Redemption

by Nancy Geary

  “What happened when you saw her?”

  “I gave her back a ring she’d given me about a year ago. It had a St. Michael emblem on it. She said it would protect me. She believed in all that stuff, but I didn’t want her shit anymore. When I took it off, she got hysterical. She was crying and said she couldn’t bear to lose me. She said she’d been wrong to associate me with her past. She said everyone had betrayed her, and she needed me more than ever. Then... then she kind of lunged at me and, well... I don’t know how to say this.” He looked again at Teddy.

  “They were intimate,” she said matter-of-factly. “In a manner of speaking.”

  “What about the pill bottle? How did you get that?” Frances found herself engrossed in his story. The tone of his voice and his demeanor were convincing—she could almost imagine how a jury would hear his tale— and now she wanted to know how he would explain the evidence that the police had collected against him.

  “I saw the bottle on her dressing table. I asked her how many she’d taken, and she said only a couple. I told her to forget the wedding. We’d run away together and I’d marry her, but she refused. She said she had to marry Jack. It was too late. So basically nothing was going to change. I found myself getting angrier and angrier. She wanted Jack and me. Maybe Jack was willing to go along with half her affection, but I wasn’t. I left. I took the bottle with me.”

  Frances remembered the crumpled tissue that the police had found, the one containing traces of meprobamate. Elvis had hypothesized that Hope had been interrupted, spat the pills out, and then later ingested them. Was that before or after her last encounter with Carl? “Did you see any other pills anywhere? Ones that weren’t in the bottle?”

  He shook his head.

  “Did you take the bottle because you thought she was going to kill herself?”

  “I wasn’t going to take the chance. And there’s been more than one day in the last week when I’ve debated taking them myself.”

  “What about your key?”

  “When I got back to my boat, I didn’t have it. I figured I’d lost it in her room. It had been in my pants pocket. I had to go back to get it because it was the only one I had. I assumed everyone would be at the church. I never saw Hope again.”

  “And you didn’t find the key.”

  “That’s right.”

  Frances debated for a moment whether to ask about the bandanna, his seeming admission of guilt. She hated to disclose all that Michael could say about Carl, but she needed to know his response. Perhaps it was her grandmother’s conviction wearing off, or perhaps it was the manner in which he spoke, but she found herself wanting to be convinced of the truth of his story, and this conduct was the most suspicious. “Why did you wipe off the doorknob?”

  “What?”

  “The prosecution’s witness, the one who identified you to begin with, says he saw you wipe the doorknob with a bandanna as you left. Why?”

  “I don’t know,” he said softly. “It’s a lame answer, but I can’t tell you why. I just had a feeling something was wrong, and I didn’t want anyone to be able to place me back in her room... alone.” There was a long pause, and the silence felt oppressively heavy. “I know what you’re thinking. I know it doesn’t look good. But I swear it has no significance.”

  Was that the truth? Could such a deliberate act have happened without an explanation? She doubted it. And that doubt made her more than uneasy. Carl had admitted his rage, admitted that he’d been alone with Hope around the time of her death. Perhaps he was the last person to see her alive. Even if the evidence linking him to the crime was circumstantial, even if he had an explanation for most of it, he couldn’t explain everything. And that wasn’t good enough.

  Besides, who else was there? Frances thought of all the people who had been around Hope shortly before her death. Jack had thought it was his own father, the man who didn’t come to the church. Where had he been as he was missing his son’s wedding? Then there was the peculiar information that Fiona had consulted extensively with Dr. Frank, Hope’s psychiatrist. Hope had been medicated enough that even someone not substantially stronger than her could have strangled her. She tried to recall when she’d seen the unhappy mother of the groom take her seat in the pew. Finally, Carl’s story of sexual abuse highlighted the medical examiner’s findings. Who had done that? Was the person still around? If so, and if he was still involved in Hope’s life, had he been involved in her death?

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Stop it, Frances. You should believe him because I’m telling you to,” Teddy interrupted. “I’ll vouch for him.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. When he left Hope’s room, he came here. He told me what happened, exactly as he’s just told you. When he mentioned the pills, I got apprehensive and called over to the house, to Hope’s number. She answered. She wouldn’t say much, we hardly spoke, but she was still alive after he’d seen her and already dead by the time he returned.” She lit another cigarette, and Frances watched the smoke curl up from the tip and disappear into the evening air. Was her grandmother making that up? Was she so convinced of his innocence that she was willing to fabricate? Frances wanted to believe her but knew even the telephone records couldn’t fully corroborate his story given the vagueness of the time sequence. Nothing would prevent the prosecution from theorizing that Carl murdered Hope sometime after the call and before Michael Davis saw him return for his keys.

  “He’s an innocent man. And I want you to prove it. Don’t do it for him if you don’t want to, but do it for Hope. She wouldn’t want the man she loved—the man she adored—to go to prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Least of all if that crime was her murder.”

  28

  Why did Bill leave his law firm?”

  Frances sat with her aunt in the library while she worked on a small needlepoint pillow. Although the windows were open, there was no sea breeze to dissipate the thick humid air. She could feel herself starting to perspire. She knew her question seemed out of the blue, but as she’d begun to unravel the sad story of the Lawrence family, she’d wondered repeatedly about Bill’s decision to leave a well-established law firm to set up a small practice on his own. Didn’t most lawyers aspire to the power, prestige, and remuneration of partnership? Why give that up? Frances had been involved in investigations long enough to know that seeming irrational behavior usually wasn’t.

  Adelaide put down her canvas. “Please don’t ask me. I can’t discuss it.”

  “Why not?” Frances got up from her chair and moved to the love seat so she could sit beside her. She took hold of her aunt’s hand and felt her thin, cold fingers. “Why can’t you talk to me?” she asked.

  “It’s part of the past, Fanny. I can’t resurrect it. I wish more than anything in the world I could rewrite history, but I can’t. I can’t talk about what’s happened with you or anyone else.”

  “Please don’t do this. Please tell me, Adelaide.”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me!” Frances pleaded. “If Dad were in better health, you know he’d be here now, and he’d be urging you to tell him what was wrong. You’re his sister and he loves you. I know that. But he couldn’t be here. So I’m his poor stand-in.”

  “Telling you won’t change anything. Why don’t you just accept that? I appreciate your concern, your help. I really do. Having you here has meant more to me than I can possibly express, but I can’t expect you to know how I feel.”

  “Is it that Hope was adopted? There’s no shame in that. Who cares? You loved her, you made her a wonderful home, and she loved you. What more could anyone want?”

  “Don’t do this, please. I’ve lost my daughter,” she said in a voice that reflected her disbelief. “Carl took her life. Our past isn’t relevant anymore.”

  Frances took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to break the news of Carl’s confession, of Teddy’s insistence on his innocence, at least until there was a
nother suspect. She wasn’t at all sure her aunt’s psyche could handle the emotional roller coaster caused by the various false arrests. They all needed closure. But the more Frances thought about what Carl had said, the more she’d come to realize that whatever abuse Hope had suffered in her past might well be connected to her death. An escalation of violence couldn’t be ignored. “Carl didn’t kill her, or at least it doesn’t appear that he did.”

  Adelaide sighed, but she seemed too weary to react.

  “Who abused Hope?” Frances squeezed her aunt’s hand, trying to convey in a simple gesture that her questions were an attempt to help, not to hurt; but she knew the mere mention of the words stabbed Adelaide.

  Her eyes were vacant as she stared straight ahead. “How did you know?”

  “Carl told me. Hope confided in him.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Not very much. He didn’t know the details. He also didn’t know who’d done it.”

  “Hardly anyone does.” Her hands shook as she took a sip of her tea. “Why is this important now?”

  “Someone hurt her, terribly, when she was young. If that person is still around, the police need to talk to him. Sexual abuse isn’t about sex; it’s about violence. He may well be involved in her death.”

  “No. No. That’s impossible. He can’t be involved. Bill loved her.” Tears ran down her cheeks.

  Bill, Bill Lawrence, Hope’s own father. Her uncle couldn’t have done such a thing. For a moment, Frances wondered whether she’d misheard, that in fact “Bill” was someone else, a stranger, someone Hope didn’t know, didn’t trust. But she knew from the look on her aunt’s face that her ears hadn’t deceived her. Struggling to maintain her composure, she stood, retrieved a tissue box from a side table by the window, and brought it to Adelaide.

  “You must promise what I tell you will stay a secret. For Hope’s sake, but also for the sake of our family. My daughter’s gone. I can’t lose Bill, too.”

  Frances nodded. “You have my word,” she said in a voice that she didn’t recognize.

  Her aunt sighed, obviously struggling. “It wasn’t what you think. He made a mistake but didn’t hurt her. She did it to herself. He ... I...” she stammered. “Please give me a moment,” she said, looking away.

  They sat in silence for what seemed an eternity. How had this happened? Why? Frances’s mind raced as she realized that no matter what her aunt said, she could never look her uncle in the eye again. Sexual abuse was no mistake.

  “You must try to understand,” Adelaide said in a voice that had steadied. “If you can ever try to put this in perspective, you must listen. You have to understand our background—my background.”

  Perspective! Frances wanted to cry out. The idea was absurd, deranged. What was Adelaide thinking? Why was she so desperate that she would accept any rationale for what had happened to her daughter?

  “My first husband was a handsome drunk, a beautiful man with a violent temper. Your father warned me, but I was so young, so enthralled, I wouldn’t listen, and then I got pregnant. Poor Richard, he ended up paying our rent, paying for a nanny, practically putting food in our mouths because Morgan couldn’t hold down a job. Eighteen months after we married, he died in his sleep. He’d apparently had a serious vitamin B deficiency— common in alcoholics—and he developed nutritional cardiomyopathy. His heart just gave out. I woke and found him lying next to me.”

  Morgan Fairchild. She remembered the name but had no recollection of this uncle. Her father must have decided to keep her and her sister away from this relative.

  “When I met Bill, I felt blessed. Truly lucky. I’d been working part-time at Richard’s firm, although we both knew he was doing me a favor. I was his charity. I had no skills beyond impeccable manners and a good background in art history, and I hadn’t gone to college. I couldn’t type more than a few words a minute. I’d never expected to work, never wanted to be anything but a wife and mother. But he had me stuff envelopes and get coffee so that I wouldn’t feel indebted, although I certainly did anyway. Your father’s a good man.” She stood, walked to the window, and fiddled with the tiebacks on a set of drapes, readjusting the folds ever so slightly. “Bill was counsel for one of the parties in a deal of Richard’s. From the moment we met, he was warm and wonderful and kind. And he loved Penelope. He didn’t care that I’d been married before, and I can’t tell you what a relief that was. A single woman back then... it was different. He wanted to have a family, to be a family.” She leaned against the wall. “It was only when ... when ... when we couldn’t have our own child.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’d never seen Bill angry before. He was furious, as if I had control. My doctor told me that such a reaction was common. He probably felt humiliated, ashamed. I’d been able to have a child with Morgan, why not him? So we arranged to adopt Hope. We went away for the last six months so that no one would see that I hadn’t been pregnant, and had this wonderful trip around Europe. Penny stayed with Teddy in Ann Arbor, and it felt like a second honeymoon. Your father and Clio met us in Paris for a few days. When we returned, we went through Nevada and picked up a beautiful little girl. She was two days old, and the tiniest, most precious creature in the world. Nobody knew she wasn’t ours.”

  Listening, Frances realized this was her family, too. Her father had known the true story and had been a part of preserving the secret of Hope’s history. Why? Couldn’t the truth have been shared? Were they so proud of their family line that they couldn’t include an outsider? For some reason, in order to accept Hope, they’d all needed to pretend she was one of them.

  “Bill was quite enchanted with her as a small child; he treated her like a doll, lavished attention on her, dressed her and bathed her, and took her with him to the office. Those years were truly blissful. But around the time she turned twelve or thirteen—I wasn’t really paying attention at first—he became increasingly concerned about her lack of discipline. One time he saw her on her bicycle in front of the penny candy store with her friends, and he became enraged. He had some notion that she was too good to be loitering, that standing around on a street corner was for commoners. He had a similar fit when he picked her up from a school dance and thought she’d had a cigarette. But something was odd. He refused to accept that she was on the brink of adolescence. It was what kids did, I tried to explain, but he wouldn’t listen. And then the punishments began, ones that didn’t fit the crime. He’d lock her in the closet in his upstairs study. I begged him to stop, but then he only got angry with me. He told me her rebelliousness, her lack of discipline, was my fault, and that he’d teach her to comport herself like a lady, to honor her parents. I thought about asking your father to talk to him— after all, he’d gone through it with you and your sister—but I didn’t want to worry him. I kept hoping it would pass, that Bill would come around. I should have tried harder, but he seemed so emphatic that he was doing the right thing. I didn’t know... I truly didn’t. You have to believe me. I didn’t know until it was too late.”

  “What? Tell me what he did.”

  Adelaide could barely speak through her tears. “He... he... had sex with her. They had sex in the closet.”

  A chill ran through Frances, and her feet and hands tingled as she struggled to process what her aunt had just confessed. She felt dizzy and wanted to pinch herself to make sure this conversation was real.

  “She was fourteen when she got pregnant. I don’t know how long it had been going on. She blamed herself, I think, and couldn’t bear for anyone else to know. She managed to lose the baby, but in the process caused so much internal damage that she was rushed to the hospital. They did a hysterectomy that night. It was the only way to stop the bleeding.”

  Frances found it almost impossible to listen. The image of Hope trying to terminate her own pregnancy was sickening. She couldn’t bear that her young cousin had suffered such pain alone. “Did she talk to you?”

  “No. I remember standing in the hospital
with Bill, watching her sleep and wondering what in the world had happened. It was so frightening, it was hard to imagine. We’d almost lost her. We just kept holding each other and thanking God that she would be all right.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “I didn’t, not until much later. Every time I tried to discuss it, she got hysterical. The doctors had explained the medical complications—they knew she’d been pregnant—but even they didn’t know the whole truth.”

  “What about Bill?”

  “He never said a word, either. He actually seemed happier than I’d seen him in years, and I remember at the time being scared by his behavior. It seemed so peculiar. In retrospect, I think he was happy he’d impregnated someone.” She bent her head and sobbed. “I... know ... that... sounds ... horrible.”

  Yes, it does! It is! Frances thought. What about Hope? What about protecting your own daughter? Were her aunt and uncle so concerned with appearances that they’d been willing to sacrifice her emotional and physical safety?

  “I only found out after she’d been seeing Dr. Frank. After the surgery, she began to starve herself. We realized she needed help, professional help. He explained to me that he wasn’t surprised. She was a driven girl who’d suffered a terrible trauma that in her own mind was associated with her sexuality. She blamed herself, her body, so she wanted to disappear.”

  “So Dr. Frank told you about Bill?”

  “He filed something with the state, reporting Bill. There was a hearing, and that’s when I learned. Dr. Frank testified. I couldn’t believe what he said. I couldn’t believe what had gone on, and I couldn’t believe that both Hope and Bill had kept it secret.”

  Frances felt as if her throat had closed, and she took a sip of tea in an effort to regain her composure. She couldn’t find words.

  “Because Hope was adopted, I don’t think Bill thought of it as incest. Or at least that’s how he justified it. Was it so wrong to be attracted to her? He kept asking me that. She wasn’t his blood, he said. She wasn’t his child. I was so confused, so uncertain. We argued, but eventually ... eventually I gave in. I wanted to believe he wasn’t evil.”