeline could have told anyone. Jack used his real name when he e-mailed her.”
“And the person she mentions this to just happens to decide to frame Jack for murder? That doesn’t make sense.”
No, it didn’t, but working through all possible scenarios was the way I processed facts. “If someone wanted to kill Malcolm Neeley, Jack was a prime candidate for a setup. Like you said, he made good copy as Neeley’s number-one enemy.”
“Damnit. What if I made Jack too identifiable in the missed-moment post? Madeline could be a catfish.”
“A catfish is like a fake ID?”
“It’s a lot more than that. It’s the creation of an entire personality. You should see the number of supposedly gorgeous women on Twitterand Facebook who have a thing for fat, ugly geezers. But the person behind the profile is some ex-con in Lithuania. You know how many people have actually fallen in love—like, total, head over heels, quit their jobs and sell their houses to move across the country, in love —with someone who doesn’t even exist? Sometimes it’s just to screw with a person. Usually it’s to take their money. But here maybe they’re catfishing for a fall guy.”
“I don’t think I’m following.”
“Okay, suppose someone wants to kill Neeley. They’re thinking they can make it look like one of the Penn Station family members did it. Then they see the missed-moment post, realize I’m talking about Jack, and make up a woman named Madeline to rope him in.”
“And they just happen to know Jack’s favorite book?”
“Easy,” she said. She walked
Not when there was someone else to blame. I glanced down the hall to make sure that Buckley was still out of earshot.
“So just how much did Jack despise Malcolm Neeley?”
“Well, he definitely didn’t sympathize with the guy. Or understand him. Jack is the most devoted father in the world. He’d do anything for Buckley. So imagine how he felt about this prick who knew his kid was a head case, but couldn’t dare get him any help because, of course, no son of his could possibly be imperfect. Instead, he insisted on trying to butch the kid up, pushing him to follow sports and then—lo and behold—the kid likes guns. Yay! Let’s encourage that. Great idea, asshole. So, yeah, Jack wasn’t a fan. But all that means is he’s got neurons firing in his brain. The lawsuit against Neeley wasn’t even his idea. Some of the other families thought of it. He just ended up with more media coverage. You know, with Molly being the one who tried to stop Todd before he opened fire. Plus he’s all squeaky clean and shiny and writes books that win awards. Not to mention the dead-cop brother. He made for good copy.”
“Speaking of you media types, I need to talk to you about that missed-moment post.”
She looked taken aback at the sudden change in subject. “How did that come up in conversation?”
“It’s why he was at the waterfront today.”
“That’s where he jogs.”
“I know, but that’s not why he was there. He was there to meet Madeline—the champagne, picnic, book girl.”
“You mean he was actually going to meet her? I knew they were e-mailing, but he was being pretty hush-hush with the details.”
“They arranged to meet today. She picked the time and the place. Seven AM this morning, right at the football field.”
I waited while the implication set in. “And Malcolm Neeley just happens to get killed there a few minutes later?”
I nodded.
“So that’s an awfully big coincidence,” she said.
“Unless it’s not.”
Chapter 7
I ASKED CHARLOTTE who Jack might have told about his plans for the morning.
She shrugged. “If he didn’t even tell me, I can’t imagine that he mentioned it to someone else.”
“But Madeline could have told anyone. Jack used his real name when he e-mailed her.”
“And the person she mentions this to just happens to decide to frame Jack for murder? That doesn’t make sense.”
No, it didn’t, but working through all possible scenarios was the way I processed facts. “If someone wanted to kill Malcolm Neeley, Jack was a prime candidate for a setup. Like you said, he made good copy as Neeley’s number-one enemy.”
“Damnit. What if I made Jack too identifiable in the missed-moment post? Madeline could be a catfish.”
“A catfish is like a fake ID?”
“It’s a lot more than that. It’s the creation of an entire personality. You should see the number of supposedly gorgeous women on Twitterand Facebook who have a thing for fat, ugly geezers. But the person behind the profile is some ex-con in Lithuania. You know how many people have actually fallen in love—like, total, head over heels, quit their jobs and sell their houses to move across the country, in love —with someone who doesn’t even exist? Sometimes it’s just to screw with a person. Usually it’s to take their money. But here maybe they’re catfishing for a fall guy.”
“I don’t think I’m following.”
“Okay, suppose someone wants to kill Neeley. They’re thinking they can make it look like one of the Penn Station family members did it. Then they see the missed-moment post, realize I’m talking about Jack, and make up a woman named Madeline to rope him in.”
“And they just happen to know Jack’s favorite book?”
“Easy,” she said. She walked
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