by K. L. Murphy
Her lawyer placed a protective arm around her shoulder. “I don’t think this is necessary, Detective.”
Cancini shrugged. “What I’m getting at is my question from the other day, Mrs. Michael. Who did you call three times on the night your husband was murdered?” Every head turned in her direction. Mrs. Michael slumped down low in her chair, her lower lip quivering. “As I said, I went to Boston the other day. Is it possible you have another secret, Mrs. Michael, one even your husband didn’t know about?”
Chapter Forty-Nine
A HUSH FELL over the room. All eyes on her, Mrs. Michael pressed her lips together and shook her head.
Cancini stepped back. “You can’t answer, Mrs. Michael, or you won’t?” Behind him, Vandenberg breathed heavily. “Who did you call that night? We know the phone is in your name, but not in your possession. Why can’t you tell us?”
“The lady chooses not to answer,” Gerard said. She mouthed a thank-you to her lawyer.
Cancini shrugged. “Then I’ll tell you a story and you can listen.” Keeping his voice soft, he spoke to the widow as though she were the only one in the room. “Although you moved to Washington, you’ve maintained your Boston ties. In fact, you still have a bank account at a local branch there, a bank account in your name only and one I’m pretty sure your husband didn’t know anything about. Not only that, you’ve been making cash withdrawals from that account even after you moved, having the money wired to you at your office, never at home.” She looked down at her hands, twisting and twisting her fingers. “So, one has to wonder what all that cash was for? Naturally, we checked out all the usual possibilities. Alcohol? Drugs? Gambling? Nothing we could find. Then we discovered you have two cell phones on your personal account, but the second phone doesn’t belong to your husband or to you. An affair maybe?” Nora’s face reddened. “Mrs. Michael?” Cancini asked, but she turned away. He shrugged again. “You called your second cell phone three times on the night your husband was stabbed to death. Three times.”
Nora’s lawyer’s lips tightened. “Detective, harassing my client is unnecessary. Can we get to the point, please?”
“I’m glad you asked,” he said, his eyes sweeping over the man. “The rest of the story goes something like this.” He looked again at the widow. “Mrs. Michael, feel free to correct me at any time, but I’m reminded you brought me a piece of evidence, a threatening note that couldn’t be substantiated or traced. You claimed there was a connection between your brother’s hit-and-run and your husband’s murder. You successfully distracted more than one of my detectives, but there was no phantom killer targeting psychiatrists. Your brother’s death was an accident, fully investigated and corroborated by witnesses.” The widow flinched. “Then you came to me with the story about the violent patient and told me your husband was anxious and uptight, maybe even scared.” Vandenberg’s chin dropped and Mary Helen stifled another sob. Cancini continued, “This part was true but still only meant to distract me. This I understood, but what I couldn’t know at the time was the reason.” Cancini paused. “Tell me when I’m way off base.”
“Enough.” The lawyer took Nora by the elbow and pulled her to her feet. “Detective, I don’t see what any of this has to do with Dr. Michael’s murder. So what if Mrs. Michael used to be Sarah Somebody? So what if she keeps a bank account in Boston and takes out some cash? So what if she made some phone calls the night her husband was murdered? She gave you the note and information in good conscience. Mrs. Michael has been more than cooperative with you and this office.” He glared at Vandenberg. “We know who killed Dr. Michael. Why don’t you arrest him now and stop putting Mrs. Michael through this torture?”
Cancini smiled thinly. “Perhaps Mrs. Michael would like to tell us why all this is relevant. Maybe she would like to explain what she did with the money and why she didn’t want to move away from Boston and why she’s made so many trips back.” He waited, but still she said nothing. “No? Well, then, I’ll tell you what I think. Mrs. Michael has a lot of secrets and she has been hiding something for a very long time.” He paused again. “Actually, someone, for a long time.”
“No. No.” She clung to Gerard, eyes begging. “Please don’t.”
Cancini had to look away. His job wasn’t finished. “If Mrs. Michael won’t tell us, maybe Mrs. Vandenberg can.”
Mary Helen’s blond head snapped up. “Me? How? I didn’t know she was Dr. Michael’s wife. I didn’t even know she lived in Boston.”
Cancini pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped a few pages. “Mrs. Vandenberg, in January you took out one thousand dollars in money orders. In February, two thousand. By March, it was up to three. Shall I go on?”
White as a sheet, Mary Helen swayed. Vandenberg and the lawyers gaped at her, but no one with more interest than Nora Michael.
“At first,” Cancini said, “I thought maybe there was some conspiracy between the two of you, some passing of money I couldn’t understand. Why the cash withdrawals? I just didn’t get it.” He glanced at Mrs. Michael. “The second cell phone bothered me. Why call that phone three times that night? Who was on the other end of that phone? I was missing a key piece of evidence, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Then it came to me. Boston. There was someone else in Boston.” He looked from one woman to the other. “I think both of you know who I’m talking about.”
“Please,” Mrs. Michael begged. “Please, don’t.”
For a brief moment he felt sorry for her. Then he remembered she’d allowed this to happen. All this could be traced back to her and the secrets she was so determined to keep. Her reasons didn’t matter now. He was a homicide detective and there was no room for absolution or forgiveness or gray areas. The guilty had to be punished. That’s the way it had to be. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “It’s too late for that, Mrs. Michael. Your husband is dead and I think you need to tell the truth, the whole truth.”
Gerard moved in front of Mrs. Michael. “I’m advising my client to keep quiet at this time, at least until after we’ve been able to discuss these matters in private.”
Cancini ignored the attorney, speaking softly. “It’s over, Mrs. Michael. We’ve already picked her up. She’s in custody.”
Her legs gave out and she landed in a heap. The wail started low, a mournful moan that grew louder and louder. “No, no, no,” she repeated over and over, holding her arms close to her stomach, her body shaking with sobs. Mary Helen went to her and crouched down. She reached out a hand and rubbed her back in soothing circles.
George sprang to his feet. “What in God’s name is going on? Why is she so upset?” He whirled in his wife’s direction. His voice was strained, thin with fear. “Tell me, please. Who was picked up? Who are we talking about?”
Cancini opened his mouth to speak, but Mary Helen stopped him. She took Sarah’s hand and squeezed. Tears ran down her face, too, but she held her husband’s gaze. “I’m so sorry, George. I had no idea it would end up this way.” She took a deep breath. “It’s your daughter, George. Yours and Sarah’s.”
Chapter Fifty
VANDENBERG DOUBLED OVER as though he’d had the wind knocked out of him. His breath was ragged and his hands shook. Cancini took a step toward him, then backed away.
A pained expression crossed Mary Helen’s face. “She came to see me several months ago. She wanted money. God forgive me, I gave it to her.”
Still bent over, he raised his eyes to his wife’s. “Blackmail? My daughter was blackmailing you? Why?”
Mary Helen’s voice wavered and she glanced at Nora. Mrs. Michael nodded. “To keep the secret, but I think it was more than that. She wanted me to know what she thought of me.”
“That’s what the money orders were for? Blackmail money?” Vandenberg found his voice, his tone hard, bordering on cruel. “You paid her, kept me from my own daughter. It wasn’t enough that you and Sarah deceived me about
the accident. You hid my daughter from me!” He whipped around to Cancini “Why did you pick her up? When can I see her?”
Cancini put his notebook back in his pocket and took Vandenberg by the arm. He led the man back to his chair. He pulled up a chair beside him. “You can see her later, Mr. Vandenberg, but right now she’s being processed.” He paused. “We arrested her for the murder of Dr. Michael.”
“What? No, she couldn’t have. She wouldn’t have . . .” His voice trailed off. He pulled his broken arm in close and took deep breaths. “Why would she kill him?”
“She won’t say. In fact, she won’t speak at all without a lawyer. But I’ve got a feeling about it, Mr. Vandenberg. And I think Mrs. Michael might have a pretty good idea, too. You could call it revenge.”
Vandenberg’s mouth hung open. “Revenge? Against who? Dr. Michael?”
“No.” Cancini hesitated. How much more could the man take? “Against you. You and Mrs. Michael.”
“Why?”
There was no sound in the room other than Nora Michael’s sobs. The detective looked over at the large pane of glass. Captain Martin and the D.A. watched on the other side. They had their murderer. He was sure of that. Lauren Temple’s alibi had cracked once her boyfriend was threatened with a polygraph. Her adoptive parents, once located, were also cooperative, even telling the detective exactly when the girl had discovered her birth mother. The county social worker had filled him in on most of the rest. Smitty’s search of the girl’s apartment had turned up a key to Dr. Michael’s office. She’d conned the spare out of her mother, making a copy weeks earlier at a local hardware store. As an occasional patient of Dr. Michael’s, she learned the layout of the office. She studied his schedule, right down to knowing he’d work late with his wife out of town. Only Nora had been a problem. The daughter she’d given up needed her mother to suffer, insisting Nora call her at scheduled times that night, hinting at what she had done. They’d discovered the second cell phone in the girl’s car.
Vandenberg made it easy for the girl to frame him. Lauren had taken a part-time job with the same cleaning company that serviced several apartment buildings in D.C. It wouldn’t have been hard for the girl to pocket the knife while on the job. She’d quit the cleaning service three weeks earlier. The night of the murder, Vandenberg left his club and drove to the convenience mart. Based on the time lapse, Cancini suspected Vandenberg had passed out in the store lot. Lauren Temple already knew her father’s habits and haunts. After murdering Dr. Michael, she’d driven to the club, then followed him to the convenience mart. The detective suspected she’d been planning to plant the glasses on him, but that effort must have failed. Buying the convenience mart tape and sending it to the police proved to be just as useful. Although the police hadn’t recovered the glasses, they had motive and opportunity.
Framing her father hadn’t been enough. During his search, Smitty found a receipt for a rental car, a dark sedan, on the day Vandenberg was run off the road. Cancini didn’t want to speculate on her motive, preferring to believe she wanted to scare him, not kill him. If that was her intention, he guessed it worked.
Vandenberg looked over at Smitty. “I know who she is, don’t I? It’s the girl I saw that day, the one you said was one of Dr. Michael’s patients.” Smitty nodded. “I thought she looked so like my Elizabeth Grace.” He swung around. “What’s her name?”
Cancini’s eyes stung. Damn. “Lauren Temple.”
Vandenberg lips moved, mouthing her name in silence. Then, “I still don’t understand why she would do all this? Why would she kill Dr. Michael?”
“Because we hurt her. I hurt her.” Mrs. Michael stood now. Mary Helen stayed close by her side. “I gave her up for adoption. I thought it was the best thing to do at the time, but it was a terrible mistake. Terrible.” She took a deep breath. “Her childhood was, well, it wasn’t good. Her parents were awful, awful people.”
His brows creased. “How? Why?”
“She told me they beat her every day, used her, treated her like a dog.” Her voice grew stronger. “When she got older, they told her she was adopted. It was a double blow to her. She believed it wasn’t just the Temples who didn’t want her, but her real parents, too. Not long after that, she found me through the adoption agency, approached me for the first time. I was thrilled, so happy. I had never stopped thinking about her from the day she was born. Edmund and I didn’t have any children. He didn’t think he had the time for them and after everything he’d done for me, I couldn’t force them on him. I knew he wouldn’t change his mind.” The luminous eyes were sad, old beyond their years. “I had given her up before we met, and somehow, it became my secret, my special secret. I suppose that hurt her even more. And she . . .” The woman hesitated. “She wasn’t well by then. Angry all the time. They’d done that to her. Taken this innocent child and turned her into a bitter young girl. Demanding. She’d sometimes erupt into uncontrollable rages. It was my fault though—all my fault. We both knew it. I should have kept her. I wanted to make her better, show her I cared. I wanted her to know I would do anything for her. I didn’t know how much I would love her until it was too late.” Her voice cracked again. “But somehow, no matter what I did, it wasn’t enough.”
“But you must have told her about me. She knew enough to go to Mary Helen,” George said, face troubled. “Why my wife and not me? Why did she want so much money?”
“Because I made the mistake of telling her about us and our affair and you thinking I was dead—all of it. I was trying to explain why I’d given her up for adoption, explain how I’d tried to do what was right for everyone, and it all came out. The lies. The money. She thought we were all despicable. God knows she was right. I think she thought the least she could do was get her share of money out of it.” There was a brief pause. “She told me once she’d tracked you down and that she was glad I’d run away. Please forgive me, George, but she said you were a worthless drunk and she hated you even more than she hated me. There was so much anger in her.” She covered her mouth with her hands. Her shoulders rocked with quiet sobs.
A quiet fell over the room. Cancini glanced again at the glass behind him. The D.A. was waiting, and no doubt Martin had already chewed through a dozen toothpicks. Maybe he’d even scheduled the press. If he did, Cancini decided he would be sorely disappointed. “I think now would be a good time to take a few minutes. Smitty, could you bring in some coffee and some more water?”
During the break, Mary Helen sat with Mrs. Michael and her lawyer. Larry sipped water and tried to talk to his client. Vandenberg waved him away. He refused coffee and water, head bowed low. Hands in his lap, his body remained eerily still.
Fifteen minutes later, Cancini broke the spell. “Mrs. Michael, your daughter was the reason you didn’t want to move to Washington. Is that right?”
“Yes. I stayed in Boston as long as I could and went back whenever I could,” she said, her tone flat. “I gave her money even though I knew it could never make up for what I’d done. She needed me full-time. She needed a mother, but I didn’t know how at first. When she came to Washington, she became a patient of Edmund’s. She’d brag about it to me, imitating him, saying things to hurt me. I let her, believing I deserved it. But I wanted to keep Edmund out of it. Even after everything, she seemed to be getting worse. Her anger got more irrational and she sometimes made threats. I tried to stop it. I wanted to get her help, but she refused. I was letting her down again, but I didn’t know what else to do. I started to think she hated me as much as the Temples. Maybe more.” She clasped her hands together. “Please understand. It’s not her fault. It’s mine. I’m the reason this happened.”
Cancini disagreed. “She killed a man, Mrs. Michael. You didn’t do that, did you?”
Her wet eyes were wide. “Not in the way you mean.” Her lawyer shook his head, but she ignored him. “I did kill him though—in every other way. I lied to him. I
lied to my daughter. I lied to George. Don’t you see? It was me in the end. Not her.”
“You tried to protect her,” Vandenberg said, his voice tinged with admiration. “Even now. You guessed what she’d done and you protected her anyway.”
“I had to. She’s my daughter, my only child. Didn’t she deserve that at least? You don’t know how damaged she is, how hurt she’s been.” Her hands still clenched, she searched for the words. “I thought I could save her, that I could change her somehow with love and support.” Her eyes slid back to Cancini. “You think I did the wrong thing, but you don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s been like for her.” Her hand waved in the direction of the door. “This place will not help her. This is not the answer. She deserves a chance.”
“She’s right.” Vandenberg had come to his feet.
“I’m sorry. It doesn’t work that way.” He understood the horrors of the young lady’s childhood, probably better than anyone in the room, but they were wrong. Lauren Temple had taken a man’s life and that was a crime. His job had been to find her and arrest her. The rest was not up to him. This had gone on long enough. They had motive and opportunity, unknowingly confirmed by Mrs. Michael. Lauren Temple had stuck a knife in the back of her mother’s husband in a calculated and cold-blooded plan of revenge. He had his answers.
He looked around and saw a roomful of broken people. They’d all suffered and now, with the young woman in custody, it would not get easier. He nodded at the glass. “I think that’s it then. Thank you all for coming in. Mrs. Michael, we can have a car take you home if you’d like.”
Tears streaked her face. “I’d like to see her if I could.”
“I’m sorry. Like I said earlier, she’s being processed. We can call you later.” She collapsed against Mary Helen. “Mrs. Vandenberg, you and your husband can go back to Richmond. It’s over.”
“No,” George said, voice loud. “I’m not going anywhere.”