Dark Truth (6 page)

They struggled with the ropes for nearly twenty minutes. The water was choppy and rough and made it difficult for the two women to secure the boat. When they finally succeeded, Regan patted Nina on the back.

“Thanks so much. I’d have been here all afternoon if I’d been by myself. I think we deserve a little something warming after that. I say brandy by the fire is called for. What do you say?”

“I say that sounds perfect.” Nina nodded, and followed Regan back up the wooden walk.

“Did I tell you that Mitch and I have gone in with two friends to start a winery?” Regan was saying.

“No, I don’t think you did.”

“A friend of mine from college owned a farm she was going to sell, and on it there was an old vineyard. Well, she started seeing a friend of Mitch’s— actually, she needed a private investigator to look into some old murders for her—I’ll tell you that story over dinner, if you’re interested. Anyway, the PI started reading up about growing grapes and making wine, and the next thing we knew, the four of us had thrown in together to start this vineyard. Lavender Hill Wines, we’re calling it. Though of course, there’s no wine yet . . .”

Regan continued to chat all the way back to the house, much to Nina’s relief. There’d be time later, or tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, to tell her about the professor who’d been tried and convicted as the Stone River Rapist.

S
even

The smell of coffee brewing roused Nina shortly before seven the next morning. She rose up on one elbow in the double bed in Regan’s guest bedroom and looked out the window. A light rain was falling and a dense mist lay over the marsh. From far out on the bay, she could hear the faint
chug-chug
of an old boat motor and, closer by, the
swish
of restless reeds stirring in the wind. She stretched her arms over her head and threw back the blankets. Her hostess was obviously up and busy in the kitchen. She should join her. Ten minutes later, she did.

“I was wondering if you were a late sleeper,” Regan said when Nina came into the kitchen. “Coffee’s on, there’s a cup on the counter for you. Sweeteners are in the cupboard right behind you— there’s an assortment there. Half-and-half is in the little pitcher next to the coffeepot. Help yourself.”

“Thanks. It smells wonderful.” Nina smiled as she poured herself a cup.

“I wasn’t sure if you were a big breakfast person, a no-breakfast person, or somewhere in between. So I made French toast and sausage, because that’s my favorite and I almost never bother to make it for myself. If you’d rather have eggs, I’d be happy to—”

“No, no. French toast is perfect. I never bother to do this for myself, either. What a treat.” Nina sipped her delicious coffee and sniffed at the sausage cooking on the stove. “Thank you so much for going to so much trouble.”

“It’s really no trouble. I just don’t bother to take the time to eat this well when I’m by myself. It just seems a waste of time to make one or two slices of toast, one or two pieces of sausage. It’s easier to grab a granola bar with my coffee and get to work.” Regan looked up from the frying pan where she was cooking two pieces of golden French toast. “You know how it is when you live alone.”

“I do.” Nina nodded.

“If you’d like to help, you could set the table. The plates are in the cupboard to your left, the flatware in the drawer next to the sink.”

“Sure.”

Nina placed her cup on the counter and proceeded to set the table. Regan chatted about the weather, the winery, Mitch. It wasn’t until they’d sat at the table and started eating that Regan asked, “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well. Thanks.” Nina smiled and wondered if Regan knew she was lying through her teeth. All she could think about was how she was going to approach Regan with the truth about her father. She couldn’t very well say,
So, Regan, you remember that professor we talked about last night—the one who was convicted of raping and murdering four students—did I mention that he was my father?

What did one say?

She needn’t have worried about how to broach the subject. Regan beat her to it.

“I didn’t sleep well at all,” Regan was saying as she helped herself to sausage. “I woke up at three this morning and could not fall back to sleep. Don’t you just hate when that happens?”

Nina nodded.

“So I came downstairs here, thinking I’d work a little. Turned on my computer, started tracking some research for the book you and I talked about when you were here the last time. I printed out a couple of articles, and was just about to turn off the computer when I started thinking about your story. Your professor.”

Nina stopped chewing, and set her fork quietly on the edge of her plate.

“Your father, Nina?” Regan asked gently.

“Yes.”

“You could have told me straight away.” When Nina started to protest, Regan assured her, “Of course I understand why that would have been hard for you. I’m not blaming you for not coming right out with it. I’m just saying, it would have been all right.”

“It’s something I never talk about. I’ve never told anyone about what happened in Stone River. No one.”

“You’ve never discussed it with anyone?” Regan’s eyes widened slightly.

“No one. How do you tell people that your father died a prisoner, after being convicted of such terrible things?”

“You were in college there at the time,” Regan stated. “The articles I found mentioned you only briefly, right after the time he was arrested, but I noticed there was no further mention of you throughout the proceedings.”

“I’d gone to live with my aunt—my mother’s sister—immediately after he was arrested. I hadn’t been back to Stone River until my stepmother died.”

“You didn’t keep in touch with her?”

“Not really.” Nina shrugged. “Birthdays and Christmases, she sent presents and cards, but I never reciprocated. I just wanted to excise that entire time of my life. I didn’t want any reminders. I just wanted to go on with my life.”

“And your aunt permitted you to do that?”

“She encouraged it.” Nina looked up and saw the look on Regan’s face. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. She didn’t like the fact that my father and mother had divorced, didn’t like the fact that my father remarried. Even after all those years, she still harbored resentment toward him, and toward Olivia. I think she believed that my father had had an affair with Olivia while he was still married to my mother. I don’t believe that was true. I don’t think my father even met Olivia until a long time after my parents were divorced, but I’ll never know for sure. My aunt believed what she wanted to believe. She was my mother’s older sister, and always felt very protective toward her. She was just as happy to have no contact with Olivia whatsoever.”

“And your father? Did you have any contact with him after his arrest?”

“Very little. We communicated only about my schooling and that sort of thing through his lawyer.” Nina sighed and looked out the window. “At the time, it was what I wanted. I can’t even begin to tell you how I felt during all that. I was shocked . . . horrified . . . humiliated . . . I can’t put all of my feelings into words. My father was always somewhat distant from me. We were never really close, you understand, but I never, never would have thought for one minute that he’d be capable of . . . all those horrible things he’d been accused of doing. He may have been remote from me, but I’d never seen him act mean or violent, ever. I just couldn’t believe it.”

“You felt betrayed by him.”

“Oh, yes. Totally.” Nina shook her head from side to side. “It’s one thing to understand that you and a parent aren’t particularly close, it’s something else entirely to find out that they have committed unspeakable crimes. You just want to run away and hide and never see them again.”

“And that’s what you did.”

“What would you have done?”

“I don’t know,” Regan answered honestly. “I’ve always had such a close relationship with my father, I can’t imagine how things could have been different. I’ve never been in the situation you were in. But I hope you don’t think I’m judging you, or your actions. I’m not. You did what was right for you at the time. No one has the right to second-guess that, all these years later.”

“And if he was innocent?”

“Then you’ll make your peace with him any way you can, in this life or in the next. But there’s a good chance he’d be more understanding of you than you’re giving him credit for.”

“I didn’t know him well enough to know how he’d react.”

“Then I would guess the blame lies with both of you on that score.” Regan leaned across the table and squeezed Nina’s arm. “Don’t beat yourself up, Nina.”

“What would you do? I mean, now. If you were me, what would you do?”

“I’d find out if he was telling the truth. I’d get my hands on every report, I’d talk to everyone I could find who was connected with the investigation. I’d look at the evidence upside down and sideways, and then I’d see if there was any chance that someone else had committed the murders.” Regan leaned back in her chair.

“Then that’s what I’ll do. I’ll go to the Stone River Police Department and I’ll ask for copies of all the reports. That’s step one, right?”

“Right. See what the evidence was against your father, let’s start with that. Then we’ll see if there’s any way that your stepmother could have been involved. He must have had a reason for writing that letter, Nina. Let’s see if we can find out what it was.”

“We?”

“Well, yeah. You don’t think I’d turn an amateur loose on a case like this, do you?” Regan smiled. “Now, there’s no time like the present. Let’s get dressed, and drive over to Stone River. I’d like to take a look at those reports myself . . .”

The Stone River Police Department was housed in an 1892 carriage house that had once belonged to the family that had settled the town and incorporated it. Recently renovated by the local historic society with a combination of public and private funds, the building also housed the small town library and a community room where various groups, from the civic association to the budding arts alliance, could meet. The building was white clapboard and had enough gingerbread to decorate a dozen homes on North Main Street.

“Way to intimidate the criminal element,” Regan commented as they walked under a heavily carved arch to get to the front door.

“I’m surprised no one’s planted climbing roses over the doorway.” Nina grinned. “But frankly, being brought into any police department in handcuffs—fancy arches or not—would intimidate me.”

Regan held the door and the two women entered the reception area.

“May I help you, ladies?” a uniformed officer asked from behind a large polished oak desk.

“We wanted to get some reports on an old case.” Nina spoke up, having been prodded from behind by Regan.

“How old?” the officer asked.

“Sixteen years,” Nina said without blinking, as Regan had instructed her.

Look him straight in the eye, and act as if you expect your request to be fulfilled,
she’d told Nina.

“The name of the case?”

“The People of Maryland versus Stephen J. Madden,” Nina said.

“You a reporter?” A voice from behind startled both women.

“No,” Nina said as she turned around.

There was something vaguely familiar about the man who stood in the doorway. Dressed casually in Dockers and a sport jacket, he was tall and fair-haired, with broad shoulders and cynical pale blue eyes. Cop’s eyes, Regan told her later. Eyes that had seen just about everything.

“May I ask why you’re interested in that case?” he asked as he came closer.

“May I ask what business it is of yours?” Nina replied.

“Just curious, that’s all,” he told her.

“Detective Powell, you had a call from the medical examiner on the body that was fished out of the river over the weekend.” The uniformed officer handed the man in the sport jacket a note.

“Thanks.” He tucked the paper into his breast pocket and turned back to Nina. “Was there anything in particular you were looking for in regard to the Stone River Rapist?”

Nina noticeably flinched.

“We’d like to see all the files.” Regan stepped forward. “Actually, we’d like a copy of them.”

“You’d have to come back for that.” The uniform opened the top desk drawer and took out a slip of paper. He handed it to Nina, saying, “Just fill this out. Then, when we locate the files and have someone who has the time to copy them, we’ll give you a call.”

“We don’t mind doing the copy work ourselves,” Regan told him.

“We don’t hand over our files to the general public, ma’am. If you want the files copied, it has to be done by a member of the police department. Right now, we’re a little busy. But if you’ll fill out the form, we’ll call you when they’re ready, and you can come in with a check and pay for your copy.”

“It doesn’t look like I have much choice, does it?” Nina muttered and began to fill out the form.

“If there’s something in particular you need, I’ll be happy to help you if I can,” the detective told her.

“You have good photocopy skills?” Nina asked.

“Good as anyone else’s,” he told her. “But in this case I do have an advantage.”

“What’s that?” Nina asked.

“I was there,” he said.

“You were . . . ?”

“There when they arrested Stephen Madden, yes. There when they found his last two victims. So you can understand why I’d be curious as to why someone is taking a look at the case now, after all these years.”

“Stephen Madden was my father.” Nina’s chin rose just slightly, as if defying him to comment.

“I see.” He appeared to study her for a long moment. “I thought there was something familiar about you.”

She raised a questioning eyebrow.

“The day your father was arrested, you fainted in the lobby of the building that housed the English department.”

“I did.” She nodded slowly. She’d all but forgotten. “How did you know that?”

“I’m the cop who caught you on the way down.”

E
ight

Wes Powell had remained hidden behind his dark glasses for the long moment it took him to place Nina Madden. In retrospect, he realized that, in all likelihood, he’d not have recognized her as the panicked young woman who’d collapsed in his arms on that cold February afternoon in 1989. That girl had had long black hair, deep green eyes that had been filled with terror, and the look of innocence about to be lost. The woman who stood before him now wore an air of maturity, of authority. The hair was shorter, the innocence long gone, but the eyes were the same. Deep green, long black lashes, the panic replaced with a wariness. Looking at her now, he could see the young girl she’d been.

He had remembered her because that day was so strong in his memory. He’d been on the force for exactly ten days when the last victim of the Stone River Rapist had been found facedown in her bed in her tiny off-campus apartment. Hers had been the first dead body he’d gotten up close and personal with, and he’d never forgotten. Just as he’d never forgotten being in Celestine Hall when the detectives had led Dr. Stephen Madden through the lobby, hands cuffed behind his back.

Wes had thought at the time that he’d never seen anyone so defiant. In the years since, he’d not seen anyone who’d worn the mantle of guilt as completely as Professor Madden had that day.

And now, here was Madden’s daughter, the pretty young girl he’d reached out to catch as she crumbled to the floor.

An uneasy thought occurred to him.

“Any particular reason you’re wanting to look at those reports now?”
Please God, don’t let her be taken with the notion that her old man might have been innocent.

Stephen Madden’s daughter exchanged a glance with the woman who accompanied her, then looked at Wes and said, “I’m thinking about writing a book about my father.”

“A book,” he said flatly. Of course. Didn’t everyone want to write a book these days?

“Detective . . . Powell, was it?” The Madden woman’s friend was petite and had a mass of light auburn curls that framed her pretty face. She smiled and extended her hand. “I’m Regan Landry. I write true crime, and am currently looking into the Stone River Rapist story. Ms. Madden has kindly offered to assist me.”

“Landry.” Wes nodded. Of course he knew the name. “Josh’s daughter.”

“You knew my father?”

“We’d met on several occasions. He was quite the character.”

“That he was.”

“So, about those reports,” Madden’s daughter reminded him.

“Sure.” Wes sighed. He was late for a meeting with his chief; he’d been in Baltimore for the past thirty-six hours trying to connect the dots on a case that had been driving him crazy for the past three weeks, but he’d have to play nice. Regan Landry was a VIP, and he’d have to treat her like one. “I’ll be happy to have the files brought out from storage and copied, but I’m afraid I can’t promise it will be today. A lot of the old files were moved about five years ago, and it may take some time to locate them.”

“That’s fine. Just call and let me know when it’s ready. My name is Nina Madden, by the way. Let me give you my cell phone number. I just realized I only put my office and home numbers on the form I filled out.” She searched in her purse for a small leather case that held business cards. On the back, she wrote her number.

“I’ll make sure it’s taken care of.” Wes glanced at the front of the card.
Nina E. Madden, Senior Editor. Griffin Publishing, New York, New York.

“Thank you, Detective. I appreciate your help.” There was a trace of coolness in Nina’s smile.

“My pleasure.” Wes held the door for the two women.

“Wes, the chief . . .” Janice Mayfield, the sole woman detective on the force, stepped into the hallway.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m coming.” Wes looked over his shoulder at the desk sergeant. “Would you mind putting in the request for all the files on the Madden case? You can have them delivered to my office.”

“You gonna be copying them yourself, then?”

Wes flashed a dark look.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” the sergeant muttered as Wes closed the door behind him.

“What do you think?” Nina asked after she and Regan had gotten into Regan’s Land Rover. “Do you think we’ll ever see those files?”

“No question,” Regan assured her. “He’s been around long enough to know how to play the game.”

“What’s the game?”

“We get what we asked for, or I go over his head,” she said. “I don’t usually like to say it this way, but the Landry name does carry a lot of weight in law enforcement. Dad had a tremendous readership among cops, coast to coast. He was very much pro-law, and they all knew it. He’d do book signings at small stores in small towns all across the country, and the place would be mobbed with cops. Same thing in the cities. They shared a very tight relationship. So I am not the least bit concerned about whether we’ll get the files. It’s simply a matter of when.”

“I’m looking forward to going through them.” Nina paused to reflect for a moment, then added, “At least, I think I am.”

“It’s not going to be pretty, I should warn you. You’re going to see and read a lot of things you might wish you’d skipped.” Regan slanted a sideways glance at Nina. “You know, I could always look through the files first, if you’d like. I’ve gone through countless police files. It takes a lot to rattle me.”

“Thanks, Regan, I appreciate the offer. But I think I need to do this myself.” Nina fell silent.

“You’ll read some things about your dad that might upset you.”

“I’ve been upset about my dad for almost half my life,” Nina said softly, staring straight ahead.

“This will be different. There will be reports in there detailing his relationships with all of these women. There will be statements that will be very upsetting to you.”

“I understand.”

“Well, just keep in mind that you can always count on me. If you want to talk things over, if you have any questions about things that don’t seem right . . .” Regan’s voice trailed away.

“I’m sure I’ll have questions. I’m sure we’ll have lots to talk about. And actually, if we’re going to try to piece this thing together with an eye toward proving or disproving my father’s allegations, you’re going to have to go through it all yourself. I’m sure you’ll pick out things that aren’t obvious to me. I’ve had no experience reading police reports, whereas you’ve been reading them for years.”

“Hey, when other kids were reading Golden Books, I was reading autopsy reports and witness statements at my father’s knee.”

“I could almost believe that.” Nina smiled.

“Well, just keep in mind that you’re allowed to skip things. Don’t feel you have to read the entire file.”

“I know. Thanks.”

A few minutes later, Nina said, “You’re right about one thing. I’m not looking forward to reading in-depth accounts of my father’s relationships with these girls.”

“That’s going to be tough,” Regan said softly.

“For me, personally, that whole older man–young girl thing has always been creepy. Throw in the fact that the old man is my father, and it raises the
ick
factor to new heights.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine. I often wondered if my father had any relationships with any of the women he knew, after my mother died. If he did, he never gave any indication.”

“You think he kept them from you?”

“My dad never was much for secrets.” Regan shook her head. “He always liked things right out there on the table.”

“Still, you’re wondering about it.”

“I am. There was a woman named Dorothea who used to call the house from time to time. Dad would take the call in his office and close the door. I always wondered what was going on there.”

“You think they got together when he was doing book tours?”

“I don’t know when he would have. I was usually with him.” Regan smiled. “It just always made me curious. It’s sort of intriguing, thinking about your parents having secret lives.”

“
Intriguing
isn’t exactly the word I’d choose right now.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, I can’t believe I said that.” Regan’s face went scarlet. “I’m so sorry. Of all the thoughtless things to say . . .”

“It’s okay.” Nina smiled in spite of herself. Regan was the last person on earth who’d deliberately try to make anyone feel embarrassed or self-conscious.

“I think I’ll just shut up for a while now.”

“No need. Really,” Nina assured her. “We’ve beaten that horse to within an inch of its life. We’ll deal with whatever’s in the files once we have them. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Let’s talk about the ice cream sundaes right up the road here at Harry’s,” Regan said. “There’s a little art gallery in the back room. Maybe you can find something to brighten up that little office of yours back in New York. At the very least, the hot fudge is homemade, and to die for.”

“You’re on. And while we’re eating, you can tell me more about this shopping outlet mecca I keep seeing advertised on the billboards around here.”

“Rehoboth, Delaware.” Regan smiled knowingly. “Just the right distance for a road trip. How does tomorrow sound?”

“Tomorrow sounds wonderful,” Nina said, relieved to shift the spotlight from herself and her father’s case onto something less dark and serious, something fun.

The way Nina saw it, the next few weeks promised precious few light moments. She might as well smile while she still could.