“It’s always a good time when it’s you, Grace.” Kerry meant it. In the fifteen years she had known Grace and Jonathan, she had watched Grace’s physical decline. She had gone from using a cane to crutches, finally to a wheelchair, and from being ardently involved in social activities to being almost totally housebound. She did keep up with friends and entertained with frequent catered dinner parties, but as she told Kerry, “It’s just gotten to be too much effort to go out.”
Kerry had never heard Grace complain. “You do what you have to,” she had said wryly when Kerry candidly told her how much she admired her courage.
But after a couple of minutes of familiar chatter, it became apparent that tonight there was a purpose to Grace’s call. “Kerry, you had lunch with Jonathan today, and I’m going to be honest. He’s worried.”
Kerry listened as Grace reiterated Jonathan’s concerns, concluding with, “Kerry, after twenty years in the state senate, Jonathan has a lot of power, but not enough to make the governor appoint you to a judgeship if you embarrass his chosen successor. Incidentally,” she added, “Jonathan has no idea I’m calling you.”
He must have really vented to Grace, Kerry thought. I wonder what she would think if she could see what I’m doing now. Feeling evasive the entire time, Kerry did her best to assure Grace that she had no intention or desire to ruffle feathers. “But Grace, if it developed that Dr. Smith’s testimony was false, I think that Frank Green would be admired and respected if he recommended to the court that Reardon be given a new trial. I don’t think that the public would hold it against him that he had in good faith relied on the doctor’s testimony. He had no reason to doubt him.
“And don’t forget,” she added, “I’m far from being convinced that justice was denied in the Reardon case. It’s just that by coincidence I’ve stumbled on this one thing, and I can’t live with myself if I don’t follow through on it.”
When the conversation ended, Kerry returned to the transcript. By the time she finally laid it down, she had filled pages with notes and questions.
The sweetheart roses: Was Skip Reardon lying when he said he didn’t bring or send them? If he was telling the truth, if he didn’t send them, then who did?
Dolly Bowles, the baby-sitter who had been on duty in the house across the street from the Reardon home the night of the murder: She claimed she saw a car in front of the Reardons’ house at nine o’clock that night. But neighbors were having a party at the time, and a number of their guests had parked in the street. Dolly had made a particularly poor witness in court. Frank Green had brought out the fact that she had reported “suspicious-looking” people in the neighborhood on six separate occasions that year. In each instance, the suspect turned out to be a legitimate deliveryman. The result was that Dolly came through as a totally unreliable witness. Kerry was sure the jury had disregarded her testimony.
Skip Reardon had never been in trouble with the law and was considered a very solid citizen, yet only two character witnesses had been called: Why?
There had been a series of burglaries in Alpine around the time of Suzanne Reardon’s death. Skip Reardon claimed that some of the jewelry he had seen Suzanne wearing was missing, that the master bedroom had been ransacked. But a tray full of valuable jewelry was found on the dresser, and the prosecution called in a part-time housekeeper the Reardons had employed who flatly testified that Suzanne always left the bedroom in a chaotic state. “She’d try on three or four outfits, then drop them on the floor if she decided against them. Powder spilled on the dressing table, wet towels on the floor. I often felt like quitting.”
As she undressed for bed that night, Kerry mentally reviewed what she had read, and noted that there were two things she had to do: make an appointment to talk with Dr. Smith, and visit Skip Reardon at the State Prison in Trenton.
Friday, October 27th
23
In the nine years since the divorce, Kerry had dated on and off, but there had never been anyone special. Her closest friend was Margaret Mann, her roommate at Boston College. Marg was blond and petite, and in college she and Kerry had been dubbed the long and the short of it. Now an investment banker with an apartment on West Eighty-sixth Street, Margaret was confidante, pal and buddy. On occasional Friday evenings, Kerry would have a sitter in for Robin and drive to Manhattan. She and Margaret would have dinner and catch a Broadway show or a movie or just linger over dessert for hours and talk.
The Friday night after Geoff Dorso left the transcript, Kerry arrived at Margaret’s apartment and gratefully sank onto the couch in front of a platter of cheese and grapes.
Margaret handed her a glass of wine. “Bottoms up. You look great.”
Kerry was wearing a new hunter green suit with a long jacket and calf-length skirt. She looked down at it and shrugged. “Thanks. I finally got a chance tobuy some new clothes and I’ve been sporting them all week.”
Margaret laughed. “Remember how your mother used to put on her lipstick and say, ‘You never know where romance may linger’? She was right, wasn’t she?”
“I guess so. She and Sam have been married fifteen years now, and whenever they come East or Robin and I visit them in Colorado, they’re holding hands.”
Margaret grinned. “We should be so lucky.” Then her expression became serious. “How’s Robin? Her face is healing well, I hope.”
“Seems to be fine. I’m taking her to see another plastic surgeon tomorrow. Just for a consultation.”
Margaret hesitated, then said, “I was trying to find a way to suggest that. At the office I was talking about the accident and mentioned Dr. Smith’s name. One of the traders, Stuart Grant, picked up on it right away. He said his wife consulted Smith. She wanted to do something about the bags under her eyes, but she never went back after the first visit. She thought there was something wrong with him.”
Kerry straightened up. “What did she mean?”
“Her name is Susan, but the doctor kept slipping and calling her Suzanne. Then he told her he could do her eyes, but he’d rather do her whole face, that she had the makings of a great beauty and was wasting her life not taking advantage of it.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Three or four years, I guess. Oh, and something else. Smith apparently also rambled on to Susan about how beauty brings responsibility, and that some people abuse it and invite jealousy and violence.” She stopped, then asked, “Kerry, what’s the matter? You have a funny look on your face.”
“Marg, this is important. Are you sure that Smith talked about women inviting jealousy and violence?”
“I’m sure that’s what Stuart told me.”
“Do you have Stuart’s phone number? I want to talk to his wife.”
“In the office. They live in Greenwich, but I happen to know that the number’s unlisted, so it will have to wait till Monday. What’s this about, anyhow?”
“I’ll tell you about it over dinner,” she said distractedly. It seemed to Kerry that the trial transcript was on a Rolodex in her mind. Dr. Smith swore that his daughter was in fear for her life because of Skip Reardon’s unfounded jealousy. Had he been lying? Had Suzanne given Skip reason to be jealous? And if so, of whom?
Saturday, October 28th
24
At eight o’clock Saturday morning, Kerry received a phone call from Geoff Dorso. “I beeped in to the office and got your message,” he told her. “I’m going to Trenton to see Skip this afternoon. Can you make it?” He explained that in order to register for the three o’clock visit, they would have to be at the prison by 1:45.
Almost as a reflex, Kerry heard herself say, “I’m sure I can make it. I’ll have to make arrangements for Robin, but I’ll meet you there.”
Two hours later, Kerry and an impatient Robin were in Livingston, New Jersey, in the office of Dr. Ben Roth, a noted plastic surgeon.
“I’m going to miss the soccer game,” Robin fretted.
“You’ll be a little late, that’s all,” Kerry sooth
ed. “Don’t worry.”
“Very late,” Robin protested. “Why couldn’t he see me this afternoon after the game?”
“Perhaps if you’d sent the doctor your schedule, he could have worked around it,” Kerry teased.
“Oh, Mom.”
“You can bring Robin in now, Ms. McGrath,” the receptionist announced.
Dr. Roth, in his mid-thirties, warm and affable, was a welcome change from Dr. Smith. He examined Robin’s face carefully. “The lacerations probably looked pretty bad right after the accident, but they were what we call superficial. They didn’t deeply penetrate the dermis. You haven’t got any problems.”
Robin looked relieved. “Great. Thanks, Doctor. Let’s go, Mom.”
“Wait in the reception area, Robin. I’ll be out in just a moment. I want to talk to the doctor.” Kerry’s voice carried what Robin called “the tone.” It meant “and I don’t want to hear any arguments.”
“Okay,” Robin said with an exaggerated sigh as she departed.
“I know you have patients waiting, so I won’t be long, Doctor, but there is something I must ask you,” Kerry said.
“I have time. What is it, Ms. McGrath?”
Kerry reduced to a few brief sentences a description of what she had seen in Dr. Smith’s office. “So I guess I have two questions,” she concluded. “Can you remake just any face to look like someone else, or does some fundamental factor, like a similar bone structure, have to be present? And knowing that it is possible to remake some faces so that they look alike, is this something that plastic surgeons do, I mean deliberately remake someone to look like someone else?”
It was twenty minutes later when Kerry rejoined Robin and they rushed to the soccer field. Unlike Kerry, Robin was not a natural athlete, and Kerry had spent long hours working with her, because her heart was set on being a good player. Now, as she watched Robin confidently kick the ball past the goalie, Kerry was still reflecting on Dr. Roth’s flat statement: “It’s a fact that some surgeons give everyone the same nose or chin or eyes, but I find it extremely unusual that any surgeon would in essence clone the faces of his patients.”
At eleven-thirty she caught Robin’s eye and waved good-bye. Robin would go home from the game with her best friend, Cassie, and would spend the afternoon at her house.
A few minutes later, Kerry was on the road to Trenton.
She had visited the state prison several times and always found the grim aspect of barbed wire and guard towers a sobering sight. This was not a place she looked forward to seeing again.
25
Kerry found Geoff waiting for her in the area where visitors were registered. “I’m really glad you made it,” he said. They talked little while they waited for their scheduled meeting. Geoff seemed to understand that she did not want his input at this time.
Promptly at three o’clock a guard approached them and told them to follow him.
Kerry did not know what she expected Skip Reardon to look like now. It had been ten years since she had sat in at his sentencing. The impression she had retained of him was of a tall, good-looking, broad-shouldered young man with fiery red hair. But more than his appearance, it was his statement that had been burned into her mind: Dr. Charles Smith is a liar. Before God and this court, I swear he is a liar!
“What have you told Skip Reardon about me?” she asked Geoff as they waited for the prisoner to be escorted into the visiting area.
“Only that you’ve unofficially taken some interest in his case and wanted to meet him. I promise you, Kerry, I said ‘unofficially.’ ”
“That’s fine. I trust you.”
“Here he is now.”
Skip Reardon appeared, dressed in prison denims and an open-necked prison-issue shirt. There were streaks of gray through the red hair, but except for the lines around his eyes he still looked very much as Kerry recalled him. A smile brightened his face as Geoff introduced him.
A hopeful smile, Kerry realized, and with a sinking heart wondered if she shouldn’t have been more cautious, perhaps waiting until she knew more about the case, instead of agreeing so readily to this visit.
Geoff got right to the point. “Skip, as I told you, Ms. McGrath wants to ask you some questions.”
“I understand. And, listen, I’ll answer them no matter what they are.” He spoke earnestly, although with a hint of resignation. “You’ve heard that old saying, I have nothing to hide.”
Kerry smiled, then went straight to the question that was to her the crux of this meeting. “In his testimony, Dr. Smith swore that his daughter, your wife, was afraid of you and that you had threatened her. You have maintained that he was lying, but what purpose would he have in lying about that?”
Reardon’s hands were folded on the table in front of him. “Ms. McGrath, if I had any explanation for Dr. Smith’s actions, maybe I wouldn’t be here now. Suzanne and I were married four years, and during that time I never saw that much of Smith. She’d go into New York and have dinner with him occasionally, or he’d come out to the house, but usually when I was away on a business trip. At that time my construction business was booming. I was building all over the state and investing in land in Pennsylvania for future development. I’d be gone a couple of days at a time on a fairly regular basis. Whenever I was with Dr. Smith, he seemed not to have much to say, but he never acted as though he didn’t like me. And he certainly didn’t act as though he thought his daughter’s life was in danger.”
“When you were with both him and Suzanne, what did you notice about his attitude toward her?”
Reardon looked at Dorso. “You’re the guy with the fancy words, Geoff. What’s a good way to put it? Wait a minute. I can tell you. When I was in parochial school, the nuns got mad at us for talking in church and told us we should have reverence for a holy place and holy objects. Well that’s the way he treated her. Smith showed ‘reverence’ for Suzanne.”
What an odd word to use about a father’s attitude toward his daughter, Kerry thought.
“And he was also protective of her,” Reardon added. “One night the three of us were driving somewhere for dinner and he noticed that Suzanne hadn’t put on her seat belt. So he launched into a lecture about her responsibility to take care of herself. He actually got fairly agitated about it, maybe even a little angry.”
It sounds like the same way he lectured Robin and me, Kerry thought. Almost reluctantly she admitted to herself that Skip Reardon certainly gave the appearance of being candid and honest.
“How did she act toward him?”
“Respectful, mostly. Although toward the end—before she was killed—the last few times I was with them, she seemed to be kind of irritated at him.”
Kerry then ventured into other aspects of the case, asking him about his sworn testimony that just prior to the murder, he had noticed Suzanne wearing expensive pieces of jewelry that he had not given her.
“Ms. McGrath, I wish you’d talk to my mother. She could tell you. She has a picture of Suzanne that was run in one of the community papers, taken at a charity affair. It shows her with an old-fashioned diamond pin on the lapel of her suit. The picture was taken only a couple of weeks before she was murdered. I swear to you that that pin and a couple of other pieces of expensive jewelry, none of which I gave her, were in her jewelry box that morning. I remember it specifically because it was one of the things we argued about. Those pieces were there that morning and they weren’t there the next day.”
“You mean someone took them?”
Reardon seemed uncomfortable. “I don’t know if someone took them or if she gave them back to someone, but I tell you there was jewelry missing the next morning. I tried to tell all this to the cops, to get them to look into it, but it was obvious from the beginning that they didn’t believe me. They thought that I was trying to make it look like she had been robbed and killed by an intruder.
“Something else,” he continued. “My dad was in World War II and was in Germany for two years after the war. He b
rought back a miniature picture frame that he gave to my mother when they became engaged. My mother gave that frame to Suzanne and me when we were married. Suzanne put my favorite picture of her in it and kept it on the night table in our room. When my mother and I sorted Suzanne’s things out before I was arrested, Mom noticed it was missing. But I know it was there that last morning.”
“Are you trying to say that the night Suzanne died, someone came in and stole some jewelry and a picture frame?” Kerry asked.
“I’m telling you what I know was missing. I don’t know where it went, and of course I’m not sure it had anything to do with Suzanne’s murder. I just know that suddenly those things weren’t there and that the police wouldn’t look into it.”
Kerry looked up from her notes and peered directly into the eyes of the man facing her.
“Skip, what was your relationship with your wife?”
Reardon sighed. “When I met her, I fell like a ton of bricks. She was gorgeous. She was smart. She was funny. She was the kind of woman who makes a guy feel ten feet tall. After we were married . . .” He paused. “It was all heat and no warmth, Ms. McGrath. I was raised to think you’re supposed to make a go of marriage, that divorce was a last resort. And, of course, there were some good times. But was I ever happy or content? No, I wasn’t. But then I was so busy building up my company that I just spent more and more time at work and in that way was able to avoid dealing with it.
“As for Suzanne, she seemed to have everything she wanted. The money was rolling in. I built her the house she said she had dreamed of having. She was over at the club every day, playing golf or tennis. She spent two years with a decorator, furnishing the house the way she wanted it. There’s a guy who lives in Alpine, Jason Arnott, who really knows antiques. He took Suzanne to auctions and told her what to buy. She developed a taste for designer clothes. She was like a kid who wanted every day to be Christmas. With the way I was working, she had plenty of free time to come and go as she pleased. She loved to be at affairs that got press coverage, so that her picture would be in the paper. For a long time I thought she was happy, but as I look back on it, I’m sure she stayed with me because she hadn’t found any better setup.”