From Cradle to Grave (16 page)

TWENTY

M
organ stared out the window on the passenger side of Fitz’s car. In the moonlight it was possible to see the bay, its water dark and shining, but Morgan wasn’t focusing on the view.

‘What are you thinking?’ Fitz asked.

Morgan shook her head.

‘I thought he was saying that Claire probably did make a false confession,’ said Fitz encouragingly.

‘He was a little hard to pin down,’ said Morgan.

‘Still, it’s a hopeful sign, right?’

‘It’s better than nothing,’ she said.

They rode along in silence for a few moments. Then Fitz said, ‘How long are you going to stay around here? I mean, don’t you have classes for your PhD or something?’

Morgan was faintly surprised to realize that he knew that much about her. ‘I’m supposed to be in England right now, doing research for my thesis. In fact, I was in the airport, ready to board a flight to Heathrow when Claire called.’

‘That’s a bummer.’

‘Well, my . . . boyfriend wasn’t too happy that he had to cancel all the hotels and everything. He was going to try and get the money back.’

‘Your boyfriend was going with you?’ Fitz asked.

Inwardly Morgan cringed, knowing that Simon would never describe himself as her boyfriend. It sounded like they were teenagers instead of . . . What exactly were they, she thought? She felt discouraged when she thought about Simon. He had not called her back to ask about Claire. Although he probably didn’t want to bother her. He was probably waiting for her to call him. ‘Simon lives there actually,’ said Morgan. ‘He’s a poet and he lives in London.’

Fitz was silent.

Morgan glanced over at him. ‘What?’ she said.

Fitz shrugged. ‘Just thinking that it was a lot to give up. Most people wouldn’t do that for a friend.’

In the darkness of the car, Morgan blushed at the compliment. ‘Claire would do it for me,’ Morgan said firmly. ‘Besides, I’m not giving it up. I’m just postponing it.’

Fitz drove with one hand on the wheel, looking casual. ‘Are you in a hurry to get back? I live just up there. Next right.’

‘I know where you live.’ Morgan said, and the hostile outcome of their encounter at his house seemed to hover in the air between them.

But if Fitz had any remorse about how that visit had turned out, Morgan could see no evidence of it on his face. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Well, you want to come over for a drink or something?’

Morgan frowned. She felt grateful to him for taking her to meet Professor Douglas, but she didn’t want him to think that she was interested in a relationship. That possibility was off the table, and going to his place for a drink would surely give him the wrong impression. ‘Thanks,’ said Morgan, ‘but not tonight. It has been a long day. I’m really exhausted . . .’

‘OK, all right,’ said Fitz. ‘I’ll just run you back to Guy’s place.’

‘Thanks,’ said Morgan.

Fitz nodded. ‘No problem.’ There was an awkward silence between them. ‘So,’ he said at last, ‘what do you do next? Do you think you can get your hands on that tape of Claire’s confession?’

‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘There’s no use in asking the police.’

‘None,’ he agreed.

‘And I don’t think that Claire’s attorney has any interest in pursuing this idea of a false confession.’

‘Not from what Professor Douglas said,’ said Fitz.

‘I think I’m going to have to insist that Claire get a criminal attorney. I mean, Noreen Quick did generously offer her services to Claire pro bono, and I was grateful for that. I think Noreen wanted the case because it is so high profile. But that may not be in Claire’s best interest. I probably should have just hired a criminal attorney in the first place. Her former fiancé even offered to pay for it,’ said Morgan.

Fitz frowned. ‘Who? That dot-commer that she dumped for Guy?’

Morgan nodded. ‘Sandy Raymond.’

‘Why would he pay for it?’ Fitz asked.

‘I don’t know,’ said Morgan. ‘He was worried about her.’

‘That seems a little bizarre,’ said Fitz.

Morgan glanced over at him. ‘You seem to find it odd when anybody tries to help a friend.’

‘No,’ he said indignantly. ‘Not at all.’

As soon as she had said it, Morgan regretted it. He had been a true, longtime friend to Guy, and she knew that losing him had wounded Fitz terribly, despite his jaunty appearance to the contrary. ‘I didn’t mean that. I know you were a great friend to Guy.’

‘It’s hard to picture my life without Guy in it,’ Fitz admitted.

‘How long were you two friends?’ Morgan asked.

Fitz frowned, and Morgan saw that his eyes were glistening. He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t know. A long time. We met when we were kids. His mother – his real mother – and my mother were friends from some group they belonged to. There was a rodeo in Jersey somewhere and they decided to take us. Cowtown, it was called. It was a long drive. We spent the night there at some dinky motel but we thought it was great. Oh man, did we love that. Bronco busters and bull riders. Fantastic. That was the first time I met Guy. And Lucy. God, poor Lucy.’ He chuckled.

‘Why do you say that?’ Morgan asked.

‘Oh, I remember she wanted these red cowboy chaps. Nothing else would do and finally her mother bought them for her. They looked so comical on her . . .’ Fitz shook his head. ‘Guy and I teased her without mercy.’

‘Making fun of a child with a handicap? Fond memories indeed,’ said Morgan stiffly.

‘Lucy’s not handicapped,’ Fitz protested.

‘She suffers from some kind of genetic syndrome,’ said Morgan.

‘I know, but come on. She’s a little different, but she’s always seemed normal to me. Besides, we weren’t making fun of Lucy. We were making fun of the chaps. Because they were stupid. The truth was that with those little glasses and her hair flying every which way and those crazy little chaps, she looked kind of cute. But that’s what older brothers do. They tease you.’

‘I happen to know that Lucy has never forgiven Guy for his cruelty.’

‘Cruelty?’

‘What do you call it?’ Morgan asked.

‘Treating her like a little sister is what I call it,’ he said. ‘Paying attention to her. Making her laugh. Hell, I can still make her laugh if I mention those chaps.’

‘That’s what people do when they’re being bullied. They laugh. They try to pretend they don’t care,’ Morgan said.

Fitz jerked the car to a halt. His jaw was set. Morgan looked around and they had pulled up in front of the cottage.

‘Fine,’ Fitz said. ‘You would obviously know better than me. Guy and I were a couple of bullies.’

Now that they were back, Morgan dreaded going inside the cottage. And she felt faintly guilty for criticizing Fitz when he had tried to help her tonight. ‘Look, I wasn’t there. Maybe she didn’t mind being teased about the chaps. I just know that Lucy still thinks very badly of Guy. She told me that her brother was mean and didn’t care about other people’s feelings.’

‘If you say so,’ he said.

‘I’m not judging you, Fitz. I’m just telling you what she said about Guy. I’m sorry if it sounded like I was accusing you. I’m so stressed out by everything.’

‘Right,’ he said.

It suddenly seemed important to Morgan to make amends. ‘Do you . . . would you want to come in for a while?’

‘I better get home and get some rest. I’m taking ten seniors to a wrestling clinic for a couple of days,’ he said curtly.

Morgan was surprised at the disappointment she suddenly felt. ‘Really? Where’s that going to be?’

‘Westchester,’ said Fitz.

‘Sounds like fun,’ she said.

‘Kids always enjoy it,’ said Fitz.

Morgan opened the car door and started to get out. She looked back at him. ‘Thanks for telling me about Professor Douglas. And for taking me to see him. I really do appreciate it. And I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m sorry if it sounded that way.’

Fitz nodded. ‘No problem,’ he said without looking at her.

The moment Morgan slammed the door, he pulled away from the curb, and didn’t look back.

She took a quick bath, and went to bed in the guest room. She was asleep before she knew it. A tinny, singing voice awakened her and she groped for the light, and for her phone on the night table. She felt utterly disoriented, and when she looked at the time, she understood why. It was four thirty in the morning. Her first thought was of Claire, and fear coursed through her. She had called the hospital before she went to bed, and her condition was unchanged. But anything could have happened in the interim.

‘Yes, hello,’ Morgan managed to gasp out, trying to sound as if she wasn’t fast asleep when the phone rang.

‘Morgan,’ said a cheerful voice.

It took her a moment. ‘Simon?’ she said.

‘Yes. I felt I had to call you,’ he said.

Irritation warred with the pleasure she felt at the fact of his call. ‘Simon, it’s four thirty in the morning here,’ she said.

‘Oh, God, of course it is,’ said Simon. ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.’

Morgan closed her eyes. He just forgot, she thought. ‘What is it?’ she asked, trying to sound somewhat less surly. After all, she had been hoping he would call.

‘Well, we just arrived and I have to tell you, this place is fantastic. You are really going to love it when you finally get here. It is exquisite.’

‘What place?’ she mumbled. ‘Where are you?’

‘I’m at the hotel. The Manor. You know, where we were planning to stay?’

‘What are you doing there?’ Morgan asked, confused.

‘Well, they refused to return the deposit. Absolutely refused. I admit I was a little bit steamed at first, but then I decided it would be foolish to just waste the money,’ he said.

Morgan was silent for a moment. ‘You’re at our hotel?’ she said. ‘You went without me?’ She heard her own voice sounding possessive, pathetic. She wished she could take the words back.

‘We just arrived and they are going to set us up in the breakfast room. It looks out over the most gorgeous formal gardens . . .’

‘We . . .?’ said Morgan.

‘Oh, my friend, Tim, and I,’ said Simon offhandedly. ‘He’s a chap I know from the literary magazines. I asked him to come along.’

Morgan’s first impulse was to be glad that Simon was with a man. Not another woman. And then Claire’s words came back to her. Why hadn’t he ever made a move on her? Why would he take a man to this most romantic of hotels? Was she kidding herself after all? Was this Tim a friend, or was it something else? Her heart felt small, dark and dense, like a peach pit. Ask him, she thought. Settle this, for once and for all. But she knew that she wouldn’t. It was too demeaning to have to ask.

‘You called to tell me that you went without me,’ she said flatly. ‘Gee, thanks.’

Simon was silent at his end. Finally he sighed and said, ‘Perhaps that wasn’t the thing to do.’

Morgan looked at the time again and made up her mind. Normally, she might have stayed on the line, hoping he would say something that she could cling to, as proof that he did indeed have fond feelings for her. Somehow, tonight, that seemed too little to hope for. ‘Perhaps not,’ she said, and pressed a button to end the call.

TWENTY-ONE

W
hen she arrived at the hospital in the morning, Morgan learned that Claire had been moved again. Morgan sought out the room, and tiptoed in. The blinds were half closed, rendering the room dim. The bed by the door was empty. Although the face of the patient on the window side of the room was obscured by the privacy curtain, Morgan knew that she had the correct room because Sandy Raymond was slumped in a chair at the foot of the bed, staring at the bed’s occupant.

‘Sandy,’ Morgan whispered.

Sandy looked up at her in bleary-eyed surprise, as if he had been awakened from a dream. ‘Oh, hi,’ he said.

Morgan tiptoed to the foot of the bed and looked at her friend. Claire had tubes snaking out from her nose, her arms, and out from under the covers. Bags full of blood and fluids which fed the tubes hung suspended on hooks over her bed, like ghoulish balloons. Claire’s skin was yellow and waxy and her eyes were closed, sunk into dark hollows in her face. Her hands lay open in a position of supplication atop the white thermal blanket. Her mouth was open and she was breathing in and out with juddering gasps. ‘Oh, God, she looks so . . . bad,’ Morgan whispered.

‘No need to whisper,’ said Sandy. ‘She’s out of it. Completely.’

Morgan looked over at him. ‘I’m surprised to see you here,’ she said.

Sandy kept his gaze trained on Claire’s face. ‘I’ve been here for a while. I couldn’t sleep.’

‘Where’s Farah?’ Morgan asked.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Probably having a manicure.’

Morgan realized that he was not going to discuss Farah. ‘Sandy,’ she said, ‘I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been thinking about what you said.’

Sandy frowned. ‘About what?’

Morgan looked back at Claire. ‘About the criminal attorney. I think Claire needs to get rid of the attorney she has, and get a good criminal attorney.’

‘If she needs an attorney at all,’ said Sandy, a desolate note in his voice.

Morgan walked around to the side of the bed and took Claire’s freezing white hand in her own. ‘She’s going to get better.’ Morgan leaned down and spoke softly into Claire’s ear. ‘You are going to get better. Do you hear me? You have to.’

Claire’s eyelids fluttered, and she licked her lips. Then, every sign of life subsided again.

Morgan straightened up and looked at Sandy. ‘I don’t believe that this post-partum depression defense is the right one,’ she said. ‘I don’t think she killed them. I think she was coerced by the police into confessing.’

Sandy frowned, but he sat up, and leaned forward in the chair, his eyes narrowed. ‘You have some reason to think that? This isn’t just part of some misguided ‘best friends forever’ mantra, is it?’

‘No,’ said Morgan. She started to elaborate, and then decided against it. ‘When I stayed at your house, you mentioned that you could find Claire the best criminal attorney around. Is that offer still good?’

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I can put you together with a guy named Mark Silverman. He’s the man. When do you want to meet with him?’

‘Well, first things first. I feel I have to explain things to Noreen Quick.’

Sandy waved his hand impatiently. ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘That’s not a good idea. You should talk to Mark first, and then present it to Noreen as a done deal. That’s the way these things are done.’

‘But we need the tape of Claire’s confession. And she has it,’ Morgan protested.

Sandy shrugged. ‘We need everything she has. But we’re not going to get it from her. Any research she did is work product. She’ll dig in her heels and refuse to give it up.’

Morgan peered at him. ‘You know an awful lot about the law,’ she said.

‘Hazard of my job,’ he shrugged. ‘I get sued a lot.’

‘So what can we do?’ asked Morgan.

‘Whoever the new attorney is will demand copies of everything from the prosecutor’s office, and he’ll get it. Eventually. Till then, we wait.’

‘How long?’ Morgan asked.

Sandy shrugged. ‘Could take months.’

‘No, that’s no good,’ said Morgan. ‘We can’t wait for that.’ She reached down and brushed some damp hair off of Claire’s forehead. ‘She needs some hope. Now. When she wakes up, I want to have good news for her. If she has to go back to jail with no hope . . . I’m afraid of what she’ll do.’

‘I know,’ said Sandy gazing at Claire’s masklike face. ‘Look, do you want me to set up a meeting with Mark Silverman?’

‘Yes, I’d appreciate that. Do you have my number?’

Sandy nodded.

‘In the meantime, maybe I could get a copy of the tape,’ said Morgan thoughtfully.

Sandy frowned. ‘How?’

‘I’m . . . not sure. I have to think about it,’ said Morgan.

‘Look, I don’t know what you’re up to, but don’t go outside the usual channels. Mark can’t use evidence if it’s tainted . . .’

Morgan gazed down at her friend, struggling to breathe, unable to awaken. ‘I have to know for sure,’ she said. ‘We can do anything, once we know for sure.’

Morgan bent down and kissed Claire on the forehead. Claire’s forehead was almost as cold as her hands. Morgan looked over at Sandy. ‘I’m gonna go,’ she said.

Sandy kept his gaze on Claire. ‘I’ll just stick around for a while,’ he said.

Morgan parked across the street from the offices of Abrams and Quick, and stared at the building, trying to think of what she could say to get what she wanted. She knew that she needed to circumvent Noreen, but without Noreen’s permission, she doubted she would succeed. As pleasant as that receptionist, Berenice, was, she would surely refuse to allow Morgan access to Claire’s file without first calling Noreen. Morgan began to try out lies on herself, shifting in the seat and trying to gauge how close she was coming to a convincing story. Some sounded plausible. None perfect. None would give her enough time or opportunity to do what she needed to do.

Should I just wait, Morgan wondered? Let the process of lawyers and courts take its time? Obviously she could not wait here in West Briar. She had a life and classes to get back to. By the same token, she could not imagine leaving Claire alone here. For the moment, Sandy seemed to be concerned for her, but how long would that last, once Claire awoke and was able to tell him that she still didn’t love him? And after this suicide attempt, serious and nearly successful, Claire had proved that she felt she had nothing to live for, no reason to go on. Morgan knew that keeping her best friend alive, when and if the doctors had saved her, would take more than reassurances and good wishes. This was a person who had lost the will to go on.

Morgan glanced into the car’s side view mirror, and saw her own face, looking drawn and tired. How do I make you want to live, my friend, she wondered? How can I convince you that you are not to blame, when I have no idea what really happened? Her spirit felt mired in sludge. She sighed, and turned on the engine. It was no use. She could not convince anyone of her intentions in this condition.

All of sudden, the front door of the law office opened, and a dog, restrained by a leash, came bounding out, dragging his owner out and down the path. Berenice, her silvery hair in its customary ponytail, was wearing a plum-colored fleece vest over a plaid shirt and jeans. In one hand she held Rufus’s leash as the dog barked and dragged her forward. In the other hand, she held a scoop and plastic bag, which indicated that they were headed out on a doggy relief mission.

As she was dragged away from the office, Berenice pulled the door to, but Morgan could see, even from across the street, that the door was standing open a few inches. Morgan inhaled sharply at the thought which rose to her mind. Berenice hurried to the corner behind Rufus, and turned down the next block. Before she had time to talk herself out of the idea, Morgan made up her mind. She reached into the shelf beneath the CD player in the car and swiped one of the CDs still in its plastic box. She stuffed it into her bag, and got out of the car, looking both ways before she loped across the road. Morgan went up the path, and before she had reached the front step she could see, to her great relief, that the door was indeed open. She looked all around her, slipped inside, and waited for a moment, holding her breath.

Then she walked past the reception area and glanced casually inside. There was no one in the waiting area. Business was obviously slower with Noreen incapacitated.

Determining that she was alone in the building, Morgan realized that she could proceed. Swiftly, she went down the hall to Noreen’s office.

For one moment she thought that the office door might be locked, since Noreen was home on bed rest. But apparently, Berenice had occasion to go in and out of Noreen’s office during the workday, and left the door to it wide open. Morgan wondered, briefly, who Abrams was, and why she never seemed to be at the office. She forgot the thought as she slipped inside. She thought about shutting the door, and then decided against it. It was better if she could hear what was happening in the foyer and the corridor.

The office was neat, not having been used since Noreen went on bed rest. The people in the family photos were now real people to Morgan, but she did not linger to study them. She glanced at Noreen’s desk. It had a computer, of course, and if it were to hold the information that Morgan wanted, she knew that it would be a much more daunting task. She was not a hacker. She’d have no chance of getting into Noreen’s files. But Morgan was looking for a physical object – a DVD which contained the confession. Physical objects that were evidence had to be stored in the real, not the virtual world. She went quickly to the file cabinet behind Noreen’s desk and opened it.

The volume of files was daunting. But the alphabet was on Morgan’s side. She found Claire Bolton in the top drawer. She reached in, carefully pulled the file out, and before she could even open it, a DVD disc in a plastic case slid out the side of the file. Morgan caught it in her hand, and looked at the label. It was an official label from the prosecutor’s office with Claire’s name, the date and time on it.

The date and time told Morgan all that she needed to know. This was the tape of Claire’s confession. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. She put the DVD into a zippered compartment in her sac and hoisted it on her shoulder. Then, quickly, she replaced the file in the drawer. Just as she was sliding the drawer shut into the cabinet, she heard the sound of the front door opening and then, immediately, the frantic barking of a dog.

Morgan’s heart, already racing, began to thud.

‘What is it, Rufus? What? Who’s there? Is somebody there?’

Morgan scanned the room, but there was no other exit. She was going to have to go out into the hallway. She did her best to assume a calm, cheerful demeanor. She squared her shoulders, as the barking escalated, and stepped out into the hallway.

At the sight of her, Rufus began leaping up, straining at his leash and barking. Berenice looked frightened at first and then, when she realized that it was not some masked intruder, her expression turned to irritation.

‘Rufus, hush. I mean it, hush,’ she insisted.

The dog simmered down and sat down beside her.

‘Now,’ Berenice demanded, turning to Morgan. ‘What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be wandering around these offices.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Morgan said innocently. ‘The front door was open so I came in.’

‘Was it? I thought I closed it,’ Berenice said fretfully.

Morgan raised her shoulders. ‘No, it was open.’

Berenice frowned, and Morgan could tell that she was mentally retracing her steps. Then, she peered at Morgan. ‘But what are you doing in Ms Quick’s office? You know very well that she’s out on bed rest. You’ve been to her house.’

Morgan could feel herself reddening as she prepared to attempt her audacious lie. ‘Well, when I was at Noreen’s house, I liked the music that was playing. Gert lent me this CD and told me to bring it back when I was finished listening to it,’ said Morgan, reaching into her bag and pulling out the Corinne Bailey Rae CD which she had taken from her own car. ‘I was passing by, so I thought I’d leave it here, on Noreen’s desk.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Berenice said. She told Rufus to lie down. Then, she lifted the CD in its plastic case from Morgan’s fingers, walked around the desk, opened the drawer and slipped it inside.

‘Is that OK?’ said Morgan. ‘I guess I should have brought it back to the house.’

Berenice sighed, apparently relieved at the innocence of the intrusion. ‘It’ll be fine here. I send stuff over there all the time.’ Now that the crisis was past, Berenice was clearly anxious about her own part in it. ‘I don’t usually leave that outer door open. I’m very conscientious about that as a rule.’