He runs his hands through his messy hair. He looks exhausted and run-down with the beginnings of a beard and shadows under his eyes. “My mom and me, we moved to California right before tenth grade. But I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Then what happened? Why did you change your name?”
“The truth is ugly.”
“Please. Try me.”
He stands up, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jeans, rocking back and forth. It’s a tic he has—can’t stay still when he’s nervous, just like Noa. “We were robbing some drug dealers, Dex and me. It didn’t go as planned. Dex got shot.”
“What does this have to do with a backpacking trip?”
“There was no backpacking trip. My stepdad, Ray, and my mom managed a farm about an hour away outside Garberville, near the top of a mountain.”
“A farm?”
“This was before marijuana was legal. It was an illegal grow operation, about a hundred acres. My stepdad managed the trimmigrants—that’s what we called the people who come through at the end of summer to work the harvest and make some fast cash.”
“And you lived there? On the farm?”
He nods. “I did. And there was a lot of cash floating around that time of year. Trimmers worked nonstop for about five weeks, sometimes as much as sixteen hours a day. It’s all they did. Then they got paid in cash. Not too many places to spend money around there. Dex and I heard my stepdad talk about a high-stakes poker game at another grower’s farm. We knew there would be tons of cash floating around. We got the brilliant idea to rob it. We thought it was foolproof since they wouldn’t go to the cops.”
“And?”
“It went to shit immediately. We showed up in masks with shotguns and one of the players pulled a handgun. Dex shot him in the arm and the guy returned fire, killing him. I barely got out of there with my life. If that guy’s gun hadn’t jammed, I’d be dead, too. I took off running, and I ran and ran until my lungs were on fire. I didn’t even go back to where our car was. Called my mom once I hit the highway and found a pay phone. She came and picked me up. She knew right away I had to get out of town. You can’t go around robbing criminals and not have them come look for you.”
“So, she sent you away? A boy was killed.”
“You don’t get it. I couldn’t go to the police. Do you know what the felony murder rule is? It says that if someone dies while you are committing a felony, you can be charged with murder. You are just as liable as if you pulled the trigger yourself.”
“But you didn’t kill anyone,” Aimee protests.
“That’s the law. There are people on death row who were driving the getaway car when their buddy shot someone inside a bank. But I wasn’t worried about that at the time. I was scared of the guy who killed Dex. I saw him do it, Aimee. He pointed that gun at me and I’ll never forget that look in his eyes. He wanted me dead. I had to leave.”
“So she sent you to North Carolina. To Aunt Kay.”
“Aunt Kay agreed to take me in. She didn’t really want me there, but at least she gave me a place to get my act together. I changed my name, finished my senior year. Spent a year at community college and then transferred to UNC. I’ve spent my whole life trying to make up for what I did. To be a good person.”
“What about your mom? You just cut her out?”
Scott gazes at the picture window that overlooks the front yard where Jen stands with Gwen. “It might be hard for you to understand this. Your mom sounded like an amazing person. Butmy mom is different. She’s deeply in that life. And I mean deep. Her boyfriend was a major player in the growing scene back then. I basically spent three years of high school surrounded by people in the drug trade. She wanted to get me out of town to protect me, but honestly, it was also to protect herself. She could have left with me. We could have started over together somewhere. But she chose the life over me. She chose my stepdad over me. So, yeah, I cut her out. But she cut me out first. At Aunt Kay’s I had an opportunity to start over. I took it.”
“The way you start over is by coming clean, Scott. Not by abandoning your family.”
“Don’t you get it?” He kneels in front of her, beseeching her with his eyes. “I’ll have two choices—go to prison for the rest of my life or testify. That’ll mean not just testifying against the man that killed Dexter but against all five men—including my stepdad—who were at that poker game. They didn’t report the murder, either. And they got rid of the body. They’ve all committed first-degree felonies. Why do you think they killed Cathy? To shut her up.”
“They have witness protection programs. We could go somewhere.”
“Is that what you want? To cut ties with everyone you know, including your dad, and live under an assumed name in some random place? Is that what you want for the kids?”
“I want them to grow up knowing their father.” She lifts her chin in defiance.
“They won’t if I’m in WITSEC. And they won’t if I’m serving time in California.” Scott flinches. “I’m sorry, Aimee. I’m weak. I feel lucky to have met you, married you, had these great kids. It’s more than I thought I would ever have. I’m sorry I’ve ruined it all.”
“What about Anton? How does he play into all this?”
Scott jerks his head back. “Anton? What are you talking about?”
“He was blackmailing you. You’re saying you didn’t know?”