The Lies We Tell
Nothing hurts like the truth.
Doctor Rowan Dupont knows a serial killer is coming for her. Julian Addington has been waiting. Watching. And it’s only a matter of time before he strikes. But what Julian doesn’t know is that Rowan is ready for him. And more than anything she wants answers. How well did the depraved killer actually know her mother? And how many lies have been spun in the years since she took her own life?
Working alongside her childhood friend Police Chief Billy Brannigan, Rowan is determined to get to the bottom of her mother’s puzzling suicide once and for all—even if it means exposing an unsettling past. It certainly seems like her family’s Victorian funeral home has borne witness to more than one dark secret, but when a recent double homicide leads to an even grislier discovery, separating the truth from the lies might be the last thing Rowan does.
Praise for the novels of Debra Webb
“The twists and turns in this dark, taut drama make it both creepy and compelling, multiplying the enjoyment. It’s hard-edged and emotional, ensnaring the reader in a world perfectly imagined. I bid a grand welcome to a new voice in the thriller world.”
—New York Times bestselling author Steve Berry on The Longest Silence
“Webb weaves incredible twists and turns and a mind-blowing conclusion with multiple villainous perpetrators.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Longest Silence
“This psychological thriller is rife with tension that begins on page one and doesn’t let up. It’s a race against the clock that had me whispering to the pair of flawed, desperate protagonists, ‘Hurry, hurry.’ A gripping read.”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Sandra Brown on The Longest Silence
“A dark, twisted game of cat and mouse! Debra Webb mines our innermost fears as a police detective takes on a serial killer with help from an unexpected ally—or is he the bigger threat? You will fly through the pages of this action-packed thriller!”
—New York Times bestselling author Lisa Gardner on No Darker Place
“A well-crafted and engrossing thriller. Debra Webb has crafted a fine, twisting thriller to be savored and enjoyed.”
—New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham on Traceless
“Interspersed with fine-tuned suspense...the cliffhanger conclusion will leave readers eagerly anticipating future installments.”
—Publishers Weekly on Obsession
Also by Debra Webb
SHADES OF DEATH
The Blackest Crimson (prequel)
No Darker Place
A Deeper Grave
The Coldest Fear
The Longest Silence
THE UNDERTAKER’S DAUGHTER
“The Undertaker’s Daughter” (novella)
The Secrets We Bury
Look for Debra Webb’s next novel,
The Darkness We Hide,
available April 2020 from MIRA Books.
For additional books by USA TODAY bestselling author Debra Webb, visit her website at www.debrawebb.com.
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Debra Webb
The Lies We Tell
This book is dedicated to my older daughter, Erica Webb Green. Erica, thank you so much for being such a great help with this series. From research to proofreading, you have been invaluable. One day you will write and publish amazing stories of your own and the world will love them! You are an inspiration to us all! Love you!
Contents
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Excerpt from Witness Protection Widow by Debra Webb
RIP
Carlos Sanchez
September 3, 1948–October 24, 2019
Mr. Carlos Sanchez will be prepared for burial by DuPont Funeral Home. Friends and family may contact the funeral home for information regarding arrangements.
One
Franklin County Jail, Winchester, Tennessee
Thursday, October 24, 11:55 a.m.
Herman Carter looked old. So very old.
The past five months in jail awaiting trial had taken a toll on the seventy-one-year-old man. He’d lost weight, and his gray hair lacked its usual sheen. But it was his eyes that told the real story. Dull, listless, resigned.
Rowan DuPont felt no sympathy.
Renewed indignation tightened her lips. This man—a man she had known and trusted her entire life—had deceived her. He had taken advantage of her father...and betrayed so many people. For no other reason than greed. He could toss out his excuses about his wife’s illness, but the truth was he had hurt people, using Rowan’s family and the funeral home that had belonged to her family for 150 years.
He deserved a far heavier punishment than she imagined the court system would eventually dole out. Eventually being the key word. The trial wasn’t scheduled to begin for another three months. The wheels of justice indeed moved slowly.
“Did you get my letters?” His voice sounded rusty, as if he rarely found a reason to use it.
“One every week,” Rowan said, her voice stiff, no matter that she had repeatedly attempted to relax. No matter that she did not want to be here, this meeting was necessary. Furthermore, it was essential that she proceed with caution where her personal feelings were concerned. She needed him cooperative. Revealing her utter disdain would not aid toward that end.
Herman had written to her every week since his arrest. Until yesterday, she had not opened a single one of his letters. She had felt no desire to read anything he had to say. He could not be trusted in any capacity. Yet, unfortunately, he was the one person still living who was well versed in her family’s history. He and her father had been best friends their whole lives. With her father dead going on a year now, Herman was the only person who might be able to help her.
For five months she had attempted to dissect her mother’s journals. She had searched the funeral home, as well as the living quarters, from top to bottom. One by one she had questioned neighbors, business associates and anyone else who had known her parents. She had learned nothing useful toward her goal of uncovering the facts surrounding the deaths of her sister and her mother.
Perhaps the truth had died with her father.
Rowan still struggled with the loss of her father. The idea that he might have lied to her made adjusting to this new reality all the more difficult. A part of her refused to believe he had lied, despite the rumors and innuendos she had encountered. The trouble was, she had to know for certain. Herman Carter, the man who had stolen body parts from the dead to sell on the black market, was the sole person on this planet who might be able to help her find the answers she sought. However hard she had searched to find the facts some other way, ultimately, she had realized this was her only choice. He was her final hope.
The thought of living with the uncertainty was something she was not prepared to do. Too much hinged on knowing the whole truth.
“Is that why you’re here after all this time?” Herman asked, a spark of hope lighting his dark eyes. “Did my words persuade you to forgive me?”
Rowan clenched her jaw long enough to restrain the urge to laugh in the man’s face. Forgive him? Not in this lifetime. All those weeks and months she had ignored his attempts at communicating. She had fully expected to continue on that course. Then, the day before yesterday she had hit a wall, run out of viable options for finding answers. With no other alternative, she reluctantly began to open the letters and read each one, twice. They told her nothing useful. Rather, his words had repeatedly expressed how deeply sorry he was and how desperately he wanted her forgiveness.
Forgiveness was the one thing she could not give him. Beneath the table that separated them, her right knee started to bounce. She braced against the outward display of her emotions and said what needed to be said. “No.”
The optimistic gleam that had appeared in his eyes died an abrupt death. “Then why are you here?”
“I’m here for information.” Rowan squared her shoulders and stared straight into his defeated gaze. “You owe me the truth, Herman. The whole truth.”
He shook his head, turned up his shackled hands. “I’ve told you and the police everything I did. I don’t know what else I can do.”
If only the issue were so simple. “I don’t need the truth about what you did, Herman. We know what you did.”
His shoulders drooped. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, Ro. I did bad things—but never at DuPont. Never. It was Woody who crossed that line, not me. I wouldn’t have done that to Edward. And it only happened
once. Even if Woody hadn’t ended up dead, I guarantee you he wouldn’t have done that again.”
Really? She was supposed to be grateful he did his stealing from the dead at another funeral home? Unbelievable.
Focus, Ro.
Sticking with her agenda was imperative. The chief of police had allowed her this extended visit with Herman for that specific purpose. She wasn’t allowed to discuss the ongoing criminal case with Herman—not that she had any desire to do so. The chief—her longtime friend, William “Billy” Brannigan—had allowed her to use this interview room rather than the usual visitation area with the metal bars and Plexiglas. Today could very well be her one chance to speak with Herman in this sort of setting. The elderly man was likely going away for the rest of his life.
Aim for the emotions. “My father considered you family, Herman. You meant a great deal to him.” She moistened her lips. “To both of us.”
“Edward meant a great deal to me. You mean the world to me, Ro.”
His words were true. Rowan heard the sincerity in his tone, saw it in his face.
“I’ve found quite a few disturbing notes in my mother’s journals. I’m convinced my parents were keeping a number of troubling secrets. I want to know what those secrets were.”
“We all have secrets, Ro. Even you.” He gave her a knowing nod. “It’s part of being human.”
Anger whipped through her before she could stop it. “None of my secrets involve murder. I’m certain you can understand how uncovering those sorts of secrets is of particular importance under the circumstances.”
Circumstances. More frustration and anger swirled inside her. The circumstances involved a serial killer. One of the most prolific serial killers in recorded history. One who, less than a year ago, had been her dear friend. Dr. Julian Addington. The monster who murdered her father and dozens upon dozens of others.
A monster whom, until recently, she had believed she had brought into her father’s life. Now she wasn’t so sure.
She wasn’t very sure of anything, frankly.
“You’ve asked me repeatedly to forgive you,” she reminded him. “If you want my forgiveness, then you need to help me.” She had no intention of forgiving him even then, but she wasn’t above dangling that particular carrot.
“I swear I’ll help you any way I can,” he promised. His earnest words urged her to trust him, to believe in him as she once had.
There was a time when she had considered Herman a second father, or a trusted and loving uncle. How could she not have recognized he was not the man she believed him to be? How had she missed the signs?
The same way you did with Julian.
A lump swelled in her throat. How was she supposed to get past the idea that she had been so damn blind? Both her education and her work experience were in the field of psychiatry. For years it had been her job to read people—to see what the homicide detectives on her team did not. She had been quite good at her job. Not once had she failed to solve the case...until Julian.
Julian, and then Herman, had proved her a fraud.
Herman owed her for that betrayal and by God she intended to collect.
“All right. I’ll put together a timeline of dates and events. Billy will pass along my questions and then we’ll meet again to discuss anything you recall about those dates and events. If you let me down—”
“I won’t.” Herman leaned forward. “Tell Billy to give you the key to my house,” he insisted. “Estelle was a stickler for keeping up the family photos. She documented every family event and special moment we shared with your family like a regular historian. You might find something useful there. Doesn’t hurt to look.”
To Rowan’s knowledge there had been no evidence found in the Carter home and the house had subsequently been released by the department. Hopefully Billy wouldn’t have a problem allowing her inside. Speaking of which, she glanced at the clock on the wall—Billy would be waiting for her by now. He’d promised her half an hour.
“I just need one favor from you.”
Rowan drew back at his words, putting some distance between them. How dare he ask her for anything after all that he had done?
He held up his hands, the shackles rattling with the move. “It’s not for me, exactly. I’d like you to see that flowers are put on Estelle’s grave every year on her birthday. It’s coming up next month and I’ve worried that I won’t be able to arrange the delivery. Your father always did that for your mother and I surely would like to do it for my sweet Estelle.”
She wanted to say no but that would be wrong. It wasn’t Estelle’s fault her husband had hurt others. His actions were part of the reason Estelle was dead and he was living with that painful fact. No, that wasn’t entirely true. The cancer had been killing her, and she’d simply ended things early after learning what her husband had done. It was bad enough to face the pain of the disease each day. Who wanted to deal with the investigation into the criminal affairs of the man she had loved and trusted? Giving up the battle had been easier.
“Fine. I’ll ensure that Estelle has flowers every year on her birthday.” Rowan would have done it, anyway.
Herman nodded. “Thank you. That’s all I ask.”
Rowan slid her chair back from the table and stood. A few feet away, outside the door, two guards waited to return the old man watching her to his cell. She was beyond ready for that to happen. She needed out of this room. Away from another of the men in her life who had betrayed her. Except she needed his help. Her personal feelings had to take a back seat for now.
She pushed in the chair she’d vacated. “I’ll be in touch again soon.”
When she turned her back to him, he spoke again. “Your daddy was a good man, Ro. Whatever else you believe, believe that.”
Rowan forced one foot in front of the other until she reached the door. She walked out of the room. The guards went inside to reclaim custody of their prisoner. Rowan kept moving down the corridor without looking back. She didn’t stop until she found Billy.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Well enough, I suppose.”
Billy pushed away from the wall where he’d been waiting. “You can tell me all about it over lunch.”
Rowan had no appetite, but she’d learned over the past several months not to mention details such as those to Billy. He worried about her, fussed over her. As much as she appreciated their friendship, that aspect was often frustrating. Outside work, she had lived a solitary life in Nashville. Her evenings had most always been spent hovered over a case file until she fell asleep. The occasional night out with friends always involved work friends and even those occasions were rare.
“Lunch sounds good.”
He glanced at her. “You’re getting better at hiding how you really feel.”
So, he was onto her. “Lunch has never been high on my priority list.”
It was true. She often forgot to stop for lunch. Even as a child, she and her twin sister would play and never think to stop and eat. Their mother had fussed when they finally made their way home. Not that Norah DuPont was much of a cook. Generally, Rowan and Raven had prepared their own meals. But that detail didn’t prevent Norah from saying a mouthful if she happened to be home and noticed the time of day when her daughters finally showed up. Norah had been a little scattered and she’d spent a lot of time traveling. Their father had always been the primary parent. Which was likely why both she and Raven had been well versed in the preparation of a body for burial before they were old enough to date.
Billy opened the passenger-side door of his truck. “Burt called. He’s sending business your way.”
Burt Johnston was the county coroner. Since the exposure of the black-market body-part brokering, a good number of folks in the community who passed away were transported to a Tullahoma funeral home for their services. Rowan was grateful for any business Burt pointed in her direction. Gardner’s, the only other funeral home in Winchester, had almost gone out of business under the weight of the lawsuits. No matter that her family had avoided any lawsuits, DuPont’s hadn’t slipped by unscathed. Clientele had dropped off considerably.