“There won’t be another trial, because I won’t testify,” she said firmly. There was no whine in her voice. No indecision.
“Of course, there’ll be another trial. You’re just upset.”
She shook her head and looked at him. Her eyes did not waver.
“I know what it’s like to want to die, remember? To feel like there’s nothing left. Now I have to live the rest of my life knowing I made Bobby feel like that because of you, Roy. You used me because you knew I’d do anything to keep you, but I’m through now.”
She opened the door and got out of the car. He followed her up the path, catching her at the entrance to the apartment house.
“Esther,” he started, taking hold of her arm. She broke free and he grabbed her again. This time she turned toward him. Her eyes were filled with hate.
“Don’t ever touch me. Don’t ever come near me. If you do, I’ll tell everyone what you did to make me kill Bobby. Everyone. How you kissed me and made me kneel. I’ll fill the papers with it. I see you, Roy. I see you. Don’t you ever come near me or call me or I’ll make everyone see what you are.”
The door slammed shut. He saw her walk away through the glass. He stood on the path staring, even after she was gone, trying to think of what he would do next.
PART SIX. HEARTSTONE
Epilogue
Caproni looked through the swirling sheets of snow for a street sign that would tell him how close they were to the Hotel Cordova. He saw none. The car skidded on a patch of ice and Louis Weaver grabbed the door handle for support. Caproni settled back in his seat and listened to the metronomic swish of the windshield wipers.
There had never been a second trial. Esther Pegalosi had retracted her testimony and the charges against Billy Coolidge had been dismissed. Philip Heider did not care. He had won his party’s nomination for State Representative and, later, the general election. Now he was a United States Senator.
Mark Shaeffer had not suffered either. The Murray-Walters case had made him one of the best-known criminal attorneys in the state and he had parleyed the publicity into one of the most lucrative practices in the state shortly after he divorced his first wife. Shaeffer rarely touched a criminal case now, concentrating instead on corporate and tax work.
Esther Pegalosi had moved out of state soon after the trial ended and Caproni had heard nothing about her since. Billy Coolidge had served the rest of his prison term and had been shot to death in a half-empty parking lot shortly after his release. Traces of cocaine had been found on the body and there had been some talk about a drug ripoff. The crime had never been solved.
And Roy Shindler. There had been rumors after Esther left town. No one had ever substantiated them. Shindler was still on the force, but he had changed after the Murray-Walters case. He was still good at his work, but he no longer seemed to care. The intensity that had characterized him was gone. Caproni had used him as a witness several times in the past and spoken to him on business on many occasions, but in all those years since the trial Shindler had never once mentioned the Murray-Walters case.
Caproni closed his eyes and reviewed the cast of characters again. There was only one he had not covered: Albert C. Caproni, the youngest elected district attorney in the history of Portsmouth. Would Bobby Coolidge have taken his life if he had gone to Judge Samuels with the information he had? For a while Caproni had deluded himself into believing that he had acted the way he had because he did not want a murderer to go free because of a hasty judgment. But he knew better. What Heider and Shindler had done was wrong whether or not Coolidge was guilty. They had destroyed evidence. That was a criminal and unethical act. He should have gone to the judge, but he hadn’t and he knew now that he hadn’t because of selfish reasons having to do with his own career. He had been afraid that he would lose his job. It was that simple. So he had taken the middle road when faced with the greatest moral decision of his life. And a man had died.
The Hotel Cordova bore a faint resemblance to the Cedar Arms. As Caproni climbed the stairs to Heartstone’s room he felt the same chill he had experienced those long years before when he had walked up the poorly lit staircase to meet William Heartstone that first time.
Louis Weaver opened the door to the room and stood aside to let Caproni and Pat Kelly enter. The odors of disease and death filled the air. The shades were drawn and darkness added to the funereal atmosphere. Heartstone was asleep and Caproni could not make out his features in the dark.
“Willie?” Louis whispered when the door was closed and the shades raised. Caproni found it hard to believe that the man on the bed was still alive. He could almost see the skull beneath the skin. The gnarled hands that so pathetically clutched the soiled blankets looked paper thin.
Heartstone coughed and his eyes opened. It took a moment for them to focus. Then a smile suffused Heartstone’s ravaged features.
“You’ve come,” he said in a voice that was barely a whisper.
Caproni pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and leaned close to Heartstone. He started the tape recorder.
“Willie, how did you remember?”
Willie smiled.
“The card,” he rasped as a fit of coughing shook him. He motioned toward Weaver and Louis drew a stained and crumpled business card out of his pocket. It was the card Caproni had given to Heartstone on the evening they had first met. Caproni was astonished.
“You kept it? All these years?”
“As many as received Him to them gave he the power to become the children of God.”
Willie’s features were serene. He held out his hand. The hand moved with great difficulty. It shook when Caproni took hold of it.
“Tell me, Willie. Who killed Elaine Murray?”
“The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.”
“Tell me, Willie.”
Tears welled up in the dying man’s eyes. Caproni knew that Heartstone was not that much older than he was, yet he could have been one hundred.
“Tell me,” he repeated softly.
“Ralph done it. We had her so many days, then Ralph got tired.”
It took a great effort for Heartstone to speak and he lapsed into another coughing fit. Caproni wondered if he would last until the doctor arrived.
“Tired, Willie? What do you mean?”
“Feedin’ her. Carin’ for her, what little we done.”
He began to cry again.
“It’s all right now, Willie. Just tell me.”
“He killed her and we left her by the road.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. It was after New Year’s.”
“Willie, did you know a man named Eddie Toller?” Willie looked confused.
“A man you sold Elaine to for sex.”
“There was so many,” Willie sobbed. He grasped Caproni’s hand tightly. “Will I be saved? I sinned so long. I don’t want to burn in hell.”
“If you tell me everything, God will forgive you, Willie. Now tell me about Toller.”
“We sold her to so many. I don’t remember. She begged us not to at first, but we beat her and starved her and soon she lost her spirit.”
Willie was overcome again. Caproni let him cry and leaned back, exhausted.
“Then Bobby Coolidge was innocent all along,” he said.
“No! Guilty! Sinful!”
The words were Heartstone’s and the voice was filled with such power that it shocked everyone in the room.
“But you said…”
“‘He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there was no truth in him.’ Innocent?” Heartstone laughed, the cruelty of that laugh burning like ice in the stillness of the death room. “Who do you think sold her to us?”
Elaine Murray had been crying ever since they had dropped Esther in front of her house. Billy had grabbed Esther by the throat and had said something to her in a voice too low for Bobby to hear. But Bobby could guess, from the look on her face, what he had said. Esther was very drunk and very scared and Bobby knew that she would keep quiet, if for no other reason than fear of implicating herself in what had happened that night.