by Marti Green
Dani’s heart stopped. The mailman. The person who filled the mailbox standing next to their driveway with reams of catalogs; tons of bills; occasional greeting cards; and, once in a rare while, a letter from a faraway friend who still cherished the written document. Their mailman’s name was Joe. Every Christmas they gave him a card with a cash gift, thanking him for his dedicated service. If Dani were home when he delivered a package or a letter needing her signature, he’d greet her by name and ask how Jonah was doing. She suspected he knew more about their family than the neighbors next door just from sorting the mail sent to their house.
Was it possible? Trudy’s neighbor, Laura, said Sunshine had grown up in the house on Aspen Street. Could the same mailman who had known her as a child still be delivering mail to that block? Could he know where Sunshine was living? Dani quickly got off the phone with Doug and dialed Tommy.
“The mailman,” she practically shouted when he picked up. “We never tried the mailman.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Sunshine grew up on that street. If she sent her mother cards, you know, for her birthday or Christmas and put her return address on it, the mailman might know where she is.”
“Uh, Dani, you’re the lawyer, but aren’t there privacy laws about that? I mean, are mail deliverers allowed to look at the letters they deliver?”
“They’re people. And they have to look at what’s written on the envelope to deliver the mail. Isn’t it possible that he might have noticed where Sunshine’s mail came from? Or even her married name?”
“Do you realize how many homes are on each route? How many pieces of mail these guys deliver every day?”
Dani was too agitated to sit. The cord on the hotel phone wouldn’t let her walk far, but she paced as far as she could. “I know it’s a long shot. We have nothing else. Can you call the Bryon post office first thing in the morning?”
“Nobody’s going to talk to me on the phone. Even in person it’ll be a tough sell.”
Dani looked at her watch—9:20. There was no chance of Tommy’s getting a flight out tonight. Even if he could get on an early-morning flight, he’d arrive in Byron after the mailmen had left the post office. Waiting for the right one to return at the end of the day would make it impossible to follow up in time on any information they might get. “Try anyway, Tommy. Please.”
She heard a long sigh. “I’ll see what I can do. Just don’t get your hopes up.”
“You’re wrong, Tommy. I have to get my hopes up. It’s the only way I’ll get through the night.”
As soon as he got off the phone, Tommy turned to his wife. “This is so goddamn frustrating. We believe she’s out there but have no idea where.”
“Tell me what you’ve tried.”
Tommy ran through the list of avenues he’d searched. When he finished, Patty turned away from him and went into the kitchen.
“Hey, where’re you going?
“Be right back.” A minute later, she returned to the living room with a small book in her hand. “I couldn’t get by without my address book,” she said, a big smile on her face. “Everybody I’ve ever known is written down, with their phone number and address. I even keep a record of birthdays in here. I know the young people now all have their Blackberrys and such, but our generation? We like the old paper-and-pencil record.”
“Shit! I can’t believe I didn’t think about that. I’m losing my goddamn touch.”
“You have to go out there and check the house.”
“It’s all locked up, you know.”
“Tommy Noorland, I’ve heard enough of your stories from the FBI days to know that a locked door never stopped you.”
Tommy chuckled. Patty was right. He could be on the first flight out in the morning. Breaking into someone’s house in broad daylight wasn’t ideal, but he still remembered his skill with a pick. And if some neighbor called the cops, he’d already be inside and have had a chance to look for an address book. Besides, his credentials as former FBI and the reason for the break-in were bound to get him some professional courtesy, if it came to that.
He rushed to the computer and booked a 6:20 a.m. flight to Rochester. As he got ready for bed, his first flicker of optimism was tempered with the realization that someone did not want HIPP to find Sunshine and may have already killed to make sure of it.
He got to Trudy’s home at 10:15. The street was empty of people, but Tommy went around to the back door anyway. He slipped a pick out of his pocket, slid it into the small hole in the doorknob, and with three turns heard a click. He turned the knob and entered the kitchen of Trudy Harrington. It was bright enough outside, even with the windows covered in curtains, that he didn’t need to turn on any lights. Patty kept her address book in a kitchen drawer, and that’s where he began his search. “Try the drawer closest to the telephone,” she had told him. He scanned the room and saw an old-fashioned phone on the wall under a kitchen cabinet. The nearest drawer was filled with loose papers, a stapler, restaurant menus, and a plastic bag filled with business cards. He opened the next drawer. Sitting on top of an Olmsted County phone directory was a blue address book with a photo of a dog on the cover. Tommy grabbed it and, after saying a quick prayer under his breath, opened it. He turned to the “H” page, hoping Trudy had just crossed out Sunshine’s maiden name and written over it with her married name. No luck. He started at the beginning. As he turned the page from the A’s to the B’s, he caught his breath. Right at the top was Sunny Bergman. He stared at the page,
He couldn’t believe it. Sunny Bergman lived in Manhattan. Not only Manhattan but just a few blocks from the HIPP office. Quickly, he took out his phone and called Melanie. “I found her,” he said as soon as she answered the phone.
“Who?”
“Angelina. Or at least Sunshine Harrington.”
“How? Where?”
“I’ll explain the how later, but she’s in Manhattan on East 16th Street. You’ve got to get over to her apartment right away.”
“Oh my god! This means—”
“That’s right. This means we might be able to save him.”
CHAPTER
34
Eric was right. They’d needed a vacation, an escape from the city. Although it was only May, the heat had started to build, trapped by the tall buildings that surrounded the small island of Manhattan. It was the last weekend before the Hamptons officially opened to the hordes that descended on them from Memorial Day to Labor Day, and the beaches were blissfully empty. Sunny had been unsure when Eric told her of his friend Ken’s offer of his East Hampton home for the weekend. Her mother’s death remained ever present, a heaviness she carried with her every day. Eric had insisted, though, and she was happy he had. They drove out of the city Thursday afternoon and wouldn’t go back until Monday. The air smelled fresher here at the end of Long Island, and the weight of her mother’s death seemed lighter in the salty air. Even Eric seemed relaxed, more so than he’d been in weeks.
The ocean, which seemed to go on forever, was a new experience for Sunny. The house they were using, a three-bedroom home styled after a beach bungalow but filled with expensive furniture and knickknacks, was just steps away from it. The morning sun and the crash of the waves awakened Sunny early. Each morning while the others slept, she’d gone for a long walk along the water’s edge, picking up shells for Rachel along the way. Rachel loved playing in the sand, loved burying herself in it. She’d laugh when she tumbled over the sand castles she’d built. A digital camera hung around Sunny’s neck at all times, ready to capture photos of Rachel. She’d asked her mother once why there were no pictures of her from before her sixth birthday party. “They were lost during our move to this house,” her mother had answered. Now Sunny’s computer was filled with pictures of Rachel, and the full memory cards were locked away in a safe deposit box.
The weather had been glorious. Clou
dless sunshine every day. The ocean water still felt too cold for swimming, but she and Rachel had dipped their toes in the foamy surf.
They’d visited South Hampton and window-shopped in the expensive stores. Eric bought each of them matching T-shirts that read “Fabulous Hamptons.” They had lunch at a restaurant that claimed “World’s Best Hamburgers,” and Sunny thought they must be, they were so delicious. Eric was certain he’d spotted Paul McCartney ducking into a bakery, but Sunny thought it couldn’t have been him. They drove along the ocean roads gawking at the huge mansions. “We’ll live in one of those someday,” Eric said, and Sunny just laughed. Before going back to the house, they stopped for ice cream so creamy that it too must have been the world’s best.
Today, the last day before they had to return to the soot of Manhattan, they were going to the very tip of the island, to Montauk Point.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Sunny said to Eric. “Time for breakfast.”
Eric rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock—8:55. “Why’d you wake me?” he groaned. “I haven’t slept late in a lifetime. And I was having the nicest dream.”
“What about?”
Eric pulled Sunny onto the bed and put his arms around her, nuzzling his nose into her neck. “Let’s see. You were in it, of course. It couldn’t be a nice dream without you. We lived in a cozy cottage with a white picket fence around it and our very own swimming pond. And there was the most delicious odor of pancakes, blueberry pancakes, coming from the kitchen.”
Sunny punched him in the arm. “Silly, you smelled my pancakes. They’re waiting for you in the kitchen. Rachel already ate hers.”
After Eric finished breakfast, they headed along Montauk Highway to their destination. The two-lane road offering periodic glimpses of the ocean seemed worlds away from the congestion of Manhattan. For the first time, Sunny could see herself living in another place than Minnesota. She thought it would be lovely if Eric joined a practice in a seaside community. She and Rachel could take walks in the sand every day. They’d start a collection of seashells, all different colors and shapes. Eric could go deep-sea fishing on his days off. What a beautiful way to live.
Thirty minutes later they arrived at the Montauk lighthouse, sitting atop a bluff with the Atlantic Ocean on three sides. In the gift shop, Eric picked up a brochure. “Listen to this,” he said. “This is the oldest lighthouse in New York and the fourth-oldest active lighthouse in the entire United States. What do you think of that?”
“Wha’ ’ighthouse, Daddy?”
“See those boats out in the water? Well, it’s hard for their captains to see at night, so there’s a light at the top of this tower and it flashes every five seconds. That helps the captains see where they’re going and steer their boats.”
“I wanna see ’ight.”
“We’ll walk all the way to the top and you’ll see it.”
They set off up the winding stairs. After just one flight, Rachel held up her arms to be carried. Once they reached the lookout point, the view was breathtaking. “I could stay here forever,” Sunny whispered to Eric. It had been a long time since she’d felt so happy, so carefree.
After a while, they made their way back down and drove to a petting farm. Rachel ran up and down the rows of baby animals. There were goats, sheep, rabbits, calves, turkeys, pigs, and beautifully colored peacocks. Sunny bought a baby bottle filled with milk for Rachel to feed to the goats. Rachel laughed gaily as a goat grabbed on to the nipple and hungrily emptied the contents.
Later, they stopped at a local market and bought food for a picnic. They set up a blanket on the beach and, while they ate their lunch, watched the seagulls swoop to the sand, looking for scraps. On the way back, they stopped to pick up porterhouse steaks for dinner. By the time they returned to the house, they were all spent. As Rachel lay down for her nap, so did her parents.
When Sunny awakened, Eric was no longer by her side. She got out of bed and followed the aroma of charcoal. “Mmm, that smells delicious,” she said as she stepped onto the deck, where Eric was grilling the steaks. “It reminds me of home. Dad used to barbecue almost every night during the warm weather.”
“Funny, it seems it’s always the dad that’s barbecuing.”
“I think there’s a gene somewhere on the Y chromosome that gives men a special talent for it,” she said and laughed.
“You’ve enjoyed this trip, haven’t you?”
“Oh, yes. I love being here. Rachel does too.”
“Maybe Ken will let us use it again after Labor Day. Or we could take a weekend and go down to the Jersey shore over the summer. How about that?”
“Sounds dreamy.” Everything about their stay out East had been dreamy. It had helped push away the nightmare of her mother’s death.
After dinner, they put Rachel to bed and sat on the deck, sipping wine in the cool night air. When she got up to stretch her legs, Eric pulled her onto his lap and kissed her, first softly, then hungrily. He led her into the bedroom and they lay down on the queen-size bed.
They undressed each other and then made love. It had been a long time since they’d last done so. Eric’s hours at the hospital and her tiredness from running after Rachel all day had conspired to keep them apart. Eric’s touch was gentle; he knew the spots to touch on her body to arouse her, and he expertly brought her to a climax.
Afterward, lying in Eric’s arms, Sunny felt her eyelids grow heavy. Before she drifted off to sleep, she realized how happy she was. She loved Eric, she loved Rachel, and she was loved in return. If only she had her mother, her life would be perfect.
CHAPTER
35
Thirteen Hours
Ten minutes after Tommy’s call, Melanie stood in front of the address she had for Sunshine Harrington Bergman. She rang the buzzer for her apartment but was met with silence. She waited outside for someone to leave the building, and when a man finally opened the locked door to the lobby, Melanie slipped inside. She took the elevator to the eighth floor and walked down the hallway to apartment 8-C. She pressed her thumb against the ringer and held it for two seconds. Still no response.
Melanie didn’t know whether Sunshine hadn’t heard the bell or was away. She didn’t have time to wait for the answer. Instead, she rang the bell at 8-D. For a long time she heard no response. Just as she was about to leave, she heard some shuffling inside and then the turning of several locks. A man standing at least six-four and weighing well over 250 pounds opened the door. “I know this sounds corny, but it really is a matter of life and death. Do you know if your neighbor next door is away from home?”
“You’re fucking waking me up to find some guy?”
Melanie looked at her watch. It was 11:40. “I’m sorry I disturbed you. And it’s not what you think. A man is hours away from execution and she’s the only person who can stop it.”
“Listen, lady. I just got to sleep two hours ago. I don’t care if it’s the fucking Queen of England that’s gonna die.” He slammed the door shut.
Melanie didn’t care if she woke up more people. She continued to knock on doors, beginning with 8-A, and worked her way down the row.
When she reached 8-F, a teenage girl with long brown hair and longer legs below her shorts opened the door. Melanie went into her standard opening, rote by now. “Sorry to bother you, miss, but I’m looking for Sunshine Bergman, who lives in 8-C.”
“Oh, sure. Sunny. I baby-sit Rachel sometimes.”
“You don’t happen to know where she might be, do you?”
“The whole family went away for the weekend. They might be back tonight, I think.”
Melanie stopped in her tracks. Each step of the way in this case, they seemed to come so close only to butt up against an obstacle. She turned back to the girl. “Do you have a cell-phone number for her? Or her husband?”
“Sure. I need it for when I baby-sit. You know, in case someth
ing happens.”
“Can you give it to me? It’s urgent that I reach her.”
The girl thought for a moment. “I…I don’t think I should. In fact, I’m not sure I should even be talking to you.”
As she started to close the door, Melanie stuck her foot inside to block it. She took out her HIPP identification and showed it to the girl. “What’s your name?”
“Leanne.”
“Okay, Leanne. There’s a man who’s going to be executed in thirteen hours for a crime he didn’t commit. I don’t know if Sunny Bergman here is the woman I’m looking for, but if she is, she’s the only one who can save his life. I’ve got to speak to her immediately.”
Leanne looked Melanie over. “I don’t know. I keep hearing about all these scams. How do I know you’re not some con artist? Or some kind of freak?”
Melanie’s heart did flip-flops in her chest. “Please, give me her phone number, I’m begging you.”
“I don’t know what to do. My mom would be furious for me to even be talking to you.”
Melanie kept her foot in the doorway. “How about this. Would you call her for me?”
Leanne hesitated. “Okay, I guess I can do that. Wait here while I get my phone.”
Moments later she came back holding a hot-pink cordless phone. She punched in some numbers and Melanie could hear the phone ring. When it was answered, Melanie heard static on the line.
“Sunny, it’s Leanne. There’s a woman here who says it’s urgent that she speak to you. Can I put her on the phone?”
Leanne handed the phone to Melanie. “Ms. Bergman, I’m with the Help Innocent Prisoners Project, and right now there’s a man who’s going to be executed in a few hours who’s innocent. We need your help.”
Through thick static, Melanie thought she heard her say, “Why me?”
“It’s too complicated for the phone. Where are you?”
Melanie could make out the words Long Island Expressway, traffic, and accident.