Let Me Call You Sweetheart (13 page)

"Tim Farrell interviewed Dolly Bowles himself," Geoff recalled. "I kind of remember a reference to a learning-disabled five-year- old seeing a car, but I passed over it."
"It's a long shot," Kerry said, "but Joe Palumbo, the investigator I told you about who spoke to Robin, brought the Reardon file with him this afternoon. I want to go through it to see what names might have come up--of men Suzanne was possibly getting cozy with. It shouldn't be too hard to check with the Motor Vehicle Division to see if any of those named owned a black Mercedes sedan eleven years ago. Of course, it's possible the car was registered in someone else's name, or even rented, in which case we won't get anywhere."
She looked at the dock over the kitchen stove. "Plenty of time," she said.
Geoff knew she was talking about getting Robin. "What time is the party over?"
"Nine. There usually aren't weeknight parties, but Halloween really is the kids' special night, isn't it? Now how about espresso or regular coffee? I keep meaning to buy a cappuccino machine but never seem to find the time."
"Espresso is fine. And while we're having it, I'm going to tell you about Skip Reardon and Beth Taylor."
When he finished giving her the background of Beth's relationship with Skip, Kerry said slowly, "I can see why Tim Farrell was afraid to use Taylor as a witness, but if Skip Reardon was in love with her at the time of the murder, it tends to take some of the credibility away from Dr. Smith's testimony."
"Exactly. Skip's whole attitude about seeing Suzanne arranging flowers given to her by another man can be summed up in two words: 'Good riddance.'"
The wall phone rang and Geoff looked at his watch. "You said nine o'clock for Robin, didn't you? I'll get her while you're on the phone."
"Thanks." Kerry reached for the receiver. "Hello."
She listened, then said warmly, "Oh, Jonathan, I was going to call you."
Geoff got up, and with a "see you" motion of his hand, went into the foyer and reached in the closet for his coat.
As they walked back home, Robin said she had had a good time at the party even though she had not won first prize for her costume. "Cassie's cousin was there," she explained. "She had on a dorky skeleton outfit, but her mother had sewed soup bones all over it. I guess that made it special. Anyhow, thanks for walking me, Mr. Dorso."
"You win some, you lose some, Robin. And why don't you call me Geoff?"
The moment Kerry opened the door for them, Geoff could see that something was terribly wrong. It was an obvious effort for her to keep an attentive smile on her face as she listened to Robin's enthusiastic description of the party.
Finally Kerry said, "Okay, Robin, it's after nine and you promised..."
"I know. Off to bed and no dragging my heels." Robin kissed Kerry quickly. "Love you, Mom. Good night, Geoff." She bounced up the stairs.
Geoff watched as Kerry's mouth began to quiver. He took her arm, led her into the kitchen and closed the door. "What's the matter?"
She tried to keep her voice steady. "The governor was supposed to be submitting three names to the senate tomorrow for approval of judicial appointments. Mine was to be one of them. Jonathan has asked the governor to postpone the action for now, because of me."
"Senator Hoover did that to you!" Geoff exclaimed. "I thought he was your big buddy." Then he stared at her. "Wait a minute. Does this have something to do with the Reardon case and Frank Green?"
He didn't need her nod to know he was right. "Kerry, that's lousy. I'm so sorry. But you said 'postponed,' not 'withdrawn.'"
"Jonathan would never withdraw my nomination. I know that." Now Kerry's voice was becoming steadier. "But I also know that I can't expect him to go out on a limb for me. I told Jonathan about seeing Dr. Smith and Dolly Bowles today."
"What was his reaction?
"He wasn't impressed. He feels that by reopening this case I am needlessly bringing into question both the capability and the credibility of Frank Green, and that I'm leaving myself open to criticism for wasting taxpayers' money on a case that was decided ten years ago. He pointed out that five appeals courts have confirmed Reardon's guilt."
She shook her head, as though trying to clear her mind. Then she turned away from Geoff. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time this way, Geoff, but I guess I've decided that Jonathan is right. A murderer is in prison, put there by a jury of his peers, and the courts have been consistent in upholding his conviction. Why do I think I know something they don't?"
Kerry turned back and looked at him. "The killer is in prison, and I'm just going to have to let this drop," she said with as much conviction as she could muster.
Geoff's face tightened in suppressed anger and frustration. "Very well, then. Good-bye, Your Honor," he said. "Thanks for the pasta."
... Wednesday, November 1st
In the laboratory of FBI headquarters in Quantico, four agents watched the computer screen freeze on the profile of the thief who had broken into the Hamilton home in Chevy Chase over the weekend.
He had pulled the stocking mask up so that he could have a better look at a figurine. At first, the image taken by the hidden camera had seemed impossibly blurry, but after some electronic enhancement, a few details of the face were visible. Probably not enough to make a real difference, thought Si Morgan, the senior agent. It's still pretty difficult to see much more than his nose and the outline of his mouth. Nonetheless, it was all they had, and it might just jog someone's memory.
"Get a couple of hundred of these run off and see that they're circulated to the families in every break-in that matches the profile of the Hamilton case. It's not much, but at least we now have a chance of getting that bastard."
Morgan's face turned grim. "And I only hope that when we get him we can match his thumbprint to the one we found the night Congressman Peale's mother lost her life because she'd canceled her plans to go away for the weekend."
It was still early morning as Wayne Stevens sat reading the newspaper in the family room of his comfortable Spanish-style house in Oakland, California. Retired two years from his modestly successful insurance business, he looked the part of a contented man. Even in repose, his face maintained a genial expression. Regular exercise kept his body trim. His two married daughters and their families both lived less than half an hour away. He had been married to his third wife, Catherine, for eight years now, and in that time had come to realize that his first two marriages had left much to be desired.
That was why when the phone rang he had no premonition that the caller was about to evoke unpleasant memories.
The voice had a distinct East Coast accent. "Mr. Stevens, I'm Joe Palumbo, an investigator for the Bergen County, New Jersey, prosecutor's office. Your stepdaughter was Suzanne Reardon, was she not?"
"Suzanne Reardon? I don't know anyone by that name. Wait a minute," he said. "You're not talking about Susie, are you?"
"Is that what you called Suzanne?"
"I had a stepdaughter we called Susie, but her name was Sue Ellen, not Suzanne." Then he realized the inspector had used the past tense: "was." "Has something happened to her?"
Three thousand miles away, Joe Palumbo gripped the phone. "You don't know that Suzanne, or Susie as you call her, was murdered ten years ago?" He pushed the button that would record the conversation.
"Dear God." Wayne Stevens' voice fell to a whisper. "No, of course I didn't know it. I send a note to her every Christmas in care of her father, Dr. Charles Smith, but I've heard nothing from her in years."
"When did you last see her?"
"Eighteen years ago, shortly after my second wife, Jean, her mother, died. Susie was always a troubled, unhappy and, frankly, difficult girl. I was a widower when her mother and I married. I had two young daughters and I adopted Susie. Jean and I raised the three together. Then, after Jean died, Susie received the proceeds of an insurance policy and announced that she was moving to New York. She was nineteen then. A few months later I received a rather vicious note from her saying she'd always been unhappy living here and wanted nothing to do with any of us. She said that she was going to live with her real father. Well, I phoned Dr. Smith immediately, but he was extremely rude. He told me that it had been a grave mistake to allow me to adopt his daughter."
"So Suzanne, I mean Susie, never spoke to you herself?" Joe asked quickly.
"Never. There seemed to be nothing to do but let it go. I hoped in time she'd come around. What happened to her?"
"Ten years ago her husband was convicted of killing her in a jealous rage."
Images ran through Wayne Stevens' head. Susie as a whiny toddler, a plump, scowling teenager who turned to golf and tennis for recreation but seemed to take no pleasure in her own prowess in either sport. Susie listening to the jangle announcing phone calls that were never for her, glowering at her stepsisters when their dates came to pick them up, slamming doors as she stomped upstairs. "Jealous because she was involved with another man?" he asked slowly.
"Yes." Joe Palumbo heard the bewilderment in the other man's voice and knew that Kerry's instinct was right when she had asked him to delve into Suzanne's background. "Mr. Stevens, would you please describe your stepdaughter's physical appearance?"
"Sue was..." Stevens hesitated. "She was not a pretty girl," he said quietly.
"Do you have pictures of her you could send me?" Palumbo asked. "I mean, those that were taken closest to the time she left to come East."
"Of course. But if this happened over ten years ago, why are you bringing it up now?"
"Because one of our assistant prosecutors thinks there's more to the case than came out at the trial."
And boy, was Kerry's hunch right! Joe thought as he hung up the phone after having secured Wayne Stevens' promise to send the pictures of Susie by overnight mail.
Kerry was barely settled in her office Wednesday morning when her secretary told her that Frank Green wanted to see her.
He did not waste words. "What happened, Kerry? I understand that. the governor has postponed presenting the nominations for judgeship. The indication was that he was having a problem with your inclusion. Is something wrong? Is there anything I can do?"
Well, yes, as a matter of fact there is, Frank, Kerry thought. You can tell the governor that you welcome any inquiry that might reveal a gross miscarriage of justice, even if you're left with egg on your face. You could be a stand-up guy, Frank.
Instead she said, "Oh, I'm sure it will all go through soon."
"You're not on the outs with Senator Hoover, are you?"
"He's one of my closest friends."
As she turned to go, the prosecutor said, "Kerry, it stinks to be twisting in the wind, waiting for these appointments. Hey, I've got my own nomination coming up. Right? I get nightmares hoping it doesn't get screwed up somewhere."
She nodded and left him.
Back in her office, she tried desperately to keep her mind on the trial schedule. The grand jury had just indicted a suspect in a bungled gas station holdup. The charge was attempted murder and armed robbery. The attendant had been shot and was still in intensive care. If he didn't make it, the charge would be upgraded to murder.
Yesterday the appeals court had overturned the guilty verdict of a woman convicted of manslaughter. That had been another high- profile case, but the appeals court decision that the defense had been incompetent at least did not reflect badly on the prosecutor. They had planned that Robin would hold the Bible when she was sworn in. Jonathan and Grace had insisted that they would buy her judicial robes, a couple of everyday ones and a special one for ceremonial occasions. Margaret kept reminding her that, as her best friend, she would be allowed to hold the robe Kerry would wear that day and assist her in putting it on. "I, Kerry McGrath, do solemnly swear that I will...
Tears stung her eyes as she heard Jonathan's impatient voice again. Kerry, five appeals courts have found Reardon guilty. What's the matter with you? Well, he was right. Later this morning, she would call him and tell him that she had dropped the whole matter.
She became aware that someone had knocked on her door several times. Impatiently she brushed the backs of her hands across her eyes and called, "Come in."
It was Joe Palumbo. "You're one smart lady, Kerry."
"I'm not so sure. What's up?"
"You said it occurred to you to wonder if Dr. Smith ever did any work on his daughter."
"He all but denied it, Joe. I told you that."
"I know you did, and you also had me check on Suzanne's background. Well, listen to this."
With a flourish, Joe laid a tape recorder on the desk. "This is most of my call to Mr. Wayne Stevens, Suzanne Reardon's stepfather." He pressed the button.
As Kerry listened, she felt a new wave of confusion and conflicting emotions sweep over her. Smith's a liar, she thought as she remembered his outrage at even the suggestion that he had performed any surgical procedure on his daughter. He's a liar and he's a good actor.
When the recorded conversation was finished, Palumbo smiled in anticipation. "What next, Kerry?"
"I don't know," she said slowly.
"You don't know? Smith's lying."
"We don't know that yet. Let's wait for those pictures from Stevens before we get too excited. Lots of teenagers suddenly blossom after they get a good haircut and a makeover at a salon."
Palumbo looked at her in disbelief. "Sure they do. And pigs have wings."
Deidre Reardon had heard the discouragement in her son's voice when she spoke to him on Sunday and Tuesday, which was why she decided on Wednesday to make the long trip by bus and train and another bus to the Trenton prison to see him.
A small woman who had passed on to her son her fiery red hair, warm blue eyes and Celtic complexion, Deidre Reardon now looked every day of her age, which would soon be seventy. Her compact body hinted of frailness, and her step had lost much of its bounce. Her health had forced her to give up her job as a saleswoman at A&S, and now she supplemented her social security check by doing some clerical work at the parish office.
The money she had saved during the years when Skip was doing so well and was so generous to her was gone now, most of it spent on the court costs of the unsuccessful appeals.
She arrived at the prison in midafternoon. Because it was a weekday, they could only communicate by telephone, with a window between them. From the minute Skip was brought in and she saw the look on his face, Deidre knew that the one thing she feared had happened. Skip had given up hope.