Airline records indicated that Mary Ann had boarded the flight—her license, her ticket and her credit card were used. Nothing conclusive placed Mary Ann and Ronnie in the same state, let alone the same house, at the alleged time of the murder. Not even James’s testimony was conclusive. The kid had been high and drunk when he allegedly saw the body in his living room, and now he had criminal charges pending, to boot. Mitch wasn’t talking yet, and even if he did, it was his word against Ronnie’s.
After the humiliation the state’s attorney’s office had suffered the first time she’d tried to bring Mitch to trial, Sally needed her case to be airtight, and yet she could sift through the evidence recovered from Mary Ann Hennessy’s car a hundred times and it still wouldn’t make her feel settled. If Mary Ann had been planning to run away, she’d traveled light, packing only a suitcase and a carry-on filled with essentials: toothpaste and a toothbrush, a change of clothes, contact lens solution and a case, and what remained of a paperback novel—nothing that would give any clue as to how her last moments had been spent. Each item had been coldly photographed and catalogued as per the usual process, but as Sally flipped through the images, she felt the same sadness she always felt about the victims in a case. This one, like any other, was a matter of human tragedy being broken down into its elements, photographed on a tarp and placed in a plastic bag. The pretense of order did nothing to erase the underlying chaos of the event.
Her ears pricked at the sound of Ben’s voice down the hall, and almost immediately her stomach slumped. After he’d stayed the night at her house, they’d spent the next morning in awkward silence. He’d driven her to work and then issued her a terse goodbye. That was three days ago, and they’d barely spoken since. She’d wanted to thank him for all he’d done for her, and to tell him that she harbored no hard feelings, but she no longer knew what their relationship was now that everything between them was so horribly wrong.
Sally picked up the cable-knit cardigan on the back of her chair and pulled it over her shoulders. Her shoes were flat and sensible for a change, and the sweater felt like a hug as she buttoned it. She was entitled to wear cable-knit sweaters and practical heels, especially on days like this, when she needed some comfort.
She’d blown it, she was sure. She’d been preparing herself for so long for the moment that Ben would disappoint her, pick up and leave her as he had all those years ago, that she had neglected to notice what was right in front of her—he cared about her. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to be a part of her life...maybe permanently. Sally could allow herself to sink into the warm, happy thought of her and Ben raising a child together, of holding hands and taking cooking classes into their retirement.
She swallowed. She could dwell on that image, but that would require her to accept that Ben might have real feelings for her, real feelings that wouldn’t change without notice. That, she wasn’t ready to accept. No man had ever loved her for real and forever, and she doubted any ever would.
The sound of his laughter carried down the hall and gripped Sally’s heart. Amazing, the way he could so easily move on. Ben was remarkably skilled at controlling his emotions, and here she was unable to focus on anything other than how much she ached to believe he could love her as much as she loved him. Because she did think that she might love him. She simply couldn’t trust that he would love her unconditionally in return, and with a child on the way, she would not settle for anything less than unconditional love.
Sally shuffled the images again and stacked them on her desk. She’d been living by her emotions for too long, and look where that had gotten her. Feelings were overrated.
The play’s the thing—that’s what Ben had said, and when they had confronted Ronnie, they’d managed to get her to lead them right to the body. Maybe showing her some of the photographs of Mary Ann’s belongings could prompt a similar response? Maybe if Sally continued to lead Ronnie to believe that she wasn’t a suspect in the case, the woman would continue to open up.
Sally reached for her phone, her fingertips nearly prickling with excitement. After three rings, Ronnie picked up. “Mrs. Kruger,” Sally began, “I was wondering if you’d like to meet me for lunch?”
* * *
Things were so much better now that Mitch was back behind bars. The house, which had erupted in a series of loud fights and accusations since the police had found Mary Ann, was once again quiet. Ronnie had the bed to herself. James had breakfast at the table for the first time since she’d arrived home. Mitch was gone. Everything was as it should be.
Still, Ronnie’s nerves felt frayed, like little ropes that had knotted and snapped. She’d combed the house for any lingering souvenirs, any remnants of Mitch’s affair, and had come up empty. She’d been wearing gloves when she fired the gun, so Mitch’s fingerprints were the only ones on the bullets and the trigger. There was nothing to tie her to the crime. He could protest all he wanted, and in the end it was his word against hers. What jury in the world would believe the desperate accusations of an adulterer and, as the scar on her scalp indicated, a wife abuser? Who would believe she’d killed her own sister? Even if anyone did believe it, belief wouldn’t get her convicted beyond a reasonable doubt. Without evidence, everything was speculation.
Part of Ronnie had even convinced herself that she hadn’t committed murder. No need to dwell on the past, what’s done is done, and a myriad other clichés. She had saved Mary Ann’s life, and her sister had repaid her by planning to run away with Mitch. Ronnie tried not to replay those final minutes in her mind, but now they felt dragged to the surface and laid out to dry like so many things hidden underwater—that moment when Mary Ann had calmly informed her that she and Mitch were in love, and that he was going to run away with her.
“We’ve always been in love,” she’d said, the confession not even puckering the corners of her eyes, not even making her mouth twitch with guilt.
Ronnie had stood then, her vision bursting with spots of rage, and calmly left the room to retrieve the gun. I gave you my blood. And then with a few well-aimed shots, she’d taken that blood back.
Still, appearances must be maintained, as Ronnie knew only too well. That’s why she dressed in a new bright red dress and drove to the prison where Mitch was being held. She was all dolled up and ready to give her husband a sympathetic ear and the support he deserved, every bit the image of the doting wife.
Mitch looked terrible. That industrial shade of orange jumpsuit did nothing for his skin tone. He sat across from her, a thick plate of glass separating them, and lifted the phone beside him so they could speak. Ronnie wrinkled her nose at the sight of her own phone. What kinds of germs were crawling on that thing? She sighed inwardly and gingerly lifted the receiver from the cradle.
“Sweetheart,” she crooned. “How are you holding up?”
“You have a hell of a lot of nerve coming here.” His eyes had narrowed to hateful slits. “Don’t think this is over,” he spat.
“Of course it’s not over, darling.” She leaned forward, closer to the glass. “We’re going to get you the best legal counsel money can buy. The thought that you had anything at all to do with Mary Ann’s death, well...” She shook her head. “It’s beyond imagination.”
A sick smile teased at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t think you’re getting away with anything. I have the goods on you.”
Ronnie sighed. “No you don’t, my love. Don’t you understand? You cleaned up the scene. Dumped the car, dumped the rug. Your fingerprints are all over it. All of it. I, meanwhile, have a cut on my head from being thrown into our glass table.”
His jaw tightened. “I never touched you. You gave yourself that cut out in Vegas.”
She slowed her voice as if she were talking to a child. “I know that and you know that, but no one else does. You see? But you don’t need to worry, because I’m starting to get my memory back. I suddenly remember coming
home that night and seeing you with Mary Ann. You were arguing. She wanted you to run away with her, but you were conflicted. See? You’re not the worst person in the world, darling.”
She leaned closer to the glass, her eyes focused like lasers on his. “But here’s the interesting part. Mary Ann went out of her mind. She pushed me and I fell into the glass table, slicing my head. Blood all over. You panicked, believing she’d killed me. Then in a fit of rage, you shot her. I regained consciousness later, and that’s when I panicked. I fled for my life in a daze of confusion, believing I was in danger. Of course, I came home when I realized you were about to be tried for my murder.” She lifted one shoulder coyly. “Extenuating circumstances, Mitch. I’ll make you look good in front of the jury. Just a man who made a mistake, and loves his wife. I’d never say that I saw you shoot my sister.”
“That’s exactly what I think you’re going to say,” he growled. His knuckles were white on the phone. “You’re going to say that I killed her, maybe that I meant to kill you, when the truth is that I’m the one who came home from work that night to find you checking Mary Ann’s pulse as she bled out on the rug.”
Ronnie waved her hand impatiently. “Crazy talk, Mitch. I would shoot my only sister after I gave her my bone marrow to save her life? No one’s going to believe it.”
“There’s something, Ronnie. There’s something you overlooked, and I’m going to nail you for it.”
She sat back in her chair, smiling sweetly. “You are a doll, and so very brave. I mean it—we’re going to get through this together,” she whispered before brushing a kiss on her fingertips and pressing them to the glass. “Take care, darling.”
He was still shouting, but Ronnie had heard enough from Mitch. As long as she continued to tell him she would testify that he’d acted in a fit of blind rage, he’d keep his mouth shut in the hopes her testimony would make the difference between being charged with manslaughter or murder. Of course, once she got to the stand, all bets were off, and she’d swear she saw him shoot Mary Ann in cold blood. She wasn’t stupid.
She calmly hung up the phone and walked away, brushing past the guards and sweeping out into the cool autumn sunshine. When her cell phone rang, she plucked it from her handbag and squinted at the number. “Hello?”
It was the prosecutor, Sally Dawson. She wanted to have lunch. Ronnie chirped her agreement. What was the choice? She had to remain in law enforcement’s good graces. But the hair on the back of her neck rose nevertheless. Mitch had told her he had something on her, something he planned to nail her with, and now the prosecutor wanted to meet?
Ronnie pulled her coat tighter. Something was not right.
* * *
Ben wasn’t watching Sally. Not intentionally, at least. It wasn’t his fault that he’d developed a hyperawareness of her comings and goings, or that he’d been walking back from the library and noticed her slipping out of her office, wearing her coat. She froze momentarily when their eyes met, then tried to recover. He stepped into her path. “Going out?”
“That’s not your business,” she replied as she buttoned her cream-colored coat.
Her cheeks were flushed, but then the color of that garment tended to bring attention to the pink in her complexion. Something hit him square in the stomach. He missed her. The thought made him feel desperate. “I’ve done nothing wrong here,” he said, his voice lowered to a hushed whisper. “Please don’t shut me out this way.”
She turned her face to his and sighed. “This is difficult for me.” Her eyes darted furtively around the hall and she lowered her voice, even though no one was around. “I appreciate all you’ve done, but...”
He should have been offended, but instead he softened at the sight of the fear in her eyes. She was still scared he was going to run, just as he had so many years ago. “How are you feeling, Sally?”
She blinked. “Fine. Better. Everything is better, thank you.”
“Good.” He meant it. “Where are you headed? Can I walk with you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I need some time—”
“We don’t have to talk about anything. We can walk in absolute silence if you want. I just want to walk with you.”
She swallowed and looked to the side as if considering how she could decline the request. Then she nodded. “Okay. Let’s walk.”
The air outside was crisp and dry, the remains of the leaves withered into small brown fists that clung haphazardly to the branches of trees along the street. The sky was thick with gray clouds that would hover menacingly but never unleash rain. Sally had stuck her hands in her coat pockets, but as they walked, she allowed their shoulders to brush. The simple, brief contact, accidental as it might have been, cast light on something he’d been ignoring for too long. He loved her. He always had. Now if only he could make her believe it.
“This is where I’m going,” she said, stopping in front of a little restaurant. Fresco. He’d never been here before, but he liked the dark wood paneled glass doors and the brush of warm air that escaped from inside when they opened. “I’m meeting someone for lunch.” She cleared her throat. “Ronnie Kruger.”
“You’re—wait a minute.” He took her gently by the elbow and led her to the edge of the sidewalk. “Why are you meeting Ronnie Kruger? And why didn’t you tell me?”
“She’s involved in this, Ben, and we haven’t been able to get her...yet.” Sally pulled her bag higher on her shoulder. “I’m going to talk to her, just like we did at the house. I want to see if she’ll open up.”
“Sally, you think she killed someone. Her own sister. You were going to meet her by yourself?”
“It’s a public place and the middle of the day. Nothing is going to happen.” She shifted. “But fine. You want to join us?”
Ben pulled his jacket tighter. He’d worn his gun today, and he was glad he had. Ever since James Kruger had stated that Sally’s life was in danger, Ben had been on heightened alert. He didn’t know what Ronnie Kruger’s real story was, but he didn’t like the idea of her being alone with Sally now. “Yes, I do.”
She gave a little shrug. “Suit yourself.” But he knew she was glad to have him there. After all, they were partners.
* * *
Ronnie had arrived first, but she rose when she saw Sally, and smiled as if they were old friends. “Ms. Dawson,” she gushed, her figure awash with vibrant red hues. “How nice to see you.”
Sally doubted that was true, but she returned the smile nevertheless. “Mrs. Kruger. It was nice of you to meet me on such short notice. You remember my colleague, Ben McNamara?”
The woman’s eyes grazed his figure. “Of course I do.”
Sally couldn’t stop the stab of jealousy that coursed through her. She had no reason to be jealous when other women looked at Ben. He wasn’t hers.
“It’s a pleasure,” Ben said with a friendly but efficient nod of his head.
The restaurant was warmly furnished with dark wainscoting and butternut-colored walls. Sconces cast subdued light over the interior, and on overcast days like this one, when little light came through the windows, the interior room felt cozy. They slid into a small booth in a corner of the restaurant, and Ben seated himself next to Sally. Their thighs touched, sending her heart into a skitter. She thought of the baby, and of him acting protective of them both at the hospital, and wondered whether a happy ending was possible.
Dangerous thinking.
“Mrs. Kruger, I appreciate that this has been a difficult time for you,” Sally said.
The woman heaved a dramatic, self-sacrificing sigh. “Deep down, I always knew this day would come,” she admitted. “Call it intuition. I’m just struggling to come to terms with what transpired that terrible night.”
“I can imagine. Thank you for being so willing to cooperate with the investigation.”
“Nonse
nse,” she said with a wave and a smile that sent a shiver darting down Sally’s neck. “I want nothing more than to be helpful.”
They were interrupted briefly as a waiter took their orders, and then Sally decided to get down to business. “Mrs. Kruger, I know you’ve said you don’t remember anything from that evening, but I’d like to show you some pictures of the items police recovered from your sister’s car, see if anything jogs your memory.”
Ronnie inhaled. “Oh, I don’t know if I’m up for this.”
“We can stop anytime you’d like,” Ben assured her. “You’re in control, so if you get uncomfortable, just say so.”
She nodded, closing her eyes tightly. For dramatic effect, Sally mused.
Finally, Ronnie said, “All right. I’m ready.”
Sally had a series of photographs in her bag, and she set them on the table, one at a time. Mary Ann’s hairbrush. The shoes from her suitcase. Her toothbrush. A tube of lipstick. Some of the items were waterlogged and filthy; other items showed no signs of having sat at the bottom of a lake for almost a year. Ronnie identified her sister’s favorite brand and color of lipstick and relayed a story over lunch about lipstick on her prom date’s shirt collar. Then she explained the hairbrush in great detail, telling Sally and Ben that Mary Ann’s hair had been thick and curly, almost wiry in texture, and that after searching for years for the right brush, she’d found it and promptly purchased five of them. “Five,” Ronnie repeated for emphasis. “In case she lost or wore out the first four.”
Mitch’s wife, Sally realized, was full of stories, and based on the level of detail she seemed to recall, Sally suspected most of those stories were lies. Ronnie barely stopped talking the entire meal. Each photograph brought with it a new tale, and none of them were relevant to the investigation. Sally caught Ben stifling a yawn at one point as he picked with disinterest at his sandwich, and her cheeks colored. If she had thought she was going to be able to get a hint of information from Ronnie today, she’d been sorely mistaken. The woman was good at this little game.
The Burden of Desire Page 22
