A Killer's Alibi (Philadelphia Legal)

by William L. Myers Jr.

  “But they didn’t,” says Susan.

  “It was awful. We were in an old station wagon as big as a boat. I was the driver. I pulled in front of the armored truck when it stopped for a bank pickup. We waited until the guards came out of the bank with the money sacks and opened the back doors of the truck. Bobby and the two other guys—Dylan and Jake—jumped out of our car with their guns drawn and ran to the back of the truck. The guards were supposed to put up their hands as soon as they saw the weapons, but one of them went for his own gun. One of our guys—Dylan, not Bobby—shot him dead, right through the head. The other guard stood there, begging them not to shoot him. Bobby was afraid Dylan would kill the man, so he shot the guard in the leg to put him down. Dylan and Jake grabbed the money bags, they ran back to the car, and I took off. We found out later that both men died.”

  Lois squeezes her eyes closed and pinches the bridge of her nose. She exhales loudly.

  Piper leans across the table, pushes her glass toward her. “Have some tea.”

  Susan asks, “How did you end up at the farm in Pennsylvania?”

  “That was a long and twisted ordeal. The draft was on, and a lot of our friends were skipping out to Canada. Some were staying in the States, though, under false identities. We knew people who could make fake IDs. Bobby’s draft number had already been called. He’d had an ID made, and even had one for me in case I wanted to go with him. We used those IDs and headed to the Midwest. We were there for almost a year. Then we decided to skip to Canada, after all. We lived in British Columbia, then Alberta, and then, when we were feeling a little safer, in Montreal, Quebec. But we got homesick. So Bobby got in touch with his fake-ID guys and had really good ones made. Two sets for each of us.”

  “Two sets?” Piper asks.

  “Lois Beal and Terri Petrini for me. Jason Dell and another name I can’t remember for Bobby.”

  “You go by Terri Petrini now,” Susan says.

  “Yes.”

  “When did you first contact your sister?”

  “Early on. I couldn’t bear the idea of talking to my parents, but I wanted to get word to my family that I was okay, while letting them know that they wouldn’t hear from me for a long time. Heather was older than me by five years, but we were close, so I reached out to her. Then, once Bobby and I decided to come back to the States, I called her again. That’s when I found out about her husband’s old family farm. She said Jeffrey was renting it out to tenants on a month-to-month basis and that he could give them notice and open it for Bobby and me. I know she got into a big row over it with Jeffrey, but he eventually relented.”

  There’s a rap at the door, and Lois jumps.

  Piper smiles. “Relax, I think I know who that is.”

  “There are more of you?”

  “Just one.”

  Piper walks to the front door and comes back with Tommy. She sees Lois staring, not knowing what to make of him.

  “Hello,” Tommy says solicitously, reaching out to shake Lois’s hand. “I’m Tommy McFarland. I just came in to use the restroom.”

  Lois points him down the hallway.

  “He looks rough,” Lois whispers.

  “I’m married to his brother,” Piper says. “He’s safe.”

  Tommy returns and heads for the front door again, but Lois calls after him. “You can stay, if you’d like. There’s iced tea.”

  Tommy takes a seat at the table, and they wait for Lois to bring him a glass from the kitchen. She hands it to him, and he pours from the pitcher as Lois continues.

  “So. I’ve told you how Megan Corbett came to be Lois Beal. I suppose it’s time to tell you about Darlene and Cindy Dowd. And that monster.”

  22

  SUNDAY, MAY 26, CONTINUED

  Mick and Gabrielle have been paddling a canoe around the lake for an hour when she tells him she’s getting tired. He paddles them back to the small beach behind the lodge, Gabby waving to the other boaters they pass. When they started, Mick was wearing a light jacket, but he’s taken it off. It’s almost 11:00, and the temperature is nearing seventy degrees, a little warmer than usual for the Poconos in late May. He gets out and pulls the canoe on shore, then lifts Gabby so her feet won’t get wet.

  They’re walking to the lodge when he hears a chopping sound in the air.

  “Look, Daddy!” Gabby says.

  He follows her gaze to a white helicopter slowly lowering onto a helipad that he hadn’t noticed before. Rachel and some men are positioned near the helipad, waiting. He and Gabby stand together and watch the chopper as it touches down. The blades slow and then stop, and then a rear door on the pilot’s side opens up. A young woman exits first, followed by a very old man so thin and frail he looks to Mick like he could be blown over by a mild wind. The woman is tall and athletically trim, with long legs and long reddish-brown hair. She’s wearing jeans and high boots and a jean jacket over a light sweater. Something about her long legs and the way she moves reminds him of a doe. He wonders about her eyes, which are hidden behind sunglasses.

  Rachel hugs the old man, then turns to the young woman. They embrace.

  “Christina,” he says, wondering how long it’s been since she and her mother have seen each other.

  “Christina?” Gabby repeats.

  “I think that’s her name.”

  He watches as Rachel, Christina, and the old man walk arm in arm from the helipad toward the far side of the building. Behind them, two men carry Christina’s and the old man’s luggage.

  “Come on.” He takes Gabrielle’s hand and guides her to the path on the other side of the building. They walk around front, where he’s surprised to find a baseball game in progress on the great lawn. There are bases and a backstop, even a pitcher’s mound. The players aren’t wearing uniforms, only jeans and T-shirts. The batter hits the ball solidly, the aluminum bat cracking its hollow twang, and he hears people shouting and clapping. He turns to the porch and sees twenty or more people sitting around tables, watching the game. Gabby tells him she wants to watch, too, and they make their way to the porch and take seats at a small table.

  It’s surreal to be watching a baseball game played by a pack of arm-breakers, number-runners, and hit men. Thirty of them, at least. Some are standing in the field, and others await their turn at bat on folding chairs set up as benches. More are standing around watching. What strikes him is that most of them aren’t playing like they’re having fun. There’s no joking around. No clapping or smack talk or whistling. They look like men carrying out a work assignment. He scans the porch, wondering if anyone else has picked up on it. If they have, they’re not showing it.

  After two innings, Gabby tells him she’s bored. They set off looking for a soccer ball and net. They ask the woman at the reception desk—not the same person as when they checked in last night, but also young and attractive—and she says she’ll find out. She calls someone on the phone, has a short conversation, and hangs up.

  “The baseball game will be over in about thirty minutes. They’ll clear away the bases and chairs and set up a net for you. Do you need more than one soccer ball?”

  He tells her one should be enough and asks for directions to the walking paths in the woods.

  She pulls out a paper map of the grounds. “Some of the trails continue beyond our property. You’ll know you’re getting close because we have yellow stripes painted on the trees at our boundary lines. Don’t go beyond those trees.” She smiles and keeps her voice light, but he sees a warning in her eyes.

  It’s all a big show, he thinks. The baseball, the leisurely canoeing, everyone seeming so happy. But who is the show for?

  He thanks the receptionist, and they walk out to the trails. These begin as gravel, then turn to chipped wood, then to dirt and rock. They spot some deer and even come across a turtle making his way across the trail. Gabby lifts the turtle and gently places it under some foliage, and they move on. He’s enjoying the air and the woods and forgets for a moment why they’re there.

/>   “Is it thirty minutes yet?” Gabby asks.

  “You’re not having fun?”

  “I need to practice.”

  When they get back to the great lawn, a net has been set up. Soccer balls are lying nearby. Elsewhere on the lawn, children are hitting cricket balls, throwing horseshoes, or just running around, their parents standing by.

  “Defend the net,” Gabby says. “If you can.”

  Mick positions himself in front of the net as Gabby dribbles for a few minutes, then starts practicing her attack. She starts from the center, then moves to the side for her attacks. He reaches, lunges, and dives, but he’s no match for her speed. She gets the ball past him almost every time. He gets up from a dive, huffing and puffing.

  He dusts himself off and hears, “You’ll never get better doing that.”

  It’s a woman’s voice. He looks up to see Christina Nunzio, now in tight-fitting workout gear and bright-yellow sneakers, walking toward them.

  “Attacking is the most fun,” Christina says to Gabby. “But you need to spend time on your footwork.”

  Close up, Mick is surprised by Christina’s striking beauty. Her wide-set almond eyes are a deep, liquid brown. She has generous lips and olive skin like her mother, but her cheekbones are higher, her jaw line sharper. She’s the type he’d expect to strike an attitude, like a runway model, but her smile is mild and open—disarmingly so.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. McFarland,” she says. “My mother pointed you out to me.” She turns to Gabby. “And our young soccer star here must be Gabrielle.”

  Gabby smiles shyly, nods. “I like Gabby.”

  “Then I shall call you Gabby.” Christina picks up the ball. “Want to do some drills?”

  Gabby says yes, and Christina backs up a few steps. “One bounce and return,” she says, tossing the ball to Gabby, letting it hit the ground once before it reaches her. Gabby kicks the ball back to Christina. They repeat the drill a few more times.

  “Okay, no bounce,” Christina says, tossing the ball directly at Gabby’s right foot. Gabby kicks the ball back to Christina, who tosses the ball again.

  Mick watches as Christina runs Gabby through more iterations of the drill, having Gabby knee the ball before kicking it back, then feint left and right before kicking it back. As they’re doing this, a man brings Christina a half dozen yellow cones. Christina positions the cones in a straight line and has Gabby dribble a ball from one end to the other, circling the cones as she does so. She has Gabrielle repeat this drill a number of times, then positions herself about ten yards from the net.

  “Now see if you can dribble it past me.”

  Gabby tries, but Christina effortlessly steals the ball from her, turns, and kicks it into the center of the net. Again and again, Gabby tries to dribble past Christina, but every time, Christina steals the ball from her with almost casual effort.

  “Your footwork’s amazing,” Mick says.

  “It’s been so long. I forgot how much I loved the game.” Christina turns back to Gabby, who looks at her with awe. “Okay, now you can have some fun. I’ll defend the net. You attack.”

  The first few times, Gabby fails to get the ball past Christina, who tells her not to lean over the ball. Gabby kicks again, and this time, the ball sails past Christina’s extended arm and into the upper-right corner of the net.

  “I did it!” Gabby beams, turning to Mick and pumping her fist.

  He and Christina laugh at Gabby’s showboating.

  Mick watches as Christina lets Gabby attack the net a few times. He sees a resemblance in them. Not so much in their physical appearance, but in their open earnestness and determination, and in their obvious love of the game. He can envision Gabby growing up to be like Christina Nunzio.

  He hears someone approaching and turns his head to see Rachel.

  “It’s nice to see my daughter smile again,” she says.

  Mick returns his gaze to Christina. Despite her genial demeanor, he knows how badly she must be hurting. He admires her for her strength.

  They watch their daughters play awhile longer, then Christina ends the practice, and she and Gabby walk up to them.

  “You’re really good,” Gabby says to Christina once they’re all together.

  “I played a little in college,” she answers.

  “She was captain of the team,” Mick says.

  “Because I worked hard,” she says to Gabby. “And that’s the lesson. If you want to be the best, you have to work harder than everyone else. Work harder”—she turns to her mother—“and be smarter.”

  Mick thanks Christina, then walks toward the lodge with Gabby. He glances back, trying to reconcile the two versions of Christina Nunzio. The Queen of Clubs party girl versus the overachieving college student and athlete getting all As, even while president of her sorority.

  What happened to you, Christina?

  “I knew Darlene since the day she was born,” Lois says. “Bobby and I had been living on the farm thirteen years by then, and I had just turned thirty-four. Cindy and I were close, and she turned to me for help with Darlene—which I was more than eager to give. Bobby and I decided not to have children of our own. We couldn’t bear the thought of one day being hauled away in front of our children.”

  Piper sits across the small table from Lois Beal, born Megan Corbett and now using the name Terri Petrini. Reliving her involvement in the armored-truck robbery and her years on the lam was clearly exhausting for Lois, so Piper suggested they break for a few minutes. She, Tommy, and Susan walked outside to discuss what Lois had told them.

  “The killings weren’t planned,” Piper said to Susan, who still insisted that they needed to call the authorities. “And Lois didn’t hurt anyone. She wasn’t even armed. She was just the driver.”

  “If I had a dime for every time I heard some defendant make the same argument when I was a prosecutor—”

  “It was fifty years ago!”

  “All right. Let’s go easy,” Tommy interceded. “Even if we think the feds need to be called, there’s no need to drop a dime on Lois right now. Let’s hear what she has to say about Darlene. Then we can go back home and roundtable this.”

  Piper understands that Susan was a federal prosecutor, but she’s been a defense attorney for eight years now. So why, Piper wonders, is she so eager to turn someone over to the authorities? Mick says Susan has always been a stickler when it comes to legal ethics, and she would certainly blow a gasket if she ever found out how Mick had used her in the Hanson trial to suborn Piper’s perjury. But is a fifty-year-old crime a reason to destroy someone’s life?

  Lois begins leading up to what happened to Darlene Dowd’s father.

  “Darlene was the sweetest girl,” Lois says. “She spent a lot of time at my house when she was little. But when she got to be a teenager, she didn’t come by as much. When she did, she seemed remote. Moody. I chalked it up to adolescence. Cindy never told me differently—until after the killing.”

  “Tell us about Cindy and Lester,” Susan says.

  “Cindy was younger than me, by more than a decade. She was a good woman, and smart, but no education to speak of. She was raised in Appalachia, and some of the stories she told me about her life growing up . . . you’d think she was describing the third world. I’m talking poor, and I don’t mean city poor, where everyone has a car and a color TV. I mean poor as in your house doesn’t have heat or running water. She was always terrified of ending up back there. That’s one of the reasons, probably the main reason, she never stood up to Lester.”

  “How did she end up with him?” Piper asks.

  “Lester was an army buddy of Cindy’s brother. After they both returned from service, Lester came to visit the brother, share stories, drink, look for trouble. The fact that Lester thought he’d find more fun in Appalachia than at home tells me that where he came from must’ve been god-awful. He was always complaining to Cindy about what a bastard his daddy was. And his uncles, and his brothers, and even his moth
er. But he never gave her any details.

  “Anyway, Lester invited Cindy to come away with him, and she took the chance. For a few years, Lester worked odd jobs in the Carolinas, Virginia, and Maryland. Then he got injured in a car crash caused by the drunk son of a wealthy man with lots of insurance, and the settlement earned him enough money to move north and buy the small farm in Pennsylvania.”

  Lois looks away, and Piper can tell her mind is drifting. They sit quietly for a moment. Then Piper breaks the ice.

  “Are you ready to tell us about the night Lester Dowd was killed?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” Lois exhales, braces herself. “We had a big screened porch. When the weather was warm, I enjoyed sitting out there during the day, drinking iced tea and reading. Lots of times I’d sleep out there, too. I loved the sounds of the crickets and cicadas and bullfrogs at night, and in the morning, waking up to the birds.

  “Every now and then, once Darlene got a little older, I’d wake up on the porch and see her walking along the road toward her home. I asked Cindy about it. She said Darlene was one for the outdoors, that she loved sleeping under the stars. I asked why she didn’t just put up a tent on their farm. It didn’t seem safe for a teenager to spend the night alone in some field. But Cindy passed it off, not worried about Darlene’s safety. I thought there might be more to it, but I didn’t press. I wished I had once I found out about what her father had been doing to her. Maybe if I’d have pressed the issue, Cindy would have opened up to me.”

  “So you think she knew all along?” Susan asks.

  Lois sighs. “All along? I can’t say. But at some point, she figured it out. That was obvious from what she told me the morning of the killing. Even more obvious from what she told me later.”

  Piper sits up. Lois is about to share the secrets that will decide Darlene Dowd’s fate. “She told you different things at different times?”