“So what happened next?” I ask.
“Diana was a little wary when Leo brought her down to Rex’s basement. See, that’s why I was there too. Another female face. To help her relax. We all promised that there would be no drinking. We started playing Ping-Pong. We watched a movie. And of course, we all drank sodas. Ours was mixed with vodka. Diana’s was spiked with whatever LSD concoction Hank had brought. We were all giggling and having such a good time I almost forgot why we were really there. At one point, I remember I looked at Diana and she was nearly passed out. I wondered if I overspiked the drink. I mean, she was really out of it. Anyway, I figured, okay, mission accomplished. It was over.”
She stops and looks lost. I try to knock her back on track.
“But it wasn’t over.”
“No,” Beth says, “it wasn’t.” She looks past me now, over my shoulder, like I’m no longer here and maybe right now neither is she. “I don’t know whose idea it was. I think it was Rex’s. He worked as a counselor at a sleepaway camp. He used to tell us how the kids would sleep really soundly, so sometimes at night, for a funny prank, they would carry the kid’s whole bunk out into the woods and just leave him there. They would hide and start laughing and wait for the kid to wake up and then they’d watch him freak out. Rex would tell us stories about it and they were always so funny. One time, Rex hid under the kid’s bed and kept pushing from below until the kid woke up screaming. Another time he put a kid’s hand in warm water. That was supposed to make him urinate his bed or something, but instead the kid got up like he was going to the bathroom and walked right into a bush. So Leo said—yeah, it was definitely Leo—he said, ‘Let’s take Diana out to the woods by the base.’”
Oh no . . .
“Anyway, that’s what we did. It’s really dark out. We’re all dragging Diana up that path. I kept waiting for someone to call it off. But no one did. There’s a clearing behind that old rock formation. You know the one. Leo wanted to leave her there because that was their old ‘make-out spot.’ He kept saying it like that, in a mocking voice. Make-out spot. Because Diana never let him go further, that’s what he said. So we dumped Diana there. Just like that. Dumped her like she was so much garbage. I remember Leo looking down at her like . . . like I don’t know. Like I thought he was going to rape her or something. But he didn’t. He said that we should all go hide and watch what happens. Which we did. Rex was giggling. So was Hank. I think they were just nervous, though, waiting to see how she reacted to the acid. Leo, he just glared at her. I . . . I just wanted it to stop. I wanted to go home. I said, ‘Maybe she’s had enough.’ I remember that I turned to Leo. I said, ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ And Leo, he just had the saddest look on his face. It’s like . . . it’s like he suddenly realized what the hell he was doing. I saw a tear run down his cheek. I said, ‘It’s okay, Leo, let’s take Diana home now.’ Leo nodded. He told Hank and Rex to cut it out with the laughing. He stood up. He started walking toward Diana, and then . . .”
Tears are running down her face now.
“And then what?” I ask.
“All hell broke loose,” Beth says. “It started with these giant lights. When they hit us, Diana popped up like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on her. She started screaming and sprinting toward them. Leo ran after her. Rex, Hank, and I just stayed where we were, like we were frozen. I could see Diana’s silhouette in the lights. She’s still screaming. Louder now. She starts ripping off her clothes. All of them. And then . . . Then I hear gunfire. I see . . . I see Diana go down. Leo turns back toward us. ‘Get out of here!’ he shouts. And, I mean, he didn’t have to tell us twice. We ran. We ran like hell all the way back to Rex’s basement. We waited all night in the dark for Leo or . . . I don’t know. We all made a pact. We would never ever say anything about tonight. Not ever. We just stayed there, in that basement, as the hours passed, hoping for the best. We didn’t know what happened. Not that night, not even the next morning. Maybe Diana was at the hospital, maybe it would be okay. And then . . . then when we heard about Leo and Diana and the train tracks . . . we realized right away what happened. The bastards shot them and covered it up. Hank wanted to say something, go to the police, but Rex and I stopped him. What could we say? That we got the police captain’s daughter high on LSD, brought her out to the woods, and these guys ended up shooting her? So we kept our vow. We never spoke of it again. We finished up our senior years. We left town.”
Beth continues. She talks about living in fear and hating herself, her bouts of depression, her eating disorders, the guilt and horror of the night, the nightmares, seeing Diana naked, dreaming about it, trying to warn Diana in those dreams, running toward her, trying to grab her before she sprints toward the light. Beth goes on and on and starts to cry and begs for forgiveness and says she deserves all the horrible things that happen to her.
But I’m only half listening now.
Because my mind is spinning and taking me down a path I never wanted to follow. Remember how I said before that we embrace what fits our narrative and ignore what doesn’t? I’m trying not to do that now. I’m trying to focus, even though I don’t want to. I want to ignore. Beth had warned me. She said I wouldn’t want to know the truth. She was right in ways she can’t even imagine. Part of me wishes I could go back in time, back to when Reynolds and Bates first knocked on my door, and I would just tell them right away that I didn’t know and just let it be. But it’s too late now. I can’t look away. So one way or the other, no matter what the cost, there will be justice.
Because I know now. I know the truth.
Chapter Thirty-four
Do you have a laptop?” I ask Beth.
My words startle her. She has been going on with her soliloquy uninterrupted for the past five minutes. She rises now and brings a laptop to the table. She turns it on and twirls it around so the screen is facing me. I bring up her web browser and type in the address for the website. I put the email address into the field for user ID and then I guess at the password. I get it right the third go-through. I sift through the private communications, find the one with the matching name. I write down the full name and phone number.
There are dozens of missed calls on my phone—Muse, Augie, Ellie, maybe the FBI. There are plenty of messages too. I get it. The FBI is probably looking for me because of the tape. The cops may have seen the CCTV footage of me in the yellow Mustang at the Hunk-A-Hunk-A.
I ignore it all.
I start making calls of my own. I call the Westbridge Police Station and get lucky. I call down south. I call the name and number I got off the website and identify myself as a police officer. I call Lieutenant Stacy Reynolds out in Pennsylvania.
“I need a favor,” I tell her.
Reynolds listens, and when I’m done, she simply says, “Okay, I’ll email the video in ten minutes.”
“Thank you.”
Before Reynolds hangs up, she says, “Do you know now who ordered the hit on Rex?”
I do, but I don’t tell her yet. I still might be wrong.
I call Augie. When he answers, he says, “The feds could be monitoring my phone.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “I’m heading back up in a few minutes. I’ll talk to them when I get there.”
“What’s going on?”
I’m not sure what to tell this long-grieving father, but I settle for the truth. There have been too many lies, too many secrets.
“I found Beth Lashley,” I say.
“Where?”
“She’s hiding at her parents’ farm in Far Hills.”