Don't Believe It

by Charlie Donlea

  “Who?”

  “The suits. They consider you a loose cannon, but they also know you’re a talented producer. They hate you for not conforming to their way of doing things, but they love you for creating a show that twenty-plus million people are watching each week, and on which advertisers are fighting for space. For executives at a major network, you scare the hell out of them. You make them money, but you’re unpredictable.”

  “And what? They sent you to rein me in?”

  “Yes. They talked with me about it. I told them I’d talk with you.”

  “Luke, I missed a deadline. It’s not the end of the world, and in the grand scheme—”

  “Don’t do it their way,” Luke said, cutting her off.

  “What?”

  “Do it your way. Shit, Sidney, if I could start my career over and take a path that more closely represented my interests, I’d do it in a second. Instead, here I sit. I’m a ratings whore. I live by my ratings, and eventually I’ll die by them. I’ve painted myself into such a tight corner that I don’t even get to choose my stories anymore. I have to stick with the masses. They tell me what to feature, and I do it. If I run something that’s not a ratings giant, I’m a failure. Don’t set your career on the same course.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I know what you’re after. And I compare it to what I chased my entire career. I was after fame and fortune. You’re after the truth. What I could never figure out until watching you over the last few months is that you don’t have to chase one or the other. But you’ve got to start off looking for the truth, not the other way around.”

  A slight smile came to Sidney’s face. “I’m not sure Ray Sandberg would appreciate the advice you’re giving me.”

  Luke smiled also. “Fuck ’em.” He turned to leave. “Can’t wait to see the final episodes. But do them your way.”

  For the first time since knowing him, when Luke Barrington left her, there was no cavernous ringing in her ears.

  * * *

  Although it was a dump of an episode, created because new findings had caused her to question how she wanted to proceed with the documentary, Sidney refused to produce substandard work. She and Leslie made sure the episode was a well-constructed and entertaining retelling of the previous seven installments that summarized the details of Julian Crist’s death and Grace Sebold’s incarceration, the holes that existed in her conviction, the mistakes in judgment and procedure made by the St. Lucian Police Force, and an explanation for the evidence against Grace Sebold.

  Anyone interested in jumping into the documentary now had an opportunity to get caught up in sixty minutes. Her problem was where she went from here. She knew, in light of recent developments, that Graham’s outline for the final three episodes was garbage. The way the executives wanted the documentary to end— nice and neat, with a big red bow tied to Grace Sebold’s exoneration—was not going to happen. Once Henry Anderson’s death was revealed, all hell would break loose. And if she moved forward with her theory about the love lock and who had swung it, there was no chance of wrapping things up in three weeks.

  She hailed a cab and paid the fare twenty minutes later when the driver pulled to the front of the Alcove Manor. She checked in at the front desk, stuck her name tag onto her blouse, and rode the elevator. She found Gus Morelli sitting in his bedside chair watching the recap episode. He pulled his gaze from the television when she walked in, then pointed to the screen.

  “What the hell is this?”

  “A summary episode.”

  “I just cringe watched the whole season, I don’t need a recap.”

  “Binge watched. And I missed a deadline, thanks to your letter. This is what you get.”

  Gus muted the television. “What did you find?”

  “The skull fractures are the same,” Sidney said.

  He narrowed his eyes. “How do you know for sure?”

  “The M.E. compared Henry’s skull fractures from autopsy to Julian Crist’s. They’re nearly identical.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Gus said.

  “And,” Sidney said, “I think I found the murder weapon.”

  Gus shook his head like it was too much, then waved his hand. “Help me up. I’ve gotta walk while you tell me this story.”

  A few minutes later, Sidney walked next to Gus as he shuffled down the hallway, his walker sliding over the linoleum as he limped on his prosthesis. She told the story of the last twenty-four hours, her aborted attempt to confront Grace Sebold, her cryptic chess match with Marshall, the love lock, and her visit to Dr. Cutty’s morgue this morning.

  “That’s a helluva find,” Gus said.

  “Now the question is, what do I do with it? I’ve got to talk to Mrs. Anderson again to let her know what we found and to see what she wants to do about it. Then I’ve got to talk to the police.”

  Gus shook his head. “Reopening a twenty-year-old case is never tops on their list. They weren’t keen on it when I tried after eight years. But with enough evidence and pressure, like you might be able to bring, they won’t be able to ignore it. The other issue is that she just got out of jail.”

  “Grace?”

  “Yes. She was exonerated by a foreign government, and I’d have to check the books to make sure, but I don’t think St. Lucia has a law against double jeopardy. So it’s possible that she could be retried for the same crime down there. Plus a new trial for Henry Anderson here in the U.S.”

  “Unless it wasn’t her,” Sidney said.

  Gus stopped shuffling and looked at her.

  Sidney shook her head. “You talked about instinct before. That you sometimes relied on it when you were working. Well, my instincts are telling me that it wasn’t Grace.”

  “Then who was it?”

  “I don’t know. One of her friends. Ellie Reiser.”

  “Where does this theory come from?”

  “Something Marshall Sebold told me. I get this feeling he knows more than anyone has given him credit for. I also get the feeling that whole group from Sugar Beach has secrets. That they’re covering for each other. The same group that was in Sugar Beach was also at Whiteface Mountain when Henry Anderson died.”

  “Wild theories might make great television,” Gus said. “But police hate them.”

  “What if we had more than a theory?” Sidney asked as they rounded the corner and continued along the hallway back toward Gus’s room.

  “Such as?”

  “Have you made any progress on the shoeprint you found on Julian’s shirt?”

  Gus shook his head. “I made some calls today. I’ve got an old friend looking into it for me. Probably hear back in a day or two.”

  “If you dig into Julian’s file, which I did for most of the afternoon today, you’ll see that the St. Lucian Police Force took samples of all the shoeprints they found on the bluff. They also confiscated many shoes from the guests at Sugar Beach, including everyone in the wedding party, to see if they matched. When they found a hit on Grace’s shoe, they stopped there. But that document was still in the file. It contained a list of everyone’s shoes. Type of tread, size, and the corresponding make and manufacturer. A detective friend of mine helped me out with one of the early episodes. He brought this document to my attention. What I need to do is get an ID on the type of shoe that caused the print you found on Julian’s shirt and shorts, and then cross-reference it to see if it matches any of the prints logged by the St. Lucian Police Force. If we get a match . . .”

  “Then you’ve got some proof and not just a theory. What if it comes back as the Sebold girl’s shoe?”

  “Then I owe you that shot of Johnnie Walker. But I’m worried that we’re going to find it belongs to someone else.”

  “And if it does match her friend?” Gus asked.

  “Then we go to the police. At that point, this thing will have gotten bigger than the biggest documentary in television history.”

  They made it back to Gus’s room. He took a few
steps without the aid of the walker and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “In case I can somehow salvage this thing,” Sidney said. “Are you interested in appearing in my documentary? I’d love to show my audience the letter you sent that started me along this road, and introduce them to the man who for twenty years never let the memory of Henry Anderson fade.”

  Gus looked at the television. Dr. Cutty was staring into the camera, as if speaking directly to him, explaining her findings from when she had conducted her experiment weeks before on the cadavers. Slowly Gus nodded.

  “I think I’d be okay with that.”

  “Excellent. I’ll be in touch. I’ll bring my crew for the interview. When your guy gets back to you about the print, let me know.”

  “Thanks,” Gus said. The edges of his lips turned up slightly.

  Sidney noticed and lifted her chin. She had never seen the man smile during the hours she had spent with him. “Excited about your television debut?”

  “No,” Gus said. “I don’t give a crap about being on television. But it feels good to feel like a cop again.”

  CHAPTER 55

  Saturday, July 22, 2017

  DERRICK STOOD IN CENTRAL PARK WITH HIS EQUIPMENT BAG ON THE ground next to him and his backpack strapped over his shoulders. He’d done a lot for this documentary in the last few months: traveling to St. Lucia, late-night shoots with seedy detectives, filming dead bodies being knocked around in a morgue. He was, as the reckless players liked to say at his card games, all in. So when Sidney called him late last night and asked for a favor on Saturday afternoon, he never considered saying no.

  He spotted Grace when she entered the park. She wore big aviator sunglasses, which hid her eyes, and an NYU hat pulled low over her head. She was a quasi-celebrity and still keeping a low profile. Unlike their shoot at the Montauk Point Lighthouse, which was remote and isolated and allowed Grace Sebold some freedom, Central Park was congested on Saturday afternoon. The disguise was necessary. But the park had been one of her favorite spots, and she wanted to do the interview there.

  Derrick waved when Grace was closer and they moved to a secluded bench under a maple tree.

  “Where’s Sidney?” Grace asked.

  Derrick smiled and delivered the favor he promised. “She’s running late. She’ll be here in a bit.”

  He pointed toward Belvedere Castle. “Let’s get some stills by the castle and at the Ramble before it gets too crowded. Sidney will be here by the time we’re done.”

  Grace nodded, pulled the cap lower on her head, and followed Derrick as they walked through Central Park.

  CHAPTER 56

  Saturday, July 22, 2017

  SIDNEY RODE THE ELEVATOR IN WINDSOR TOWER AND EXITED ON ELLIE Reiser’s floor. She knocked on the apartment door and waited until Marshall answered.

  “She’s not here,” he said when he opened the door in his wheelchair.

  “I know,” Sidney said. “I came to talk with you.”

  Marshall backed his wheelchair up, turned around, and headed into the living room. Sidney walked into the apartment and closed the door. She followed Marshall into the main room, where she saw his chess set arranged on the table. He rolled his chair up to it and looked at her.

  “You beat me pretty easily the other night,” Sidney said. “I don’t think I’m much of a challenge for you.”

  “That game wasn’t about winning or losing,” Marshall said as he wheeled himself to the chessboard.

  “I need to ask you some questions, Marshall. About what you told me the other night.”

  Sidney wanted to speak with Marshall without Grace being present. Derrick had taken care of Grace; and Sidney knew that to get Marshall in the right frame of mind, she’d have to do it over a game of chess. She sat across the coffee table from him. The metamorphosis took shape again as Sidney watched his wrists unfurl and his sclerotic posture loosen when Marshall took hold of the chess pieces and arranged them across the board.

  As she sat down, Sidney noticed one of the pinewood cases and recognized it immediately. She saw the edge of the second pinewood case inside the white cloth bag that rested next to the chessboard. “This is your old chess set,” she said.

  Marshall nodded as he continued to arrange the cheap, wooden pieces on the board in front of him. “I brought it with me when we came here. It was before I knew Grace had bought me this new set.”

  “Why is it out? I thought you said it brought back bad memories for Grace.”

  “Grace isn’t here,” Marshall said. “I might use it today.”

  Once the board was complete, Marshall opened by advancing a pawn. Sidney did the same.

  “I wanted to talk with you, Marshall, about what you told me the other night.”

  “Okay,” he said, moving another pawn.

  “And about what happened at Sugar Beach.”

  “I figured you would,” he said. “You probably also want to know more about Henry Anderson.” He regarded the board in front of him. “It’s probably why you’re here and Grace is somewhere else, thinking she’s going to meet you. Ellie’s at work, as I’m sure you know.”

  The openness of the discussion paused her arm as she reached for a chess piece. “I’m trying to make sense of it all,” Sidney said. “And yes, I wanted to speak with you alone. You told me that you’re used to people underestimating you. I’m not like most people. I know you can help me. And I think that if you help me, you’ll help your sister, too.”

  “Probably.” He pointed at the board. “Your move.”

  Sidney advanced a pawn.

  Marshall picked up his own pawn. “In the tiny world of chess, have you ever wondered how crappy it is to be a pawn?”

  Sidney’s lips came together and her forehead wrinkled. “No, I can’t say I’ve ever considered that line of thought.”

  “Their only role is sacrifice and diversion.”

  Marshall placed the pawn back onto the board, advanced it forward.

  “Your move.”

  Sidney allowed the dodge to pass in silence. Marshall was growing nervous, and Sidney knew she’d have to push him.

  Sidney picked up her knight. “Will you help me, Marshall? Tell me what you know? Because I think you know a great deal about Grace and her friends.”

  He stayed silent and stared at the board.

  “I think you know the truth, Marshall. And I think it’s finally time for you to share it.”

  “I know that if you think Grace killed them, you’d be wrong. And if you make a big deal about Henry in the documentary, the public will convict her, like they did last time. She can’t handle it again, and I won’t sit quietly this time while she is tried for Henry and retried for Julian. I did that once before.”

  “I don’t think Grace killed them. I came here today to find out if I’m correct about who did.” Sidney put her knight down. “Marshall, help me. Tell me what you know, and I promise we’ll do the right thing. You and Grace and me. Together, we’ll make this right.”

  Marshall pointed to the credenza, which stood in front of the window. “It’s in there. She actually showed it to Grace last night.”

  Sidney slowly turned her gaze toward the credenza and spotted a thick, hard-covered book. She walked over and looked down at it, a high-school yearbook from 1999.

  “This?” Sidney asked.

  “Bring it here. I’ll show you.”

  She carried the yearbook over and handed it to Marshall, who flipped through the pages with only slight difficulty. He placed it down when he reached his desired location. Sidney looked at the page covered by photos of girls in chemistry lab, safety goggles on their faces and short white lab coats. She recognized Grace and Ellie in a photo on the bottom left of the page. A message in dark Sharpie marker was scrawled across the photo: Ellie & Grace, nothing will separate us!

  “She searched for the love lock last night,” Marshall said. “I could only laugh at her stupidity.”

  “Was Ellie responsible for Henry and
Julian?” Sidney asked. “Did she have something to do with their deaths, Marshall?”

  The yearbook lay open on the coffee table next to the chessboard. Marshall reached for a chess piece, but Sidney put her hand softly on his. He looked up at her.

  “Tell me what you know, Marshall,” Sidney said. “Tell me about Ellie. Don’t keep your secret any longer.”

  An awkward moment of silence followed while Marshall stared at her.

  “You have to give me Grace’s lock back. She’d be upset if she knew I gave it to you. She’ll be upset no matter what, but I don’t see what else I can do now.”

  Sidney slowly nodded. She reached into her purse and removed Grace’s love lock, placing it, and the satchel that held it, on the open yearbook.

  “She’s always had a strange affection for Grace. She took the blame for my accident in order to protect Grace, and she carried that burden all this time. She told Julian about Grace and Daniel’s past hoping it would keep Grace and Julian apart. When that didn’t work . . .”

  Marshall pointed at the items on the coffee table. Sidney looked at the love lock, the open yearbook. She saw again Marshall’s old chess set just as her phone rang.

  Marshall moved his gaze back to the game and scrutinized the board while Sidney dug her phone from her purse.

  “Hello?” Sidney said, holding the phone to her ear.

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  “Gus?”

  “Yeah. My guy just called with an ID on that print.”

  Sidney waited.

  “I think I got it wrong,” Gus said. “The lab guys took a look. It was hard to ID because the print was so faint and the kid’s shirt was folded. Half the print was on the shirt, with the other half on the shorts, and the picture isn’t great. Anyway, it came back as a man’s size thirteen. So, unless our girl has some monster feet, I think I’ll be buying you that shot.”

  “Size thirteen?” Sidney said.

  “Yeah. Definitely not a woman’s shoe,” Gus said. “I know you were talking about the Sebold girl’s other friend. The Greaves kid. Daniel? You’ll have to see if it matches. Was he on the list you found?”