With troubled eyes, Sophie watched Sarah push back her chair. She’d so hoped that pasting the picture together would somehow be helpful and show what had brought on Laurie’s hysterical outburst. She remembered something and fished inside the pocket of her apron. It wasn’t there. Of course it wasn’t. The staple that she’d removed from one of the scraps of the picture was in the pocket of the housedress she’d been wearing yesterday. It certainly couldn’t be important, she decided as she poured coffee into Sarah’s cup.
66
ON TUESDAY MORNING, while listening to the eight o’clock CBS news, Bic and Opal heard about Laurie Kenyon’s threatening letter to Karen Grant, the revoking of her bail and her confinement in the locked facility of a clinic for multiple personality disorder.
Nervously Opal asked, “Bic, do you think they’ll get her to talk in that place?”
“Intense efforts will be made to have her recall her childhood,” he said. “We must know what is going on. Carla, call that real estate woman.”
* * *
Betsy Lyons caught Sarah as she was about to leave for New York. “Sarah,” she bubbled, “have I got good news for you! Mrs. Hawkins phoned. She’s crazy about the house, wants to close on it as soon as possible and is willing to give you up to a year to live in it. She only asks to be able to come in occasionally with her decorator, at your convenience. Sarah, remember I told you that in this market you might have to come down from seven hundred fifty thousand? My dear, she didn’t bicker about the price at all and is paying cash.”
“I guess it’s meant to be,” Sarah said quietly. “I’m glad people who want the house that much are going to have it. You can tell them they can move in by August. The condominium should be ready then. I don’t care if they come in with their decorator. Laurie will be staying in the hospital, and if I’m home I’ll be working in the library.”
* * *
Betsy called Carla Hawkins. “Congratulations. It’s all set. Sarah is perfectly willing for you to bring in your decorator. She says if she’s home she’ll be working in the library.” Betsy’s tone became confidential. “You know, she’s going to defend her sister at the trial. Poor darling, she’ll have her hands full.”
Bic had picked up the extension and listened to the conversation. After a final, “Congratulations again. I’m sure you’ll be so happy in that beautiful house,” Lyons said goodbye.
Smiling, Bic replaced the receiver. “I’m sure we’ll be very happy together,” he said and went to the desk. “My special phone book, Carla. Where is it?”
She hurried over. “Right here, Bic, in this drawer.” She handed it to him. “Bic, what interior decorator do you want me to get?”
He sighed, “Oh, Carla.” Thumbing through the book, he found the name he was looking for and dialed a number in Kentucky.
67
SARAH REMEMBERED that Laurie had gone into the clinic with only the clothes she was wearing. Grateful that she wasn’t already on her way to New York, she went to Laurie’s room and with Sophie’s help packed a bag.
At the clinic the bag’s contents were examined, and a nurse quietly removed a leather belt and laced sneakers. “Just a precaution,” she said.
“You all think that she’s suicidal,” Sarah told Justin a few minutes later, then looked away from the understanding in his eyes. She knew she could bear anything except sympathy. I can’t lose it, she warned herself, again swallowing over the constriction in her throat.
“Sarah, I told you yesterday that Laurie is fragile and depressed. But there is one thing I can promise you—and this is our great hope—she doesn’t want you hurt anymore. She’ll do anything to prevent that.”
“Does she realize that the worst way she could hurt me would be to harm herself?”
“Yes, I do think she knows that. And I believe she is starting to trust me. She knows that I convinced the judge to let her come here instead of going to jail. Were you able to figure out what it was she tore up yesterday?”
“Sophie managed to put it together.” Sarah removed the reconstructed photograph from her bag and showed it to him. “I don’t understand why this picture would upset her,” she said. “It’s similar to a lot of others in the album and around the house.”
Justin Donnelly studied it. “With all the cracks and glue, it’s hard to tell much. I’ll have the nurse bring her in.”
Laurie was wearing some of the clothes Sarah had brought, jeans and a blue sweater that accentuated her cornflower blue eyes. Her hair was loose. She wore no makeup and looked to be about sixteen. Seeing Sarah, she ran to her and the sisters embraced. As Sarah smoothed down Laurie’s hair, she thought, When we come to trial, this is the way she’s got to look. Young. Vulnerable.
The thought helped her to get a grip on herself. She realized that when she concentrated on defending Laurie, her own emotions were safely harnessed.
Laurie sat in one of the armchairs. Clearly she had no intention of going near the couch. She made that apparent immediately.
“I’ll bet you thought you’d coax her into lying down.” It was the strident voice again.
“I think it’s Kate who’s talking, isn’t it?” Justin asked pleasantly.
The look of a sixteen-year-old had vanished. Laurie’s face had hardened. No, firmed, Sarah thought. She seems older.
“Yes, it’s Kate. And I want to thank you for keeping the wimp out of jail yesterday. That really would have done her in. I tried to stop her from writing that crazy letter to Allan’s wife the other day, but she wouldn’t listen and see what happened.”
“Laurie wrote the letter?” Justin asked.
“No, Leona wrote it. The wimp would have written a letter of condolence. That would have been just as bad. I swear I can’t stand her, and as for those other two! One of them always mooning about Allan Grant, the other, the little kid, always crying. If she doesn’t shut up soon, I’ll throttle her.”
Sarah could not take her eyes from Laurie. This alter personality who called herself Kate dwelt inside Laurie, directed or tried to direct Laurie’s actions. If she came out on the witness stand with that arrogance and bullying attitude, no jury would ever acquit Laurie.
Justin said, “You know, I haven’t turned on the video camera yet. You came out awfully fast this morning. Is it okay if I turn it on now?”
An annoyed shrug. “Go ahead. You will anyhow.”
“Kate, Laurie got awfully upset yesterday, didn’t she.”
“You should know. You were there.”
“I was there after she got upset. I just wondered if you could tell me what caused it?”
“That discussion is forbidden.”
Donnelly did not seem fazed. “All right, so we won’t discuss it. Could you show me what Laurie was doing when she got upset.”
“No way, pal.” She turned her head. “Oh shut up that sniffling.”
“Is Debbie crying?” Justin asked.
“Who else?”
“I don’t know. How many of you are there?”
“Not many. Some of the others went away after Laurie was back home. Just as well. It was getting crowded. I said, shut up.”
“Kate, maybe if I spoke to Debbie, I could find out what’s bothering her.”
“Go ahead. I can’t do a thing with her.”
“Debbie, please don’t be afraid. I promise nothing will hurt you. Talk to me again, won’t you?” Justin Donnelly’s voice was gentle, coaxing.
The changeover happened in an instant. The hair falling forward, the features smoothed out, the mouth puckered, lips quivering, the hands clasped in her lap, the dangling legs. Tears began to gush down her cheeks.
“Hi, Debbie,” Justin said. “You’ve been crying a lot today, haven’t you.”
She nodded vigorously.
“Did something happen to you yesterday?”
She nodded assent.
“Debbie, you know I like you. You know I keep you safe. Do you think you can trust me?”
A tentative n
od.
“Then can you tell me what scared you?”
She shook her head from side to side.
“You can’t tell me. Then maybe you can show me. Were you writing in the journal?”
“No. Laurie was writing.” The voice was soft, childlike and sad.
“Laurie was writing, but you could tell what she was writing, couldn’t you?”
“Not everything, I just started to learn how to read.”
“All right. Show me what Laurie was doing.”
She picked up an imaginary pen, made the motion of opening a book and began to write in the air. She hesitated, held up the pen as though thinking, looked around and then her hand reached down to turn another page.
Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened in a silent scream. She jumped up, threw the book away from her and began a tearing motion, both hands working vigorously, her face contorted in horror.
Abruptly she stopped, dropped her hands and shouted, “Debbie, get back inside! Listen, Doctor, I may be sick of that little kid, but I take care of her. You burn that picture, do you hear me? Just don’t make her look at it again.”
Kate had taken charge.
* * *
At the end of the session, an attendant came for Laurie. “Can you come back later?” Laurie begged Sarah as she was leaving.
“Yes. Whatever time Dr. Donnelly says is okay.”
When Laurie was gone, Justin handed the picture to Sarah. “Can you see anything about this that might frighten her?”
Sarah studied it. “You can’t see much with all those cracks and that glue drying over it. You can tell she looks cold, the way she’s hugging herself. She’s wearing that same bathing suit in the picture with me that we have in the library. It was taken a few days before she was kidnapped. In fact that’s the bathing suit she was wearing when she disappeared. Do you think that might have triggered the fear?”
“Very possibly.” Dr. Donnelly put the picture in the file. “We’ll keep her busy today. She’ll be in art therapy this morning and a journal-writing session this afternoon. She still refuses to take any of the standardized tests. I’ll be available to see her between and around other patients. I hope the time will come when she’s willing to talk to me without you. I think that may happen.”
Sarah stood up. “What time shall I come back?”
“Right after she has dinner. Six o’clock work out for you?”
“Of course.” As she left, Sarah was calculating the time. It was now nearly noon. With luck she’d be home by one. She’d have to be on her way back by four-thirty to avoid the worst of the commuter traffic. That still gave her three-and-a-half hours at her desk.
Justin walked her to the door of the reception area, then watched her go. Her slim back was straight, her tote bag over her shoulder, her head high. Chin up, he thought, good girl. Then as he watched her walk down the corridor he saw her shove both hands in her pockets as though seeking warmth from a chill only she could feel.
Part
Four
68
THE GRAND JURY convened on February 17 and did not take long to indict Laurie for the purposeful and knowing murder of Allan Grant. A trial date was set for October fifth.
The next day Sarah met Brendon Moody in Solari’s, the popular restaurant around the corner from the Bergen County courthouse. As lawyers and judges came in, they all stopped to speak to Sarah. She should be eating with them, joking with them, Brendon thought, not meeting them this way.
Sarah had spent the morning in the courthouse library researching insanity and diminished mental capacity defenses. Brendon could see the worry in her eyes, the way the smile faded as soon as anyone who greeted her turned away. She looked pale, and there were hollows in her cheeks. He was glad that she had ordered a decent lunch and commented on that.
“Everything tastes like sawdust, but there’s no way I can let myself get sick at this stage of the game,” Sarah said wryly. “How about you, Brendon? How’s the food around the campus?”
“Predictable.” Brendon took an appreciative bite of his cheeseburger. “I’m not getting very far, Sarah.” He pulled out his notes. “The best and maybe the most dangerous witness is Susan Grimes, who lives across the hall from Laurie. She’s the one you called a couple of times. Since October she’s noticed Laurie going out regularly between eight and nine o’clock at night and not coming back till eleven or later. She said Laurie looked different on those occasions, pretty sexy, lots of makeup, hair kind of wild, jeans tucked into high-heeled boots—not her usual style at all. She was sure Laurie was meeting some guy.”
“Is there any indication that she was ever actually with Allan Grant?”
“You can pinpoint specific dates from some of the letters she wrote to him, and they don’t hold up,” Moody said bluntly. He pulled out his notepad. “On November sixteenth, Laurie wrote that she loved being in Allan’s arms the night before. The night before was Friday, November fifteenth, and Allan and Karen Grant were at a faculty party together. Same kind of fantasizing for December second, twelfth, fourteenth, January sixth and eleventh I could go on right up to January twenty-eighth. The point is, I hoped to prove that Allan Grant had been leading her on. We know she was hanging around his house, but we haven’t a shred of evidence that he was aware of it. In fact everything points the other way.”
“Then you’re saying that all this was in Laurie’s mind, that we can’t even suggest that Grant might have been taking advantage of her despondency?”
“There’s someone else I want to talk to, a teacher who’s been away on sick leave. Her name’s Vera West. I’m picking up some rumors about her and Grant.”
The pleasant background hum of voices and laughter and dishes being placed on tables, all the familiar sounds that had been part of her workday world seemed suddenly intrusive and foreign to Sarah. She knew what Brendon Moody was saying. If Laurie had fantasized all the encounters with Allan Grant, if in his wife’s absence Allan had begun a romance with another woman and Laurie had learned about it, it gave more credence to the prosecutor’s contention that she had killed him in a jealous rage. “When will you question Vera West?” she asked.
“Soon, I hope.”
Sarah swallowed the rest of her coffee and signaled for the check. “I’d better get back. I’m going to meet the people who are buying our house. Guess what? This Mrs. Hawkins who’s been coming out is none other than the wife of the Reverend Bobby Hawkins.”
“Who’s that?” Brendon asked.
“The hot new preacher on the ‘Church of the Airways’ program. That’s the one Miss Perkins was on when she came up with the name ‘Jim’ as the man Laurie was with in the diner years ago.”
“Oh, that guy. What a faker. How come he’s buying your house? That’s quite a coincidence with him being involved with the Perkins woman.”
“Not really. His wife had been looking at the house before all this happened. The Perkins woman wrote to him, not the other way round. Have we gotten any feedback yet from the Harrisburg police on ‘Jim’?”
Brendon Moody was hoping Sarah would not ask him about that. Choosing his words carefully, he said, “Sarah, as a matter of fact we just did. There’s a Jim Brown from Harrisburg who’s a known child molester. He has a record a mile long. He was in the area when Laurie was spotted in the diner. Miss Perkins was shown his picture at that time but couldn’t identify him. They wanted to bring him in for questioning. After Laurie was found, he disappeared without a trace.”
“He never showed up again?”
“He died in prison six years ago in Seattle.”
“What was the offense?”
“Kidnapping and assault of a five-year-old girl. She testified at his trial about the two months she was with him. I’ve read the testimony. Bright little kid. Came out with some pretty harrowing stuff. It was all over the papers at the time.”
“Which means that even if he was Laurie’s abductor it won’t do us any good. If Laurie has a breakthrough and rem
embers him and is able to describe what he did to her, the prosecutor would bring the Seattle newspapers into court and claim that she’d just parroted that case.”
“We don’t know that this guy had anything to do with Laurie at all,” Moody said briskly. “But, yes, if he did, no matter what Laurie remembers about him, it will sound as if she’s lying.”
Neither one of them spoke the thought that was in their minds. The way it was going, they might have to ask the prosecutor to consider plea-bargaining for Laurie. If that proved necessary, it would mean that by the end of the summer Laurie would be in prison.
69
BIC AND OPAL drove with Betsy Lyons to the Kenyon home. For this meeting they had both dressed conservatively. Bic was wearing a gray pin-striped suit with a white shirt and bluish gray tie. His topcoat was dark gray, and he carried gray kidskin gloves.
Opal’s hair had just been lightened and shaped at Elizabeth Arden’s. Her gray wool dress had a velvet collar and cuffs. Over it she wore a black fitted coat with a narrow sable collar. Her shoes and bag, purchased at Gucci, were black lizard.
Bic was sitting next to Lyons in the front seat of her car. As she chatted, indicating various points of interest in the town, Lyons kept glancing sideways at Bic. She’d been startled when another agent had asked, “Betsy, do you know who that guy is?”
She knew he was in television. She certainly hadn’t realized he had his own program. She decided that the Reverend Hawkins was a terribly attractive and charismatic man. He was talking about moving to the New York area.
“When I was called to the Church of the Airways ministry, I knew that we’d want to have a home nearby. I’m just not a city person. Carla has had the undesirable job of scouting for us. And she has kept coming back to this town and this house.”
Praise the Lord, Betsy Lyons thought.
“My one hesitation,” the preacher was saying in his courteous, gentle voice, “is that I was so afraid that Carla was letting herself in for a disappointment. I honestly thought that the house might be taken off the market permanently.”