Let Me Call You Sweetheart

  “Until . . .” Geoff prompted.

  “Until someone she met became important,” Reardon continued. “That was when I noticed jewelry I hadn’t seen before. Some pieces were antiques, others very modern. She claimed her father gave them to her, but I could tell she was lying. Her father has all her jewelry now, including everything I gave her.”

  When the guard indicated their time was up, Reardon stood and looked squarely at Kerry. “Ms. McGrath, I shouldn’t be here. Somewhere out there the guy who killed Suzanne is walking around. And somewhere there has to be something that will prove it.”

  * * *

  Geoff and Kerry walked to the parking lot together. “I bet you didn’t have time for any lunch,” he said. “Why don’t we grab something fast?”

  “I can’t, I’ve got to get back. Geoff, I have to tell you that from what I heard today, I can’t see a single reason for Dr. Smith to lie about Skip Reardon. Reardon says that they had what amounts to a reasonably cordial relationship. You heard him say that he didn’t believe Suzanne when she told him that her father had given her some pieces of jewelry. If he started getting jealous about those pieces, well . . .” She did not finish the sentence.

  Sunday, October 29th

  26

  On Sunday morning, Robin served at the ten o’clock mass. When Kerry watched the processional move down the aisle from the vestry, she always was reminded of how, as a child, she had wanted to be a server and was told it wasn’t possible, that only boys were allowed.

  Things change, she mused. I never thought I’d see my daughter on the altar, I never thought I’d be divorced, I never thought that someday I’d be a judge. Might be a judge, she corrected herself. She knew Jonathan was right. Embarrassing Frank Green right now was tantamount to embarrassing the governor. It could be a fatal blow to her appointment. Yesterday’s visit to Skip Reardon might have been a serious mistake. Why mess up her life again? She had done it once.

  She knew that she had worked her way through the emotional gamut with Bob Kinellen, first loving him, then being heartbroken when he left her, then angry at him and contemptuous of herself that she had not seen him for the opportunist he was. Now her chief reaction to him was indifference, except where Robin was concerned. Even so, observing couples in church, whether her own age, younger, older—it didn’t matter—seeing them always caused a pang of sadness. If only Bob had been the person I believed he was, she thought. If only he were the person he thinks he is. By now they would have been married eleven years. By now surely she would have had other children. She’d always wanted three.

  As she watched Robin carry the ewer of water and the lavabo bowl to the altar in preparation for the consecration, her daughter looked up and met Kerry’s gaze. Her brief smile caught at Kerry’s heart. What am I complaining about? she asked herself. No matter what happens, I have her. And as unions go, it may have been far from perfect, but at least something good came of it. No one else except Bob Kinellen and I could have had exactly this wonderful child, she reasoned.

  As she watched, her mind jumped back to another parent and child, to Dr. Smith and Suzanne. She had been the unique result of his and his former wife’s genes. In his testimony, Dr. Smith had stated that after their divorce his wife moved to California and remarried, and he had permitted Suzanne to be adopted by the second husband, thinking that was in her best interests.

  “But after her mother died, she came to me,” he had said. “She needed me.”

  Skip Reardon had said that Dr. Smith’s attitude toward his daughter bordered on reverence. When she heard that, a question that took Kerry’s breath away had raced through her mind. Dr. Smith had transformed other women to look like his daughter. But no one had ever asked whether or not he had ever operated on Suzanne.

  Kerry and Robin had just finished lunch when Bob called, suggesting he take Robin out to dinner that night. He explained that Alice had taken the children to Florida for a week, and he was driving to the Catskills to look at a ski lodge they might buy. Would Robin want to accompany him? he asked. “I still owe her dinner, and I promise I’ll have her back by nine.”

  Robin’s enthusiastically affirmative response resulted in Bob picking her up an hour later.

  The unexpected free afternoon gave Kerry a chance to spend more time going over the Reardon trial transcript. Just reading the testimony gave her a certain amount of insight, but she knew that there was a big difference between reading a cold transcript and watching the witnesses as they testified. She hadn’t seen their faces, heard their voices or watched their physical reactions to questions. She knew that the jury’s evaluation of the demeanor of the witnesses had undoubtedly played a big part in reaching their verdict. That jury had watched and evaluated Dr. Smith. And it was obvious that they had believed him.

  27

  Geoff Dorso loved football and was an ardent Giants fan. It was not the reason he had bought a condominium in the Meadowlands, but as he admitted, it certainly was convenient. Nevertheless, on Sunday afternoon, sitting in Giant Stadium, his mind was less on today’s very close game with the Dallas Cowboys than on yesterday’s visit to Skip Reardon, and Kerry McGrath’s reaction to both Skip and the trial transcript.

  He had given the transcript to her on Thursday. Had she read it yet? he wondered. He had hoped that she would bring it up while they were waiting to see Skip, but she hadn’t mentioned it. He tried to tell himself that it was her training to be skeptical, that her seemingly negative attitude after the visit to Skip didn’t have to mean that she was washing her hands of the case.

  When the Giants squeaked through with a last-second field goal as the fourth quarter of the game ended, Geoff shared in the lusty cheering but declined the suggestion of his friends that he join them for a couple of beers. Instead he went home and called Kerry.

  He was elated when she admitted that she had read the transcript and that she had a number of questions. “I’d like to get together again,” he said. Then a thought struck him. She can only say no, he reasoned, as he asked, “By any chance would you be free for dinner tonight?”

  28

  Dolly Bowles had been sixty when she moved in with her daughter in Alpine. That had been twelve years ago, when she was first widowed. She had not wanted to impose, but the truth was she had always been nervous about being alone and really didn’t think she could go on living in the big house she and her husband had shared.

  And, in fact, there was a basis, psychological at least, for her nervousness. Years ago, when she was still a child, she had opened the door for a deliveryman who turned out to be a burglar. She still had nightmares about the way he had tied up both her and her mother and had ransacked the house. As a result, she now tended to be suspicious of any and all strangers, and several times had irritated her son-in-law by pushing the panic button on the alarm system when she had been alone in the house and had heard strange noises or seen a man on the street she didn’t recognize.

  Her daughter Dorothy and her son-in-law Lou traveled frequently. Their children had still been at home when Dolly moved in with them, and she had been a help in taking care of them. But for the last several years they had been off on their own, and Dolly had had almost nothing to do. She had tried to pitch in around the house, but the live-in housekeeper wanted no part of her help.

  Left with so much time on her hands, Dolly had become the neighborhood baby-sitter, a situation that worked out wonderfully. She genuinely enjoyed young children and would happily read to them or play games by the hour. She was beloved by just about everyone. The only time people got annoyed was when she made one of her all-too-frequent calls to the police to report suspicious-looking persons. And she hadn’t done that in the last ten years, not since she was a witness at the Reardon murder trial. She shuddered every time she thought of that. The prosecutor had made such a fool of her. Dorothy and Lou had been mortified. “Mother, I begged you not to talk to the police,” Dorothy had snapped at the time.

  But Dolly had felt sh
e had to. She had known Skip Reardon and liked him and just felt she had to try to help him. Besides, she really had seen that car, as had Michael, the five-year-old little boy with all the learning problems she had been minding that night. He had seen the car too, but Skip’s lawyer had told her not to discuss it.

  “That would only hurt our case,” Mr. Farrell had said. “All we want you to do is to tell what you saw, that a dark sedan was parked in front of the Reardon house at nine and drove away a few minutes later.”

  She was sure she had made out one of the numbers and one of the letters, a 3 and an L. But then the prosecutor had held up a license plate at the back of the courtroom and she hadn’t been able to read it. And he had gotten her to admit that she was very fond of Skip Reardon because he had dug out her car one night when she got stuck in a snowdrift.

  Dolly knew that just because Skip had been nice to her didn’t mean that he couldn’t be a murderer, but in her heart she felt that he was innocent, and she prayed for him every night. Sometimes, even now, when she was baby-sitting across the street from the Reardon house, she would look out and think about the night Suzanne was murdered. And she would think about little Michael—his family had moved away several years ago—who would be fifteen now, and how he had pointed to the strange black car and said, “Poppa’s car.”

  Dolly could not know that at the same time on that Sunday evening that she sat looking out the window at what used to be the Reardon house, some ten miles away, at Villa Cesare in Hillsdale, Geoff Dorso and Kerry McGrath were talking about her.

  29

  By tacit agreement, Kerry and Geoff refrained from any discussion of the Reardon case until coffee was served. During the earlier part of the meal, Geoff talked about spending his youngest years in New York. “I thought of my New Jersey cousins as living in the sticks,” he said. “Then after we moved out ourselves and I grew up here, I decided to stay.”

  He told Kerry that he had four younger sisters.

  “I envy you,” she said. “I’m an only child, and I used to love to visit my friends’ houses where there was a big family. I always thought it would be nice to have some siblings floating around. My father died when I was nineteen and my mother remarried when I was twenty-one and moved to Colorado. I see her twice a year.”

  Geoff’s eyes softened. “That doesn’t give you much family support,” he said.

  “No, I guess not, but Jonathan and Grace Hoover have helped to fill the gap. They’ve been wonderful to me, almost like parents.”

  They talked about law school, agreeing that the first year was a horror they would hate to have to endure again. “What made you decide to be a defense lawyer?” Kerry asked.

  “I think it went back to when I was a kid. A woman in our apartment building, Anna Owens, was one of the nicest people I ever knew. I remember when I was about eight and ran through the lobby to catch the elevator, I slammed into her and knocked her over. Anyone else would have had a screaming fit, but she just picked herself up and said, ‘Geoff, the elevator will come back, you know.’ Then she laughed. She could tell how upset I was.”

  “That didn’t make you become a defense lawyer.” Kerry smiled.

  “No. But three months later when her husband walked out on her, she followed him to his new girlfriend’s apartment and shot him. I honestly believe it was temporary insanity, which was the defense her lawyer tried, but she went to prison for twenty years anyway. I guess the key phrase is ‘mitigating circumstances.’ When I believe those are present, or when I believe the defendant is innocent, as with Skip Reardon, I take the case.” He paused. “And what made you become a prosecutor?”

  “The victim and the family of the victim,” she said simply. “Based on your theory I could have shot Bob Kinellen and pled mitigating circumstances.”

  Dorso’s eyes flashed with mild irritation, then became amused. “Somehow I don’t see you shooting anybody, Kerry.”

  “I don’t either, unless . . .” Kerry hesitated, then continued, “Unless Robin were in danger. Then I’d do whatever it took to save her. I’m sure of that.”

  Over dinner, Kerry found herself talking about her father’s death. “I was in my sophomore year at Boston College. He had been a Pan Am captain and later went into the corporate end and was made an executive vice president. From the time I was three years old, he took my mother and me all over. To me, he was the greatest man in the world.” She gulped. “And then one weekend when I was home from college, he said he wasn’t feeling right. But he didn’t bother going to the doctor because he’d just had his annual physical. He said he’d be fine in the morning. But the next morning, he didn’t wake up.”

  “And your mother remarried two years later?” Geoff asked softly.

  “Yes, right before I graduated from college. Sam was a widower and a friend of Dad’s. He’d been about to retire to Vail when Dad died. He has a lovely place there. It’s been good for both of them.”

  “What would your father have thought of Bob Kinellen?”

  Kerry laughed. “You’re very perceptive, Geoff Dorso. I think he would have been underwhelmed.”

  Over coffee they finally discussed the Reardon case. Kerry began by saying frankly, “I sat in on the sentencing ten years ago, and the look on his face and what he said were imprinted in my memory. I’ve heard a lot of guilty people swear they were innocent—after all, what have they got to lose?—but there was something about his statement that got to me.”

  “Because he was telling the truth.”

  Kerry looked directly at him. “I warn you, Geoff, I intend to play devil’s advocate, and while reading that transcript raises a lot of questions for me, it certainly doesn’t convince me that Reardon is an innocent man. Neither did yesterday’s visit. Either he’s lying or Dr. Smith is lying. Skip Reardon has a very good reason to lie. Smith doesn’t. I still think it’s damaging that the very day Suzanne died, Reardon had discussed divorce and apparently flipped when he learned what it might cost him.”

  “Kerry, Skip Reardon was a self-made man. He pulled himself out of poverty and had become very successful. Suzanne had already cost him a fortune. You heard him. She was a big-time shopaholic, buying whatever struck her fancy.” He paused. “No. Being angry and being vocal about it is one thing. But there’s a hell of a difference between blowing off steam and murder. If anything, even though a divorce was going to be expensive, he was actually relieved that his sham marriage was going to be over, so he could get on with his life.”

  They talked about the sweetheart roses. “I absolutely believe Skip neither brought nor sent them,” Geoff said as he sipped espresso. “So if we accept that, we then have the factor of another person.”

  As Geoff was paying the bill, they both agreed that Dr. Smith’s testimony was the linchpin that had convicted Skip Reardon. “Ask yourself this,” Geoff urged. “Dr. Smith claimed that Suzanne was afraid of Skip and his jealous rages. But if she were so afraid of him, how could she stand there and calmly arrange flowers another man had sent her, and not only arrange them, but flaunt them, at least according to Skip. Does that make sense?”

  “If Skip was telling the truth, but we don’t know that for an absolute fact, do we?” Kerry said.

  “Well, I for one do believe him,” Geoff said with passion. “Besides, no one testified in corroboration of Dr. Smith’s testimony. The Reardons were a popular couple. Surely if he were abusive to her, someone would have come forward to say so.”

  “Perhaps so,” Kerry conceded, “but then why were there no defense fact witnesses to say that he wasn’t insanely jealous? Why were there only two character witnesses called to help counter Dr. Smith’s testimony? No, Geoff, I’m afraid that based on the information the jury was given, they had no reason not to trust Dr. Smith and believe him. Besides, aren’t we in general conditioned to trust a physician?”

  They were quiet on the drive home. As Geoff walked Kerry to her door, he reached for her key. “My mother said you should always open the door fo
r the lady. I hope that’s not too sexist.”

  “No, it isn’t. Not for me at least. But maybe I’m just old-fashioned.” The sky above them was blue-black and brilliant with stars. A sharp wind was blowing, and Kerry shivered from the chill.

  Geoff noticed and quickly turned the key, then pushed open the door. “You’re not dressed warmly enough for the night air. You’d better get inside.”

  As she moved through the entrance, he stayed on the porch, making no move to indicate that he expected her to invite him in. Instead he said, “Before I leave, I have to ask, where do we go from here?”

  “I’m going in to see Dr. Smith as soon as he’ll give me an appointment. But it’s better that I go alone.”

  “Then we’ll talk in the next few days,” Geoff said. He smiled briefly and started down the porch steps. Kerry closed the door and walked into the living room but did not immediately turn on the light. She realized she was still savoring the moment when Geoff had taken the key from her hand and opened the door for her. Then she went to the window and watched as he backed his car out of the driveway and disappeared down the street.

  * * *

  Daddy is such fun, Robin thought as she contentedly sat next to him in the Jaguar. They had inspected the ski lodge Bob Kinellen was thinking about buying. She thought it was cool, but he said it was a disappointment. “1 want one where we can ski to the door,” he had said, and then he’d laughed. “We’ll just keep looking.”

  Robin had brought her camera, and her father waited while she took two rolls of film. Even though there was only a little snow on the peaks, she thought the light on the mountains was fantastic. She caught the last rays of the setting sun, and then they started back. Her father said he knew a great place where they could get terrific shrimp.