Let Me Call You Sweetheart (12 page)

He was carrying a bulging briefcase, which he tapped with a satisfied smile. "The records of the office investigation of the Reardon case," he told her. "It'll have Dolly Bowles' original statement. Let's see how it compares with what she has to say to you now."
He looked at Robin, who was wearing a witch's costume. "That's some outfit, Rob."
"It was between this and being a corpse," Robin told him.
Kerry did not realize she had winced until she caught the look of understanding in Palumbo's eyes.
"I'd better be on my way," she said hurriedly.
During the twenty-minute drive to Alpine, Kerry realized her nerves were on edge. She had finally gotten Robin to talk briefly about the incident that morning. By then, Robin was trying to play the whole thing down. Kerry wanted to believe that Robin had exaggerated what had happened. She wanted to conclude that someone had stopped to check an address and then realized he was on the wrong block. But Kerry knew her daughter would not have exaggerated or imagined the incident.
...
It was obvious to Kerry that Dolly Bowles had been watching for her. As soon as she was parked in the driveway of the massive Tudor house, the door was yanked open.
Dolly was a small woman with thinning gray hair and a narrow, inquisitive face. She was already talking when Kerry reached her, "... just like your picture in The Record. I was so sorry I was busy baby-sitting and couldn't make it to the trial of that awful man who killed his supervisor."
She led Kerry into a cavernous foyer and indicated a small sitting room to the left. "Let's go in here. That living room is too big for my taste. I tell my daughter my voice echoes in it, but she loves it 'cause it's great for parties. Dorothy loves to throw parties. When they're home, that is. Now that Lou is retired, they never settle down; they're here and there, hither and yon. Why they need to pay a full-time housekeeper is beyond me. I say, why not have someone come in once a week? Save the money. Of course, I don't really like to be alone overnight, and I suppose that has something to do with it. On the other hand..."
Oh my God, Kerry thought, she's a sweet woman, but I'm just not in the mood for this. She chose a straight-backed chair, while Mrs. Bowles settled on the chintz-covered couch. "Mrs. Bowles, I don't want to take too much of your time and I have someone minding my daughter, so I can't stay too long..."
"You have a daughter. How nice. How old is she?"
"Ten. Mrs. Bowles, what I'd like to know--"
"You don't look old enough to have a ten-year-old daughter." "Thank you. I can assure you I feel old enough." Kerry felt as though she had driven into a ditch and might never get out. "Mrs. Bowles, let's talk about the night Suzanne Reardon died."
Fifteen minutes later, after she had heard all about Dolly baby- sitting across the street from the Reardons, and how Michael, the little boy she was minding that night, had serious developmental problems, she managed to isolate one nugget of information.
"You say that you are positive that the car you saw parked in front of the Reardons did not belong to one of the guests at the neighbors' party. Why are you so sure of that?"
"Because I talked to those people myself. They were entertaining three other couples. They told me who the guests were. They're all from Alpine, and after Mr. Green made me feel like such a fool on the stand, I called each of them myself. And you know what? None of those guests was driving Poppa's car."
"Poppa's car!" Kerry exclaimed incredulously.
"That's what Michael called it. You see, he had a real problem with colors. You'd point to a car and ask him what color it was, and he wouldn't know. But no matter how many cars were around, he could pick out one that was familiar, or one that looked just like a familiar car. When he said 'Poppa's car' that night, he had to have been pointing at the black Mercedes four-door sedan. You see, he called his grandfather Poppa and loved to ride with him in his car--his black Mercedes four-door sedan. It was dark, but the torch light at the end of the Reardons' driveway was on so he could see it clearly."
"Mrs. Bowles, you testified that you had seen the car."
"Yes, although it wasn't there at seven-thirty when I got to Michael's house, and when he pointed it out it was pulling away, so I didn't get a good look at it. Still, I had an impression of a 3 and an L on the license plate." Dolly Bowles leaned forward intensely, and behind the round glasses her eyes widened. "Ms. McGrath, I tried to tell Skip Reardon's defense attorney about this. His name was Farrer--no, Farrell. He told me that hearsay evidence usually isn't admissible and, even if it were, hearsay evidence from a developmentally disabled child would only dilute my testimony that I'd seen the car. But he was wrong. I don't see why I couldn't have told the jury that Michael became all excited when he thought he had seen his grandfather's car. I think that would have helped."
Her voice lost its faint quaver. "Ms. McGrath, at a couple of minutes past nine o'clock that night, a black Mercedes four-door sedan drove away from the Reardon home. I know that for a fact. Absolutely."
Jonathan Hoover was not enjoying his predinner martini this evening. Usually he savored this time of day, sipping the smooth gin diluted with precisely three drops of vermouth and enhanced with two olives, sitting in his wing chair by the fire, conversing with Grace about the day.
Tonight, added to his own concerns, it was obvious that something was troubling Grace. If the pain was worse than usual he knew she would never admit it. They never discussed her health. Long ago he had learned not to ask more than a perfunctory, "How do you feel, dear?"
The answer was inevitably, "Not bad at all."
The increasing rheumatic assault on her body did not prevent Grace from dressing with her innate elegance. Nowadays she always wore long loose sleeves to cover her swollen wrists and in the evening, even when they were alone, chose flowing hostess gowns that concealed the steadily progressing deformity of her legs and feet.
Propped up as she was, in a half-lying position on the couch, the curvature in her spine was not apparent, and her luminous gray eyes were beautiful against the alabaster white of her complexion. Only her hands, the fingers gnarled and twisted, were visible indicators of her devastating illness.
Because Grace always stayed in bed till midmorning, and Jonathan was an early riser, the evening was their time to visit and gossip. Now Grace gave him a wry smile. "I feel as though I'm looking in a mirror, Jon. You're upset about something too, and I bet it's the same thing that was bothering you earlier, so let me go first. I spoke to Kerry."
Jonathan raised his eyebrows. "And?"
"I'm afraid she has no intention of letting go of the Reardon case."
"What did she tell you?"
"It's what she didn't tell me. She was evasive. She listened to me, then said that she had reason to believe that Dr. Smith's testimony was false. She did acknowledge that she had no concrete reason to believe that Reardon wasn't the murderer, but she felt it was her obligation to explore the possibility that there might have been a miscarriage of justice."
Jonathan's face flushed to a deep, angry red. "Grace, there's a point where Kerry's sense of justice approaches the ludicrous. Last night I was able to persuade the governor to delay submitting to the senate the names of candidates for appointment to the bench. He agreed."
"Jonathan!"
"It was the only thing I could do short of asking him to withhold Kerry's appointment for the present. I had no choice. Grace, Prescott Marshall has been an outstanding governor. You know that. Working with him, I've been able to lead the senate in getting necessary reforms into law, in revising the tax structure, in attracting business to the state, in welfare reform that doesn't mean depriving the poor while searching out the welfare cheats. I want Marshall back in four years. I'm no great fan of Frank Green, but as governor he'll be a good benchwarmer and won't undo what Marshall and I have accomplished. On the other hand, if Green fails, and if the other party gets in, then everything we've accomplished will be taken apart."
Suddenly the intensity the anger had inspired drained from his face and he looked to Grace only very tired and every minute of his sixty-two years.
"I'll invite Kerry and Robin to dinner Sunday," Grace said. "That will give you another chance to talk sense to her. I don't think anyone's future should be sacrificed for that Reardon man."
"I'm going to call her tonight," Jonathan told her.
Geoff Dorso rang the doorbell at exactly seven-thirty and once again was greeted by Robin. She was still wearing her witch's costume and makeup. Her eyebrows were thick with charcoal. Pasty white powder covered her skin except where the lacerations streaked her chin and cheek. A wig of tangled black hair flapped around her shoulders.
Geoff jumped back. "You scared me."
"Great," Robin said enthusiastically. "Thanks for being on time. I'm due at a party. It's starting right now, and there's a prize for the scariest costume. I need to be going."
"You'll win in a landslide," Geoff told her as he stepped into the foyer. Then he sniffed. "Something smells good."
"Mom's making garlic bread," Robin explained, then called, "Mom, Mr. Dorso's here."
The kitchen was at the back of the house. Geoff smiled as the door swung open and Kerry emerged, drying her hands on a towel. She was dressed in green slacks and a green cowl-neck sweater. Geoff couldn't help but notice how the overhead light accentuated the gold streaks in her hair and the spray of freckles across her nose.
She looks about twenty-three, he thought, then realized that her warm smile did not disguise the concern in her eyes.
"Geoff, good to see you. Go inside and be comfortable. I have to walk Robin down the block to a party."
"Why not let me do that?" Geoff suggested. "I've still got my coat on."
"I guess that would be okay," Kerry said slowly, assessing the situation, "but be sure to see her inside the door, won't you? I mean, don't just leave her at the driveway."
"Mom," Robin protested, "I'm not scared anymore. Honest."
"Well, I am."
What's that about? Geoff wondered. He said, "Kerry, all of my sisters are younger than I am. Until they went to college, I was forever dropping them off and picking them up, and God help me if I didn't see them safely inside wherever they were going. Get your broom, Robin. I assume you have one."
As they walked along the quiet street, Robin told him about the car that had frightened her. "Mom acts cool about everything, but I can tell she's freaking out," she confided. "She worries about me too much. I'm sort of sorry I told her about it."
Geoff stopped short and looked down at her. "Robin, listen to me. It's a lot worse not to tell your mother when something like that happens. Promise me you won't make that mistake."
"I won't. I already promised Mom." The exaggerated painted lips separated in a mischievous smile. "I'm real good at keeping promises except when it comes to getting up on time. I hate getting up."
"So do I," Geoff agreed fervently.
...
Five minutes later, when he was sitting on a counter stool in the kitchen watching Kerry make a salad, Geoff decided to try a direct approach. "Robin told me about this morning," he said. "Is there a reason to worry?"
Kerry was tearing freshly washed lettuce into the salad bowl. "One of our investigators, Joe Palumbo, talked to Robin this afternoon. He's concerned. He thinks that a car doing a reckless U-turn a few feet from where you're walking could make anybody jumpy, but Robin was so specific about the window opening and then a hand appearing with something pointing at her... Joe suggested that somebody might have taken her picture."
Geoff heard the tremor in Kerry's voice.
"But why?"
"I don't know. Frank Green feels that it might be connected to that case I just prosecuted. I don't agree. I could have nightmares wondering if some nut may have seen Robin and developed a fixation. That's another possibility." She began to tear the lettuce with savage force. "The point is, what can I do about it? How do I protect her?"
"It's pretty tough to carry that worry alone," Geoff said quietly.
"You mean because I'm divorced? Because there was no man here to take care of her? You've seen her face. That happened when she was with her father. Her seat belt wasn't fastened, and he's the kind of driver who floors the accelerator and then makes sudden stops. I don't care whether it's macho stuff or just the fact that Bob Kinellen is a risk taker, in his case, Robin and I are better off alone."
She ripped the final piece of lettuce, then said apologetically, "I'm sorry. I guess you picked the wrong night for pasta in this house, Geoff. I'm not much company. But then that doesn't matter. What is important are my meetings with Dr. Smith and Dolly Bowles."
Over salad and garlic bread she told him about her encounter with Dr. Smith. "He hates Skip Reardon," she said. "It's a different kind of hatred."
Noting the look of confusion on Geoff's face, she added, "What I mean is that typically when I deal with relatives of victims, most of them despise the murderer and want him to be punished. What they're expressing is anger so entwined with grief that both emotions are flying out of them. Parents will frequently show you baby pictures and graduation pictures of the murdered daughter, then tell you the kind of girl she was and if she won a spelling bee in the eighth grade. Then they break down and cry, their grief is so overwhelming, and one of them, usually the father, will tell you he wants five minutes alone with the killer, or he'll say that he'd like to pull the switch himself. But I didn't get any of that from Smith. From him I got only hatred."
"What does that say to you?" Geoff asked.
"It says that either Skip Reardon is a lying murderer or we need to find out whether Smith's intense animosity to Skip Reardon preceded Suzanne's death. As part of the latter consideration, we also need to know exactly what Smith's relationship with Suzanne was. Don't forget, by his own testimony, he didn't lay eyes on her from the time she was an infant till she was nearly twenty. Then one day she just appeared in his office and introduced herself. From her pictures you can see she was a remarkably attractive woman."
She stood up. "Think about that while I put together the pasta. Then I want to tell you about Dolly Bowles and 'Poppa's car.'"
Geoff was almost unaware of how delicious the linguine with clam sauce tasted as he listened to Kerry's report of her visit to Dolly Bowles. "The thing is," she concluded, "from what Dolly tells me, both our office and your people brushed aside even the possibility that little Michael might have been a very reliable witness."