Gone ,but not forgotten

by Philip Margolin

  Stewart handed the woman his card. She stuck her cigarette in her mouth and examined it.

  "Are you the manager?" Stewart asked. The woman nodded.

  "I'm trying to find Samantha Reardon. This was the last address I had for her."

  "What do you want with her?" the woman asked suspiciously.

  "She may have information that could clear a client who used to live in Hunter's Point."

  "Then You're out of luck. She's not here."

  "Do you know when she'll be back?"

  "Beats me. She's been gone since the summer." The manager looked at the card again. "The other investigator was from Portland too. I remember, because you two are the only people I ever met from Oregon."

  "Was this guy big with a broken nose?"

  "Right. You know him?"

  "Not personally. When did he show up?"

  "It was hot. That's all I remember. Reardon left the next day. Paid a month's rent in advance. She said she didn't know how long she'd be gone. Then, about a week later, she came back and moved out."

  "Did she store anything with you?"

  "Nah. The apartment's furnished and she hardly had anything of her own."

  The manager shook her head. "I was up there once to fix a leak in the sink. Not a picture on the wall, not one nic-nac on a table.

  The place looked just like it did when she moved in. Spooky."

  "You ever talk to her?"

  "Oh, sure. I'd see her from time to time. But it was mostly 'good morning' or 'how's it going' on my part and not much from her. She kept to herself"

  "Did she have a job?"

  "Yeah. She worked somewhere. I think she was a secretary or receptionist. Something like that. Might have been for a doctor. Yeah, a doctor, and she was a bookkeeper. That was it. She looked like a bookkeeper, too.

  Real mousy. She didn't take care of herself. She had a nice figure if you looked hard. all, athletic. But she always dressed like an old maid. it looked to me like she was trying to scare men off, if you know what I mean."

  "You wouldn't happen to have a picture of her?"

  "Where would I get a picture? Like I said, I don't even think she had any pictures in her place. Weird. Everyone has pictures, knickknacks, things to remind you of the good times."

  "Some people don't want to think about the past," Stewart said.

  The manager took a drag on her cigarette and nodded in agreement. "She like that? Bad memories?"

  "The worst," Stewart said. "The very worst."

  "Let me help you with the dishes," Rita said. They had left them — after dinner, so they could watch one of Kathy's favorite television shows with her, before Betsy put her to bed.

  "Before I forget," Betsy said as she piled up the bread plates, "a woman named Nora Sloane may call you.

  I gave her your number. She's the one who's writing the article for Pacific West."

  "oh?"

  "She wants to interview you and Kathy for background."

  "Interview me?" Rita preened.

  "Yeah, Mom. It's your chance at immortality."

  "You're my immortality, honey, but I'm available if she calls," Rita said. "Who better to give her the inside story than your mother?"

  "That's what I'm — afraid of."

  Betsy rinsed the plates and cups and Rita put them in the dishwasher.

  "Do you have some time before you go home? I want to ask you about something."

  "Sure.

  "You want coffee or tea?"

  "Coffee will be fine."

  Betsy poured two cups and they carried them into the living room.

  "It's the Darius case," Betsy said. "I don't know what to do. I keep on thinking about those women, what they went through. What if he killed them, Mom?"

  "Aren't you — always telling me that your client's guilt or innocence doesn't matter? You're his lawyer."

  "I know. And that is what I — always say. And I believe it. Plus I'm going to need the money I'm making on the case, if Rick and I… if we divorce. And the prestige.

  Even if I lose, I'll still be known as Martin Darius's attorney. This case is putting me in the major leagues. If I dropped out, I'd get a reputation as someone who couldn't handle the pressure of a big case."

  "But you're worried about getting him off?"

  "That's it, Mom. I know I can get him off. Page doesn't have the goods. judge Norwood told him as much at the bail hearing. But I know things Page doesn't and I…"

  Betsy shook her head. She was visibly shaken.

  "Someone is going to represent Martin Darius," Rita said calmly. "If you don't do it, another lawyer will. I listen to what you say about giving everyone, even killers and drug pushers, a fair trial. It's hard for me to accept. A man who would do that to a woman. To anyone. You want to spit on them. But you aren't defending that person.

  Isn't that what you tell me? You're serving a good system.

  "That's the theory, but what if you feel sick inside?

  What if you can't sleep because you know you're going to free someone who… Mom, he did this same thing in Hunter's Point. I'm certain of it. And, if I get him off, who's next? I keep thinking about what those women went through. Alone, helpless, stripped of their dignity."

  Rita reached across the space between them and took her daughter's hand.

  "I'm so proud of what you've done with your life.

  When I was a girl I never thought about being a lawyer.

  That's an important job. You're important. You do important things.

  Things other people don't have the courage to do. But there's a price.

  Do you think the President sleeps well? And judges? Generals? So, you're finding out about the bad side of responsibility. With those battered women, it was easy. You were on God's side. Now, God is against you. But you have to do your job even if you suffer. You have to stick with it and not take the easy way out."

  Suddenly Betsy was crying. Rita moved over and threw her arms around her daughter.

  "I'm a mess, Mom. I loved Rick so much. I gave him everything and he walked out on me. If he was here to help me… I can't do it alone."

  "Yes, you can. You're strong. No one could do what you've done without being strong."

  "Why don't I see it that way? I feel empty, used up."

  "it's hard to see yourself the way others see you. You know you're not perfect, so you emphasize your weaknesses. But you've got plenty of strengths, believe me."

  Rita paused. She looked distant for a moment, then she looked at Betsy.

  "I'm going to tell you something no other living soul knows. The night your father passed away, I almost took my own life."

  "mom!"

  "I sat in our bedroom, after you were asleep, and I took out pills from our bathroom cabinet. I must have looked at those pills for an hour, but I couldn't do it. You wouldn't let me. The thought of you. How I would miss seeing you grow up. How I would never know what you did with your life. Not taking those pills was the smartest thing I ever did, because I got to see you the way you are now. And I am so proud of you."

  "What if I'm not proud of myself? What if I'm only in this for the money or the reputation? What if I'm helping a man who is truly evil to escape punishment, so he can be free to cause unbearable pain and suffering to other innocent people?"

  "I don't know what to say to you," Rita answered. "I don't know — all the facts, so I can't put myself in your place. But I trust you and I know you'll do the right thing."

  Betsy wiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry I laid this on you, but you're the only one I can let my hair down with now that Rick's walked out."

  "I'm glad to know I'm good for something." Rita smiled back. Betsy hugged her. It had been good to cry, it had been good to talk out what she had been holding inside, but Betsy didn't feel she was any closer to an answer.

  Chapter Seventeen

  On Sunday afternoon Raymond Colby stood in front of the fireplace in his den waiting for the lawyer from Portland to arrive. A servant
had built a fire. Colby held his hands out to catch the heat and dispel a chill that had very little to do with the icy rain that was keeping his neighbors off the streets of Georgetown.

  The front door opened and closed. That would be Wayne Turner with Betsy Tannenbaum. Colby straightened his suit coat. What did Tannenbaum want?

  That was really the question. Was she someone with whom he could reason?

  Did she have a price? Turner didn't think Lake's attorney knew everything, but she knew enough to ruin his chance of being confirmed.

  Perhaps she would come over to their side once she knew the facts. After all, going public would not only destroy Raymond Colby, it would destroy her client.

  The door to the den opened and Wayne Turner stood aside. Colby sized up his visitors Betsy Tannenbaum was attractive, but Colby could see she was not a woman who traded on her looks. She was dressed in a severe black suit with a cream-colored blouse. All business, a little nervous, he guessed, feeling somewhat out of her league, yet willing to confront a powerful man on his own turf.

  Colby smiled and held out his hand. Her handshake was firm. She was not afraid to look Colby in the eye or to look him over much the way he had scrutinized her.

  "How was your flight?" Colby asked.

  "Fine." Betsy looked around the cozy room. There were three high-backed armchairs drawn up in front of the fireplace. Colby motioned toward them.

  "Can I get you something to take off the chill?"

  "A cup of coffee, please."

  "Nothing stronger?"

  "No, thank you."

  Betsy took the chair closest to the window. Colby sat in the center chair. Wayne Turner poured coffee from a silver urn a servant had set up on an antique, walnut side table. Betsy stared into the fire. She had barely noticed the weather on the ride from the airport. Now that she was inside, she shivered in a delayed reaction to the tension of the preceding hours. Wayne Turner handed Betsy a delicate china cup and saucer covered with finely drawn roses. The flowers were a pale pink and the stems a tracery of gold.

  "How can I help you, Mrs. Tannenbaum'@"

  "I know what you did ten years ago in Hunter's Point, Senator. I want to know why."

  "And what did I do?"

  "You corrupted the Hunter's Point task force, you destroyed police files, and you engineered a cover-up to protect a monstrous serial killer who revels in torturing women."

  Colby nodded sadly. "Part of what you say is true, but not all of it. No one on the task force was corrupt."

  "I know about the payoffs," Betsy answered curtly.

  "What do you think you know?"

  Betsy flushed. She had been spurred on by the coincidences, the improbabilities, to the only possible solution, but she did not want to sound like she was bragging.

  On the other hand, letting Colby know how she figured it out would make him see that she could not be fooled.

  "I know that a senator's term is six years," Betsy answered, "and that you are in the middle of your second term. That means you've been a United States senator for nine years. Nine years ago, Frank Grimsbo left a low paying job on an obscure, small city police force to assume a high-paying jot) at Marlin Steel, your old company. Nine years ago, John O'Malley, the police chief of that police force, retired to Florida.

  Wayne Turner, another member of the rose killer task force, is your administrative assistant. I asked myself how three members of the same small city police force could suddenly do so well, and why they would all do so well the year you decided to run for the United States Senate.

  The answer was obvious. They had been paid off to keep a secret and for destroying the files of the rose killer investigation."

  Colby nodded. "Excellent deductions, but only partly correct. There were rewards, but no bribes. Frank Grimsbo earned his position as head of security after I helped him get a jot) on the security force. Chief O'Malley had a heart attack and was forced to retire. I'm a very wealthy man. Wayne told me John was having financial problems and I helped him out. And Wayne was working his way through law school when the kidnappings and murders occurred. He graduated two years later and I helped him get a jot) in Washington, but it was not on my staff. Wayne didn't come on board until a year before my first term ended. By then he had established an excellent reputation on the Hill. When Larry Merrill, my a.a., went back into law practice in Manhattan, I asked Wayne if he would take his place. So, you see, the explanations for these events are less sinister than you supposed."

  "But I'm right about the records."

  "Chief O'Malley took care of that."

  "And the pardon?"

  Colby looked very old all of a sudden.

  "Everyone has something in their life they wish they could undo. I think about Hunter's Point all the time, but I can't see how it could have ended differently."

  "How could you have done it, Senator? The man's not human. You had to know he would do this again, somewhere, sometime."

  Colby turned his face toward her, but he was not seeing Betsy. He looked completely lost, like a man who has just been told that he has an incurable illness.

  "We knew, God forgive us. We knew, but we had no choice."

  Part Five

  HUNTER'S POINT.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nancy Gordon heard a tinkle of glass when Peter Lake broke the lower left pane in the back door so he could reach between the jagged shards and open it from the inside. Nancy heard the rusty hinges squeak. She shifted the covers and trained her eyes on the doorway, straining to see in the dark.

  Two hours earlier, Nancy had been alone in the task force office when Lake appeared to tell her he had heard about the shooting of Henry Waters on the late news. As planned, Nancy told Lake she had suspected him of being the rose killer because of the gap between the time he had been seen driving home and the call to 911 and his stakeout of Waters's home. Lake had been alarmed, but Nancy assured him that she was satisfied that Waters was the murderer and had kept her suspicions to herself.

  Then she had yawned and told Lake she was heading home. Since then Nancy had been in bed, waiting.

  Black slacks, a black ski mask and a black turtleneck helped Lake blend into the darkness. There was an ugly snub-nosed revolver in his hand.

  Nancy did not hear him cross the living room. One second, her bedroom doorway was empty, then Lake filled it. When he snapped on the light, Nancy sat up in bed, feigning surprise. Lake removed the ski mask.

  "You knew, didn't you, Nancy?" She gaped at him, as if the visit was unexpected. "I really do like you, but I can't take the chance you'll reopen the case."

  Nancy looked at the revolver. "You can't believe you'll get away with murdering a cop."

  "I don't have much choice. You're far too intelligent.

  Eventually you would have realized Waters was innocent.

  Then you would have kept after me. You might even have dug up enough evidence to convince a jury."

  Lake walked around the side of the bed. "Place your hands on top of the sheet and take it off slowly," he said, gesturing with the gun. Nancy was sleeping a single light sheet because of the heat. She pulled away the sheet slowly, careful to gather it up near her right hip so Lake would not see the outline of the gun that was hidden there. Nancy was wearing bikini panties and a T-shirt. The T-shirt had bunched up beneath her breasts, revealing her rigid stomach muscles. Nancy heard a quiet intake of breath.

  "Very nice," Lake said. "Remove the shirt."

  Nancy forced herself to look at him wide-eyed.

  "I'm not going to rape you," Lake assured her. "It's not that I don't want to. I've fantasized about playing with you quite a lot, Nancy.

  You're so different from the others. They're all so soft, cows really, and so easy to train. But you're hard. I'm certain you would resist. It would be very enjoyable. But I want the authorities to believe that Henry Waters is the rose killer, so you'll die during a burglary."

  Nancy looked at Lake with disgust. "How could you kil
l your wife and daughter?"

  "You can't think I planned that. I loved them, Nancy.

  But Sandy found a note and a rose I was planning to use the next day.

  I'm not proud of myself. I couldn't think of a single explanation I could make to Sandy once the notes became public knowledge. She would have gone to the police and it would have been over for me."

  "What's your excuse for killing Melody? She was a baby."

  Lake shook his head. He looked genuinely distraught.

  "Do you think that was easy?" lake's jaw trembled.

  There was a tear in the corner of one eye. "Sandy Screamed. I got to her before she could do it again, but Melody heard her. She was standing on the stairs, looking through the bars on the banister. I held her and hugged her while I tried to think of some way to spare her, but there wasn't a way, so I made it painless. It was the hardest thing I've ever done."

  "Let me help you, Peter. They'll never find you guilty. I'll talk to the district attorney. We'll work out an insanity plea."

  Lake smiled sadly. He shook his head with regret.

  "It would never fly, Nancy. No one would ever let me off that easy.

  Think about what I did to Pat. Think about the others. Besides, I'm not crazy. If you knew why I did it, you'd understand."

  "Tell me. I want to understand."

  "Sorry. No time. Besides, it won't make any difference to you. You're going to die."

  "Please, Peter. I have to know. There has to be a reason for a plan this brilliant."

  Lake smiled condescendingly. "Don't do this. It's not becoming. What's the purpose in stalling?"

  "You can rape me first. 'tie me up. You want to, don't you? I'd be helpless," she begged, sliding her right hand under the sheet.

  "Don't debase yourself, Nancy. I thought you had more class than the others."

  Lake saw Nancy's hand move. His face clouded.

  "What's that?"

  Nancy went for the gun. Lake brought the revolver down hard on her cheek. Bone cracked. She went blind for a second. Her closet door slammed open. lake froze as Wayne Turner came out of the closet. Turner fired and hit Lake in the shoulder. lake's gun dropped to the floor just as Frank Grimsbo hurtled through the bedroom door, tackling Lake into the wall.