I nod to Gwendolyn.
“You’re wrong,” she says to me.
NEVER COME BACK, don’t ever return, an order, must obey-
Never come back, never set foot in Highland Woods, take the money, more if you want, don’t ever come back, no one can know-
The neighborhood looks different, some houses remodeled, some brand-new, nice neighborhood, Highland Woods-
Never come back. But there are exceptions. Like when Paul Riley visits Mrs. Bentley-now Mrs. Lake.
Leo passes her house, Mrs. Lake’s house now, used to be her sister‘s, a quick pass, then he parks at the bottom of the hill. The maze of streets is a loop, all roads leading to Browning Street at the bottom. He will wait for Riley here, parked at a meter, with a cup of coffee and a newspaper.
It has been an endless week. But today will be the end.
NATALIA LAKE STEPS BETWEEN Gwendolyn and me. “No, sweetheart, no-”
“Aunt Natalia.” Gwendolyn tries to move around Nat.
“No, honey-”
“Aunt Natalia. Aunt Natalia!” She takes Nat by the shoulders and looks at her squarely. “Aunt Natalia, I’m saying this. I know you want to protect Cassie’s memory, but it’s not worth this.”
After a momentary struggle, Nat finally relents, her posture easing. She walks past me, without a word or glance, toward the window.
I look back at Gwendolyn. In her long T-shirt and sweats, her sleep-flattened hair and tired eyes, there is an air of nakedness, candor, about her. I don’t speak, for fear of stopping the momentum. Gwendolyn has come to me. She is rolling down a hill now. Shelly, I realize, ignoring the ache in my chest, had been right about her: She would tell me eventually. It just took some prompting from me.
“You’re right about me,” Gwendolyn says to me, her voice free of any affect. “Harland is my biological father. My mother told me before she died. She hadn’t wanted to tell me, but she felt like I had a right to know.” She fixes on Natalia, who is now staring out the window, motionless. “She was so horrified by her pregnancy, initially, that she flew to France. To our place at Cap-Ferrat. She was planning, I think, to have-well, to end the pregnancy.”
I nod. Mia Lake changed her mind, obviously, decided against the abortion and gave birth to Gwendolyn on the French Riviera.
“I told Cassie about it,” she concedes. “When I was in town that summer. In hindsight, it wasn’t a nice thing-I shouldn’t have. I didn’t know what Cassie was dealing with at the time. I didn’t know any of that until it was too late.”
Until it was too late.
“You’re telling me that Cassie killed Ellie Danzinger,” I confirm.
It was how I figured it. After everything I heard last night, I couldn’t see any other way. But there are a few things I don’t know yet.
“We found out later,” Gwendolyn continues. “Cassie told us afterward. And, no, we didn’t say anything. We didn’t do anything. We just-well, I didn’t know what to do.”
“You left town,” I say. “The Wednesday of the murder spree.”
She nods. “I wasn’t the type-back then especially-I didn’t think I’d hold up under police questioning.” She takes a moment, her breathing escalated. “You understand, we knew when they found Ellie, they’d come find Cassie. They were best friends. And I didn’t want to have to answer any questions. I was just popping into town for a visit, anyway, so it would be perfectly natural for me to leave.”
I look back at Natalia, standing immobile by the window, then back to Gwendolyn. Tears threatening her eyes, her skin now a ghostly shade, she nevertheless seems to be relieved.
“And then what?” I say to Gwendolyn-really, to either of them.
Gwendolyn shakes her head, blinks away the moisture in her eyes. “Then, nothing. I left. Aunt Natalia and Cassie just held their breath and waited for the police to come. But they never did. So they went on with their lives, and then Cassie was murdered.”
I shake my head, like I’m still a few pieces short of the puzzle.
Gwendolyn shrugs. “Terry Burgos must have seen it happen. He was stalking Ellie, wasn’t he? He must have seen it happen. And then he killed Cassie because of it. I mean, you tell me, Mr. Riley. It’s anyone’s guess.”
Anyone’s guess? I think not. Not to the two women in this room, at least. But I’d like to hear the rest of this, anyway.
“What about Leo Koslenko?” I ask.
“He knew, too. Cassie told the three of us.”
I open my hands. “And?”
“And nothing.” She shrugs. “He didn’t do anything.”
“We don’t know why Leo’s doing what he’s doing now.” This from Natalia, who turns from the window. “In some way, we think he’s trying to protect Cassie.”
It’s an unsatisfactory explanation, but it’s not surprising. They know more than they’re saying, but I wasn’t expecting help from them on this point.
And I didn’t come here for this story. I came here to accomplish two things. One of those things, I achieved just by showing up. And the other, I might be close to acquiring.
“So my first act as special prosecutor,” I say, “is to formally acquit Terry Burgos of Ellie’s murder and identify Cassie as the killer.”
“Is that really necessary?” Nat approaches me. “Under the circumstances-”
“Under what circumstances?” I ask. “She planned a cold-blooded murder. It doesn‘t-”
“She didn’t plan anything!” Gwendolyn’s face becomes a glowing crimson. “She wasn’t some calculated killer. She saw her father come out of her best friend’s apartment, Mr. Riley. You can’t imagine anything so revolting, so disgusting-”
She breaks it off, covering her eyes with a hand. Natalia’s stoic façade begins to crumble.
I call on all my experience as a trial lawyer, trained to feign calm in the midst of surprise, taught to stifle emotion and maintain a cool front. My limbs begin to tremble. Sweat breaks out all over. I have to go. I have to get out of here. I don’t think I can even speak, over the surge of adrenaline coursing through me.
I walk away from them, toward the door. Natalia calls to me, “Please think about this, Paul,” or something like that. I can’t hear her anymore. I am overcome now by hope, by a promise so consuming I have to remind myself to put one foot in front of the other.
They’ve told me a lot, much of it lies or misdirection. But between the lines they have told me something much more important than what happened sixteen years ago.
Shelly might still be alive.
51
HERE HE COMES. Here he comes. He’s with us now. Back with us. He’s talked to Mrs. Lake now. She fixed it. Now he’ll fix it. Just like he did before.
Leo raises the newspaper as Riley’s car passes, turning onto Browning Street.
What did she tell him? Does he know everything?
What’s he going to do now?
Follow him now. But not too close. Wait and see.
WHAT DO I DO NOW? I move my car down Browning Street, unsure of my next step. The idea was that Koslenko might be following me. If my hunch about Natalia Lake was right-that she pulled the strings, with Koslenko as the puppet-and he saw me visiting her, he might think I am on his side now. That, plus the statements I made to the press last night at the police station-insisting that Terry Burgos killed the six Mansbury women-would have to be enough to convince him that I am his ally again, his comrade, in the cover-up.
Where is Shelly? Just asking the question, considering the possibility that I might be right about her, turns my stomach into a full-scale revolt.