That Summer

by Joan Wolf

I said quietly, “I hope you're not going to ask me to perjure myself.”

  A second bird answered the first.

  He sighed. “No, Annie. I'm not going to ask you to perjure yourself.”

  “It was always impossible, Liam. The medal was the evidence. You couldn't look at it, and swear on a bible that it was yours. That's just crazy.”

  “I was hoping they'd throw the case out before it came to trial,” he said.

  “You're the one who said the evidence was damning.”

  He sighed again. “I know.”

  I said, “I think you and your mother and your father should sit down with this fancy lawyer of Kevin's and tell him the truth. Let him work out a deal for your parents. Your mother certainly wasn't mentally competent when she hit Leslie that night. She might have to serve some time, but I'll bet it won't be very much.”

  He shuddered. “To think of my mother in jail!”

  It might sober her up. But this was an unkind thought.

  “And Dad. He'll lose his senatorship.”

  “He participated in a crime, Liam. Leslie lost her life. Someone has to pay for that.”

  “I know. You're right, Annie. It's just… hard. They're my parents, you know?”

  “I know. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry it's ended this way.”

  His shoulders slumped. “So am I.”

  The two birds were now singing together.

  I took his hand. “Let's go home, honey.”

  His fingers curled over mine. “I'll call Dad tomorrow morning.”

  “I think that would be best.”

  “Kessler has his offices in New York. Maybe we can see him while we're there for the Belmont.”

  “It would be great for you to see the Belmont with this monkey off your back.”

  “Yes. It would.”

  We started to walk back toward the house.

  He said, “Do you know, maybe it will be nice to make a fresh start somewhere else, just the two of us.”

  I reached up and kissed his cheek. “I think it will be very nice.”

  We went back home, and got into bed, and comforted each other.

  CHAPTER 29

  Liam called his father the following morning and spent half an hour on the phone with him. When he hung up he looked grim. “He doesn't want to go see Kessler.”

  The selfish bastard. “What does he expect you to do?”

  “He wants me to wait and see if they'll throw the case out for lack of evidence to prosecute.”

  “No,” I said. “That's not good enough. Even if they do that—which they won't—you'll spend the rest of your life with people thinking you killed Leslie. Call him back and tell him that I'm going to the police and telling them that it isn't your medal.”

  “Annie, I don't want you getting into the middle of this.”

  “I am in the middle of it, Liam. Your mother asked me to look at that medal. She was asking me for help. Well, I'm going to give it to her. I'm going to tell the police that the medal isn't yours. I can't tell them whose it is because I never saw your mother wearing it, but I can tell them it isn't yours. I imagine there are a few people left who will remember that your medal was silver.”

  “Maybe we should just wait…”

  “No. I am not playing around with your life.”

  “All right. I'll call my father again.”

  The phone was in the hallway and Liam sat on one chair and I sat on another as he called.

  “Dad? It's me. We've hit a snag. Annie is going to tell the police that the medal isn't mine.”

  “No, I can't stop her. She says she's doing what Mom wants.”

  “Dad, Annie is her own person. She has to do what she thinks is right. I want her to do what she thinks is right. I don't want a relationship like the one you have with Mom.”

  “No, she isn't going to tell the police the medal is Mom's. She's just going to say it isn't mine.”

  “I have no idea what I'm going to say about why I identified the medal as mine. I'll think of something.”

  “All right. Yes. Okay. Goodbye.”

  He hung up.

  I said, “Did he want you to browbeat me into keeping quiet?”

  “Something like that.”

  Mary was in the kitchen and I got up to talk to her. “Mary, do you remember the miraculous medal that Liam used to wear?”

  “The one his granny gave him? Sure.”

  “Do you remember if it was silver or gold?”

  “It was silver.”

  “Thank you,” I said and went back out into the hall.

  “Mary just told me that your medal was silver.”

  He puffed his cheeks out and exhaled.

  “I don't know how you thought you were going to get away with this. The moment I saw the medal in court, I would have jumped up and screeched that it wasn't yours.”

  “I was just so horrified. I wasn't thinking clearly.”

  “And your father took advantage of that.”

  “Yeah. He did.”

  “Let's go into the police station and talk to Chief Brown.”

  Liam said, “I actually do have my own medal. I found it right after all of this stuff started.”

  “Great. Take it with you.”

  He sat for a long moment staring at the floor, his hair hanging over his forehead. “Annie, how the hell am I going to explain the fact that I identified the medal as mine?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Maybe we shouldn't go rushing off to the police on our own. Maybe we should talk to Kessler first.”

  I thought about that. My own desire was to get Liam cleared as soon as possible, but there was so much involved here that perhaps he was right. “It wouldn't hurt to give him a call.”

  We spent the rest of the day waiting to get in touch with Abraham Kessler in New York. When Liam finally got him on the phone he explained what had happened and, after a moment's hesitation and after making sure the attorney-client privilege applied, he admitted that the medal belonged to his mother.

  When Liam hung up he turned to me. “Kessler is sending someone from his office to go to see Chief Brown with us tomorrow.”

  A weight lifted from my shoulders. “That's great. Is he flying down?”

  “He'll be coming into Dulles tomorrow morning. We can pick him up.”

  “This was the right thing to do,” I said.

  “I think so. I told him the medal was Mom's. I thought it was important he realize just how delicate things are.”

  “Good move.”

  He smiled at me. “Let's get this taken care of tomorrow, then go up to New York for the Belmont.”

  I smiled back. “I can't wait.”

  Stephen Waller was a very smart-looking young man in a gray pinstriped suit, white shirt and gray tie. His handshake was firm and his smile was professional. He gave no hint that he thought it was a waste of his time to come all the way to Virginia simply to accompany us to the police chief's office.

  We explained in the car what we wanted, but he had already been briefed in New York. “Basically, you want to tell the police that the medal is not Mr. Wellington's, and that is it. You don't want to say anything else.”

  “That's right,” Liam said.

  “Okay. Leave it to me.”

  We drove to the police station and went in together. I was wearing a blazer and a skirt I had borrowed from my mother and Liam was wearing a blazer and a pair of gray slacks. We had made an appointment with Chief Brown the previous day.

  Michael Bates was in the outer office when we went in. I gave him a brief smile. Stephen said, “We have an appointment with Chief Brown.”

  The woman at the front desk said, “I'll let the chief know you're here.”

  Then we were being shown into the chief's office. Chairs were found and we all sat down. Stephen introduced himself as Liam's attorney.

  “My client has come here to make a simple statement, Chief Brown,” he said. “Liam.”

  Liam said, “The miraculous
medal you found near Leslie's grave is not mine, Chief Brown.”

  The chief looked thunderstruck. “What!”

  I said, “I came to look at it yesterday. I knew as soon as I saw it that it wasn't Liam's. Liam's medal was silver. The one you have is gold.”

  The chief raised his voice. “If it isn't yours then why the hell did you say it was?”

  Stephen said, “We did not come here to address that question. We came here to inform you that the medal is not Mr. Wellington's. This information can be corroborated by Dr. Foster and by Mary Lincoln, the cook at Wellington, both of whom remember the medal as being silver. Plus, Mr. Wellington still has his medal. Liam?”

  Liam took a silver medal out of his breast pocket and put it on the table.

  The chief slammed his hand down on his desk. “This is outrageous.”

  Stephen stood up. “I expect all charges to be dropped against my client by the end of the day.”

  “I'll file new charges against him for the obstruction of justice,” the chief snarled.

  “I wouldn't clutter up this case any more than it already is,” Stephen said coldly. “Liam, Anne, it's time to go.”

  We went back through the outer office and out into the warm sunshine. My face broke into a smile as soon as the door had closed behind us.

  “Thank you,” I said to Stephen. “Will they really drop the charges against Liam?”

  “They'll have to. Without the medal, they have no case.”

  I hugged Liam's arm.

  He said to Stephen, “Everyone is going to want to know why I identified the medal as mine.”

  “You answer, it was a mistake; you found your medal in your drawer.”

  Liam nodded soberly.

  We went out to lunch at the Coach Stop then we drove Stephen back to the airport.

  “It was a long way to come just to babysit us through a visit to the chief's office, but we appreciate it,” Liam said to him as they shook hands. “I wouldn't have known what to say to the chief about why I identified the medal as mine.”

  “That's why Abe sent me,” Stephen returned comfortably. “Just keep saying ‘It was a mistake,’ and don't let anyone rattle you.”

  “Okay.”

  We drove back to the farm talking about what might come next in the case.

  “They'll try to identify the real owner of the medal,” I said.

  “If Mom and Dad just keep quiet, everything should be all right. There's no reason to trace the medal to them.”

  I looked at Liam's profile. His mouth looked somber. I wasn't as sanguine about his parents’ safety as he was. The police were going to look for a reason for Liam's lying and chances are they would deduce he had been trying to protect someone.

  To be honest, I wasn't as anxious to see his parents get away with murder as he was. Leslie's life had been snuffed out. Someone should pay for that.

  We had planned a mini race for the yearlings at the farm that afternoon. Liam was trying to decide which horses to bid on at the Keeneland sale in July, so we had picked eight of the best youngsters and decided to run them for a half a mile to see which looked the most promising.

  It was a warm afternoon as we took the horses out to the training track at about three o'clock. We had saddled up in the barn area and the grooms who were riding guided the youngsters along the farm road as Liam and I rode in one of the farm trucks. Jacko was waiting for us up at the training track and he opened the gate for the horses to let them into the track area.

  Once their feet touched the track, the youngsters knew where they were. A few of them got excited and started to act up. Their riders cantered them up the track to relax them and then brought them down toward the starting gate.

  They did me proud. Every one them of them walked into the starting gate and stood for the few seconds it took for Jacko to get them off.

  “Good job,” Liam said to me.

  I smiled.

  The horses broke. I would like to say they broke cleanly, but that did not happen. They bounced off each other at the start, but then they did get the hang of running forward and it began to look like a race and not a melee.

  One youngster went right to the front and stayed there.

  “Winky hates to be behind,” I said.

  “Look at Red,” Liam said.

  I looked at the chestnut colt running along on the outside. He was passing another colt. “Ummm,” I said. “He has a beautiful stride.”

  The race was over and no one was hurt.

  “Thanks everyone,” Liam said to the grooms. “Walk them out and give them baths.”

  Liam and I went back to the barn with the horses, and Liam went around to each one, feeling their legs to make sure there was no swelling or heat.

  He lingered over one filly in particular.

  “She ran well today,” he said to me.

  “She ran very well. She would have done better if she hadn't been bumped so badly at the start.”

  “Her sire is Native Son.”

  “She could go for a bit of money.”

  “She could. But her dam is one of our own mares, Milky Way. I like her a lot—it's why I bred her to Native Son—but she doesn't have a reputation. That could hold the price down some.”

  I nodded.

  We talked about the other horses, about the ones that Liam would like to try for, about the ones he was most likely to be able to afford. Then, when they were all cooled down and ready to eat, we took the truck back to the house.

  The phone was ringing as we came in the front door. Liam went to answer it.

  “Hello. Oh, Stephen. Hello. Yes. Yes, that is good news. Thank you very much. Yes. Thanks for calling. Yes, I'll do that. Okay. Goodbye.”

  He hung up and turned to me. “That was Stephen Waller. The charges against me have been dropped.”

  I flew across the hallway and into his arms. “Thank God. Oh, thank God.”

  He held me tightly.

  “Thank you, Annie,” he said huskily. “I'd backed myself into a corner and I didn't know how to get out.”

  “Thank your mother,” I replied. “She's the one who told me to go and look at the medal.”

  His arms tightened even more. “She must have known what you'd find.”

  “I'm sure she did. She must know her medal is missing.”

  “Oh Annie.” A shudder went all through him. “What a mess this all is.”

  “You're out of it, Liam,” I told him. “Nothing you can do will affect the outcome of this case. Your part in it is over.”

  “I guess it is,” he said wonderingly.

  “Just think—you can go to New York without having to report your actions to the police chief first.”

  He smiled down at me, his blue eyes bright. “That is a great feeling.”

  I smiled back. “Do you want to go out to dinner to celebrate?”

  “Sure. Do you think word has gotten around town that I've been exonerated?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “It'll be great not to feel that people are wondering if I'm a killer or not.”

  “Let me call Mom and tell her the good news, then we can get changed and go out.”

  “Okay. Let's make it an early night, though. I have lots of things I want to do to you later on.”

  I smiled up into his wickedly sparkling eyes. “Let's do that,” I said. “Let's do that.”

  CHAPTER 30

  We left for New York on the Wednesday before the Belmont. We flew from Dulles to Kennedy where we rented a car and drove straight to the racetrack.

  It was a madhouse. Triple Crown fever had hit Belmont with a vengeance and for the first time in the series of races Someday Soon was the focal point of press attention.

  John Ford was going nuts.

  “I have to run him at four-thirty in the morning if I want any privacy,” he complained to Liam. “The press swarm over every move that we make.”

  The press certainly swarmed over Liam and me the moment we arrived. They had
heard that the charges against Liam had been dropped and were full of curiosity about what had happened. We were standing in front of Someday Soon's stall when the questions started.

  Liam followed Stephen's advice and said, “I made a mistake. It wasn't my medal after all. I found my own medal in my drawer. And that is all I have to say on the subject.”

  “How could you make a mistake on such an important matter?” one reporter called.

  “I just did,” Liam replied. A light breeze blew his hair over his forehead and he brushed it back.

  “How could you not know your own medal?” another reporter asked incredulously.

  I moved closer to Liam's side.

  “It was a mistake,” Liam repeated.

  “It's nice that the charges were dropped in time for the Belmont,” the Daily News reporter said.

  Liam smiled faintly. “It certainly is.”

  A candy wrapper blew along the shedrow and John scowled mightily and bent to pick it up.

  The Bloodstock Journal reporter asked, “What about this Irish horse, Mr. Wellington? What do you think about him?”

  “I know very little about him,” Liam replied.

  “He's run a mile and a half in Ireland. And won. So we know he can go the distance.”

  “Someday Soon can go the distance,” Liam said.

  “But he's never done it.”

  “He'll do it on Saturday,” Liam returned.

  The Bloodstock Journal reporter asked next, “What's this we hear about your father selling his farm?”

  A few of the reporters turned to look at the man asking the question. Obviously not everyone had heard that rumor.

  Liam's mouth set in a grim line. “He may be selling some of the horses.”

  “Will you continue to train there if that happens?”

  Liam shrugged. “We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now I am focused on Saturday. I'll worry about what comes after, after.”

  “Solomon's Riddle and Point Taken have had some very impressive workouts,” the New York Times man said.

  “Good for them,” Liam returned. “But workouts have to translate into racing results and we'll see about that on Saturday, won't we?”

  The Daily News reporter called, “What will you do with the Visa Triple Crown match prize if you win it?”

  Liam grinned. “What any horseman would do—buy more horses.”