You Don't Own Me Read online

  Jerry’s face made it clear that he agreed with her assessment.

  Laurie tried to focus on each scene of the planned production, but she kept thinking about the previous night’s assault. Kendra might have paid the hit man to kill me, too, she thought. She shook away the thought, reminding herself it might have been a random robbery.

  The sound of her office phone broke through the noise in her head. Grace rose from the conference table to answer on her behalf. “Laurie Moran’s office.” A few seconds later, she hit the hold button and announced that the caller was George Naughten. Laurie got up to take the call.

  Jerry and Grace watched her expectantly as she listened to what George had to say. He had spoken to his psychiatrist since they’d visited his home the previous morning. The psychiatrist thought it would be good for him to help the show with its investigation. “It will be a chance for me to talk about Ma—on television to a huge audience. About the car accident and about what Dr. Bell did to her with his so-called treatment.”

  “That would be great,” Laurie said, feigning enthusiasm. George had initially seemed like a prime suspect, a man with a grudge to harbor and a history of gun ownership. After meeting him yesterday, although she did not feel as strongly about it, she still had lingering doubt. Now here he was, wanting to appear on their show. If she had to guess, she’d say he planned to use the airtime to vent his grievances about the people he blamed for his mother’s death. “So this will basically be what you told us yesterday?” she asked.

  “No,” he said adamantly. “There’s something else—something I’ve never told anyone.”

  She sat up straighter in her chair, and Grace and Jerry looked at her, sensing that something had changed on the other end of the line. “Can you give me a hint now?”

  “No. I can only tell you if you get me out of the nondisclosure agreement I signed.”

  “As I said, George, we don’t need to know the specifics of your lawsuit against Dr. Bell.”

  “Take it or leave it,” he said, suddenly insistent. “Those are my conditions. I have something you want to know—trust me—but not with the NDA.”

  She pressed her eyes closed. She was pretty sure George wanted to drag them into grudges he had harbored for years, and none of it would have anything to do with Martin Bell’s murder. But Laurie’s motto was to leave no stone unturned. He wanted to be released from the nondisclosure agreement, and Martin Bell’s parents had the power to make that happen. They also wanted to solve their son’s murder.

  “I think we can manage that,” she said.

  Once she was alone in her office, she called Martin Bell’s parents and left a message asking them to call her.

  Looking at the photographs on her desk, she realized that she wanted to be home, surrounded by family. Last night had left her more rattled than she wanted to admit. But Alex was in D.C., Timmy was at school, and her father had an all-day meeting with the anti-terrorism task force up near Randall’s Island.

  I’ll put in one more hour of work, she thought. Then I’ll leave early, pay cash for groceries like the old days, and still have enough time to walk my son home from school. Tonight, it will be just the two of us, while we still have the chance.

  44

  The following night, Laurie caught sight of Alex through the front windows of Marea. He looked relaxed and confident standing next to the hostess desk. It had only been four days since she’d seen him, but somehow she had forgotten how handsome he was.

  His blue-green eyes lit up behind his black-rimmed glasses when she walked into the restaurant. “There she is!” He pulled her into a tight embrace, and she realized how much she had missed him.

  Once she and Alex were settled in at their favorite table, she asked him if the new judge orientation had gone well. Almost all of their phone time while he was in D.C. had been spent mulling over the assault at the piano bar. She had made him promise that there would be no mention of it tonight.

  “I learned more than I expected. I know a criminal case backwards and forwards, but there was some helpful material about handling large-scale civil suits and class actions. Now I just have the rest of the week to get my chambers in order before the chief judge starts giving me case assignments next week.”

  He sounded surprisingly anxious about the prospect, but she knew he was more than competent to handle the work. His nervousness was a sign that he was humbled by his new responsibilities.

  “You probably never thought your chief judge would pull a babysitting stint for your future stepson before she even assigned you a case.”

  He smiled at the thought of Judge Russell on a date with Leo. “I noticed a spark between them at the induction. She’s normally quite the social butterfly at those types of events, but it seemed as if she only wanted to talk to your father.”

  “Just think,” Laurie said, “if things ever get serious between Dad and Judge Russell, she could end up as my stepmother, which would make her your . . . stepmother-in-law? Is that a conflict of interest?”

  He seemed to entertain the question and then shook his head in confusion. “I have absolutely no idea. You think it could actually get that serious?”

  “Who knows, but after all his nudging about my relationship with you, it’s going to be so much fun with the tables turned.”

  His tone grew more somber. “Seriously, are you okay if he does get involved with someone else?”

  “Of course.” Laurie’s mother, Eileen, had passed away before Timmy was born. She always liked to tell people that she had married the first boy she ever kissed. Laurie’s mother and father were the kind of couple that held hands whenever they were beside each other, without even thinking about it. “I know he’s happy being Dad and Granddaddy, but it’s time. I don’t want him to be alone forever. He’s seeing her again on Friday night, so . . . we’ll see. For now, it’s just a couple of dinner dates. I’m glad he’s having fun.”

  “Speaking of dinner dates, guess who invited me to dinner to celebrate my confirmation to the bench?”

  “Should I be jealous?” she said, arching her brow.

  “Definitely not. It’s Carl Newman,” he said, lowering his voice.

  She had no idea what rules governed a judge’s communications with former clients, but that particular client was so despised in New York City his acquittal had threatened to derail Alex’s appointment to the bench. “You’re not going, are you?”

  “Oh no, not in a million years. It wouldn’t be appropriate. And, to be honest, he is one of the very few clients I actually wish had been convicted.”

  “Except he had too good of a lawyer,” she said.

  “Don’t blame me. Blame the investigators and maybe the jury.”

  “You know what I think?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “They were distracted by your good looks and infectious charm.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “I need to leave town more often.” He reached for her hand without even thinking about it.

  45

  From across the street on Central Park South, the man watched Laurie enter a restaurant called Marea. Her fiancé had gone in only moments earlier. Perfectly in sync, weren’t they? Completely nauseating.

  He was still kicking himself for the incident outside the piano bar two nights ago. What a failure that had been. He blamed the Scotch he had drunk at the bar. Was he still the impulsive idiot he used to be, unable to deny himself a drink when presented with a wall of liquor?

  That sort of recklessness was exactly what had led him to this point. Next time, he wouldn’t mess up. He would keep watching and be ready to act when she was alone and isolated, when the moment was right.

  He heard a startling thump and whipped his head around, expecting to see someone rapping on the window of his white SUV. No one. He peered out the passenger window and realized the source of the banging: two kids were drumming on upside-down buckets on the sidewalk. A few people were getting up to dance on the grass. Maybe if I sat
among these happy people, their lives would rub off on mine, he thought. Then he scoffed. That was not how happiness worked. Happiness was when every man got what he deserved.

  A couple, arm in arm, crossed the street in front of his car, heading toward the restaurant where Laurie and Alex were having dinner. The man was wearing a fitted suit, the woman a little black dress. Marea was understated from the outside, but he knew it was the kind of place that had three-fork place settings and investment banker prices. He used to stroll into places like that without thinking twice, sidle up to the bar, and drink martinis till he lost count. He missed the sleek bars, the mood lighting, and the service that recognized your importance. When he craved a drink these days, he found himself in a sticky dive bar, usually underground, throwing back Four Roses straight up.

  He saw Laurie emerge from the restaurant more than two hours later, just as he was fighting off a drowsy spell. She was with her fiancé this time. They were holding hands. Even with the sidewalks overflowing with people, he could taste that guy’s arrogance.

  He won’t walk with that kind of pride for long, he thought. Maybe when she’s gone, he’ll be just like me.

  46

  The following day, in late morning traffic, Jerry looked absolutely content behind the wheel of the generic sedan they had rented for the ride out to Rosedale, Queens. He had suggested the rental car so they could discuss the case without worrying about an eavesdropping driver, but Laurie realized he was also anticipating his upcoming car purchase. He had mentioned as they got into the car that the dealer would have his new car ready for him to pick up after work.

  Adele’s latest hit single was playing on the radio. As Jerry sang along, Grace indulged him with some harmonies from the backseat. So much for discussing the case, Laurie thought.

  George Naughten’s block was nearly vacant. They were here to gather whatever information he swore he had for them about his lawsuit against Martin Bell. Laurie had convinced Martin’s parents to waive the nondisclosure agreement that George had signed as part of his settlement with Martin’s estate. They were eager to protect their son’s professional reputation, but she had persuaded them that this was the only way to learn whatever secret George was harboring.

  Jerry pulled to the curb in front of George’s house, and the production truck followed behind them. A third vehicle stopped at the curb across from them, on the left side of the street. Leo hopped out and tossed his police parking permit on the dash. After the incident on Monday night, he was not about to let Laurie meet with a convicted stalker without an additional level of protection. He had promised to maintain a “low profile,” going so far as to drive separately, but she knew he had his gun in a shoulder holster beneath his sports coat.

  Laurie turned down the radio and looked at Ryan.

  “You all set?” she asked.

  He flashed her a thumbs-up. They had spent the morning trying to anticipate all the possibilities of what might unfold here today.

  “Living in this neighborhood is one way to cut down on the commute to JFK,” Jerry said as he stepped out of the car, noticing a plane taking off overhead.

  “So is living in Lakeview,” Grace said. “Before my parents moved, I was over this way all the time.”

  “Hope they never had a neighborhood run-in with Mama Naughten. You know how angry George would get if you crossed her,” Jerry joked.

  “Or know someone who knows someone who crossed her.”

  Laurie waved her fingertips across her throat, signaling for them to knock off the banter as they approached George’s house.

  As he had for their last visit, George poked his head out the barely cracked front door and squinted suspiciously at the small crowd gathered on his stoop.

  “Hi, George. Laurie Moran from Under Suspicion?” she offered, even though she was certain he knew her identity.

  “Oh, yes, okay,” he said, motioning for them to enter. “I just didn’t expect all these people.”

  “Well, if we want this on camera, these are the people who make that happen.”

  Laurie introduced the crew as they began to set up in the living room. They had brought extra lighting to compensate for the room’s darkness, and the space soon transformed into a proper studio. George, wearing the same T-shirt and sweatpants as the last time, watched the operation with wide eyes.

  “No reason to be nervous, George,” Ryan said cordially.

  Ryan extended a copy of their standard participation agreement to George for his signature, along with a pen. George glanced at the provisions only briefly before signing. The document gave Fisher Blake Studios exclusive control over both the use and editing of the footage. They fully expected George to air his grievances against Martin Bell, but they weren’t required to use the footage.

  “I’d like to sit in my chair for this,” George said, heading toward the La-Z-Boy.

  Leo immediately rushed to the chair and conducted what Laurie recognized as a quick pat-down for any hidden weapons. “Just want to make sure there’s nothing there that could interfere with the equipment,” he muttered by way of explanation.

  Seemingly satisfied, George got comfortable while a production assistant mic’ed up his T-shirt.

  Once the cameras were in place, they began rolling.

  “Let’s start with the events that inspired the lawsuit,” Ryan said. “How did you find your mother’s treatment under Dr. Martin Bell?”

  “Oh, Ma, she used to be so spunky,” he said longingly. He paused, and then a smile broke out across his face, the first Laurie had seen. “You know she was going to bike across the country? From New York to California! She got the crazy idea when she turned sixty-three. She was following a whole training program, doing her speed-walking around the neighborhood on Mondays and Wednesdays, swimming over at the community center on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I promised her I’d buy her a good bike, something reliable that wouldn’t break down on her in Tennessee or Kansas.

  “But then the accident happened and everything changed. At first, the doctors all said, ‘Oh, it’s just a fender bender, let’s not blow it out of proportion.’ But that ‘fender bender’ was the beginning of the end. Sure, there were still days when she was okay. Her old self. But for two years, I’d wake up to Ma crying out in pain from her bed. Once she started to see Dr. Bell, the crying stopped, and the pain went away. But the meds left her totally out of it—emptied her so she was just a shell of herself. Like a zombie. Then I found her there on the floor.” George pointed toward the kitchen.

  Laurie had already known the basic allegations of the lawsuit, but had never heard George describe his mother’s impairment in his own words. Like a zombie. That phrase had been in his lawsuit, and it was precisely how Caroline Radcliffe had described Kendra Bell toward the end of her time with Martin. Out of it. A shell of herself. George could have been talking about Kendra.

  Why hadn’t she seen it before? She told herself that she could confirm her suspicions later. Right now, she needed to focus on what George had to say.

  “You blamed Dr. Bell for your mother’s death, didn’t you?” Ryan asked.

  “Of course I did.”

  As Ryan walked George through the confrontation at Martin’s office, Laurie watched George’s face on the screen in front of her, wondering what new information he was about to drop on them.

  Ryan continued pressing George on the details of his encounter with Martin. “The police warned you about returning to his office.”

  “And I took it to heart,” George said. “I never went back to his office again.”

  Laurie saw a glimmer flash across Ryan’s eyes, and she immediately understood why. George had insisted that he had never gone back to Dr. Bell’s office. He had used the same phrasing the last time they interviewed him: I never went back to his office again.

  “But you didn’t exactly leave Dr. Bell alone either, did you?” Ryan asked pointedly.

  “I never approached him. Or spoke to him. Or anything like that.” />
  “But you watched him, didn’t you?”

  George put his head in his hands. “I couldn’t help it. He was all I could think about, and seeing him in person somehow helped me. He couldn’t hurt other people under my watch.”

  “Were you watching him the night he was killed?” Ryan asked. The entire set fell silent, as if they were holding their collective breath, waiting for George’s answer.

  “No,” he finally said. “I was home.”

  “By yourself,” Ryan added.

  George nodded.

  “So no one can vouch for you. You have no alibi.”

  George looked at his feet.

  “Here are the facts, George,” Ryan started. “You have no alibi. You have a history of obsessing over the people you blame for your mother’s demise. You were stalking Dr. Bell. And you owned the very model of gun used to kill—”

  “I was trying to do the right thing,” George blurted out, interrupting Ryan’s cross-examination. “Yes, I blame Dr. Bell for Ma’s death, but I’m no killer. I know it all looks bad. That’s why I never mentioned what I saw.”

  “What did you see, George?”

  “It was a night about a week before the murder, around lower Manhattan, in the Greenwich Village area. I was following Dr. Bell when he got into a cab. A woman was waiting for him in the backseat, and he kissed her. I know I should have come forward, but I was scared I might become a suspect. I feel so guilty.”

  “Who was the woman?” Ryan asked, ignoring George’s plea for sympathy.

  “It was too dark to make out her face. I couldn’t tell.” George’s high voice shook with fear. “I just assumed it was his wife, but then after the murder, everyone said they weren’t getting along. So, you know, maybe it was some different lady.”

  Of all the scenarios Laurie and Ryan had gamed out, this wasn’t among them. Ryan followed up with the obvious questions—Hair length? Hair color? Age?—but George had no other details to offer.

  “Why should we believe you after all these years?” Ryan asked skeptically.