by Jance, J. A.
“I’m glad the jury found you guilty. I’m glad you’ll be spending the rest of your life in prison. You’re a contemptible human being, and you’re getting exactly what you deserve.”
Alex’s statement ended, and the room erupted in a round of enthusiastic applause which the judge stifled with a loud bang of his gavel. When Judge Ratcliff’s sentence was delivered, it was almost as an afterthought. And then it was over.
As the deputies led the prisoner out of the courtroom, Ali noticed something odd. He didn’t so much as glance or nod in his mother’s direction. How could he show such disdain for someone who had most likely been at the trial the whole time, sitting front and center and supporting him throughout the entire ordeal?
Outside the courtroom a full-fledged celebration was in progress. Alex Munsey made her way through the crowd accepting high fives, hugs, kisses, and handshakes as she went. For several minutes Alex and Ali stood side by side on the courthouse steps, posing for photographs.
They went to dinner as a group—Alex and Ali, along with a whole troop of people from the Progeny Project. The organization itself might have been disbanded, but the connections made during its existence remained in place and as strong as ever. The evening was a night meant for celebrating, and a good time was had by all.
The next day, Saturday morning early, Ali Reynolds and Alexandra Munsey stood outside the Holiday Inn Express and made their good-byes, ending with a long, heartfelt hug and another round of mutual promises that from now on they really would stay in touch. As Ali drove out of the parking lot, waving as she went, she had no way of knowing it was the very last time she would see Alex Munsey alive.
20
Folsom, California, June 2013
Afull month after Edward’s arrival at Folsom, he was summoned to the visitation room, where he was surprised to find his mother, seated in yet another cubicle, awaiting his arrival.
“Mom,” he said, picking up the phone. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to visit you.”
“Did Marco drive you over?”
“No,” she said with a bright smile. “I live here now, right here in Folsom. I decided it was time to simplify my life—to downsize, as they say. I sold the house, unloaded most of my goods in an estate sale, and moved into a gated retirement community here in town called Arbor Crest. I have a two-bedroom town house unit that comes with a two-car garage.”
“A garage big enough for the Rolls?” Eddie asked.
“Oh, no,” she told him. “I unloaded that, too. I gave it to Marco and Bettina Gregory as a going-away present.”
Hannah didn’t bother telling her son that before she’d left Santa Clarita, she’d gone to the trouble of drafting a new will, one that removed Eddie as her sole heir and left her entire estate to the Gregorys. With Eddie in prison until his dying day, he had no use for her money. She might just as well give it to people for whom it would make a difference.
In terms of relatives, Hannah still had a few extant cousins left on her mother’s side of the family, but during the hard times—during the years of disgrace and the awfulness of the trial—the cousins had kept to themselves. They’d never so much as picked up the phone to see how she was doing, so the cousins’ ship had sailed. The Gregorys, on the other hand? Marco and Bettina had stuck with Hannah through it all—through thick and thin. Since they weren’t blood relatives, there would be hell to pay as far as estate taxes were concerned, but nonetheless they’d be thrilled with whatever was left.
As for parceling out her wealth in charitable contributions? The new Hannah Gilchrist was done with those.
“If you dumped the Rolls,” Eddie asked, drawing her back to the present, “how are you getting around?”
“Oh, that,” she said dismissively. “I bought myself a new car—the first one ever. It’s just a little Lexus LS, but the insurance premiums are through the roof because they consider me to be an inexperienced driver.”
Eddie was astonished. “You got a driver’s license at your age?” he demanded. “How did you do that?”
“I took lessons and passed the driving test my first try,” she told him. “I told my driving instructor that I was a widow and needed to learn to drive on my own. The instructor was very kind and very understanding. I’m glad he didn’t ask me how long ago my husband died.”
“I am, too,” Eddie echoed.
“But all that aside, I just learned that Alexandra Munsey is publishing a book,” Hannah continued. “It’s going to be called A Mother’s Tale.”
“About me?” Eddie asked.
“Presumably. It’s being published concurrently with another book by a local true-crime writer.”
“Also about me?” Eddie asked.
“I believe so.”
“Can I sue them for libel?”
Hannah shook her head. “I already checked with an attorney on that. You’re a convicted killer now as opposed to an alleged one. I’m pretty sure people can say whatever they like about you.”
“Alexandra Munsey is a bitch,” Eddie said, switching over to signing. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her. This is all her fault.”
That was when Hannah caught sight of the tattoo on his arm for the very first time. “What’s that?” she demanded.
“It’s a list of people,” he said. “They’re the people who owe me, or maybe I owe them.”
“What do you mean?”
He pointed toward the first letter in the row where the image of a capital D was almost entirely obscured by a black X. “That D is for Dawn,” he signed. “The other letters are for Leo Aurelio, Kaitlyn Todd, Alexandra Munsey, and Ali Reynolds, that busybody news anchor who started it all.”
“What are you planning on doing about them?” Hannah asked.
“I’ve already gotten even with Dawn,” he said. “Now I need to figure out how to get even with the rest of them.”
“Will you need my help?” Hannah asked.
Eddie looked at her in stunned surprise. He had planned on talking her into helping him, but he was astonished that she’d come right out and offered. “Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious,” Hannah said. “You’ve never been one to walk away from a fight. Why would you start now? And if you need help, I’m here, just as I was in court with you every day of the trial—because you’re my son, Eddie.”
Eddie appeared to be profoundly touched by that declaration. He dabbed a tear from the corner of his eye. “Thank you,” he murmured aloud. “Thank you for being in my corner.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied. “You’re all I’ve got, and I’m all you’ve got, so whatever you need me to do, just let me know.”
In that short signed conversation, their mutual intent came through loud and clear. If Eddie was out for revenge, Hannah would have his back every step of the way. End of story.
“I can’t quite see you living in a two-bedroom apartment,” Eddie said aloud, going for a bit of harmless conversation to make up for the extended period of silence.
No one in the jail in Santa Clarita had ever commented on the long silences between them, but here someone might be paying closer attention.
“Tell me about it,” she countered. “I can’t see you living the rest of your life in a cell either, so we’re even there, but I believe we’re both fully capable of making the necessary adjustments. Besides, Arbor Crest seems to be quite nice. No upkeep to do—no yard to look after or pool to maintain. If there’s a plumbing problem, all I have to do is tell the front desk.
“The community center includes a dining room, and residents can purchase a meal plan or make do on their own cooking. A lot of people come and go from there on golf carts. Since I’ve never learned to cook, I came here intending to follow the meal plan route, but it turns out the food there is pretty iffy, so I’ve started going to a nearby restaurant. It’s in a shopping center just down the street, where there’s also a grocery store, a bar, and a beauty shop. I’ve tried the beauty
shop, but so far the results are disappointing. The manicurists and hairdressers here don’t hold a candle to the ones back home in Santa Clarita.”
“But you’re settling in?”
“Yes, very much so,” Hannah assured him. Then, glancing at her watch, she added, “Our time’s almost up. On my way out, I’ll make a deposit in your commissary account. It won’t be much, but it should be enough to tide you over.”
“Thank you,” he said.
Hannah could tell that his gratitude was sincere, but she was pretty sure he was thanking her for a lot more than the promised deposit.
“Will you be needing cash?” That was her next signed question. “I’ve set some aside—quite a bit, as a matter of fact, in case you need it.”
“Having money would probably be a good idea, but I’ll need to figure out how best to handle it. From what I’m hearing, getting contraband in and out of here used to be a lot easier than it is now. I’ll have to let you know.” Then, switching back to the spoken word, he added, “How’s your genealogy research coming along?”
“I bought a computer and spent some time at the Expert Bar learning to use it. As for the genealogy research? It’s slow but steady,” she replied.
A nearby guard caught Hannah’s eye and motioned toward the clock on the wall. Nodding to the guard, Hannah got to her feet. “I’d better be going now,” she told Eddie. “But don’t you worry. I’ll be back.”
“Thanks again,” Edward added as his mother rose to go. “Thanks more than you know.”
That evening at dinner, Edward strolled over to Luis Ochoa’s table and was gratified when he was invited to have a seat.
“I hear you had a visitor today.”
Edward wasn’t surprised. Luis had his sources. There was very little that went on inside the walls of Folsom Prison that he didn’t know about.
“And?” Luis inquired.
“As far as the A List is concerned, she’s all in.”
“Glad to hear it,” Luis said. “So who’s up first?”
“That would be Leo Aurelio my turncoat hit man.”
“The one who’s in protective housing?”
Again Edward Gilchrist was startled at how much Luis Ochoa knew about him and his business, but he nodded. “Yup,” he said, “that’s the one.”
“I’ve handled protective housing hits before,” Luis said, “but they can be a lot of trouble. They’re also very expensive. I recommend we wait until Aurelio gets moved into the general population.”
“Whatever you say,” Edward told him. “You’re the boss.”
21
Folsom, California, September 2013
Rather than being allowed to visit Eddie once a week as Hannah had done in Santa Clarita, at Folsom she was limited to one visit per month. On the day A Mother’s Tale and Tell No Tales were both available for advance purchase, Hannah logged on to her Amazon account and ordered two copies of each volume, one set to be shipped to her and the other to be sent directly to Eddie. The idea that they would both be reading the same book at the same time made Hannah feel closer to him somehow.
She set the true-crime book aside and went straight to the other one. It began with the saga of the Munseys’ long, unsuccessful struggle to conceive. Alex Munsey told how they’d been referred to Eddie by a “friend of a friend.” The story covered the part about how they’d carefully shopped through the profiles in the clinic’s catalog of donors, looking for their “perfect match.” Hannah was surprised to find herself dismissively put off by Alexandra’s unmitigated joy at the birth of her son, Evan.
So what? Hannah wondered. Isn’t that how mothers are supposed to feel? Isn’t that how I felt when Eddie was born?
As the story moved along, Hannah was struck by how that one little event—Alexandra Munsey’s search for information on her son’s biological father—had set off this whole series of cascading catastrophes. It reminded her of what she’d learned about avalanches all those decades ago at the finishing school in Switzerland. It took only a tiny chunk of ice and snow knocked loose from a ledge to set off a deadly avalanche, engulfing unsuspecting skiers and hikers on the slopes below. And that’s exactly what had happened here with one small exception. Instead of taking out hapless skiers and hikers, this deadly stream of events had led directly to her son’s ruin.
Looking up from the pages, Hannah was forced to acknowledge that Eddie was anything but blameless in the situation. What in all that was holy had made him think he could use his own sperm and get away with it? Whatever had made him think no one would ever notice and call him on it?
Arrogance, she decided at last. Arrogance and stupidity at the same time. In that regard Eddie was spookily like his father. Gordon had lorded it over Hannah and lied to her face, most likely thinking she was too dim to see through him. She had chosen to put up with his shenanigans—even pretending that she believed his tall tales—because it was the path of least resistance. She’d stayed married to someone with numerous “outside interests” because it had suited her and because, as long as he was screwing around with one of his several mistresses, he wasn’t bothering her. Besides, divorcing Gordon would have been frightfully expensive and emotionally complicated. Her mother, Isobel, was still alive back then, and she would have pitched a fit.
Shortly before Gordon’s death, his doctor had raised an alarm about his “numbers,” hinting that there were indications he might be leaning toward the specter of kidney disease, but then a fatal heart attack had intervened and taken him out. Despite the incredible relief Hannah had felt once Gordon was gone, she had played the role of grieving widow in a decorous and properly restrained manner. When the prescribed period of mourning ended and prospective suitors began lining up on her doorstep, she sent them all packing. She had no intention of marrying a second time, because she was perfectly fine on her own and happy to be left to her own devices. Decades later she still was.
When she went back to reading and got as far as Alexandra Munsey’s account of the trial, she raced through it from beginning to end, and that was a real eye-opener. Hannah had lived through every word of that trial—every nuance—but it was surprising and somewhat disorienting to read about the same events from someone else’s point of view.
As she’d expected, A Mother’s Tale ended with Eddie’s sentencing hearing. When it came to the victim-impact statements, Dawn’s parents had both spoken up, tearfully saying how much they missed their wonderful daughter. Hannah had a hard time accepting the idea that anyone could have a high opinion of Dawn Lorraine Gilchrist, but then again these people were her parents, after all, and you had to consider the source.
One of Dawn’s friends, someone from a divorce support group, told about how Dawn had died the very night of one of their regular dinner gatherings. She claimed that Dawn’s brutal murder, ultimately at the hands of her former husband, had left the entire group feeling shaken and vulnerable.
Only when the others had finished did Alexandra Munsey step forward to speak on behalf of what she referred to as the defrauded families. When she finished, the Munsey woman had sat down to a burst of spontaneous applause. A printed version of the words she’d spoken in the courtroom was included in the book. Hannah remembered exactly what had been said. She didn’t need to read through it a second time.
There were black-and-white photos scattered throughout the book. The last one, apparently taken on the front steps of the courthouse after the sentencing hearing, showed Alexandra Munsey standing shoulder to shoulder with another woman. The caption underneath identified Alexandra’s companion as Ali Reynolds, the long-retired news anchor whose coverage of Evan’s search for a new kidney had turned the whole story into a media event.
All these years later, here she was again, come back to gloat along with everyone else. No wonder Ali’s initial was one of the five displayed on the A List on Eddie’s arm. Without the free publicity Ali’s generous news coverage had provided, none of this would have happened. None of it.
H
annah finished the book and moved on to the epilogue. She expected it to be a schmaltzy piece in which the author went out of her way to thank everyone who’d made writing the book possible. That wasn’t it—not at all.
Despite numerous requests from the Progeny Project, Dr. Edward Gilchrist refused to provide a sample of his DNA to be used for comparison purposes with the cluster of eighteen half siblings resulting from insemination procedures conducted at his fertility clinic. However, thanks to discarded DNA retrieved from material found in a trash bin on the street outside his home, we were able to obtain his complete profile, thus verifying that he was the sole donor for those eighteen individuals, one of whom is now deceased.
In addition, we also discovered a separate cluster of seven half siblings, also originating from Dr. Gilchrist’s medical practice. With the assistance of a detective from LAPD, we were able to secure a DNA sample from material collected at the time of Dawn Lorraine Gilchrist’s autopsy, which gave us her DNA profile as well. Genetic comparisons have confirmed that the seven additional individuals were conceived from eggs provided by Dr. Gilchrist’s murdered wife.
Hannah was shocked. The idea that Dawn had provided some of the eggs Eddie had used was news to her. Hannah had never come straight out and asked her son why he and Dawn had divorced or why he’d been so quick to knuckle under to all her demands when it came to the divorce settlement. Now Hannah understood. Dawn’s exit strategy had been a form of legal blackmail. Since she’d been an active participant in Eddie’s scheme and had known too much, he’d forked over cash in order to guarantee her silence. Later on, worried that she might renege and break that silence, he’d taken her out.
If only we’d been closer, Hannah thought now. If only he’d confided in me about what was really going on, I could have brought my lawyers to bear on the class-action case soon enough to have prevented all this from happening.
But Eddie had chosen to leave her in the dark. By the time Hannah got wind of the situation, it was already too late, yet now she knew why Kaitlyn Todd’s K was tattooed on Eddie’s arm. She had obviously known too much as well, and that generous severance package he’d given her had probably been a somewhat less expensive way of getting Kaitlyn to keep her mouth shut, too, but that hadn’t worked either. Once the prosecutor had come around asking, Kaitlyn Todd had boarded the first available plane and flown into town to testify against him.
