The End of Her: A Novel

by Shari Lapena

  It will look bad to bring this up again, as if he hadn’t done his job the first time around. There’s been a lot of flak, recently, about the fact that coroners in Colorado are elected officials. Colorado is one of only sixteen US states that still elect coroners, the others having moved over to a system of qualified medical examiners. This will stir the pot, cause further scrutiny. It’s the coroner’s job to investigate deaths, to determine the cause of death and the manner of death—whether it be from natural causes, suicide, accident, or homicide. People will complain that he wasn’t qualified for the job. The press will give him a hounding. He feels a bit indignant. He relied on the Sheriff’s Office to investigate properly. The autopsy itself was performed by a qualified forensic pathologist. He didn’t have any of this information at the time to help him in his determination.

  There’s a new sheriff now, sitting right across from him, and he’s not afraid of past mistakes—he wasn’t there. He’s likely to want to fix them, to make his mark. Yancik needs to get out ahead of this.

  He knows the sheriff can undertake his own investigation, but the coroner can also decide to call an inquest, even this many years after the death. He can call witnesses, listen to evidence.

  “Maybe I should call an inquest,” Yancik says.

  “I think that’s a good idea,” the sheriff agrees. “Hear what people have to say under oath.”

  31

  Erica has booked a hotel room in downtown Denver for the night. After her visit to the sheriff in Creemore, she drives back to Denver and checks in. She’s tired after a long day of traveling coming off a night working, but she has one more thing she has to do before she flies back to New York in the morning.

  It’s not sentimentality that sends her to Washington Park, one of the nicest residential areas of Denver. This is where families with money live. Erica parks her car directly across from a beautifully remodeled brick home. She knows this house, although she’s never been inside. When she gave up her baby for adoption, the Mannings lived in another house, not quite as impressive as this one, in a less prosperous neighborhood. She’s kept tabs on them over the years; they moved into this house when Devin was a toddler.

  They’ve obviously done well for themselves. Erica is happy about that.

  She sits in her rental car and waits. She’d gotten a convertible for a reason; fortunately, it’s a nice day and she’s got the top down. It doesn’t look like anybody’s home—there’s no car in the driveway—but it’s nearly dinnertime, and she hopes to see someone soon.

  After almost an hour, a shiny white SUV pulls into the driveway. She watches Cheryl Manning get out of the driver’s side while Devin jumps out of the passenger side and sprints to the front door. It’s not the boy who holds Erica’s interest; she barely gives him a passing glance. No, she stares at Cheryl, willing her to look over at her. She’s rewarded—Cheryl glances up toward the street as she closes the car door, and freezes. She stares at Erica sitting in the open convertible. She gets a good look, while Devin calls to her impatiently to hurry up.

  Erica waves casually at Cheryl, starts the car, and drives away.

  * * *

  • • •

  CHERYL FEELS like she can’t breathe. There’s no doubt this time. That was Erica Voss, Devin’s birth mother. Sitting outside their house, wanting to be seen.

  “Mom,” Devin calls again, sounding frustrated.

  “I’m coming,” she says, so flustered that she’s dropped her keys into the depths of her large purse and has to search for them again as she walks to the front door. She finally finds them and puts the key in the lock. Her hands are unsteady.

  “Are you all right?” her son asks, looking at her curiously.

  “I’m fine,” she says, smiling at him.

  “You look weird,” he says.

  She turns away from him and heads for the kitchen. “Shall we order a pizza tonight?” she says with false cheerfulness. “Dad’ll be late.”

  “Sure.” He heads up to his room, leaving her alone in the kitchen with her disturbing thoughts.

  Cheryl lets herself collapse into one of the kitchen chairs. Her heart is beating furiously. So she wasn’t wrong. It probably was Erica that she’d seen at the park not that long ago, with a camera around her neck. Gary thought she’d imagined it, had soothed away her nerves.

  Why? Why is she here, after all this time?

  Her first thought is that Erica needs money. Soon she’ll be dropping by, like she did before, putting them in an uncomfortable position, giving them a choice. What will it be this time? And what will they do? Gary won’t like it, not one bit. But really, what can she do to them? She’s already given up all her legal rights to Devin.

  Then her thoughts turn darker. What if it isn’t money she wants? What if she wants a bigger role in Devin’s life? They have an open adoption; Erica had terminated all parental rights, and then had said she wanted no contact after all. But what if she’s changed her mind about the contact part? She knows who they are and where they live. They haven’t even told him he’s adopted yet.

  Devin is everything to her and Gary. They can’t let Erica mess with that. Cheryl gets up and pours herself a glass of white wine.

  Later that night, once Devin has gone to bed and Gary is finally home from a dinner meeting, Cheryl takes him down to the TV room in the basement and unloads all her fears. “I’m telling you, it was her!” Cheryl says to her husband.

  “Keep your voice down,” he tells her in a loud whisper.

  “I don’t think he can hear us down here,” Cheryl says in a more normal voice.

  “This isn’t good,” Gary says, looking worried. “I don’t trust her. I never have.”

  * * *

  • • •

  GARY MANNING has been very successful, partly because he’s smart and hardworking and partly because he can be quite ruthless—when he needs to be. He hadn’t liked it when this Erica Voss had come into their house and told them to pay her a hundred thousand dollars or she wouldn’t give them her baby. They could have told the agency what she was doing—but then she never would have let them have Devin. If it had been just him, he might have told her to get lost. He wanted the baby; on the other hand, he didn’t like being taken advantage of. But he’d taken one look at his wife, remembered everything she’d been through to get to this point, the years of frustration, anticipation, and pain—there was no question, it was all much harder on her than it was on him—and he gave in, just like that, and offered to write the woman a check.

  He’d been more worried than he cared to admit that she might back out of the deal after she got the money. He hadn’t liked it that she’d forced them to break the law—they would have no recourse if she double-crossed them. But he did it for Cheryl. And now . . . God, Devin is such a great kid, and they both love him to death. Devin is the best thing that ever happened to them. So he’s never regretted it, not one bit. Devin is theirs, he was meant to be theirs, and he will always be theirs. So he doesn’t know what this woman thinks she’s going to do.

  She has no legal rights to their son. And he doesn’t think she gives two figs about him or she would have shown up before now.

  He tries to tell Cheryl that she doesn’t need to worry; Erica’s not interested in her son. But he’s plenty worried.

  32

  When Patrick gets home from work he finds Stephanie pacing the living room. Her hair is a mess, and she looks more distressed than he has ever seen her. “Was Erica here?” he asks suddenly, with a sickening feeling.

  She looks at him, her eyes a little wild. “No. Why?”

  “You look upset,” he ventures.

  “Of course I’m upset!”

  “Have you been out today at all?” he asks, looking around the untidy house, the coffee mug on the floor, the fussing babies that smell like they need a change.

  She shakes he
r head. “No. I don’t want to run into her. I’m not going outside again in case she’s out there.”

  Patrick’s heart sinks. This is all his fault. His wife is in terrible distress, not herself, and he’s to blame. Erica leaving that gift for the twins on their doorstep seems to have pushed her over the edge. “Stephanie, you have to calm down.”

  “How can I calm down?” she asks, her voice rising. “Your ex-lover might be a psychopath and she’s trying to destroy us. I can’t leave the house because she might be waiting for me! I’m a prisoner in my own fucking house!”

  She looks back at him wildly; he’s never seen her like this. She’s completely losing it. “Honey,” he says, his voice breaking, “you just need to get some sleep.”

  “Yes, I need to get some sleep,” she agrees. “But that’s not going to make all of this go away, is it?”

  He looks back at her in alarm. He needs her on his side. He can’t do this alone.

  Suddenly she says, “Patrick, why did you marry me?”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  She repeats tearfully, her voice anguished, “Why did you marry me?”

  “Because I love you. I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, you know that! This—this is—you’re just overtired, Steph, you’re not thinking straight.”

  The twins begin to cry and the din is soon overwhelming. Uncharacteristically, Stephanie plants her hands firmly over both her ears as if she can’t stand it, tears spilling down her face. Patrick is appalled, utterly lost for a moment. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if she can’t cope. He can’t manage the babies on his own. He can’t manage any of this on his own.

  He approaches her, tries to take her in his arms, but she thrusts him off and backs away.

  “Erica said something to me when she was here.” But then she stops, as if checking herself.

  “What? What did she say?” Patrick cries.

  “She said, If you did it before, you could do it again.”

  Patrick feels a colossal rage surging in his chest. That bitch. That interfering, lying bitch. How dare she tell Stephanie lies and make his own wife doubt him? He swallows, almost choking on his fury. “Stephanie. I didn’t kill Lindsey on purpose. You must know that.” She stares back at him, looking as if she’s about to collapse. “You can’t believe anything she says.”

  “I know,” she says, sinking into the sofa and covering her face with her hands.

  * * *

  • • •

  LATER THAT NIGHT, while Stephanie is walking with a crying Emma in her arms, and Patrick carries Jackie in a different orbit, careful not to cross paths, she thinks back to what they said earlier that evening. She’d thrown at him, Why did you marry me? But what she hadn’t had the guts to say was, Did you marry me for my money? Because that’s the elephant in the room—the fact that neither of them has been willing to acknowledge. Only two months ago, Stephanie became the sole trustee of the trust that her parents left her when they died together in a car accident when she was a teenager. They’d left all their money to their only child, and she’d received all of it—worth over two million dollars—on her thirtieth birthday. No strings.

  This has been preying on her mind, along with everything else. The seed of doubt has been planted by Erica, has taken root. Patrick had collected the insurance money on his first wife. Of course, that in itself doesn’t mean anything. But now, with all these unwelcome revelations . . .

  She’s so tired it’s making her dizzy; she lurches on her feet. She feels fat and sloppy and unattractive, so full of doubts about herself. A mother who can’t even get her babies to go to sleep, as if she is defective somehow. She’s not sure of anything. She thought Patrick loved her. But might he have married her for her inheritance? They have no prenup. They both thought the idea was ridiculous—they were so in love, after all. But it’s a lot of money.

  If she dies, according to the wills she and Patrick made after they were married, Patrick gets everything. And there’s the life insurance—a million dollars.

  In these dark, strung out, hopeless hours, it makes her think.

  * * *

  • • •

  A FEW DAYS pass quietly and Stephanie is beginning to hope that Erica has given up after all. They haven’t heard from her, not since she left her unwelcome “gift” for the twins. Maybe everything will still be all right.

  Stephanie is at home when there’s a knock at the door. She looks out the living-room window to see who it is. She’s afraid it might be Erica, just when she’s been thinking that she might be out of their lives. It’s the postman.

  She opens the door. He hands her a registered letter.

  “Sign here, please.”

  Stephanie signs, and takes the letter. She closes the door and sees from the envelope that it’s from the Coroner’s Office of Grant County, Colorado. She sinks back against the door and slides to the floor, feels the tightness in her chest beginning. She takes several deep breaths, her eyes closed, but the tightness doesn’t go away. Finally, she looks down at the envelope, trembling in her hands. It’s addressed to Patrick but she rips it open. Her eyes blur, but she forces them to focus.

  There’s going to be an inquest into the death of Lindsey Kilgour.

  * * *

  • • •

  “FUCK!” PATRICK SAYS when he comes home and sees the letter. He reads the whole thing through, swearing as he does, and then tosses it onto the kitchen table. “I can’t believe she’s going through with it!”

  The twins begin to cry, loud and insistent. Patrick ignores them. “This is—this is fucking outrageous!”

  He closes his eyes and exhales deeply. Suddenly he’s exhausted, as if he carries the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. He can’t keep this quiet any longer. “I’m going to have to tell Niall about this. I can’t hide the inquest from him. I’ll have to be off work and it’s probably going to be in the news.” He opens his weary eyes and sees his wife’s frightened face. Patrick adds bitterly, “I wonder how he’ll feel when he realizes the kind of woman he’s been sleeping with?”

  “When will you tell him?” Stephanie asks.

  He runs a hand anxiously through his hair. “Tomorrow, at the end of the day.”

  * * *

  • • •

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, Niall sits behind his desk, long after everyone else has gone home, overcome with shock and disbelief. He dreads facing his wife. He will have to tell her.

  He knew something had been going on with Patrick—something more than just colicky twins. He was right—Patrick’s being blackmailed, by the very woman Niall had been sleeping with. And now he has to tell Nancy—it’s going to be in the news, their business will probably take a hit. And Nancy still hasn’t decided whether she’s going to divorce him.

  Patrick doesn’t know Niall was sleeping with Erica, and Niall’s going to keep it that way. He’s horrified at the lies Patrick said she’s telling about him. Erica is a blackmailer—maybe it’s a good thing that Nancy discovered their affair on her own, before Erica had a chance to ask him for money to keep it to herself. All of it makes him terribly uneasy. Patrick and Erica had known each other all along and had pretended not to. And he’d had no idea.

  Niall drives home and lets himself into the house. He finds Nancy in the kitchen, cleaning up. She turns around, and for the first time in days she actually has a smile on her face—until she sees him.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks quickly.

  “We have to talk,” he says, and sits down heavily at the kitchen table. She joins him, alarm in her eyes.

  “I’ve had some terrible news today,” he says. He tells her in detail about the pending inquest, that a woman has been trying to blackmail Patrick, making up lies, accusing him of murdering his first wife, a death that was clearly an accident.

  “Oh my God,” Nanc
y whispers, shaken. “Of course he didn’t do it. He did the right thing to stand up to her.” She brings a hand to her mouth. “Poor Stephanie.”

  Niall nods. “She’s telling terrible lies—but what if they believe her over him?”

  “They won’t—of course they won’t.”

  He hangs his head, takes her hand in his. “Honey, there’s something you need to know.” He can feel his face draining of color, he feels light-headed, as if he might be sick.

  She looks intently at him. “What is it? Niall, you’re scaring me.”

  “The woman who’s accusing him—it’s Erica Voss.”

  * * *

  • • •

  NANCY STARES BACK at her husband, speechless. She can’t quite get her mind around what he’s telling her. It takes her a few seconds to process what he’s saying. But it must be true because Niall looks awful. “How is that possible?” she says stupidly.

  “I didn’t know, Nancy,” Niall insists. “I had no clue about any of this! If I’d known what she was like, I would have stayed a million miles away from her!”

  Nancy remembers then, her confrontation with Erica in her apartment, her sense that this woman was no pushover, like Anne O’Dowd had been. No, she’s something else entirely.

  Nancy is struck suddenly with a horrible, overwhelming fear that crowds out everything else. She whispers to her husband, “Do you think she knows?” Her fear is enormous—she can see it reflected in his eyes, and she knows he’s already arrived at the same terrifying thought.

  “No. She can’t. How could she?” he says. But he looks petrified.

  33

  SIX WEEKS LATER

  Cheryl and Gary have started to relax a little. They haven’t seen Erica since Cheryl found her sitting in a convertible outside their house several weeks ago. Maybe they’ll never see her again; that is what they both hope for.