Sleeping Beauty

by Phillip Margolin

  Ashley was about to make a run for the mansion when headlights illuminated the street in front of the gym and a police car moved into view. Ashley leaped from her hiding place and raced to the car. She waved and screamed. The car stopped.

  “Maxfield’s here,” she yelled. “He killed my guards. They’re both dead.”

  A muscular black patrolman got out of the car, gun drawn, after telling his partner to radio for backup.

  “He’s in the gym. I just saw him go in. He has a knife. He cut their throats.”

  The driver stared at the gym and hesitated. The second officer, a stocky Latino, came around the car after finishing his call for backup.

  “She says he’s in the gym, Bob.”

  Bob nodded toward Ashley. “What do we do about her?”

  “Don’t go in alone,” Ashley said. “He already killed two policemen tonight.”

  “How many exits are there to the gym?”

  Ashley was about to answer when they heard sirens. The two officers relaxed. A second police car raced onto the Academy grounds seconds later. Several other patrol cars were close behind.

  “You have to send someone to the mansion,” Ashley said. “Mr. Van Meter is there.”

  The officers left her at the car and conferred with the other policemen. Moments later, Ashley was driven to the mansion. She looked out the back window of the car as she drove away and saw several armed men walking around the side of the gym.

  Henry Van Meter was standing in the entryway of his home when Ashley arrived. He had heard the sirens and had just finished dressing. After Ashley explained what had happened at the dormitory, Henry told her to wait in the den while he talked with the authorities, and had ordered Mrs. O’Connor to bring Ashley a pot of tea and something to eat.

  An hour after she entered the den, Larry Birch told her that Joshua Maxfield had not been found in the gym or anywhere else. That was all she needed to know to come to a decision. As soon as Birch left, Ashley walked over to the phone. Jerry Philips had given Ashley his home phone number and she’d called him there last week to discuss the sale of her house. Philips sounded groggy when he answered the phone.

  “Ashley, what time is it?”

  “Five twenty-eight.”

  “Has something happened?”

  “Maxfield tried to kill me tonight.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, but I have to talk to you.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At Mr. Van Meter’s house at the Academy.”

  “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  Ashley hung up. She sat in the armchair near the fireplace and closed her eyes. She knew she had drifted off, because Jerry Philips was sitting across from her when she opened her eyes.

  “How long have you been here?” Ashley asked.

  He smiled. “About an hour.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  “We all thought that you could use the sleep,” Philips said. “Do you want something to eat, some coffee?”

  Ashley shook her head. She remembered why she’d summoned Philips, and she was suddenly scared to death.

  “You’re my lawyer, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “On TV what a client tells the lawyer is private…”

  “Confidential.”

  “Confidential. What does that really mean?”

  “The law protects conversations between an attorney and his client so the client can talk freely about her problems without being afraid that someone else will learn what she’s said. It encourages full disclosure by the client, so the attorney will have all the facts and be able to give his client good advice.”

  “So anything I tell you is protected?”

  Philips nodded. “Now what is this about?” he asked.

  “How much money do I have?”

  “I don’t have the exact figures, but with the sale of the house, the insurance… I’d guess around five hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Could you set up an account for me that I could draw from if I wasn’t in the United States?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could it be in another name?”

  “Ashley, what are you thinking of doing?”

  Ashley sat up. Her back was straight and her hands were folded in her lap.

  “I’m going away.”

  “Where?”

  “Out of the country.”

  “Where out of the country?”

  “I don’t want you to know where. I don’t want anyone to know.”

  “I’ll keep anything you tell me confidential. That doesn’t mean I can’t give you advice. That’s why you have a lawyer. Now, where are you planning to go?”

  Ashley looked down but did not answer.

  “Do you know anyone where you’re going?”

  “No.”

  “Do you speak any foreign language?”

  “Spanish. I have three years of Spanish.”

  “What are you going to do when you get where you’re going?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked down at her lap. “I just know that I can’t stay here. They can’t protect me and I can’t live like this, locked up, surrounded by guards.”

  Ashley looked up. “Maxfield won’t look for me where I’m going because I don’t even know where I’m going. I’ll change my name. I’ll live cheaply. I’ll contact you by email. If they catch him I’ll come back.”

  “This is crazy. I can understand why you’re afraid. Your life has been hell. But you’re not making sense. Let me see if I can get you in the witness protection program. Maxfield has killed in different states. Maybe I can get the Feds to help you.”

  “I don’t trust them.”

  “You’re frightened now. I can’t imagine what you went through tonight and those other times. But you’re not thinking straight.”

  Ashley’s hands tightened on each other. “This is what I want to do. If you won’t help me I’ll find another lawyer.”

  “Ashley…”

  “No, my mind is made up. I have a passport. I’ll book a flight over the Internet. All I need is for you to set up an account for me so I can get money to live on.”

  “This is crazy.”

  “My life is crazy. Maxfield wants to kill me. He’s murdered my family. If I stay here I’ll never be able to live a normal life. It will be like I’m the criminal. I’ll be locked up, surrounded by guards. I won’t be able to go to school. I won’t have friends. And I’ll be afraid every minute. Don’t you see? I have to get away from him.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ashley Spencer has disappeared,” Larry Birch said as soon as he walked into Delilah Wallace’s office.

  “She what?!”

  “She’s been living at the Van Meter mansion. Henry Van Meter moved her over from the dorm and hired a team of private guards. This morning, after breakfast, she slipped out. No one has seen her since. Mr. Van Meter called me as soon as he was certain that she was really gone.”

  “Did Maxfield…?”

  “I don’t think so. Van Meter has the estate looking like an armed camp. I doubt Maxfield would try to take her from there again.”

  “So you think she’s running away?”

  “That’s my guess. She definitely took steps to evade the guards. But none of her clothes are missing, and her toothbrush, hairbrush, stuff like that, are still in her room.”

  Delilah sat back in her chair and shook her head slowly. She looked sad.

  “That poor, lonely kid. How frightened she must be. I can’t imagine.”

  Delilah’s intercom buzzed. “There’s a Jerry Philips at the front desk,” the receptionist said. “He wants to talk to you about Ashley Spencer.”

  “Send him back.”

  Two minutes later, Jerry Philips was shown into Delilah’s office. He looked embarrassed and could not meet the DA’s eye.

  “Where is she, Mr. Philips?” Delilah demanded. Jerry noticed that she was not calling him by his first name as she us
ually did.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Listen, Jerry,” the homicide detective said, “Ashley is a material witness in a murder investigation and she’s in great danger…”

  “You don’t understand,” Philips interrupted. “I can’t tell you because I don’t know. Believe me, I tried to find out, but she wouldn’t tell me where she was going.”

  “Then why are you here?” Delilah asked.

  “Ashley instructed me to come. She didn’t want you to worry that Maxfield had her. She wanted you to know that she’s safe.”

  “Did you help her get away?”

  Jerry looked down at his shoes. “My conversations with Ashley are covered by the attorney-client privilege. I can’t tell you what we talked about.”

  Larry Birch had rarely seen Delilah angry, but she was angry now. She levered her two-hundred-fifty-plus-pound bulk up from her chair and stared at Ashley’s lawyer. He avoided her eyes.

  “We are talking about a frightened young girl, Mr. Philips. She is a child and she has no business being out in the world on her own.”

  “I really can’t tell you,” Jerry mumbled. “You know I’m forbidden by law to reveal client confidences.”

  “Don’t you care about her?” Delilah asked.

  Philips looked miserable. “Of course I do. Don’t you think I tried to talk her out of this? But she’s terrified.” He gathered his courage and looked first at the DA then at the detective. “And you couldn’t protect her.” Now it was Birch and Delilah’s turn to look uncomfortable. “That’s why she ran. She doesn’t think you can stop Maxfield. She’s convinced that he will kill her if she stays in Oregon.”

  Delilah sat down. “Do you know how to get in touch with her?”

  “I can’t discuss that.”

  Delilah started to get angry again but she checked herself.

  “If she does contact you, will you ask her to call me or write me? We need to get her back, Jerry. She may think she can hide, but Maxfield will find her if he wants to.”

  Ashley looked out the window of the plane and felt as if she was floating among the clouds that surrounded her. She was free for the first time since the night Maxfield invaded her home. The feeling was exhilarating and left her giddy with relief. Each mile the plane traveled put another mile between her and her former life. Her fear was fading and hope was building. Before her stretched a future filled with adventure and exotic sights, sounds, and experiences, a future free of terror and despair.

  Jerry Philips had tried to get her to change her mind from the moment he met her on the service road that led to the boathouse until he dropped her off at the airport. He hadn’t given up until he’d handed her the dufflebag full of clothes and toiletries she’d told him to buy, and five thousand dollars. Ashley’s plane ticket was electronic, and she already had her passport.

  Ashley’s plane would land in Frankfurt, Germany. Then she would take a train to a destination she would decide on in the airport lounge. By operating with spur-of-the-moment choices she hoped to avoid leaving a trail based on her past. She had no favorite places anyway. Everywhere she went would be new and exciting. And every place she went would be free of Joshua Maxfield.

  Book Tour

  The Present

  Miles Van Meter closed the copy of Sleeping Beauty from which he had been reading. While the audience applauded, he drank from the bottle of water that Jill Lane had left on the podium.

  “Joshua Maxfield’s home invasion devastated Ashley,” Miles said when the applause died down, “but the loss of her mother, several months later, was a killing blow. Then Maxfield made his spectacular escape from the courtroom and returned to the Oregon Academy that very night to try to murder Ashley.

  “The authorities claimed that they would protect Ashley, but she had no faith in them after Maxfield’s near miss at the Academy. She fled to Europe and stayed there until the totally unforeseen events that compelled her return to Oregon.

  “In the years between his escape and recapture, Joshua Maxfield went underground. The best efforts of the FBI and international police organizations were of no avail. When interest in the manhunt began to wane, I wrote Sleeping Beauty to keep my sister’s plight and the memory of her killer in the public eye. I had no idea how successful my tribute to Casey would be.

  “Meanwhile, Ashley was living under assumed names and leading the life of a vagabond; staying for short periods in small towns throughout Europe, working odd jobs when she could get them, and drawing money from her account when she had to. But, of course, I didn’t know that when I wrote Sleeping Beauty, and the original book ended with Maxfield’s escape, Ashley’s disappearance, and a brief account of the efforts of the authorities to track one of history’s most diabolical serial killers.

  “And now I’d be pleased to answer your questions.”

  In the back of the room, a well-built young man dressed in khaki pants and a plaid shirt raised his hand. Miles pointed at him.

  “I’m thinking of writing a true-crime book about a real murder case that my cousin was involved in, but I don’t know how to get started. There were some things in the case that happened in other states. Can you tell me how you did your research on the other murders that Maxfield committed around the country?”

  “Sure. Researching Sleeping Beauty wasn’t that different from preparing a case for trial. When I’m litigating, I have to interview witnesses, read documents, and learn all of the facts in the case. I approached my book as if I was preparing for Maxfield’s trial.

  “By the time I started writing Sleeping Beauty, the FBI had already done a pretty good job of matching up the fictional murders in Maxfield’s novel with real crimes in Connecticut, Montana, and other states. Larry Birch and Delilah Wallace were very helpful. They gave me access to the reports of the Oregon police and the FBI. I also read stories about these crimes in local newspapers. After that it was simply a question of contacting the person in charge of each case in each state. Detective Birch called these people to vouch for me. That helped me get my foot in the door.

  “When I traveled to a state, I would contact the detective in charge, read the reports, then interview witnesses. I also visited the crime scenes and read autopsy reports and viewed the crime scene photographs. Some jurisdictions videotaped the crime scene, which really helped me write accurately about what went on.”

  “Weren’t you working as a lawyer during all this?” an older man in a sweatshirt and jeans asked.

  “Yes, but my firm was very supportive. On the few occasions I needed it, they gave me time off for my investigation. But I was fortunate, because a few of Maxfield’s crimes were committed in cities like Boston, where I traveled frequently on business.”

  A young man wearing jeans and a T-shirt from a local college raised his hand.

  “Mr. Van Meter, I just finished reading Sleeping Beauty. I thought it was great. One thing bothered me, though. Everyone always assumed that Joshua Maxfield murdered Ashley’s parents, but in light of what happened when Ashley returned to Portland I wonder if Randy Coleman was ever a suspect. Ashley never saw the face of the man who killed her father and tried to kill her after Maxfield escaped. Coleman fit the description of the man who invaded her home and hunted her at the Academy.”

  “That’s right,” Miles agreed, “but you’re forgetting one thing: Coleman had no motive to murder Ashley until everyone discovered who she really was.”

  Part Two.Sleeping Beauty

  Two Years Earlier

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ashley chose San Giorgio for her meeting with Jerry Philips because tourists rarely visited the little Tuscan hill town. The narrow, dusty streets were anything but picturesque, and none of the local shops sold goods that would be of interest to vacationers from Wisconsin or Osaka. Its only possible tourist attraction, a thirteenth-century castle, was in disrepair because there wasn’t money to maintain it. Weeds had conquered battlements that had kept out human invaders for hundreds of years.
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  Chestnut trees shaded the piazza. There was a stone church with no famous frescos or relics at one end, and a restaurant at the other. In the center of the piazza stood an uninteresting fountain that was bone-dry at the moment. Ashley arrived an hour early and watched the square from the upper story of the church to make sure that her attorney had not been followed.

  Jerry Philips had sent an email requesting an emergency meeting several weeks ago, but Ashley had not checked her messages until two days before, when she’d dropped into a cybercafé in Siena. Lawyer and client had exchanged several frantic messages. Ashley asked why Jerry needed to see her in person. Jerry swore that he should be with her when he explained a matter of the utmost importance. Time was of the essence, he had insisted, and he’d proved it by flying out of Portland the day Ashley agreed to the meeting.

  Shortly after the churchbells rang in six o’clock, Philips appeared at the end of one of the cobblestone streets that emptied into the town square. He paused in the shade of a chestnut tree to catch his breath. The sun was still blazing in a clear blue Italian sky and the temperature was in the nineties. Jerry was sweating heavily. He’d had to park in a lot at the base of the hill, because the twisting streets were too narrow for ordinary traffic. The only vehicles he’d seen were small trucks delivering to the shops of the town. When one passed him on the way out of San Giorgio he’d been forced to press himself against a wall to avoid being hit.

  Ashley watched Jerry drag himself across the piazza to the restaurant. She’d always liked her lawyer. She remembered how young she thought he was when they first met. Maybe that was it. He’d never seemed that much older than she was, even though he was an adult. She studied him as he scanned the piazza. He was dressing better than he had when they’d first met; he’d switched to contacts, and his hair was shorter. He looked handsome. Ashley smiled. Despite her reservations about meeting anyone who could lead Joshua Maxfield to her, it felt good to see a familiar face.