No Place Like Home Part 26

We arrived home to find there were two messages on the phone. I tricked Jack into carrying his new clothes upstairs and putting them in his bureau "all by yourself." As always, I was so afraid it was one of the Lizzie Borden messages awaiting me, but both were from Benjamin Fletcher, with instructions for me to call him immediately.

They are going to arrest me, I thought. They have my fingerprints. He's going to tell me I have to turn myself in. I misdialed twice before I finally reached him.

"It's Celia Nolan, returning your call, Mr. Fletcher," I said, trying to keep my voice calm.

"First thing a client has to learn to do is to trust her attorney, Liza," he told me.

Liza. With the exception of Dr. Moran in my early days of treatment, and the time Martin's mind was wandering, I have not been called Liza since I was ten years old. I had always envisioned someone throwing the name at me unexpectedly, and ripping away my carefully constructed persona. The matter-of-fact way in which Fletcher said my name helped to reduce the shock that he knew who I was.

"I wasn't sure whether or not to tell you yesterday," I said. "I'm still not sure if I can trust you."

"You can trust me, Liza."

"How did you know it was me? Did you recognize me yesterday?"

"Can't say that I did. Jeff MacKingsley told me about an hour ago."

"Jeff MacKingsley told you!"

"He wants to talk to you, Liza. But first, I must be absolutely certain that if I allow you to do this, it will be in your best interest. Don't worry, I'll be there with you, but I'll say it again, I am very concerned. He tells me that you left your fingerprints on a doorbell and on a car door where a dead body was found. And as I told you, he also knows you are Liza Barton."

"Does that mean I am going to be arrested?" I could barely make my lips form the words.

"Not if I can help it. This is all very unusual, but the prosecutor tells me that he believes you had nothing to do with it. However, he does think you can help him find out who did."

I closed my eyes as relief flooded every inch of my body. Jeff MacKingsley did not believe I was involved in Zach's death! Would he believe me when I told him that Zach had seen Ted Cartwright cause my father's death? If he did, maybe, just maybe, he had been right when he said that I'd be all right. I wondered if he had known I was Liza when he made that statement.

I told Benjamin Fletcher about Zach Willet. I told him about my suspicion that my father's death had not been an accident, that I had been taking riding lessons from Zach so that I could get to know him. I told Fletcher that yesterday I had promised Zach one million one hundred thousand dollars if he would tell the police what really happened when my father went over that cliff.

"How did Zach respond to that, Liza?"

"Zach swore that Ted Cartwright had charged my father's horse and forced it onto the dangerous trail, and then spooked it by firing a gun. Zach kept the bullet and the casing, and even took pictures of the bullet lodged in a tree. All these years, he's kept the evidence of Cartwright's guilt. He told me yesterday that Cartwright has been threatening him. In fact, while I was with him yesterday, Zach got a call on his cell phone. I'm sure it was from Ted Cartwright, because although Zach didn't refer to the caller by name, he just laughed and sarcastically told him that he didn't need to live in his condominium because he'd received a better offer."

"You're going to be giving Jeff MacKingsley some mighty powerful stuff, Liza. But tell me this: how did your fingerprints get on that car and doorbell?"

I told Fletcher about my appointment to see Zach, about him not answering the bell, and then seeing him in the car and panicking and rus.h.i.+ng home.

"Does anyone else know you were there, Liza?"

"No, not even Alex. But I did call my investment adviser yesterday and asked him to be ready to wire the money I promised Zach to a private bank account. He can verify that."

"All right, Liza," Benjamin Fletcher said. "What time is good for you to go to the prosecutor's office?"

"I'll need to get my babysitter. About four o'clock would be all right." Or at least as "all right"

as going into the Morris County courthouse will ever be for me, I thought.

"Four o'clock, it is," Fletcher said.

I hung up the phone, and from somewhere behind me, Jack asked, "Mommy, are you going to be arrested?"

CHAPTER 72.

Most of the investigators in the prosecutor's office had been pulled off their own units to concentrate on the Mendham homicides. At three o'clock, the group a.n.a.lyzing the phone records of Charley Hatch, Ted Cartwright, Robin Carpenter, and Henry Paley were ready to report their findings to Jeff.

"In the last two months, Cartwright has been in touch with Zach Willet six times," Liz Reilly, a new investigator, announced. "The last time was yesterday afternoon at 3:06."

"Mrs. Nolan may have heard that call," Jeff commented. "That would be just about the time she'd have been finis.h.i.+ng her ride with Zach."

"Cartwright and Henry Paley have been talking to each other a lot in the last few months," Nan Newman, one of the veteran investigators, reported, "but there was no contact on either of Henry's phones between him and Charley Hatch."

"We know Paley and Cartwright were working together to strong-arm Georgette Grove into selling that property on Route 24," Jeff said. "Paley's a low life, and he hasn't accounted for his whereabouts when Hatch was shot. I need to know where he was before I rule him out as a player in any of these crimes. I've asked him to come in with his lawyer. They'll be here at five o'clock, and Ted Cartwright is coming at six with his lawyer.

"We know Robin Carpenter is a liar," he continued. "She lied about the date in Patsy's with her brother. His E-ZPa.s.s shows that he drove into New York at six forty that night, which is exactly what his ex-wife told Angelo. In Patsy's Restaurant, Robin was seen giving Hatch what appeared to be two thousand dollars, which in my book is one generous birthday present, unless he was also going to do her a favor for it.

"There are no calls from Carpenter to Hatch since last Friday. I believe that she was using a prepaid phone with no subscriber name to contact him. She must have told him to get one, too, because the woman whose lawn he was cutting saw him holding two phones. My guess is that one was his usual cell phone and the other was unregistered. I also think that when he answered that call, he made an appointment to meet someone at the break in the hedge.

"Of course, we can't be sure that it was Robin who made that last call, but I'll bet the ranch that Charley Hatch was finished the minute whoever hired him learned that his jeans and sneakers and carvings had been confiscated. He wasn't the kind of guy who would have stood up to intense questioning."

The investigators were listening quietly, following Jeff's reasoning, hoping for an opportunity to make a significant contribution to his a.n.a.lysis of the series of events leading up to the homicides.

"Ted Cartwright hated Georgette Grove, and he wanted her property, which gives him at least a motive in killing her," Jeff continued. "We know he was working in some way with Robin Carpenter, and that they were dating, maybe still are. It's a possibility that Zach Willet has been bleeding Ted all these years since Will Barton died. We'll know more about that when we talk to Mrs. Nolan.

"I think that with any luck, we're going to crack these cases open in the next few days," he told the staff, then saw that Mort Sh.e.l.ley had opened the door to his office. They exchanged glances, and Sh.e.l.ley answered Jeff's unspoken question: "He's where he said he'd be. We've got a tag on him."

"Make sure you don't lose him," Jeff said quietly.

CHAPTER 73.

This was the courthouse in which the trial had taken place. As I walked through the corridors, I remembered those terrible days. I remembered the inscrutable gaze of the judge. I remembered being afraid of my lawyer, not trusting him, yet being forced to sit next to him. I remember listening to the witnesses who testified that I meant to kill my mother. I remember how I tried to sit up straight because my mother was always after me not to slouch. It was a problem for me, because I was tall for my age, even then.

Benjamin Fletcher was waiting for me inside the main door of the prosecutor's office. He was better dressed than he had been when we met in his office. His white s.h.i.+rt looked reasonably crisp; his dark blue suit was pressed; his tie was in place. He took my hand when I came in, and he held it for a moment. "It would seem I owe a little ten-year-old girl an apology," he said. "I got that child off, but I admit that I bought Cartwright's version of what happened."

"I know you did," I said, "but the important thing is that you did get me off."

"The verdict was not guilty," he continued, "but it was based on reasonable doubt. Most people, including the judge, including me, felt that you were probably guilty. When we get this latest episode behind us, I'm going to see that everyone understands what you have been through, so that everyone will know that you are and have been an innocent victim."

I could feel my eyes brighten, and I guess Fletcher noticed. "No charge," he added, "and it rattles my soul to utter those words."

I laughed, which was what he wanted. I suddenly felt comfortable, confident that this hulking septuagenarian would take care of me.

"I'm Anna Malloy, Mr. MacKingsley's secretary. Will you follow me, please?"

The sixtyish woman had a sweet face and a firm, quick step. As I followed her down the corridor, I had a hunch that she was one of those motherly type secretaries who think they know better than their boss.

Jeff MacKingsley's corner office was large and pleasant. I had always instinctively liked this man, even when I resented him showing up unannounced on my doorstep. Now he got up from his desk and came around it to greet us. I had done the best possible makeup job I could, trying to disguise my swollen eyes and eyelids, but I don't think I fooled him much, if at all.

With Benjamin Fletcher sitting beside me like an aging lion, ready to pounce at the scent of danger, I told Jeff everything I knew about Zach. I told him that as a ten-year-old in lockdown detention I would have spasms of grief at the sound of his name. I told him that it was only in these last two weeks that I had remembered clearly my mother's last words: "You told me when you were drunk. You killed my husband. You told me Zach saw you."

"That's why my mother threw him out," I told Jeff. Detective Ortiz and a stenographer were in the room, but I ignored them. I wanted this man who was sworn to protect the safety of the people of this county to understand that my mother was wise to be afraid of Ted Cartwright.

He let me talk almost without interruption. I guess in my own way, I was answering all the questions he had planned to ask me. When I described going to Zach's house, ringing the bell, and then seeing Zach in the car, he did prod me for additional details.

When I was finished, I looked at Benjamin Fletcher and, knowing he would be displeased, I said, "Mr. MacKingsley, I want you to ask me any questions you may have about Georgette Grove and Charley Hatch. I guess you know now why I made it home so fast from Holland Road. I knew that route from my childhood. My grandmother lived very near it."

"Wait a minute," Benjamin Fletcher interrupted. "We agreed we were not going to discuss those cases."

"We have to," I said. "It's going to get out that I'm Liza Barton." I looked at Jeff MacKingsley.

"Does anyone in the media know yet?"

"In fact, it was a person in the media, Dru Perry, who first disclosed it to us," Jeff admitted. "At some point you may want to talk with her. I think she'd be very sympathetic." Then he added, "Is your husband aware that you are Liza Barton?"

"No he is not," I said. "It was a terrible mistake, but I promised Jack's father, my first husband, that I would not reveal my past to anyone. Of course, I will tell Alex now, and I can only hope that our relations.h.i.+p will survive."

For the next forty minutes I answered every question the prosecutor asked me about my brief acquaintance with Georgette Grove, and about my absolute lack of information on Charley Hatch. I even told him about the Little Lizzie phone calls and messages I had received.

At ten of five, I stood up, "If there's nothing more, I must get back," I said. "My little boy gets quite anxious if I'm away too long. If any other questions come up, just call. I'll be glad to answer them."

Jeff MacKingsley and Fletcher and Detective Ortiz got up, too. I don't know why, but I had the feeling that all three were hovering around me as though they thought I needed protection.

Fletcher and I said goodbye and left the private office. There was a woman with wild gray hair at Jeff's secretary's desk. She was obviously very angry. I recognized her and remembered she had been at the house the day of the vandalism, a part of the media that surged onto the place.

Her back was to me, and I heard her say, "I told Jeff about Celia Nolan because I thought it was my duty to warn him about her. My thanks is that I lose my exclusive. The New York Post is giving all of page 3, and possibly its headline, to the 'Return of Little Lizzie' story, and they're practically going to accuse her of committing all three murders."

Somehow I made it to my car. Somehow I remained poised when I said goodbye to Benjamin Fletcher. Somehow I got home. I paid Sue and thanked her and turned down her offer to fix dinner for us, an offer she made because, as she said, I looked awfully pale to her. I'm sure she was right.

Jack was listless. I think he was starting to get a cold, or perhaps it was the heavy weight of my troubled aura that was making him ill. I sent out for a pizza, and before it came, I got him into pajamas and changed into my own pajamas and robe.

I decided I would go to bed after I tucked Jack in. All I wanted to do was to sleep and sleep and sleep. There were several phone calls. First from Mr. Fletcher, and then from Jeff MacKingsley.

I did not answer either of them, and on the answering machine they both left messages expressing concern at how upset I must be.

Of course, I'm upset, I thought. Tomorrow I'll be starring in "The Return of Little Lizzie."

From this day forward, I will never travel far enough or hide deep enough to escape being called Little Lizzie.

When the pizza came, Jack and I each had a couple of slices. Jack definitely was catching some kind of bug. I took him upstairs at eight o'clock. "Mom, I want to sleep with you," he said fretfully.

That was fine with me. I locked up and set the alarm; then I called Alex's cell phone. He didn't answer, but I expected that. He had said something about a dinner meeting. I left a message saying that I was going to turn off the phone because I was going to bed early, and to please call me at six o'clock A.M., Chicago time. I said there was something important I had to tell him.

I took a sleeping pill, got into bed, and with Jack cuddled in my arms, I fell fast asleep.

I don't know how long I slept, but it was pitch dark when I felt my head being raised and heard a shadowy voice whispering, "Drink this, Liza."

I tried to close my lips, but a strong hand was forcing them open, and I was gulping a bitter liquid that I knew contained crushed sleeping pills.

From a distance, I heard Jack's wail as someone carried him away.

CHAPTER 74.

"Dru, that leak did not come from this office," Jeff snapped, finally out of patience with the reporter. "You seem to forget that Clyde Earley, among others, knows that Celia Nolan is Liza Barton. We don't know how many other people may have recognized her or been told who she is. Frankly, I think that whoever planned that vandalism at the Old Mill Lane house was well aware of Celia Nolan's ident.i.ty. The Post is going to be rehas.h.i.+ng an old story and trying to tie it to three recent homicides, but they're barking up the wrong tree. Hang around, and I may be able to give you the true story, and you'll have some real news for yourself."

"You're playing straight with me, Jeff?" Dru's anger began to subside, as her eyes relaxed and her lips became less compressed.

"I don't think I've ever been known not to play it straight with you," Jeff replied in a tone that reflected both annoyance and understanding.

"You're suggesting I wait around?"

"I'm suggesting that there's going to be a big story soon."

They were standing at the door of Jeff's office. Jeff had come out at the first sound of Dru's raised voice.

Anna came up to them. "You don't know what you did to that poor girl, Dru," she scolded.

"You should have seen the look on her face when you were shouting about 'The Return of Little Lizzie.' She's stuck living in Little Lizzie's house, poor thing. She was devastated."

"Are you talking about Celia Nolan?" Dru asked.

"She walked right behind you on her way out," Anna snapped. "She was with her lawyer, Mr.

Fletcher."

"Liza, I mean Celia, went back to him? He's representing her?" Too late Dru realized that Jeff had not told Anna who Celia was. "I'll hang around, Jeff," she added, an apologetic note in her voice.

"I'm expecting Henry Paley and his lawyer," Jeff told Anna. "It's five o'clock. You can go."

"Not a chance," Anna told him. "Jeff, is Celia Nolan really Liza Barton?"

Jeff's look made her next question die in her throat. "I'll send Mr. Paley in when he gets here,"