Requiem for Innocence

by BV Lawson

  Drayco had borrowed a chain-link fire escape ladder from the Lazy Crab. The hooked end fit neatly over the rim of the cistern that lay above ground, and he dropped the bottom part into the pit. After tugging on the ladder and putting weight on the first rung successfully, he deemed it safe. He tied a grappling hook to his waist, put the end of a flashlight in his mouth, and climbed down into the darkness.

  When he was on the bottom-most rung, he trained the flashlight across the bottom. Nothing interesting. Unless you counted the spiders climbing up the walls.

  “See anything?” Nelia’s head appeared above the ladder.

  “I thought you were checking books.”

  “And I thought you might need an extra hand.”

  Drayco took the flashlight in his hand. “You could catch this and shine it down for me. That’ll free up one paw.”

  She caught it expertly and trained it at his feet. He untied the grappling hook and dipped it into the tea-colored water. After several fruitless pickings, he was ready to call it quits when the hook caught something. He tugged at it, bringing it closer to the surface. Just as he could reach the hook, the snared object plopped into the water with a splash.

  “Damn. Almost had it.”

  “We can come back with some dredging gear.”

  “Let me give it one more try.” The hook sank into the water, and he dragged it along what felt like the true bottom of the cistern, hard and unmoving. The hook again grabbed an object in its arms, and Drayco slowly reeled it up. This time, when he reached toward it, he was able to grab it before it slipped off.

  When Drayco made it on terra firma, he and Nelia saw the object was a black plastic case, easy to miss in the cistern’s inky depths. Maybe intentionally easy to miss—Beth didn’t want the object found. The case had a sliding fastener they easily opened, revealing a book with a lock sealed in a blue plastic bag. A duplicate of the plastic bag that protected the ledger from Beth’s rundown shack.

  Drayco grabbed some fresh nitrile gloves from the trunk of his car before they took the items inside the house. Nelia said, “Since you did the dirty work, you get first crack, and I’ll continue with the other books. You can give me the highlights as you go along.”

  The diary was like Iris described, a lock-and-key olive green book, six by nine, without any other markings. Drayco headed toward Beth’s bedroom, where he saw some hairpins on one of his searches of Beth’s place, and used one to easily pick the diary’s lock.

  The entries dated back fourteen years, and Drayco skimmed through the first couple of years. When he got to the pages from twelve years ago, he read Beth’s writings more carefully.

  Unlike the terse entries in Beth’s ledger recording the details of the abortions, these were longer and sometimes rambling. Still, Beth was a good writer, setting down her thoughts in a style transcending the gossip in most diaries.

  This was more of a journal, an expression of Beth’s deepest emotions. Reading it was like melding into her soul. He was so engrossed in her world and the ultimate hell her life became, he almost forgot Nelia was there.

  She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “Must be interesting. I’ve been trying to get your attention.”

  He put the book down, marking his place. “Sorry. Did you find something?”

  “Some writing in the margins of this directory of obstetricians in the D.C. area. One doctor’s name is circled and next to it Beth wrote ‘This is the one. If you ever need the evidence, call him. He knows.’ Underneath that is a date for twelve years ago. You think it’s connected?”

  “I do. And I’d try to call that doc today if you can.”

  “What should I ask?”

  Drayco tapped on the diary. “Take this with you and show the sheriff. I’ve got the pertinent passages bookmarked.”

  “You’re not coming along?”

  “I’m going to pay a visit to another victim at the heart of this mess. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  55

  The grayish-plum Caddy was gone, which Drayco took as a good sign. He wouldn’t need the excuse he fabricated on the way over. After ringing the doorbell a few times and waiting several minutes, he was afraid he’d struck out until the door finally opened. Vesta Mae’s clothing was disheveled, unusual for her, and she was holding an ice pack in one hand. But she invited him in.

  “Another of my headaches. I was scheduled to be with my cousin all afternoon attending a wake for a childhood friend, but I had to cancel. And Winthrop is out somewhere. He left this morning. He’ll be surprised I’m still here.”

  Drayco was torn. It was one thing to cause her emotional pain, which his mission was guaranteed to do. Adding it on top of physical distress was cruel. But Virginia’s life wasn’t safe and timing critical.

  Vesta Mae sat on one of the sofas, and he sat opposite to watch her face closely.

  He said, “There’s no easy way to approach this. I’ll start by asking if you bought the gold locket Winthrop had Caleb Quintier sell to Tallent’s Antiques.”

  She managed a stiff nod. “It was a family heirloom. Winthrop has had money troubles, but the tiny amount he got for the watch isn’t going to help.” She pulled the locket out of her pocket and handed it to him. “He doesn’t know.”

  “It’s not the money that’s making you afraid to tell him, is it?”

  Her pinched eyes opened wide. “What do you mean?”

  “Winthrop found out recently the locket and watch were both items you’d handed to Beth twelve years ago to give to Virginia. Isn’t that right?”

  Vesta Mae didn’t say anything but put one hand up to her throat.

  “Presumably at the same time Arnold Sterling found Beth’s diary before she buried it and came to Winthrop for money. Bribery money. Beth’s diary didn’t mention the book of poetry signed ‘To Virginia, with all my love,’ which is why it was of little interest to Arnold or Winthrop. Did you give those three items to Beth directly or did you hide them on the baby somewhere?”

  Vesta Mae dropped her hand and made a primal, guttural cry as if choking, which soon grew into a full-throated wail as her whole body trembled. Drayco moved beside her and grasped her hand in his. The contact stopped the wailing, but she was still shaking as she turned toward him, tears running down her cheeks.

  Her words came out sounding more like sobs. “Winthrop is obsessed with money—having it, acquiring more, losing it. When his father threatened to disinherit him, he went insane. How else can you explain what he did?”

  “And you didn’t see any signs of this before your marriage?”

  “I was naive and foolish. The money didn’t matter, my family already had it. He was Prince Charming while we were dating. But he pressured me to get pregnant on our honeymoon night. It was clear I was to be a baby factory more than a wife.”

  “And it worked—at first?”

  “Winthrop had the idea his father didn’t want just any heir. He had to have a male heir, a healthy baby boy, in order for Winthrop to inherit the money. Knowing his father, he was probably right. We could have had more children, but Winthrop’s father had grown gravely ill. Winthrop was afraid he’d die before those other children were born.”

  “When did he come up with his solution? After the D.C. doctor gave you the bad news that your baby had a birth defect?”

  “We stopped going to that doctor afterward. Winthrop contacted Beth instead. He thought he might give away our baby, to get some poor single mother’s unwanted child to pass off as his own.”

  “Then he discovered Lucy Harston was due at the same time you were.”

  “He did. But Lucy was too poor to have an expensive obstetrician with the latest technology.”

  “And Beth had a husband who was on the verge of being killed unless his debts were paid off. How much did Winthrop give her, besides the free rent?”

  “A million. Enough to give the Sterlings breathing room, but not enough to make people suspicious. He also got Arnold Sterling a job.”<
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  Drayco kept a close eye on Vesta Mae, but her breathing was more regular. He said, “Beth must have been afraid to give the locket and watch to Lucy, but the poetry book was more generic. Except for your distinctive handwriting.”

  Vesta Mae held his hand tighter and smiled softly. “I would have loved her. I didn’t care if she was handicapped. I’ve followed her around, keeping an eye on her. Watching her grow up from a distance.”

  “And you came up with the name Virginia?”

  “If I had to give her up, I wanted the chance to name her. So I told Beth to plant the idea in Lucy’s head.”

  “And the boy, Jacob?”

  “I loved him like my own. Winthrop tolerated him. When your true love is money, it doesn’t leave room for much else in your heart.”

  “What about the twin, Jeremy?”

  She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She was shivering, and he wished he’d brought a coat. In a whispered voice, she asked, “How did you know?”

  “Beth kept a secret ledger and wrote that Lucy had twins. At first, I thought that meant your baby, Virginia, had a stillborn twin brother. But she meant Jeremy, Lucy’s natural-born child. That’s why she named them Jacob and Jeremy.”

  “It was a shock. As I said, Lucy didn’t have any prenatal ultrasounds, so none of us knew she was having twins. If both had lived, we would have raised them. Poor little Jeremy.” The tears started falling harder.

  Drayco pressed further and hated having to do it. “Did you know Arnold Sterling confronted Winthrop a year ago about the diary he found?”

  “I overheard Winthrop talking to Faris about it. Then, when I heard about Arnold’s death not too long after ...”

  “You thought Winthrop was involved.”

  “If he was capable of treating our baby like something less than human, an object to be traded, then I knew he was capable of anything. When I learned of Beth’s death, I panicked.”

  “When did you hear about the attacks on Virginia?”

  “A news report on the local radio station reported the incident at the pier. Winthrop never brings home any newspapers. I didn’t dare get any, myself. He didn’t like me listening to the radio, but I keep a small one hidden away.”

  The pain on her face didn’t come from any migraine. “It was Winthrop, wasn’t it? He wants to eliminate any chance Virginia might inherit the family fortune on her twenty-first birthday. Sometimes I wonder if he had a hand in Jacob’s death.”

  Drayco headed his questioning in another direction. “Didn’t you fear he’d kill you?”

  “Only if I told anyone the truth. That was before he found out about the diary.” Her voice grew bitter. “The main reason he hasn’t killed me is he still hopes my family will leave their money to me. Though they made it perfectly clear they won’t give me a dime as long as I’m married to him.”

  Drayco spied a wool throw blanket on a sofa in the adjacent study. He grabbed it and wrapped it around Vesta Mae’s shoulders. “I should leave while Winthrop is still out of the house. Will you be all right?”

  “I’m going to lie down now. Since I’m not supposed to be back until later tonight, he won’t discover me for a few hours. Leaving me in peace.”

  “Perhaps you should have that cousin come by and pick you up.”

  She pulled the blanket around her body, her tear-stained cheeks a roadmap of misery and indecision. “As long as I represent Mrs. Potential Money-bags to him, I should be fine.” She used the edge of the blanket to wipe the tears from her face and then closed her eyes.

  Drayco couldn’t decide if he should leave her like that when she bolted upright. “Virginia,” was all she said. As he caught her wild-eyed gaze, he knew they were both thinking along the same lines. “If they’ve tried before ...” her voice trailed off. “Winthrop didn’t say where he was going, and he usually does. Do you think he’d ...”

  Drayco jumped from his chair, pulled out his phone, and hurried toward the door, as he gave her one last look. “We’ll keep her safe, Mrs. Gatewood.”

  56

  Drayco tried to concentrate on his driving as he headed toward the sheriff’s office, but his mind kept turning to all the lost children. Jacob, who should have grown up with Lucy and Cole. Jeremy, who might have survived, had Lucy been given proper prenatal care. Add in the names of those young mothers in Beth’s ledger and the tragic choices they made, or in Iris Quintier’s case, the choices taken away, and the abortions, and what did you have? A tangled string of tragedies.

  Then there was Virginia, better off with Lucy than she would have been with Winthrop, but a lost child all the same—or more of a throwaway child, abandoned by one father, neglected by another.

  By now, he was sure Nelia had filled in the sheriff on the contents of Beth’s diary. And located the obstetrician who’d taken the initial ultrasound during Vesta Mae’s pregnancy. So when his cellphone rang, he expected to hear Sailor’s voice. It wasn’t the sheriff, it was Barry.

  “Is Virginia with you?” Barry asked.

  Drayco felt a cold sweat down his neck. There was one reason Barry would ask that question. “No, she’s not.”

  “I was supposed to pick her up from the gallery. She wasn’t there. Thought you’d gotten there first.”

  “Did you ask Martin Questa if he saw her leave?”

  Barry’s voice was subdued. “Didn’t occur to me. Think something’s happened to her?”

  “I’m going to check with Questa. I’ll call you back.” Drayco hung up and made it to the Art of Arts Gallery in what must be record time. He didn’t care if he got pulled over for speeding and half-wished he would. He didn’t have time to call the sheriff’s office right now.

  Running inside the gallery, he spied Martin Questa. “Was Virginia Harston here for her lesson, as usual?”

  Questa leaned on the counter. “Sure was. She’s not missed one yet.”

  “Is she still here?”

  “She left fifteen minutes ago, give or take.”

  “Did you see her get picked up?”

  Questa narrowed his eyes as he scanned Drayco’s face. “She said she was going outside to wait for her friend Barry. I didn’t see what happened after that.”

  “Any cars nearby?”

  “That same Caddy you asked me about before. What’s going on? Is something the matter?”

  Drayco took a deep breath. “I’m not sure.” He ran to his car and called first Lucy, then Maida. Neither had seen her.

  He was going to call Barry again, but the boy beat him to it. “Drayco, did you talk to Martin Questa?”

  “Virginia was here, she left, but he didn’t see who with. He did see a big grayish-purple Cadillac outside. I think I know who it belongs to.”

  Barry’s voice grew hard. “I do too. It belongs to the Gatewoods. Faris Usher usually works on their cars, but he brought that car in once for bodywork.” He paused, then said, “I’m going to check this out.”

  Drayco tried to interrupt him, “Barry, stay put, you hear me? Don’t do anything yet. Barry?”

  But the boy hung up.

  Drayco turned his car around and headed in the direction he’d come. Several scenarios were churning around in his brain, and it was hard to know which to follow. Virginia could have wheeled herself into another store, but that was unlikely. Or another friend picked her up? No, even less likely.

  If the worst had happened, and Gatewood were responsible—where would he have taken her? Should Drayco head to the pier, where Gatewood might try to finish his earlier failure? Too public. He’d most likely take her to a remote location or back to his home.

  Drayco was pinning his hopes on the latter. Vesta Mae did say Winthrop expected her to be gone all day and into the evening. He called the sheriff on the way and brought him up to speed. Sailor said he was going to muster his troops to start checking different battle fronts.

  Drayco mentally kicked himself he hadn’t been more insistent on Virginia keeping a lower profile. The trees flew past
on either side in a blur. Leonora's eight cylinders might not be fuel-efficient, but they could push past the other cars on the road as if they were standing still. He had his cellphone close by, hoping it would ring with news that Virginia had turned up, ice cream in hand, wondering what the fuss was about.

  The phone remained silent.

  The cars and buildings grew less frequent as he headed into the more remote stretches of the town until he neared the unmarked entrance road that led toward Gatewood’s place. As he arrived at the entrance itself, his heart stopped when he spied tendrils of smoke rising into the air.

  The car roared up the driveway heedless of the flowers he tried to avoid on his first trip, obliterating many of them. He barely took the time to turn the engine off while jumping out the door. A flash of red and blue on the corner of the lawn caught his attention—Barry’s car was already parked in front of Drayco’s. The boy’s speeding ways for once worked in his favor.

  Drayco saw something else ahead on the lawn, and he ran to the spot where Barry cradled a groggy Virginia. She was alive, coughing, with dark smudges on her face and clothes.

  Barry looked up at him, “She was lying here when I arrived. I don’t see her wheelchair, so I don’t know how she got here. Thought I saw Winthrop Gatewood, then he headed inside. But the house is done for.”

  The tongues of orange and yellow lapped at the upper windows as the black smoke grew thicker. Drayco started to ask if Barry had seen anyone else when they both heard a scream coming from inside. Drayco threw his cellphone to Barry and yelled, “Call 9-1-1 and tell them to hurry,” and dashed inside the house.

  The smoke was so thick on the bottom floor it was hard to see or breathe. He pulled his shirt up over his mouth and nose before heading up the stairs, keeping his head as low as possible. Vesta Mae told him earlier she was going to lie down in her bedroom. And Winthrop hadn’t expected her to be home.