Brooklyn Gothic, page 26
What an opportunity for you to put aside the past and start fresh. I’m relieved you’re all right and I’ll see you at the doctor’s office tomorrow.
Sharon
* * *
At the doctor’s office tomorrow. At the doctor’s office tomorrow.
A rage tore through her. That bitch had told him about Casey’s pregnancy before they all met at Dr. Putterman’s office. She must have concluded that Samuel didn’t know about it, but in her card, she was clever enough to act like he did.
And when would Sharon have had time to tell him? As Casey stood there staring at the card’s writing, she grew ice cold as everything clicked into place.
First, she focused on the orange juice Sharon had ordered up for her at the hotel, which had been delivered while Casey was taking a shower. Remembering the strange, tangy zip of the juice, Casey now realized Sharon must have drugged the juice to make sure Casey couldn’t decide to flee the hotel. That would explain how tired she’d suddenly become after drinking it, and how she had staggered to the bed, and how her sleep cluttered with fantastical dreams had seemed to pass by in a minute.
And how the next day she’d continually wrestled with bone-deep exhaustion, and how she’d fallen asleep in the SUV. At the time, she’d attributed everything to the horror of the previous few days—not to mention her pregnancy and anemia.
While Casey was knocked out in the hotel room, Sharon must have read her discharge papers, learning Casey was pregnant. Sharon hadn’t seen the hospital folder on the floor of the SUV when she’d driven to Zabar’s in the morning, as she’d claimed, but the night before.
After learning of Casey’s pregnancy, Sharon must have driven straight to the mansion to alert Samuel.
As for why she did it by congratulations card, Casey had her theory too. At the mansion, Samuel must have refused to answer the door or the landline. And with him having no cell phone to receive a text, Sharon worried she wouldn’t be able to tell him about the pregnancy before the psychiatric appointment in the morning. So she’d bought a card and slipped it under the mansion’s door.
Sharon needed him to know about the pregnancy before the psychiatric appointment for one reason—so he would go along with the whole “false memory” premise that the doctor and Sharon would then sell to Casey.
Sharon was counting on the fact that Samuel would want to be a father rather than continue to insist he was a serial killer and risk prison.
It must have been like a divine gift for Sharon to find out Casey was pregnant—one last chance for her to convince Samuel to fall in line and save himself, as he had another life to think about now, too.
Sharon must have assumed Samuel would throw away the card after reading it, which, for whatever reason, he hadn’t. Not only that, he’d forgotten all about it, then led Casey to the place where it was stashed.
In fact, Casey began to believe that Sharon must have felt all along that Samuel had attacked Natalie Marshall.
Sharon then fabricated the story that he couldn’t have done it since they’d spent that night together at his Baccarat apartment. How convenient they didn’t leave a digital trail of their affair, so there was no proof of where they were the night Natalie was attacked.
Sharon must have started plotting to get him to believe he had false memories soon after he confessed his attack on Natalie while he lay in a Greek hospital. Remembering her Harvard classmate’s father—a world-renowned expert on false memory syndrome—she got the doctor to visit Samuel at his rehab center in New York.
Why Sharon was going to so much trouble to protect him, Casey had her suspicions. Several months ago, Samuel had told Casey that Max would be handling all of their banking from then on, as Sharon was pregnant again and wanted to lighten her workload.
Then Samuel mentioned that Sharon and her family were moving out of their big house with a sprawling backyard into a smaller apartment downtown.
It all came together in Casey’s mind.
Sharon must have been embezzling from Samuel, and he discovered it. What else could explain him stripping Sharon of her banking duties and her downgrade to a smaller place when there was a baby on the way? But if this was the case, why not fire her?
There could be only one reason.
Sharon still had the wedding rings, the belt buckle, and the written confession. And Samuel was nervous about what she’d do with them.
It would start with Natalie. Casey would do what she should have done before, if only she hadn’t been practically incapacitated until they got to Geneva.
Plus, she hadn’t even known where Natalie lived. She would have to gain Natalie’s trust first, because she had to come in person. It was imperative to see Natalie’s immediate reaction and not give her time to ponder over Samuel’s face, allowing Natalie’s mind a chance to invent something.
Casey began instant messaging Natalie again, keeping the lines of communication open. I hope you are doing well, I’ve been thinking about you.
It was a few more weeks before Casey used an excuse to ask for Natalie’s phone number, telling her she was writing a freelance article on Jiu-Jitsu and wanted some tips on questions to ask instructors. Natalie trusted her by now and revealed her phone number. Casey then pretended the article had fallen through.
A couple more weeks went by and Casey called Natalie from her disposable phone to inquire if she could come visit when she’d be in the area. She had something she’d like to discuss with her in person.
Natalie had given up her address and said she would look forward to it.
Now Casey sat across from the woman who would decide her future, her baby’s future, Samuel’s future, and the futures of all of the families and friends of the victims. And who didn’t even know that’s what she would be doing.
“Who is this?” Natalie asked, backing into her chair, holding the phone.
“I can’t say,” Casey said, looking away from Natalie’s expression, terrified at what it was about to reveal.
She couldn’t tell Natalie about Samuel’s confession. It would create an inescapable bias. Of course Natalie would think Samuel was her attacker if he’d once claimed he was.
After several moments of penetrating and excruciating silence, Casey dared to look up. She saw Natalie studying the phone with an expression that revealed nothing.
“This is strange,” Natalie said. “You come here asking if I recognize a man and won’t tell me why?”
Natalie kept looking at the phone. Then she made direct eye contact and Casey noticed how truly unusual her eyes were—a luminescent gold radiating against the backdrop of her black, curly hair and dusky skin.
“Are you saying this is the man who attacked me?” she asked.
“No, I’m not saying that. I’m asking if you recognize him.” Casey felt like her words had been recorded and played back at half-speed.
Natalie jumped a little. “This is him? Why else would you be showing me this? How did you get this?”
Everything went static, the air pressure dropped, as if all of the oxygen in the room had been sucked away. Did Natalie recognize him? Or did she think Casey thought it was him? What if Natalie said it was he and it wasn’t?
The memory was preposterously unreliable. Even Sharon knew enough to know that. Casey’s mind veered wildly, assaulting her with fresh doubts she hadn’t had until this minute.
Maybe Samuel hadn’t told her he knew about her pregnancy because he wanted her to make her own decision about it. If being a father were so important to him that he would pretend to have false memories, he would have said something rather than risk she would abort the pregnancy.
What kind of enormous coincidence was it that he’d once owned a gold belt buckle so similar to Hector’s, a man he would later kill? Didn’t it make more sense that he saw the same type of buckle he owned on the news and invented a false memory?
“Please, Natalie, be calm,” she begged. “You haven’t even said if you recognize him.”
Natalie looked at the screen again, calmer and more thoughtful. “It’s hard to say with this smile on his face.”
“Give me the phone for a second.”
Natalie slowly gave over the phone, her eyes stunned wide open. Casey flipped through the pictures she’d taken before she left, telling Samuel she wanted a few closeups to look at while she was traveling.
“How about now?” Casey handed the phone back over and Natalie stared at it for what seemed a very long time.
Then her voice was hushed and focused. “This man here, he looks… the man in my house, he seemed so dead inside. His eyes were flat, almost like a robot. This man here… he has life in him. He looks normal.”
Casey’s insides quivered with immeasurable relief, like a steel structure heaving down in the path of a wrecking ball. “Right,” she said, with a loud, audible sigh. “I needed to ask.”
“Why did you show me his picture? Who is this?”
“A man I met. He looked... I saw the police sketch. There’s a resemblance.”
Natalie’s full lips separated and she gingerly pushed into her chair. “You know him well?”
“No. Not really.”
Casey couldn’t tell Natalie the man in the photo was her husband. What would Natalie think if she knew while Casey was luring her into a sense of security, getting her home address, the man she suspected might be Natalie’s attacker was also her husband?
She held out her arm to retrieve her phone but Natalie looked down at it again. Casey’s heart stopped as she waited for Natalie to change her mind and say he was her attacker. But she only hesitated for a few seconds before handing the phone over.
“He’s an attractive man,” Natalie said, and something about her small smile gave Casey an odd feeling she couldn’t quite identify.
Now Casey wanted to leave. To go home to the man she loved, and their child. To forget everything, and to trust once and for all that Samuel Henry Foster III was a good man.
But she couldn’t. Not yet.
“One more thing.” Casey opened up a screenshot. Her hands began to shake powerfully, so powerfully that she worried Natalie would see this and deduce Casey’s personal connection to the man in the photos. “It’s a bit blurry because I had to crop in on just him.”
“This is the same man?” Natalie asked, looking at the phone. “In the silver suit and red tie?”
“Yes.”
Natalie stared at the photo for too long, and Casey caught the line between her brows deepen almost imperceptibly. The moment she saw it, a deep, sharp blade of sadness stabbed her heart.
Natalie was going to identify him from the old picture of him at the luncheon with Sharon. A picture taken before his aneurysm changed the look in his eyes.
Now it would all start, the next phase. Driving to Newtown, bringing the small plastic bag, telling the police everything, telling them she had to get Miles before they did anything.
Authorities would try to extradite him, but he would kill himself first. She knew that. He wouldn’t survive Miles being taken from him. He wouldn’t survive Casey’s betrayal.
What had made her think if Natalie identified him, she would then be able to drive to Newtown? All she was capable of now was staggering into the yard and tightening up on the lawn like a poked snail. In that almost imperceptible crinkle of Natalie’s brows, her world had ended.
Natalie absently snapped her fingers. “He looks like that actor. The one with the—oh, I forget.” As she handed the phone back, she again smiled that strange, almost suspicious, smile.
Casey sat unmoving, unable to reach for the phone. She wasn’t sure what was happening. “So you don’t…”
“Sorry,” Natalie said.
Casey shook her head, reached for the phone, and stuffed it into her bag. “I’m sorry. I dredged this up for you again. I’ll go now.”
Natalie walked her to the door. She opened it and Casey wanted to rush out, but there was a hand on her arm. Natalie’s amber eyes, her irises fringed with emerald, bored into Casey’s. “Did he do something to you? Something bad?” she asked.
For a moment, Casey was speechless. Then she managed, “No. I—I barely know him. I saw a resemblance. I’m trying to do the right thing. Only I don’t know if it’s the right thing.”
“I see,” Natalie said, then sighed. “The truth is, I’m not sure if I could identify him. It’s been such a long time. I couldn’t live with myself if I got the wrong person.” She blinked her honey-colored eyes. “I’ve come to accept he might always be out there. Sometimes…” She shrugged, a little embarrassed. “I like to imagine he’s turned himself around.”
Natalie tilted her chin towards the bright white sun for a few moments, and then turned away from the spotless sky. “I’ve forgiven him, you understand. Does he deserve to be forgiven? That depends on who he is now.” Her honey-colored eyes seemed to glow. “I have this feeling that he’s turned himself around.”
“I hope you’re right,” Casey said, quietly.
Then they were awkwardly kissing each other on the cheek. Casey walked down the crunchy, pebbled walkway.
45
Sliding into the rental car, Casey started the engine, and glanced up in time to see Natalie passing her a look she was trying to read when a slab of sunlight pierced the latticework of tree boughs and crossed her vision; by the time she shielded her eyes, Natalie was closing her door.
A tiny flare of gold light on the steering wheel drew her attention and she looked at her left hand.
Her wedding ring.
Not wanting to wear a diamond to the prison, she’d taken off her engagement ring and put it in the hotel safe. It hadn’t occurred to her to remove her wedding ring before visiting Natalie.
Does he deserve to be forgiven? That depends on who he is now.
A sick feeling crawled through Casey’s stomach. That small, strange smile Natalie had been giving her. She had seen Casey’s wedding ring, and concluded the man in the photos was Casey’s husband.
Had she then…
Had she then pretended she didn’t recognize him—because Natalie was a kind-hearted woman who believed her attacker was now a good man who’d “turned himself around”? After all, Natalie didn’t know about his other crimes—or potential crimes.
There was nothing to do about it now. If that’s not what had happened, then going back and prodding Natalie further would surely tip her off, and she might make a false identification.
Casey drove to the end of the short, placid street, lined with dainty ranch homes festooned with colorful shutters, and turned a corner.
Seeing a wide patch of vivid green grass, she pulled over. Shifting the car into neutral, she retrieved her disposable phone and a small plastic Zip Lock bag from her tote.
“Detective Jarecki,” said the pleasant female voice.
“Hi, detective. It’s Miss Jones.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Jones. Will I still see you in an hour?”
“And you won’t tell me, won’t tell me if there is DNA?”
“As I said before, I’m afraid I can’t discuss that.”
“Here’s the thing. I think I made a mistake. I thought I knew something, but I’m not sure again. Can’t you just run the panel? I’ll send you everything.”
Six half-moon shaped wedges, nail clippings, ones she’d retrieved from Samuel’s bathroom wastebasket, were inside of the bag. She reverently rubbed her thumb over the soft bumps they made against the plastic.
“I can’t run a panel without probable cause,” said the detective.
“There’s the police sketch.”
“That’s not enough, Miss Jones. Not for a DNA panel. Every case I have, people point at a relative or someone they saw in the grocery store because they looked like a sketch. There needs to be enough evidence to bring to court to get a judge to okay it. Without it, even if there was matching DNA, it would be dismissed.”
“Is this a uniform procedure? All over the country?”
“Laws vary by state and I’m not an expert on all of them. Has this person ever been convicted of a felony?”
“No. Not that I could find anyway.”
“There are constitutional limits on what we can do. We’d need to discuss if there’s something the man did or said that makes you think he pertains to this case. That’s why you’re coming in. If you’re still coming.”
“I’m in a bind, detective. What he did or said could be untrue but work against him anyway. Even if it were true, he’d deny it now. I have nothing else. And he can afford the best lawyers.”
“Why don’t we chat? We’ll go out for coffee. This will be confidential.”
“But there’s no confidential. It could only be me. If I’m wrong, there are repercussions I can’t get into.”
“It sounds like you’re in a bad position.”
“One day, maybe, I’ll know for sure. I’m sorry if I wasted your time.”
“Not at all. That’s what I’m here for. If you change your mind, you’ll let me know?”
“I will. Thank you for understanding.”
She put the disposable phone away, and shook the bag out of the open window, watching the little half-moon clippings scatter into the cool country air.
Her phone, the real phone, pealed and Casey picked up. She saw his face. The face of the man she loved, the face of the man she would never quite know. And if she didn’t quite know him, then he knew her even less.
“Where are you?” Samuel asked.
“Driving back from Montkill. I wanted to see Maude one last time.”
“The rascal wants to say goodnight.”
She saw her baby’s chunky, alabaster cheeks, his fuzzy black hair, his big, dark eyes shuttering slowly and peacefully in a half-sleep.
“Goodnight, rascal,” she said.
After ending the call, she sat listening to her breathing, feeling the air surging in and out of her tender, milk-filled breasts. She’d have to find a rest stop and pump again.
