Mack said: ‘Margaret.’
Penelope didn’t seem surprised. She nodded, as if to say: ‘Fair enough.’ Then she said: ‘I suppose the truth was going to come out eventually. Although I kept that secret for twenty-two years.’
Mack stood with his backside resting against the edge of his messy desk, long legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. ‘What can you tell me about it?’ he said.
‘The relationship or our agreement? The relationship wasn’t exactly a love story.’
‘These things rarely are.’ Mack was speaking gently, using a tone that Alexa would have recognised from her girlhood, from when she’d done something wrong. ‘I’m assuming it wasn’t against your will?’
Penelope took a deep breath. Her eyes had quickly grown red. Her face was half hidden behind the tissue.
‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘No, goodness me, no. No. It happened … well, the way these things happen! Let me see: I moved into the castle in, what? Nineteen seventy-eight. I think that’s right, because I hadn’t yet turned thirty, and I’m sixty-seven now, and I was there thirty-eight years. Jack and Fiona weren’t children. Jack was twenty. Fiona in her late teens. But their mother – Nell – was sick. She’d been diagnosed with MS. She was having trouble walking. From memory, she was already on a cane. I had trained as a nurse – well, as an elderly care aide, anyway – although, a lot of what they wanted me to do wasn’t really care. Nell couldn’t open jars. So I was there to help with that kind of thing – the folding of clothes, the cleaning of the oven, things Nell couldn’t do. Fiona was finishing high school and wanted to go to college. Jack was doing his best to help his father with the estate. They had big plans, none of which were coming to fruition.’
Mack said: ‘Go on.’
‘Well, I never expected to be there as long as I was,’ said Penelope. ‘Nell’s illness was degenerative, meaning there was no cure. But it was also slow. Very, very slow. And so I was still there into the eighties, when I met Rex. He’s a plumber. He used to be. He came to fix a blocked drain. It’s the oak trees. Their roots get in everywhere. The job ended up taking two weeks. We ended up dating then married. Owen made the cottage available to us.’
‘That was generous,’ said Mack.
‘Yes and no. He still needed me. Nell was getting sicker. On top of MS, she had developed cancer in the breast. Owen found the lump. So I suppose they still had that kind of relationship.’
Mack did not respond.
‘I did wonder what might happen if Rex and I had children,’ Penelope continued, ‘would we have to move? But nothing happened in that regard. We took no precautions. I guess that wasn’t meant to be.’
‘But then you did fall pregnant?’
‘Yes, to Jack. And believe me when I tell you it was a shock, Sergeant Helber. I was well into my forties. Forty-five, to be exact, when I found out.’
‘I’m guessing it was an accident?’
‘Certainly. Fiona had moved off the estate to marry Tim. They were living up in the Bay Area. No children yet. Jack was still living with his parents. And you know, he never brought girls home. People were starting to think, maybe … you know, gay.’
‘But clearly not,’ said Mack.
‘Clearly not,’ agreed Penelope. ‘Although with me, it only happened the once. Almost by accident. I think he was lonely. Jack was a bit overweight, you know? And he had this problem, where he would sweat. I was in the castle one night, tending to Nell, when he came into the old kitchen to get a glass of water – not exactly the most romantic sight, in his striped pyjama pants and that stomach.’
‘I guess I don’t need all the details,’ said Mack awkwardly.
‘No, it’s fine. It’s a relief to talk about it, actually. It was all very quick. A fumble more than anything. Jack would have been, what, thirty-seven? Thirty-eight? But I don’t know how many lovers he’d had. So very quick.’
‘And you fell pregnant?’
‘That’s right. And I did wonder what to do. Because that was the only time I’d ever been pregnant. The doctor was shocked. He joked: “What did you do differently, Mrs Sidwell?” I wondered whether he knew, actually, when he said that. Or suspected. But he helped me. With Rex sitting right there, he said: “It’s not uncommon. We do see this quite a lot. The Change Baby. The unexpected surprise.” And of course, Rex was older still. He was already nearly sixty.’
‘And do you think Rex knew?’
Mack wasn’t taking notes. He was still standing, resting against the desk, arms still crossed.
‘Absolutely not,’ said Penelope, shaking her head. ‘There was never anything – no love – between Jack and me. It happened once. So Rex had no reason to suspect anything.’
‘And what about Earl?’
‘No. I just went ahead and had him and didn’t say anything.’
‘But Jack knew?’
‘Oh yes. Jack knew. I told Jack. And he wasn’t stupid. He can add up. Nine months equals one baby and all that. Not that it stopped him asking for proof. I was quite offended. But we got proof.’
‘DNA?’
‘Yes. We did the test. Quite rare then. Now everyone does it. And there was a bit of discussion, should I stay or should I go? But then he signed the document, which I guess is what you’ve seen? The acknowledgment of paternity to secure Earl’s rights,’ said Penelope. ‘It meant I didn’t have to tell Rex, and it gave Earl every right to live on the estate. And of course, if anyone ever moved to sell it, he’d get a share.’
‘But wouldn’t it have just been easier to confront the truth?’ said Mack.
‘But how would that have worked?’ said Penelope. ‘Jack wasn’t in love with me. I wasn’t in love with Jack. It was just one of those late-night feeling-sorry-for-Jack things and maybe, if I’m being honest, I had grown a little tired of Rex. But Jack couldn’t pay me any support. He had no money. I couldn’t force him to sell the estate. It was owned by the Trust, and both his parents were still alive, and his sister, and they’d never agree. So I’d be jobless, homeless, with a new baby and a middle-aged husband. No thank you. What we worked out was just fine.’
‘Until Jesalyn arrived.’
‘No, because even that was fine!’ said Penelope. ‘I mean, I couldn’t believe she was interested in him, but she was, and she married him, and they had Eden, and she did love to lord it over me, like she was lady of the manor, but as long as Jack kept my secret, I was happy. And he was happy to keep the secret, because I told him, if you tell her, she’ll throw me out, and I’ll be homeless and so will your son. She’s that kind of woman.’
Mack didn’t doubt it.
‘And so we all just carried on,’ said Penelope. ‘I stayed looking after Nell until the day she died. Then Owen had the stroke and I began caring for him.’
‘And then Jack died?’
‘Yes, and Jack’s death took everyone by surprise,’ said Penelope. ‘And part of me was dreading what would happen, because I thought, the truth is going to come out now, because he’s going to have a will, and it’s going to mention Earl. But it didn’t mention Earl.’
‘Who did it mention?’
‘It mentioned the Trust. Because Jack had no assets in his own name. He had his wedding ring. He had a watch that Nell gave him when he turned twenty-one. But that was it. Everything else was owned by the Trust.’
‘Including the estate and the pavilion?’
‘Yes. And the Trust made it clear that the estate couldn’t be sold without the approval of the beneficiaries, and Earl wasn’t one.’
‘So there was no money for Earl when Jack died?’
‘There was no money for anyone. Jesalyn was furious. She wanted Fiona to sell the estate, because it wasn’t like Fiona was even living there. But Fiona said no, because she wanted her dad to be able to live out his life there. So she asked me to move into the pavilion and look after him.’
‘Leaving Rex in the cottage?’
‘Yes. Which was fine. We’d becom
e … well, set in our ways, if you know what I mean.’
Mack nodded. He’d been married. He knew how it could be.
‘So that solved your problem?’
‘Yes. Because Jesalyn had a major tantrum and upped and left taking Eden with her, leaving me in the pavilion with Owen, and Rex in the cottage with Earl but then …’
Penelope sighed heavily. She had relaxed enough to stuff her scrunched-up tissue into her sleeve but her expression remained morose.
‘But then?’ coaxed Mack.
‘Then Fiona came back.’
‘Fiona came back … to the pavilion?’
‘That’s right. Her kids had grown up and gone to college. Tim wanted to retire. Owen was in his eighties. So she came back. And there was no way for me to stop her, because she didn’t know about Earl and I wasn’t about to tell her.’
‘And so you got shunted back to the cottage?’
‘That’s right. And that’s when I realised: Owen is going to die, maybe even one day soon, and Fiona’s just going to stay on. We’re never going to get our money.’
Mack pondered this for a moment.
‘But then Jesalyn found out?’
‘Well, yes. How she found out, I don’t know. Who told her, I don’t know. Maybe Margaret? Or maybe she always knew and Jack had sworn her to secrecy? I don’t know, you’d have to ask her.’
‘And she turned up with a buyer?’
‘Yes. And she told Fiona about Earl. And then she told both of us: if you don’t do this deal with Pinkhound, I’m going to tell Earl. And Earl will stop the sale for another sixty years.’
‘Could he do that?’
‘We weren’t sure. The terms of the Trust are clear: the estate couldn’t be sold without the agreement of all Owen’s descendants. Earl wasn’t named. But he was a descendant.’
Mack looked confused.
‘Well then, how did they sell it, without telling Earl?’
‘I just didn’t tell him.’
‘You didn’t tell him?’
‘There was no need. I didn’t tell him, and nobody told Pinkhound. Or the lawyers, for that matter. We just agreed amongst ourselves: they’d sell and they’d give Earl’s share to me to give to him.’
Mack thought about this. Was it fraud? It seemed like fraud.
‘Do you think Earl would have agreed to sell had he known the truth?’ he said.
Penelope sat silently. A clock on the wall ticked. Through the window came the sounds of Paso: traffic was moving, people were shopping, children were laughing.
‘Probably not,’ she said.
‘And how did you explain how you suddenly came into money?’
‘I was going to tell him I’d been putting a little aside over the years, and invested the rest for him for later,’ Penelope said. ‘I could have said I won Lotto! I could have said a lot of things. But in the end, I told him: it’s your money. You’re Jack’s son. I had to tell him, Sergeant Helber, because of Eden.’
‘Eden?’
‘Yes. Something happened that we probably should have predicted. They’d fallen in love.’
* * *
Mack took a deep breath. His tone changed and his expression grew serious.
‘Mrs Sidwell,’ he began. ‘I’m going to ask you a question. It’s an important question about what happened to Owen and I want you to think carefully about your answer.’
Penelope nodded earnestly.
‘I’ll do what I can to help with whatever questions you’ve got,’ she said. ‘But you have to remember that I wasn’t there when they buried Owen.’
‘I understand that’s your story, Mrs Sidwell, but did you ever discuss with anyone on the estate – anyone in the Alden-Stowe family – the idea of bringing Owen’s death forward?’
Penelope gasped.
‘I beg your pardon?’ she said.
Mack said: ‘I’ll ask you again. Did you ever discuss with anyone the idea of ending Owen’s life before the end of its natural term?’
‘Of course not!’ cried Penelope. ‘What does that even mean? Like everyone, I might have said something like, “Oh, I hope he’s not going to end his days suffering like Nell suffered,” but …’
‘No,’ said Mack calmly. ‘That’s not what I mean. Did you ever talk in deliberate terms about ending Owen’s life, so that you could extract your share of the estate immediately, rather than having to wait for him to go?’
Penelope leant back against the loose-backed chair, then jerked forward as it began to collapse. A rash flowered on her neck from the collar of her blouse up to her chin.
‘Absolutely not!’ she cried. ‘Whoever said such a thing? Never! Never! Never!’
‘Well, there’s something I have to show you,’ said Mack.
The police officer in the corner of the room reached forward, retrieved a manila envelope from the desktop, and handed it to Mack. Mack opened the flap and took out a USB storage device.
Penelope tilted her head, her expression no more than curious.
‘What is that?’ she said.
‘It’s some footage taken by a GoPro,’ said Mack. ‘It was located in Alden Castle after Owen died.’
‘Footage of what?’ said Penelope, brow furrowed.
‘I’m about to show you.’
* * *
Alexa and her colleagues located Jesalyn. It hadn’t proven difficult. She was in the foyer of Paso’s Motel 6, dressed for breakfast in white linen trousers and a pale blue women’s polo, worn with the collar up.
‘Well, hello there, Officer Helber,’ she said.
She had been smiling as she approached to shake Alexa’s hand but then noticed that Alexa was not alone. Three uniformed officers from Paso police headquarters, stood quietly behind her.
‘What is going on?’ asked Jesalyn.
Alexa fished inside the manila envelope she had carried into the lobby and held up the GoPro.
‘Do you know what this is?’ she said.
‘A camera?’
‘Yes, it’s a camera. Eden delivered it to my father – to Sergeant Helber – last night.’
‘She did what?’
‘She gave it to Sergeant Helber last night, Mrs Alden-Stowe. She found it inside Alden Castle.’
‘Did she now?’ said Jesalyn. She glanced towards the hotel receptionist staring from behind the reception desk, then into the breakfast room, where other guests sat with plastic bowls of Cheerios and half-buttered bagels on plastic plates, then back to Alexa, who noticed that colour had drained from her face.
‘She did,’ said Officer Helber. ‘And last night, I watched it. And now I’m here to arrest you.’
* * *
The trial of Jesalyn Warren Alden-Stowe and her co-conspirator for the murder of Owen Alden-Stowe III was held in the Superior Courthouse in Monterey Street, San Luis Obispo, a pale Art Deco building, since 1940, with the original Greek revival building still behind. Across the street was a saloon, dating back to the nineteenth century. Legend had it that drinkers would stand in the windows and throw bottles at men facing trial, back in the day.
Jesalyn arrived at the courthouse cuffed and in an orange jumpsuit, her face free of make-up, her blonde hair giving way to dark roots. Mack was there to see her, as was Alexa. They had worked together on the brief of evidence, until Mack had handed the file to the district attorney assigned to the case.
Kate Baldwin. She was a woman Mack knew well.
‘What’s your verdict?’ she’d said, taking the file.
Mack had shrugged, saying: ‘If the judge allows the jury to see what’s on the camera, I’d say it’s a slam-dunk.’
‘And if not?’ replied Kate.
‘You might struggle.’
Kate nodded. She was a broad-shouldered woman with baseball-sized biceps and a fun sense of fashion. Such was her build, she had all her clothes for court tailored, favouring mannish suits with pin-stripes and two-tone shoes, like gangsters used to wear.
She was in no doubt as to Jesalyn
’s guilt.
‘But I guess we’ll see what the jury thinks,’ she’d said.
Now the trial was underway. It wasn’t a full house. There were some court-watchers in the audience, the kind of people who routinely turned up for trials, some lawyers in suits, plus Mack and Alexa, and Harry Prior from the Paso Monitor.
‘I’ll get his website up,’ said Alexa. ‘He’ll be on multiple platforms all day.’
‘What does that mean?’ said Mack.
‘It means he’s sending short updates to his followers on Twitter, and he’s filing for Facebook and for the Paso Monitor website. Same as the funeral. Look.’
Alexa handed her phone to Mack, showing him how to make the text bigger, by pinching at the screen. Harry’s first post, on the Paso Monitor website, said:
Hello fans! This is Harry Prior of the Paso Monitor. I’m settled into court and we’re ready to go! So Tweet me! Like me! You know you want to.
Mack handed the phone back to his daughter.
‘He’s a clown,’ he said.
‘Don’t be old-fashioned. This is new media.’
‘I preferred the newspaper.’
Alexa shrugged, and kept reading:
So, some background. As most of you will know, the famous Alden Castle turns out to be a graveyard estate, in more ways than one.
The greedy billionaires behind the Pinkhound Company made a bunch of promises when they purchased the place – then proceeded to destroy it!
They cut down all the property’s mature oaks. What they didn’t get – what a lot of those multinational types don’t get – is that the oak trees are why we’re here in Paso.
We’re here for the lifestyle.
FFS, our town crest is an oak tree! Like, you didn’t get the clue?
But they didn’t care. They tore down trees and wrecked the old cemetery, and got exactly what they deserved, when a fresh body came up! Then it was all cover-up, cover-up!
And they might have gotten away with it – except that somebody had stashed Fraser Kelly’s body there, too!
Mack, looking across at Alexa’s screen as she scrolled, said: ‘The guy’s a jackass. He’s not a serious reporter. Serious reporters don’t go on like that. They’ve no idea how Fraser Kelly ended up in the chimney. It looked to Tony like he fell in there. That’s got nothing to do with this trial.’
The Lucky One Page 21
