Compulsion

by Keith Ablow

  At 3:47 a.m. that window opened wide, letting in an icy wind that literally made me shiver. I sat up in bed, my mind snapping to full attention with a memory not from days or weeks before, but just hours. It was something I had seen in the main house, and it felt like a stray, abnormal laboratory result on a patient, one that tells you that a cancer long thought vanquished has been quietly invading deep into the bone, eating away at the marrow.

  A whole train of thoughts began moving through my mind. I stood, squinting into the darkness, starting to connect the dots in a very ugly picture. An almost unthinkable one. I started to pace. The thoughts came faster and faster, careening through the night. I felt nauseated and lightheaded.

  I did not return to bed until more than two hours had passed. I did not sleep at all. Because I was no longer convinced Darwin Bishop had killed little Brooke. I was growing more and more certain, in fact, that someone else had. Someone I had trusted. And for reasons that both saddened and sickened me.

  A cold sweat covered me. If I was right, that person was still stalking Tess, who was sleeping in her nursery, not fifty feet from my door.

  My mind raced until sunrise, refining a strategy to expose the killer. It was a strategy of psychological warfare designed to quickly strip away the person's emotional defenses, uncapping explosive rage. If it worked, whoever had taken Brooke's life would make an attempt on mine within the next twenty-four hours.

  Tuesday, July 23, 2002

  At 9:00 a.m. I called the Payne Whitney clinic and had the operator page Laura Mossberg. She answered a few minutes later.

  "It's Frank Clevenger," I told her. "I need your help."

  "Really," she said, that special, therapeutic kindness in her voice.

  "With the Bishop case," I said, to keep her off mine.

  "I thought the case was closed," she said. "I read about the father being arrested. I was shocked."

  "You just never know with people," I said.

  "You seem to," she said. "You never believed Billy was guilty."

  I sidestepped the compliment. "There's one loose end I still want to tie," I said. "For my own peace of mind."

  "What's that?" she asked. "Does it relate to the records I sent?"

  "Yes," I said. "And I wondered if you could get me a little more information from the family's medical records."

  "What is it that you need?" she said.

  "I'm hoping you might be able to find blood types for each member of the Bishop family, including all the children," I said. "Julia, the twins, and the boys."

  "That shouldn't be a problem," Mossberg said. "We have the surgical record from Mr. Bishop's vasectomy, his wife's obstetrical chart, and birth records for the little girls. I'm sure Billy and Garret were also blood-typed, given that they were adopted."

  "Excellent," I said.

  "I won't ask why you want the data," she said, her tone hinting that she really wanted to ask.

  "Well, I appreciate the help," I said. "I don't expect the information to change anything, but I'll certainly let you know if it does."

  She laughed at the way I had avoided her curiosity. "I'll always be interested to hear from you," she said.

  After we'd hung up, I walked back over to the main house. I wanted to start tightening the psychological vise on the Bishops.

  Luckily, I found everyone together, assembled in the kitchen for what were becoming routine family breakfasts. "Hey," Billy said, from his seat across from Garret at the breakfast nook. "Sleeping in these days?"

  Garret gave me a good-morning nod. I returned it.

  Julia was frying eggs. She didn't turn around.

  I glanced at Tess, playing with Teletubbies in her Pack 'N Play, then walked over to Julia. She was wearing tight, white tennis shorts that showed the outline of her thong. I gave her a slap on the ass, hard enough to be certain the boys wouldn't miss it. Before she could move out of the way, I kissed her neck. "God, you taste good," I said.

  She turned around, controlled rage burning on her face.

  I gently touched her cheek.

  The eggs sizzled.

  Julia cleared her throat. "Sleep well?" she said tightly.

  "Great. You?"

  "Yeah, great," she said. She glanced at Candace, who looked down and went back to cutting asparagus when I tried to make eye contact with her. It seemed pretty clear there had been a mother-daughter chat before I'd arrived.

  I stepped away from Julia and walked over to the breakfast nook. Billy slid over to make room for me. I sat down. "What's on tap for today, champ?" I asked him.

  "Not much," he said. "I was supposed to hang out with Jason." He shrugged. "That won't be happening."

  "I'm trying to convince him to go fishing," Garret said.

  "Where?" I said to Garret. "I'll give you guys a lift, if you want."

  "We don't need a ride," he said. "We can fish the stream. There's nothing big running in there, but it's fun, anyhow."

  I nudged Billy. "Why not give it a try?"

  He gave me a fake half-smile.

  I winked at him, nodded toward Julia, then got up and walked back over to her.

  She saw me coming this time. The expression on her face told me to keep my distance.

  I stopped a few feet from her. I held up one finger, mouthed, "I'm sorry," and saw her expression mellow slightly. "Forget those medical records," I whispered. "Forget the letter, too. I'll never bring them up again. No looking back."

  She searched my eyes for sincerity, nodded once, tentatively.

  I took another step toward her and took her hand gently in mine. I leaned and whispered into her ear. "Meet me at the cottage later."

  She looked toward the breakfast nook self-consciously.

  "I couldn't sleep last night," I whispered, even more quietly. "I couldn't stop thinking how much I wanted you."

  She blushed. "Cut it out," she said, catching her lower lip seductively between her teeth.

  "I'll be in the cottage," I said, raising my voice to a stage whisper. I backed away.

  Candace smiled knowingly at me.

  "I'm gonna take a quick walk," I said, looking at Billy and Garret. "Anyone up for it?"

  Billy looked down at his food.

  Garret stood up. "Sure," he said.

  "Catch the rest of you later," I said, and headed out with him.

  Garret and I hadn't gotten ten yards from the house when his bodyguard Pete appeared behind us. That was unusual. He and Garret had gotten sloppy and were rarely together on the property. I turned around. "We'll be fine," I called to Pete, waving him off.

  We started down a path that ran about two hundred yards, curving toward the ocean, then turning back on itself to form a kind of ellipse, with Candace's house at one apex and the horizon at the other. "Your mom seems a little better now," I said.

  "It's like I told you," he said. "She was testing you."

  "I've been thinking about that," I said.

  "What about it?"

  "Maybe I'm being tested in more than one way. This whole thing with Billy-the trouble with the Sandersons and killing that cat-could be a test, too. To see if I'll stick by him, by the whole family."

  "Could be," Garret said.

  "So I'm thinking I need to define my role here."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Like I think we should be a real family," I said, watching for his reaction. "That way Billy can look to me as a real father. He'll be able to count on me. You, too."

  Garret stopped walking and stared at me.

  We were still within throwing distance of the house. I set the jaws of the trap I was laying: "I'm going to ask your mom to marry me," I said.

  "Wow," he said. He looked confused. "Wow," he said again.

  "How would you feel about that?" I asked him.

  "Great," he said. He sounded like he meant it.

  "I know it would take some getting used to, for everyone," I said. "I haven't even mentioned the idea to your mother. But, suddenly, it seems obvious that it
's the right thing to do." I looked toward the ocean, a rippling blue-green blanket beneath the sun-soaked horizon. "I have to tell you, Garret, I've never felt the way I feel about her. When I'm with her, I feel complete. When I'm not with her, I want to be." I looked back at him. "Have you ever felt that way?"

  "I don't know," he said. "Maybe."

  "Then you haven't. You'd know for sure. It's the best feeling in the world," I said.

  He nodded.

  "You're leaving for Yale in a couple weeks?" I said. "Believe me, there'll be more than one coed who turns your head. I hope one of them moves you the way your mom moves me."

  "I guess I'll find out," he said.

  "And, I mean, there's another reason we should make it official: I don't feel good about-well, you know-sharing a room with your mom until we're married. Neither does she."

  Even Garret, at seventeen, recognized I had invited him across a boundary deeper than a World War II trench. "That's between you and her," he said.

  "We just want to be respectful," I said. I let a few seconds pass. "I'm thinking we should elope. I'm going to ask her to fly to Vegas with me-maybe leave tomorrow."

  "She isn't divorced yet," Garret said, grinning.

  "Nevada won't sweat the details," I said. "The paperwork will fall into place, eventually."

  "Sounds… amazing," he said.

  "Not a word to your mother," I said. I didn't mention keeping Billy out of the loop. I knew Garret would fill him in within the next five minutes. I wanted him to.

  "I guess I'll head back," Garret said. "Pretty amazing news."

  "I'll see you later?"

  "Later," he said.

  I watched him as he made his way toward the house. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Julia standing inside the picture window of the living room, staring at us. Then I sensed another pair of eyes on me, looked up, and caught a glimpse of Billy on the second-floor deck. He turned and walked back inside. When I looked at the picture window again, Julia was gone, too.

  I lingered where I stood until Garret disappeared through the front door. As he closed it behind him, I could imagine how the psychosexual tension would begin to rise inside Candace' s pristine island retreat, could almost see the flames of an emotional bonfire start to lick at the pristine window-panes.

  Dr. Mossberg called my cell phone from the medical records department of the Cornell Medical Center at 1:20 p.m. The data she had gleaned from the Bishops' charts supported my theory that Darwin Bishop, while a violent man, was probably not Brooke's murderer. It pointed directly, in fact, to the person I suspected. As I hung up, the weight of that fact weakened my knees. I had to breathe deeply and swallow hard to stop myself from vomiting.

  One of the darkest dramas imaginable had resulted in Brooke's death, and I had unwittingly played into it.

  I was still feeling shaky when someone knocked at the door to the cottage. I struggled to my feet and cautiously opened it. Billy, again.

  "You look like you've seen a ghost," he said.

  "I didn't eat yet," I said. "That's all."

  He walked past me and sat right down on the couch. "Garret told me about you and Mom," he said.

  As I expected. "Oh?" I said.

  "You're eloping?" he said. "Tomorrow?"

  "So long as your mother says yes," I said. "I haven't asked her yet." I walked over and sat at the other end of the couch.

  "She'll say yes," he said.

  "How do you know that?" I said.

  "She has trouble saying no," he said.

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning," he said, leaning toward me, "that not everyone around here is deaf, dumb, and blind."

  "I'm listening," I said.

  "I don't want to break your heart, but you're not the first guy she's hooked up with. Not even close." He paused, blinking nervously. "She doesn't stay interested very long. Okay?"

  Keep the pressure on, I told myself. "I can handle it," I said.

  "You'll ruin everything," he deadpanned. "She'll just freak out and leave you, and we'll never be able to live together."

  "You're overreacting," I said. "Everything will work out. People change."

  He tilted his head, squinted at me. "What are you trying to do here?" he said, studying my face. "Is this the real reason you wanted me out of the way, at that Riggs place? My mother has you that fucked up in the head that you need Garret off to Yale and me out on that funny farm?" He stood up. "You were never going to come through for me."

  "You have it all wrong," I said.

  "I can't believe I trusted you," he said, shaking his head.

  "You can always trust me."

  He walked out.

  I stood at the window of my cottage and watched him walk away, in the direction of the main house. Then I picked up the phone and dialed the home of Art Fields, director of the State Police crime laboratory in Boston.

  Fields confirmed that I had drawn a scientifically valid conclusion from the blood-typing data Laura Mossberg had provided me. That meant direct forensic evidence linked Brooke Bishop and her killer. Fields cautioned me that the evidence was still circumstantial, but allowed that it was powerful.

  I hung up, glanced at the clock. It was 1:29 p.m. All I needed to do was wait for Julia.

  Two o'clock came and went. So did 3:00 p.m. And 4:00. I started wondering whether my plan wasn't going to net me the quick result I had expected. But then, at four-fifteen, Julia finally called to me from just outside my door. I opened it to find her in a sheer, pale yellow sun dress. The shading of her nipples showed through the cloth. "No looking back," she said. "It's really a deal? The past is the past?"

  "Deal."

  "Cross your heart and hope to die?" she said.

  I stepped outside, pulled her into my arms, and kissed her. I felt myself getting hard as she pressed against me.

  "Let's go inside," she said.

  I shook my head and ran my hand up her thigh, raising her dress to her hip. My fingers moved under the hem. She was wearing no panties.

  "C'mon," she said, trying to wriggle away. "No public displays."

  I let her dress drop back into place, kissed her more deeply. "Take me somewhere outside again. Somewhere out of the way. I have a surprise for you."

  She glanced at my crotch. "You're giving it away."

  "You once mentioned a private place," I said.

  Julia smiled. "Okay," she said.

  She walked me past her mother's house, through the backyard, then onto a path that cut through a dense grove of trees. An enchanted little forest. About thirty feet inside, I stopped her and pushed her against one of the slim trunks. I ran both my hands up her legs and under her dress, moving my fingers along each side of her inner thighs, not stopping until I had slipped one finger deep inside her. She leaned to kiss me, but I leaned away. I dropped my hands, letting her dress fall into place. I stepped back. "Not here. Take me wherever we're going."

  Julia turned her face away from me. For a moment, she looked as though she might be angry. Then she grinned impishly. "Catch me," she said. She bolted down the path.

  I chased her. She was moving fast. I had to run almost full tilt to keep up. But even with the sound of my own feet hitting the ground, the wind whistling in my ears, I thought more than once that I could hear footsteps behind me. I hoped they weren't an illusion. If my plan was unfolding perfectly, then Julia and I were being followed, and the cauldron was really starting to boil.

  I had almost caught up with Julia when she ran into a clearing. A stream cut between two low hills, gurgling over its rocky bed. The air smelled of lavender. I stopped and watched her jog to the water's edge, then turn around, breathing heavily. Sun filtered through branches, painting her with ribbons of light.

  She untied the lace at the neck of her sun dress, pushed it off her shoulders, and let it slide to the ground. She was naked. And perfect. Eve before the Fall. Sinfully beautiful.

  I walked up to her, knowing in my gut that we were being watched, but also
knowing that I was in no immediate danger; the eavesdropper would never strike out at me with Julia present. He couldn't risk being discovered. It was time to bring his pathological jealousy to a fever pitch.

  I got down on one knee in front of Julia and forced myself to kiss the slopes of her abdomen, running my tongue into her navel, amazed I could still be excited by her, even with what she had done. I looked up, into her eyes, more luminous than ever. "I want you to marry me," I said. I moved my tongue to the top of her groin.

  "Frank," she said, closing her eyes. She took a deep breath and trembled as I moved my tongue even lower.

  I took hold of her wrists. I could feel her pulse racing. I stood up. "Marry me," I said again. I brushed my fingers along her cheek. I understood now that Julia was addicted to at least three things: sex, money, and glamour. I wanted to offer her a cocktail of all of them. "We charter a jet to fly us to Vegas tomorrow, get married, and spend the rest of the week in Paris. I already booked a suite at the Ritz. I want to spend my life with you."

  She ran her fingers over my lips. "I want that, too," she said. "I just…"

  "Just say yes," I said.

  She looked into my eyes. Several seconds passed. "Yes," she said. Then, without another word, she melted to her knees and unbuttoned my jeans.

  24

  Wednesday, July 24, 2002

  It was just after 1:00 a.m. I had turned out all the lights of the cottage at midnight. Only a hint of the crescent moon seeped through the slats of the window shutters.