“Sit down!” he says anxiously, gesturing at his ratty sofa that looks like it’s crawling with worms or bedbugs. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No.” I’d be terrified to drink out of one of the glasses in this place. “Thank you.”
My father, Marvin Holick, sits down beside me on the couch. He has a nervous smile on his lips that makes him look younger—he looks a little bit like Liam when he smiles like that. He’s not what I expected at all. I was expecting a Sean Connery type who would be smoking a cigarette and explaining casually in a possibly Scottish accent about the murder he committed. But this man is far from Sean Connery. He’s more like Mr. Magoo.
He blinks his watery eyes at me. “I’m so glad you’re here, Erika.”
I smile tightly.
“I wanted so badly to contact you after I got out of prison,” he goes on. “But I knew what your mother told you about me. And I thought… well, I thought you’d be better off without me in your life. But I’m really glad you’re here.”
I nod.
“I want to hear everything about your life.” He starts to reach for my hand, but I pull away before he can make contact. “Are you married? Do you have children?”
“I’m married,” I say stiffly, “and I have two teenage children.”
“I have grandchildren?” His face lights up. “Do you have photographs?”
I study his wrinkled face. Is this all an act just to get on my good side? Is he actually excited to see photos of my children? Because the truth is, Marvin Holick does not seem like a sociopath. At all. But he committed a murder. And the description my mother gave of him sounded just like Liam.
I slowly pull out my phone from my purse and bring up some recent photos of the children. My father gets out a pair of glasses and looks at the photos for far too long for it to be an act. When he gets to the one of Liam right after his debate, he lets out a gasp.
“My God!” he says. “The boy looks just like me!”
“Yes,” I say vaguely.
That’s not all he got from you.
“What’s he doing there?” my father asks. “He’s all dressed up.”
“He’s on the debate team.”
“Debate team!” His face lights up. “What a smart kid. Wow. Your husband must be smart. He sure don’t get that from me.”
“Mom is pretty smart.”
The smile fades from his lips. “You’re right. She is.” He hands me back my phone, a troubled expression on his face. “I’m so sorry, Erika. About… well, about everything. I really screwed up.”
“Yeah,” I mumble.
He lowers his eyes. “You probably want to know what happened.”
I don’t want to know. But I have to know. I need to know what made him kill a woman. And what I can do to keep his grandson from suffering the same fate as him—if it isn’t too late. “Yes,” is all I say.
He nods and sighs, sinking deeper into his ratty sofa. He runs a hand through what’s left of his hair. It’s hard to imagine it was ever as dark and thick as Liam’s.
“I was young and stupid,” he finally says. “It’s a really bad combination. I met this girl. Nancy. Christ, I wish I could take it all back. I loved your mother, but… I was too young and too good looking for my own good. And then the girl told me she was knocked up—she threatened to go to tell your mother. I thought your mother would leave me, and I’d lose the both of you.”
“So you killed her.”
“No!” His watery brown eyes fly open. Those eyes used to be the same color as Liam’s but now they’ve lost their vividness, like a shirt that’s been washed too many times. “I didn’t want to kill Nancy. I swear. I just… this buddy of mine gave me some pills I could slip her that would make her lose the baby. And after that, I was going to end it with her and be faithful to your mother. I never wanted to kill her. I swear it.”
I stare at him.
“You don’t believe me.” He shakes his head. “I don’t blame you. The police didn’t believe it either. Maybe they would have if she’d really been pregnant, but she lied about that. There was never any baby.” He takes a shaky breath. “And then I lost you both anyway.”
I look away, unable to meet his eyes. Do I believe him?
“It was a terrible mistake,” he says. “I wish I could take it back. I would have faced up to the music—whatever it took. But Christ, I paid for it. I missed your whole life. I missed out on having a grandson who looks just like me. I missed holding my grandkids when they were babies. And Angela… She never came to visit me. She wanted to forget I existed. Raise you herself.”