by Joy Fielding
Alex ignored the mock hurt in Jill’s voice. “Not much to say. Your father posted bail. I doubt Ethan will get more than a slap on the wrist, considering he didn’t actually break into Charley’s house, and no real threats were uttered, other than those of an irate neighbor with a loaded rifle who threatened to blow Ethan’s face off.”
“Never thought I’d be grateful to the NRA,” Charley said, rubbing her forehead at the memory of Gabe Lopez coming to her defense. Who’d have thought? she asked herself, recalling the scene that followed: the police rushing in, arresting Ethan, taking him away, the neighbors gathering outside her house, some venturing inside to find out what had happened, finding Gabe Lopez and Charley sharing a bottle of wine, then returning to their homes to fetch bottles of their own, the whole thing turning into an impromptu street party, Lynn Moore offering tipsy hugs of forgiveness along with home-baked chocolate chip cookies, the already surreal evening ending with half the street cavorting in Doreen Rivers’s backyard pool.
Officer Ramirez had called yesterday to tell Charley that there was no hard evidence linking Ethan to the threatening e-mails she’d received, although they’d keep an eye on him. Nor could they charge him with rape unless Pamela came forward to back up her sister’s allegations, the word of a convicted child killer sitting on death row apparently considered something less than totally reliable.
Charley had no doubt that Ethan had sexually abused both his sisters. She was less convinced of everything else Jill had told her, and even less sure that she was smart enough to figure out where the lies stopped and the truth began. Was it possible that Jill herself didn’t know?
After Sunday brunch at TooJay’s, Charley had spent most of the day drawing up a list of the people she needed to interview—the Barnets, the Starkeys, Wayne Howland, who’d joined the army and was rumored to be fighting in Iraq, Gary Gojovic, whose testimony against his former girlfriend hadn’t exactly helped her case, Jill’s former teachers, her classmates, her childhood friends, the arresting officers, the various detectives, the prosecutors themselves, the members of the jury, even Alex. How was she supposed to know what to ask any of them?
“You’re a bright, talented young woman who will succeed at anything you set your mind to,” her mother had told her. “And if you don’t know the appropriate questions to ask right now, you’ll figure them out soon enough.”
With a little bit of professional help, Charley recognized, managing to contact Dr. John Norman, the psychologist who’d interviewed and then testified against Jill at her trial, first thing on Monday morning. “I need your help,” she’d begun after introducing herself and explaining her predicament.
“I have a patient coming in at ten o’clock,” the man replied in clipped, even tones. “You can’t really expect me to give you a lesson in abnormal psychology in twenty minutes, can you?”
Charley imagined the man she was speaking to was middle-aged and balding, rather like the psychiatrist on Law & Order, although he could just as easily have been young, with a full head of hair. Voices were as deceiving as everything else, where people were concerned.
“You’ve read my report, I assume?”
“Yes. In it, you describe Jill as having a ‘borderline personality disorder,’ meaning…”
“Meaning that she’s intensely narcissistic and lacks the basic human emotions, including empathy.”
“How does something like that happen?” Charley asked.
“Current theory holds that borderline personality disorder is the result of three main factors,” Dr. Norman told her patiently. “One’s genes, one’s upbringing, and one’s environment. In the case of someone like Jill Rohmer, the fact she was brutalized as a child obviously contributed to her brutalizing others later on.”
“But not everyone who was abused as a child goes on to become a cold-blooded killer. Her sister, for example.”
“Ms. Webb, if I were capable of predicting who would grow up to be a killer, I’d be more famous than Freud. The important thing for you to remember is that Jill Rohmer is nobody’s fool. She’s a very manipulative and clever liar.”
“So, how do I deal with someone like that?”
“Very carefully,” the psychologist replied.
“I met Mrs. Barnet in the park,” Jill was saying now, suddenly answering the question Charley had almost forgotten she’d asked. “The park was a couple of blocks from our house, and I used to go there when I wanted to be by myself.”
“That would be Crescent Park?”
Jill looked genuinely surprised. “I don’t know. I didn’t realize it had a name.”
“Go on.”
“Well, one day I was sitting on one of the swings—there were three of them—and Tammy came running over. Her mom was right behind her. You could see how crazy she was about Tammy, just by the look on her face. How come you want to talk about this now?” Jill asked Charley. “Are we finished talking about my childhood?” She seemed mildly put out.
“I thought we’d take a break from that for a while,” Charley answered.
“How come?”
“Well, you’ve already given me a lot to digest, what with your letters and our previous conversations. I just thought we might tackle something else today. Unless you have something specific you’d like to share with me.”
Jill leaned back in her chair, looking skeptical as she twisted the ends of her hair between her fingers. “Something I’d like to share? Now you sound like a psychiatrist.”
“Your letters are quite remarkable,” Charley said, sensing hostility, and trying to maintain control of the situation. (Dr. Norman had stressed that it was important never to let Jill have the upper hand. “If anyone’s going to do the conning, it should be you,” he’d said.) “You have a real flair for writing,” Charley elaborated. “A gift.”
Jill’s smile was immediate and proud. “You think so?”
“Absolutely. Those letters tell me a lot about you.”
“Such as?”
“That you’re a very bright and talented young woman,” Charley said, borrowing her mother’s words, and wondering whether her mother had been similarly insincere. “That you can succeed at anything you set your mind to.”
“Honestly? You’re not just saying that?”
Charley shook her head. “It’s true.”
“That’s so nice. It really means a lot to me that you think that.”
What are mothers for? Charley thought. “So, you met Tammy and her mother at the park,” she reiterated.
“Tammy wanted the swing I was sitting on. Said it was her favorite because it went higher than the others. I said okay. I even offered to push her. One thing just kind of led to another. I guess I must have given Mrs. Barnet my phone number, ’cause she called a few days later, asked if I could baby-sit on Saturday night. I said, sure. Turned out that the Barnets liked to go out every Saturday night, so I lucked into a regular job. Of course, that didn’t sit too well with Gary. You talk to him yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Yeah, well, when you do, watch out. He lies like a rug.” Jill laughed. “My father used to say that all the time. ‘Man lies like a rug,’ he’d say. I didn’t know what he meant for the longest time. But once I figured it out, I had the best laugh.”
“Gary didn’t like you baby-sitting on Saturday nights?”
“At first he thought it would be okay, because he just assumed I’d let him come over and we could, you know, make out and stuff. He especially liked the idea of doing it in the Barnets’ bed, but that didn’t sit too well with me. I mean, what if they came home early or Tammy woke up? So after awhile I wouldn’t let him come over anymore. He was pretty mad. Then I started baby-sitting for the Starkeys on Friday nights, and he got really upset, said, ‘What kind of girlfriend spends her entire weekends baby-sitting a bunch of brats?’”
“It is a bit unusual for a girl your age, especially one with a boyfriend—you would have been how old?”
“I was nineteen wh
en I started baby-sitting Tammy.”
“Gary was probably unhappy to be spending so much time alone.”
“He was unhappy ’cause he wasn’t getting his dick sucked as often as he liked. At least, not by me,” Jill said.
Right, Charley thought. “You must have really enjoyed baby-sitting,” was what she said.
“Oh, I did,” Jill said with such enthusiasm it was impossible not to believe her. “I loved those kids. Tammy was so cute, with her red hair and her little black patent leather shoes. She had the cutest little button nose. And this weird little giggle. I used to love making her laugh.”
“And the Starkey twins?”
“They were the sweetest things. Blond hair, blue eyes. Noah had this little scar above his right eyebrow where he’d picked the scab off a chicken pox. I used to kiss it all the time. You just wanted to eat him up. His sister, too. Really sweet.”
Yet you slaughtered them! Charley wanted to scream. These sweet little children with the cute button noses and kissable scars are dead because of you. How can you sit here and discuss them so calmly, so lovingly? Take it easy, her reporter’s voice cautioned. Keep her talking. Ask direct questions. Stay in control, the way Dr. Norman had advised. Go slow, or you’ll lose her. “You met Mrs. Starkey in the park as well?”
Jill’s eyes narrowed in thought. “No. I met her in the mall. I was in the bookstore, buying a present for Tammy, and she came in with the twins, and she asked me what book I was buying, and I told her. It was The Paperbag Princess, which is a really good book. I said I couldn’t recommend it highly enough, so she bought a copy. And we ended up taking the kids for ice cream, and it just kind of took off from there. Kind of like with Mrs. Barnet. I’m very good with people,” Jill said. “They really like me.”
Charley nodded, searching for even a small trace of irony in Jill’s voice, hearing none. “What sort of things did you do with the kids?”
“The usual. I read to them, we watched TV, we played Barbie and hide-and-seek.”
“Ever play doctor with them?” Charley asked casually.
“What?” Jill’s eyes widened. She glanced warily at Alex. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that kids sometimes like to play doctor,” Charley said.
“I’m not a kid.”
Charley marveled at Jill’s indignation. She seemed genuinely perturbed at Charley’s suggestion. “Did they ever ask you questions of a sexual nature?”
“Like what?”
“Like, where do babies came from, or how are they made?” Charley elaborated.
Jill hesitated. “Sometimes Noah would say something like, he had a penis and Sara didn’t. Stuff like that.”
“They ever get on your nerves?”
“No. They were good kids,” Jill said.
“So, you never hit them or anything?”
“Of course not.”
“How did you discipline them?”
“I didn’t have to.”
“You never had to send them to their rooms for a time-out?”
“No, they were great. They never gave me any trouble.”
“Did you ever take them swimming?” Charley asked, shifting gears.
“Swimming?”
“The Barnets had a pool, didn’t they?”
“Yeah. Tammy and I went swimming together a couple of times.”
“Bathing suits can be tricky for little kids. You ever help Tammy get out of her wet suit?”
“I guess I did.”
“So you saw her naked.”
“Maybe. So what?”
“Did that turn you on?”
“Did what turn me on? Seeing a little girl without her clothes? How sick do you think I am?”
The question proved too much for Charley. “Jill, I have to remind you that you’re on death row for the sex slayings of three young children. Can you really be so outraged by my question?”
“I’m not sexually turned on by children,” Jill said emphatically. “I don’t even like sex, for God’s sake.”
“You don’t?”
“It’s a real pain, if you ask me.”
Interesting choice of words, Charley thought. “Do you like pain?”
“What?”
“Do you like inflicting pain?” Charley clarified.
“No. Of course not.”
“It wouldn’t be all that abnormal though, given your upbringing.”
“It wouldn’t be abnormal?” Jill sputtered.
“A psychiatrist might argue the fact that being brutalized as a child led you to brutalize others,” she said, proferring Dr. Norman’s assessment.
“Might he now?”
“How would you explain what happened to those children? How would you explain the bite marks and the cigarette burns, the sexual assaults and the…”
Jill covered her ears with her hands. “Stop it. Stop it.”
“Tammy and the twins were tortured before they were killed. They were suffocated with plastic bags, their dying screams recorded on a tape recorder found in your bedroom. Your voice was on those tapes. Your DNA was on their bodies.”
“There are reasons….”
“Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Then what am I doing here?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then help me to understand.”
“It wasn’t my idea. I never wanted to hurt those children. I loved them.”
“Whose idea was it?”
Jill bit down on her lower lip, her eyes moving from Charley to Alex, then back to Charley. She pulled at her hair, fidgeted in her seat, buried her face in her hands. “It was Jack’s,” she said finally.
Charley inched forward in her chair, tried not to look too eager. “Jack?”
“My boyfriend.”
“I thought Gary was your boyfriend.”
Jill giggled. “So did he.”
The giggle was unsettling. Was Jill playing with her? Charley wondered. “Jack who?”
Jill shook her head. “Jack Splat, could eat no fat…”
“I believe that’s Sprat,” Charley barked, in no mood to be toyed with.
“Yeah? Well, it should be Splat. You know, like when you squish a bug, and it goes splat!” Jill tossed her hair from one shoulder to the other with a flick of her head.
“Tell me about Jack,” Charley urged quietly.
Jill’s eyes got that dreamy, faraway look. A small smile played with the corners of her mouth. “He’s the best.”
Charley cocked her head to one side. Just like Bandit, she thought, as she waited for Jill to continue.
“And I don’t mean just that he’s good in bed. Which, of course, he is. He’s the best. He does this thing with his tongue that sends me into total spasms.”
Reflexively, Charley crossed one leg over the other. “I thought you didn’t like sex,” she interrupted, looking over at Alex, who was staring into his lap. Probably wishing he’d stayed in Palm Beach Gardens, Charley thought.
“I don’t. At least I didn’t. Until Jack.”
“What makes him so special? Aside from his tongue.” Charley uncrossed her legs, crossed them the other way.
“Everything. He’s sweet and smart and funny and considerate.” Jill shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s just different from any other guy I’ve ever met.”
“And it was this sweet, smart, funny, considerate guy’s idea to kidnap and murder three helpless children?” Charley asked before she could stop herself.
“You’re sounding very judgmental, Charley,” Jill chastised.
“Sorry. I’m just having a hard time reconciling the adjectives with the actions.”
“I don’t understand.”
You’re not the only one, Charley thought. “It was Jack’s idea to kidnap Tammy Barnet and Sara and Noah Starkey?”
“He said it would be fun.”
“Fun?”
“He said we’d take them on an adventure they’d never forget. I honestly never
thought…” Jill’s voice drifted off.
“Tell me what happened.”
Jill looked to Alex, her eyes questioning whether she should proceed. He nodded.
“I went over to Tammy’s. She was playing in her tree house in the backyard. I knew she played there every day. Her mother would watch her from the kitchen while she was getting dinner ready. So I snuck around the back of the house and I got her attention, and I put my fingers over my mouth, you know, telling her to ‘ssh,’ and waved her over, like it was supposed to be a big secret. And I told her to come with me, that we were gonna surprise her mother. And she got all excited and took my hand, and we got into Jack’s car, which was waiting around the corner, and away we went.”
Charley barely suppressed a shudder. “And you honestly never thought any harm would come to her?”
“I honestly didn’t.”
“What about Noah and Sara Starkey? You had to know what was going to happen to them.”
Jill stared into her lap. “Jack said it would be different.”
“But it wasn’t, was it?”
“No.”
“And you just went along with him. You helped him….”
“I did as I was told.”
“Why?” Charley asked, incredulously. The image of Gabe Lopez suddenly popped into her mind. “Did he have a gun to your head?”
“He didn’t need one.”
“What does that mean?”
“He had this power over me. It was like I had no choice. What’s that old nursery rhyme?” Jill asked. “Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down and broke his crown…”
No choice, Charley was thinking as she silently finished the rhyme.
And Jill came tumbling after.
CHAPTER 22
So what do you think? You really think there’s a Jack?” Charley asked Alex.
“I think there’s a guy. Whether or not his name is Jack, I couldn’t say.”
“She honestly never told you?”
Alex shook his head, lifted up his fork, and stabbed at his salad.