They’d gone to the Baker house to talk to Diana in the hopes of convincing her to reveal where Mary was. Gregg had gathered the three of them together in an attempt to get information out of them in his search for Mary, and they had voiced their individual suspicions that Diana was responsible for Mary’s abduction. Once at the Baker house, the four of them had argued long and hard through the night with Diana. She had become hysterical and gone crazy, throwing the lighted candles in her bedroom around and assaulting Gregg. Don had tried to subdue her and that’s when Gary and Ray had started looking for Mary, starting with the attic, where they found her. By then the bedroom was ablaze, Don was unconscious, and Gary went in to rescue Gregg while Ray rushed Mary to the car. Unfortunately, Gary had been unable to save Don and had run out of the house just before it was totally engulfed in flames.
The police had been skeptical. Gary, Ray, and Gregg had kept to this basic story with poker faces. Part of their planning included placing an extra set of clothes in the car for Gregg, which he’d donned quickly after Ray called the police; he didn’t want to have to explain he was having sex with Diana in the event the police did become involved. Luckily they were able to skate by during questioning that first night. When the fire was put out and Don’s body was found, Gregg’s heart had bled for him. And when they failed to find a second body—in the beginning only badly burned scraps of flesh were found that had taken awhile to identify—law enforcement turned the heat up on them.
They kept to their story. They insisted Diana had been in the house and that they had fought her. Gary had pointed out that Mary had been found in the attic unconscious, and the little girl had supported the story by saying Diana had kidnapped her from the Wandrei home. Of course the police questioned her separately and Gregg had been worried at first because of it. But Mary had been through a lot that past month, and she’d known if she told the police she was lured out of Brenda and Joe Wandrei’s house by her father they wouldn’t believe her, so she told them Diana had snuck in the house and kidnapped her.
This had helped somewhat. The investigating detectives had wanted to place the three men in custody, pending their investigation, but Gregg had called the family lawyer who intervened. There was no evidence the three men had committed a crime. Unless the authorities could prove otherwise, there were no grounds to hold them. So they’d waited for nearly two weeks as the fire marshal and the police conducted their investigation and returned their verdict.
And the verdict was...all the evidence suggested the three men were telling the truth. The fire marshal declared the blaze had been caused by the flame from several candles, igniting the curtains and bedspread in the bedroom. Because the bedroom had been furnished in oak with heavy velvet curtains and bedspread it had gone up quickly. The coroner determined Don had died from massive burns and smoke inhalation; other injuries Don might have suffered were inconclusive due to the condition of the body.
When the investigators emerged with the badly charred remains of the axe and asked them about it they claimed ignorance. Never saw that before in my life, detective. Had no idea Diana had an axe in the bedroom.
The axe handle was so badly burned it was impossible to get fingerprints off it.
While the physical evidence at the scene seemed to lend credence to their story, once the police learned of Don Grant’s arrest warrant for murder in California, they began questioning Gregg more: how did they meet? How long had Don been in town? Did Gregg know Don was wanted for murder? Gregg tried to prepare himself for the scrutiny when they learned Don had perished in the fire, and he came up with a story that would have worked in one of Elizabeth’s short stories or novels, yet stayed pretty close to the truth: Don had contacted him shortly after Thanksgiving, inquiring about Diana Marshfield. He hadn’t revealed his past in California, and Gregg had no idea the man was wanted for murdering his wife, Lisa. Instead, Don convinced him Diana Marshfield was a con artist, that she had married him several years back under another name; just which one Gregg couldn’t remember. Apparently Diana would change her name every few years, move to a different state and city under this new identity, change her appearance, strike up a relationship with a man, marry him, then swindle him out of his life savings and leave. Don had finally tracked her down to Reinholds, Pennsylvania, where she was living under a new name, Diana Marshfield, with a new sucker, Ronnie Baker. This story segued well with further testimony from Elizabeth’s family and their feelings regarding Diana; they’d known there was something fishy about her from the beginning but they just couldn’t place their finger on it. Now the pieces were falling together.
It fell together with the lead detective of the case, too. He checked computer records for Diana Marshfield and found close to a dozen aliases Diana had gone under. Gregg had been astonished the detective verified what Don had told him, that there had actually been some kind of record. With the cooperation of law enforcement agencies from other parts of the country, they were able to corroborate most of the story Gregg told them; the only thing that didn’t add up one hundred percent was physical descriptions. In more than one case, the woman whom Diana was impersonating bore no physical resemblance to her. Sometimes the description was accurate, other times it was way off the mark, and sometimes the description was sketchy at best. Detective Carson didn’t know what to make of it, only that his instinct was leading him to believe Diana Marshfield was the best con artist he had ever run across, and the only thing missing was her body.
That had been the only thing left unexplained: Diana Marshfield’s disappearance as well as that of her children.
Along with Don Grant’s body, investigators found charred remains that could not be identified. Lab tests indicated that what was found was flesh...but just what kind was inconclusive. Gregg said nothing during the few weeks of trying to identify these pitiful remains. The only thing he could think of was what Gary had told him, that when he and Don walked in they had seen that shapeless mass of flesh attached to his unconscious form in the king-size bed, draining him. He didn’t want to suggest that the scant remnants of flesh were the remains of Diana Marshfield because then they would try to verify that in the only way they knew: by trying to get DNA samples.
In the end the charred flesh remained unidentified. It was one of the many things about the case that puzzled the lead detective since it couldn’t positively be tied to Diana Marshfield or her kids.
Gregg had suggested numerous times that maybe Diana had run out of the house after Gary and they hadn’t noticed her. Maybe she’d been in shock and had simply raced out of the neighborhood, somehow made it to the main highway and hitched a ride somewhere. She’d left her car, her belongings, at the house and while it was possible she had identification on her person, it didn’t seem likely she would get far. An all points bulletin had been placed with the State Police with her description, detailing what she was last seen wearing, but she was never found.
At least officially.
In early January a 911 call in Cockeysville, Maryland, just outside Baltimore, sent firefighters and police officers to a strip mall off Route 83. There they came across two frightened young men, one of whom was visibly ill. They pointed at a charred section of the ground, and the cop who approached the scene first later stated he didn’t know what he was looking at. There had obviously been a fire; the wall of the building bore burn stains shooting up at least ten feet, and the unrecognizable mass that lay charred and still smoking on the ground at the base of the building surely couldn’t be human, but it was. The visibly ill young man became physically ill and vomited on the shoes of one of the other officers who had responded to the scene.
According to the two men, they had driven to the rear of the stores to urinate—they’d both been drinking and had to pee really badly—and they’d just turned the corner to the row of stores when they saw the fire start. It had gone up like a torch and the torch had begun immediately moving frantically, running around, bumping into the walls, and that’s when they
realized it was a human being who had been set on fire. They’d raced over to the hapless victim and tried to douse the flames with jackets and a blanket from the car, but it had been no use. The flames had been too intense, so they’d fled around the corner to a phone booth at a McDonald’s and dialed 911. By the time they got back to the victim, the fire had burned itself out.
It had taken the coroner a week to determine that the victim was female, and two weeks later a shaky, tentative identification was made. The victim was Diana Marshfield. She was identified by a piece of jewelry that had remained untouched by the flames, and which Gregg and Mary both identified as having been similar to something Diana had worn often. The physical stature of the victim matched Diana’s physical description, but the body was so badly burned that no further testing could be done.
And with that it became an open and shut case for the investigators. Diana Marshfield had committed suicide by pouring gasoline over herself and lighting a match. An empty can of gasoline had been found at the scene, and the coroner found traces of it on the victim and splashed on the ground where she was found. Gregg found it hard to believe Diana Marshfield would have killed herself, even if she had escaped. The more he thought about it and read through the account, the more he was convinced the body wasn’t Diana Marshfield’s. Rather, the body was that of a homeless woman Diana had ensnared, probably while assuming the role of a man. She had led the woman around the back of the strip mall, had given her the jewelry, then doused gasoline over her and set her on fire. Gregg had even tracked down one of the men who had come across the dying woman and asked him if he’d seen anybody else in the area, if he thought it was possible somebody had set the victim on fire. The man had empathetically stated he had seen nobody fleeing the scene. Yes, there had been other people around at the strip mall, but he hadn’t seen anybody fleeing.
Hell, the succubus could have been one of them. Under a new identify.
And under a new identify it could always come back to Lancaster County. It knew Gregg was widowed. Knew he would soon become lonely.
Best of all, it knew Gregg already had a taste for it.
That was another reason why Gregg felt the need to move far away from Pennsylvania. He wanted to get as far away from it as possible.
Gregg and Brad drank their beers and watched the sunset over the desert hills of New Mexico. A moment later Eric and Mary ran into the backyard from the garage. “We going to Avila’s for dinner tonight?” Eric asked eagerly. Since moving to Albuquerque, Eric had become addicted to Mexican food.
“You bet,” Gregg said, finishing his beer, ruffling his hair. “How ‘bout you, Mary?”
“I want a burrito and sopapias for desert!”
Gregg and Brad laughed. “You got it,” Gregg said.
They went back into the house, the men taking their empty beer bottles with them, and closed the sliding glass door. Then they went out to dinner at Avila’s.
LATER THAT NIGHT, upstairs in Gregg’s office, they talked some more.
The kids were downstairs in the den, watching a movie on Cinemax. Gregg had turned on the air-conditioner; it had been almost one hundred degrees today and the evening temperatures were supposed to fall down to the high seventies. The two of men had retreated upstairs with cold beers to talk. Gregg had sorted through Elizabeth’s computer files and papers, had made copies for Brad, and he pointed these copies out to him now. He’d also produced a list of publishing contacts Elizabeth had maintained and a database of all her published and unpublished work. There was still an unfinished novel she had been under contract to deliver, and Brad had volunteered to complete it several months ago. He’d arranged with Gregg and Elizabeth’s editor to finish the book, and Elizabeth’s publisher had graciously extended the deadline. Now Gregg handed Brad a zip disk containing the unfinished novel and the notes that went with it, along with other material. “Alan wants this by September,” he said.
“No problem,” Brad said, taking the disk. “I can have it done by then.”
“Great.” Gregg took a swig of beer. “I really appreciate you helping me out with this.”
“Hey man, no problem. Elizabeth was my friend and I’m only too glad and happy to do this for her.”
They drank in silence for a while. Downstairs, the faint sounds of the movie Shrek could be heard.
Brad grinned. “Mary really likes that movie, doesn’t she?”
“Oh yeah. She’s seen it at least twenty million times.”
“How’s she doing after all this?”
“Pretty well, considering all she’s gone through.” Gregg looked at Brad, deciding now the time was right. Brad knew only the bare basics, what had made the newspapers and the personal stuff that had been normal on the surface; the selling of the Weaver home, Gregg getting custody of Mary after Cindy’s family agreed it would be better for her to be with Gregg and Eric, relocating to New Mexico. Now he was going to get the whole tamale.
“Brad, there’s another reason why I asked you to fly out here for a few days.”
Brad nodded and took a swig of beer. There was a calm knowledge in his brown eyes. “I kind of suspected that.”
“You did?”
Brad grinned. “Dude! I’m a writer. And not just a writer, I’m a writer of the same weird fucked up shit your wife wrote. Which means she and I thought a lot alike. I could tell something was up when you called and asked if I could fly out to discuss the literary estate. Shit, we could have settled that over the phone and by e-mail and Federal Express.”
“You’re right.” Now Gregg was smiling. “And I know you can keep a secret. I know I can trust you; anybody who was Elizabeth’s friend is somebody I know I can trust.”
“I appreciate hearing that, man.”
Gregg took another swig of beer, set the bottle on a coaster, leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I have something to tell you. I know you’ll listen with an open mind because like you said, you’re a writer, and writers like you and Elizabeth have open minds to this weird fucked up shit.” He smiled again, catching Brad’s eye. “What I’m going to tell you is what really happened. What the police never found out and what the press never found out and never will. Okay?”
Brad nodded, the grin fading from his lightly bearded face. He could sense the seriousness of Gregg’s tone.
“Want another beer?”
Brad nodded. “I think so.”
Gregg went downstairs and brought up an ice bucket filled with the rest of the case of Coronas they were drinking.
Then he told Brad Campbell what really happened.
And Brad believed him.
IT WAS TWO hours later and both men were far from being sloshed. The summer heat had something to do with that, Gregg supposed. The kids had already gone upstairs to bed and the two men had retreated to the back porch where Gregg finished the story in low tones.
“So you believe me?” It was the fifth time Gregg asked this.
“I believe you, man.” The tone of Brad’s voice comforted Gregg’s nerves. He could tell Brad believed every word.
“Will you do me another favor?”
Brad looked at him, cradling an empty Corona bottle. “I think I know what you’re going to ask me, but go ahead.”
“Elizabeth’s last book contract was a two book deal,” Gregg said, speaking slowly. “The zip disk I just gave you contains only the first book. I told Alan I didn’t want to break the contract and would like to fulfill it with a novel Elizabeth already has, one she wrote a few years ago that she never sent for publication. He told me he’d take a look at it.”
“I didn’t know there was another novel,” Brad said.
“There isn’t.” Gregg fixed Brad with a pensive gaze. “Not really. But what I just told you...well...what do you think?”
Brad paused, understanding dawning on his features. “You want me to novelize what you just told me?”
“Can you?”
“Well...yeah, sure...”
“I detect hesitat
ion.”
“No, I’m not hesitant at all—”
“I’ll pay you,” Gregg said quickly. “Half her advance up front and a percentage of the royalties.”
“It’s not the money I’m worried about.”
“Then what is it?”
Brad shifted in his seat, looked out at the vast desert night. When he looked back at Gregg, there was a grin on his face. “How soon can I start?”
Gregg smiled.
AN HOUR LATER.
“There’s something else I haven’t told anybody,” Gregg said, lying back on the chaise lounge. Brad was reclining in the lounge next to him. They were down to the last bottles of Coronas and were pleasantly shit-faced now.
“What’s that?”
“You have to promise not to tell anybody,” Gregg said softly. He heard his voice cracking and he took a deep breath to hold the sudden wave of emotion that threatened to spill out of him. He felt like crying but he couldn’t, not here in front of Brad. Brad would think he was completely shit-faced, that the alcohol was magnifying everything, exaggerating things.
“You’re secret’s safe with me,” Brad assured him.
“I know what it’s like to be an addict now,” Gregg said. “I think Mary knows too. We’ve actually talked about it a little. Away from Eric’s presence, of course. And I haven’t told her about my...problem yet. But I think she knows. She’s a very smart little girl.”
The Beloved Page 39