Still chatting, Regan rose and took her coffee cup into the kitchen. She turned in the doorway and mouthed the words, Would you like a refill? to Nina, who shook her head to decline.
From the next room, Nina could hear scraps of Regan’s conversation. She and Mitch were obviously discussing various ways to prove or disprove the allegations made in the professor’s letter. Nina’s stomach was in knots. She stood up and went into the hall and grabbed her jacket from the newel post where Regan had laid it earlier. She slid her arms into the sleeves, and went out through the front door. Kicking through the leaves that had fallen from the lone oak tree behind the garage, she walked around the house and followed the walk down to the dock. She stood and watched the fog roll in from the bay, and tried to sort out her feelings.
On the one hand, what would it matter if Regan knew the truth? They were friends, weren’t they? Hadn’t they been friends long enough that something like this should make no difference in their relationship?
Nina tried to put herself in Regan’s place. Would she feel any differently about Regan if Josh Landry had been a killer instead of a talented writer?
Of course she would not. Why couldn’t she trust Regan to be as steadfast in her friendship?
She heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Regan coming toward her. Maybe she should just tell her, right now, and get it over with. All she had to do was open her mouth, and say . . .
“Hey, Mitch is going to run some of the info you gave me through his computers and see what he comes up with.” Regan was all smiles. “Oh, damn, look there. The moorings on the boat are coming loose. Could you give me a hand with the ropes, Nina? Good thing you came down here. I’d have hated to jump in to go chasing it across the bay.”
They struggled with the ropes for nearly twenty minutes. The water was choppy and rough and made it difficult for the two women to secure the boat. When they finally succeeded, Regan patted Nina on the back.
“Thanks so much. I’d have been here all afternoon if I’d been by myself. I think we deserve a little something warming after that. I say brandy by the fire is called for. What do you say?”
“I say that sounds perfect.” Nina nodded, and followed Regan back up the wooden walk.
“Did I tell you that Mitch and I have gone in with two friends to start a winery?” Regan was saying.
“No, I don’t think you did.”
“A friend of mine from college owned a farm she was going to sell, and on it there was an old vineyard. Well, she started seeing a friend of Mitch’s— actually, she needed a private investigator to look into some old murders for her—I’ll tell you that story over dinner, if you’re interested. Anyway, the PI started reading up about growing grapes and making wine, and the next thing we knew, the four of us had thrown in together to start this vineyard. Lavender Hill Wines, we’re calling it. Though of course, there’s no wine yet . . .”
Regan continued to chat all the way back to the house, much to Nina’s relief. There’d be time later, or tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, to tell her about the professor who’d been tried and convicted as the Stone River Rapist.
Seven
The smell of coffee brewing roused Nina shortly before seven the next morning. She rose up on one elbow in the double bed in Regan’s guest bedroom and looked out the window. A light rain was falling and a dense mist lay over the marsh. From far out on the bay, she could hear the faint chug-chug of an old boat motor and, closer by, the swish of restless reeds stirring in the wind. She stretched her arms over her head and threw back the blankets. Her hostess was obviously up and busy in the kitchen. She should join her. Ten minutes later, she did.
“I was wondering if you were a late sleeper,” Regan said when Nina came into the kitchen. “Coffee’s on, there’s a cup on the counter for you. Sweeteners are in the cupboard right behind you— there’s an assortment there. Half-and-half is in the little pitcher next to the coffeepot. Help yourself.”
“Thanks. It smells wonderful.” Nina smiled as she poured herself a cup.
“I wasn’t sure if you were a big breakfast person, a no-breakfast person, or somewhere in between. So I made French toast and sausage, because that’s my favorite and I almost never bother to make it for myself. If you’d rather have eggs, I’d be happy to—”
“No, no. French toast is perfect. I never bother to do this for myself, either. What a treat.” Nina sipped her delicious coffee and sniffed at the sausage cooking on the stove. “Thank you so much for going to so much trouble.”
“It’s really no trouble. I just don’t bother to take the time to eat this well when I’m by myself. It just seems a waste of time to make one or two slices of toast, one or two pieces of sausage. It’s easier to grab a granola bar with my coffee and get to work.” Regan looked up from the frying pan where she was cooking two pieces of golden French toast. “You know how it is when you live alone.”
“I do.” Nina nodded.
“If you’d like to help, you could set the table. The plates are in the cupboard to your left, the flatware in the drawer next to the sink.”
“Sure.”
Nina placed her cup on the counter and proceeded to set the table. Regan chatted about the weather, the winery, Mitch. It wasn’t until they’d sat at the table and started eating that Regan asked, “Did you sleep well?”
“Very well. Thanks.” Nina smiled and wondered if Regan knew she was lying through her teeth. All she could think about was how she was going to approach Regan with the truth about her father. She couldn’t very well say, So, Regan, you remember that professor we talked about last night—the one who was convicted of raping and murdering four students—did I mention that he was my father?
What did one say?
She needn’t have worried about how to broach the subject. Regan beat her to it.
“I didn’t sleep well at all,” Regan was saying as she helped herself to sausage. “I woke up at three this morning and could not fall back to sleep. Don’t you just hate when that happens?”
Nina nodded.
“So I came downstairs here, thinking I’d work a little. Turned on my computer, started tracking some research for the book you and I talked about when you were here the last time. I printed out a couple of articles, and was just about to turn off the computer when I started thinking about your story. Your professor.”
Nina stopped chewing, and set her fork quietly on the edge of her plate.
“Your father, Nina?” Regan asked gently.
“Yes.”
“You could have told me straight away.” When Nina started to protest, Regan assured her, “Of course I understand why that would have been hard for you. I’m not blaming you for not coming right out with it. I’m just saying, it would have been all right.”
“It’s something I never talk about. I’ve never told anyone about what happened in Stone River. No one.”
“You’ve never discussed it with anyone?” Regan’s eyes widened slightly.
“No one. How do you tell people that your father died a prisoner, after being convicted of such terrible things?”
“You were in college there at the time,” Regan stated. “The articles I found mentioned you only briefly, right after the time he was arrested, but I noticed there was no further mention of you throughout the proceedings.”
“I’d gone to live with my aunt—my mother’s sister—immediately after he was arrested. I hadn’t been back to Stone River until my stepmother died.”
“You didn’t keep in touch with her?”
“Not really.” Nina shrugged. “Birthdays and Christmases, she sent presents and cards, but I never reciprocated. I just wanted to excise that entire time of my life. I didn’t want any reminders. I just wanted to go on with my life.”
“And your aunt permitted you to do that?”
“She encouraged it.” Nina looked up and saw the look on Regan’s face. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. She didn’t like the fact that my fathe
r and mother had divorced, didn’t like the fact that my father remarried. Even after all those years, she still harbored resentment toward him, and toward Olivia. I think she believed that my father had had an affair with Olivia while he was still married to my mother. I don’t believe that was true. I don’t think my father even met Olivia until a long time after my parents were divorced, but I’ll never know for sure. My aunt believed what she wanted to believe. She was my mother’s older sister, and always felt very protective toward her. She was just as happy to have no contact with Olivia whatsoever.”
“And your father? Did you have any contact with him after his arrest?”
“Very little. We communicated only about my schooling and that sort of thing through his lawyer.” Nina sighed and looked out the window. “At the time, it was what I wanted. I can’t even begin to tell you how I felt during all that. I was shocked . . . horrified . . . humiliated . . . I can’t put all of my feelings into words. My father was always somewhat distant from me. We were never really close, you understand, but I never, never would have thought for one minute that he’d be capable of . . . all those horrible things he’d been accused of doing. He may have been remote from me, but I’d never seen him act mean or violent, ever. I just couldn’t believe it.”
“You felt betrayed by him.”
“Oh, yes. Totally.” Nina shook her head from side to side. “It’s one thing to understand that you and a parent aren’t particularly close, it’s something else entirely to find out that they have committed unspeakable crimes. You just want to run away and hide and never see them again.”
“And that’s what you did.”
“What would you have done?”
“I don’t know,” Regan answered honestly. “I’ve always had such a close relationship with my father, I can’t imagine how things could have been different. I’ve never been in the situation you were in. But I hope you don’t think I’m judging you, or your actions. I’m not. You did what was right for you at the time. No one has the right to second-guess that, all these years later.”
“And if he was innocent?”
“Then you’ll make your peace with him any way you can, in this life or in the next. But there’s a good chance he’d be more understanding of you than you’re giving him credit for.”
“I didn’t know him well enough to know how he’d react.”
“Then I would guess the blame lies with both of you on that score.” Regan leaned across the table and squeezed Nina’s arm. “Don’t beat yourself up, Nina.”
“What would you do? I mean, now. If you were me, what would you do?”
“I’d find out if he was telling the truth. I’d get my hands on every report, I’d talk to everyone I could find who was connected with the investigation. I’d look at the evidence upside down and sideways, and then I’d see if there was any chance that someone else had committed the murders.” Regan leaned back in her chair.
“Then that’s what I’ll do. I’ll go to the Stone River Police Department and I’ll ask for copies of all the reports. That’s step one, right?”
“Right. See what the evidence was against your father, let’s start with that. Then we’ll see if there’s any way that your stepmother could have been involved. He must have had a reason for writing that letter, Nina. Let’s see if we can find out what it was.”
“We?”
“Well, yeah. You don’t think I’d turn an amateur loose on a case like this, do you?” Regan smiled. “Now, there’s no time like the present. Let’s get dressed, and drive over to Stone River. I’d like to take a look at those reports myself . . .”
The Stone River Police Department was housed in an 1892 carriage house that had once belonged to the family that had settled the town and incorporated it. Recently renovated by the local historic society with a combination of public and private funds, the building also housed the small town library and a community room where various groups, from the civic association to the budding arts alliance, could meet. The building was white clapboard and had enough gingerbread to decorate a dozen homes on North Main Street.
“Way to intimidate the criminal element,” Regan commented as they walked under a heavily carved arch to get to the front door.
“I’m surprised no one’s planted climbing roses over the doorway.” Nina grinned. “But frankly, being brought into any police department in handcuffs—fancy arches or not—would intimidate me.”
Regan held the door and the two women entered the reception area.
“May I help you, ladies?” a uniformed officer asked from behind a large polished oak desk.
“We wanted to get some reports on an old case.” Nina spoke up, having been prodded from behind by Regan.
“How old?” the officer asked.
“Sixteen years,” Nina said without blinking, as Regan had instructed her.
Look him straight in the eye, and act as if you expect your request to be fulfilled, she’d told Nina.
“The name of the case?”
“The People of Maryland versus Stephen J. Madden,” Nina said.
“You a reporter?” A voice from behind startled both women.
“No,” Nina said as she turned around.
There was something vaguely familiar about the man who stood in the doorway. Dressed casually in Dockers and a sport jacket, he was tall and fair-haired, with broad shoulders and cynical pale blue eyes. Cop’s eyes, Regan told her later. Eyes that had seen just about everything.
“May I ask why you’re interested in that case?” he asked as he came closer.
“May I ask what business it is of yours?” Nina replied.
“Just curious, that’s all,” he told her.
“Detective Powell, you had a call from the medical examiner on the body that was fished out of the river over the weekend.” The uniformed officer handed the man in the sport jacket a note.
“Thanks.” He tucked the paper into his breast pocket and turned back to Nina. “Was there anything in particular you were looking for in regard to the Stone River Rapist?”
Nina noticeably flinched.
“We’d like to see all the files.” Regan stepped forward. “Actually, we’d like a copy of them.”
“You’d have to come back for that.” The uniform opened the top desk drawer and took out a slip of paper. He handed it to Nina, saying, “Just fill this out. Then, when we locate the files and have someone who has the time to copy them, we’ll give you a call.”
“We don’t mind doing the copy work ourselves,” Regan told him.
“We don’t hand over our files to the general public, ma’am. If you want the files copied, it has to be done by a member of the police department. Right now, we’re a little busy. But if you’ll fill out the form, we’ll call you when they’re ready, and you can come in with a check and pay for your copy.”
“It doesn’t look like I have much choice, does it?” Nina muttered and began to fill out the form.
“If there’s something in particular you need, I’ll be happy to help you if I can,” the detective told her.
“You have good photocopy skills?” Nina asked.
“Good as anyone else’s,” he told her. “But in this case I do have an advantage.”
“What’s that?” Nina asked.
“I was there,” he said.
“You were . . . ?”
“There when they arrested Stephen Madden, yes. There when they found his last two victims. So you can understand why I’d be curious as to why someone is taking a look at the case now, after all these years.”
“Stephen Madden was my father.” Nina’s chin rose just slightly, as if defying him to comment.
“I see.” He appeared to study her for a long moment. “I thought there was something familiar about you.”
She raised a questioning eyebrow.
“The day your father was arrested, you fainted in the lobby of the building that housed the English department.”
“I did.” She nodded slowly
. She’d all but forgotten. “How did you know that?”
“I’m the cop who caught you on the way down.”
Eight
Wes Powell had remained hidden behind his dark glasses for the long moment it took him to place Nina Madden. In retrospect, he realized that, in all likelihood, he’d not have recognized her as the panicked young woman who’d collapsed in his arms on that cold February afternoon in 1989. That girl had had long black hair, deep green eyes that had been filled with terror, and the look of innocence about to be lost. The woman who stood before him now wore an air of maturity, of authority. The hair was shorter, the innocence long gone, but the eyes were the same. Deep green, long black lashes, the panic replaced with a wariness. Looking at her now, he could see the young girl she’d been.
He had remembered her because that day was so strong in his memory. He’d been on the force for exactly ten days when the last victim of the Stone River Rapist had been found facedown in her bed in her tiny off-campus apartment. Hers had been the first dead body he’d gotten up close and personal with, and he’d never forgotten. Just as he’d never forgotten being in Celestine Hall when the detectives had led Dr. Stephen Madden through the lobby, hands cuffed behind his back.
Wes had thought at the time that he’d never seen anyone so defiant. In the years since, he’d not seen anyone who’d worn the mantle of guilt as completely as Professor Madden had that day.
And now, here was Madden’s daughter, the pretty young girl he’d reached out to catch as she crumbled to the floor.
An uneasy thought occurred to him.
“Any particular reason you’re wanting to look at those reports now?” Please God, don’t let her be taken with the notion that her old man might have been innocent.
Stephen Madden’s daughter exchanged a glance with the woman who accompanied her, then looked at Wes and said, “I’m thinking about writing a book about my father.”
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