Prior Bad Acts

23

BOBBY HAAS WAS in the front yard, raking leaves, when Liska pulled up to the curb in front of the Haas home. Just parking in the driveway made the skin on the back of her neck prickle, so she didn’t.

She felt a little sheepish being so weird about this place. During the course of her career, she’d been to literally hundreds of death scenes, had gone back to them, had spent time in them to try to imagine the crime as it was taking place. But this place… She wished she had worn a religious medal.

The boy looked up as soon as Liska got out of the car. He had an expression that told her he had received too much bad news in his young life and was bracing himself for more.

“Hey, Bobby. How’s your dad doing?”

“He’s not feeling very good.”

“Should he be going to a doctor?” she asked. “I’ll try to help you with him. I know he doesn’t want to go, but if he’s sick…”

Bobby Haas looked back at the house as if he were seeking permission. When he turned back to her, he sighed. “No, thanks. He’s got his medication from his regular doctor. And he’s really no worse than he ever gets. He just needs to rest. I can take care of him. I don’t mind.”

“He’s a proud man, your dad,” Liska said, though she knew nothing of the sort. “You know, when something really catastrophic happens, sometimes the strongest people get hit the hardest.”

“He feels responsible,” Bobby said. “Like he could have prevented it. But he couldn’t have. Not without being psychic. Maybe I could have stopped it from happening too, if I’d known it was going to happen.”

Liska nodded. “But you didn’t know. No one knew. No one could ever imagine something that evil, except the Karl Dahls of the world.”

“He’s still loose, isn’t he?”

“Everything possible is being done to find him,” Liska said. She nodded toward the front porch. “Can we sit down for a minute?”

He looked suspicious but went with her as she started toward the porch, suggesting he didn’t really have an option.

Liska took a spot on the top step. Bobby sat two steps down, leaning his rake against the side of the stairs. The brilliant fall sun cast a glow around him as if he were an angel.

Pretty, she thought. That was how to describe him, not as a handsome young man but beautiful. He had to have taken after his mother. She tried to remember what Marlene Haas had looked like, but the only picture she held in her mind was the garish, horrific crime scene photo showing Marlene Haas propped up on the sofa in the TV room, her face lifeless, daisies sprouting out of her chest.

“You know, Bobby, I’m sure you’ve heard this so often you don’t want to hear it anymore, but I really am sorry for your loss. I’m sorry for what you and your dad have had to go through. Especially what you had to go through, finding your mother’s body, finding the kids in the basement. I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have felt like. Were you and your mom close?”

The boy squinted across the yard as if his mother might be standing over by the garage. “Marlene was my stepmother. But yeah, I liked her. She was a nice person. Really kind. She liked to bake. The house always smelled like cookies.”

“Is your mother in the area?”

“She died when I was thirteen.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. What happened?”

“Cancer.”

“Wow, that sucks,” Liska said. “You’ve had a really tough go of it, haven’t you?”

He shrugged a little. “I’m okay. My dad and I have each other.”

“You two are pretty tight, huh?”

“We used to do a lot of stuff together. Go to ball games, go fishing, stuff like that. He used to coach my youth hockey team. He taught me how to drive a car.”

“You don’t do so much of that since the murders.”

“He hasn’t been up to it. He took a leave from work when it happened, but he could only be gone for three weeks. I told him he should’ve quit. Retire.”

He sighed heavily, the weight of his world bearing down on him. “I thought we could’ve moved somewhere, like Arizona, and just started over. Here, all he can think about is what happened. But we have to stay in this creepy house. He won’t do anything about it.”

“It’s a pretty tough sell, Bobby,” Nikki said. “Unless your dad is a lot better off than I am, he can’t buy a house without selling a house.”

“But we wouldn’t need a house,” the boy said. “We could just get an apartment or something. I don’t get it. I mean, what happened was horrible, but we have to go on with our lives.”

Frighteningly well-adjusted, this kid, Liska thought. He had dealt with his own grief, put it away, and moved on. In many ways, he was now the adult in the family, while painful memories and grief incapacitated his father. And yet he was still a boy, and he just wanted his dad back.

“Has your dad been able to work with someone from Victim Services? They can hook him up with grief counseling-”

“He won’t go,” Bobby mumbled, looking down at the crumbling old concrete step. “He doesn’t believe in shrinks.”

“How about you? Did you go? Would you go?”

“I’m okay. I talked with a grief counselor a couple of times. She didn’t really get it. But who could, I guess.”

Liska watched him fiddle with the end of a shoelace, a nervous gesture. He wasn’t a happy kid. She had rubbed at some sore spots, reopened still-raw wounds.

He glanced up at her. “What happened with the judge?”

“She’ll be all right. We’re following up on what leads we have.”

“Is that why you’re really here?” Bobby asked. “To ask me again if I did it?”

“I need to corroborate your story to clear you, Bobby,” Liska said. “Did you or Stench happen to talk to any teachers or school staff when you were at the basketball game last night?”

“No. Why would we?”

“Just asking.”

“I bumped into one of the janitors when we came in. Mr. Dorset. I don’t know, maybe he’d remember seeing us.”

“Did you have to pay to get into the game?”

“No.”

“What time did the game start?”

“Seven.”

“Were you there for the whole thing?”

“Yeah.”

It was Liska’s turn to sigh.

“Okay,” she said, getting up from the step. “You know, I’m not trying to prove you did it, Bobby. I’m trying to prove that you didn’t.

“I have a son almost your age,” she said. “When I think if he had to go through all this… I’d want to know somebody was looking out for him. You don’t have anybody like that, do you?”

He looked away. “I have my dad.”

“Not really. It’s more like he has you. He’s lucky you’re a good kid.”

The kid looked down, scratched his rake in the grass. “He’s my dad. I’d do anything for him.”

“Bobby, do you know who Ethan Pratt is?” Liska asked, changing tracks.

Bobby Haas looked confused. “Yeah. I know his name. He’s-was-Brittany and Ashton’s dad. Why?”

“Has he ever come around or called?”

“No. Why would he?”

Liska shrugged. “Just covering my bases. Call me if you think of someone who can back you up about last night,” she said. “I’ll check with the janitor. Thanks, Bobby.”

The boy didn’t say anything.

Liska walked away, wondering if Bobby Haas’s devotion to his father might extend to revenge.