Let Me Call You Sweetheart (6 page)

"And Frank Green tore him apart on cross-examination."
"As you read, he got Skip to admit that he and Suzanne had quarreled that morning, that he'd spoken to his accountant to find out what a divorce would cost, that he'd gone back to the house at six and again quarreled with Suzanne. The coroner estimated time of death to be between six and eight o'clock, so Skip could, by his own testimony, be placed at the scene of the crime at the possible time of the murder."
"From the account I read, Skip Reardon claimed he went back to his office, had a couple of drinks and fell asleep. That's pretty thin," Kerry commented.
"It's thin but it's true. Skip had established a very successful business, mostly building quality homes, although recently he had expanded into shopping malls. Most of his time was spent in the office, taking care of the business end, but he loved to put on work clothes and spend the day with a crew. That's what he'd done that day, before coming back to work at the office. The guy was tired."
He opened the first volume. "I've flagged Smith's testimony as well as Skip's. The crux of the matter is that we are certain that there was someone else involved, and we have reason to believe it was another man. In fact, Skip was convinced that Suzanne was involved with another man, perhaps even with more than one. What precipitated the second quarrel, the one that occurred when he went home at six o'clock, was that he found her arranging a bunch of red roses--sweetheart roses, I think the press called them--that he had not sent her. The prosecution maintained that he went into a rage, strangled her, then threw the roses over her body. He, of course, swears that he didn't, that when he left, Suzanne was still blithely puttering with the flowers."
"Did anyone check the local florists to see if an order for the roses had been placed with one of them? If Skip didn't carry them home, somebody delivered them."
"Farrell did at least do that. There wasn't a florist in Bergen County who wasn't checked. Nothing turned up."
"I see."
Geoff stood up. "Kerry, I know it's a lot to ask, but I want you to read this transcript carefully. I want you to pay particular attention to Dr. Smith's testimony. Then I'd like you to consider letting me be with you when you talk to Dr. Smith about his practice of giving other women his daughter's face."
She walked with Geoff to the door. "I'll call you in the next few days," she promised.
At the door, he paused, then turned back to Kerry. "There's one more thing I wish you'd do. Come down with me to Trenton State Prison. Talk to Skip yourself. On my grandmother's grave, I swear you'll hear the ring of truth when that poor guy tells you his story."
In Trenton State Prison, Skip Reardon lay on the bunk of his cell, watching the six-thirty news. Dinnertime had come and gone with its dreary menu. As had become more and more the case, he was restless and irritable. After ten years in this place, he had managed for the most part to set himself on a middle course. In the beginning he had fluctuated between wild hope when an appeal was pending and crashing despair when it was rejected.
Now his usual state of mind was weary resignation. He knew that Geoff Dorso would never stop trying to find new grounds for an appeal, but the climate of the country was changing. On the news there were more and more reports criticizing the fact that repeated appeals from convicted criminals were tying up the courts, reports that inevitably concluded that there had to be a cutoff. If Geoff could not find grounds for an appeal, one that would actually win Skip his freedom, then that meant another twenty years in this place.
In his most despondent moments, Skip allowed himself to think back over the years before the murder, and to realize just how crazy he had been. He and Beth had practically been engaged. And then at Beth's urging he had gone alone to a party her sister and her surgeon husband Were giving. At the last minute, Beth had come down with a bug, but she hadn't wanted him to miss out on the fun.
Yeah, fun, Skip thought ironically, remembering that night. Suzanne and her father had been there. Even now he could not forget how she looked the first time he saw her. He knew immediately she meant trouble, but like a fool he fell for her anyway.
Impatiently, Skip got up from the bunk, switched off the television and looked at the trial transcript on the shelf over the toilet. He felt as though he could recite it by heart. That's where it belongs, over the toilet, he thought bitterly. For all the good it's ever going to do me, I should tear it up and flush it.
He stretched. He used to keep his body in shape through a combination of hard work on the job site and a regular gym regimen. Now he rigidly performed a series of push-ups and sit- ups every night. The small plastic mirror attached to the wall showed his red hair streaked with gray, his face, once ruddy from outdoor work, now a pasty prison pallor.
The daydream he allowed himself was that by some miracle he was free to go back to building houses. The oppressive confinement and constant noise in this place had given him visions of middle- class homes that would be sufficiently insulated to insure privacy, that would be filled with windows to let in the outdoors. He had loose-leaf books filled with designs.
Whenever Beth came to see him, something he had tried to discourage of late, he would show the latest ones to her, and they would talk about them as though he really would one day be able to go back to the job he had loved, building homes.
Only now he had to wonder, what would the world be like, and what would people be living in when he finally got out of this terrible place?
Kerry could tell it was going to be another late night. She had started reading the transcript immediately after Geoff left and resumed after Robin went to bed.
At nine-thirty, Grace Hoover phoned. "Jonathan's out at a meeting. I'm propped up in bed and felt like chatting. Is this a good time for you?"
"It's always a good time when it's you, Grace." Kerry meant it. In the fifteen years she had known Grace and Jonathan, she had watched Grace's physical decline. She had gone from using a cane to crutches, finally to a wheelchair, and from being ardently involved in social activities to being almost totally housebound. She did keep up with friends and entertained with frequent catered dinner parties, but as she told Kerry, "It's just gotten to be too much effort to go out."
Kerry had never heard Grace complain. "You do what you have to," she had said wryly when Kerry candidly told her how much she admired her courage.
But after a couple of minutes of familiar chatter, it became apparent that tonight there was a purpose to Grace's call. "Kerry, you had lunch with Jonathan today, and I'm going to be honest. He's worried."
Kerry listened as Grace reiterated Jonathan's concerns, concluding with, "Kerry, after twenty years in the state senate, Jonathan has a lot of power, but not enough to make the governor appoint you to a judgeship if you embarrass his chosen successor. Incidentally," she added, "Jonathan has no idea I'm calling yore"
He must have really vented to Grace, Kerry thought. I wonder what she would think if she could see what I'm doing now. Feeling evasive the entire time, Kerry did her best to assure Grace that she had no intention or desire to ruffle feathers. "But Grace, if it developed that Dr. Smith's testimony was false, I think that Frank Green would be admired and respected if he recommended to the court that Reardon be given a new trial. I don't think that the public would hold it against him that he had in good faith relied on the doctor's testimony. He had no reason to doubt him.
"And don't forget," she added, "I'm far from being convinced that justice was denied in the Reardon case. It's just that by coincidence I've stumbled on this one thing, and I can't live with myself if I don't follow through on it."
When the conversation ended, Kerry returned to the transcript. By the time she finally laid it down, she had filled pages with notes and questions.
The sweetheart roses: Was Skip Reardon lying when he said he didn't bring or send them? If he was telling the truth, if he didn't send them, then who did?
Dolly Bowles, the baby-sitter who had been on duty in the house across the street from the Reardon home the night of the murder: She claimed she saw a car in front of the Reardons' house at nine o'clock that night. But neighbors were having a party at the time, and a number of their guests had parked in the street. Dolly had made a particularly poor witness in court. Frank Green had brought out the fact that she had reported "suspicious- looking" people in the neighborhood on six separate occasions that year. In each instance, the suspect turned out to be a legitimate deliveryman. The result was that Dolly came through as a totally unreliable witness. Kerry was sure the jury had disregarded her testimony.
Skip Reardon had never been in trouble with the law and was considered a very solid citizen, yet only two character witnesses had been called: Why?
There had been a series of burglaries in Alpine around the time of Suzanne Reardon's death. Skip Reardon claimed that some of the jewelry he had seen Suzanne wearing was missing, that the master bedroom had been ransacked. But a tray full of valuable jewelry was found on the dresser, and the prosecution called in a part-time housekeeper the Reardons had employed who flatly testified that Suzanne always left the bedroom in a chaotic state. "She'd try on three or four outfits, then drop them on the floor if she decided against them. Powder spilled on the dressing table, wet towels on the floor. I often felt like quitting."
As she undressed for bed that night, Kerry mentally reviewed what she had read, and noted that there were two things she had to do: make an appointment to talk with Dr. Smith, and visit Skip Reardon at the State Prison in Trenton.
...
Friday, October 27th
In the nine years since the divorce, Kerry had dated on and off, but there had never been anyone special. Her closest friend was Margaret Mann, her roommate at Boston College. Marg was blond and petite, and in college she and Kerry had been dubbed the long and the short of it. Now an investment banker with an apartment on West Eighty-sixth Street, Margaret was confidante, pal and buddy. On occasional Friday evenings, Kerry would have a sitter in for Robin and drive to Manhattan. She and Margaret would have dinner and catch a Broadway show or a movie or just linger over dessert for hours and talk.
The Friday night after Geoff Dorso left the transcript, Kerry arrived at Margaret's apartment and gratefully sank onto the couch in front of a platter of cheese and grapes.
Margaret handed her a glass of wine. "Bottoms up. You look great."
Kerry was wearing a new hunter green suit with a long jacket and calf-length skirt. She looked down at it and shrugged. "Thanks. I finally got a chance to buy some new clothes and I've been sporting them all week."
Margaret laughed. "Remember how your mother used to put on her lipstick and say, 'You never know where romance may linger'? She was right, wasn't she?"
"I guess so. She and Sam have been married fifteen years now, and whenever they come East or Robin and I visit them in Colorado, they're holding hands."
Margaret grinned. "We should be so lucky." Then her expression became serious. "How's Robin? Her face is healing well, I hope."
"Seems to be fine. I'm taking her to see another plastic surgeon tomorrow. Just for a consultation."
Margaret hesitated, then said, "I was trying to find a way to suggest that. At the office I was talking about the accident and mentioned Dr. Smith's name. One of the traders, Stuart Grant, picked up on it right away. He said his wife consulted Smith. She wanted to do something about the bags under her eyes, but she never went back after the first visit. She thought there was something wrong with him."
Kerry straightened up. "What did she mean?"
"Her name is Susan, but the doctor kept slipping and calling her Suzanne. Then he told her he could do her eyes, but he'd rather do her whole face, that she had the makings of a great beauty and was wasting her life not taking advantage of it."
"How long ago was that?"
"Three or four years, I guess. Oh, and something else. Smith apparently also rambled on to Susan about how beauty brings responsibility, and that some people abuse it and invite jealousy and violence." She stopped, then asked, "Kerry, what's the matter? You have a funny look on your face."
"Marg, this is important. Are you sure that Smith talked about women inviting jealousy and violence?"
"I'm sure that's what Stuart told me."
"Do you have Stuart's phone number? I want to talk to his wife."
"In the office. They live in Greenwich, but I happen to know that the number's unlisted, so it will have to wait till Monday. What's this about, anyhow?"
"I'll tell you about it over dinner," she said distractedly. It seemed to Kerry that the trial transcript was on a Rolodex in her mind. Dr. Smith swore that his daughter was in fear for her life because of Skip Reardon's unfounded jealousy. Had he been lying? Had Suzanne given Skip reason to be jealous? And if so, of whom?
...
Saturday, October 28th
At eight o'clock Saturday morning, Kerry received a phone call from Geoff Dorso. "I beeped in to the office and got your message," he told her. "I'm going to Trenton to see Skip this afternoon. Can you make it?" He explained that in order to register for the three o'clock visit, they would have to be at the prison by 1:45.
Almost as a reflex, Kerry heard herself say, "I'm sure I can make it. I'll have to make arrangements for Robin, but I'll meet you there."
Two hours later, Kerry and an impatient Robin were in Livingston, New Jersey, in the office of Dr. Ben Roth, a noted plastic surgeon.
"I'm going to miss the soccer game," Robin fretted.
"You'll be a little late, that's all," Kerry soothed. "Don't worry."
"Very late," Robin protested. "Why couldn't he see me this afternoon after the game?"
"Perhaps if you'd sent the doctor your schedule, he could have worked around it," Kerry teased.
"Oh, Mom." "You can bring Robin in now, Ms. McGrath," the receptionist announced.
Dr. Roth, in his mid-thirties, warm and affable, was a welcome change from Dr. Smith. He examined Robin's face carefully. "The lacerations probably looked pretty bad right after the accident, but they were what we call superficial. They didn't deeply penetrate the dermis. You haven't got any problems."
Robin looked relieved. "Great. Thanks, Doctor. Let's go, Mom."
"Wait in the reception area, Robin. I'll be out in just a moment. I want to talk to the doctor." Kerry's voice carried what Robin called "the tone." It meant "and I don't want to hear any arguments."