by Nancy Geary
He paused, and Frances could hear some shuffling in the background, then the water running. “By the time we decided we actually were ready to embark on such an extraordinary endeavor, it was too late. Rose was already sick.”
Now it was Frances’s turn to be sorry. She shouldn’t have asked. Her head had been spinning with issues of Adelaide’s relationship to Hope and Penelope, of her conversation with Fiona about Jack, of parenting and all it implied. The thoughts had prompted her to stir up an obviously painful subject with the person she cared about most.
“Just goes to show you, there’s never a perfect time for anything important, so you can’t wait around for it to come,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“Hey. Take care of yourself. If you need me, I’ll be there in an instant. And if not, you know where I’ll be waiting.”
“Thanks.” She paused and then added, “I love you.” Tonight she wanted to say it first.
“I love you, too, Miss Fanny.”
Frances replaced the receiver and stared at the message from Elvis. She preferred to go to sleep with Sam’s words in her mind, but she forced herself to dial the number of his cell phone.
“We got a criminal complaint for assault against Carl. He’s been picked up,” Elvis began as soon as she identified herself.
“Did Bill do that?”
“Yeah. An officer took his story over the telephone.”
“And the search warrant for the boat?” she asked.
“We’ve got a couple of guys executing it now. I’ll keep you posted. But FYI, the key we recovered in Hope’s bedroom turns the ignition on the Lady Hope.”
As she hung up the telephone, she felt hollow. She remembered her conversation with Teddy, the discovery of Hope and Carl’s secret affair. What had been her grandmother’s words? They had the “kind of mesmerizing chemistry that can leave a girl breathless.” Teddy had recognized the special bond they had, the rarity of their connection, and so had supported the relationship way beyond what was proper. For what? So he could kill her?
Carl destroyed the person he loved because he couldn’t have her. It was the oldest story in the world.
Why was being in love so dangerous? Her relationship with Sam seemed so simple, so easy. He was gentle, kind, comforting. She trusted him to do everything in his power to nurture her, and she hoped she did the same in return. Did that mean it wasn’t real?
She crumpled the message slip in her hand, put her head in her pillow, and abandoned any notion of staving off tears. That she was alone was a relief, because it allowed her to cry without fear of being discovered. And for that she was thankful.
27
The windowless conference room was hot. State buildings rarely ran the central air-conditioning past three o’clock on Fridays, so by Sunday afternoon, the temperature reached well into the eighties. Mark sat backward on a chair, his legs straddled, briefing Frances on the myriad developments that had occurred in less than twenty-four hours. They were alone. Although Elvis was supposed to be present, he had called several minutes before to inform them he would be late.
Mark reported that the prior evening, the police had executed the search warrant of Carl’s boat. They’d found one key piece of evidence. In the bottom right-hand corner of his medicine cabinet, they’d discovered an orange plastic bottle with its cap missing. It was filled with small pills. He passed her the bottle and its contents sealed in a heavy-duty plastic bag. Even in its police packaging, she could read the label on the bottle: “Equanil. 800 mg. Take 2x per day as needed. Contents: 60. Refills: none.” The name on the prescription was Adelaide Lawrence.
Carl had spent the night in custody. The supervising officers reported that he’d eaten nothing, drunk nothing, and made no requests. He hadn’t contacted a lawyer or said a single word, other than to make one telephone call to a local number.
He’d been arraigned before a magistrate at eleven A.M. The court-appointed lawyer assigned to represent him at his bail hearing had little to report in support of an argument that he wasn’t a flight risk. His only asset was his fishing boat; he’d worked in the area his whole life. However, he had no criminal record, and although the prosecutor talked about his suspected involvement in Hope’s death, he hadn’t been charged. The magistrate set bail at $100,000 despite his lawyer’s argument that imposition of such an enormous financial condition was effectively an illegal pretrial detention. What lobsterman in a rental had that kind of cash to post for his freedom? But he’d had access to funds that nobody realized, and now he was free.
“Do you know where he went?” Frances asked.
“No. The probation officer didn’t bother to notify us when he made bail. He’s not on his boat and he’s not at home. But he can’t be considered a fugitive because he has a right to be anywhere in the commonwealth. That’s what making bail is all about. Until we can arrest him on the murder indictment or he fails to show up at his next court appearance, which isn’t for another three weeks, there’s nothing we can do.”
“Have you searched his apartment?”
“Yeah. Guy’s neat as a pin. There were a couple of pictures of him and Hope together, and a wedding invitation in a blank envelope, but otherwise nothing.”
He may not have been on the guest list, Frances thought, remembering her conversation with Bill. But Hope had given him an invitation anyway. Could she have actually thought he’d come? Frances tried to imagine what must have gone through Carl’s mind as he stared at the embossed lettering. Rage? Sorrow? The traditions that accompanied a wedding were endlessly evocative, but of what she could only speculate.
Just then the door swung open and in walked Elvis. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “You’ll never guess who posted the cash for Carl’s hundred thousand bail bond.”
When he told her, Frances couldn’t believe her ears and made him repeat it.
“That’s right. Theodora Pratt. Your grandmother set him free.”
“Teddy!” Frances called as she let the screen door swing shut behind her. She had exceeded every speed limit on the way to her grandmother’s cottage. Panic had set in as twice she’d tried to call from the road, only to get a busy signal. What was happening? What was her grandmother thinking, to bail out Hope’s killer? Realizing Teddy could be in serious danger, Frances had called the Manchester police from the road. She’d expected them to be there when she arrived, but there were no police cars or other indications of the presence of law enforcement. “Teddy!” she called again.
“You don’t have to shout. I’m here on the porch,” came the reply.
Teddy sat on a chair with her ankles crossed in front of her. She wore a pink-and-green wraparound skirt and a matching polo shirt, a large straw hat, and her signature pearls. In one hand, she held a glass of ice tea overflowing with mint, and in the other was a cigarette.
“Where are the police?”
“Are you the one that sent them? Bah. A couple of officers showed up—nice young men, very polite, although one of them did have an earring, I noticed—and I invited them in, but frankly I didn’t know why they were here. I’m fine.”
“But you bailed out Carl LeFleur!” she blurted out.
“I did. That’s true. But I’m not in danger from him, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She took a sip of her drink and smacked her lips. “He didn’t kill Hope. And he shouldn’t have to wait in jail on some fabricated charge because he can’t afford to post his own bond.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing. The police have found evidence linking him to her murder. Listen to me.” She was about to begin a recitation when she saw a shadow in her peripheral vision. He stood on the threshold, bare chested, his hands holding on to each end of a towel wrapped around his neck. Her adrenaline surged. She should have known he’d be here. How could she have been so stupid? She felt helpless, realizing that she was unable to protect her grandmother. There was no way that she could overpower him physically. She felt for the cell phone in her pocket
, then realized an attempt to call for help might precipitate a reaction. Why hadn’t the police officers stayed?
Teddy glanced over at Carl. “Come sit down,” she instructed him. With the towel he wiped a spot of shaving cream from his chin and then perched on the edge of a chair next to her, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Fanny, there’s no reason to be afraid for me or for anyone else,” Teddy continued. “Carl hasn’t hurt anyone. Once he tells you what happened, you’ll understand. He needs your help.”
“Help? I don’t think—”
“The police will build a case against him,” she interrupted. “I know they can place him at the scene. He’s the perfect person to blame—he’s an outsider in this town, and he doesn’t have an alibi. So unless we find the real murderer, he’ll be convicted. Certainly that dimwit appointed by the court won’t mount a decent defense. His only chance is to give the police the true killer.”
The determination on her grandmother’s face made clear that she would not be dissuaded. Frances’s words were futile. Carl stared ahead blankly, with no acknowledgment of what Teddy was saying. She wanted a moment to speak to her grandmother alone, but she didn’t dare say or do anything that might upset him. She tried to remind herself of all the people who worked tirelessly for prisoners on death row, defense attorneys who spent hour after hour alone with murderers and never feared for their own safety. Or did they just put up a good front?
“Go on,” Teddy said. “Tell her.”
He covered his mouth with his hand and coughed to clear his throat. “I know what you must be thinking,” he said in a voice that was flat, devoid of affect. “The last time, the only time, we’ve spoken, I hardly gave you any reason to believe in me. And maybe you never will. I’m so angry that I don’t know whether I believe in myself. I knew Hope would marry Jack, and yes, I was furious. Beyond furious, I was in an absolute rage at her, at him, at her family for pressuring her not to be with me. But I loved her more than I ever loved anything in the world. If I could take her place now, wherever she is, I’d do it in a moment.”
He pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and blew his nose. Then he rested his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes. Teddy put out her cigarette in a lighthouse-shaped ashtray. She rested her liver-spotted hand on his back and rubbed him in slow, reassuring circles. This maternal affection toward the forty-four-year old suspect in Hope’s murder seemed beyond strange; it was disorienting. What had Carl done to win her over? Nobody said a word.
In the distance she could hear the sound of clanging masts rocking on their moorings. Even though the evening was clear, a foghorn blew. Her muscles were tense and she tried to relax. For her grandmother’s sake, she would hear what he had to say. Besides, where could she go? She could hardly walk out and leave Teddy with a suspected killer.
“Please, Carl, tell Frances about the day Hope died. Tell her what you know.”
Frances could see his Adam’s apple move up and down as he swallowed. When he looked up, his eyes had softened. His posture, his demeanor, and even his facial expression registered defeat; he looked broken, so different from the way he’d appeared a week before. Could someone change so dramatically, or was this chameleonlike behavior an act? She wanted to remain suspicious, to stay on guard, but she felt the first slivers of doubt creeping into her mind. Perhaps the police had been wrong.
“I don’t really know where to begin,” Carl said, looking to Teddy for direction.
“Just tell her what you’ve been telling me.”
“I guess you know that Hope and I have been involved—were involved—for a long time.” He spoke in a deliberate manner, as if selecting each word carefully. “We met at a fish market. I was in a fight with the owner over the price per pound he was willing to pay, and she was waiting in line to buy lobsters for some family function. As I’m getting more and more pissed—the guy was a cheap son of a bitch—this beautiful woman just comes up to me and offers to take mine directly from me. She’d pay me the retail price. I’ll never forget the look on the flicking owner’s face. He went ballistic, but I didn’t care and neither did she. She had this expression, kind of bad, as if she were pleased by the hoopla. We went outside to the parking lot. I needed the money, and frankly, I thought she felt sorry for me. But we started talking, and the more we spoke, the way she was, I realized she was flirting, wanting something to happen.” He paused, letting the words And it did go unspoken.
“When we first got together, she couldn’t bear to be apart. She was so fearful, so fragile, and sometimes I felt as if she clung to me for her life. There were nights when she just wanted to sit in my apartment, not even talking. I didn’t understand her moods. She’d be really excited and happy and sexy one day and then very withdrawn, quiet. One day she announced that our relationship had to end.”
“When was that?”
“Fourteen months ago. She’d been under a lot of pressure from her family to stop seeing me. I wasn’t what they had in mind. Bill had already shown up once at my apartment with the cops. He’d dragged her kicking and screaming out of there. That was a few months before. I’m not sure of the exact timing. When Hope and I were together, particular days or months never mattered.” He paused, seeming to dwell on a private memory that he didn’t wish to share.
“So why did she end your relationship?” Frances asked.
“I thought it was because of Jack. The perfect guy,” he said sarcastically. “I suspect she knew he was going to propose. But what she told me had nothing to do with him or her parents. The reason she gave me was horrible. I couldn’t believe it.”
Frances realized she was holding her breath as she waited for his explanation.
He spoke slowly. “She told me she’d been abused, sexually. I understood it was a while back, but there’d been complications and she’d been left unable to have children. I’d seen the scar on her stomach but never asked. I didn’t want to know the details, and she didn’t offer them, so I can’t tell you exactly what happened to her. But she felt crippled, defective, ‘a Jonesport without a trap,’ she said. I asked her over and over who’d hurt her, but she wouldn’t tell me. All she said was that she’d trusted him. Like she trusted me. She said that as we got more and more involved, memories of those experiences returned. My age had a lot to do with it, she said, so I assume the guy was older, but it was also something else, something about the way we were physically. And it had frightened her. She felt dirty, like she was evil, and she thought it was my fault. It sounded bizarre, and frankly I thought she was spending too much time at that church she went to; it was making her feel guilty about everything. She might as well have been a Catholic.”
He rubbed his forehead with his long, strong fingers. “I tried to get her to change her mind. I promised to protect her. I promised to keep her safe. I told her I’d kill whoever had hurt her, and I meant it. If I knew today, I’d do it now.”
He cleared his throat again, obviously trying to contain his emotions. Listening, Frances felt numb. What exactly had happened? When? How long had it gone on? Had Adelaide and Bill known? Did they know now? How was it possible they didn’t? What facade had been maintained all these years? Frances, Blair, and her father had visited the Lawrences’ home, laughed, played on the beach and in the canoe, while Hope—the darling baby—had lived in hell.
“My begging sort of worked, although she’d never admit who’d hurt her. But at least she didn’t cut things off with me completely. She’d see me every once in a while. We’d meet here.” He glanced over at Teddy, who didn’t respond. “After she got engaged to Jack, things got a lot worse, more tense. She felt even guiltier. And her family discovered that she was still seeing me.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she said something. Maybe they saw us together. It doesn’t matter. They knew and were pissed. And I was mad. Really mad. I couldn’t believe she’d agreed to marry Jack. And I know she did everything to try to keep me from losing my temper. She kept
trying to get me to understand. But I couldn’t. I loved her more than anyone could. I wanted her to be mine.”
Frances felt an involuntary shudder. The defendant had just articulated a motive for the prosecution, and it sounded compelling.
“Her family was getting pretty desperate about me. Then in June Bill offered me ten grand to stay away. Here’s the guy who locked Hope in the closet when she was little telling me to stay away. Like I’d take his money.”
“Locked her in the closet?” Frances asked.
“Yeah. Apparently that’s how he dished out punishment. The prick.” Carl looked as if he were about to spit on the floor, but he caught himself as he remembered where he was.
“He offered you ten thousand dollars?”
“Cash. Shows up on my doorstep with money in an envelope and tries to bribe me. I gave it back to him.”
Frances remembered the envelope that the police had recovered from the Lawrences’ house, the one that both Bill and Adelaide claimed to know nothing about. Had Bill’s feigned discovery been a way to deflect attention? Was he clever enough to realize he could eliminate the evidence against him? She doubted he could be so calculating, but then again, the chasm between what she had perceived and what she was learning widened by the minute.
“Did you see Hope the day of her wedding?”
“Yes. She begged me to come over. I’d tried to see her the night before, but Bill kept me out. Then she called the next morning, desperate that I’d refused to come. I explained what happened, and she asked me to come back, to come in the service entrance. I agreed.”