Stunned, Mariah watched as the sheriff’s officers escorted Kathleen back into the holding cell area, Lloyd following them. Mariah stood up as he turned and gestured for her to wait for him. The photographers who had been allowed to take pictures during the proceeding were being directed by the sheriff’s officers to leave. Within a couple of minutes she was alone in the courtroom.
When Lloyd came out ten minutes later, she asked, “Can I see Mom?”
“No. I’m sorry, Mariah. She is in custody. They don’t allow that.”
“How is she? Tell me the truth.”
“I won’t lie to you. She’s very frightened. She wants her scarf. Why would she want to tie it around her face?”
Mariah stared at him. “She’s been doing that since Dad was killed. Lloyd, listen to me. Suppose she heard the shot and ran to the top of the stairs. Suppose she saw someone with some kind of covering on their face. Suppose that’s what’s going through her mind.”
“Mariah, calm down. I really think she’ll be released on Friday. Maybe we can somehow get through to her then.”
“Lloyd, don’t you see? If someone with their face covered came into the house, then either that person had a key, or the door was left unlocked. That lock is fixed now so that Mom cannot open it from the inside ever since she got out that time. We know the police said that there was no sign of forced entry. That’s part of the reason that they’re charging Mom.
“Betty, our housekeeper, told me she left at about seven thirty that night, after my parents had dinner and she cleaned the kitchen. She’s been with us for over twenty years. I trust her implicitly. Rory has been with us for two years. She sat with Mom during dinner and then got her to bed. Mom hadn’t slept well the night before and was agitated and tired. Rory said she fell asleep right away. Rory claimed she checked the lock on the front door, as she always does, then left. She said it was just a few minutes after Betty had gone.”
“Maybe it’s time to check on Rory,” Lloyd replied. “I use a very good private investigator on some of my cases. I’ll call him. If there’s something in her background that we should know about, he’ll find it.”
28
Once again the collector received an unwanted phone call from Rory. “I was just at the house,” she said. “Mariah and the lawyer were leaving to go to court. I have to tell you I’m getting nervous. They said something about Kathleen being framed. Before now, I thought they were just going to try to prove she was crazy. God knows that’s true. Are you sure you didn’t leave any evidence behind, like your fingerprints or something like that?”
“We already have a meeting scheduled for tonight. Couldn’t you have waited to discuss this with me?”
“Listen, I don’t need you talking to me like I’m dirt. You and I are both knee-deep into this. If for any reason they start checking into me, they’ll find out about my prior record and I’ll be a dead duck. I’ll meet you tonight. Make sure you have my payment in full. It’s getting too hot for me around here. I’m going to take off before it’s too late. And don’t worry about hearing from me anymore after tonight, because you won’t.”
“The fact that you have a prior record will not be proof that you had anything to do with any of this,” he replied tersely. “But if you disappear, they’ll know you were involved, and then they’ll track you down. So just don’t panic. If they talk to you, play the role of the loving caregiver who can’t wait for dear Kathleen to come home.”
“I can’t do that. It won’t work. I lied when I applied to the agency for the caregiver job. You know I made up a new name. I violated parole. I’ve got to get out of here.”
“Suit yourself,” he snapped. “I’ll have the money for you tonight. As we agreed, you will take the subway downtown to the Chambers Street station. Be there precisely at eight o’clock. I’ll pull up on the corner in a small black car, the same one you’ve seen before. We’ll ride around the block. I’ll give you the money; you can count it. Then I’ll drop you right back off at the subway and you can go and live your life.”
As Rory disconnected the call, she thought about how she had really planned never to get in trouble again after she had been released from prison the last time. If only Joe Peck had asked me to marry him, she thought. If he had, I’d never have taken that job in New Jersey. I never would have been in that house when this creep came to dinner and recognized me. And then blackmailed me into getting involved in this.
She permitted herself a grim smile. On the other hand, I’ve hated cleaning and feeding all those crazies since I got out of prison. At least I sometimes had a little fun, like the day I found those pictures of Jonathan and Lily and gave them to Kathleen. I guess I needed a little excitement in my life.
And now, with money in my pocket, I can find some real excitement, without a bedpan in sight.
29
From the last row of the courtroom, Detectives Simon Benet and Rita Rodriguez had observed the arraignment of Kathleen Lyons. When it was over, they went downstairs to their second-floor office and found Father Joseph Kelly, the biblical scholar they had hired, waiting for them. After they had spoken with Father Aiden and had learned of the possibility that a valuable ancient parchment had been in Jonathan’s possession, they had contacted Father Kelly to let him know that his services might be needed and told him what they would be looking for.
During the search of the Lyons home yesterday, Mariah had pointed out the box of documents that her father had been working on. Simon had called Father Kelly last night and asked him to come to the prosecutor’s office at nine thirty this morning.
“Father,” Rita began, “we understand that this is the box of documents that Jonathan Lyons was translating when he died. We did a quick check early this morning of all the other items that we seized and this seems to be the only one containing this type of document.”
Father Kelly, eighty-two years old but remarkably fit, said dryly, “I assure you that a letter that may have been written by Christ to Joseph of Arimathea must not be considered a ‘type of document.’ If I find it here, I will consider myself blessed to have even held it.”
“I understand,” Simon said. “I must explain that it is strict protocol to have a member of the prosecutor’s staff present whenever an expert reviews evidence.”
“That’s fine with me. I’m ready to start.”
“The office next door is ready for you. I’ll carry it in.”
Five minutes later, Simon and Rita, each with a fresh cup of coffee in hand, were once more alone in their shared office. “If Father Kelly finds the parchment, it tells me that the case begins and ends with Kathleen Lyons,” Simon said. “The daughter told us when he wasn’t home or wasn’t working on those documents, he kept them locked in the file drawer in his desk. That’s where they were when he was shot. But if that one parchment isn’t there, whomever he may have given it to ought to have told Mariah by now. Even she admitted to us that he may very well have been afraid to have it anywhere near Kathleen after she found and cut up those pictures.”
Rita was silent for a moment, then looked directly at him. “Simon, I’m going to be honest with you. Watching Kathleen Lyons in that courtroom today, it’s hard to envision her managing to hide that gun from everyone, possibly load it herself, then sneak up behind him and shoot him—not to mention standing back ten to fifteen feet and putting the bullet squarely in the back of his head.”
She knew that Simon was getting angry. “Look,” she said, “before you jump all over me, let me finish. I know that she used to go shooting at the range with her husband so she certainly knew in the past how to fire that gun. But did you see her today? Physically she didn’t seem coordinated at all. She was looking all over the place, completely bewildered. That was no act. I bet the shrinks find that her attention level is almost nonexistent. I say that if we don’t have the parchment in that box then whoever has it wants to sell it and may have been involved in Jonathan’s death.”
“Rita, we arrested the ri
ght person last night.” Simon’s voice was raised. “Kathleen Lyons acted no different today than she has every time we saw her since she shot her husband. I do think she has some level of Alzheimer’s, but that didn’t prevent her from cutting up those pictures a while ago because she was angry at him, and it apparently didn’t prevent her from shooting him in the head last week because she was still angry at him.”
An hour later there was a knock on their door and Father Kelly entered. “There aren’t many documents in the box and I was able to review them fairly quickly. There is nothing of any real value in there and certainly there is no letter written by Christ, I can assure you of that. Is there anything more you need me to do?”
30
On Monday afternoon, after her mother’s appearance in court, Mariah returned to her parents’ home and went up to her bedroom, changed into slacks and a cotton sweater, and twisted her hair up, fastening it with a comb. Then for a long minute, she stared into the bathroom mirror, seeing the reflection of her face with the deep blue eyes that were so like her father’s. “Dad,” she whispered, “I promise you, I swear to you, that I’m going to prove Mom is innocent.”
Carrying her laptop, she went downstairs and headed to her father’s study. Grateful for a certain sense of calm that was replacing the frantic emotions she had felt during the hearing, she settled in the dining room chair that had replaced the desk chair the police had seized on the night of the murder.
I did nothing last week with my clients, Mariah thought. I’ve got to get some work done before I have to start thinking about how Dad left things financially. I can do a lot of it from here. It was actually a relief to open her computer, check e-mails, and return calls to some of the clients whose investments she supervised. It feels like getting back to some degree of normality, she thought. Even though absolutely nothing in my life is normal, she added to herself wryly.
Betty Pierce, who was still busy putting the upstairs rooms back into order after the police search, brought her a sandwich and a cup of tea. “Mariah, I can stay tonight if you’d like company,” she suggested tentatively.
Mariah looked up and saw the deep concern etched into the lines of their longtime housekeeper’s face. This has been tough for her too, she thought. “Oh, Betty, thanks a million, but I’ll be fine on my own. Tonight I’m having dinner next door with Lloyd and Lisa. But tomorrow night, I want to invite Dad’s special group over for dinner. The usual four. Professor Callahan, Professor Michaelson, Professor West, and Mr. Pearson.”
“I think that’s a great idea, Mariah,” Betty said heartily, now smiling. “Seeing them will give you a lift, and God knows you need one. What do you want me to cook?”
“Maybe salmon. They all like that.”
By four o’clock Mariah felt that she had gotten up to speed with all of her clients. Dear God, it feels so good to get back into a routine, she thought. It’s an escape. While she had been working, she had deliberately refused to allow herself to speculate on what was happening to her mother at the psychiatric hospital just a few miles away. As she began to make the calls for the dinner, she continued to push those thoughts away.
The first one she reached was Greg; as she heard his voice she thought about why she had so naturally called him first. She had truly appreciated being with him on Saturday night. His obvious admiration for her father and the amusing stories he told about him had made her realize she had been absolutely wrong in regarding Greg as bland and unemotional. She remembered her father had once said that although Greg was basically shy, he could also be really interesting and funny when he was with people he felt comfortable around.
When his secretary put her through to him, he sounded both surprised and pleased that she had called him. “Mariah, I’ve been thinking of you all day. I know what’s been happening. I wanted to call you last night after I saw the news, but I didn’t want to intrude. Mariah, I asked you Saturday night and now I’m asking you again. What can I do to help you?”
“You can start out by coming here to dinner tomorrow night,” Mariah said as she pictured him in his spacious office, impeccably groomed, his brown hair always looking freshly barbered, his eyes that interesting shade of gray-green. “It would be so nice to have you and Richard and Charles and Albert here. You were all so close to Dad. We’ll make it a sort of reunion in his honor.”
“Of course, I’ll be there,” Greg answered promptly.
There was no mistaking the deep affection in his voice.
“Around six thirty,” Mariah said hastily. “See you then.” She broke the connection, realizing that she did not want to linger on the call. Dad, she thought, you told me more than once that Greg was sweet on me and that he had a lot to offer if I would just give him a chance…
Refusing to dwell on the thought, she dialed Albert West.
“I was camping over the weekend in your territory,” he told her. “The Ramapo Mountains are really beautiful. I must have walked for miles.” His booming voice reminded her that her father had told her that the odd combination of that voice and his small frame had earned Albert the nickname “Bellows.” He readily accepted her invitation, then said, “Mariah, I have to ask. Did your father recently discuss with you the fact that he may have found a valuable ancient parchment?”
“No, I’m sorry, but he never did,” Mariah said, her voice pained. “But over the years he told me about the Vatican letter, and now I understand he may have actually found it among those scrolls he was studying.” Then she added sadly, “Albert, you know how it was. My relationship with Dad had been strained for the last year or so because of Lillian. If things had been the way they used to be, I know I’d have been the first one he told.”
“That’s absolutely true, Mariah. I’ll be glad to be with you tomorrow. Maybe we can talk more about it.”
Charles Michaelson’s crisp “hello” brought a smile to Mariah’s face. Charles always sounds at least mildly annoyed, she thought. She had never quite forgiven him for acting as if he was Lillian’s date at so many of the dinners when he was really providing a cover for her father and Lillian in her parents’ home.
He told her he’d very much enjoy coming to dinner, then echoed Albert’s question about the parchment.
She repeated what she had told Albert. But then she said, “Charles, it would have been natural for Dad to have shown you what he thought was the Vatican letter. No one is more expert in this area than you are. Did you ever see it?”
“No,” Michaelson answered sharply, almost before she finished asking the question. “He told me about it only a week before he died and promised to show it to me, but unfortunately he never got that far. Mariah, do you have it, or do you know where it is?”
“Charles, the answer to both of those questions is no.” And why don’t I believe you? she asked herself as she broke the connection. I would have bet that Dad would have gone to you first. She frowned, trying to remember why some years ago her father had mentioned something about being very disappointed in Charles. What could that have been about? she wondered.
Her final call was to Richard Callahan. “Mariah. Of course I’ve been thinking about you. I can’t imagine what you and your mother must be going through. Have you been able to visit her?”
“No, Richard, not yet. She’s going through the evaluation. I’m praying that she’s back home on Friday.”
“I hope so, Mariah, I hope so.”
“Richard, are you okay? You sound so down or troubled or something.”
“You’re very perceptive. My dad asked me the same question last night. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I’ve made a decision that I’ve put off for too long. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Then he added quietly, “I’m very much looking forward to seeing you.”
Richard has decided to go back and complete his training to be a Jesuit, Mariah thought, and wondered why she felt so much dismay. He brings so much to the table, and we won’t see nearly as much of him once he rejoins the order.
&nbs
p; At seven o’clock, she changed into a long blue skirt and white silk blouse, touched up her makeup, brushed her hair loose, walked across the lawn to the Scotts’ home, and rang the bell. Lisa answered the door. As usual she looked glamorous in a designer multicolored shirt and slacks, with a silver belt that hugged her hips and silver slippers with five-inch heels.
Lloyd was on the phone. He waved to Mariah and she followed Lisa into the living room, where cheese and crackers were set out on the coffee table. Lisa poured glasses of wine for the two of them. “I think it’s some kind of police call,” she confided to Mariah. “They asked about our burglary. My God, wouldn’t it be great if I got some of my jewelry back? I miss my emeralds so much. I’m still kicking myself that I didn’t bring them with me on the trip.”
When Lloyd joined them a few minutes later, he said, “Well, that was really interesting. The New York City police have been calling people who may have parked at the garage on West 52nd Street next to the Franklin Hotel. Our names are on the list from that charity ball we went to at the hotel a couple of months ago. An attendant at the garage was suspicious of one of the other employees and saw him attach what turned out to be a GPS tracker to a customer’s car. The customer lived in Riverdale. The police checked his car, found the tracker, and arranged for him and his wife to drive to the Hamptons and stay there for a few days. They say this crook’s modus operandi was to check the comings and goings of the car and, if it was somewhere else or not used at all for a period of time he would case the house to see if was unoccupied. The local police kept the Riverdale house under surveillance. It only took three nights before this guy tried to break into it. They want me to see if there’s a tracker on our car. They said if there is, then don’t touch it, just in case they can lift some fingerprints off it.”
The Lost Years Page 11
