The Good Lie by A.R. Torre
CHAPTER 23
Three days later, I perched on the counter of the break room and watched Scott Harden speak into a fuzzy mic with a Channel 27 logo on it.
“It’s a second chance at life,” the seventeen-year-old said. “It makes me want to be a better person, to deserve the life I’ve been given.” He flashed a smile to the camera, and there was no disputing that the kid was cute. He had all the attributes that would make a teenage girl swoon, which was evidenced by his blooming celebrity. Last night, I checked his social media followers and was shocked to see the number approaching a million fans.
Jacob let out a boo, then drained his can of Mello Yello. “He’s such a camera hog. I bet he practices these lines each night in front of the mirror.”
I didn’t disagree, but it seemed wrong to talk crap about the one teenager who had avoided the gruesome end the other six had received. “Whether it’s cheesy or not, he’s right,” I pointed out as I dug into a bag of microwave popcorn. “He did escape death. That causes people to approach life in a different way.”
From her spot at the table, Meredith looked up from her phone. “Have you noticed he never really says anything in these interviews?”
I had. In the last day, I’d watched every television and radio piece I could find of him. And Meredith was right. He skimmed over his time in captivity and said little to nothing about the man who had supposedly held him prisoner.
The interviewer continued. “How much interaction did you have with Randall Thompson prior to him kidnapping you?”
“Mr. Harden won’t be speaking on that.” Juan Melendez, Scott Harden’s attorney, stepped forward, and Jacob let out another boo. I grinned, appreciating the lighthearted moment after a day spent in the death files.
I’d made it through the fourth victim, then had to take a break. It was all so incredibly sad. Six smart and talented lives taken. Six families—parents, siblings, grandparents—whose lives were irrevocably destroyed. And all for what? One sick individual’s twisted pleasure. Was that one person Randall Thompson? I was dying to research him, to see if he fit my profile so far, but I’d behaved. I couldn’t have his reality alter my analysis, so I was mentally compartmentalizing what I already knew about the man and locking it away for later.
“I don’t get the media tour,” Meredith mused. “He’s on TV every time I turn it on. Shouldn’t he be at home with his parents?”
“He’s a teenage kid who has a chance to be famous.” I chewed a handful of popcorn. “Plus, he’s probably avoiding the emotion dump. It’ll hit him at some point, and he’ll break down. But right now, he’s distracting himself with all this.”
We watched as the camera cut to a montage of shots of the victims. I watched the faces of the teenagers I now knew by heart. Gabe Kavin’s photo appeared, and my heart sank at how much he resembled Robert. Same dark hair. Same knowing eyes. He would have grown up to be a heartbreaker, just like his dad.
I pushed off the counter before the show turned its coverage to Randall Thompson. “I’m going to get back to work. Jacob, I’ve got Luke Attens coming in at one.”
He made a face and squeezed the empty soda can, crinkling it. “Right, if he shows up. That guy’s a dick.”
I had no comeback for that. Luke was a dick, and the most volatile of my clients. He’d been a no-show on his last two appointments, which was common for him. He’d be regular for a while, then go out of town or miss appointments for a month, then pop back up as if everything were fine.
I didn’t mind. His appointments were exhausting, and he paid the no-show invoices without complaint. I’d made just as much in penalties as I’d made in billable time.
“Well, he called me this morning, so I’m expecting him to come in.” His early-morning call had been textbook Luke. Terse and demanding. Thirty seconds in which he’d barked at me to tell him his appointment time, then abruptly hung up.
“You’re meeting him in the conference room, right?”
“Yeah.” I stuffed the bag of popcorn into the trash and downed the remaining swallow of soda. Meredith grunted out a goodbye, her attention still on the television.
Luke Attens sat in front of me in bright-red pants and a paisley-print silk shirt. He was a walking contradiction, and if I ever had to create a psychological profile on him, it would involve a lot of question marks and blank lines.
Luke suffered from insecurity and abandonment, with a triple helping of uncontrollable rage. When his sister had gotten engaged two years earlier, it had spurred Luke to set fire to her car with both of them inside. Luke did not handle stress or heightened emotions well, which was why he was mid-hyperventilation right now.
“Breathe,” I instructed firmly. “Cup your hands in front of your mouth and breathe into your belly, not your chest.”
He gasped.
“Now, hold your breath for ten seconds.”
He shook his head, his hands still cupped over his mouth, and I raised my eyebrows at him. “Trust me, Luke. Hold your breath for ten seconds. It’ll reset you. Come on. I’ll do it with you.” I made a big show of inhaling and holding my breath. He hesitated, then followed.
I held up one finger, then two, holding my breath along with him as I counted to ten. Then I slowly exhaled and reminded myself that Jacob was right on the other side of the door, and if Luke tackled me across the table, it would take at least a minute for him to strangle me to death.
His panic attack had started after I’d refused to meet him in our standard location: my office. He accused me of bugging the conference room, and I’d offered to postpone our meeting until next week, when my office would be back in order, but he refused, stating that he had to talk to me now because SOMETHING HAD HAPPENED. When I asked what had happened . . . well, here we were.
His gasps were starting to come back under control. I stayed in place and watched as he dropped his head back on the swivel chair and gulped for air. He always had a flair for the dramatic. During my first appointment with him, he had pounded his fist on my desk so hard that my pen cup fell over. I think his fury had been over my rates, which was amusing, given his level of wealth. Luke Attens was the eldest son of the Attens family, creator of the mega-slice pizza, forty-two thousand delivery and take-out locations worldwide. I didn’t know that stat initially, but Luke liked to scream it at random moments if he felt his manhood or authority were being questioned, which was often.
It was good for Luke that he was an Attens, because any normal individual would be in jail after what had happened with his sister. It had taken a team of attorneys to convince a judge that the fire had been an “accident,” and another team of plastic surgeons to repair the damage from the fire. Even two years later, I could see the skin grafts along the edge of his jaw and the scar around his left eye. His sister, whom he had doused with gasoline prior to lighting the match, had it worse. I had never spoken to Laura, who had moved to Florida with her fiancé and taken out a restraining order against Luke, one he’d already broken twice.
His breathing quieted, and I waited.
We were already twenty-five minutes into the session. I was still ignorant of what inciting event had occurred, but hopefully it could be wrapped up and solved in our remaining thirty-five minutes.
Another three minutes passed, and Luke wasn’t known for drawing things out. Any minute and he would—
“You know this serial killer that was caught?”
I looped my fingers together. “Yes.”
“What’s your take on it?”
I chose my next words carefully. “I don’t have a take. He’s in custody.”
“He a client of yours?” His breathing was starting to get more labored, his eyes widening, and he was losing control. This wasn’t good, and it especially wasn’t good with someone like Luke.
“No, he wasn’t a client of mine.” And still isn’t, I told myself. I was hired by Robert, not Randall.
“You know, he was my teacher.” He sneered the word.
I blinked. “He was? At Beverly High?”
That wasn’t a huge surprise. All the rich kids went to Beverly High or Montbrier. Luke was a decade older than Scott, but Randall Thompson had taught science there for almost twenty years.
Luke rose from his seat and moved toward me. I glanced through the glass walls of the conference room to find Jacob watching us. I held his gaze for a moment, then returned my attention to Luke.
He stopped before me, the buckle of his belt scraping against the conference room table as he leaned in so close that I could smell the stale odor of his breath.
“The receptionist said his name, so is he your patient?” he hissed, and spittle from his mouth peppered my jaw.
Maybe I should have just let this guy hyperventilate to death.
“Luke, you need to step away from me,” I said calmly.
“That pervert,” he said coldly, “put his—”
The door to the conference room swung open. “Everything okay?” Jacob asked. Luke turned toward him, and I took the opportunity to roll my seat back and stand.
In my peripheral vision, I saw Luke’s hands balled into fists. Escalation had begun, and while I didn’t think he would hurt me, Jacob was a different story.
“Luke, let’s finish this up another day.” I walked around the end of the table, keeping it between me and Luke as I all but shoved Jacob into the hall.
I glanced back at Luke and gave my best calm and comforting smile. “Call me if you need to continue this session today. You have my cell number, Luke.”
An angry breath hissed through his lips, and I was reminded of the press coverage after the car fire. The video of his sister, screaming out from the stretcher. I turned and walked straight through the reception area, beelining for Meredith’s office and motioning Jacob along with me. She was on the phone, and I closed her door behind us and locked it.
She immediately ended the call. “What’s wrong?”
“Potentially nothing. Still, call security and send them up here.”
She dialed the downstairs desk and relayed the message. I pressed my ear to the door and tried to hear what was happening in the hall. There was a shout and then the slam of wood. A door. I straightened, my alarm growing as I heard a louder crash. This one hadn’t been out in the lobby. It had been on the other side of Meredith’s wall.
Luke was in my office.