I don’t want to die, Muriel thought. I don’t want to die.
Her long fingernails dug deep into the back of her assailant’s hands, and for a moment their grip loosened. Muriel pushed away the pillow and screamed. But then the pillow came back even more forcefully over her face. “You didn’t think I’d let you have him,” Jane hissed, her voice ragged and her tone vicious as she again clasped the pillow tightly over Muriel’s face. “Maybe they know I killed Betsy, but you won’t get a chance at him. He’s mine. He’s mine.”
Throughout the second floor, everyone heard the scream and felt utter disbelief.
Alex arrived first, wrestling with Jane and throwing her to the floor. As he turned on the light, he saw that Muriel’s face was blue. She was not breathing. He pulled her out of the bed, laid her on the floor, and began CPR.
As Robert Powell ran down the hall, Rod and the four graduates came rushing from the other direction. Wild-eyed Jane looked from one to the other of them and began to flee, still clutching the pillow.
“You?” Powell shouted and began to follow her. “It was you?”
Stumbling and gasping, Jane ran down the stairs and through the kitchen. Shoving the patio door aside, she ran into the darkness, not knowing where to go. She was beside the pool when Robert Powell grabbed her.
“It was you,” he said. “All this time it was you? For twenty years I have seen you every day and never suspected for one minute that you killed my Betsy.”
“I love you, Rob,” she moaned. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
“You can’t swim, can you? You’re afraid of water, aren’t you?” With a sudden motion, he shoved her into the pool, then buried her frantic pleas for help by shouting: “Jane, Jane, don’t be afraid, we’ll help you, Jane, we’ll help you. Where are you?”
When he was sure that she was sinking, he continued running past the pool house and down the driveway until, exhausted, he sank onto the ground. That was where he was found when a squad car came roaring around the driveway. A policeman knelt beside him. “It’s all right, Mr. Powell, it’s all right. Do you know which way she went?”
“No.” Robert Powell’s breathing was labored, his complexion ghastly white. Just then the outdoor lights burst on, and every corner of the grounds became visible. “Maybe the pool house,” he breathed. “Maybe she’s hiding in there.”
Sirens screaming, other squad cars began racing down the driveway. Ed Penn was in one of them.
“Look in the pool house,” the policeman with Powell shouted.
One of the officers raced to the door of the pool house and was pushing it open when another cop shouted, “She’s down here.”
He was standing by the pool looking down. Jane, faceup, was lying at the bottom. Her eyes were open and her fists were closed as if she were still grasping the pillow. The officer dove into the pool and struggled to bring her to the surface. The other officers helped him drag her out of the pool and they positioned her on the ground. They pumped her chest and applied CPR. After several minutes they stopped their futile attempt to revive her.
• • •
Inside, Alex had managed to get Muriel’s heart beating. The graduates and Rod were standing motionless in the room. As Muriel fought her way back to consciousness, she moaned, “Rob, Rob.”
Nina’s hysterical laughter could be heard through the house.
93
Bruno stood on the sidewalk for a full fifteen minutes before Dave Cappo pulled up in the grounds van promptly at 8 A.M. Dave was bursting with excitement as they headed for the Powell estate.
“Did you hear everything that’s going on?” he asked.
“What’s that?” Bruno asked, saying to himself, I don’t care.
“Somebody tried to kill somebody at the Powell place last night.”
“What?”
“It was the housekeeper. She killed Powell’s wife twenty years ago,” Dave said breathlessly. “She tried to do it again to someone else last night, but she got caught in the act. She tried to get away and fell in the pool—turns out she couldn’t swim.”
Did they find Timmy? Bruno thought in terror.
“What do you think of that?” Dave was asking. “I mean, for twenty years those four graduates have been under suspicion, and it turns out none of them did it.”
“What’s happening up there now?” Bruno asked. If they found Timmy, I can have Dave take me home right now. I can say I don’t feel well. I can be out of this town in minutes. Timmy doesn’t know who picked him up. But they’ll come looking for me fast . . .
“Oh, just the usual stuff,” Dave said. “The medical examiner took away the body. From what I hear, the housekeeper was standing there holding the pillow over the face of the mother of one of the graduates. Her name is Muriel Craig. She’s an actress.”
Bruno knew he had to respond. “Oh, I’ve heard of her.” They haven’t searched the pool house, he thought. They wouldn’t have any reason to start searching now. I’m going to see it through.
Usually Dave dropped him off in the driveway. “I don’t know if they’ll let you in, but we can try. Then you can tell us everything that’s going on now.”
The car was stopped by a policeman. “I’ll have to check inside,” he said. He phoned and received the answer.
“Mr. Powell says to let him in. He can start working on the putting green that’s outside the area the police have roped off.”
Trying to look casual, Bruno got out of the car and walked slowly to the pool house. He passed the pool. The body was gone. He went in, closed the door, and rushed to the utility room. Timmy was awake. He was squirming on the mound of blankets. Tears were running down his cheeks. Bruno knelt beside him. “Don’t cry, Timmy,” he said. “Mommy’s coming soon. I’m going to give you some cereal and let you go to the bathroom. Then Mommy will take you to see Grandpa. Is that okay?”
Timmy nodded.
“Now you have to promise me that you won’t try to call out when I let you eat. Is that a promise?”
Timmy nodded his head again.
There was a small bathroom off the utility room for the use of any of the grounds help. Bruno carried Timmy into it and stood with him over the toilet. “Let it go,” he said. It’ll be your last time, he thought.
He placed Timmy back on the blankets, went into the kitchen, and brought out Cheerios, milk, and orange juice.
“I’m going to pull down the gag,” he said. “I’ll let you eat, but make it fast.”
His eyes terrified, Timmy obeyed.
When he was finished, Bruno retied the gag, again being sure that it was not too tight. He pushed Timmy down on the blankets. “If you try to make any noise, no one will hear you,” he warned. “If you’re very, very quiet, I promise Mommy will come to pick you up.”
Bruno reached for a rake, carried it out of the utility room, closed the door, and locked it.
He went outside and began to poke at the grass around the putting green with the rake.
94
Before the police responded to the 911 call, Josh had rushed to Jane’s apartment, where he searched for and found the hidden jewelry George Curtis had given Betsy. Now it was securely in his pockets with no one the wiser. He had been surprised that Jane was the one who had killed Betsy, even though he had always suspected she was crazy about Mr. Rob.
At nine o’clock everyone who had stayed overnight came down for breakfast. They barely spoke to each other. The realization that they were now free of any suspicion that one of them had taken Betsy’s life was just beginning to sink in.
Muriel had refused to go to the hospital and stayed in bed until the medical examiner had left with Jane’s body. Her throat swollen, her voice husky, she had already begun to realize that now Robert was really alone, and he would know that she had lied to him about Nina’s confession. But on the other hand, she though
t, maybe he will understand that I lied because I love him so much. To that end, she finally got up, showered, carefully made up her face, and brushed her hair. When she was finished, she dressed in a light sweater, slacks, and sandals. She hoped the rapidly spreading bruises on her throat would show Rob how much she had endured for him.
Chief Ed Penn and other detectives had spent the hours after the incident individually questioning everyone in the house. All of their accounts were consistent. From all initial appearances, Jane had acted alone in trying to kill Muriel. From all initial appearances, Jane had accidentally fallen into the pool as she fled from the house.
Under these circumstances, he reluctantly agreed to the fervent request by Laurie and Alex to allow them to finish the program. “The investigation is not over,” he told them firmly. “Everyone will have to come in to give formal statements. But as long as no one tries to go into the roped-off areas, I’ll let you continue.”
In the den, Laurie and Alex were waiting to hold the final interview with Robert Powell.
The others had been invited in to watch. By then they were all packed and dressed, desperate to be away. Still hardly able to believe that the nightmare was over, they filed into the den and sat behind the cameras, waiting for Robert Powell.
95
Mark Garret, the camp director at Mountainside, stared incredulously at Toby Barber. “You mean you let Timmy Moran leave with a stranger last night?” he asked.
“His grandfather is dying. A policeman came for him,” Toby said defensively.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I did, sir. You didn’t answer your phone.”
With a sinking heart, Garret realized that Toby was right. He had taken off his jacket, and in the noise of the party could not have heard his cell phone ring.
I spoke to Leo Farley yesterday, he tried to reassure himself. He told me he was in the hospital.
But he also warned me that the person who killed Timmy’s father had threatened him and his mother. Suppose he was the one who picked up Timmy?
Desperately afraid, Garret picked up his phone. Leo Farley’s number was on his desk, ready to reach at any time in case a threat to Timmy materialized. He could only hope and pray that Leo Farley had indeed been in an emergency situation.
Farley answered on the first ring.
“Hello there, Mark,” he said. “How are you doing?”
Garret hesitated, then asked, “How are you feeling, Commissioner?”
“Oh, I’m okay now. In fact, I’m getting discharged this morning. I spoke to Timmy last night. He’s having a great time with you at the camp.”
There was nothing Mark Garret could do except blurt out, “Then you didn’t send a cop for him last night?”
It took seconds before Leo could absorb what he was hearing. His nightmare was happening. It could only be Blue Eyes who had taken Timmy.
“You mean despite all my warnings you let my grandson go away with a stranger? What did he look like?”
Garret asked Toby to describe the policeman.
In despair, Leo heard a description matching the one that elderly Margy Bless had given to the police five years ago of Greg’s murderer: below average height, kind of bulky-looking . . .
Leo asked, “Did he have blue eyes?”
“I asked Toby. He didn’t notice. He was very tired.”
“You fool!” he shouted as he broke the connection.
He ripped off the wires that were monitoring his heart. In his mind he could hear the words Blue Eyes had shouted to Timmy: “Tell your mother that she’s next. Then it’s your turn.”
Frantically he dialed Ed Penn’s phone. If he kept to his threat, Blue Eyes would kill Laurie first. He had to be heading for her now—and pray God, with Timmy still alive!
96
Robert Powell, haggard and worn but impeccably dressed in a shirt and tie and summer-weight jacket, quietly listened to the greeting from Alex. The graduates were stationed behind him.
“Mr. Powell, this is hardly the way I expected this program to end. Did you ever know or suspect that Jane Novak had murdered your wife?”
“Absolutely not,” Robert Powell said wearily. “I have always suspected that it was one of the graduates. I was not sure which one, and I wanted the answer. I wanted closure. I needed closure. I am not a well man; my days are numbered. I have just learned that in addition to my other medical problems, I have a fast-moving form of pancreatic cancer. Before too long, I will be joining my beloved Betsy in heaven or in hell.”
For an instant, there was silence.
“I am planning to leave five million dollars to each of the graduates. I know that, in different ways, Betsy and I have damaged each and every one of them.”
He turned to look at them, expecting expressions of gratitude.
Instead he stared at identical expressions of contempt and disgust.
97
“It’s time,” Bruno said. “We’re going to have you call Mommy.” He had put the shiny blue contact lenses back in his eyes.
Timmy looked up into the blue eyes that had haunted him for more than five years of his young life. “You shot my daddy,” he said.
“That’s right, Timmy, and let me tell you why. I didn’t want to be a criminal. I wanted to break away from the mob. I was only nineteen. I could have had a different life. But your hotshot grandfather caught me driving drunk. I begged him to let me go and told him that I was reporting to the army the next day. But he arrested me. Then the army wouldn’t take me, and I got back with the mob. I broke into a house, and the old lady in it had a heart attack when she saw me. She died. I got thirty years.”
Bruno’s face became contorted with anger. “I could have done anything. I can build computers. I can break into any computer or phone. I had figured out how to get even with Leo Farley. I was going to kill the people he loved—his son-in-law, his daughter, and you. I got your father, but they sent me back to prison on a stupid parole violation for another five years. Now you know, Timmy, and it’s time to call Mommy.”
• • •
Laurie and Alex watched as the graduates walked out of the room, leaving Robert Powell sitting alone. Silently Laurie nodded to the crew to pack up. There was nothing more to be said.
Alex felt the vibration of his phone ringing in his pocket. It was his office; the investigator he had assigned to find out about the landscaper.
“Alex.” His voice was urgent. “The landscaper you asked us to check out. He is not Bruno Hoffa. He’s Rusty Tillman, who served thirty years in prison. He got out five and a half years ago, a week before the doctor was shot. He went back to prison on a parole violation, and got out five months ago. We ran his picture—”
Alex dropped the phone. Unbelieving, he stared at Laurie. She had been about to step out onto the patio. He heard her phone ring as he frantically shouted, “Wait, Laurie!”
She was already out on the patio, her phone to her ear.
“Timmy, you’re not allowed to call me during the day,” she said. “What’s wrong, honey?” And then she looked up.
The pool house door was opening and Timmy, in his pajamas and robe, was coming out, hand in hand with the gardener. He was holding a rifle pointed at Timmy’s head.
With a shriek Laurie began to race across the lawn.
Chief Ed Penn was roaring toward the Powell estate. “Don’t turn on the sirens,” he warned his driver. “We don’t want to alert him. Tell all units to report to the Powell estate.”
The policeman in the squad car behind the estate had received the urgent message, had cut through the woods and was climbing the fence. Although a highly skilled marksman, Officer Ron Teski had never fired his weapon in the line of duty. As he sprinted toward the backyard, he realized this might be the day he had trained for. Blue Eyes dropped Timmy’s hand and, laughing, let him run to Laurie,
who was running toward them from eighty feet away.
The squad car carrying Ed Penn came racing around the circular driveway. Penn, his gun in hand, frantically took aim at Blue Eyes. The shot missed its mark.
By now Laurie had reached Timmy and was bending over to pick him up. Wanting to finish the task the way he had envisioned, Blue Eyes took aim at Laurie’s head. As he was about to fire, Officer Teski’s first shot cut into his shoulder. Spinning, Blue Eyes raised the rifle and tried to point it in Laurie’s direction. His finger was on the trigger as he felt an explosion rip through his chest.
Blue Eyes’ body fell to the ground accompanied by the sound of breaking glass. The bullet he had fired crashed through the window of the den where Robert Powell was still sitting. With a puzzled expression, Powell raised his hand to what remained of his forehead and then fell from the chair.
Seconds later, in a foreshadowing of what was to come, Alex Buckley was wrapping Laurie and Timmy in his arms.
Epilogue
Six months later, there was another reunion of the graduates—this time on a much happier note.
It was Alex who suggested they get together at his apartment on New Year’s Eve. The developments in their lives had been extraordinary, and he said it was time to share them.
They sat together and compared notes over cocktails while Ramon prepared dinner.
Claire had gone to a therapist, able at last to talk about what Robert Powell had done to her. “It wasn’t my fault,” she was now able to say with conviction. She had started to use makeup again and was quietly content to no longer conceal her resemblance to her mother. Now she sat, a very pretty woman, laughing with her old friends and telling them about her new social life.
Regina’s first action when she received the money from the Gala Reunion had been to return the commission Bridget Whiting had paid her. The real estate business had picked up, and a bigger home with an office attached was within her grasp. It gave her enormous pleasure to know that her ex-husband and his rock-star wife were in the midst of a bitter divorce. Zach spent almost all of his free time with her.
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