Sidney Sheldon's the Tides of Memory

  Overnight Billy Hamlin’s handsome, nineteen-year-old face was on every news channel and in every paper as the poster child for a selfish, hedonistic generation. Of course he hadn’t actually murdered the Handemeyer boy. Everybody knew that the case would be thrown out once it got to court, that in his grief Senator Handemeyer had gone too far. Yet people were pleased that the post-Vietnam generation should be somehow called to account. Two weeks before the trial, Newsweek ran an article about the trial with a shot of Billy, long-haired and bare-chested, next to a picture of dear little Nicholas Handemeyer in his school uniform, complete with tie. Below the images ran the simple, two-word headline:

  WHAT HAPPENED?

  They weren’t asking what had happened on the beach that idyllic day at a children’s summer camp in Maine. They were asking what had happened to America’s youth. What happened to decency, to the nation’s moral fiber.

  Billy Hamlin’s trial was set for October. As it drew nearer, Toni Gilletti’s nerves stretched closer and closer to breaking point. She still didn’t know if she would be asked to testify, and had no idea what she would say if she were. She knew she ought to come forward, to tell the world that it was she, and not poor, blameless Billy, who had allowed Nicholas Handemeyer to die. But every time she picked up the telephone to dial the D.A.’s office and tell the truth, her nerve failed her. When it came down to the wire, Billy was the one who had the strength, not Toni. She simply couldn’t do it.

  Meanwhile, the dreams got worse.

  She longed to talk about them to someone, to unburden herself of the guilt and anguish, to talk openly about what had happened that fateful afternoon at the beach. But who could she talk to? Her girlfriends were all gossips and bitches. Charles Braemar Murphy hadn’t called once since the day she left Camp Williams. As for her parents, her father was too obsessed with how the negative publicity might affect his business to give a damn about his daughter’s emotional state. Walter Gilletti acted quickly to keep his Toni’s name out of the papers, issuing preemptive injunctions against a number of media outlets and TV networks, and had kept Toni under virtual house arrest since she got home. But that was as far as his paternal support went. As for Toni’s mother, Sandra, she was too busy shopping, playing bridge with her girlfriends, and self-medicating to question Toni about what had really happened on the beach that day, or how she might be feeling.

  Forcing herself out of bed, Toni walked into the bathroom. Splashing cold water on her face, she gazed at her reflection in the mirror.

  You left Nicholas Handemeyer to die, frightened and alone.

  You let Billy Hamlin take the rap for what YOU did.

  You’re a coward and a liar, and one day everybody will know it.

  The trial would begin in six days.

  Chapter Six

  “How do I look?”

  Billy Hamlin turned to face his father. Standing in his sparse, six-by-eight-foot cell, his blond hair newly cut and wearing a dark wool Brooks Brothers suit and tie, Billy looked more like a young attorney than the accused in a major murder trial.

  “You look good, son. Smart. Serious. You’re gonna come through this.”

  The last three months had been a living hell for Jeff Hamlin. The carpenter from Queens could have coped with the malicious local gossip about his son. He could have dealt with the loss of half his customers and the judgmental glares of the women from his church, St. Luke’s Presbyterian, the same church he and Billy had attended for the last fifteen years. But having to sit back impotently while his adored son’s character was defiled on national television, torn to shreds by ignorant strangers who called Billy a monster and evil and a murderer? That broke Jeff Hamlin’s heart. The trial itself might be a travesty—no one, not even the Handemeyers, seriously doubted that Billy would be acquitted of the murder charge—but whether the boy was acquitted or not, the entire country would forever remember Jeff Hamlin’s son as the druggie who let an innocent boy drown.

  The worst of it was that Billy had done nothing of the kind. Unlike the police, Jeff Hamlin hadn’t swallowed Billy’s story for a second.

  “He wasn’t the one in charge of those kids,” Jeff told Billy’s lawyer, a state-appointed defender with the deeply unfortunate name of Leslie Lose. They were sitting in Lose’s office, a windowless box of a room at the back of a nondescript building in Alfred, Maine, just a few blocks from the courthouse. “He’s covering for the girl.”

  Leslie Lose looked at Jeff Hamlin thoughtfully. The truth was, it didn’t much matter who had been supervising the children. What happened to Nicholas Handemeyer remained an accident. Any jury in the world would see that. But the lawyer was curious.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I don’t think it. I know it. I know my son and I know when he’s lying.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Did you know that Billy likes to drink, Mr. Hamlin?”

  “No,” Jeff admitted. “I mean, you know, I assumed he had the occasional beer.”

  “Did you know he smokes marijuana?”

  “No.”

  “Or that he’s used hard drugs? Cocaine. Amphetamines.”

  “No, I didn’t. But—”

  “All those things were found in Billy’s system the day Nicholas Handemeyer died.”

  “Yes. And why were they found?” Exasperated, Jeff Hamlin threw his arms wide. “Because Billy told the police to look for ’em. He suggested a blood test, for God’s sake. Why would he do that if he weren’t trying to make himself look guilty?”

  Leslie Lose cleared his throat. “I’m not suggesting Billy’s guilty. This entire trial is a grudge match dreamed up by Senator Handemeyer, and the whole world knows it.”

  “I hope so.”

  “All I’m saying, Mr. Hamlin, is that once they’re past the age of thirteen, none of us know our children as well as we think we do. The worst thing Billy could do right now would be to start pointing the finger at others, trying to shift the blame. He’s admitted using drugs, he’s admitted making a mistake. That doesn’t make him a murderer.”

  Jeff Hamlin sat down wearily. “Billy’s a good kid.”

  “I know he is.” Leslie Lose smiled reassuringly. “And that’s what’s going to win us this case. That and the prosecution’s total lack of hard evidence. The newspapers have demonized Billy. When the jury sees what he’s really like, how different he is from the monster they’ve been expecting, they’ll acquit for sure.”

  “But what about the damage to Billy’s reputation? Who’s going to pay for that?”

  “One step at a time, Mr. Hamlin,” Leslie Lose said gently. “Let’s get your son home first. Once the criminal charges are dealt with, we can think about next steps.”

  Jeff Hamlin took comfort in the lawyer’s certainty. Jeff might know his way around a lathe and a workbench, but he knew nothing about how to win over a jury, or what did or didn’t constitute murder. Despite his name, Lose had a decent track record of winning cases a lot less cut-and-dried than Billy’s.

  A prison officer appeared at the door. “Time to go.”

  Billy smiled. He looked so happy and confident, even Jeff Hamlin relaxed a little.

  “Good luck, son.”

  “Thanks Dad. I won’t need it.”

  It was a short drive from the jail to the courthouse. Billy Hamlin gazed out of the rear window of the prison van.

  He was excited, and not just because he was about to go free.

  In an hour, I’ll see Toni again. She’ll be so happy to see me. So grateful. When it’s all over I’ll ask her to marry me.

  He wondered if she would look different. If she’d cut her hair since the summer, maybe, or lost any weight. Not that she needed to. Toni Gilletti was perfect as she was.

  She’d written him one short note while he was in prison awaiting trial. Billy had hoped for more letters, but Toni had kind of hinted that her folks were all over her and it was hard to make contact. She was especially nervous
about putting anything in writing. Billy could understand that.

  It doesn’t matter anyway. Soon this nightmare will be over and we can start our lives together.

  Although he was shocked when murder charges were brought against him, Billy didn’t regret what he’d done. There was no danger of him actually going to jail, whereas if Toni had been on trial, with her prior record, anything could have happened. He knew he’d had some bad press—he hadn’t seen a TV in months but one of the prison guards had showed him the Newsweek piece—but unlike his father, Billy wasn’t overly concerned about his reputation.

  Once the trial’s over, people will forget. Besides, once they see what I’m really like, they’ll realize I’m not the monster they thought I was.

  He had youth on his side, and innocence, and the love of a truly extraordinary woman. One day he and Toni would look back on this time and roll their eyes at the madness of it all.

  The prison van rattled on.

  Billy Hamlin’s trial was to take place at the York County Courthouse in downtown Alfred. Superior-court judge Devon Williams would be presiding in Court Two, an elegant room at the front of the colonial-style building, with old-fashioned casement windows, wooden benches, and an original 1890s parquet floor, polished daily to an ice-rink-like sheen. The York County Courthouse represented all that was good and decent and traditional and ordered about this most conservative of states. Yet within its walls, all facets of human misery had come crawling. Grief. Corruption. Violence. Hatred. Despair. Behind the pleasant, white-pillared facade of the York County Courthouse, lives had been restored and destroyed, hopes fulfilled and crushed. Justice had been served. And in some cases, denied.

  Toni Gilletti arrived at the courthouse flanked by her parents. A large crowd of spectators and reporters had gathered outside the court.

  “Look at all those people,” Toni whispered nervously to her mother. “Every hotel in Alfred must be full.”

  Sandra Gilletti smoothed down her fitted Dior skirt and smiled for photographers as the family entered the building. She was so glad she’d decided to go couture after all. Walter had worried it might be too much, but with the NBC news cameras trained directly on her, Sandra would simply have died if she’d worn something frumpy from a local department store.

  “Well, the case has generated a lot of interest,” she whispered back to Toni.

  The way dog shit interests flies, Toni thought bitterly.

  Her anger masked her fear. The prosecution had called her as a witness. She’d received the notice only a few days ago, much to her father’s annoyance.

  “Can’t you get her out of it?” Walter Gilletti asked Lawrence McGee, the expensive Manhattan attorney he’d hired to advise them. “It’s such short notice. She’s had no time to prepare.”

  Lawrence McGee explained that Toni wasn’t supposed to prepare. “All she has to do is stand up there and tell the truth. No one’s contesting her evidence. Toni’s police statement and Hamlin’s tally exactly.”

  But of course, Lawrence McGee didn’t know the truth. Nor did the police, or Toni’s parents, or anyone except Toni herself and Billy. What if Billy changed his story under oath? What if his lawyer cross-examined her on the stand and bullied the truth out of her? Did Billy even know that the prosecution had called her as a witness? Would he hate her for testifying against him, for going along with the lie, or was that what he wanted? The mere thought of seeing his face again made Toni’s heart race and her palms sweat, and not in a good way. She hadn’t felt this frightened since Graydon Hammond had looked up at her with tears in his eyes and blubbered, “Nicholas has gone.”

  “Ooo, look. Those must be the parents.” Sandra Gilletti sounded excited, like someone spotting at a celebrity wedding.

  Toni spun around. She felt like she’d been stung. She’d seen pictures of the Handemeyers before, on the TV news, but nothing had prepared her for the reality. Ruth Handemeyer, Nicholas’s mother, looked so like her son it was agonizing. She had the same butterscotch-blond coloring, the same saucerlike brown eyes. Except that where Nicholas’s eyes had been playful and dancing, his mother’s were glazed and deadened with grief. Toni couldn’t take her eyes off Ruth Handemeyer as she made her dignified way to her seat, escorted by her husband and daughter.

  Senator Handemeyer was older than his wife, in his early fifties, with close-cropped gray hair and a face that looked as if it had been chiseled out of granite. Rage blazed out of his dark blue eyes, but it was a controlled rage, a determined rage, the rage of a powerful, intelligent man. Not for Senator Handemeyer the wild, impotent roaring of the wounded tiger. This was a man hell-bent on vengeance, a man who had set out methodically to bring those responsible for his son’s death to justice. Surveying the courtroom as if he owned it, Senator Handemeyer fixed his gaze briefly on Leslie Lose, Billy’s lawyer. Ruffled, the attorney looked away. Next, to Toni’s horror, the senator caught her eye. She stared back at him like a statue, her stomach liquefied with fear.

  Can he see the guilt in my eyes?

  Can he guess the truth?

  But when Billy Hamlin walked into the dock, all the senator’s attention focused on him in a wave of such pure hatred, there was no room for anything, or anyone, else.

  If Billy was unnerved by the senator’s withering gaze, he didn’t show it. Instead, scouring the room for Toni’s face, he saw her and smiled broadly. It was the same boyish, open smile Toni remembered from camp. She smiled back, buoyed by his obvious confidence.

  This is a court of law, Toni reassured herself. Senator Handemeyer has a right to his grief, but Billy didn’t murder anyone. The jury will see that.

  Leslie Lose fiddled nervously with his gold cuff links. His client should not be smiling at the pretty prosecution witness like a lovesick puppy. Come to think of it, his client should not be smiling at all. A little boy had drowned. Guilty or not, Billy Hamlin ought to look as if he took that seriously.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Leslie Lose saw Senator Handemeyer’s broad shoulders tighten. His entire body was coiled like a spring, ready to wreak destruction on Billy Hamlin and, presumably, anyone who dared to help him.

  For the first time since he’d taken the case, Leslie Lose began to wonder if he was out of his depth.

  “All rise.”

  The proceedings got under way in what seemed to Toni like record speed. No sooner had both sides made their opening arguments than she found herself on the stand, being sworn in.

  “Miss Gilletti, you were on the beach with the defendant on the afternoon in question. Did William Hamlin seem distracted to you?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

  She was so nervous, her teeth began to chatter. The entire room was looking at her. Terrified of accidentally making eye contact with Senator Handemeyer, or with Billy, she stared fixedly at the floor.

  “You don’t remember?”

  Of course I remember. I remember everything. The rowing boat, Charles nearly killing those boys, Billy diving for pearls, disappearing under the water. I remember everything except Nicholas, because I wasn’t watching. It was me! I let him die!

  “No.”

  “Other witnesses have confirmed that William Hamlin was repeatedly diving for oysters that afternoon. That he was showing off for your benefit. Do you remember that?”

  Toni looked down at her clasped hands. “I remember him diving. Yes.”

  “Despite being in sole charge of a group of young boys at the time?”

  Toni mumbled something incoherent.

  “Speak up, please, Miss Gilletti. You had originally been charged with taking the boys swimming that day. But you arranged to swap shifts with the defendant. Is that correct?”

  No! Billy wasn’t in charge. I was. It was my fault.

  “Yes. That’s correct.”

  “May I ask why?”

  Toni looked up, panicked. Without thinking, she looked to Billy, as if asking for his help. What should I say?

 
“I’m sorry.” She flushed red. “Why what?”

  “Why did you agree to swap shifts, Miss Gilletti?”

  For a horrible moment Toni’s mind went blank. “Because . . .”

  The word hung in the air, like a swinging corpse. The silence that followed felt endless. But at last Toni blurted out, “Because I was tired. I hadn’t slept well the night before and I . . . I didn’t want to take the boys when I wasn’t a hundred percent focused.”

  She looked up at Billy again, who gave her an imperceptible nod. Well done. Good answer.

  “Thank you, Miss Gilletti. Nothing further for now.”

  The prosecution’s case wore on. Billy tuned in here and there, but mostly he just gazed at Toni.

  She’s even more beautiful than I remember her. We’ll move to the West Coast after the trial. Start again, somewhere fresh.

  He wished he could talk to her, tell her not to be afraid, that it was all going to be okay. The poor girl looked terrified, as if he were about to be led out to face a firing squad. It touched him that she cared so much. But there was really no need.

  Billy knew he was going to be acquitted. Leslie, his lawyer, had told him so a thousand times. At the end of the day it didn’t matter whether he or Toni had been watching Nicholas. What happened was an accident. Nobody murdered anybody. It was a mistake, a dreadful, tragic mistake.

  The one thing that bothered him slightly was the number of witnesses who testified about his drug use. Yes, he smoked the odd joint and occasionally snorted a line or two of blow. But the “experts” on the stand made him out to be some sort of rampant addict, and Leslie didn’t challenge their allegations.

  Jeff Hamlin had the same concern. He took his son’s attorney aside at the first recess.

  “That drug counselor guy made Billy sound like a junkie. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because the drugs are a distraction, Mr. Hamlin. A sideshow. We don’t want to get drawn into that.”

  “Well, the jury was sure as hell being drawn in. Did you see the look on the foreman’s face?” Jeff Hamlin protested. “And the middle-aged woman at the back? She looked like she wanted to string Billy up right here in the courtroom.”