Six Seconds

39

Takoma, D.C.

Would he find answers here?

The Tarvers had a modest Victorian home. It was where they’d lived, where they’d dreamed and where Ray, a reporter who’d lost the respect of his colleagues, had continued his pursuit of his con spiracy theories.

The house sat back from the street, inviting visitors to a veranda edged with an ornate spindled railing and sheltered by overhanging gables. It was walking dis tance from the Takoma Metro station, the last stop on the red line in D.C. before Silver Spring, Maryland. When Graham arrived, Jackson Tarver was on his knees digging among the roses that lined the front walk.

“You’re right on time.” Tarver stood.

“It’s a beautiful house.”

“Anita took care of most things.” Tarver’s gaunt face was bereft of light when he greeted him. “Any word on if the searchers located Ray?”

“No, sir. I’m sorry.”

Tarver turned to the house, gazing at it as if his son, his daughter-in-law and grandchildren were inside waiting. His Adam’s apple rose and fell.

“Let’s get started. I’ll show you around, like you wanted, whatever you need.”

They began with the back.

It was typical with a barbecue and a patio set with an umbrella table arranged on a deck that stepped down into the well-kept fenced yard. There were dells of rhododendrons and ferns shaded by sugar maples, and a tall beech tree with a tire swing for the kids. Tarver gave the tire a gentle push.

“They loved it here,” Jackson Tarver said.

As the old rope squeaked, Graham imagined the children playing in the yard, Anita gardening, Ray and his father at the grill sharing beers, talking sports or politics.

Living their lives like most families.

“Excuse me, are you related to Ray and Anita Tarver?” Both men turned to a woman in her early thirties standing at the side of the house.

“I’m Ray’s father, Jackson Tarver.”

“I’m Melody Sloane. I live down the street. My twins played with Emily and Tommy.”

“Come in, Melody.”

“I don’t mean to barge in on you. I saw you out front.”

“It’s all right.”

“My condolences, Mr. Tarver.” She cupped a hand over her mouth, then embraced him. “I read about it in the Post. ” Her voice weakened. “It’s so awful. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.”

Six Seconds 247

“Some of the neighborhood moms were wondering about a service. The two detectives who were here the other day didn’t know if arrangements had been made.”

“No, nothing’s been decided yet. Anita and the children were cremated. We’ll have a memorial service when we have Ray, when they’re all together.”

“Of course, please, let me know if there’s anything you need.” She turned to leave.

“Ms. Sloane, if I may?” Graham gave her his card. “Corporal Daniel Graham with Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”

She looked at the card and its stylized bison head seal.

“I’m handling matters in Canada. Could you tell me a bit more about these two detectives?”

“Goodness. Well, it was at the time when the story had been in the Post. I’d come to the house to leave a card in the mailbox. The two men got here just before me. I think they’d tried the door, no one was here and they were looking around the side.”

“Did they show you any ID?” Graham asked. “Were they D.C. police? FBI? Secret Service?”

“No, no identification.”

“Did they tell you what they wanted?”

“They wanted to know who was looking after the house. I said that I didn’t know.”

Graham turned to Tarver. “Were you ever contacted by detectives?”

“We got a lot of calls from people. Some from police and you, but I haven’t been thinking too clearly.”

“Have you shown police through the house?”

“No.”

“So we really can’t confirm who they were.” “What’s the concern?” Tarver asked.

“Just curious.”

“Could’ve been reporters, or Ray’s friends, sources, you know,” Tarver said.

“Could’ve been.” Could have be someone else who’s investigating, too, Graham thought. He made a note, then asked Melody to call him if she remembered anything more.

After she left, Tarver took Graham to the garage. He took stock of the family car, a Toyota Corolla, the work bench, tools, extension ladder hooked on one wall above the mower, the kids’ bikes and toys. In one corner, cardboard boxes were stacked and labelled, Clothes For Charity printed in clear letters with a fine-point marker. Done by Anita, Graham thought as Tarver led him through the breezeway and into the house.

“I haven’t touched a thing,” Tarver said. “Look through anything you like, search what you need. I’m going to brew some coffee.”

The living room had hardwood floors and an L-shaped sofa with fat cushions, facing a large TV next to a wood-burning redbrick fireplace. It was framed by bookshelves with DVDs like Titanic, Sophie’s Choice, The Searchers, The Paper, CDs by Springsteen, the Beatles and Van Morrison, hardcover books by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Steinbeck and Faulkner, a small gallery of framed photos, mostly of Tommy and Emily, and a family trip. Orlando, judging by the Mickey Mouse hats.

The room flowed into the dining room with a ranchstyle table and six chairs, and a glass-fronted hutch. A chandelier hung in the center of the room.

Six Seconds 249

The dining room led to the hall and the bed room area.

The first bedroom had soft-colored wallpaper with tiny unicorns and rainbows and a small bed with a frilly bedspread. Above it, a multicolored crayon drawing of a castle that said Princess Emily’s House, was taped to one wall. Stuffed toys crowded the top of the dresser and shelves. Graham traced his fingers over the flowers printed on the pillowcase, detecting a child’s sweet scent.

She took her last breaths in his arms.

A small, clean bathroom connected the room to the next bedroom.

In that room, a model of a space shuttle was hanging by a thread from the ceiling. A large map of the solar system covered one wall, while the others were papered with the U.S. flag, posters of the Wizards and Batman. All faced a loft bed with a desk and a collection of picture books. Hanging on his closet door was a T-shirt emblazoned with Tommy the Conqueror.

Princess Emily and Tommy the Conqueror next to their mother in the Medical Examiner’s Office.

Next, Graham came to the Tarvers’ master bedroom at the end of the hall.

It had a large window that overlooked the backyard, a walk-in closet and an en suite bathroom. Nicely deco rated. Graham noticed a pleasant soapy hint of perfume and cologne. The bedroom walls were cream, a framed Rembrandt print hung over the queen-size bed, which had a quilted spread and throw pillows. A hard copy of a romance- Knights With Lonely Maidens- was on one nightstand, on the other, an alarm clock and a textbook: Revealed: One Hundred Terrorist Plots.

Sadness rolled over Graham as he flipped through it. The world had ended for this family. Graham was standing in a crypt, trying to make sense of what had happened.

Maybe their deaths were accidental?

Then what the hell am I doing here?