Gone ,but not forgotten

by Philip Margolin

  Nancy locked it and loped through a back yard. She was strung tight and conscious of every sound. A dog barked, but the houses on either side stayed dark.

  Until Peter Lake came into her life, Nancy Gordon had never hated another human being. She wasn't even certain she hated Lake. What she felt went beyond hate.

  From the moment she saw those women in the farmhouse basement, Nancy knew Lake had to be removed, the same way vermin were removed.

  Nancy was a cop, sworn to uphold the law. She respected the law. But this situation was so far outside normal human experience that she did not feel everyday laws applied. No one could do what Peter Lake had done to those women and walk away. She could not be expected to wait day after day for the newspaper that brought news of the next disappearance.

  She knew the minute Lake's body was found she would be a prime suspect.

  God knows, she did not want to spend the rest of her life in prison, but there was no alternative. If she was caught, so be it. If she killed Lake and walked away, it was God's will. She could live with the consequences of her act. She could not live with the consequences of letting Peter Lake go free.

  Nancy circled behind Lake's two-story colonial skirting the man-made lake. The houses on either side of Lake's were dark, but there were lights on in his living room. Nancy glanced at her digital watch. It was three-thirty a.m. Lake should be asleep. Nancy knew the security system in the house was equipped with automatic timers for the lights and decided to gamble that that was why the living room was lit.

  Nancy crouched down and ran across the back yard.

  When she reached the house, she pressed herself against the side wall.

  She was holding a.38 Ed had seized from a drug dealer two years ago. Ed never reported the seizure and the gun could not be traced to her.

  Nancy crept around to the front door. She had studied the crime scene photographs earlier that evening.

  Mentally, she walked herself through Lake's house, remembering as much as she could about the layout from her only visit. She had learned Lake's — alarm code during the murder investigation. The alarm panel was to the right of the door. She would have to disarm it quickly.

  The street in front of Lake's house was deserted.

  Nancy had taken Sandra Lake's keys from an evidence locker at the police station. She turned the front door key in the lock, then took out a penlight. Nancy grasped the doorknob with her free hand, took a deep breath, and pushed it open. The alarm emitted a screeching sound.

  She trained the penlight on the keyboard and punched in the code. The sound stopped. Nancy swung around and held her gun out. Nothing. She exhaled, switched off the penlight and straightened.

  A quick tour of the ground floor confirmed Nancy's guess about the lights in the living room. After making certain no one was downstairs, Nancy edged up the stairs, her gun leading the way, The second floor was dark. The first room on the left was Lake's bedroom.

  When she came level with the landing, she saw his door was closed.

  Nancy approached the door slowly, walking carefully even though the carpet muffled her footfalls. She paused next to the door and walked through the shooting in her head. Ease open the door, switch on the light, then shoot into Lake until the gun was empty. She breathed in and exhaled as she opened the door, an inch at a time.

  Her eyes adjusted to the dark. She could see the outline of the king-size bed that dominated the room.

  Nancy cleared her mind of hate and all other feelings.

  She removed herself from the action. She was not killing a person. She was shooting into an object. just like target practice. Nancy slipped into the room, hit the switch and aimed.

  Part Six

  AVENGING ANGEL.

  Chapter Nineteen

  "The bed was empty," Wayne Turner told Betsy. "Lake was gone. He started planning his disappearance the day after he murdered his wife and daughter. All but one of his bank accounts had been emptied the day after the murder and several of his real estate holdings had been sold.

  His lawyer was handling the sale of his house. Carstairs said he didn't know where Lake was. No one could compel him to tell, anyway, because of the attorney-client privilege. We assumed that Carstairs had instructions to send the money he collected to accounts in Switzerland or the Caymans."

  "Chief O'Malley called me immediately," Senator Colby said. "I was sick.

  Signing Lake's pardon was the most difficult thing I've ever done, but I couldn't think of anything else to do. I couldn't let those women die.

  When O'Malley told me Lake had disappeared — all I could think of was the innocent victims he might claim because of me."

  "Why didn't you go public?" Betsy asked. "You could have let everyone know who Lake was and what he'd done."

  "Only a few people knew Lake was the rose killer and we were sworn to silence by the terms of the pardon."

  "Once the women were free, why didn't you say to hell with him and go public anyway?"

  Colby looked into the fire. His voice sounded hollow when be answered.

  "we discussed the possibility, but we were afraid.

  Lake said he would take revenge by killing someone if we breached our agreement with him."

  "Going public would have destroyed the senator's career," Wayne Turner added, "and none of us wanted that. Only a handful of people knew about the pardon or Lake's guilt. O'Malley, Gordon, Grimsbo, me, the U.S. attorney, the attorney general, Carstairs, Merrill and the senator. We never even told the mayor. We knew how courageous Ray had been to sign the pardon. We didn't want him to suffer for it. So we took a vow to protect Ray and we've kept it."

  "And you just forgot about Lake?"

  "We never forgot, Mrs. Tannenbaum," Colby told her. "I used contacts in the Albany Police and the FBI to hunt for Lake. Nancy Gordon dedicated her life to tracking him down. He was too clever for us."

  "Now that you know about the pardon, what are you planning to do?"

  Turner asked.

  "I don't know."

  "if the pardon, and these new murders, become public knowledge, Senator Colby cannot be confirmed.

  He'd lose the support of the law-and-order conservatives on the judiciary Committee and the liberals will crucify him. This would be the answer to their prayers."

  "I realize that."

  "Going public can't help your client, either."

  "Wayne," Colby said, "Mrs. Tannenbaum is going to have to make up her own mind about what to do with what she knows. We can't pressure her.

  God knows, she's under enough pressure as it is.

  But," Colby said, turning to Betsy, "I do have a question for you. I have the impression that you deduced the existence of the pardon."

  "That's right. I asked myself how Lake could have walked away from Hunter's Point. A pardon was the only answer and only the governor of New York could issue a pardon. You could keep the existence of a pardon from the public, but the members of the task force would have to know about it and they're the ones who were rewarded. It was the only answer that made sense." Lake doesn't know you're here, does he?"

  Betsy hesitated, then said, "No."

  "And you haven't asked him to confirm your guess, have you?"

  Betsy shook her head.

  "Why?"

  "Do you remember the conflicting emotions you felt when Lake asked you to pardon him? Imagine how I feel, Senator. I'm a very good attorney. I have the skills to free my client. He maintains his innocence, but my investigation turned up evidence that made me question his word.

  Until today, I didn't know for certain if Martin was lying.

  I didn't want to confront him until I knew the truth."

  "Now that you know, what will you do?"

  "I haven't worked that out yet. If it was any other case, I wouldn't care. I'd do my job and defend my client.

  But this isn't any case. This is Betsy paused. What could she say that everyone in the room did not know firsthand.

  "I don't envy
you, Mrs. Tannenbaum," the senator said. "I really believe I had no choice. That is the only reason I've been able to live with what I did, even though I regret what I did every time I think of the pardon. You can walk away from Lake."

  "Then I'd be walking away from my responsibilities, wouldn't I?"

  "Responsibilities," Colby repeated. "Why do we take them on? Why do we burden ourselves with problems that tear us apart? Whenever I think of Lake I wish I hadn't gone into public life. Then I think of some of the good I've been able to do."

  The senator paused. After a moment he stood up and held out his hand.

  "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Tannenbaum. I mean that."

  "Thank you for your candor, Senator.

  "Wayne can drive you back to your hotel."

  Wayne Turner followed Betsy out of the room. Colby sank back down into the armchair. He felt old and used up. He wanted to stay in front of the fire forever and forget the responsibilities which he had just spoken.

  He thought about Betsy Tannenbaum's responsibility to her client and her responsibilities as a member of the human race. How would she live with herself if Lake was acquitted? He would haunt her for the rest of her life, the way Lake haunted him.

  Colby wondered if the pardon would become public. if it did, he would be finished in public life. The President would withdraw his nomination and he would never be reelected. Strangely, he was not concerned. He had no control over Betsy Tannenbaum. His fate rested with the decisions she made. chapter Twenty.

  "Dr. Simon Reardon?"

  "Yes."

  "My name is Reginald Stewart. I'm a private investigator. I work for Betsy Tannenbaum, an attorney in Portland, Oregon."

  "I don't know anyone in Portland."

  Dr. Reardon sounded annoyed. Stewart thought he detected a slight British accent.

  "This is about Hunter's Point and your ex-wife, Dr. Reardon. That's where I'm calling from. I hope you'll give me a few minutes to explain."

  "I have no interest in discussing Samantha."

  "Please hear me out. Do you remember Peter Lake?"

  "Mr. Stewart, there is nothing about those days I can ever forget."

  "Three women were kidnapped in Portland recently.

  A black rose and a note that said "Gone, But Not Forgotten' were left at each scene. The women's bodies were dug up recently on property belonging to Peter Lake.

  He's been charged with the homicides."

  "I thought the Hunter's Point police caught the murderer. Wasn't he some retarded deliveryman? A sex offender?"

  "The Multnomah County d.a. thinks the Hunter's Point police made a mistake. I'm trying to find the Hunter's Point survivors. Ann Hazelton is dead. Gloria Escalante won't talk to me. Mrs. Reardon is my last hope.

  "It's not Mrs. Reardon and hasn't been for some time," the doctor said with distaste, "and I have no idea how you can find Samantha. I moved to Minneapolis to get away from her. We haven't spoken in years. The last I heard, she was still living in Hunter's Point."

  "You're divorced?"

  Reardon laughed harshly. "Mr. Stewart, this was more than a simple divorce. Samantha tried to kill me."

  "What?"

  "She's a sick woman. I wouldn't waste my time on her. You can't trust anything she says."

  "Was this entirely a result of the kidnapping?" Undoubtedly her torture and captivity exacerbated the condition, but my wife was always unbalanced. Unfortunately I was too much in love with her to notice until we were married. I kept rationalizing and excusing…" Reardon took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. She does that to me. Even after all these years."

  "Dr. Reardon, I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but Mr. Lake is facing a death sentence and I need to know as much about Hunter's Point as I can."

  "Can't the police tell you what you want to know?"

  "No, sir. The files are missing."

  "That's strange."

  "Yes, it is. Believe me, if I had those files I wouldn't be bothering you. I'm sure it's painful having me dig up this period in your life, but this is literally a matter of life and death. Our d.a. has a bee in his bonnet about Mr. Lake. Peter was a victim, just like you, and he needs your help."

  Reardon sighed. "Go — ahead. Ask your questions."

  "Thank you, sir. Can you tell me about Mrs. Reardon, or whatever she calls herself now?"

  "I have no idea what her name is. She still called herself Reardon when I left Hunter's Point."

  "When was that?"

  About eight years ago. As soon as the divorce was final."

  "What happened between you and your wife?"

  "She was a surgical nurse at University Hospital.

  Very beautiful, very wanton. Sex was what she was best at," Reardon said bitterly. "I was so caught up in her body that I was oblivious to what was going on around me. The most obvious problem was the stealing. She was arrested for shoplifting twice. Our lawyer kept the cases out of court and I paid off the stores. She was totally without remorse.

  Treated the incidents like jokes, once she was in the clear.

  "Then there was the spending. I was making good money, but we were in debt up to our ears. She drained my savings accounts, charged our credit cards to the limit. It took me four years after the divorce to get back on my feet. And you couldn't reason with her. I showed her the bills and drew up a budget. She'd get me in bed and I'd forget what I'd told her, or she'd throw a tantrum or lock me out of the bedroom. It was the worst three years of my life.

  "Then she was kidnapped and tortured and she got worse. Whatever slender string kept her tethered to reality snapped during the time she was a prisoner. I can't even describe what she was like — after that. They kept her hospitalized for almost a year. She rarely spoke. She wouldn't let men near her.

  "I should have known better, but I took her home after she was released.

  I felt guilty because of what had happened. I know I couldn't have protected her-I was at the hospital when she was kidnapped-but, still, That's very common, that feeling."

  "Oh, I know. But knowing something intellectually and dealing with it emotionally are two different things. I wish I had been wiser."

  What happened — after she came home?"

  "She wouldn't share a bedroom with me. When I was home, she would stay in her room. I have no idea what she did when I was at work. When she did speak, she was clearly irrational. She insisted that the man who kidnapped her was still at large. I showed her the newspaper articles about Waters's arrest and the shooting, but she said he wasn't the man.

  She wanted a gun for protection. Of course I refused. She started accusing me of being in a conspiracy with the police. Then she tried to kill me. She stabbed me with a kitchen knife when I came home from the hospital. Fortunately a colleague was with me. She stabbed him too, but he hit Samantha and stunned her. We wrestled her to the floor. She was writhing and screeching about… She said I was trying to kill her It was very hard for me. I had to commit her. Then I decided to get out."

  "I don't blame you. It looks like you went above and beyond the call."

  "Yes, I did. But I still feel bad about deserting her, even though I know I had no choice."

  "You said you committed her. Which hospital was that?"

  "St. Jude's. It's a private psychiatric hospital near Hunter's Point. I moved and cut off contact with her completely. I know she was there for several years, but I believe she was released."

  "Did Samantha try to contact you after she was released?"

  "No. I dreaded the possibility, but it never happened."

  "Would you happen to have a photo of Samantha?

  There weren't any in the newspaper accounts."

  "When I moved to Minnesota, I threw them away, along with everything else that might remind me of Samantha."

  "Thank you for your time, Doctor. I'll try St. Jude's.

  Maybe they have a line on your ex-wife."

  "One other thing, Mr. Stewart. if you find Samantha, please don't t
ell her you talked with me or tell her where I am.

  Randy Highsmith drove straight to the district attorney's office from the airport. He was feeling the effects of jet lag and wouldn't have minded going home, but he knew how badly Page wanted to hear what he had found out in Hunter's Point.

  "It's not good, Al," Highsmith said as soon as they were sitting down.

  "I was a day behind Darius's investigator everywhere I went, so he knows what we know."

  "which is?"

  "Nancy Gordon wasn't straight with you. Frank Grimsbo and Wayne Turner told me only Gordon considered Lake a serious suspect. She was fixated on him and never accepted Waters as the rose killer, but everyone else did.

  "There's something else she didn't tell us. Three of the Hunter's Point women didn't die. Hazelton, Escalante and Reardon were found alive in an old farmhouse.

  And, before you ask, Hazelton is dead, I haven't located Reardon and Escalante never saw the face of the man who abducted her."

  "Why did she let me think all the Hunter's Point women were murdered?"

  "I have no idea. All I know is that our case against Martin Darius is turning to shit."

  "It doesn't make sense," Page said, more to himself than to Highsmith.

  "Waters is dead. If he was the rose killer, who murdered the women we found at the construction site? It had to be someone who knew details about the Hunter's Point case that only the police knew.

  That description only fits one person, Martin Darius."

  "There is one other person it fits, Al," Highsmith said.

  "Who?"

  "Nancy Gordon."

  "Are you crazy? She's a cop."

  "What if she's crazy? What if she did it to frame Darius? Think about it. Would you have considered Darius a suspect if she didn't tell you he was Lake?"

  "You're forgetting the anonymous letter that told her that the killer was in Portland."

  "How do we know she didn't write it herself?"

  "I don't believe it."

  "Well, believe it or not, our case is disappearing. Oh, and there's a new wrinkle. A Portland private investigator named Sam Oberburst was looking into the Hunter's Point murders about a month before the first Portland disappearance."