“This morning you accused me of clinging to that idea so that I could still blame Lazarus.”
“I asked you if that was a possibility,” Ben said. “I didn’t say it was a bad idea.”
“Wait a minute,” she said, holding her forehead. “It’s a conflict of interest for you to represent me, but you want to talk about whether or not Lazarus had an accomplice?”
“Lazarus wasn’t my client,” he said.
“That’s splitting hairs,” she said.
“Not to my mind,” he said. “We’re just…friends, having a conversation.”
Tess tilted her head and studied him. She had noted his hesitation on the word “friends” but she wasn’t about to mention it. “Does this mean that you think there might be something to the accomplice idea?” she asked.
“Well, if we assume that you were right in your identification of Lazarus…”
“You’re assuming I was right?” she cried.
“Just for argument’s sake,” he said.
“Ah,” said Tess calmly. But she felt almost giddy with surprise and…gratitude.
“It would explain the DNA discrepancy,” said Ben. “I was doing some research this afternoon. The experts seem to agree that in a pair of killers there is usually a dominant personality and a subservient one. The subservient one is in some kind of thrall to the dominant one. The dominant one can be cruel and controlling. It’s very often a relationship based on fear. Now, if there was such a pair at work here, it’s unlikely that Lazarus was the dominant one. He would have been the passive one, the follower. Doing the bidding of the other.”
Instantly, as he spoke, a face appeared in Tess’s mind’s eye and she blanched.
“What?” he asked.
“I was just thinking. According to the sentencing phase of the trial transcript, and what I’ve heard from everyone else, Lazarus was a loner who had no friends. He didn’t have dealings with anyone outside the family.”
“That doesn’t mean that he didn’t have any relationships—”
“Wait, hear me out,” said Tess.
Ben nodded.
“Now, apparently, his only occupation was working for his stepfather, Nelson Abbott. And Nelson Abbott was always angry at him. He abused him for years.”
“That’s true. Nobody ever said that Lazarus…wait a minute.” Ben peered at her. “Are you suggesting…?”
Tess stared back at him.
“Not Nelson,” Ben scoffed.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Well, for one thing, Nelson has no record as a sexual predator.”
“Yes, but he’s got a history of violent behavior in his own family.”
Ben shook his head. “I don’t see it.”
Tess leaned forward in the chair. “Ben, they know that Phoebe’s body was transported to the ditch in Lazarus’s truck. A witness recognized the truck leaving the scene. There was no time to clean up the truck. Phoebe’s blood was in that truckbed. Shreds of her clothing. But that truck actually belonged to Nelson. He just let Lazarus drive it.”
“Tess, the police searched the Abbott house after they found the body. And the garage and the basement. They couldn’t find any proof that he kept her there.”
“But he may have,” said Tess. “He might have cleaned it up.”
“Well, it’s true that if we’d had the forensic techniques we have nowadays, they might have found evidence,” said Ben. “By now, of course, it’s too late.”
“Ben,” said Tess carefully, “if Lazarus kept her in that house, or on that property, who else would have had…access to Phoebe there?”
Ben tilted back in his own chair, gripping the armrests. Then he shook his head. “No. If that were the case, why wouldn’t Lazarus have implicated his stepfather? His life was at stake.”
“Well, that’s a good question. But he didn’t implicate anyone. He just said he was innocent.” Tess shrugged. “He was afraid of his stepfather. Terrified of him.”
“He was facing execution…” Ben protested.
“I know,” said Tess. “A normal person would have named his accomplice. But of course a normal person wouldn’t have committed the crime in the first place. And it’s hard to imagine what went on inside the snake pit that was Lazarus Abbott’s mind—I’m just speculating—but I know that abuse victims rarely accuse their abusers.”
“That’s certainly true,” said Ben. “It’s a crime that’s so difficult to prosecute.”
Tess leaned forward in her chair. “In fact, nowhere in the sentencing phase of the trial did Lazarus ever even acknowledge that his stepfather beat him and humiliated him. That all came from people outside the family.”
Ben frowned.
“And who really cared? Nelson was a solid citizen. His stepson had a record as a pervert,” Tess continued.
They sat in silence for a moment.
“I’m not accusing anyone,” Tess protested. “I just wonder if it would be possible to make a discreet comparison of Nelson’s DNA to the test results.”
Ben shook his head. “There’s no way Nelson would voluntarily give a sample.”
“Could the police…demand a sample? Legally?” Tess asked.
Ben frowned, tapping the pencil absently on his desk. “They could. But Rusty Bosworth is Nelson’s nephew so I think you can forget about that happening,” said Ben. “And Nelson can’t be forced to give a DNA sample. That would violate his fourth amendment rights…”
Tess reached a hand out and put it lightly on his, to still the tapping. She felt his warmth radiate up through her fingertips. She pulled her fingers back. “Isn’t it possible to obtain a person’s DNA without their knowledge?” she asked. “People leave DNA on drinking cups or clothing or hairbrushes, don’t they?”
“Sure, it’s possible. But the police aren’t going to try and obtain a sample at all, never mind illegally.” Ben looked at her meditative profile with a kind of possessive admiration. His blue eyes were at once bemused, and chiding. She was pressing her steepled fingers against her lips. “And neither should anyone else. Tess?”
Tess looked up at him, her gaze opaque. “No,” she said absently. “No. Of course not.”
CHAPTER 16
A redheaded woman with freckles wearing a baggy, oxford cloth shirt opened the front door of the neat, barn-red Cape Cod house and frowned. “I know who you are,” she said bluntly as Tess attempted to introduce herself.
“I wondered if I could see the chief for a minute,” Tess asked.
“He’s in very bad shape,” said the woman. “It would be too exhausting for him.”
“Mary Anne,” came a feeble cry from inside the house. “Who is it?”
Nothing wrong with his hearing, Tess thought.
“Tess DeGraff,” said Mary Anne.
“I promise I won’t stay long,” said Tess.
“Tell her to come in,” said the weak voice.
Mary Anne hesitated and then stood aside, a long-suffering look on her face. She inclined her head toward the room behind her. “He’s in the family room. Go on through there.”
“Thanks,” said Tess.
Tess walked through the pristine, rarely used living room to the arched doorway of the family room. The paneled room had obviously been added on to the house. A beige chenille-covered sofa faced a large gas hearth and an enormous television set. Beside the sofa was a gray, black, and beige plaid recliner with the footrest extended. Huddled on the recliner, under an afghan, was Aldous Fuller.
“Chief,” she said.
He turned to look at her. The huge gray circles under his eyes made his bald head look like a skull. His skin was waxy. He managed a smile.
“Tess,” he said.
Tess went over to the chair and squeezed his hand, which lay limp on the armrest. His bony fingers were icy. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she said. “But I need your help.”
“Sit down,” said the chief. “Not there. Sit where I can see you.”
Tess, who had been about to sit on t
he edge of the sofa, got up and pulled a wooden chair from beside the fireplace over to a spot in front of the recliner. “Is this better?” she asked.
Chief Fuller, whose breathing was labored, nodded.
“I need a favor,” Tess said.
“I’m not good for much right now,” said the chief. “But I’ll help you if I can.”
“That’s all I ask,” said Tess. She took a deep breath and explained her proposal.
Because of the rain, Tess passed the Abbott place several times before she finally located the entrance to the driveway. She turned in and slowly drove up to the house. She parked in the drive and sat in her car, staring at Lazarus Abbott’s boyhood home, her heart thumping.
In answer to her questions, Chief Fuller had explained what he knew about DNA collection. One could, he had said, find saliva on a discarded paper cup, a bottle, or a piece of gum, or perspiration from a T-shirt, or hairs trapped on a hat or a comb. And yes, once that object was obtained and placed in a plastic bag, Chief Fuller did have contacts at the state crime lab who could compare it with the DNA of Phoebe’s killer. But Aldous Fuller had been very clear—it was dangerous and a bad idea for Tess to get involved in this.
Tess pretended to take his warning to heart. But, as she got up to leave, she was already putting her plan into motion. Tess went out through the kitchen where Mary Anne was stirring a pot on the stove. She had thanked Mary Anne for letting her speak to the chief and then said that the chief was asking for a glass of water. With a sigh, Mary Anne ran some water into a glass and started back toward the family room.
Alone in the kitchen, Tess quietly opened three cupboard drawers before she found what she was seeking—Ziploc plastic bags. What kitchen would be without them? Tess mused. She had tucked a handful of them into her coat pocket and let herself out the back door. Then she drove directly to the Abbotts’ place.
Tess had hoped that Nelson’s black truck might be in the driveway. People often drank take-out coffee in their cars, she reasoned. She thought she could open the door of the cab, snatch his paper cup, toss it into a plastic bag, and be gone before he even came out of the house to see why someone was idling in his driveway.
But Nelson’s truck was not there. And there were no lights on in the house. No one seemed to be at home. Tess got out of the car, opening her umbrella. She walked up to the foot of the porch steps and looked around at the neatly kept property while the rain made a persistent clatter on the gutters of the stark-looking gray farmhouse.
Tess climbed the steps and tried turning the front doorknob, but it was locked. She felt both disappointed and relieved. She didn’t know if she would have had the nerve to open the door and just walk inside. Now the decision had been taken away from her. She shielded her brow with one hand and peered through the wavy glass of the old windowpanes into the front room of the house. It was a drab, sparsely furnished room with a few stiff-looking chairs, a dun-colored sofa, and faded wallpaper. The rug that sat in the center of the floor was flowered and far too small for the space. A grandfather clock stood near the door, ticking off the minutes. She tried to picture the Abbott family living in this house: Lazarus sitting in one of those straight-backed chairs as Nelson cuffed him and yelled in his ear.
Now that she was here, gazing into the Abbott parlor, she was distracted from her purpose, overwhelmed by thoughts of her sister. Phoebe, she thought. Did he bring you to this house when he took you away from us? Was he tired of being the only one who suffered here? Or did he bring you here to satisfy the perverted appetites of another, more powerful person? Tess shuddered at the idea of it.
She straightened up and walked to the edge of the porch. The garage was not attached to the house, but sat back at the end of the driveway, a small gray building with the same multipaned windows as the house. The doors of the garage were closed. The windows of the garage were covered from within by what appeared to be yellowed paper shades. It was impossible to see inside. Tess felt thwarted, as if the eyes of the garage were looking back at her blindly. She wanted to see inside. She felt…entitled to look in there. To see the interior for herself. To try to determine if she could feel the presence of her sister. She was sure that somehow she would be able to do what the police had not been able to do—tell whether this building was the place where Phoebe had been held captive and killed.
Tess climbed down the porch steps and walked toward the shuttered garage through the blowing rain, holding her opened umbrella over her head. Every so often a gust of wind would shake the umbrella frame and Tess had to grip it tighter. At the garage door, she reached out and grabbed the wrought-iron handle and shook it. The door did not budge. She tried the other handle, jiggling it back and forth. It was no use. The doors were locked tight. “Dammit,” she said.
She turned away from the garage and walked back toward the house. Don’t forget why you’re here—the DNA, she reminded herself. The DNA. Get busy. They could come home at any minute. Crossing the immaculately kept backyard she passed an old-fashioned pole clothesline that had some laundry flapping on it, drenched by the sudden rain. Tess stopped and thought about taking one of the men’s T-shirts, but that would be of no use. She was sure, judging by the tidiness of the house and yard, that Edith did a thorough job with her laundry. Every last identifying cell was probably washed and bleached away.
There were a set of slanted wooden doors beneath a kitchen window that obviously led down to the basement. Tess walked toward them. Was it there that he took you, Phoebe? she wondered. When she was found, Phoebe’s body was bound and gagged and bruised all over. After all these years, Phoebe’s face was almost a blank in Tess’s mind. She remembered pictures of Phoebe rather than Phoebe herself. Gazing at those cellar doors, she felt as if she could suddenly see her sister again, in her T-shirt and sweatpants, her long blonde hair swinging like a curtain around that face that Tess could no longer visualize, as Lazarus lifted those creaking cellar doors and hoisted her up over his shoulder, carrying her down those steps like a rolled-up rug.
Tess turned away from the cellar doors, her stomach in knots. There’s no time for ruminating about the past, she thought. You have to get that DNA sample now, while you have the chance. She glanced at the plastic trash cans. Surely there would be items in the trash with Nelson’s saliva on them, but they would be useless, according to Chief Fuller, if they were bundled in proximity to the rest of the trash. She lifted a lid, hoping that one bin would be recycling and that she might find a beer bottle inside it. But both barrels contained trash tied up in plastic bags. Everything neat and tidy and cross-contaminated, she thought.
Tess looked around and then lifted one of the wooden cellar doors. She looked down at a storm door and the darkness of the basement beyond it. Was there anything useful down there, even if, by some fluke, that inside door was not locked? Somehow she doubted that these people ever left anything out of place. Tess hesitated, feeling sick at the thought of entering that basement, knowing that Phoebe may have taken her last breath in that gloom. Knowing that the Abbotts could return at any moment.
Do it, she thought. For Phoebe. She looked around, lowered her umbrella, and hurried down the cement block steps. She tried the handle on the door at the bottom of the stairs, rattling it vigorously, but it did not budge. The musty smell from inside seeped out, assailing her nostrils. She peered through the storm window. By the light that filtered down the stairs, it was too dark to see more than a few feet into the basement. Directly in front of her Tess saw a tool bench, with all the tools neatly hung on hooks and all the nails and screws in jars divided by size. There did not appear to be so much as a dirty rag on the surface of the workbench.
If I could only get in there, she thought, I could go through the basement and up into the house. Into the house where there would be a bathroom, with everything she might need. A toothbrush, a comb, nail parings. For a moment she toyed with the thought of breaking in, but she dismissed the idea almost as soon as it came to her mind. What if Nelson Abbot
t came home and found her in his house? He might have a gun, and if he did, he could shoot her and be justified. Even if there was no gun, he could call the police on her and be within his rights to have her arrested. Tess sighed, pressing her face against the pane, trying to peer inside. And then, suddenly, she froze. Above the whistle of the wind, she heard a car door slamming.
Oh my God, they’re back. They’ve seen my car. I have to get out of here, she thought. She turned away from the storm door window and quickly ran up the cinder-block steps. Looking all around, she emerged from the stairwell and turned to lower the wooden cellar door as carefully as possible, so as not to make a sound.
Then, clutching her bag and her closed umbrella, she straightened up and hurried toward the driveway side of the house. She turned the corner and came face-to-face with Nelson Abbott, peering at her from beneath the brim of his John Deere cap.
Tess let out a cry.
“What the hell…? What do you think you’re doing?” Nelson demanded.
He advanced on her. Tess stumbled back. She had a sickening feeling that he knew what she was doing. That he could read her intentions in her eyes. “I came here to see you,” she stammered. She brushed her wind-whipped hair off her face.
“To see me? In the backyard? Behind my house? What are you playing at?”
“Nothing,” said Tess. “I…just was…I thought you might be…”
“You thought I might be what? Huh? Speak up. Why are you trespassing on my property?”
Tess’s heart was thudding. They were alone. There was no sign of Edith Abbott anywhere around. And Tess was at a loss to explain her presence here. She felt as if the letters “DNA” were flashing on her forehead.
“I’ve got a good mind to call my nephew, the police chief. He’s none too fond of you as it is,” said Nelson in a steely tone, pointing a finger at her. “Your lies have given him more headaches than he knows what to do with. Well, you’ve lied once too often, missy. You lied about Lazarus and you are going to pay dearly for that. As a matter of fact, you’re soon gonna find out there’s a lawsuit against you…”
Stolen in the Night Page 14
