Not Guilty Part 30

"Mom, did you hear me?"

"I heard you. Go on. Read the rest."

His voice suddenly fell to a whisper. "I think I hear Grandma . . ."

"Dylan, is that you?" Ingrid's voice sounded sleepy.

"I'm in the kitchen, Grandma," he called out. "I was hungry."

"Teenage boys. A hollow leg. I remember when your father was like that. Let me make you something." Ingrid's words were m.u.f.fled.

"I'm okay, Grandma," he cried. "You don't have to."

"I'm already up," she said, her voice sounding closer.

Dylan hung up the phone.

Keely replaced the receiver in its cradle and lay back against her pillow in the darkness. She turned her head and gazed at the empty pillow beside her. With Mark, she had just gotten used to having someone beside her again, that strong, comforting presence in the dark, when he was ripped away from her. At first, it had seemed that she was being punished for trying to circ.u.mvent her fate, that she was meant to be a widow, and this horrible accident had rea.s.serted that destiny. But now, it seemed like it was something different-more sinister. She tried to picture him there on the pillow, his eyes s.h.i.+ny in the dark.It was you,she thought.You were the friend. You and Richard were the guilty ones. And now, you are both dead.

"CAN'T YOU TWOcome in for a while?" Ingrid asked Keely who was standing outside her front door.

"Really, we can't," said Keely. "That's why I left Abby in the car seat. Dylan, are you ready?"

"I'm ready," he said, pulling on the leather jacket.

"This one was up in the middle of the night," said Ingrid fondly,"looking for something to eat. I offered to make him pancakes, but he wouldn't let me."

"I'm fine, Grandma," Dylan said. "Really." Then he glanced curiously at Ingrid. "You got dressed."

"I feel better today," she said, smoothing down her johnny-collared songbird sweats.h.i.+rt-a Christmas present from Dylan-over the elastic waistband of her pants. "I seem to be the only one who had a good night's sleep," said Ingrid. "I'm feeling much more myself today. In fact, if you need to leave Abby with me, that's okay."

"Thank you, Ingrid," said Keely. "I appreciate it. But I think we're okay for today."

"How'd she like her new baby-sitter?"

"Nicole? Oh, she's a sweet kid," said Keely.

"I hope she's responsible," said Ingrid sternly.

"She seems very responsible. She loves babies," said Keely impatiently.

"She lives near you?" Ingrid asked, stalling their departure, unwilling to see them leave.

"Just down the street. The family's name is Warner."

"We used to have neighbors named Warner," said Ingrid, frowning at the effort to recall old names and faces. "Sara and Henry. They lived across the street when Richard and Suzanne were kids. Richard used to play with their Danny."

Keely looked at Ingrid in surprise. "Dan Warner?" she said. "That's Nicole's father's name."

"Danny Warner," Ingrid said. "Oh, sure. He and Richard were great pals. How do you like that? Now his daughter is baby-sitting for my granddaughter."

Dylan jiggled his foot anxiously. "We have to get going, Grandma."

"I wish you could stay a little longer," Ingrid said.

"I'll be back soon," he a.s.sured her. "Right, Mom? Mom."

Keely's gaze was distant, and her narrowed eyes seemed to be studying something.

"What's the matter?" Ingrid asked.

Keely shook her head. "Nothing," she said. "You'd better get inside. You're going to catch a cold."

KEELY PUTABBYin the playpen and sat down on the living-room sofa. Dylan took a seat on the ottoman. He was still wearing his leatherjacket, and he was s.h.i.+vering, though it wasn't cold in the house. He fished in the inside pocket of the jacket, then pulled out a sheet of paper that was folded into threes. He handed it over to his mother. Keely's hand shook as she took it.

"All right," she said. "Let's see."

Dylan hugged himself and rocked back and forth slightly on the ottoman, as Keely unfolded the paper. Keely read what Richard had written.

Darlings, I know this will hurt you, and I'm sorry. You are not to blame for this in any way. The thought of your love makes me hesitate. Many times I've wanted to end this torture that is my life, and only the thought of your love has stopped me. But I don't deserve your love. I am a coward, and I can't face the consequences of my own actions. And I can't live with the guilt.

Many years ago, before I met you, Keely, I had a friend named Mark Weaver. He and I-there's no easy way to say this-we killed someone. We didn't mean to. But there's no use in making excuses now. We were never caught, never even suspected. But I have lived with the guilt all these years, and I can't live with it anymore. I have suffered for my crime-the migraines have ruled my life. I thought I could make up for everything by enduring the pain, leading a good life, loving my family, but nothing works.

I thought of turning myself in many times-but I'm too much a coward. If I had only done it then, when it happened. But I didn't. And now, nothing will ever work except to pay the price and end it. Please forgive me and know that I loved you both with all my heart.

Richard "My G.o.d," whispered Keely, as she held the note limply in her lap. She picked it up and read it again. She read it a third time, as if she were committing it to memory.

Tears were running down Keely's face. She looked up at Dylan, who pressed his folded hands against his lips. In his eyes was a desolate stare.

"My G.o.d. Why didn't he ever tell me?" she cried. "Why?"

Dylan shook his head. "Which one?" said Dylan, an edge of despair in his voice. "Daddy or Mark?"

"Daddy," said Keely. And then she thought of Mark. "And why did Mark marry me, knowing this? Why me, of all people? You would think he would avoid anyone who'd had anything to do with Richard. He sought me out. He made a point of coming out to Michigan to see us after your father died."

"He probably thought you knew," said Dylan. "Maybe he was worried you'd tell once Dad was dead."

Keely considered the obvious truth of her son's remark and felt a cold chill down her spine.

They sat in silence for a moment. "But you didn't know, and he married you anyway," Dylan pointed out. "I think he did kinda love you."

Keely bit her lip. "I don't know anything anymore." She read the letter again. "Youwerea coward," she said fiercely, shaking the letter. "I hate you. All you had to do was tell me. You could have trusted me. G.o.dd.a.m.n you!" she cried. And then she began to cry.

Abby looked up from her jingling toys, startled at the sound of her mother weeping. The baby's lower lip began to tremble, and Abby hoisted herself to her feet, clinging to the rim of the playpen, a worried expression on her round little face. As Keely sobbed, Abby began to wail. Automatically, Keely went to her and lifted her up into her arms. She sat back down on the sofa, the baby in her lap.

After a few moments, Keely felt Dylan sink down into the sofa cus.h.i.+on beside her, and his arm rested awkwardly around her shoulders. The three of them huddled together on the couch. Keely wiped her eyes and saw that Richard's jacket was lying in a heap beside the ottoman.

"I'm sorry," she said miserably.

Dylan shook his head. "That's all right. That's how I felt when I read it. Right now, I hate him, too."

Keely crushed the computer printout into a wad in her hand. Dylan tugged it away from her and flattened it out again.

Keely shook her head. "Now what do I do?" she whispered to herself.

Dylan stared at the wrinkled piece of paper he was holding. "Now you have to tell," he said.

Keely stared at him, wiping the tears from her eyes. She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

"Well, it could be a coincidence that both of them are dead," he said. "But I doubt it. And if Mark's death wasn't an accident . . ."

"He could have been pushed," she said.

Dylan s.h.i.+vered. "Mom, you'd better call the cops."

34.

Could you have a seat? It's going to be a while," said Josie, looking over the top of her computer monitor at Keely as if she had never set eyes on her before.

Keely nodded and took a seat. She sat up straight, her feet flat on the floor, her black tote bag resting on her knees. Inside the bag, the wrinkled printout of Richard's suicide note was folded into a long white envelope withDISTRICT ATTORNEY MAUREEN CHASEwritten on the outside. Keely felt as if she were carrying something volatile, like nitroglycerin, in her purse.

Forced to wait, Keely could not help but wonder if she had made the right decision to come here. In principle, Keely had agreed with Dylan. It was important to bring this information to the authorities. The note from Richard identified Mark as a murderer. The more Keely thought about it, the more she began to believe that someone, somehow, had found out about that long-ago crime, and Mark had been deliberately pushed into the swimming pool because of it. By naming Mark, Richard had implicitly expected Keely to deliver his name to the police. He had expected Mark to finally receive his punishment. In his last desperate moments, when he'd typed those words into the computer, Richard would have had no way of knowing that Keely wouldn't see his note for years. In his wildest imaginings, he would never have dreamed that the man he had implicated would get off scott-free and end up marrying his widow.

So, it was time, past time, really, to report this confession to someone in a position of authority. The question was, who? Keely's first impulse had been to call Lucas for advice. But according toSylvia, he was out of town on business and would not be back until evening. Next, she tried Phil Stratton, but he was testifying in court and could not be reached. She tried several times, telling herself to be patient, but in the end, she could not be patient with her news. She decided to go to the top of the heap. Despite the abuse they had suffered at the hands of Maureen Chase, or perhaps, because of it, it seemed to Keely that Maureen would be the person most vitally interested in this information. The D.A. was preoccupied with Mark's death. This confession of Richard's cast a whole new light on Mark's death. In a way, Keely thought, it was like tossing a bone to a ferocious dog. She wanted to give Maureen something else to chew on. Something besides Dylan.

"You can go in now," said Josie.

Keely jumped at the sound of the secretary's voice, so distracted had she been by the possible consequences of this visit. She thanked Josie, got up and walked over to the closed door to Maureen's office. She gave it a few taps before she opened it, then walked in.

Maureen was standing at the window, staring out over the rooftops of St. Vincent's Harbor and at the marina. Whitecaps and sails made undulating white gouges in the deep blue of the sea and sky. Maureen's arms were folded over her chest. Her sharp features were stony in the light from the window.

"Ms. Chase," said Keely. She did not sit down.

Maureen turned and stared at her. "Mrs. Weaver," she said in a flat tone. "We meet again."

Keely took a deep breath. "I know you're busy. I won't take up too much of your time."

Maureen gazed at her impa.s.sively. "Tick tock," she said.

Keely knew she wouldn't be welcome here, but she hadn't antic.i.p.ated outright rudeness. She forced herself not to respond in kind. "I have begun to agree with you that perhaps Mark's death was not an accident after all."

Maureen raised her eyebrows in surprise, but her gaze was wary.

"May I sit down?" Keely asked.

Maureen gestured to the chair but remained standing.

"There was someone at my house the night Mark died. Someone was there and left the pool gate open."

Maureen kept her arms folded protectively over her chest. "Really," she said. "Of course it couldn't have been your son."

Keely ignored the sarcastic tone. "There was someone else." Keely thought of Wade Rovere. She didn't want to go into it with this woman."I have a witness," she said.

Maureen laughed. "Oh, you do, do you? How fortunate for you. Tell me, what's the going price these days for a 'witness' who will say whatever you want them to say? I've heard different numbers."

Wade's face came to Keely's mind, his hooded eyes flickering as he demanded five thousand dollars.You never paid him a penny,she reminded herself. "Look," said Keely evenly, "I realize you don't like me. And you have reason to resent me. But we both want the same thing here, ultimately. We want to know what happened on the night Mark died. I'm telling you that a person approached me and said that they had seen someone at my house that night."

"Who?" Maureen demanded. "Who is this witness? Who did they see?"

Keely sighed. "Unfortunately, this person seems to have . . . vanished."

"Vanished?" Maureen asked incredulously. "They vanished?"

Keely felt such a hatred for the prosecutor that she wanted to pick up the nearest heavy object and throw it at her. But then, a thought suddenly materialized in her mind that eased her fury.She has no one to live for,she thought.She has no one to fight for, but you do.Avoiding Maureen's gaze, Keely continued stolidly. "All I know is, this person has not reported to work or been back to his apartment since I spoke to him. Which strikes me as strange. There's something else as well. I was run off the road the other night. I don't know why, or who it was. It was dark and it was raining . . ."

"Get to the point," said Maureen impatiently.

"I am trying to get to the point, Ms. Chase. I believe this was deliberate."

"What?" Maureen snapped.

"Everything. Mark's death, the disappearance of a witness, the sideswiping that ran me off the road. It's too many things-"

"Did you report it to the police?" Maureen asked.

Keely shook her head. "I don't have a lot of faith in the police right now."

"Well, I don't know how you can expect to be taken seriously when you don't even report an alleged attempt on your life."

Keely ignored the criticism and stuck to the speech she had rehea.r.s.ed. "None of it seemed to be related or to make a lot of sense to me until I got ahold of this," she said stubbornly. "I think this may be the key to everything." She reached into her pocketbook and pulled out the envelope. "I don't know whether you are aware of it, but Mark and my first husband, Richard Bennett, were close friends when they were young. I think if you read this letter, you may understand what I'm trying to say."

Maureen sighed and s.n.a.t.c.hed the letter from Keely's extended hand. She tore open the envelope raggedly and scanned the contents. As Keely watched, the color drained from Maureen's face. Groping behind her, she sat down heavily in her swivel chair.

"It's the suicide note written by my first husband," Keely explained.

Looking at the window, but with her eyes unfocused, Maureen suddenly seemed to be miles away, as if she were staring into the past.

"Ms. Chase?" Keely said. She was surprised and a little bit baffled by the shock on Maureen's face.

Maureen did not reply.