"Me? Sure. Teri's taking this so hard. We thought Billy was getting better. It's completely out of left field. All the literature says you're supposed to see signs." With slow deliberation Martin removed a square of cloth from his shirt pocket, unfolded it, and took off his glasses. "Suicide is the second leading cause of death among young males fifteen to nineteen, did you know that?" He wiped the lenses. "What a tangle that boy's mind is. I don't know what's going on in there, but I can't believe that he committed murder. For the love of God, why would he say he did? Teri's about to fall apart, and I don't know what to do next. Tell me what I'm supposed to do."
From the other chair, Anthony reached over and gripped Martin's forearm. "Take care of yourself and your wife. Don't worry about anything else right now. You and Teri will stay the night, I suppose. Get some sleep if you can. You particularly, my friend. Listen. I have had clients who confessed to crimes they didn't commit. The reasons are often complex, and I don't want to speculate about Billy, but it does happen."
"Are they going to arrest him?"
"They'll need more than a bare confession. Do you know if they have anything?"
"They didn't say." Martin was still cleaning his glasses. His brows were heavy and dark. "That detective. Jack Baylor. What a son of a bitch. Teri and I were waiting outside the emergency room, and Baylor came in. He told us Billy had confessed. I thought it was some kind of sick joke. Teri went into hysterics. I had to pull her away from him."
"All right. I'll speak to Detective Baylor. Is there a chance Billy might wake up before morning?"
"Not likely. They say he's down for the count."
"Good. Do I need to remind you how to deal with the police?
For now, tell them nothing. If he does wake up, keep them away from him. Tell the staff not to let anyone in his room. Do you understand?"
Martin nodded. "I know the drill." He slid his glasses back over his ears.
Anthony said, "How do I get in touch with Billy's therapist?"
"You don't. He's no longer in the area. I hate to admit this, but Billy stopped going quite a while ago. He refused, and Teri didn't have the strength to fight him. I let him get away with it because he seemed to have improved so much." Martin smiled. "What's that river in Egypt? Denial?"
Anthony smiled in return, then said, "Let me call Sharon Vogelhut. She knows Billy from before, and with your permission I'll call her tonight and ask if she can be here first thing in the morning. In light of Billy's statement to the police, he should be evaluated immediately. I have to tell you, it's going to get expensive."
Martin waved the thought away. "Call her."
"I also want to talk to Joan Sinclair about the night that Sandra McCoy died. When did Billy arrive at her house and when did he leave? If she'll make a statement to the police, our troubles may be over."
"That's right." Martin nodded. "By God, that's right, isn't it?"
"Did you speak to her yourself about Billy?"
"Teri did. Joan called her and said he was at her house watching old movies the night of the murder. I imagine Billy asked her to call, but it never crossed our minds he had anything to do with Sandra's death. He rode over to the marina with Sandra that afternoon, but he didn't see her afterward."
"I didn't know that."
"Sandra left work a little early. She took the shuttle about four-thirty, and Billy rode with her. She kept her car in our employee lot. Billy took his mother's car and ran some errands. Sandra was coming out of the video store about the same time Billy was getting home. He went right over to Joan Sinclair's house."
Anthony glanced at his watch: nearly ten o'clock. "It's too late to call her now. Can you get me her number?"
"It's in the office. Lois can get it for you. But don't expect Joan to answer her phone. The procedure is, you leave a message, and she decides whether to call you back. Sometimes she does, sometimes not. I believe she will because Billy is involved. She and Billy seem to click."
"I could drop in."
"No, better not do that." Martin chuckled, and the woeful expression on his face lightened. "I recall the last time I went over there unannounced. I said, 'Joan, it's me,' and she says, 'I know who you are, now get off my land till I send you an engraved invitation.'"
"Coño."
"Joan likes her privacy, that's all. Sometimes reporters show up looking for interviews, but that doesn't happen much anymore. She used to be something of a cult figure. She played lady vampires in a couple of pictures with Vincent Price back in the late sixties. Billy has the videos if you want to see them."
A movement in the corridor caught Anthony's attention. A thin, ropy man in blue jeans and sneakers walked past and stopped at the open door to Billy's room. "Who is that?"
Martin turned in his chair. "Billy's dad. I'd better go."
By the time they had gone back across the hall, Kyle Fadden was arguing with his former wife. "Why didn't you call me, Teri? You don't think I have a right to know about this? I had to hear it from Lois. She's the one who called me."
Through her teeth Teri said, "Be quiet, will you? He needs to rest."
Anthony had never met Kyle Fadden. Four years ago he had been in the county jail in Key West on a DUI. Gray hair hung from under a faded ball cap. On the back of his T-shirt a big fish circled toward a baited hook.
Martin said, "Kyle."
Fadden turned around.
"He won't wake up till morning," Martin said. "Why don't you come back then?"
"Don't tell me when I can see my son." He pushed past to lean over the bed. "What is this? Why is he tied up?" Fadden had the creased, sunbaked skin of a man who worked on the water. Sweat stains darkened the band of his MERCRUISER logo cap. "Why is he still unconscious?"
"He still has a lot of alcohol in his system," Martin said.
"Aw, Christ." Fadden shot a glance toward the ceiling. "He's been drinking again? Did you know about this, Teri?"
Her dark eyes snapped with anger. "How can you talk? I smell the beer on your breath."
"One beer. Don't get so high-and-mighty. How come you never told me he was depressed? You never noticed?"
"All right, you've seen him. Why don't you go?"
"I have a right to be with my son, don't I?"
Anthony said quietly, "Mr. Fadden, there's nothing you can do here. You should come back in the morning."
Fadden stared at him. "Who are you, his doctor?"
"I'm a friend of the family."
"That's nice. They call their friends and not the boy's own dad."
"Do you want security to show you the way out?"
Fadden's eyes lit up—a man who would assert his rights by throwing the first punch. "Screw you."
Stepping between them Martin said, "Kyle, it's my fault nobody called you. I promised Teri I would, and I didn't get to it yet. I apologize." Martin touched the back of a chair. "Do you want to sit down? Billy's going to sleep all night, but you're welcome to stay with us. The doctor makes his rounds at eight o'clock. Or if you'd rather, I'll call you as soon as Billy wakes, and you can come then."
Fadden stared at Martin Greenwald. "He's not your son."
"I know that, but I care about him too."
"Yeah, see where that got him. This boy has it too easy. He needs some rules. Look at that hair. It's ugly. I wouldn't put up with it. Flunks out of school, can't hold a job. Nobody tells me a damn thing." Fadden stared down at his son for a minute. "He's going to be out all night, huh? I'm beat. Might as well come in the morning."
"That's fine. It's up to you."
"Okay. If he wakes up, tell him I came by." Fadden looked at Teri as though he had more to say but they would get to it later. He shouldered past Anthony and went out. Anthony leaned into the hall to make sure Fadden kept going, then pulled the door shut. He wondered how Martin had managed to be so meek without choking on it.
Sighing with relief, Teri held out an arm for Martin, then wrapped herself in his embrace. She smiled at Anthony. "Friend of the fam
ily? It's true, you are. Martin told a little fib tonight, isn't he sweet? I didn't tell him to phone Kyle. That was my job, and I didn't do it. I put it off. What a coward."
"No, you're not, honeybunch. You're the best."
"Kyle won't come tomorrow. You watch. He'll make some excuse."
"Now, now, don't let him get to you." Martin gave her a squeeze. "You know what? Anthony and I had a nice talk. He's got some cards up his sleeve, and I think everything's going to be just fine."
"You do?"
"I'll tell you about it. Right now we ought to let him get to the hotel and have some dinner."
"Oh, of course!" Teri's smile shone through. "Gail is going to be mad at us for keeping you here so long."
"No, no. She's very understanding." This was sometimes true. It depended on the pressures of her job, the state of her stomach, the position of the moon.
"Tell her we're sorry we weren't there to greet her. We'll see her tomorrow." Teri stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Gracias por todo. We owe you so much."
Anthony found Detective Baylor in a waiting room down the hall pulling a knob on the snack machine. A pack of cheese crackers clunked into the tray at the bottom. Baylor retrieved them, then tore open the cellophane. "Buenas noches, counselor. I had a feeling you'd be showing up."
Glancing at the other people in the room, Anthony said quietly, "Are you planning to spend the night? Billy isn't going to talk to you."
"We'll see. If he wants to unburden his conscience, I'm here to listen." Baylor ate one of the cheese crackers and dusted the crumbs off his short mustache. He was a trimly built man with a gleam on his holster, the kind of cop who would have a police scanner in his off-duty vehicle.
"What did he say in his phone call to your office?" Anthony asked.
"I didn't speak to him myself, but we've got it on tape." Baylor chewed as he talked. "Let's see. Quote, 'This is William Fadden. I'm the one you're looking for. I'm the one who killed Sandra McCoy. It was me.' The sergeant told him to hold on. Mr. Fadden then said something to the effect of, 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.' Then he hung up."
Anthony waited as if Baylor would say more. "And? What other evidence do you have against him?"
"I'm not going to share that information at this time."
"You have nothing. A statement from a suicidally depressed teenager is worthless. It's obvious what he was doing: using the police as another way to hang himself."
"Oh? How about, 'I'm a violent, murdering, sociopathic little dirtbag, and I can't live with the guilt anymore'? Soon as Mr. Fadden comes out of it, we're going to ask him some questions. He's over eighteen this time. I'm willing to bet he'll talk to us. I'd also lay odds he's going to tell you to take a hike."
"Stay away from my client," Anthony said.
Baylor thumbed another cracker out of the pack. "I knew Sandra McCoy. She used to wait tables at The Green Turtle. Nice little girl, hard worker. Her parents are dead, and she came down here to take care of her grandparents. A damn shame about Sandra. Somebody grabbed her right out of the parking lot. He pulled her into some bushes and strangled her with a rope. Twisted it hard enough to crush her larynx. Then he took her to the rock quarry on Windley Key. He laid her out with her head hanging over the edge and cut her throat, almost decapitated her. Looked like somebody had poured a couple of gallons of paint down the rocks. Then he shoved her over the side and left her for the land crabs to pick at. By morning her eyes were gone. The only bright spot being that this occurred postmortem. Oh, by the way, those little details haven't been released to the public. I thought you'd be interested."
No one else in the waiting room appeared to be listening. Anthony said quietly, "Did Billy mention those little details in his phone call?"
Jack Baylor came closer. "You know what makes me sick? This didn't have to happen. If Billy Fadden had paid for being a teenage arsonist, if he'd been put in a place where he'd gotten some real psychiatric treatment, as opposed to the Dr. Feelgood that you and his mommy sent him to, Sandra McCoy would still be alive. You ought to think about that, counselor. Take a good look at it sometime."
4
Stirred from sleep by a noise at the edge of her consciousness, Gail awakened with a start that sent papers sliding off her lap. Momentarily bewildered, she found herself lying on a sofa looking at a ceiling fan with woven bamboo blades. Footsteps sounded on wood. She sat up and the room righted itself. A shape moved past the window. The door opened, then banged against the brass security bar.
"Who is it?"
"It's me, Gail, who do you think? Open up."
Finger-combing her hair, she hurried across the room and let Anthony in. "I fell asleep. Is it late? How's Billy?"
"Out cold from too much alcohol, but he'll be all right. No permanent damage."
"That's good. Are you hungry? I saved you some leftovers."
"No, I ate a sandwich. Is there anything to drink?"
"I'll get it. Scotch?"
"Please." He pivoted, studying the room. "This is smaller than the one I had last time."
"It's perfect," Gail said. There were wooden shutters at the windows, a high beamed ceiling, furniture that could have come from a Jamaican sugar planter's house. The minibar had been made from an old china cabinet, and painted pottery brightened the shelves.
When she gave him his drink he noticed her robe and slid a hand over the silk at her shoulder and sleeve. "That's new. I like it."
She held it open and showed off the nightie underneath. "You bought it for me."
"Ah. So I did. Why don't you take it off and get in the shower with me?"
"If you let me scrub your back."
"You have a deal." He put an arm around her and she lifted her face to be kissed. His mouth was cool from the ice in his drink, but she liked the taste of him.
"Anthony, I ran into Lois Greenwald tonight. Martin's sister?"
"Yes, I remember Lois." He sat down on the end of a rattan chaise to take off his shoes.
"She thought I was your law partner. I don't know where she got that idea, but she started going on and on about Billy. She said that four years ago he was arrested for arson, and you were his defense lawyer." Gail waited for Anthony to say something. He picked up his glass from the coffee table, which had been crafted from polished teak, perhaps the planks from an old sailing ship. "Well? Is it true?"
He shrugged and took a sip of his drink.
"Why didn't you tell me about it?"
"Why should I? It has nothing to do with why we're here now."
"Well, I was standing there like an idiot without a clue what she was talking about."
"And now you know."
"No, I don't. What happened?"
"Gail, por favor, not tonight. It's late." He walked away, drink in one hand, shoes in the other. Lovely brown leather shoes that he had bought in Spain, where he'd gone last year after they'd split up, to avoid having to talk to her.
The bedside lamp was on, softly glowing. The four-poster bed had a tent of mosquito netting that could be let down, which was of no possible use unless one opened the windows and ripped out the screens.
"Your clothes are in the armoire," Gail said. The huge piece of furniture took up half of one wall.
He opened the doors. "Yes, I see. Thank you." He unbuttoned his shirt and jerked it free of his pants. His waist was slim and hard. Muscles moved in his back.
Gail leaned against the armoire. "Lois thinks the fact that her brother has brought you here again means something. She wanted to know if Billy's a suspect. I think she really believes that his suicide attempt is an indication of guilt. She started talking about losing business if people think there's a killer running around loose on the property."
Anthony laughed. "Lois Greenwald invented the word neurotic. Believe me, Billy is no threat to anyone except himself." He tossed his shirt over the back of a chair. "How is the bathroom? The last time I stayed here, my room had a Jacuzzi."
"How can you be sure Billy is ha
rmless? He burned down somebody's house."
"He was arrested, not convicted. He said it was an accident, there wasn't enough evidence to proceed, and the charges were dismissed." Anthony unbuckled his trousers.
"Then why did you advise the Greenwalds to pay the homeowners? Didn't they collect on their insurance?"
He gave her a look. "I do not pay off witnesses."
"I know that. But why did you—"
"Billy was responsible. Whether the fire was an accident or deliberately set, he was responsible. Insurance didn't cover it all, and Martin and Teri paid the difference."
"Before guilt was decided."
"Yes. So what?"
Gail's temper flared. "It doesn't sound like an accident. Lois told me he confessed to a friend. She said the reason the case didn't get anywhere was because the witness changed his mind. She implied that you intimidated him."
"Intimidated? I set him down for a deposition! He wouldn't show up. I never spoke to the boy."
"That's not exactly a lack of evidence, is it?"
"Ay, Dios mío." Anthony let out a breath between his teeth, a habit she found particularly annoying. He took off his pants and tossed them in the direction of his shirt. "Billy said it was an accident, I have no reason to doubt his word, and therefore the answer is no. I was his lawyer, not his mother. I had an ethical duty to protect the legal rights of my client. Any lawyer who cannot grasp that concept should find some other line of work."
"Stop preaching at me, Anthony."
He slid out of his low-cut gold briefs. "It is easy to criticize another lawyer's judgment when you are standing on the outside."
"I wasn't—"
"I did what was necessary to defend my client. Why can't you respect that? I have been a criminal defense attorney for seventeen years, and occasionally I know what I'm doing." Holding up his hands, he said, "Ni una más. I'm tired. I'm going to take a shower and go to bed. Are you coming or not?"
He reached into the armoire for one of the resort's plush terry-cloth robes, which he threw over one shoulder as he headed for the bathroom.
Gail followed but had no intention of getting into the shower with him. She had bathed earlier in the tub, which was half the size of her car. The bathtub took up one corner, the shower another. Anthony reached in and turned a knob, creating a fall of water like tropical rain. There was no curtain, only the depth of the shower itself to prevent splashes from hitting the floor outside. The toilet and bidet had their own room, discreetly out of sight. The vanity was a long slab of marble. Standing there naked, marble at the level of his hipbones, Anthony rummaged through his toiletries bag for a razor. Scented soap. Pumice stone.
Suspicion of Madness Page 3
