Pawing through her purse, she found a battered pack of cigarettes and lit one, her first in two days. Her hand was shaking, and she could barely see, but the act of drawing a deep breath of smoke steadied her a little. Quitting was something she would deal with when she got Seamus safely out of her life again. Until then, she was going to use any crutch she could find, and not apologize for it.
She smoked half the cigarette, forcing herself to think about John Otis and the people they were going to meet today. Think about the really important things, she told herself. The really essential things. Her own emotional catastrophe could be dealt with later.
The adjoining door opened, and Seamus stepped into the room, wearing his pajama bottoms. Around his neck was a towel, and his hair stood up in wet spikes.
“Damn,” he said with a smile, “I was hoping I could wake you up.”
She gave him a fleeting smile and took another drag of her cigarette, sure that if she tried to speak she was going to fly apart into hysterics. She could feel him looking at her, but she refused to meet his gaze.
“I'm sorry,” he said after a moment. “I figured, as late as we were up, that I could shower before you woke.”
“No problem,” she managed, and flicked her ash into the ashtray.
“You shouldn't have been alone when you woke up,” he said gently.
She shrugged a shoulder, holding on to her self-control as desperately as a drowning man clinging to a raft. Her voice held an edge. “It doesn't matter. We need to get started, don't we?”
“Okay.” Now
his
voice had an edge. She dared to glance at him from the corner of her eye and wondered why he looked angry.
He opened the adjoining door wider and turned to go back to his room. “Breakfast is here,” he said over his shoulder. “We've got a ten o'clock meeting with the Wig-ginses.”
My, she thought almost bitterly, he
had
been busy. She stubbed out her cigarette, pulled on her robe, and followed him.
Breakfast was laid out on the small table in one comer of the room. Lifting the covers, she found he'd ordered steak and eggs for one, and fruit and French toast for one. He remembered her morning preferences, she realized with an aching twinge. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the insulated carafe and sipped it until he came back out of the bathroom, this time with his wet hair combed and a pajama shirt on.
“Is it okay?” he asked. He didn't sound as if he really cared.
“Great,” she said.
They sat across from one another, and ate in a silence that was almost stony. She didn't want to admit how much she hurt, and he wasn't going to ask her what was wrong.
Typical, thought Carey. Their relationship had ended this way, with long, stony silences interrupted by flaming arguments when things built up too much. How could she possibly be missing
thisl
Finally, her appetite killed by tension, she went to shower and dress. And to hell with Seamus Rourke!
Gerry Wiggins was an accountant who worked out of his home, so they met in his office. He sat behind his large cherry desk, and his wife sat nearby. Seamus and Carey took the two green leather chairs facing the desk.
Gerry Wiggins was an athletic-looking man of about forty-five with a car salesman's smile and a pair of very dark, intelligent eyes. His wife, Marcia, was about fifty, with short auburn hair and green eyes. She looked frazzled and worried, and more tired than her husband.
“Yes, we adopted Jamie Otis,” Gerry said in answer to the first question. “Marcia felt so sorry for him after she read about him and his brother in the paper. We didn't want the boy who'd done the killing, of course. Couldn't be sure he wouldn't do it again.” He gave a brief, humorless smile. “Apparently he did.”
Seamus merely nodded.
“We've adopted a lot of children, though. We have three right now, still in school. And there were two before Jamie.”
“That's remarkable,” Carey said. “Do you always adopt older children?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “They're the ones most in need of a loving home. One of our boys has muscular dystrophy, and one of the girls is mildly retarded. These are the kids that nobody else wants, but we've got plenty of room for them here, and plenty of love, too.”
Marcia nodded agreement. “It's the right thing to do.”
“You're to be congratulated,” Seamus said.
“I think so,” said Gerry Wiggins. “We feel very blessed. And never a moment of regret, have we, Marcia?”
“No, never.” She said it with a determination that indicated she suspected where this might be heading.
“But you wanted to talk about Jamie,” Gerry said, leaning forward. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”
“I really don't know,” Seamus said carefully. “I heard he was released from the hospital around a month ago.”
“That's right. Unfortunately, Jamie was our only disappointment. After he was institutionalized, he didn't want to see us anymore, and after he got out—well, we're still hoping he might call or stop by, but he hasn't.”
“Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”
Gerry shook his head. “None at all. It really surprises me. I never thought he was an ungrateful child, and I paid for all his hospitalization—I hate to tell you how much it cost—and he still wouldn't see us. And now this. Well, maybe once he's had a taste of life, he'll come back. We're the only family he has left now.”
“You're very generous people.”
“Just trying to do what's right. I'm sorry we can't be more help. But I wish you'd tell me why you're interested in him.”
But Seamus changed tack. “I understand that Jamie had some trouble in high school.”
“Just some scrapes. He did some things he shouldn't have. That all pretty much cleared up, though, by the time he was sixteen. We never had any more trouble after that”
Seamus nodded, making a note in his ever-present notebook. “I also understand that you occasionally … made monetary settlements to keep him out of trouble.”
Gerry Wiggins bridled. “If you're suggesting I bribed anyone—”
“No, of course not” Seamus interrupted hastily. “The thought never entered my head. I apologize. I was just trying to get a complete picture.”
“Well, I made restitution, if you will. That's all I did. His teachers and the school were very understanding about what might happen to Jamie if he violated probation. Everyone understood that he was a difficult child, and that he had a great many problems to overcome.”
Carey decided this guy must be made out of money. Seamus made another note before he continued the questioning.
“Now,” he said, “I'm sure you know that Jamie's brother John is on death row in Florida for killing Linda and Harvey Kline.”
Gerry nodded. “Which just goes to show I was correct in not taking both boys, doesn't it, Marcia?”
“Yes, dear.”
Seamus favored her with his best smile. “Now,” he continued, “you may remember just before John's trial you were asked to confirm Jamie's whereabouts the weekend of the Kline murders.”
“Yes, of course,” Gerry answered. “My wife said he was home all weekend.”
“But you didn't make an affidavit?”
Gerry shook his head. “They never asked me. I was out of town at the time they approached Marcia, and while I expected them to get in touch with me, they never did.”
“Mm.” Seamus looked down at his notebook, as if he were reading something there. “Was he really at home?”
“Now wait one moment!” Gerry nearly came out of his seat. “How dare you imply—”
Seamus looked at him with hard eyes. “I'm not implying anything. I'm asking.”
“lf my wife said—”
“Look,” said Carey, intervening. “ I was the prosecutor on the John Otis case. I saw the affidavit. I know what your wife said.”
“Well, then.” Gerry settled onto his chair. “Before we go any further, I want to know why you're asking these questions. Otherwise, this interview is over.”
Carey answered. “There have been a couple of murders in the Tampa area. Slashing murders just like the Klines. Both the people who were killed were involved in the John Otis trial.”
“That doesn't mean—”
“It wouldn't necessarily mean anything at all, except that a man has been calling me, telling me that John didn't do it, that
he
did, and that he's going to keep killing people unless we stop the execution.”
“Anyone could say that!”
“Perhaps. But we can't imagine who else would be killing people to try to save John Otis, and frankly, we've got only five days left before the execution. We're looking for anyone or anything who can help us find this killer before he kills again, and if this person really
did
kill the Klines, we need to know it as quickly as possible so we can keep the execution from going through.”
“Basically,” said Seamus in a hard voice, before Gerry Wiggins could reply, “if you know anything at all that you've been keeping back to protect Jamie, and it turns out that he is indeed the person who's been doing these killings, then you may be responsible for the deaths of other innocent people. And you will most certainly be responsible for the death of John Otis.”
There was a silence so long that Carey found herself listening to her heartbeat. She didn't think the Wigginses were bad people. Maybe a little full of their righteousness, and proud of themselves, but their intentions were the best.
Finally Gerry spoke. “I can give you the names of some of Jamie's old friends. Maybe he contacted one of them. But after all this time …” He shook his head again. “I don't think you'll find out much. And since I know most of the families, I think I would have heard about it if Jamie had seen or called any of them.”
“It's worth a try,” Seamus said.
It was then that Carey looked at Marcia. “I understand why you want to protect your son. Truly I do. I'd feel the same way if I were you. But if there's anything you know, you might save lives.”
Marcia darted an uncertain look at her husband.
Seamus spoke. “Did Jamie have a driver's license?”
“Before he was hospitalized,” Gerry answered. “Obviously, I don't know if he's gotten one since. But he had his own car then. I saw to it.”
“Why?” Seamus asked.
Gerry gave a crooked smile. “I always believed that making sure children had their own pocket money, and later their own transportation, helped keep them from life's temptations, you know?”
Seamus nodded. “I see your point.”
“I even make sure they have credit cards from the time they're sixteen. You don't need to steal what you can buy, or what you already have,” Gerry continued, looking more comfortable now. “And our children have already been deprived of so much. Marcia and I want to make it up to them, don't we, dear?”
Marcia nodded, casting another uncertain look, this time at Carey.
“So,” said Carey, keeping her gaze on Marcia, “Jamie could have driven to Florida when he was seventeen. If he had wanted to. Or he could have bought a bus ticket.”
Gerry shrugged. “I suppose. The thing is, he
didn't.
He was here.”
“Gerry,” Marcia said tentatively.
Carey took advantage of the moment, the way she so often had as a prosecutor. “Where
exactly
was your son on the day the Klines were murdered?”
“Exactly?” Gerry said blankly. “What in the world …”
“I mean, was he
here?
In this house? In his own bed? Did he have dinner here and breakfast here, with you? Did you actually see him with your own eyes?”
“Look…” said Gerry angrily, rising to his feet.
But Carey pressed on. She'd pressed on even in the face of irritated judges. No accountant was going to stop her. “Was he here, or did you lose track of him, say between noon on Saturday and noon on Sunday? Did he tell you he was going to stay with a friend? Or did he call and say he'd be out late, and then claim the next day that he'd left early? What
really
happened? In detail!”
Gerry raised a finger, his face twisted in anger, but Marcia never took her eyes off Carey. Something in her face seemed to crumple.
“I don't know for sure,” she said finally, her voice qua-very.
“Marcia!” her husband barked. “You don't have to say anything at all. You gave them a sworn statement five years ago, and they have no right to anything else.”
Marcia did look at him then. “Yes, they do, Gerry. I told them he was at home. I told
you
he was at home. And I really thought he was. But you were away that weekend, remember? And I never thought Jamie would
lie.
He had never lied to me before, even when he'd done something really bad. So I just assumed what I said was true, that he was here in Atlanta, and that saying he was at home simply kept Kevin Rutland out of it. You know how you feel about the Rutlands. They'd have been appalled, and you would have been appalled, if we did anything that dragged them into that mess in Florida. So I hedged the truth just a tiny bit.”
“Marcia…” Her husband's voice had grown quiet, almost disbelieving.
“Until this very minute, I honestly believed he was right here all the time. But when Miss Stover said all that about the car and was he really here every minute or did I lose track of him… And then, thinking of what they said about what's happening in Florida… Gerry, maybe I was wrong! Maybe he lied to me! Maybe he didn't really go to spend the weekend with Kevin after all!”
5 Days
T
he maid brought tea and coffee for everyone, giving Marcia a chance to calm herself. Her hands trembled so badly that the bone china cup rattled against the saucer as she held them. Her husband ignored the beverages and stared at nothing in particular, a man stunned.
Finally, he looked at Seamus. “You're not going to charge Marcia with perjury, are you?”
“I don't see the point,” Seamus answered. “She said what she thought was true at the time. I'm just glad she had second thoughts about it now. I would like Kevin Rutland's phone number, to confirm whether Jamie was there, if you don't mind.”
Gerry nodded wearily. All his anger was gone, and he looked whipped.