Gone, But Not Forgotten

by Phillip Margolin

  “After the fourth disappearance, all with notes and black roses, Sandra and Melody Lake were murdered. Sandra was the wife of Peter Lake, whom I believe you know. Melody was his daughter.”

  “That was tragic,” Colby said. “Pete’s been a supporter of mine for some time. I appointed him to a board last fall.”

  “He killed them, Governor. He murdered his wife and daughter in cold blood. Then he framed a man named Henry Waters by bringing one of the kidnapped women to Waters’s house, disemboweling her in Waters’s basement, planting some roses and one of the notes in Waters’s house and calling the police anonymously.”

  It was four a.m. and pitch-black in the car, but Turner saw Colby blanch as the car passed under a streetlight.

  “Peter Lake killed Sandy and Melody?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “What I’m going to tell you now is known only to Chief O’Malley, Detectives Frank Grimsbo and Nancy Gordon and me. The chief created a task force to deal with the disappearances. It consists of Gordon, Grimsbo and me, plus a forensic expert. We suspected Lake might be our killer, even after we found Patricia Cross’s body at Waters’s house, so we set him up. Gordon told Lake she suspected him but had kept the incriminating evidence to herself. Lake panicked, as we’d hoped he would. He broke into Gordon’s house to kill her. She tricked him into admitting the killings. We wired her house and we have his confession on tape. Grimsbo and I were hiding and heard it all. We arrested Lake.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” Merrill asked.

  “Three of the women are still alive. Barely. Lake’s been keeping them on a starvation diet—he only feeds them once a week. He won’t tell us when he fed them last or where they are unless the governor gives him a full pardon.”

  “What?” Merrill asked incredulously. “The governor’s not going to pardon a mass murderer.”

  “Can’t you find them?” Colby asked. “They must be in property Lake owns. Have you searched them all?”

  “Lake’s made a good deal of money over the years. He has vast real estate holdings. Most of them aren’t in his name. We don’t have the manpower or time to find and search them all before the women starve.”

  “Then I’ll promise to pardon Peter. After he tells us where he’s holding the women, you can arrest him. A contract entered into under duress won’t stand up.”

  Merrill looked uncomfortable. “I’m afraid it might, Ray. When I was with the U.S. attorney, we gave immunity to a contract killer for the mob in exchange for testimony against a higher-up. He said he was present when the hit was ordered, but he was in Las Vegas on the day the body was found. We checked out his story. He was registered at Caesars Palace. Several honest witnesses saw him eating at the casino. We gave him his deal, he testified, the higher-up was convicted, he walked. Then we found out he did the hit, but he did it at fifteen minutes before midnight, then flew to Vegas.

  “We were furious. We rearrested him and indicted him for murder, but the judge threw out the indictment. He ruled that everything the defendant told us was true. We just didn’t ask the right questions. I researched the hell out of the law on plea agreements trying to get the appellate court to rule for us. No luck. Contract principles apply, but so does due process. If both sides enter into the agreement in good faith and the defendant performs, the courts are going to enforce the agreement. If you go into this with your eyes open, Ray, I think the pardon will stick.”

  “Then I have no choice.”

  “Yes, you do,” Merrill insisted. “You tell him no deal. You can’t pardon a serial killer and expect to be reelected. It’s political suicide.”

  “Damn it, Larry,” Colby snapped, “how do you think people would react if they found out I let three women die to win an election?”

  Raymond Colby opened the door to Nancy Gordon’s bedroom. Frank Grimsbo was seated next to the door, holding his weapon, his eyes on the prisoner. The shades were drawn and the bed was still unmade. Peter Lake was handcuffed to a chair. His back was to the window. No one had treated the cuts on Lake’s face and the blood had dried, making him look like a badly defeated fighter. Lake should have been scared. Instead, he looked like he was in charge of the situation.

  “Thanks for coming, Ray.”

  “What’s going on, Pete? This is crazy. You murdered Sandy and Melody?”

  “I had to, Ray. I explained that to the police. You know I wouldn’t have killed them if I had a choice.”

  “That sweet little girl. How can you live with yourself?”

  Lake shrugged his shoulders. “That’s really beside the point, Ray. I’m not going to prison, and you’re going to see to that.”

  “It’s out of my hands, Pete. You killed three people. You’re morally responsible for Waters’s death. I can’t do anything for you.”

  Lake smiled. “Then why are you here?”

  “To ask you to tell the police where you’re keeping the other women.”

  “No can do, Ray. My life depends on keeping the cops in the dark.”

  “You’d let three innocent women die?”

  Lake shrugged. “Three dead, six dead. They can’t punish me anymore after the first life sentence. I don’t envy you, Ray. Believe me when I say that I wish I didn’t have to put an old friend, whom I admire deeply, in this position. But I won’t tell you where the women are if I don’t get my pardon. And, believe me, every minute counts. Those women are mighty hungry and mighty thirsty by now. I can’t guarantee how much longer they’ll last without food and water.”

  Colby sat on the bed across from Lake. He bent forward, his forearms resting on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him.

  “I do consider myself your friend, Pete. I still can’t believe what I’m hearing. As a friend, I beg you to save those women. I promise I’ll intercede on your behalf with the authorities. Maybe a plea to manslaughter can be worked out.”

  Lake shook his head. “No prison. Not one day. I know what happens in jail to a man who’s raped a woman. I wouldn’t last a week.”

  “You’re expecting a miracle, Pete. How can I let you go free?”

  “Look, Ray, I’ll make this simple for you. I walk or the women die. There’s no other alternative, and you’re using up valuable time jawing with me.”

  Colby hunched his shoulders. He stared at the floor. Lake’s smile widened.

  “What are your terms?” Colby asked.

  “I want a pardon for every crime I committed in New York State and immunity from prosecution for every conceivable crime the authorities can think up in the future. I want the pardon in writing and I want a videotape of you signing it. I want the original of the tape and the pardon given to a lawyer I’ll choose.

  “I want immunity from prosecution in federal court …”

  “I can’t guarantee that. I have no authority to …”

  “Call the U.S. attorney or the attorney general. Call the President. This is non-negotiable. I’m not going to get hit with a federal charge for violation of civil rights.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “That’s all I ask. But if you don’t do what I want, the women die.

  “There’s one other thing. I want a guarantee that the State of New York will pay any civil judgments if I get sued by the survivors or Cross’s husband. I’m not going to lose any money over this. Attorney fees, too.”

  Lake’s last remark helped the governor see Lake for what he was. The handsome, urbane young man with whom he had dined and played golf was the disguise worn by a monster. Colby felt rage replacing the numbness he’d experienced since learning Lake’s true nature.

  Colby stood. “I have to know how much time those women have, so I can tell the attorney general how quickly we must act.”

  “I’m not going to tell you, Ray. You’re not getting any information from me until I have what I want. But,” Lake said with a smile, “I will tell you to hurry.”

  Three

&n
bsp; The police cars and ambulances bounced along the unpaved back road, their sirens blaring in hopes that the captive women would hear them and take heart. There were three ambulances, each with a team of doctors and nurses. Governor Colby and Larry Merrill were riding with Chief O’Malley and Wayne Turner. Frank Grimsbo was driving another police car with Nancy Gordon riding shotgun. In the back of that car was Herb Carstairs, an attorney Lake had retained. A videotape of Governor Colby signing a pardon and a copy of the pardon with an addendum signed by the United States attorney rested in Carstairs’s safe. Next to Carstairs, in leg irons and handcuffs, sat Peter Lake, who seemed indifferent to the high-speed ride.

  The cavalcade rounded a curve in the country road and Nancy saw the farmhouse. It looked deserted. The front yard was overgrown and the paint was peeling. To the right of the house, across a dusty strip of yard, was a dilapidated barn.

  Nancy was out and running as soon as the car stopped. She raced up the steps of the house and kicked in the front door. Medics and doctors raced after her. Lake had said the women were in the basement. Nancy found the basement door and threw it open. A stench of urine, excrement and unwashed bodies hit her and she gagged. Then she took a deep breath and yelled, “Police. You’re safe,” as she started down the stairs, two at a time, stopping her headlong rush the moment she saw what was in the basement.

  Nancy felt like someone had punched a hole through her chest and torn out her heart. Later it occurred to her that her reaction must have been similar to the reactions of the servicemen who liberated the Nazi concentration camps. The basement windows were painted black and the only light came from bare bulbs that hung from the ceiling. A section of the basement was divided by plywood walls into six small stalls. Three of the stalls were empty. All of the stalls were covered with straw and outfitted with dirty mattresses. A videotape camera sat on a tripod outside each of the three occupied stalls. In addition to the mattress, each stall contained a cheap clock, a plastic water bottle with a plastic straw, and a dog food dish. The water bottles looked empty. Nancy could see the remains of some kind of gruel in the dishes.

  Toward the rear of the basement was an open area. In it was a mattress covered with a sheet and a large table. Nancy could not make out all of the instruments on the table, but one of them was definitely a cattle prod.

  Nancy stepped aside as the doctors rushed past her. She stared at the three survivors. The women were naked. Their feet were chained to the wall at the ankles. The chain extended just far enough to reach the water bottle and dog food dish. The women in the first two stalls lay on their side on their mattress. Their eyes seemed to be floating in the sockets. Nancy could see their ribs. There were burn marks and bruises everywhere. The woman in the third stall was Samantha Reardon. She huddled against the wall, her face expressionless, staring blankly at her rescuers.

  Nancy walked slowly to the bottom of the stairs. She recognized Ann Hazelton only from her red hair. Her legs were drawn up to her chest in a fetal position and she was whimpering pitifully. Ann’s husband had furnished a photograph of her standing on the eighteenth hole of their country club golf course, a smile on her face and a yellow ribbon holding back her long red hair.

  Gloria Escalante was in the second stall. There was no expression on her face, but Nancy saw tears in her eyes as a doctor bent next to her to check her vital signs and a policeman went to work on her shackles.

  Nancy began to shake. Wayne Turner walked up behind her and put his hands on her arms.

  “Come on,” he said gently, “we’re just in the way.”

  Nancy let herself be led up the stairs into the light. Governor Colby had glanced into the basement for a moment, then backed out of the farmhouse into the fresh air. His skin was gray and he was sitting on one of the steps that led up to the porch, looking like he did not have the strength to stand.

  Nancy looked across the yard. She spotted the car holding Lake. Frank Grimsbo was standing guard outside it. Lake’s attorney had wandered off to smoke. Nancy walked past the governor. He asked her if the women were all right, but she did not answer. Wayne Turner walked beside her. “Let it be, Nancy,” he said. Nancy ignored him.

  Frank Grimsbo looked up expectantly. “They’re all alive,” Turner said. Nancy bent down and looked at Lake. The back window was open a crack, so the prisoner could breathe in the stifling heat. Lake turned toward Nancy. He was rested and at peace, knowing he would soon be free.

  Lake smirked, goading her with his eyes but saying nothing. If he expected Nancy to rage at him, he was mistaken. Her face was blank, but her eyes bored into Lake. “It’s not over,” she said. Then she stood up and walked toward a stand of trees on the side of the house away from the barn. With her back to the farmhouse, all she could see was beauty. There was cool shade under the greenery. The smell of grass and wildflowers. A bird sang. The horror Nancy felt when she saw the captive women was gone. Her anger was gone. She knew the future and was not afraid of it. No woman would ever have to fear Peter Lake again, because Peter Lake was a dead man.

  Four

  Nancy Gordon wore a black jogging outfit, her white Nikes were coated with black shoe polish, and her short hair was held back by a navy blue head band, making her impossible to see in the dim light of the quarter moon that hung over The Meadows. Her car was parked on a quiet side street. 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 by 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 19

  “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.”