The Final Judgment (27 page)

and I met, what she liked, what kind of home we had and what kind of mother she was, what we did in bed together.... “It was so bizarre. I was willing to violate our marriage vows, but to violate our privacy was too great a betrayal.” His voice grew quiet again. “It was like whatever there was between us, our disappointments, our failures, our understandings, and even our silences—was Betty’s and mine. And that I could never cheapen it to feed this girl’s needs.”

“And after that’?.” Larry turned to her. “Two more weeks, and it was over.” Caroline put a finger to her lips. “Did anything else happen?” she asked. Silent, Larry nodded. “The whole balance changed,” he said finally. “She began to fantasize about her role in my life, to advise me about my career and how to relate to Betty. She even spoke of befriending Brett .... “He paused, shaking his head. “I couldn’t imagine what Brett would think of her—”

“I can,” Caroline said coolly. “Tell me, did Megan ever approach her?”

“Not that I know about—if Brett had ever learned about us, I’m sure I’d have gotten more than a piece of her mind. But I felt Megan coming closer to the core of my life.” Larry shoved his hands in his pockets. Just before I broke it off, there were calls close to dinnertime, two nights running. The first one Betty answered; she said whoever it was waited for a moment, and then hung up. I just shrugged it off. But in my heart, I was afraid I knew .... “The next night I made sure to answer. “We were in the kitchen. When I hurried to the phone, Betty looked up from the sink. So that she was watching my face when Megan began to speak .... “‘I just wanted to hear your voice,’ Megan said. “Betty had turned to me. ‘I think you have the wrong number,’ I managed to say. “‘Thank you,’ Megan whispered, and hung up.” Larry lowered his eyes. “When I put down the phone,

Betty watched me for a moment. She didn’t ask me anything at all. “That was when I knew that she knew. And that I had to find my way out of this, any way I could. “For the next two days, until our Monday, I tried to frame my excuses. Something, anything, to dampen the explosion I had begun to fear. “Megan sat there on the edge of the bed, hands folded in front of her, while I told her. I tried to dwell on the person with whom I thought Megan might sympathize most—Brett.” His voice turned harsh. “The whole time I listened to what a fraud ! was—this cipher, inflating my role to what a real father might have. But, the odd thing is that my story had been true, once—when Brett was six, before I was trapped by tenure, I imagined leaving Betty, the job, the looming omnipresence of your father and that house.” His voice softened. “Do you know what stopped me, Caro? That I’d be leaving without Brett. Because they’d never let me have her” Caroline folded her arms, head bowed. For a moment she could think of nothing to say. “And Megan?” she asked at length. “Defied my expectations. There were no tears, or threats, or rage. All that she said, as if she had expected it, was, ‘You’ve chosen your daughter over me.”

“I left as quickly as I could. “I was on edge for days—jumpy when the phone rang, or the door to my office opened, afraid it would be her. “There was nothing. Just one sad, simple letter, which, in its own way, frightened me as much. Because it described a relationship that we had never had.” He exhaled. “A meeting of souls, she called it.” Caroline looked up at him. “Did you keep the letter?”

“Of course not.”

“Because I was hoping that you’d have some proof that any of this ever happened.” Larry stared at her. “I’ll have to testify—show how this

woman must have said and done these things to get at me .... “The thought stopped him, for a moment, and then he finished with calm resolve. “I’ll need to tell Betty, of course. As soon as I get home.” Almost absently, Caroline rubbed her temple, still gazing up at Larry. “Did you tell anyone about Megan at the time?” Larry’s eyes widened slightly; with a kind of fascination, Caroline watched as understanding dawned. “No,” he said in a flat voice. “I was very careful.”

“So no one saw you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“No gifts, or pictures?” Caroline’s voice softened. “Not even a Polaroid?” Larry flushed. “No.” Caroline sat back. “So now you know, Larry, how Megan expects to get away with this. Because, it appears, you did.” Larry lowered himself heavily into his chair They sat there in the half-light of early evening, silent. “Why would anyone believe,” he said at last, “that I would concoct a story like this, and destroy my marriage in the bargain.”

“Oh, I believe you—the whole thing sounds right to me. But the reason you’d ‘concoct’ this story is simple: to save your daughter by claiming that the key witness against her is acting out of spite. And even your version can’t explain Megan’s relationship to James, or her quite lethal claim that she was the one James was taking to California.” Caroline’s voice grew quiet. “For all Jackson Watts knows, Betty may be part of your conspiracy.” Larry’s mouth formed a stubborn line. “They’ll believe me.”

“Will they? Because it’s clear that Megan was involved with James—for however long and for whatever reason—and you can’t prove that she was ever involved with you.” Caroline paused. “When did it end, by the way?”

“Late last fall.”

“A nice cold trail, that.” Caroline raised an eyebrow. “Then I take it this mythic camp-out with Megan was not the one you were on the night that Case was murdered.”

“No.” Larry looked away. “Ironically, I really was alone. To think.” Caroline smiled without humor. “Well,” she said, “at least you’re not Megan’s alibi.” Across the desk, she watched as Larry’s eyes closed. Softly, he said, “How badly that summer has ended, Caro. For all of us.” For a long while, Caroline was silent. When she spoke again, her voice was gentle. ‘I’ll try to use this without calling you as a witness. Let me speak to Jackson first. If he’s afraid Megan is flawed enough, he may dismiss the case while he looks for more. Including more about Megan.” Her tone grew quieter still. “So you needn’t tell Betty yet, or Brett. I’ll let you know if you have to face that.” Larry’s eyes opened. “And Channing?” Caroline sat straighter, and her voice became brittle. “There’s been quite enough running to Daddy in our annals, don’t you think?” She caught herself, finishing in a level tone: “I refuse, unless I must, to leave this family even worse than I found it. That might be more than even I could bear.”

“So,” Caroline said, “your defendant’s father was fucking your prize witness. Who strikes me, by the way, as more than a bit unstable.” Jackson sat next to her on a park bench near the station house. He rolled up his shirtsleeves, expression quite calm, as if she had said nothing at all remarkable. “Too bad,” he said finally. “Megan spoke so well of you. Better, it seems, than you do of me.” Caroline gave him a level gaze. “You have to get on this, Jackson, and you know it. The defense has come to you with critical information, which it could have used to sandbag you in court. If you go forward without an inquiry, it’s virtual misconduct.” Jackson turned to her. “All right,” he said. “What would you have me do?” Caroline looked at him intently. “For openers, send the Major Crimes Unit to interview Larry and then check out his story—there must be someone, somewhere, to whom Megan said something.” She drew a breath. “But if there isn’t any- one, I’m asking you to search this girl’s apartment.”

“A warrant? For what?”

“For anything that would confirm her relationship to Larry. And to explore whether she had any relationship to the victim after April.” Jackson stared at her. “So that’s why you came. You want the prosecutor to alienate a prosecution witness by doing what the defense has no power to do—get a search

warrant to turn her place upside down.” His voice became incredulous. “Tell me, Caroline, have you had any luck with this one in San Francisco.”?”

“I haven’t had this one in San Francisco.” Caroline felt herself losing any pretense of dispassion. “Megan has such obvious potential bias that she may have made this whole thing up.”

“Not about going to California,” Jackson cut in. “And you damned well know it. Please, don’t insult my intelligence.” Caroline folded her hands. “You might be able to explain even that. If you’d simply look in her apartment.”

“If I simply treat this girl like a criminal, you mean.” His study of her face became lingering and comprehensive. “I know this involves your family. But I’ve got no basis for doing what you ask.”

“Perjury is a crime, you know.”

“Only if proven.” Jackson paused. “Look, I’ll talk to Larry myself, without you. I’ll also have our people sniff around. And then I’ll confront Megan with these charges.” Caroline stood. “With what, damn it? She’ll deny it and—like a fool—I will have prepared her for the hearing.”

“Not like a fool.” His gaze grew pointed. “If you honestly thought you could salvage Brett by destroying Megan Race on cross, you’d have done it in a heartbeat—her parents’ marriage be damned. But you don’t have anything, do you, and you don’t think you’re getting anything, either. Unless you have my help.” His tone became even. “You’re just as well off having me surprise this girl. Because if there’s any real problem, you know that I’ll act on it.” Caroline considered him. “Yes,” she said at length. “That much I do know. But I think I’ve made a terrible mistake and that you’re about to make one too. At whatever cost to Brett.” Jackson stood. “I truly hope not,” he answered. “Because this hearing you want so badly is in five days now, and it would be nice if it produced some semblance of the truth.

Which, as I continue to believe that you believe, is that Brett Allen killed this boy.” He turned and walked back to his office.

Leaving the car, Caroline faced the stand of trees alone. It was night, twelve hours since she had driven from Concord, the image of this moment slowly forming in her mind. So that now, entering the trees, she imagined herself as Brett. Deadwood crackled beneath her feet; branches struck her face, her body. Arms raised for self-protection, she could see ‘almost nothing. Only her senses knew the way. The darkness seemed interminable. Amidst towering pines, no moonlight came. There was no sound but Caroline. And then, a first thin light, the trunks of trees appearing. More swiftly now, Caroline walked to the edge of the stand. Her face was damp with sweat. In front of her was the glade. She knelt there, next to where James Case had died, and + gazed at the lake. The moon was crescent, half of what it had been for Brett, and the water was an obsidian sheet. She could not see the platform to which Brett claimed to have swum. In the woods behind her, something crackled. Caroline whirled, heart suddenly racing. The woods were black, silent. She stood there, facing the dark, a chill on her skin. Slowly, reluctantly, Caroline turned back to the lake. She was still for a moment, remembering where the platform must be. And then she pulled off her jacket and jeans, and stepped from the glade toward the water. Through her running shorts and tank top, the night air felt cool. With halting steps, she moved to the shoreline, rocks hurting her feet. Just, she realized, as Brett had described. The first shock of cold water as she dove jarred her from the thought. She was Caroline now, swimming for the

platform her father had built when she was small, borne by a memory that crossed the fissures of her life. Her strokes were long and smooth, as they had been since she was young. She found that she knew—almost to the moment—when her hand would touch the platform she could not see. She pulled herself up, sat on the edge, breathing deeply in the cool night air. The light was better here; on the lake, trees did not block the moon. But the shoreline was a rise in the darkness, formless trees. Only the glade seemed light. Motionless, she listened. Nothing. Slowly, systematically, she scanned the shoreline for movement. But she saw nothing, heard no one on the water. Felt cold and dampness, the wet tendrils of her hair, her eyes straining for light. Something had changed. As she turned, a shadow crossed the glade, silver in moonlight. Caroline froze. Only when the shadow knelt, still and silent, was she certain it was there. Caroline dove into the water. Her strokes were choppy, panicky, as Brett’s might have been. Her body strained in the water, nerves tingling as she struggled to shore. Her pulse sounded in her ears. When she reached the shore and stepped from the water, the shadow was still. Her breaths were ragged. As she walked toward the glade, grass beneath her feet, the shadow stood to face her. “Hello, Father,” Caroline said. Channing Masters stepped into the moonlight. His deep-set eyes were shadows. “You could see me, then.”

“Only in the glade. Not before.” Caroline paused, to ease her breathing. “Where did you come from?”

“The trail past Mosher’s place. It ends perhaps a hundred yards from here.”

In the moonlight, she could see that his boots were wet. “And then along the water?”

“Yes. Just as I suggested.” His voice was firm. “You couldn’t see me, Caroline, or hear me—just as Brett couldn’t. Until I reached the glade.”

“True. But then your killer, whoever that might be, would have to know the way. And know, somehow, where Brett and James would be.” Silent, Channing sat, staring at the lake. “Just that they would be here,” he said finally. “The sign at the head of Mosher Trail says ‘Heron Lake.”“ His voice was quieter now. Caroline put on her jacket and knelt on the grass beside him. “Tired?” she asked. “A little, yes.” He still looked at the water. “Do you know what was strange for me, Caroline? That for a moment, as you came toward me in the darkness, your face was like Nicole’s.” Caroline folded her arms. Softly, she answered, “I’m no more like her than I ever was. I look at my face, Father, and I see you written there.” He was quiet, still. She stared at the grass in front of her. “Hasn’t it occurred to you,” she said at last, “that a knife is the wrong weapon for your killer? How could he, or she, count on slashing two healthy young people at once?” Slowly, Channing nodded. “He’d use a gun, I think. But suppose he saw that Case was alone, and asleep.” His voice became thoughtful. “A knife has the virtue of silence. Which, in turn, could mean escape without detection.” Narrow-eyed, Caroline picked at a blade of grass. “That means bringing a gun and the knife. A very nice knife, at that.” When Caroline turned to him, her father would not look at her. “All that I’m saying,” he said at last, “is that it’s plausible. And that, for a jury, plausible might do.” Caroline said nothing. He stood up, still gazing at the water. “This Megan. Could she be a suspect? Just as you suggested?”