And then, right there in her living room, sat Carley.
Fresh tears spurted in her eyes at the sight of the woman she loved like a sister. Her first contact with home in nearly two years. She missed belonging.
After the applause and Carley’s thank-you, Blaine Cavanaugh briefed those in his audience about the unfolding drama, emphasizing the scene between Carley and Thomas Whitehead outside court the day of Whitehead’s indictment, and ending with that morning’s newspaper shocker.
“We at Good Afternoon, San Francisco had previously asked Mrs. Winchester to be a guest on our show, an invitation she regretfully declined. However, after reading this morning’s headline, she felt she had no choice but to call us. She offered to appear on the show, and we knew you, our viewers, would want us to make that happen.”
Carley, slim as ever and dressed in a black suit with red silk trim, her coal-black hair shoulder-length with loose curls, nodded, her face tight.
“So let her talk,” Tricia grumbled. Come on, Carley, tell me what’s going on.
“Mrs. Winchester, how do you feel about defense claims that you’re out of your mind?”
“It’s not only the defense.” Her voice sounded exactly the same, sending a warm thread of emotion through Tricia. “It’s also the police. Two years ago they disregarded the things my sister told them—mostly by saying they didn’t have enough evidence to make a case. This time there’s more evidence so they have to work harder to bury things. I’m not going to let them.”
“So you don’t think you’re crazy?” Blaine asked, as though he wasn’t sure which side of the story he was on.
“I know I’m not,” Carley said, her voice even, convincing—just as Tricia would have predicted. “I’m an intense woman, Mr. Cavanaugh, an intelligent intense woman. I get passionate in my delivery, but I deliver rational thoughts.”
The camera shot to Blaine, who nodded. “What made you change your mind about doing the show?”
Carley looked straight at the camera, her dark eyes open, lucid and glinting with something that dared anyone to dismiss what she was about to say.
“I will not see that man walk free a second time,” she said. “Not without a trial by an unpaid jury of this town’s citizens.”
“Whoa!” Cavanaugh sat back. If she hadn’t been so completely focused on Carley Tricia would’ve hated the man’s “cat got the cream” expression.
“Are you saying Whitehead has someone from the police department on his payroll?”
Carley shook her head. “I doubt he’d do anything that overt,” she said. “But he’s a man of great power, with a family that goes back to Gold Rush days. They have holdings all over the state and fingers in so many pies, there probably aren’t many people who couldn’t be controlled by him.”
Cavanaugh nodded again. Was he wondering about the funding for his show, or maybe the cable station on which his show appeared? He’d be a stupid man if he didn’t wonder about that. He shifted, his entertaining persona slowly segueing into something more serious.
More worthy of Carley.
“And you know for sure that things have been covered up?”
“Yes.”
“Such as?”
“I’d told the police Leah and Whitehead were lovers. No one listened until I accused the senator outside the courtroom.”
“Investigators seldom disclose evidence. How do you know they didn’t listen?”
“They warned me very clearly to be careful about what I said, since Whitehead could sue me for defamation of character. And they said the information was hearsay only, my word against his, and therefore not worth much to them.”
One hand on his chin, Cavanaugh leaned back. “But you had more to say?”
“That was just the beginning,” Carley confirmed. “I knew Leah was pregnant. She’d done the test on Sunday and called me immediately afterward. I told the detectives on Monday night when I reported her missing, but she hadn’t seen a doctor yet and with no proof…”
“That’s why you were so insistent that forensics do a thorough search of her apartment.”
Carley nodded. “I knew she’d taken the home pregnancy test but I had no idea we’d be so lucky.” She took a deep breath. Blinked. The first sign of the emotion she was reining in. Tricia wanted to reach out and grab the other woman in her arms as she’d done when she was eight and Carley five and had been spit on by a boy in her kindergarten class who had a crush on her. “After they found the test strip they called her gynecologist and learned that she’d scheduled an appointment for early next month.”
A pan of the audience showed rapt attention. Taylor sat silently in her lap, one thumb in his mouth, his other hand rubbing Blue’s silk-lined ear.
“At least the police are finally listening,” Cavanaugh said, seemingly engrossed now in the Pandora’s box he’d opened. Tricia respected him for continuing with a show that could as easily finish him as catapult him from local cable to prime time.
“Listening, maybe, but still approaching the probable deaths of two women with a disturbing lack of commitment.”
“How so?”
“They charged him with murder in the first degree, one count. With a baby involved, in the state of California, that should’ve been two counts. And, in the state of California, two counts of first-degree murder allows them to ask for the death sentence, which, of course, they did not do.”
Did a woman go to hell for feeling a surge of joy at the thought that a man might be put to death? Had Tricia foreclosed any possibility of personal happiness by wishing bad fortune on someone else?
Cavanaugh took a sip of something from the cup on the coffee table beside him. “Let’s go back to the pregnancy for a moment.” He glanced from the audience back to Carley. “You think Senator Whitehead knew about it, and that this somehow had a connection to your sister’s disappearance?”
“I’m certain of it.” Carley sat up straight, facing the camera, not the studio audience. She was talking to a much bigger audience. Or just to Tricia. “That last phone call between Whitehead and Leah, the Monday afternoon she disappeared, didn’t go at all the way he said. That’s the one where he claimed she was calling to say she didn’t feel well, to cancel their date for that evening. But someone got in touch with me, someone who’s afraid to come forward, who overheard the senator on the phone. He broke things off with her. She’d told him that morning at breakfast that she was pregnant. And knowing Leah, if he’d told her it was over, she would’ve refused to accept that. She’d more likely have made some impetuous threat, such as going to the press and claiming he was the father of her child. Not that she’d have wanted him as a father to her baby at that point, but to show the world that the man really wasn’t the supporter of children he appeared to be.”
“And this person really overheard Senator Whitehead say he was breaking it off?” Cavanaugh sounded incredulous. The man was definitely off his game plan.
Carley nodded.
“Wow. Hard to believe. Senator Whitehead seems like such a kind, ethical man. And everyone knows about all his efforts for the kids of California.”
“Yeah, kind.” There was no misinterpreting the scorn in Carley’s voice. “So kind, he beat his wife.”
Tricia gasped. Crouched down over Taylor as though to protect him, her gaze still glued to the television.
“What?!” Cavanaugh sat forward. “That’s some pretty serious allegation!”
Carley shrugged. “So I’ve been told. And that’s probably why no one else is willing to say it out loud. But I knew Kate from the time I was born. I could tell—probably even better than my sister, whose head was often lost in the clouds—when Kate was lying.”
“And she told you he didn’t hit her?”
“No.” Carley shook her head. Her gaze seemed to be focused inward, and Tricia held her breath, her heart beating far to fast. Please, no. It’s not important. Or pertinent. We need to hear about Leah. Only Leah. “On two occasions in particular, whe
n we had plans that would’ve been impossible to cancel, Kate showed up with bruises on her face. The first time they weren’t so bad. She said she’d slipped getting into her jetted tub and hit her face on the spigot.”
Tricia moaned.
“And the second time?”
“The bruises were much worse. Covered both of her eyes, her nose was swollen…” Carley paused and another shot of the audience showed a room full of shocked-looking people. “She said she’d had her eyes done to remove the laugh lines.”
Rocking back and forth, arms wrapped around the baby in her lap, Tricia barely heard when the show’s host announced a commercial break.
They’d be right back with more from Carley Winchester.
She couldn’t believe this was happening, that she was sitting in Scott’s house, on his carpet, in his living room, surrounded by his furniture, Taylor’s toys and the couple of knickknacks she’d bought since moving in, watching his television and hearing parts of her life story. A story she could feel. And yet, a story that seemed to belong to someone else…
She wanted it to stop. But it didn’t. And it didn’t help. The more she watched Carley’s lips move, the more confused she got until she wasn’t even sure who she was anymore. She wasn’t sure of anything.
Except that she loved her son.
“Before we get back to the incredible story you’re telling us, Mrs. Winchester, I wanted to ask you a quick question regarding your husband, Benny Winchester. He’s a sitting member of San Francisco’s City Council and, one would surmise, professionally acquainted with Senator Whitehead.”
“They know each other, yes.”
“So what does he have to say about you speaking out so harshly against a man who is, quite frankly, his political superior?”
Carley’s face softened into a mischievous look Tricia recognized. “Whitehead’s a Republican, Blaine. Benny’s a Democrat.”
The audience laughed. Even Cavanaugh, his face usually so filled with drama, chuckled.
“Still…” he began.
Carley looked straight at the camera. “My husband loved my sister. And he loves me,” she said in no uncertain terms. “He’s a member of the San Francisco City Council because he’d like to make a difference, but it isn’t the driving force in his life, nor is the position going to dictate his decisions.” Carley looked back at Cavanaugh. “He fully supports what I’m doing.”
Cavanaugh had opened his mouth, as though just waiting for Carley to finish so he could say more. He shut it again. Glanced at his notes.
“Okay,” he said a couple of long seconds later, “you were telling us what you know about Kate Whitehead.” His gaze rested on Carley. “Is there more?”
She sat forward, hands together in front of her, and nodded. Tricia’s stomach tightened. Ached. But she couldn’t turn away.
“The day Kate disappeared, my sister told Detectives Gregory and Stanton that she’d had a phone call from her. Kate had sounded odd, in a hurry, out of breath. She’d asked Leah to meet her in their usual spot, but wouldn’t say any more over the phone. Leah ran out of gas on the way there. By the time she arrived, Kate was gone.”
“Do you know the spot Kate referred to?”
Mesmerized, Tricia watched as Carley nodded. The cliff. She was going to tell them about the cliff. Leah had run out of gas. Who would’ve believed something that ordinary could have such a drastic effect on so many lives?
“…the detectives sent someone to check out the cliff, but there was nothing. Leah had already told them that. They said the phone call in no way tied Kate’s disappearance to Thomas Whitehead, nor did it give them any other clues, since it wasn’t unusual for Kate to ask Leah to meet her there, or vice versa. So the whole thing was dropped.”
“I wonder if anyone’s checked up at that cliff this time,” Cavanaugh said.
“I’ve wondered the same thing,” Carley responded dryly, appearing more and more exhausted under the hot lights. “As a matter of fact, I’ve wondered it out loud, more than once, while speaking with the detectives.”
“We’re running out of time, but tell me, Mrs. Winchester—and I’m probably getting myself into trouble here—do you think Whitehead is paying someone at police headquarters to make this go away?”
Cavanaugh smelled bigger game than a missing woman or two. Tricia’s stomach hurt even more.
She wasn’t surprised when Carley shook her head. “I really don’t.” She laughed, a sound completely lacking in humor. “That’s just it, he doesn’t need to. They’re doing their jobs. They’re just treading too lightly on Whitehead ground for fear of being wrong and having it affect—or destroy—their careers.”
“But they did indict him.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you think you might be compromising the case, the upcoming trial, by releasing information they evidently thought might hurt their investigation if they disclosed it?” Before she could answer, he continued. “If nothing else, aren’t you taking a chance on swaying a future jury? Making it impossible to find an impartial one?”
Carley sat forward and Tricia could tell by the twitch on the right side of her lips that it wouldn’t be long before her friend lost all patience and told Cavanaugh exactly what she did think. “I’m trying to make sure there is a trial,” she said more loudly than she’d been speaking thus far. “We’ll worry about the jury when we get there.”
“You think this morning’s article might actually make a difference?”
“I can see history repeating itself,” she said. “If there’s any way the D.A.’s office can justify dropping the charges, they’ll do so.”
“And you don’t think that the fact that Senator Whitehead had a vasectomy—surgery that makes it physically impossible for him to father children—is justification enough for believing there’s more to this than anyone knows?”
“I don’t care what stories Whitehead tells about his balls and who’s done what to them,” Carley snapped. “Someone like him could produce medical records in his sleep. I know that man fathered my sister’s baby. Not only has she slept with no one else in more than a year, she said one of the redeeming factors about the whole mess was that in being pregnant with his child, she felt closer to Kate somehow….”
Tricia didn’t hear the rest of the show. Didn’t hear much of anything the rest of that night. Please, Leah, please be safe. Loved. Protected.
And please, please, please find some way to forgive me for all the things I’ve done.
12
She wanted sex. Her naked body curled around his like an octopus, a smooth slender leg flung over one of his, her toes hooked under his calf. Her belly pressed against his hip, one arm under his shoulder, the other wrapped around his chest, fingers tucked beneath his ribs. All of which was fine with him. The soft kisses she was placing along his neck were distracting, a pleasure and an irritation at the same time, because he didn’t want to be distracted.
Scott shifted, sliding an arm around her back, holding her close—and moving down a few inches so that her mouth was away from his neck. She said nothing, just settled in again. He could almost be fooled into thinking she was falling asleep.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
He’d heard from his parents, who’d called him at work, on his cell. They were due home in a couple of weeks and wanted him to come to Mission Viejo for the weekend. He missed them, but had avoided giving them an answer. He wasn’t going to introduce them to Tricia—not the way things were. Where he saw no future, they’d see wedding rings. And he didn’t want to leave for a weekend without her, either.
Thank God, in all the years Scott had been living in South Park, his family had never visited him there. They met for dinner occasionally. Before Tricia’s advent into his life, he’d driven out for an occasional weekend with them. But not often. He felt out of place there—as they would in South Park. They supported his decisions; they just didn’t want to see the evidence of them. And that, especially now, was prob
ably for the best.
Scott lay there, wide awake, staring at the shadows on the ceiling.
His body wanted sex, too.
His first night home with Tricia after rotation almost always included great sex. He’d been back for two nights, and he still hadn’t taken her up on her offer. In her usual way, she asked no questions.
It bothered him. Perhaps because she didn’t need to be with him badly enough to insist. And because he had no idea what she was making of his reticence. Was she expecting him, once again, to ask her to leave?
How could she live like that? Always wondering if, at any given moment, she’d be homeless with an eighteen-month-old son to care for.
He wasn’t quite ready. If they had sex, would he be reaching up inside her toward a baby? His baby? He felt strange about not knowing.
And yet he didn’t really understand that. It wasn’t as if pregnant women couldn’t have sex. Hell, he’d had sex with her two days before Taylor was born. So why should it matter?
Deciding it didn’t, Scott went to sleep.
San Francisco Gazette
Monday, April 25, 2005
Page 8. Section C
Sister Takes On Senator
Carley Winchester, the younger sister of heiress Leah Montgomery, who disappeared three weeks ago today, is getting some results. She made a recent appearance on Good Afternoon, San Francisco, when she alleged before thousands of California viewers that the police investigation was flawed. Soon afterward, police searched an undisclosed mountainous area for signs of the missing woman’s body. There was no evidence of anyone having been on the mountain recently, no tire tracks or footprints. The police questioned an elderly man who’s lived on the mountain his entire life but refused to comment on the interview.
On another note, nineteen-year-old medical records show that Senator Thomas Whitehead had a vasectomy by an unnamed physician, who had lost his license to practice medicine for performing illegal abortions. The senator’s personal physician confirmed the existence of barely discernible knots and a small incision scar that result from such a procedure.
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