by Jan Coffey
“I’m not going anywhere without her, Stu.” Owen said as he poured himself another cup of coffee. “You go on. But I’m waiting here until they let her out.”
“All right. I’ll give it one more shot.”
Ramsay was his lawyer because he always got his way. And Owen knew it was only because of Stu’s tenacity that half an hour later, a female investigator came over with him. Owen was led through two sets of doors before coming to a windowless square of a room where Sarah was waiting for him.
She looked pale and weary. But as he entered, he saw the life return. He didn’t wait for the door to close behind him before taking her in his arms. She wrapped her arms tightly around him and buried her face against his chest. They stood like that for a long time.
“I’m taking you home,” he whispered in her ear. His hands caressed her hair, her back, trying, by touching her, to soothe the ache that had been dogging him through the endless hours of waiting.
“I can’t. They have big plans for me.”
“What kind of plans?”
“I’m going back to Newport tonight. They’ve organized a big show for tomorrow morning where Sarah Rand supposedly steps out into the public eye and tells the world she’s alive.”
“Why? To put you in the spotlight for some lunatic to take aim at?”
She shook her head. “They know what they’re are doing. We’ve gone over it again and again. I’m going to help them catch the guy behind it all.”
“They’re using you as bait.” he said. “I can’t fucking believe it. As if you haven’t had enough people trying to stab you, or shoot you, or kidnap you. How many lives do they think you have?”
“I can’t hide forever. I need to get this over with and get on with my life.” She paused. He felt a sadness weighing her down. Her green eyes were shadowed with something akin to loss when they looked up to meet his. “As it stands now, I’m a target anyway. And I’ll continue to be until this is over. I have to cooperate.”
There were things that she wasn’t telling him. He could feel the tension in every inch of her body. His hands moved along her arms. She was cold.
“Let me come with you. Be part of it.”
“I can’t.” She shook her head. “As far as anyone is concerned, there’s no record of ‘us’ that exists in the public eye. It’s better this way. Fewer complications. No hard feelings. We split right here. Right now. It’s better, Owen.”
“No.”
Her words hurt him. She couldn’t seriously expect him to just walk away from everything that was happening between them. She couldn’t seriously expect him to simply forget the energy that sparked to life when they touched each other.
Frowning, he came to a decision. He had to trust her now to do what she felt had to be done. But he wasn’t about to let her go. That battle was not finished. Right now, she was exhausted and harassed and frightened, and he would put aside what he wanted. That was a battle for another day.
He watched Sarah move away from him, putting as much distance as she could between them. She was shutting him out.
“What’s the running time for this show?”
She looked over her shoulder at him, a perplexed look on her face.
“They’re unveiling you before the press tomorrow. What’s next? When is this whole thing a wrap?”
“I can’t talk about it. The less anyone knows, the better. The safer it’ll be for everyone.”
“Cut the shit, Sarah.”
She glared at him. “Soon. It’ll be over soon. That’s all I can tell you.”
“Then I’ll be waiting.”
“Waiting for what?” She folded her arms across her chest.
“For you, damn it!” he said with more heat than anger. He took a step toward her. “I’m going back to Newport, too, and I’m going to wait until this whole thing is finished. And when it is, we are going to pick up where we left off.”
“No. We’re not. It’s over, Owen. We’ve never met. We’ve never talked. We’ve never become…intimate. Please. Let’s just keep things simple.”
“I hate simple.” He took another step toward her. “I don’t care what kind of bullshit they want to feed the media, but you and I will continue to be a we until we can have a rational talk, without the weight of the world on your shoulders. Hey, when that happens, if you can convince me that you don’t care for me at all, then you can kick the door in my face.”
“I don’t care for you,” she blurted out the words, but they echoed hollowly in the empty room.
“You’re a terrible liar, Sarah.” He turned to go, but stopped by the door. “And I’ll tell you what else, I don’t care what gets fed to the press or what everyone in America is led to believe. Here is my plan. I’m going to sit on your front steps until you get tired of tripping over me. And I’m going to keep running into you until people think I’m your personal assistant. And I’m going to work my ass off at being incredibly nice to you. And that’s only the start.”
He strode out of the room without waiting for her response. Outside, he ran into a new face coming down the hall. Owen answered the man’s smile with a glower as he read the name badge dangling from his lapel.
“Mr. Dean, I’m so glad I arrived in time to meet you.”
“Listen to me, Hinckey.” Owen ignored the FBI agent’s extended hand and instead met him eye to eye. “I don’t know what the fuck you guys are planning to put her through tomorrow or over the next few days. But I’ll tell you something, if you let anything happen to her…”
“We won’t, Mr. Dean,” the agent said, the smile gone from his face. “We have everything mapped out to the smallest detail. Attorney Rand will be perfectly safe. You have to trust us.”
“That’s the problem, Hinckey. When it comes to Sarah Rand’s life, I can’t afford to trust anybody.”
~~~~
Anyone watching might have assumed the dozen or so men and women working with shovels and brushes belonged to one of the local colleges or universities. The vans holding the equipment had no insignia on the sides; and only one bored looking policeman sat in his car, discreetly parked some distance from the footing of the bridge. To any casual passerby, it looked like an archeological dig, perhaps arranged as part of a summer course or workshop.
Everyone knew how important it was to keep a low profile on the digging that had started on the southern foot of the Strawberry Mansion Bridge. The involvement of media at this stage of the investigation equated to throwing all the evidence into the Schuylkill and watching it sink for good. Timing was everything, and those in charge knew that regardless of their find, there could be no statements made until final approval was received from the center of the operation, which had now moved to Newport, Rhode Island.
It took the group less than four hours to locate and dig the grave. The directions had been specific. In a shallow grave, they found the remains of the skeleton. After examining the jawbone, the pelvis, the skull, and forehead, the forensic anthropologists on hand were able to identify the remains as female. Once back in their labs, there would be no need for forensic facial reconstruction or for other estimates regarding the person’s height, weight, racial group, or occupation. Thanks to the statement given by Judge Charles Hamlin Arnold, they had their answer.
A dental record comparison was made, however. There was no question now. The bones belonged to Julia Rutherford, who had last been seen on September 10, 1982, at the Philadelphia hotel where her husband was giving a luncheon speech.
Late Monday night, the discovery of the skeleton and its identity remained a secret while they waited for further testing. By Tuesday morning, they knew for certain the cause of death, as well. The victim had sustained repeated blows to the head, evidenced by marks on the skull, sufficient to cause internal cerebral hemorrhaging.
In layman’s terms, Julia Rutherford had been beaten to death.
~~~~
The press conference began promptly at 11:00 a.m. on Tuesday morning on the steps of the old
courthouse. A bulleted fact sheet was handed around, but the details were sketchy. Sarah Rand, the Newport attorney who had been missing since August 2, had contacted the local police department that morning. Judge Arnold had been released from custody and would not be available for questions.
Sarah stood on the steps, facing the mob of reporters and thinking she probably would have received more compassion from a pack of hungry wolfs. The lights the TV news crews had set up were blinding her. Questions were fired at her so fast that she couldn’t tell who was asking them.
Three others were standing with her. Beside her stood Ike Bosler, the District Attorney, and Scott Rosen stood on the far end. Chief Calvin stood to Sarah’s right, occasionally taking hold of her elbow and looking like a bounty hunter who’d just bagged a huge prize.
A general statement had been read by the D.A. As far as his office was concerned, a homicide had occurred in Miss Rand’s apartment in her absence, but Judge Arnold was no longer considered to be a suspect. The traces of blood in the judge’s boat had obviously been planted by a third party. The case was very much open and under investigation, and any information the public might have…et cetera…et cetera…
“Can you give us the name of the victim?” One of the reporters shouted at the chief of police.
“I’m sorry, but we are not releasing any more information regarding the victim until the immediate family has been notified.”
“Has Attorney Rand told you where she buried the body?”
Sarah frowned at the question, but the D.A. jumped in quickly.
“Miss Rand is not a suspect in this case. I repeat, not a suspect. But to answer the other part of that question—we still have not recovered the body.”
An anchor woman from a Providence TV station shouted a question at Sarah. “You still haven’t told us where you’ve been, Ms. Rand. Why have you taken so long to come forward?”
Similar queries echoing that one.
Sarah felt the men on either side of her edge backwards. Summoning all of her courage, Sarah stepped up to the microphones. Speaking truthfully, she told of having gone to Ireland for her father’s funeral and how, upon her return, she had been totally unaware of the events taking place in Newport.
“And when did you get back?”
“This past weekend.”
Camera shutters were clicking a mile a minute, and a current of excitement shot through the reporters. Sarah took a deep breath.
The anchorwoman again. “I repeat my question. Why did you wait so long to come forward?”
“Where have you been hiding?”
Sarah raised a hand to silence the crowd. “I…I stayed with some friends for a couple of days. I was in New York. They had no idea what was going on here. I only drove back this morning.”
“Your car. How is it the police found your car on the late Andrew Warner’s property?”
“Did you know the Warners?”
“How did your car get shot up?”
“I knew them casually,” she answered. “I feel very bad about the death of Andrew Warner, and I’m praying for his wife’s recovery. I suppose we can only assume that someone must had stolen my car from the airport parking lot, but that question would be better directed to Chief Calvin.”
“When did you have your hair done?”
She unconsciously reached up to push back the strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead. “When I was in Ireland.”
“Was there a problem with being a blonde?” A few chuckles in the crowd.
“No, I just needed a change.”
“Have you heard about Hal Van Horn’s murder?” Silence.
“Yes.” She swallowed once. “Yes. I heard about Hal.”
~~~~
There was no hesitation in her answers. Dressed in a power suit of black, Sarah Rand looked very much the sharp attorney that she was rumored to be.
Edward North heard one of the reporters ask about Hal, and the cameras moved in tight on her face. For the first time, there was just the hint of a pause…and then the vulnerability showed in her eyes.
“Did you see that?” Edward asked of no one in particular. News of the judge’s release had reached the senator’s office immediately. Several staffers sat huddled around the television screen in the library of Senator Rutherford’s office.
“She’s upset. What’s wrong with that?”
“No.” Edward shook his head. “She faked it. This is all an act.”
“You are way too cynical. The poor woman. She’s been through hell this morning.”
“She faked it.” Edward pointed at the screen again for emphasis. He turned and saw Senator Rutherford leaning against the doorjamb. His tanned face was glued to the television set like the rest of them. “What do you think, Senator?”
“She’s good. Damn good. She’s the kind I want in my corner.” He left the library. Edward followed and caught up to him in Rutherford’s office.
“I owe you an apology,” the younger man said when the two of them were alone. “You were correct about maintaining a position in support of Judge Arnold. I think you should give a news conference, as well. Loyalty, good judgment, fairness to the unjustly accused. It all will work very well for the advertising.”
“Fuck the campaign,” Rutherford snapped as he sat behind his desk. “If we don’t take care of a couple of things right now, we’re going to have bigger problems to worry about than losing a few votes.”
For a long moment, Edward North stared in surprise at the senator, then closed the door of the office.
“Just tell me what you want me to do, Senator.”
Chapter 31
Sarah was free to stay in any hotel in town, but she had chosen to come back here, to this place she’d once called home.
She might as well have been in Tibet for all the feeling of familiarity that greeted her.
For the longest time, Sarah stood with her back pressed against the front door, her gaze taking in every telltale sign of the horrible crime that had been committed inside her home. A large section of the rug in the entry hall had been removed, the subflooring still showed where Tori’s blood had seeped through and dried. There were dark speckles staining the wall, as well. The antique mirror sat propped on the floor against the wall near the stairs. Shattered shards of silvered glass lay on the floor around it.
Sarah had called Tori’s mother this morning from the courthouse. Mrs. Douglas had been notified by the Newport Police of her daughter’s murder only an hour before, so Sarah’s call had dovetailed into the grieving that had already begun. It had been a difficult and draining conversation for both of them. There were many questions that couldn’t be answered. At the same time, Mrs. Douglas had not allowed Sarah to take the blame, and this had been a genuine relief. She’d wanted Sarah to come out and visit her sometime. And with that promise, she had hung up.
She pushed herself to walk beyond the entrance. The entire living area was a mess. Books had been haphazardly pulled from the shelves. Some of the photographs on the desk were missing. Some of the frames were broken and the photos torn as they were pulled out. The answering machine was missing, as well.
The place smelled faintly of chicken that had gone bad, left too long in a refrigerator drawer. She knew that it was the smell of death. The death of the young woman who’d died in her place.
Anguish, raw and hard, tore at her…and the tears began to fall.
Sarah dropped her bag on a chair and rushed to the large doors overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. She yanked the draperies aside, feeling them tear from the rod. She didn’t care. She had to get out. She couldn’t breathe. The glass door banged back against the door stop.
By the time she stepped onto the terrace, Sarah was gasping for air. The sea breeze, salty and cool, felt comforting on her skin. As soon as she opened her eyes, she saw the yellow police tape by the terrace stairs. Another vivid reminder that a life had been irrevocably wasted inside.
She believed what Owen had told her ab
out Tori’s persistence bordering on obsession. She believed what he’d told her about the picture sent to him by Jake Gantley.
Tori loved control. She loved the feeling of ownership. In all their years of friendship, Sarah had seen men break and run as soon as they’d felt the grip of the young woman’s possessiveness. Tori also didn’t accept rejection very well, Sarah knew, so Owen’s disinterest would only have motivated her more.
Owen.
Sarah leaned over the stone wall of the terrace and looked out at the sparkling surface of the ocean. She wiped the tears from her face. She couldn’t allow herself to think of him now. And she hadn’t the time for mourning, either.
Not for the dead. Not for the living. Certainly not for love.
There was too much that still lay ahead of her.
The sound of the phone ringing inside the open door startled her. Her first thought was to let the answering machine pick up. But after a couple more rings, she remembered that the police had taken the damn thing. She walked back and picked up the handset.
“Don’t you know how dangerous it is for you to be standing in the open like that?”
She carried the cordless out onto the terrace, this time looking around until she spotted him sitting on the rocks a few hundred yards down the Cliff Walk. The lone figure was holding a cell phone to his ear.
“I’m perfectly safe, Owen.” She spoke calmly, gently, trying not to indicate in any way how much this call meant to her. “They have me under their protection.”
“If you’re talking about the two bozos they have dozing off in that car on the street, I don’t call that protection.”
“Rutherford’s hired killers are out of commission. Archer and company don’t believe the senator is any threat to me.”
“Bullshit.”
She watched him stand up on the rocks. The tide was coming in, and she could see the swells rise and fall around him. Even from this distant her pulse jumped and her heart soared with feeling for him. She turned her back and walked to the other end of the terrace, yanking the yellow police tape down.
