As Time Goes By (8 page)

R
obert Maynard had ordered a car to take Betsy home. “I'll pick you up at eight o'clock tomorrow morning,” he said, “but I thought you'd want a little quiet time on the way home this evening.”

“Yes, I would. Thank you,” Betsy said softly. As the door closed, she was aware of cameras taking pictures of her, and they continued as she was driven away. She leaned back and closed her eyes. The day in court seemed unreal to her. How could anyone really believe she would harm Ted? She realized that her mind was always crowded with memories of the early days with him. The day they met when she was his patient after she broke her leg ice-skating. It was a nasty break, and in the emergency room of Hackensack Hospital they had sent for him to set it.

She remembered how he had seemed to fill the room with his presence. He was holding the X-rays of her leg in front of him. “Well, you really did a job on yourself, Betsy,” he said cheerfully. “But we'll fix you up as good as new.”

She had been twenty-five then and a history teacher at Pascack Valley High School in Hillsdale and living a few miles away in Hackensack. She soon learned that Ted was a widower living in Ridgewood, also a few miles away. Their attraction to each other had been mutual and strong. They were married a year later.

Alan was in his freshman year at Cornell and had welcomed her with open arms. As much as he missed his own mother, he knew that I was making his father happy again, Betsy thought bitterly. But ever since I persuaded Ted to cut back on the money he was giving him, the truth is he has hated me. He knows perfectly well that I would never hurt his father.

Unconsciously she shook her head. Her mouth went suddenly dry and she reached for and opened the bottle of water in the holder beside her. She again was thinking of the day Ted took her over to see the house in Alpine. When Ted made his cash offer, the realtor said the owner would be willing to close in two weeks. On a beautiful spring morning only twelve days later, it became their new home.

For eight years we were so happy there, she thought. And then it began. The little signs. They started around the time Ted was fifty-one.

The early signs were his forgetfulness. Suddenly Ted became easily upset over trifles. A patient rearranging a scheduled visit irritated him terribly. He began to forget dates they had made socially. He was complaining he had too much on his mind, and it was obvious he was becoming depressed. But it was when he was driving and could not remember the way home, even when they were only in the next town, that she knew something was terribly wrong.

The car had cut over to the Palisades Parkway and they were now approaching Alpine. Betsy knew that Carmen would be preparing dinner. She thought she was looking forward to being without company, but when she arrived, three of her former fellow teachers from Pascack Valley were waiting for her. As each in turn hugged her, Jeanne Cohen, who was now principal, said fervently, “Betsy, this is going to be ancient history. It's awful that you have to go through it. Everyone who knows you saw the way you took care of Ted.”

“I hope so,” Betsy said quietly. “I was beginning to sound like a monster in court.”

They had been waiting for her in the living room. She thought of all the good times they had had together here. Outside the shadows were lengthening. It felt as though they were gathering over her. She glanced at the club chair that had been Ted's favorite place to sit. The last time he was in it was the last night of his life. But when they had gathered here before dinner, he had gotten up, come over to her and reached for her hand. He had pleaded, “Betsy, help me find it.”

An hour later he had become violently upset. But in that single moment of clarity, it had seemed to her that he was trying to tell her something.

W
ith rapt attention Alvirah and Willy watched and listened to Delaney's report on the events at the Betsy Grant trial. When it was over, they looked at each other. Willy spoke first. “It looks like today did not go very well for Betsy Grant.”

“It's only the first day,” Alvirah said hopefully. “That prosecutor really knows how to lay it on thick.”

“Are you still sorry you're not covering the trial?” Willy asked.

“Oh, I'll start going just as a spectator when the defense part of it starts. But Willy, there's something else I really want to focus on. Delaney has such a terrible need to find her birth mother. And now that her adoptive parents have moved away, she really thinks it's her opportunity to do it without feeling as though she is hurting them.”

“That doesn't make much sense,” Willy said.

“Yes, it does,” Alvirah said. “When she was back and forth to the house, Delaney knew that Jennifer Wright considered it a personal rejection if Delaney brought up the adoption. They obviously lied on the birth certificate when they put their names in as the parents. So let's see what I can find out. You know I'm a pretty good detective.”

Alvirah still could not get used to using a computer. She had a gift for making mistakes as she tried to do research online. But she was determined to see for herself the wording on Delaney's birth certificate. With some help from Willy, she finally got the information she wanted; only it wasn't nearly enough. It simply said that twenty-six years ago at 4:06
P.M.
on March 16th a female named Delaney Nora Wright had been born. The place of birth was listed as 22 Oak Street in Philadelphia. The mother and father's names and address were listed as James Charles Wright, 50, and Jennifer Olsen Wright, 49, living in Oyster Bay, Long Island.

“Willy, the only information the Wrights could give Delaney was the name of the midwife, Cora Banks, and where the birth took place, at 22 Oak Street. Delaney told me there were four listings for Cora Banks in the Philadelphia area. She said she called each one of them, but they were all much younger than midwife Cora Banks would be today, and they all claimed that they had no knowledge of her.”

Willy printed out the information on the birth certificate. Alvirah reviewed it and stared at it, her expression gloomy. “This is not as helpful as I thought it would be.”

Willy said, “I think I can look up that address online and see what's there.”

The aerial shot showed an industrial building situated among smaller houses on Oak Street.

“Looks like the house that was 22 Oak Street was torn down,” Willy said.

Alvirah sighed aloud her disappointment. “Well, that just makes my job harder. But look at it this way, Willy, I've always said that before I die, I want to see Philadelphia again. Let's drive there in the next few days.”

A
t nine thirty the following morning the trial resumed.

“Your, Honor,” said Elliot Holmes, “the state calls Alan Grant.”

The entrance door to the courtroom opened, and the jury and spectators watched closely as the murdered doctor's son walked slowly toward the witness stand. Handsome, wearing an obviously expensive navy-blue sports jacket and gray slacks, with an open-collar shirt, he was sworn in and took the witness stand.

The prosecutor asked a number of questions about Grant's background. He had graduated from Cornell University, was a professional photographer, was divorced from the mother of his two children and also had a ten-year-old son from a previous relationship.

Holmes then delved into the Grant family relationships.

“Were you happy about the marriage between your father and Betsy Ryan?”

“Very much so,” Alan answered quietly. “My father was only forty years old when my mother died. For the next two years I knew he was very lonely. When he met Betsy and then married her a year later I was delighted.”

“Were you present for dinner the night your father was murdered?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Who else was there?”

“Betsy, of course. It was my father's birthday and she invited the two other doctors in the orthopedic practice they had started with my father, and their wives. Dr. Kent Adams, his wife, Sarah, and Dr. Scott Clifton and his wife, Lisa, were there.”

“Describe your father's behavior that night.”

“At first it was very calm. He seemed happy to see everyone, even though I don't think he actually recognized us. He may have had flashes of being vaguely aware of who we were. It's hard to say.”

“Did your stepmother comment on his behavior?”

“Yes, she did. She said that for the last two days he had been very upset and opening drawers and spilling their contents on the floor and throwing books off the library shelves. She said that she was going to call off the dinner, but then that morning he woke up and was very gentle and calm so she went ahead with it.”

“When you arrived, did you see a bruise on her face?”

“Yes, I did. She had tried to cover it up with makeup, but it was still discernible.”

“Did you ask her about it?”

“Yes.”

“What did she tell you?”

“That my father had punched her two days ago.”

“Did she seem angry?”

“No, I thought she seemed resigned.”

“Did your father's behavior change during the course of the evening?”

“Yes it did. At first we had cocktails in the living room. Of course he did not have one. But just before we were to go in for dinner, he suddenly became very agitated.”

“What did he do?”

“All of a sudden without saying anything he became very distressed and started pointing at all of us.”

“And then what happened?”

“Betsy went over to him and put her arms around him and tried to soothe him. He immediately became calm.”

“What happened next?”

“We had a very pleasant dinner. He was very quiet and ate quite well. Then just as we were about to have coffee and dessert Dad quickly got up and literally lunged across the table toward where Dr. Clifton and his wife Lisa were seated.”

“What happened then?”

“Betsy grabbed Dad's arm to stop him and he turned and slapped her face. It was a very hard slap. She fell back in her chair and began to sob. Dr. Clifton, Angela, the caregiver, and I took Dad back to his room. He suddenly went limp as though he was exhausted. Angela gave him a pill to calm him down. We got him into his pajamas and put him into bed. After a few minutes, he closed his eyes and his breathing became even. He fell asleep.”

“At that time what did you do?”

“I noticed that Angela was very pale and I asked her what was wrong. She told me she must be getting some sort of bug because she was having terrible stomach pains.”

“What was your response?”

“I suggested that she go home.”

As he spoke, it seemed to Delaney that the pain on Alan Grant's face was too obvious to be faked.

“What did she do?”

“She said that if she didn't feel better soon, she would have to leave.”

“Mr. Grant, were you familiar with the furnishings in your father's bedroom?”

“Yes, I was.”

“On the night table next to his bed was there any display, award or decoration?”

“Yes. There was a mortar-and-pestle set. It was an award he had been given by Hackensack Hospital. I was at the banquet the night he received it.”

“When you were in your father's room that night, do you recall if the pestle was present?”

“Yes, I do. I am absolutely certain it was present. Dr. Clifton, Angela Watts and I were all talking to Dad, trying to calm him down. I very clearly remember pointing to the award and saying to him something like ‘Dad, it was so much fun that night when we went to the awards dinner. You gave such a great speech.' Who knows if he understood a word I was saying. But the whole time I was talking I was looking back and forth between him and the award.”

“And the pestle was present in the mortar bowl?”

“Yes, definitely.”

“Going back, after you suggested that Ms. Watts go home, what did you do next?”

“I went back to the dining room. Dr. Adams had put a cold cloth on Betsy's face. She was still sobbing at the table—holding the cloth.”