As Time Goes By

by Mary Higgins Clark

  “The last time I saw him was in court the day he testified. He phoned me that night to make sure I was okay. And before that I called Peter the morning that my husband was found dead and—”

  The prosecutor interrupted her. “Did you call him that morning to give him the good news that you were now free?” Holmes asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  Betsy flinched and gripped the arms of the witness chair. “Mr. Holmes, for you to suggest that the death of my husband was good news is despicable.”

  “Mrs. Grant, do you think it was despicable to smash the head of a helpless and feeble man who was asleep in his bed?”

  Betsy stood up in a rage. “Yes, I do, but I didn’t do it. I did not smash my husband’s skull and then go back to bed. I did not kill my husband. I did not kill Ted.”

  The judge said to Betsy, “Ma’am, I ask that you sit down.”

  Elliot Holmes looked up at Judge Roth. In a dismissive tone he said, “Your Honor, I have no further questions of this witness.”

  The judge turned to Robert Maynard. “Any further questions?”

  “No, Your Honor. Thank you.”

  The judge looked at Betsy Grant. “Mrs. Grant, you may step down.”

  Judge Roth’s words sounded as if he was saying them to her from a long distance away. She started to stand up, then her legs felt weak and everything went dark.

  There were gasps throughout the courtroom as she fainted and fell to the floor. As the sheriff’s officers rushed to assist her, the judge ordered the jurors to go back into the jury room and the spectators to leave the courtroom. EMT officers quickly arrived and within ten minutes reported to the judge that Betsy was okay. After speaking with the attorneys, the judge decided to recess the proceedings until Wednesday morning.

  The jurors remained in the jury room while Betsy was being treated. Before she left, Robert Maynard consented to the judge bringing out the jury without Betsy Grant being present. The judge told the obviously concerned panel that the defendant was okay and that the trial would resume on Wednesday. He reminded them that their verdict must be decided solely on the evidence and not be based on bias, prejudice or sympathy.

  44

  Jonathan Cruise had a list of six doctors in Fort Lee that he wanted to interview. He had decided he would identify himself as a reporter for the Washington Post and discuss with them their general perceptions of how serious the problem of drug overdoses in northern New Jersey was.

  The ones he was really interested in were Doctors Kent Adams and Scott Clifton. The fact that they had been partners with Dr. Ted Grant played on Jon’s instincts as a reporter. There’s something there was the insistent thought that ran through his mind.

  He deliberately saw two of the other doctors first so that his story would be credible to Clifton and Adams.

  The first one he saw was Dr. Mario Iovino, an obstetrician who stated that the tragedy was that babies whose mothers had been on crack were often badly damaged: “You can spot them immediately,” he said. “Instead of a healthy cry, they mew like cats when they’re born. I’ve only had a few over the years, but my heart sinks when I hear that sound.”

  Jon jotted down notes. “What is the age range of the mothers of those babies?” he asked.

  “It runs the whole gamut, from fifteen to forty-five” was the answer.

  Jon’s next visit was with Dr. Neil Carpenter, a rheumatologist. “I get calls from patients claiming they fell or are having severe arthritis, or sprained something and the pain is terrible.”

  “What do you do when you suspect or know that they’re becoming too dependent on their pain-relieving drugs?”

  “I recommend heating pads and Extra Strength Tylenol,” he said with a smile.

  • • •

  Jon’s next appointment was with Dr. Scott Clifton at two thirty the following day. Dr. Kent Adams had agreed to a meeting, but had indicated his schedule was filled for the next two days.

  45

  Because of Scott’s constant sneering remarks about Betsy Grant, Lisa had not followed her instincts to attend the ongoing trial. She and Sarah Adams had already testified, and both lawyers had indicated that neither would be recalled as a witness. Under those circumstances, the judge had modified the sequestration order as to them, and had ruled that they could attend the court proceedings if they wished to do so.

  The prosecutor didn’t want them back. Both Sarah and she had been overwhelmingly supportive of Betsy when they were on the stand. There was nothing more that either of them could add to their testimony. Of course, Lisa had not been there when Sarah testified, but that night Scott had bitterly complained. “From what I heard on the news, you and Sarah were gushing about what a great person Betsy is. Why don’t you just phone the Vatican and get her canonized?”

  “She will be canonized after what’s she’s been through” had been Lisa’s equally caustic response. When she met Betsy and Ted shortly after her marriage to Scott, she had been surprised and pleased to hear that Betsy, like herself, enjoyed doing Bikram yoga. They decided to attend sessions at a hot yoga studio in Westwood, which was about equidistant from Ridgewood and Alpine. They made it a point to meet for workouts once a week, and their friendship grew to where they had lunch together about three times a month.

  Those lunches had ended when Betsy was indicted and Lisa was listed as a potential witness at the trial. Even so, Lisa had often thought of how Betsy would speak of Ted with so much tenderness. She missed having Betsy as a friend. As the inevitable break with Scott approached, she read every newspaper account and watched every television report about the trial. She particularly enjoyed Delaney Wright’s coverage and her exchanges with the anchor.

  The night before Betsy was scheduled to testify, Lisa got very little sleep. She got up early and was in the kitchen before Scott came down to breakfast.

  He was still trying to maintain a front of being affectionate. “Lisa, once this trial is over, I want us to fly down to Santo Domingo for at least a long weekend. After that I bet we won’t need to see a marriage counselor.” He added, “And let me tell you how terrific you always look, day and night.”

  “Thank you. And Santo Domingo sounds like a great idea.” She tried to sound amicable as she noticed the increasingly dark circles under his eyes. He’s getting even less sleep than I thought.

  “And we’ve got to get around to putting this house on the market and finding a new one,” Scott continued. “I’m leaning toward that new condo complex they just built in Saddle River. Some members from the club have moved there, and I hear they really like it.”

  Get me out of here, Lisa thought. I’m not good at putting up a false front.

  When Scott left after giving her a seemingly affectionate kiss, she brushed off her lips and went upstairs to get dressed. As she was taking off her bathrobe, she looked in the mirror. I still look pretty damn good, she thought. She was glad she had cut her wheat-colored hair to a cap around her face. Her hazel eyes were her best feature. Her now shorter hair accentuated her high cheekbones. After showering she put on a lightweight gray jacket and matching slacks that had been her favorite outfit when she was working.

  When the courtroom doors opened, she was able to get a seat a few aisles behind the defense table. When Betsy and her lawyers came in, Betsy glanced at the spectators, caught Lisa’s eye, and gave her a quick smile. Obviously she was glad to see her.

  Betsy was on the stand for hours.

  Lisa’s stunned reaction to the news about Betsy’s baby mirrored the reaction of everyone in the courtroom. Her admission that Peter Benson was the father of her child had left everyone in shock.

  When Betsy fainted as she stepped down from the stand, an utterly chagrined Lisa stayed in the courtroom when the judge ordered it cleared. “I’m a close friend,” she told the sheriff’s officers firmly, as one put an oxygen mask over Betsy’s face and the other checked her pulse.

  When Betsy started to regain consciousness, Lisa was beside her, hol
ding her hand and smoothing back her hair from her forehead. When Betsy came fully awake, tears began to trickle from her eyes. Lisa brushed them away. When the ambulance team arrived, Betsy adamantly refused to go to the hospital. “I want to go home,” she said. “Is my driver still here?”

  Robert Maynard and his associates had been standing toward the back of the courtroom door. When an EMT informed them that Mrs. Grant wished to go home, they said they would escort her to her car.

  Delaney was on the steps of the courthouse watching as she came out. Betsy had dark sunglasses on, but it was obvious that her face was tearstained. Delaney watched as the cameras took picture after picture of Betsy, then gasped as Betsy seemed to sag when the driver opened the car door.

  It was a distinct relief to see Lisa Clifton get into the car with Betsy and put her arm around her as the driver pulled away from the curb.

  Dr. Scott Clifton had made it very clear on the stand that he thought Betsy killed her husband. But it’s obvious his wife doesn’t agree with him, Delaney thought.

  Suddenly depressed by the events of the day, she waited and then spotted Alvirah and Willy standing off to the side. Delaney waved and they hurried over to her. “Delaney, why don’t you come and have dinner with us at the apartment tonight?”

  “I’d love to,” Delaney said.

  46

  The warm smell of roast beef in the oven greeted Delaney as she entered Alvirah and Willy’s apartment after her report on the Betsy Grant trial on the 6 P.M. news. On the air Don Brown had asked her about the courtroom reaction when Betsy Grant fainted. She had chosen her words carefully before she answered. She said that there had been a universal gasp from the spectators and members of the jury. She described how the judge had sent the jury back to the jury room and cleared the courtroom.

  “Do you think that the jury is more likely to be sympathetic to her?” Don had asked.

  Delaney wanted to say, “They should be,” but caught herself from sounding so prejudiced. “They all looked very concerned when she collapsed. I noticed one juror start to cry.”

  But when the broadcast was over and they were off the air, she told Don that Betsy Grant was passionate about her innocence, and there was no doubt the jurors had been sympathetic when she fainted. But she also thought that the prosecutor had dealt her a fatal blow when he asked her if she gave Peter Benson the “good news” that her husband was dead. “I mean that came right after she had admitted that she was in love with him, and that he was the father of her child. And I don’t think Betsy Grant’s lawyer has come up with a convincing explanation regarding the alarm being on when the caregiver arrived the morning the body was found.”

  Delaney told Alvirah and Willy what she had said to Don.

  “What do you think, Willy?” Delaney asked.

  “I’ve said from the beginning that I think she’ll be found guilty,” he said quietly.

  Even though the roast beef was delicious, Delaney could only pick at it. “Alvirah, you know how much I love your roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, but I’ll be honest. I can’t eat much of anything. Every bit of my mind is screaming at me that Betsy Grant is innocent.”

  Tears glistened in Delaney’s eyes. “Alvirah, you and I have covered enough of these trials to know what it’s like to see the defendants when they have been found guilty of murder or manslaughter and watch as a sheriff’s officer handcuffs them and takes them away.”

  She gave an apologetic smile. “It broke my heart when I heard Betsy Grant so passionately say how much she has missed her baby and how much she has ached for her for all these years. I can only wonder if I ever find my birth mother what it would be like to hear her say those words to me.”

  Alvirah and Willy looked at each other. Then, as she reached and took Delaney’s hand in hers, Alvirah said, “Delaney, you heard your birth mother say those words this afternoon. Betsy Grant is your mother and Peter Benson is your father.”

  47

  When Alvirah gave her the stunning news that Betsy Grant was her mother and Peter Benson was her father, Delaney’s emotions ran between euphoria and heartbreak. She was convinced that, at the very least, Betsy would be convicted of manslaughter. The overwhelming evidence against her, especially the revelation that Peter Benson was the father of her child, was going to carry more weight with the jury than Betsy’s insistence that she would never have hurt her husband.

  Her child, Delaney thought. Me.

  When she was three years old she had cried because she did not look like anyone else in the family. Now, thinking about Peter Benson, she realized that she had his dark brown and wide-set eyes.

  My father, my mother, she thought over and over again after a night of fitful sleep. She got up early, showered and dressed. When she touched up her makeup, she stared in the mirror. Peter Benson is my father, she thought, but my features are more like Betsy’s.

  She could not do more than swallow a cup of coffee as she thought, Why would anyone want to kill Dr. Grant? The obvious suspect would be Alan Grant. As he had testified, his expenses and debts were very high and he would inherit at least half of Dr. Grant’s fifteen-million-dollar estate. And all of it if Betsy was convicted. He may very well have been told the alarm code by his father. Alan easily could have taken the key off the hook in the kitchen. But he did have a solid alibi for where he was the night of the murder.

  Who else could have done it? Carmen Sanchez and Angela Watts each had been left twenty-five thousand dollars in Dr. Grant’s will. The estate lawyer had testified to that. But did either of them know that before he died?

  What about Dr. Grant’s former partners? They had severed their partnership soon after Dr. Grant had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease and each had gone his separate way.

  There is no other plausible suspect, Delaney thought in despair.

  At nine o’clock Tuesday morning she was in the office of the executive producer with the door closed. “I have to recuse myself from reporting on the Betsy Grant trial,” she began. When she gave her reason, the usually imperturbable expression on Kathleen Gerard’s face changed into one of incredulity and then compassion.

  “Delaney, of course we have to take you off the trial. And I understand your fear that your mother is going to get convicted.”

  Delaney nodded. “I’m so sure she’s innocent and I feel so helpless.”

  After a brief pause, she continued. “I have two requests. Would it be okay if, starting today, I take some personal time, maybe a week?”

  Gerard answered quickly. “Of course, Delaney. Take as much time as you need.”

  “Thank you. And right now nobody except you and two of my close friends know about my relationship to Betsy Grant and Peter Benson. If it’s okay, I’d like to keep it that way for the time being.”

  “You have my word,” Gerard promised.

  48

  Peter Benson, reeling from the impact of seeing a Facebook post of a pregnant young Betsy and then hearing the radio reports of the testimony that he was the father, did not know what to do.

  Every instinct made him want to drive up to Alpine and be with Betsy, but he knew that at this crucial point in the trial he needed to stay away from her.

  She was suffering alone all these years, after being forced to give up our baby and being too ashamed to search for her, he thought. He remembered Betsy’s father all too well. In July, the summer after he and Betsy graduated from Hawthorne High School, Mr. Ryan had phoned and told him not to call Betsy again, that she was going to wait a year before starting college. “She’s too young to go away,” Martin Ryan had said, “and she’s too young to be seeing so much of you or of anyone else.”

  Peter remembered clearly how angry Betsy’s father sounded when he delivered the message. Then he thought about Betsy’s mother. She clearly had been browbeaten by her husband and was already suffering from the cancer that took her life six years later.

  Peter remembered how he had written to both Betsy and her father to expre
ss his sympathy at the time of Mrs. Ryan’s death and had not heard back from either one of them.

  Then he thought over and over, I have a twenty-six-year-old daughter somewhere out there? Who does she look like? I have brown eyes; Betsy has blue. Doesn’t brown usually predominate over blue?

  He had taken the day off because ever since he had testified at the trial, he had known that the gossip on campus was all about him and Betsy. He had wanted to be at home when the news reports on her testimony began coming in.

  After his wife died, Peter had sold their house and moved to a condo within walking distance of the campus. He and Annette were both disappointed that they had never had a child. They had gone for in vitro three times and she had miscarried every time.

  I became a father when I was eighteen, Peter thought. If I had known that, would I have chosen to quit college and get a job? I don’t know. I can’t picture myself as an eighteen-year-old anymore.

  On the witness stand Betsy said she had wanted to keep the baby, but her father had sold her for the highest price. Who got her? Was she even in this country?

  At 7 P.M. his mother phoned. Now seventy-three, widowed for four years, she said, “Oh Peter, how happily Dad and I would have taken the baby. If only we had known. Knowing how close you two were, I was always suspicious of the way Betsy decided to defer college and take off for Milwaukee. If only I had followed my instincts and gone to see her there.”

  A few minutes later he could not wait any longer and called Betsy. When she answered the phone, her voice was low and tired and sad. “Peter, I know I’m going to be found guilty. I hope you will try to find our baby. And if you do, please convince her that her mother is not a murderer.”

  49

  After ten more burglaries and a winning streak at blackjack in Atlantic City, Tony, as usual, had stayed at the tables too long and given it all back.