Shadow of A Doubt

by William J. Coughlin

  She looked again at me. “Have you ever been locked up, Charley?”

  “A few times, I’m sorry to say.”

  “I can’t stand it.”

  “No one’s very fond of it, Angel.”

  “I’ve been in four hospitals, and once in that awful jail until you rescued me. When they close and lock a door I feel like I’m drowning. I can’t breathe. Anyway, I believed my father, I thought he would arrange it so I could never get out.”

  She sighed. “I did what anyone would do in that circumstance, I tried to keep from going. That policeman believed everything my father said. There was no mercy, no doubt, no nothing. He was very mean to me.”

  “Angel, you said four hospitals. I know about three. Were you ever in Buckingham Hospital in Michigan?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Recently?”

  “A couple of months ago, something like that. I was in there for almost three weeks. Robin got me out, thank God.”

  “I heard something about you being in a violent ward there. True?”

  “Thanks to my father, yes.”

  “What happened?”

  “I know it sounds like a broken record, but he started knocking me around again. I tried to fight back. He told the doctors I was violent. Everyone always believed my father.”

  “A knife again?”

  “No. Nothing. I was just trying to keep from being hit.”

  “Were the police called?”

  “No. He had everything set up. Some orderlies from the hospital came.” She paused, looking again at the water. “They used canvas restraints. It was awful.”

  “If you had that much trouble at home, why did you stay?”

  She snorted. “I did leave once. I have the money my mother left for me now, but not then, so I had to find someplace to make a living. I went to New York. You already know what happened there. He came after me and I ended up in that hospital. Nobody ever left my father, not without terrible things happening to her. God knows, he told me that often enough. I was a prisoner. A long leash maybe, but a prisoner nevertheless.”

  “Why didn’t Robin help?”

  “She did. But she was a prisoner too.” She sighed again. “If it hadn’t been for Robin I never would have survived.”

  “Angel, maybe you can help me. What medical records I’ve been able to get from the your doctors and the hospitals have all been altered. Anything that showed what caused you to need treatment has been deleted. Why, do you suppose? And who did it?”

  She looked surprised, or I thought she did. Then she nodded slowly. “My father did, obviously,” she said. “It was all in there, what he did to me. He knew. It was his goddamned pride. I’m sure he arranged that anything that might reflect on him was removed. He was a powerful man. He knew how to do things like that.”

  “Angel, one of the doctors I had you talk to thinks you fit a familiar pattern.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “He says the pattern resembles someone who has been the victim of incest.”

  I hoped for a reaction of some kind, but there was none.

  “Even if that happened, so what?”

  “It could help explain what happened.”

  She turned and stared at me. “Charley, I didn’t kill my father. But I don’t think you really believe that.”

  “Whether I believe you isn’t important. What a jury will believe is. I need to know about you and your father.”

  “My relationship with my father was strange no matter how you look at it. I don’t want to think about it, much less talk about it. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.”

  “Did you tell the doctors, about the relationship?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I suppose that’s why my father had some records removed.”

  “Was it incest, Angel?”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore, no matter what it was.”

  “I have to know.”

  “Why?”

  “It might help me defend you.”

  “No it wouldn’t,” she said.

  I decided not to press it now. There was time enough later.

  Angel watched the Gulf for a few moments, then she turned and fixed those cool blue eyes on me. “I can’t go to jail, Charley.”

  “That’s why I’m here, Angel. We’re doing everything to see that doesn’t happen.”

  “Charley, I know what would happen to me if I’m convicted. Even the few days I spent in the jail taught me that. I wouldn’t last. I couldn’t.”

  “As I say, we’re —”

  “I won’t go to prison.” The words were spoken softly, but with surprising intensity.

  “Let’s not even think about that, Angel. We’ll —”

  “No!” Her eyes had widened, although that was the only visible indication of emotion. “You don’t understand. I won’t go.” She turned away and stared at the Gulf. “I can’t. If I’m convicted I’ll make sure they can’t lock me up. Never. Never!”

  “Like what? Kill yourself? Look, I know how you feel, but let’s walk this road together, one step at a time. Don’t think about giving up.”

  She stood suddenly, then stretched. “I trust you, Charley. I haven’t trusted many people in my life. I know you’re doing everything you can for me.” Her tone once again was completely calm.

  Angel brushed off her bottom. She looked down at me, patted my head, and then headed back toward the house. “Just so you know,” she said as she walked away, “I will never be locked up again. It won’t happen, no matter what your court may do.”

  I sat there. It was my turn to stare out at the water.

  She meant exactly what she had said. I sensed that.

  I wished I had never taken the damn case.

  20

  THE WONDERFUL COOPERATION I WAS ENJOYING IN Florida ended with my phone call to Harrison Harwell’s divorce lawyer. His reaction would have been more appropriate if I had been selling small children into prostitution. There was enough ice in his voice to freeze Miami.

  It was only after I threatened, wheedled, pleaded, and begged that he agreed to give me ten minutes, and that only if I hurried over at once since he was going to fit me in between clients.

  So I hurried.

  The place was enough to make Donald Trump sob with envy. Not huge, but sinfully luxurious. The law firm owned and occupied a very large, almost new building, mostly tinted glass, two stories high and very long. The architect had designed it to create the illusion that the sleek glass structure had blossomed there, magically, all by itself, a natural outcropping among the lush tropical trees and flowers that bordered the place. There was ample parking for customers in the front, with staff parking in the rear. I drove back there just to take a look. Judging from the cars, the lawyers either did a lucrative business or the firm was a front for a Mercedes dealership.

  I was escorted by a charming young woman, prim in appearance, her good figure concealed in a power suit, and so polite you could slide on it. She took me to the office of Alexander Cameron.

  A little rooster of a man, Cameron was wearing a monogram — med shirt and a dainty bow tie. His rusty hair was graying and I guessed him to be on the near side of seventy. His eyes had the hard look of a born fighter.

  “You have ten minutes, Mr. Sloan,” he said, ignoring my extended hand. He sat down behind his desk and waited.

  “Nice place,” I said. “All from divorce business?”

  The eyes narrowed. “We are a general litigation firm. Divorce is not our main practice. You now have nine minutes.”

  I laughed. “Okay, I’ll get right to it. As you know, I represent Angel Harwell. Angel will go to trial for second-degree murder in roughly a month. Frankly, I believe I can prove that Harrison Harwell took his own life. That’s why I’m here. To find all I can about him.”

  One eyebrow had gone up. “Suicide? Are you serious?”

  “Very.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Why?”

  �
�Did you know him?” he asked.

  “No.”

  He leaned back in his chair. I thought he seemed slightly less hostile. “Mr. Harwell was a client. I didn’t know him socially, but I spent quite some time with him in connection with legal matters. He never impressed me as someone who might commit suicide.”

  Despite himself, he smiled. “Murder, yes. Suicide, never. I’ve read about the case. I rather doubt you’ll succeed with a suicide theory, frankly. But I suppose you have to come up with some kind of defense, no matter how far-fetched.”

  “Harwell was planning to file for divorce, I understand?”

  “I’m not going to answer any of your questions if you plan to call me as a witness.”

  “There’s no reason to call you.”

  He chuckled. “There better not be.” He shifted in his chair slightly, getting more comfortable.

  “Have you ever defended in a murder case before, Mr. Sloan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Often?”

  “Often enough.”

  He smiled. “I have been defense counsel in three murder cases here in Florida. I won one, got one reduced to manslaughter by the jury, and lost one. The case I lost, the man was executed.”

  “That must have been tough to take.”

  He chuckled again. “Not really. I did my best, perhaps more than I should have. He was a murderous animal. I grew to hate the man. I did not tear out my hair when the state of Florida ended his miserable existence.

  “Don’t mistake me, Sloan. I had a job to do and I did it. It was one of those cases that couldn’t be won. I am a professional, I went flat out for the rotten son of a bitch. Whether I liked him or not had nothing to do with the quality or vigor of the defense.”

  “Do you do much criminal work?”

  “Some. I am a trial lawyer, Mr. Sloan. That’s why Harrison Harwell retained me. He anticipated some nasty litigation. Nasty litigation is my specialty.

  “Divorce, I assume?”

  He hesitated, then nodded.

  “But nothing was filed, I understand. If the divorce case was ready to go, why not?”

  Cameron studied me for a moment, then spoke. “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. Any lawyer could figure it out.”

  “I’m slow. I can use the help.”

  “Harwell’s boat company was in the process of being sold. I assume you know that?”

  “Yes.”

  “The sale itself was being handled by a firm up in Detroit. If we had filed the case before the sale was completed, Mrs. Harwell’s lawyers might have been able to freeze the sale proceeds. All that money would be tied up until the divorce was litigated. If we waited until after the sale we could shelter that money before filing the action. There are ways, as we both know. It seemed an excellent strategy at the time. Now, I regret that we waited.”

  “Why?”

  “Making everything public might have prevented his murder.”

  “Suicide,” I said.

  He smiled. “Let’s settle on death, shall we?”

  “Go on,” I said.

  Cameron shook his head. “There’s no point to it.”

  “Harrison Harwell is dead. The client privilege died with him. You’re free to tell me.”

  He smiled coldly. “Not as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Did you know Mrs. Harwell, or Angel?”

  “Only what Harrison told me.”

  “Surely, you can tell me this? Was there a prenuptial agreement?”

  He stood up. “The meter has run, Mr. Sloan. Your ten minutes are up.”

  “Look —”

  “I’m sorry. I have a client waiting.”

  I walked to his door and stopped. “Listen, we’re both in the same business. Couldn’t you just let me take a quick peek at the file? I’d look at it right here. Someone could watch me. No copies, no notes, just a look. How about it?”

  He smiled. “That comes under the heading of nice try, Mr. Sloan. As it is, I’ve told you more than I intended to. It’s been interesting talking with you.” The smile became a grin, almost a leer. “I plan to follow your case. It doesn’t sound as if you have much of a chance. Do they have the death penalty in Michigan?”

  “No.”

  “Pity,” he said.

  *

  THE morning air that had been so fresh and clear was turning warm and humid by the time I drove back to Sheridan Key.

  Robin, wrapped in a robe, was up, sitting outside, watching the Gulf and sipping coffee. Angel, she told me, wasn’t up yet.

  A maid brought coffee for me.

  “So, Charley, are things down here working out as you expected?”

  “I’m finding more problems than solutions. Did you ever find a copy of the prenuptial agreement?”

  “I looked high and low,” she said. “I’m beginning to think Harrison took it.”

  “Why?”

  “God knows.”

  “I just talked to his lawyer down here, Alexander Cameron. Do you know him?”

  “I’ve heard of him. He’s in the newspapers quite a lot. I’ve never met the man. I wasn’t aware that Harrison even knew him.”

  “Cameron had drafted a divorce suit. It was to be filed after the boat company was sold.”

  “I told you Harrison would never have filed for divorce,” she said firmly, sipping her coffee.

  “How do you know?”

  She reached over and patted my hand. “Charley, can’t you relax? You worry far too much. Funny, I don’t remember you as a worrier. Anyway, Harrison was always threatening divorce. Oh, he would sometimes go to the trouble of getting a lawyer, but it was always just bluster. He never went through with it. There were too many little girlfriends waiting for him. Marriage was his shield and protection, but he was forever shouting that he was going to do it.”

  “Judging from what I can find out, the trouble out here was increasing. Correct?”

  “I told you that. Sometimes it was almost unbearable.”

  “Why didn’t you leave?”

  She smiled and looked out at the water. “First, someone had to protect Angel. Second, I’ve grown used to living in this fashion. I’m being quite candid. If I had left Harrison, I would be leaving all this too.” She gestured at the house and pool. “Mainly, though, I stayed for Angel’s sake.”

  “To protect her?”

  “Yes.”

  “From what? Incest?”

  She didn’t register surprise, but merely looked at me for a moment before answering.

  “Angel was ten years old before I came into her life,” she said quietly. “That might have happened before I came. I really don’t know. It might even be the root cause of Angel’s problems.”

  She paused, then looked away “Whether that happened or didn’t, it wasn’t a happy relationship. The only thing Angel ever got from her father was abuse, either mental or physical. That’s why I had to be here.”

  “She’s twenty-one, Robin. Why didn’t she leave?”

  Robin sighed. “She did, as you know, and she ended up in a mental hospital for her efforts. After that she was afraid to leave.” She paused. “And there was another reason.”

  “What?”

  She smiled slightly. “Angel thought she was my protection, too. Harrison didn’t much care whom he abused. I caught my fair share.” She again looked out at the Gulf, her eyes following a gull. “It wasn’t, I admit, the ideal happy home.”

  I waited to hear more but she merely sipped her coffee, indicating the subject was closed.

  “Robin, I’m going to need some more money. I’m bringing in some experts. I’ll want them to talk with Angel before the Walker hearing. And they’ll be staying over since they’ll be testifying at both the hearing and the trial a week later. We pay their air fare, hotel, and expenses, plus their fee. It adds up.”

  “Submit a bill, Charley. You’ll have what you need.”

  Robin leaned back, allowing the robe to open enough that the top of one breast was vi
sible. “Are you still planning on going back tomorrow?”

  “Yes. I have a lot of work to do. Mostly on Angel’s case.”

  She looked away. “I really regret we haven’t had a chance to be together, Charley. Things keep getting in the way somehow. Maybe, if you stayed over a couple of days —”

  “That’s a pretty powerful argument to stay, Robin. But I really have to get back.”

  “Eventually, we’ll work this out, you and I.” She finished her coffee. “Well, what’s the rest of the day like for you?”

  “I have to see a few people down here. I thought I might just wander around the Key now before it gets too hot. Maybe talk to some of your neighbors.”

  “Use the beach, Charley. It’s the main highway down here for all of us. You walk along and talk to whomever you see. Only be careful.”

  “Dogs?”

  She laughed. “Worse, women. Not all the maneaters swim out there in the Gulf. A couple of them lounge by their pools and look for victims.”

  “Well, in that case, I better get going right away.”

  She chuckled. “If you don’t come back, we’ll send out a search party.

  “Another caution, Charley. Real, this time.” Suddenly she was no longer smiling. Her face was solemn. “Gossip is a way of life on the Key. Don’t believe everything you hear.”

  *

  I WALKED the beach. It looked like while sand but it wasn’t. It was the crushed remains of ten billion shelled sea creatures broken into sandlike particles, but they were sharp and brittle. I was glad I was wearing shoes.

  There was no wind. The Gulf was as peaceful as shimmering green silk, an illusion disturbed only by the passage of an occasional boat in the distance. The sun dominated a cloudless blue sky, baking everything below.

  Sheridan Key was a place of Spanish palaces. The huge palms and tropical growth up by the road hid the fortresses of wealth from view, but the beach provided an unobstructed look. In the old days pirates would have come ashore and sacked them. I walked slowly, feeling the sweat trickle down my back.

  “Well, look who’s here.”

  Her voice floated down from the lip of an olympic-sized pool. She was stretched out on a deck chair beneath an enormous striped awning. When I squinted up at her I thought for a moment that she was wearing only sunglasses.