“That’s amazing,” Sidney said, watching Marshall sit and move as if he had no physical ailment. “He walks really well.”
“It was worse just after I got home. It’s better now in just a few days since I’ve been pushing him. I remember the doctors telling us, you know, before I went away, that with physical therapy he could reasonably walk for many years, well into his thirties. Maybe even his forties, before he was confined permanently to a wheelchair. I just have to stay on him. My parents . . . I love them, but Marshall has been a lot to handle. He’ll need more help than I can give him, but my parents were ready to shuffle him off to a full-care facility. He’s not ready for that, and neither am I. As soon as things settle down with the media, I hope to move back home and take better care of him until I can get a place of my own.”
Sidney blinked as she stared at Grace. Seeing her with Marshall made this visit harder than it was already going to be. “You’re a good sister.”
“I’ll make coffee. Go play chess, then we’ll talk. What’s going on, by the way? Any problems?”
Sidney hesitated before she answered. “I’m not sure yet.”
Grace gave a quizzical expression. She nodded toward the kitchen. “We’ll talk when you’re done.” She squeezed Sidney’s wrist. “Thank you for playing with him, and for treating him like . . . an equal.”
Grace headed to the kitchen, and Sidney turned to the den, where Marshall was organizing the pieces on his new chessboard, the one his sister had purchased for him on her return home after ten years in jail. She walked into the den and sat down across from him.
“I like the new chess set,” Sidney said.
Marshall offered an indifferent look. “It’s not as nice as my old one.”
Sidney remembered the Lladró porcelain set from weeks before when she played chess in Marshall’s bedroom. The intricate medieval pieces replaced now with traditional wooden figures. The cheap, composite plastic chess case she looked at today seemed quite a leap from the elaborate, pinewood cases that held the competing black and white Lladró pieces.
“Why did Grace buy you a new one? Your old chess set was beautiful.”
“She doesn’t like to play on the old one. It brings back bad memories for her, so she asked me to put it away. For as long as she was gone, I did. I only took it down once, when you and I played.”
“Why does it bring back bad memories for her?”
Marshall shrugged. “Just reminds her of her old life. She wants a new life now. I don’t blame her. Like this chess set, I think she’s hoping her new life will be simpler than her old one. Black or white?” Marshall asked.
Sidney looked down at the pieces. “White.”
He pushed the stray pieces from his previous game with Grace over to Sidney. She arranged them in order.
“You open,” Marshall said.
Sidney moved her pawn forward.
Marshall quickly advanced his own pawn, immediately opposite.
“Why do you like chess so much?” Sidney asked.
Marshall shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“No idea?”
“I guess it’s because I used to play football, and chess is a way to compete.”
“Your mom tells me that you were quite a star in high school.”
Marshall stayed quiet.
“You still miss it? Football?”
He shrugged again. “I don’t watch it. I’ve never been able to watch an NFL or college game. It just makes me think of . . . what might have been.”
“Chess brings out that competitive edge. Is that why you never lose?”
“I lose,” Marshall said. “I just don’t like it when I do.”
Sidney looked toward the kitchen. Grace was out of sight. Sidney heard the faucet running as Grace filled the coffee pot. She looked back to Marshall.
“When we talked last time,” Sidney said, “when you and I played chess at your house, you told me that you knew a lot about Grace’s friends.”
“Yeah,” Marshall said, staring at the chessboard.
“That you listened a lot, and that people underestimated your awareness.”
“I remember.”
Sidney hesitated just a moment. “What can you tell me about Henry Anderson?”
The mention of Grace’s high school boyfriend caused Marshall to look up from the chess pieces. He made eye contact just briefly before returning his gaze to the board.
“What do you want to know?”
Sidney paused again. “I want to know how the same thing could happen to two different people who loved your sister.”
A long stretch of silence followed, while Marshall scrutinized the chessboard, before he spoke.
“You know, it’s funny. I was thinking about the last time we played chess, too,” he finally said, looking up from the board. “You told me that everyone involved in my accident likely had regrets about it. That Ellie, especially, must carry remorse for that night. You remember telling me that?”
“I do,” Sidney said. “Are you still angry at Ellie because of the accident?”
Marshall shook his head. “I was never mad at Ellie.”
“No?”
“No,” Marshall said. “She wasn’t driving.”
Sidney sat back. She sensed something happening between them, stayed silent.
“Grace insisted on driving,” he said. “Ellie offered, but Grace got behind the wheel, anyway. Ellie knew the consequences for Grace. Her best friend drunk and in a bad car accident. Neither of them was injured, so before the police arrived, they switched places and Ellie climbed behind the wheel. The other driver, the U-Haul guy, had been drinking. The blame fell on him, which was perfect for Ellie and Grace. It took them both off the hook. For me”—Marshall looked back down at the board—“it didn’t really matter.”
Another moment of silence fell between them.
“What does that have to do with Henry Anderson?” Sidney asked.
“I was mad at Grace for a long time. She got away with it, and I was stuck the way I am. Bad back then, worse today. Worse still, in the future. But my anger at Grace didn’t last. The two of us? We have a connection that no one else understands.”
“Because you saved her? When you donated your bone marrow?”
“Yeah, that’s part of it. But lots of people donate marrow. After the accident, I realized that I needed her to help me when my body fails. Grace knew it, too. I couldn’t stay angry with her for long. And I was relieved when she came home.”
“Still, Marshall, how does Henry Anderson play into all of this?”
“Now that Grace is back, I refuse to lose her again. I’ve kept their secret long enough.”
“Ellie and Grace’s secret? About the accident?”
“And all the other secrets that group has hidden and buried.”
Sidney glanced toward the kitchen, then back to Marshall. “What other secrets?”
Marshall cocked his head as he analyzed the board in front of him and contemplated his next move.
“Marshall, what other secrets?”
“You figured out that Daniel and Ellie were the only friends who stayed in contact with Grace. You have to know by now that they are both in love with her. It must be obvious to you.”
Sidney blinked a few times. Leaned forward slightly. “In love with Grace?”
“It’s sad. Even today, all these years later.” Marshall moved his rook.
“You mean they love Grace. They’re not in love with Grace.”
“No,” Marshall said, finally looking into Sidney’s eyes. “I said it right the first time.”
Sidney waited without speaking as Marshall leaned over, opened the desk drawer, and pulled out a cloth bag. It contained Grace’s love lock, which Marshall held up.
“You know she kept this the whole time my sister was gone?”
“Who?”
“Ellie. She kept it hidden away after Grace went to prison. It was important that no one found it after Sugar Beach. She probab
ly pretended it belonged to her, and tried to ignore what it really represented. I was surprised she actually handed it over when Grace was allowed a few personal items in jail. They both hate this love lock. Daniel and Ellie. They each wanted their own name under Grace’s.”
He dropped it back into the long cloth bag and handed it to Sidney, who slipped the large, antique love lock into her hand with a strange feeling of foreboding in her gut.
“Ellie or Daniel hated the names on that lock.”
Sidney looked down at the lock. It was as big as her palm. Heavy and old, a two-pronged key extended from the locking mechanism at the bottom. Etched onto the surface were two names: Grace & Julian.
It was just as Sidney remembered from the first time Grace showed her the lock at the Bordelais Correctional Facility.
“They hate names?” Sidney said. “Grace and Julian?”
“Julian and Henry,” Marshall said, analyzing the chessboard again.
“Henry’s name is not on this lock, Marshall.”
“Not anymore. It used to be. Underneath.”
Sidney looked more closely at the lock and noticed the scuffs in the surface where Julian’s name was located. Sidney imagined Henry’s name scrawled there originally, scratched over and erased some years later to produce a clean slate for Julian’s title. The weight in her stomach grew heavier.
“That lock has been a dangerous thing over the years,” Marshall said. “It’s caused a lot of pain. But I’m done keeping secrets.” He shook his head. “My loyalty is waning. I know everyone underestimates me. Assumes I’m unaware of the things that go on around me. But I’m not going to let the same thing happen again. I warned Grace that I wouldn’t.”
“Warned Grace about what?” Sidney asked.
“You’ve obviously looked into Henry Anderson’s case. I know what you must be thinking. Grace will never tell you the truth. She’s too loyal. I don’t want my sister tried again for a crime she didn’t commit.”
Marshall tapped the chessboard with his finger.
“Your move,” he said. “Make it a good one.”
Sidney looked around the den, and then glanced toward the kitchen one last time. She heard the coffeepot gurgling and Grace clinking the mugs as she pulled them from the cabinet. Sidney slipped the love lock back into the mesh satchel. As she did, she felt its smooth, rounded edge. Her mind flashed to the side-by-side photos of Julian and Henry’s skull fractures that Livia Cutty had shown her the day before. The vein in Sidney’s neck pulsed more rapidly. Her breathing became shallow and inefficient.
She mindlessly moved chess pieces for another sixteen minutes until Marshall announced checkmate.
CHAPTER 53
Friday, July 21, 2017
ON FRIDAY MORNING, SIDNEY STOOD OUTSIDE THE NEW YORK OFFICE of the Chief Medical Examiner. She paced for a few minutes while she waited. The sun was just up, casting the city in a lavender radiance as it peeked over Brooklyn and slid its reflection along the East River. Derrick leaned against the building’s façade, his back against the brick and his Ikegami camera on the sidewalk next to him.
Livia Cutty appeared from around the corner, offered a quick good morning, keyed the front door, and all three headed inside. Ten minutes later, they were in the basement morgue.
“I wish I could get my hands on another cadaver,” Livia said. “But they’re not easy to come by. We only scored the two in Raleigh because we used them for the end-of-the-year project. If you give me a week, I might be able to pull some strings.”
Sidney shook her head. “I don’t have a week.”
“Then the Synbone and pigskin will have to do,” Livia said. “As you saw during the original experiments, they are remarkably similar to human bone and skin. This wouldn’t hold up in a courtroom, but for what you’re after, it’ll be just fine.” Livia lifted her chin to Sidney. “Let’s have a look.”
Derrick was already filming when Sidney pulled Grace Sebold’s love lock from her purse. She’d placed it there last night after her chess game with Marshall and before claiming a headache to avoid having the conversation she had originally planned with Grace. It had been an abrupt and awkward departure, but with her mind processing so many things at once, Sidney could think of no more graceful way to get out of the apartment. She had called Livia on the way home and arranged this morning’s meeting.
She handed the mesh satchel to Livia, who poured the lock into her hand.
“Well,” Livia said, “it’s heavy enough. And the edges are smooth and round.”
“Do you think it could cause Henry or Julian’s skull fracture?” Sidney asked.
“Let’s find out.”
Dr. Cutty got down to business. Next to the morgue table was a Synbone replica of a human skull. Sidney remembered the polyurethane imitation that closely resembled human bone from when Cutty and her cohorts used them in Raleigh, along with cadavers, to disprove the boat oar theory. Livia draped the back of the skull model with pigskin, which contained an adhesive interface that tightly gripped the synthetic skull. She set the model on a pole and adjusted its height to six feet two inches to match Julian Crist.
Livia dropped the lock back into the satchel and cinched the strings together. Then she grasped the top of the sack in her fist like she was swinging a sock filled with lead, which she was. She stepped behind the skull on the pole, took an aggressive kickboxing stance, raised the satchel and love lock over her right shoulder, and finally brought it down hard onto the synthetic bone.
The sound of impact was less sickening than when Livia had struck Damian the cadaver, but it still sent a shock wave through Sidney.
“Let’s see the damage,” Livia said.
She handed the love lock to Sidney and pulled the Synbone cranium off the pole. Like husking a coconut, she peeled away the pigskin to reveal the bare polyurethane beneath. Livia noticed immediately that the synthetic material was splintered with a dramatic depression fracture, which made her pulse quicken. She waved Sidney over, and together they viewed the damage while comparing it to the enlarged photos from Julian and Henry’s autopsies.
Livia used a measuring device to determine the depth of the break in the Synbone, as well as the length and width. She took the measurements silently, and then looked at Sidney. The YouTube video of Livia’s cadaver experiment had gone viral, with close to 20 million views. Dr. Cutty’s stock had risen in the circle of forensic medicine, and her celebrity had spawned interview requests and invitations to author chapters in forthcoming pathology textbooks. She had received a score of calls from defense attorneys around the country (and one in the U.K.) inviting her to consult (lucratively) on their cases. She was readying to start her first job after fellowship at the prestigious New York Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, and by all accounts, Dr. Cutty needed no more enhancements to her profile. Yet, the scene in front of her was certain to bring it.
“Same depth,” Livia said. “About three centimeters. This could vary, obviously, on how hard the lock was swung. But the length and width of the fractures are a spot-on match. At least similar enough to argue that they were produced by the love lock.”
Sidney ran a hand through her hair and looked briefly at Derrick, who hadn’t taken his eye away from the viewfinder.
“Let’s run a fiber analysis on that satchel,” Livia said. “See if it’s made from organza nylon.”
CHAPTER 54
Friday, July 21, 2017
IT WAS FRIDAY EVENING, JUST ABOUT THE TIME THE SEASON RECAP episode of The Girl of Sugar Beach was airing, when Sidney shut down her computer. She had just strung together the footage Derrick had taken this morning in Livia Cutty’s morgue. What, exactly, she was planning to do with it was not yet clear. Graham had stormed into her office earlier in the day to show her the latest test audience numbers, which indicated that 95 percent of viewers would be satisfied with Grace Sebold’s exoneration, which was scheduled to be shown in the final portion of episode ten. Graham also revealed the proposed outlines the
executive team had created that detailed the content for episodes eight and nine. Sidney listened to Graham’s pitch with the type of deaf concentration of someone with more pressing matters on her mind.
When he left, she had spent the rest of the afternoon buried in Julian Crist’s file, reading and re-reading the information, until she found what she was looking for. She remembered Don Markus, the detective she had interviewed early in the documentary, having mentioned the document. It was buried in the reams of information that came from the St. Lucian Police Force, but after a page-by-page search, she’d located it. The find sent her mind off on a tangent until she put together its potential use. Now, at nearly 8:00 p.m., at the end of a whirlwind week, black circles grew darker under her eyes and a fluttering twitch took to her left eyelid. The pressure of what she had discovered, and the anxiety of being on the brink of proving it, had exhausted her and she still needed to make one more stop tonight. Without warning, the deep, practiced voice of Luke Barrington filled her office. It was sure to add to her stress level.
“I hear you’re causing quite a fuss for the brass around this place,” Luke said.
Sidney grabbed the thumb drive that contained her edits from the past two hours and dropped it in her purse, which she hung over her shoulder.
“I was just leaving, Luke. Do you need anything, or are you just here to give me grief?”
“I’m here to tell you I’m proud of you.”
She was collecting the pages from Julian Crist’s file and preparing to walk past him without offering eye contact, but his sentence stopped her. She stood upright behind her desk and stared at him.
“I’m not much for humility,” Luke said, “so take this for what it’s worth. You’ve got them running scared, I hope you know that.”
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