One For All, All For One

ONE FOR ALL, ALL FOR ONE

“Thanks, Sweetie. That’s a big help.”

“My pleasure, as always.”

Jeremy watched as his parents smiled sweetly at each other, and felt his own stomach lurch in response.

How can they go on with this charade? he thought. Don’t they know what it was doing to those around them? Pretending to be in love? Always kissing and being gross? The hate each other, and everyone knows it!

His dad gave his mom a quick side hug, and kissed the top of her head.

Oh, the humanity.

He walked into the kitchen where his parents were working together making dinner. There was an easiness between them, like they actually enjoyed each other’s company.

Hypocrites!

“Hey, Sport!” said his dad. “Almost time for dinner. Go get your sisters, please.”

“Sure,” said Jeremy, glad to be fleeing the room.

He went upstairs, and knocked on his sister Ava’s bedroom door. He could hear Harper and Ava yakking inside.

“What?” called out Ava, annoyed.

Jeremy stuck his head in.

“Dinner.”

The girls looked at each other.

“Oh God,” said Harper.

“Tell them we’re sick,” said Ava.

“No way,” said Jeremy. “You are not leaving me alone with them. You both have to be there. We agreed.”

And they had agreed. They were triplets, and they always had each other’s back. One for all, and all for one—like the three muskateers. As corny as it was, that was their motto, especially when it came to their parents—present a united front.

The trio trudged downstairs and into the kitchen, each taking their assigned seat around the kitchen table.

“Doesn’t dinner look amazing?” said their dad, Doug. “Your mom has really outdone herself this time!” He turned to his wife. “As always, Hilary, my love.” He took her hand and kissed it.

“Oh, Doug,” said Hilary, blushing wildly.

Jeremy was pretty sure that he had just thrown up a little bit in his mouth.

Swallowing, he said, “Looks great, Mom.”

“Yeah,” said Harper, holding back her gag. “Good job.” 

“Can hardly wait to try it,” said Ava, taking a deep breath to quell her roiling stomach.

They started eating their dinners.

“Fantastic taste profile, Hon!” said Doug.

Hilary smiled.  “Thank you!” she said looking adoringly at her husband. She turned to look at her children. “But just wait until you taste dessert! Your father made a fantastic Georgia peach pie, with homemade vanilla ice cream, made from real vanilla beans!”

“Yay,” said Harper, weakly, “Can hardly wait.”

Doug turned to his wife, smiling.

“How did the case go today?” he asked.

Both Doug and Hilary were lawyers—Hilary criminal, Doug divorce.

“Fantastic!” said Hilary, smiling broadly. “It went better than I had hoped. All of my witnesses were rock-solid. And my expert witnesses were stellar. They blew the jury away with their knowledge and expertise. On cross examination, they didn’t budge—exactly what I wanted and hoped for!” She took another bite of her food. “We’ve got one more witness tomorrow, then we’re resting. I think the jury is sympathetic.” She held up her crossed fingers. “Here’s hoping!” She took another bite of her food. “And how was your deposition?”

Doug put down his fork. “Not as good as your case, but not too bad. Both of the Patels want to end the marriage amicably, but neither is willing to give in completely to the demands of the other side, so we are in some pretty heavy-duty negotiations right now.”

“Your client it Mrs. Patel, correct?”

“Correct,” said Doug. “She wants the house in town, the beach house, and the chalet.  Mr. Patel is willing to give her the horse farm in exchange for the beach house, but Aggie—that’s Mrs. Patel—is allergic to horses, so … Besides, he’s getting the speed boat and the condo in the Alps. Aggie figures that she should have the final say because of … well, you know … the circumstances of the divorce.”  

Doug raised his eyebrows, looking at his wife, nodding towards the triplets.

Hilary smiled. “Oh, the troubles of the rich and famous.”

They both laughed. The kids looked at each other, saying nothing, keeping their heads down, rushing through their meals so that they could leave the table.

Hilary and Doug were founding partners of one of the most prestigious white-shoe law firms in the city. With their stellar reputation and exorbitant fees, they provided legal services to those who could afford their firm—literally the rich and famous. No common Joes or Janes. Only the most powerful people were clients of Housen and Housen.  

It was these elite clients that provided the Housen’s with their lifestyle, and all the advantages that money provided for their children.

“How was school today for my three favourite kiddos?” asked Doug, smiling at his three sullen teens.

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“Great,” they answered.

Hilary piped up. “Come on, kids! I’m sure there’s more.”

All three of the teens shook their heads in the negative.

“Your father and I are interested in you lives,” she said, looking at Doug for confirmation. He nodded his head in agreement. She turned to Jeremy. “How was football tryout?”

“Good.”

“Do you think you have a chance of making the team?” asked Doug.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” said Hilary. “What makes you so sure? about making the team?”

Jeremy looked at his mother blankly. 

“Tell us about the tryouts,” said Doug. “We’re always interested in the lives of our children.

Nice sentiment, if it was true, Jeremy thought. Fakers.

He knew that they wouldn’t stop until they got what they wanted, so he answered.

“If I, for some reason, only had one leg, I’d still be the best player on the team.”

Doug looked taken aback.

“Jeremy, what have we taught you about conceit?”

Jeremy slowed his breath, breathing evenly, not letting his dad goad him on. “It’s not conceit if it’s true,” he said.

Doug looked at the girls.

“True,” said Ava.

“True,” said Harper.

“Okay,” said Hillary, turning to her daughters “How about you, Harper. How’d you do on your calculus test?”

Harper would have been surprised because she never spoke about school with either of her parents, but she knew that her mother’s assistant, Jose, tracked school events on their school’s website and kept Hilary apprised of anything that involved the kids.

Hilary shrugged. “Aced it.”

“Good, good,” said Hilary. “And Ava, how’s the food drive going?”

“More money than food, but great.”

Hilary nodded her head, but said nothing.

They continued eating their dinner in silence.

*****

After dinner Harper, Jeremy, and Ava went upstairs together, landing in Jeremy’s room.

“God, that was horrible,” said Ava, flinging herself on Jeremy’s bed. “Did you hear them, asking questions? Like they give a shit.”

The three siblings knew it was the truth.  They wished everyone else knew it as well. No one knew Hilary and Doug like their kids did.

“It’s like being in a movie. Everybody knows it’s fake, but you have to play your role,” said Jeremy.  

“I hate it,” said Ava, looking up at the ceiling.

“We’ve got to do something about this,” sad Jeremy.  

*****

Police cars surrounded the Housen home, rotating sweeps of blue and red light illuminating the night.

Detective Terry Waits and her partner Detective Carlos Ito stood inside the front foyer of the house, huddled over Waits’s phone, listening to the nine-one-one recording.

“Nine-one-one what’s your emergency?”

There was a whispered response 

“There’s someone in our house. I think I heard gunshots.”

After getting the address and Harper’s name, the nine-one-one operator told Harper to stay on the line. When the police arrived, they found Harper, Ava, and Jeremy huddling in Ava’s closet. Waits thought that closet was a bit of a misnomer, considering it was the size of Waits’s entire bedroom. But they were huddling, none-the-less, in the giant closet.

“So,” said Ito, “The kids all said that someone broke into their house and killed their parents. One of the girls—Harper—said she figured it was one of her mom’s clients. Any thoughts?”

They had spent the last hour interviewing the triplets, getting their recollections of the night.

Waits looked at her notes before speaking.

“Do you remember the Menendez brothers?”

“Vaguely,” said Ito.

“Lyle and Eric Menendez shotgunned their parents in their own home At that time, in 1989, Lyle was twenty-one, and Eric was nineteen. Initially said they boys said they weren’t home when their parents were killed, but later changed their story, saying they did it because their parents were abusing them. They claimed they killed their parents in self-defence. The jury didn’t buy it, and the Menendez brothers were sent to prison. As far as I know, they’re still incarcerated.”

She looked at Ito, waiting for him to make the connection.

“You think the kids did this?”

Waits nodded her head. “I do.”

“Why?”

“Well,” she began. “First of all, there is no evidence that anybody entered or left the house. They have a very state-of-the-art security system.”

“But there was a twenty minute power outage,” said Ito. “The killer, or killers, could have cut the power and gone in, shot the parents, then left.”

“And turned the power back on?” said Waits.

Ito said nothing.

Waits continued. “Not too plausible, but let’s just ignore the the power being turned back on. What the killer didn’t know was that there is a cellular back-up system for when the power goes out. So, there is a complete record of the night and no one in or out.”

Ito nodded slowly.

“And,” continued Waits, “Why weren't the kids hurt? They’re potential witnesses. The bad guys had already killed two people. What’s three more?”

Ito looked at Waits, skeptically.

“But that’s not evidence, it’s only a ‘feeling’.”

“True," said Waits, "but I listen to my gut." She paused. "I spoke with the triplets’ grandmother, who, by the way, is on the way here. She said that they were a happy family, and that her daughter and son-in-law were very much in love. She says that the kids were moody, but not overly—just teenager stuff. By all accounts, they were a happy family.” She paused. “But when I spoke with the kids, each of them said, almost verbatim, that their parents weren’t happy, that they were always fighting. They each used the same phrase’—at each other’s throats.’ It sounded rehearsed.”

“Still not evidence,” said Ito. “You know that families are different behind closed doors.”

“True. Each parent was shot three times, in the head. Maybe one shot per child? So that they won’t squeal on each other? They’re all guilty or none of them is guilty.” She stopped, looking at Ito.  “I know, not evidence.”

He nodded, listening.

“And, they all tested positive for gunshot residue. Not a lot, but it’s still present on the three of them. How’s that possible if they didn't touch a gun?”

“That could be passive transfer," said Ito.

“They said that they didn’t go into their parents’ room, that they hid in Ava’s closet. But still there’s GSR. How does that happen?”

“I have no idea,” said Ito.

“And,” said Waits, “Harper’s hair was damp.”

“So?”

“All three of them said that they were sleeping, each in their own room when they heard something that woke them up. It’s the middle of the night, and they were awakened by gunshots. They said they all ran into Ava’s room, and hid in the closet and didn’t move until the police arrived. So when did Harper have time to take a shower? I had each of them recount their entire day. Harper had a shower before she went to school, around seven a.m. But her hair was still wet at three in the morning? I don’t think so. Hair doesn’t stay wet for nineteen hours. Unless she actually had a shower to wash away blood spatter after shooting her parents. And, her shower stall had been recently used. It was still wet. I’ve got techs swabbing all the drains in the house, and checking for blood residue.”

“But what about the weapon?” Ito asked. “And the clothes the kids were wearing? Our initial investigation found nothing.”

Waits didn’t look too concerned. “Everything has to still be in the house. Remember? No one came in or went out. We’ll find it.”

“What’s their motive, then?”asked Ito.

“Who knows,” said Waits. “They’re teenagers. But I hope Grandma brings along some lawyers for these kids. They’re going to need them.”