He drove along in the gathering twilight, feeling weary and looking for a place to stop for the night. The days were short now, and he was unused to driving for hours at a time. As if in answer to this idle thought, a road sign announced that the town called Gravesport was ten miles away. It took him a minute to recognize the name, and then it occurred to him. That was the town where Bonnie Lewis had been a librarian. He thought about Bonnie and Terry. Theirs was an unlikely love story, but they had a life together. There could be no more devoted lover than Bonnie. Making all those trips, standing by Terry despite the fact that she must have met with universal disapproval for her choice. Admittedly it was a weird way to meet someone, but they had met, and found one another, and now they had a family.
Still, it was unfortunate that on the eve of Terry’s freedom they had been in an auto accident. If you had to bump into someone, you were lucky to bump into Maddy, he thought. But still, it seemed as if they were so alone. Bonnie was too proud to admit that she needed anything. He wondered if anyone knew of their difficulties or might be willing to help them. Maybe I’ll stop there, he thought. I could ask around and find out if someone who knows Bonnie might be concerned enough to lend the family a helping hand.
In a few minutes he reached the Gravesport exit, grateful to be off the highway at last. He drove to the center of town and cruised slowly down the main street. A sign on an ancient brick building at the end of the street read “Hotel.” He parked in front and went inside.
The lobby was dimly lit and devoid of decoration except for the boldly patterned wallpaper of fire engines and old cars in burnt umber on a sallow gold background. By the front window stood two captain’s chairs pulled up around a low table bearing a dusty plastic flower arrangement and an assortment of Yankee and Reader’s Digest magazines. Nick walked up to the front desk and looked around. No one was in sight. The only indication that this was indeed a hotel was the cross-hatched cabinet behind the desk with keys hanging out of the various pigeonholes.
“Hello,” Nick called out. “Anybody here?”
A heavyset old woman with an uncombed thatch of gray hair shuffled out from behind a curtained doorway and stared suspiciously at the would-be customer.
“Could I get a room?” Nick asked.
With a nod the woman turned the guest book around and handed him a pen. Nick signed on the first empty line while the woman turned to the pigeonholes, found a key, and handed it to him. Nick knew that Maine natives had the reputation of being laconic, but this woman set a new standard, he thought.
She turned the book around, studied his signature, and said, “How long you staying?”
“Just the night,” he said.
“Twenty-five dollars. Pay now.”
Nick counted out the money and handed it to her. “Anywhere good to eat around here?” he asked.
“There’s a cafe, on the corner,” she said.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Room one.”
I wonder if I’m the only one here, he thought as he carried his overnight bag up the stairs. Do they ever have enough customers to fill up to room two? he wondered. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and steeled himself. But the room was perfectly clean and comfortable, although, as in the lobby, no effort had been wasted on frivolity. There was a slightly sagging double bed with a green bedspread, a small bathroom with ancient fixtures, and two paint-by-number seascapes, each hanging in splendid isolation, one over the bed and one on the opposite wall.
This’ll be all right, he thought. He turned on the bedside lamp and decided to go out and face the cafe.
When he went back down the stairs, the proprietor had disappeared again. He went out into the quiet street and looked around. The cafe had a lighted sign, and he headed toward it. As he came around the curving corner of the main street, he saw that the public library, a small white clapboard building across the street, was still open. He hesitated for a moment, then crossed the street and went in.
The library was of a pretty good size for a town like this, and he tried to imagine Bonnie working here day after day. Nick browsed through the stacks, more interested in the place than in the books. A couple of teenage girls sat together at a library table and giggled. Otherwise the library was empty. Behind the library desk sat a wiry old woman who looked as if she would crumble into dust if you touched her. Occasionally she looked up and glared at the girls, who stopped their giggling for a moment and then resumed. Nick walked up to the desk and smiled, but the woman did not return his smile. “Yes?” she asked.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m…uh…I’m just in town for the night. I have a…friend who used to work here in the library. Bonnie Lewis. Her name used to be—”
“Nolan,” the woman said flatly. She did not seem in the least surprised by, or interested in, his query. She didn’t inquire after Bonnie’s well-being. Obviously this was not a person who would be interested in helping out.
“Nolan, right,” said Nick. “I was wondering…does she have family still living here in town?”
The woman pondered this question. “Bonnie? No. Not anymore. She lived with her mother until her mother died. That was a few years back.”
“Oh,” said Nick. “Was there nobody else?”
The woman glanced over at the girls, who were at it again. “Girls,” she said. “You’re in the library.”
“Sorry, Miss Carr,” said one of the girls, and bent her head over her book.
The woman shook her head. “She took a room in a house over on Maple Street. Do you want me to look up the address?”
“Would you?” asked Nick. “That would be very nice.”
“Certainly,” said Miss Carr in a tone of voice that said “Looking things up is my business.” She began to page neatly through a folder on her desk. No wonder Bonnie left here, Nick thought. Not so much as a “How’s she doing? How’s the baby?” These people must have been scandalized when Bonnie up and married a lifer in a prison and had a baby by him. There wasn’t any liberal-minded, big city—type tolerance in a place like this.
Miss Carr handed him an address written on a three-by-five card in a flawless cursive hand. “There you are,” she said crisply. She looked at her watch. “Fifteen minutes, girls,” she said.
“Well, thank you,” said Nick, holding the card aloft.
“You’re welcome,” said Miss Carr, turning back to her work.
Nick waited a moment for her to say something, anything. Clearly she was finished with him, their business concluded. Nick was glad to get back out onto the street. He looked at the address in the light of the lanterns on either side of the library door. It read “Bonnie Nolan,” and then the “Nolan” was crossed out, and “Lewis” was typed above it. Then it said “c/o Hartwell, 12 Maple Street.”
Nick sighed. He doubted he would have much luck at this house. It wasn’t a family member—just someone she had roomed with. If Miss Carr was any indication, Bonnie wasn’t much missed around here. He decided to eat first before he called on the Hartwells. He put the card in his pocket and crossed the street to the cafe.
Chapter Thirty-six
Doug smoothed back his hair and followed Charles Henson out of the elevator and through the lobby of the Taylorsville Courthouse. When they reached the sidewalk outside, Doug finally caught up with his attorney. The walkway to the courthouse was lined with gas lamps that exuded a pale glow in the autumn evening.
“Charles,” he said, extending his hand him. “You did a great job for me in there.”
They had just met with the district attorney, who had tried to convince them to accept a plea on a lesser charge than murder in the death of Rebecca Starnes; but Charles had rejected their offer and insisted that they didn’t have enough evidence to even indict Doug, much less to win trial.
“How about stopping somewhere for a drink?” Doug suggested.
Charles Henson turned and clasped the handle of his briefcase with both hands in front of him in an obvious effort to avoid the hand
shake. “I want to get home to my wife,” he said. “It’s a very important night us. Frankly, I hesitated to come here tonight, but for the seriousness of the charges…”
Doug did not inquire what the Hensons’ occasion was. He was far too absorbed in his own situation. “Well, maybe another time,” he said.
Charles looked coolly at Doug. “This fight is just beginning, Doug. You understand that, don’t you? You won this round, but the fight is far from over.”
“Well, I have confidence in you,” said Doug.
“Doug,” he said, “you’re entitled to the best possible legal representation. I don’t think I’m that man anymore.”
Doug stared at him in disbelief. “Wait a minute. You mean you’re dropping my case? Are you worried that I’m not going to pay you? ’Cause if that’s it…”
Charles shook his head. “I can recommend any number of people…”
“I don’t want any number of people,” said Doug. “I want you!”
“That’s impossible,” said Charles. “I made up my mind while I was in there. Look, this case is going to take a lot of extra time. They’re not just going to let it drop. Chief Cameron will not rest until you are in jail for this crime. This is going to take all the time and cunning of a good attorney, and right now I have more pressing matters in my personal life. I can’t get involved in this. I’m going to be cutting back on my practice, and I’m not taking on something so demanding…”
“But I am innocent,” said Doug. “I never killed that Starnes girl. And I certainly don’t know anything about a missing baby. It’s absurd. They can’t prove I did it, because I didn’t do it. But I need you to defend me.”
Charles peered at him through the lamplit darkness of the evening with thinly-veiled contempt. “Are you innocent, Doug?”
“Of course I am, what do you mean?” Doug said.
Charles shook his head. “After viewing that tape in the DA’s office, I think it is fatuous of you to call yourself innocent.”
“All you’re supposed to be concerned with is the crime itself, isn’t that right?”
Charles glanced at the clock set into the courthouse cupola. Then he turned back to Doug. “Sometimes…things that happen in your life remind you that there are absolutes that have nothing to do with the law. It’s important to me, right now, to stay on the side of the angels.”
“How dare you be so high and mighty? You’re just a hired gun. You’re not supposed to be judging me!” Doug cried indignantly.
“You’re right,” said Charles. “That is not up to me. You can think of this like a peremptory challenge. No reason given. No further debate possible. Good night.”
Without waiting for a reply, Charles turned and headed off to his car in the parking lot. Doug watched him go, feeling paralyzed. It had taken all the indignation he could muster to try to convince Charles Henson to stay with him. And it hadn’t worked.
When he could make his legs move again, Doug started to walk. He walked to his car, got in, and turned on the engine. Automatically he put the car in gear and drove slowly through the parking lot. But when he reached the entrance, he hesitated. Which way to go?
He tried to imagine himself driving home to Maddy, but the look on her face this afternoon made him cringe inside. She had probably changed the locks on the house by now. Amy, of course, would be glad to see him, but he could not face her demands for attention. Kids were exhausting. He knew that Maddy wanted more of them, but he couldn’t figure out why. Their demands were relentless. No, he thought, he couldn’t face it right now.
He turned the car in the other direction and started to drive. He tried to think of a friend he could go to, but try as he might, there was no one. He wondered when he had become so alone. He thought about going to a bar. Much as he would enjoy the oblivion of a few drinks in quick succession, he did not want to get into some inane conversation with a stranger.
If he could be sure that he wouldn’t see anyone he knew, and that the subject would stay strictly on football or hockey, that would be okay. But what if some woman perched on the barstool beside him? Women always wanted to talk about personal things. What would he say when she asked him about his life? That he was a man who had once tasted fame and fortune? That now he was a man with no money, in debt over his head to an attorney? A man who was about to lose his job over a stupid rule about students and teachers, and who was suspected of murder to boot? Yeah, that would clear out the surrounding barstools pretty quick. Still, the idea of a drink was appealing. A few drinks. He drove to a nearby liquor store, parked, and went inside.
The brightly lit store wasn’t bustling, but it wasn’t empty, either. Doug debated for a few moments, then picked out a bottle of vodka. The clerk put it into a brown bag, and Doug carried it out to his car. Now what? he thought. A cloud of despair enveloped him as he sat there, staring at the bag beside him on the seat. His passenger. His companion. Where could a man go to drink in peace? He thought of Binney Park but shook his head. That was all he needed, to be reminded of everything that had happened to him, just because he sat on a park bench and passed the time of day with a pretty girl. What kind of a world was it where that was a crime? They’d had a conversation and shared a package of crackers, and then she’d got up and left with the baby. All right, he had put his arm across the back of the bench and touched her shoulder. That was all he did, just touched her shoulder. Was it his fault she had ended up dead? If she hadn’t been so jumpy when he touched her, she might still be alive. But no, she’d hopped off that bench like it was on fire and left him there feeling embarrassed. All he’d wanted was a little conversation, a little human warmth.
Doug turned on the engine. No, Binney Park was out of the question. Maybe the fort. He could go back up there. He’d have the place to himself at night. Sometimes kids went there to park, but they wouldn’t bother with him. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all he could think of.
Doug turned on the radio and set out. He had planned to wait to have a drink until he got to his destination, but he had a clawing thirst that he didn’t normally feel. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but tonight he craved oblivion. He hesitated for a moment and thought again of going home to Maddy. To try to get her back on his side. To try to make amends. But the thought was almost laughable. Even if she forgave him for one thing, there was another right behind it. Dammit, he didn’t feel like getting down on his knees to her.
In a way, it was her fault, too. Not about the insurance, he admitted. He’d screwed up there, but all he was trying to do was coast for a while, save a little money. That could have happened to anyone. If she insisted on believing he was a murderer, that said more about her than it did about him. A woman was supposed to believe in her husband. The only reason he’d had to turn to young girls in the first place was because she had lost all her appeal. It had happened gradually, after the baby was born. She was so…maternal. She seemed old and serious and full of questions about the future. He needed someone to help him forget all that, not an overbearing female who wanted to put him in a cage and keep him there. Buy a house, have more kids, join the PTA. If sex couldn’t be fun and its own kind of oblivion, what was it for?
Doug shook his head. She had never understood him. Never. He could not remember why he had thought it would be a good idea to get married and have a family. Probably just because he felt the pressure of society. Pressure, pressure, pressure. He was so sick of it. He reached for the brown paper bag, unscrewed the top of the bottle, looked around to be sure that no one was watching him, and then took a swig.
The liquid poured down his throat like a warm sedative, and he immediately felt the pressure on his chest start to lift. He’d never liked the taste of alcohol, but there was no denying the relief it provided. That’s better, he thought. God, that feels better.
He drove in the direction of the fort.
Chapter Thirty-seven
It was funny, Maddy thought, how some moments seemed to last for a long time, words hanging
suspended in the air, as a person instantly, like a computer, ran through the possibilities, tried to assess the impact of each possible response and which would give them the best chance for survival. Like someone caught in an avalanche, or sucked into a riptide, the adrenaline surged through her. She needed to make the right choice, and make it instantly. The process took place in only a moment, but it seemed infinite, a lifetime in slow motion.
My best chance, she thought, is to pretend I didn’t hear it. Tell myself I didn’t hear it, or maybe I misheard it. Whatever. Make her believe it.
Maddy tried to force her body to follow her thoughts, not her feelings. Keep her expression impassive, keep her hands from trembling, keep her voice calm. She attempted to look at Bonnie sympathetically. “I’m calling an ambulance. He needs help right away,” she said. Bonnie clambered to her feet and grabbed Maddy’s arm in a viselike grip as she tried to turn away.
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