Let Me Call You Sweetheart Page 19

In these ten years he had been incarcerated, Skip had spent many hours looking at those pictures and wondering how everything had gone so wrong. If he hadn’t met Suzanne that night, by now he and Beth would have been married fourteen or fifteen years. They probably would have two or three kids. What would it be like to have a son or a daughter? he wondered.

  He would have built Beth a home they would have planned together—not that crazy, modern, vast figment of an architect’s imagination that Suzanne had demanded and that he had come to detest.

  All these years in prison he had been sustained by the knowledge of his innocence, his trust in the American justice system and the belief that someday the nightmare would go away. In his fantasies, the appeals court would agree that Dr. Smith was a liar, and Geoff would come down to the prison and say, “Let’s go, Skip. You’re a free man.”

  By prison rules, Skip was allowed two collect phone calls a day. Usually he called both his mother and Beth twice a week. At least one of them came down to see him on Saturday or Sunday.

  This week Skip had not phoned either one of them. He had made up his mind. He would not let Beth visit him anymore. She had to get on with her life. She’d be forty her next birthday, he reasoned. She should meet someone else, get married, have kids. She loved children. That was why she had chosen teaching and then counseling as a career.

  And there was something else that Skip decided: He wasn’t going to waste any more time designing rooms and houses with the dream that someday he would get to build them. By the time he got out of prison—if he ever did get out—he would be in his sixties. It would be too late to get started again. Besides, there would be no one left to care.

  That was why on Saturday morning, when Skip was told his lawyer was phoning him, he took the call with the firm intention of telling Geoff to forget about him as well. He too should get on to other things. The news that Kerry McGrath was coming down to see him as well as his mother and Beth angered him.

  “What does McGrath want to do, Geoff?” he asked “Show Mom and Beth exactly why they’re wasting their time trying to get me out of here? Show them how every argument for me is an argument against me? Tell McGrath I don’t need to listen to that again. The court’s done a great job of convincing me.”

  “Shut up, Skip,” Geoff’s firm voice snapped. “Kerry’s interest in you and this murder case is causing her a hell of a lot of trouble, including a threat that something could happen to her ten-year-old daughter if she doesn’t pull out.”

  “A threat? Who?” Skip looked at the receiver he was holding as though it had suddenly become an alien object. It was impossible to comprehend that Kerry McGrath’s daughter had been threatened because of him.

  “Not only who? but why? We’re sure Jimmy Weeks is the ‘who.’ The ‘why’ is that for some reason he’s afraid to have the investigation reopened. Now listen, Kerry wants to go over every inch of this case with you, and with your mother and Beth. She has a bunch of questions for all of you. She also has a lot to tell you about Dr. Smith. I don’t have to remind you what his testimony did to you. We’ll be there for the last visiting period, so plan to be cooperative. This is the best chance we have had of getting you out. It may also be the last.”

  Skip heard the click in his ear. A guard took him back to his cell. He sat down on the bunk and buried his face in his hands. He didn’t want to let it happen, but in spite of himself, the flicker of hope that he thought he had successfully extinguished had jumped back to life and now was flaming throughout his being.

  73

  Geoff picked up Kerry and Robin at one o’clock. When they reached Essex Fells, Geoff brought Kerry and Robin into the house and introduced them around. At the end of the family dinner the night before, he had briefly explained to the adults the circumstances of his bringing Robin for a visit.

  Immediately his mother’s instincts had zeroed in on the fact that this woman Geoff insisted on calling “Robin’s mother” might have special significance for her son.

  “Of course, bring Robin over for the afternoon,” she had said. “Poor child, that anyone could even think of harming her. And Geoff, after you and her mother—Kerry, did you say her name was?—come back from Trenton, you must stay and have dinner with us.”

  Geoff knew his vague “We’ll see” cut no ice. Chances are, unless something untoward happens, we will eat at my mother’s table tonight, he said to himself.

  Instantly he detected the approval in his mother’s eyes as she took in Kerry’s appearance. Kerry was wearing a belted camel’s hair coat over matching slacks. A hunter green turtleneck sweater accentuated the green tones in her hazel eyes. Her hair was brushed loosely over her collar. Her only makeup other than lip blush seemed to be a touch of eye shadow.

  Next he could see that his mother was pleased by Kerry’s sincere, but not effusive, gratitude for letting Robin visit. Mom had always stressed that voices should be well modulated, he thought.

  Robin was delighted to hear that all nine grandchildren were somewhere in the house. “Don is taking you and the two oldest to Sports World,” Mrs. Dorso told her.

  Kerry shook her head and murmured, “I don’t know . . .”

  “Don is the brother-in-law who’s the captain in the Massachusetts State Police,” Geoff told her quietly. “He’ll stick by the kids like glue.”

  It was clear that Robin expected to have a good time. She watched as the two-year-old twins, chased by their four-year-old cousin, pell-melled past them. “Sort of like baby rush hour around here,” she observed happily. “See you later, Mom.”

  * * *

  In the car, Kerry leaned back against the seat and sighed deeply.

  “You’re not worried, are you?” Geoff asked quickly.

  “No, not at all. That was an expression of relief. And now let me fill you in on what I didn’t tell you before.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like Suzanne’s years growing up, and what she saw when she looked in the mirror in those days. Like what Dr. Smith is up to with one of the patients whom he has given Suzanne’s face. And like what I learned from Jason Arnott this morning.”

  * * *

  Deidre Reardon and Beth Taylor were already in the visitors’ reception room in the prison. After Geoff and Kerry registered with the clerk, they joined them, and Geoff introduced Kerry to Beth.

  While they waited to be called, Kerry deliberately kept the conversation impersonal. She knew what she wanted to talk about when they were with Skip, but she wanted to save it until then. She did not want to lose the spontaneity of having the three of them trigger each other’s memories as she raised the different points. Understanding Mrs. Reardon’s restrained greeting, she concentrated on chatting with Beth Taylor, whom she liked immediately.

  Promptly at three o’clock they were led to the area where family members and friends were allowed contact visits with the prisoners. It was more crowded today than it had been when Kerry visited last week. Dismayed, Kerry realized that it might have been better to have officially asked for one of the private conference rooms that were available when both prosecutor and defense attorney requested a joint visit. But that would have meant going on record as a Bergen County assistant prosecutor paying a visit to a convicted murderer, something she still was not quite ready to do.

  They did manage to get a corner table, whose location filtered out some of the background noise. When Skip was escorted in, Deidre Reardon and Beth both jumped up. After the guard removed Skip’s handcuffs, Beth held back while Deidre hugged her son.

  Then Kerry watched as Beth and Skip looked at each other. The expressions on their faces and the very restraint of their kiss told more of what was between them than would have the most ardent, demonstrative embraces. In that moment Kerry vividly relived the memory of that day in court when she had seen the agony on Skip Reardon’s face as he was sentenced to a minimum of thirty years’ imprisonment, and had listened to his heartrending protest that Dr. Smith was a liar. Thinking back on it, she r
ealized that, knowing very little about the case at the time, she still had felt she heard the ring of truth in Skip Reardon’s voice that day.

  She had brought a yellow pad on which she had written a series of questions, leaving room under each to make notes of their answers. Briefly she told them everything that had impelled her to make this second visit: Dolly Bowles’ story about the presence of the Mercedes the night Suzanne died; the fact that Suzanne had been extremely plain growing up; Dr. Smith’s bizarre re-creation of her face when operating on current patients; Smith’s attraction to Barbara Tompkins; the fact that Jimmy Weeks’ name had come up in the investigation; and, finally, the threat to Robin.

  Kerry felt that it was a credit to the three of them that after their initial shock over hearing the disclosures, they did not waste time reacting among themselves. Beth Taylor reached for Skip’s hand as she asked, “What can we do now?”

  “First, let’s clear the air by saying I now have grave doubts whether Skip is guilty, and if we uncover the kinds of things I expect to find, I’ll do my best to help Geoff get the verdict reversed. This is how I see it,” Kerry told them. “A week ago. Skip, you surmised after we talked, that I didn’t believe you. That really isn’t accurate. What I felt, and what I thought, was that there was nothing I had heard that couldn’t be interpreted in two ways—for you or against you. Certainly there was nothing I heard that would provide grounds for a new appeal. Isn’t that right, Geoff?”

  Geoff nodded.

  “Dr. Smith’s testimony is the main reason that you were convicted. Skip. The one great hope is to discredit that testimony. And the only way I can see to do that is to back him into a corner by exposing some of his lies and confronting him with them.”

  She did not wait for any of them to speak. “I already have the answer to the first question I intended to ask—Suzanne never told you that she’d had plastic surgery. And incidentally, let’s cut the formalities. My name is Kerry.”

  For the remaining hour and fifteen minutes of the visit she fired questions at them. “First of all, Skip, did Suzanne ever mention Jimmy Weeks?”

  “Only casually,” he said. “I knew he was a member of the club and that she sometimes played in a foursome with him. She used to brag about her golf scores all the time. But when she knew I was getting suspicious that she was involved with someone, she began to mention only the names of the women she played with.”

  “Isn’t Weeks the man on trial for income tax evasion?” Deidre Reardon asked.

  Kerry nodded.

  “That’s incredible. I thought it was terrible that the government is harassing him. Last year I was a volunteer on the cancer drive, and he let us hold it on the grounds of his estate in Peapack. He underwrote the whole thing and then made a huge donation. And you are saying that he was involved with Suzanne and that he’s threatening your little girl!”

  “Jimmy Weeks has made sure his public image as basic good guy has been carefully nurtured,” Kerry told her. “You’re not the only one who thinks he’s a victim of government harassment. But trust me—nothing could be further from the truth.” She turned to Skip. “I want you to describe the jewelry that you believe Suzanne had received from another man.”

  “One piece was a gold bracelet with zodiac figures engraved in silver, except for the Capricorn symbol. That was the centerpiece, and all encrusted with diamonds. Suzanne was a Capricorn. It was obviously a very expensive piece. When I asked about it, she told me her father had given it to her. The next time I saw him, I thanked him for his generosity to her, and, just as I expected, he didn’t know what I was talking about.”

  “That’s the kind of item we might be able to trace. We can put out a flyer to jewelers in New Jersey and Manhattan for openers,” Kerry said. “It’s surprising how many of them can either identify a piece they’ve sold years before, or recognize someone’s style when it’s a one-of-a-kind design.”

  Skip told her about an emerald-and-diamond ring that looked like a wedding band. The diamonds alternated with the emeralds and were set in a delicate pink-gold band.

  “Another one she claimed her father gave her?”

  “Yes. Her story was that he was making up for the years he hadn’t given her anything. She said that some of the pieces were family jewelry from his mother. That was easier to believe. She also had a flower-shaped pin that was obviously very old.”

  “I remember that one,” Deidre Reardon said. “It had a smaller bud-shaped pin attached to it by a silver chain. I still have a picture I cut out of one of the local papers showing Suzanne wearing it at some sort of fund-raiser. Another heirloom-type piece was the diamond bracelet Suzanne was wearing when she died, Skip.”

  “Where was Suzanne’s jewelry that night?” Kerry asked.

  “Except for what she was wearing, in her jewelry case on top of her dressing table,” Skip said. “She was supposed to put it in the lockbox in her dressing room, but she usually didn’t bother.”

  “Skip, according to your testimony at the trial several items were missing from your bedroom that night.”

  “There were two things missing that I’m positive of. One was the flower pin. The problem is that I can’t swear it was in the jewelry box that day. But I can swear that a miniature frame that was on the night table was gone.”

  “Describe it to me,” Kerry said.

  “Let me, Skip,” Deidre Reardon interrupted. “You see, Kerry, that little frame was exquisite. It was reputed to have been made by an assistant to the jeweler Fabergé. My husband was in the army of occupation after the war and bought it in Germany. It was a blue enamel oval with a gold border that was encrusted with pearls. It was my wedding present to Skip and Suzanne.”

  “Suzanne put a picture of herself in it,” Skip explained.

  Kerry saw the guard at the door look at the wall clock. “We’ve only got a few minutes,” she said hurriedly. “When did you last see that frame, Skip?”

  “It was there that last morning when I got dressed. I remember particularly, because I looked at it when I was changing the stuff in my pockets to the suit I’d just put on. That night, when the detectives told me they were taking me in for questioning, one of them came up to the bedroom with me while I got a sweater. The frame was gone.”

  “If Suzanne was involved with someone else, is it possible she gave that picture of herself to someone that day?”

  “No. It was one of her best pictures, and she liked looking at it. And I don’t think even she would have had the guts to give my mother’s wedding present away.”

  “And it never showed up?” Kerry asked.

  “Never. But when I tried to say it might have been stolen, the prosecutor argued that if a thief had been there, all that jewelry would have been gone.”

  The bell signaled the end of visiting hours. This time when Skip got up, he put one arm around his mother, the other around Beth, and drew them to him. Over their heads, he looked at Kerry and Geoff. His smile made him seem ten years younger. “Kerry, you find a way to get me out of this place and I’ll build a house for you that you’ll never want to leave for the rest of your life.” Then he suddenly laughed. “My God,” he said, “In this place, I can’t believe I said that.”

  * * *

  Across the room, convict Will Toth was sitting with his girlfriend, but he gave most of his attention to the group with Skip Reardon. He had seen Skip’s mother, the lawyer and the girlfriend here any number of times. Then last week he had recognized Kerry McGrath when she visited Skip. He would know her anywhere—McGrath was the reason he would spend the next fifteen years in this hellhole. She had been the prosecutor at his trial. It was clear that today she was being very cozy with Reardon; he had noticed that she spent the whole time writing down what he was telling her.

  Will and his girlfriend stood up when the signal came that visiting hours were over. As he kissed her good-bye, he whispered, “Call your brother as soon as you get home and tell him to pass the word that McGrath was down here agai
n today and taking lots and lots of notes.”

  74

  Si Morgan, senior FBI agent in charge of investigating the Hamilton theft, was in his office at Quantico on Saturday afternoon, going over computer printouts concerning that case and the others believed to be related.

  They had asked the Hamiltons, along with burglary victims in similar cases, to furnish names of all guests who attended any gathering or party at their homes during the several months before they were victimized. The computer had created a master file and then a separate list of the names that appeared frequently.

  The trouble, Si thought, is that so many of these people travel in the same circles that it’s not uncommon to see certain people included regularly, especially at the big functions.

  Nevertheless there were about a dozen names that turned up consistently. Si studied that alphabetized list.

  The first one was Arnott, Jason.

  Nothing there, Si thought. Arnott had been quietly investigated a couple of years ago and passed as clean. He had a healthy stock portfolio, and his personal accounts didn’t show the sudden infusions of cash associated with burglary. His interest income was also consistent with his lifestyle. His income tax statement accurately reflected his stock market transactions. He was well respected as an art and antiques expert. He entertained frequently and was well liked.

  If there was a red flag in his profile, it was that Arnott was perhaps a little too perfect. That and the fact that his in-depth knowledge of antiques and fine art was consistent with the selective first-rate-only approach the thief took to the victims’ possessions. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to run a check on him again if nothing else shows up, Si thought. But he was much more interested in another name on the frequent list, Sheldon Landi, a man who had his own public relations firm.

  Landi certainly seems to rub shoulders with the beautiful people, Si mused. He doesn’t make much money, yet he lives high. Landi also fit the general profile of the man the computer told them to look for: middle-aged; unmarried; college educated; self-employed.