I Heard That Song Before (20 page)

I
did not find any mention in the file of the magazine Grace Carrington had been reading before her death, Nicholas Greco told Barbara Krause as he sat in her office.

“From what I understand, it had been thrown out,” Krause told him. “Grace had torn one page from it because she wanted to remember to order tickets to a one-woman show that had just opened on Broadway.”

“Yes, so I understand. I have met with the Hammonds, the couple who were at the dinner that night, and we talked about this.”

“We questioned them at the time,” Krause replied. “In their statements, they both confirmed that Grace had been drinking and that Peter arrived home and made a scene. The Hammonds left shortly after that. It’s just unfortunate that Philip Meredith did not tell us four years ago that Grace was involved with another man, even though she never told him who it was.”

To Greco it was obvious that Barbara Krause did not share his suspicion that Jeffrey Hammond had been the “other man” Grace had been planning to marry, and it was nothing that he intended to share with her. There was no need to drag Hammond into this. At least not now. His guess was that the man was in his own private hell if he believed that Peter Carrington had learned about the affair, and that knowledge might have contributed to his reason for killing his wife.

“Mrs. Hammond is absolutely positive that the magazine was on the coffee table when they left,” Greco told Krause. “I took the liberty of calling Mrs. Barr, the housekeeper, this morning. She distinctly remembers that she did
not
dispose of the magazine, and she says she and her husband went to their residence in the gatehouse before the Hammonds went home. In the morning, she was the one who found the body in the pool. She dialed 911 even before she woke Peter Carrington.”

“He would have had time to dispose of the magazine before the squad car got there, but what would be the point of doing that?” Krause asked. “It would be easy enough to get another copy of it. I don’t get the significance.”

Greco could see that the prosecutor was becoming irritated. He got to his feet immediately. “I must not detain you,” he said. “I simply wanted to be sure I had the facts straight.”

“Of course.” Krause stood up and reached out her hand. “Mr. Greco, you’ve pulled one rabbit out of the hat. I don’t mind telling you that we are following every possible lead to see if we can track down Grace Carrington’s lover. Even if we find him, his testimony won’t be enough to convict Carrington of her murder, but it certainly gives him a strong motive. The more we know about that situation, the better the chance we have of making Peter come clean, and negotiate a plea.”

This isn’t about who the lover was, Greco thought. It’s about the magazine. He had come to this office today for one reason only—to confirm the fact that the magazine had disappeared either just before or just after Grace Carrington had drowned.

I
t’s a time when Kay needs me most, yet she’s distancing herself from me, Maggie thought as she aimlessly puttered around the house. If only she’d listened to me and not married Peter Carrington in the first place. Thank God he’s in jail, where he can’t hurt her. It just made me sick to see the tape the cops made of him when he was outside the Althorps’ house, and especially the way he leaped up and attacked that police officer. I hope they put him away for the rest of his life.

It’s nine o’clock, Maggie thought. Kay’s an early-morning riser—I’ll give her a call. Yesterday when I phoned, the lawyers were there, but then she didn’t call me back later.

Heartsick at the distance growing between her and her granddaughter, Maggie dialed Kay’s cell phone. There was no answer. Maybe she’s with the lawyers again, she decided. I’ll try the house. This time Jane Barr answered. “Mrs. Carrington stayed in bed this morning,” she told Maggie. “I went upstairs to make sure she was all right, and she said she hadn’t felt well during the night. The lawyers aren’t going to be here today.”

“Tell her whether she likes it or not, I’m coming over for dinner,” Maggie said firmly.

The front doorbell began ringing as she replaced the receiver. Through the glass panel of the door she could see two men standing outside. When they saw her, both held up IDs identifying them as detectives from the prosecutor’s office.

Reluctantly, Maggie opened the door and invited them in. “Mrs. O’Neil,” the older detective began politely, “we understand that at the time Jonathan Lansing disappeared, the contents of his home were moved here. By any chance, were there any records or files from his office included in that move, and, if so, do you still have them?”

Maggie thought of her cluttered attic. “I gave away his clothes,” she hedged. “The furniture I used. It was better than mine, and after all, his daughter, Kay, was living with me. It made it a nicer home for her.” I wonder if they think I stole the furniture, she asked herself nervously. Maybe I should have paid taxes on it.

“Of course, we can understand that,” the younger detective said reassuringly. “Were there any business records or personal files belonging to Jonathan Lansing that you may have kept?”

“That’s the same thing Kay asked me about. There is one of those old three-drawer steel cabinets that was in the room Jonathan used as an office. It’s on the floor of the attic now with my old couch on top of it. Kay says she is going to come over and take a look through it, but I’ll have to get someone strong to move things around so that there’s room for the couch someplace else, and then he’ll have to stand the file upright.”

“If you’ll give us your consent to examine the contents of that file, we’ll be happy to place it where it’s convenient for Mrs. Carrington to go through it. You don’t have to consent, but we would like to see it.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that,” Maggie said.

She led the detectives upstairs, then apologized at the mess and the dust. “I always mean to get up here and get rid of things,” she explained, as, with minimal effort, they cleared the space around the file and righted it, “but you know how it is. There are some things you never get around to doing. Kay says I’m a pack rat, and she’s right.”

The detectives did not respond. Each man had taken a folder from the top drawer and was flipping through the contents.

With growing unease, Maggie watched them, wondering if she had done the right thing in letting them come up here. Maybe I should have checked with Kay, she thought. I don’t want her to have another reason to be upset with me. On the other hand, if Peter Carrington was the one who killed her father, and they find some proof here, she’d be crazy to waste another minute of her life worrying about him.

“Look at this,” the older detective said to his partner as he handed him a sheet of paper. It was a copy of a note and a landscaping sketch sent to Peter Carrington by Jonathan Lansing. The note read:

Dear Peter,

It seems a pity not to complete the project. As you probably know, your father and I discussed creating a simple plan for the grounds beyond the fence. Since I am no longer in his employ, and since I believe Mrs. Elaine Carrington does not care to have me in contact with your father, I wonder if you would be so kind as to pass on this design to him. I enclose the card of a landscaper I know who could execute this plan to your father’s specifications.

I have enjoyed our conversations very much, and I wish you well.

Jonathan Lansing

As the younger detective read the note, the older one looked at Maggie. “Never apologize for being a pack rat, Mrs. O’Neil,” he said.

C
onner Banks sat across the table from his client in the small room reserved for lawyer-inmate conferences in the Bergen County Jail. He had been the member of the legal team chosen to review Peter Carrington’s options with him.

“Peter, this is what we’re facing,” he said. “The good news is that while you’ve been a ‘person of interest’ in the death of your late wife, Grace, that is a separate issue. It will not be allowed to be mentioned at this trial since they can’t connect it to the earlier deaths. However, the fact that the remains of both Susan Althorp and Jonathan Lansing were found on the grounds of your estate means that the prosecution will attempt to try the cases together. Even so, the bottom line is that we think they will not be able to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.”

“What constitutes ‘reasonable doubt,’ given everything that is piling up around me?” Peter asked, quietly. “I was the last person to see Susan alive. Maria Valdez is going to testify that the shirt I swear I put in the hamper was never there, and that my father paid her to keep her mouth shut. Now you tell me that Kay’s father sent me a note with a landscaping design for the area beyond the fence, where Susan’s body was found. If I had been guilty of killing Susan, I would have been terrified, because executing that design would have meant her body
would
be found. That would give me reason to get rid of Jonathan Lansing. There’s no way out for me.”

“Peter, I agree that it looks bad, but listen to me. Somebody else may have intercepted that letter. They have no proof that you received it.”

“They have proof my father gave five thousand dollars to Maria Valdez.”

“Peter, it’s your word against hers that your dress shirt was in the hamper, and don’t forget she’s refuting her own previous sworn statement. Juries are skeptical of people who change their testimony. And yes, your father gave her a check, but we’ll line up other instances of his spontaneous generosity to show that he might have been sympathetic and was helping her because Maria told him her mother was dying.”

“The jury won’t believe that,” Peter said.

“Peter, just remember, we only need to make one juror uncertain of your guilt beyond a reasonable doubt to get a hung jury. If we can’t get an outright acquittal, I absolutely believe we
will
get that for you.”

“A hung jury—that’s not much to hope for.” Peter Carrington looked straight at his lawyer, glanced away, then, with an obvious effort, looked back at him. “I did not think I was capable of violence toward another human being,” he said, carefully choosing each word as he spoke. “What I did to that police officer makes me understand that simply isn’t true. Has Vince Slater told you that I assaulted him when I was about sixteen?”

“Yes, he has.”

“What will happen if, despite your best efforts, I do not get a hung jury, and I am not acquitted?”

“Peter, the prosecution would ask for and probably get two consecutive life sentences. You would never get out.”

“Suppose somehow they are able to tie me to Grace’s death. What would I get in that case?”

“That would undoubtedly be another life sentence. But Peter, there’s no way anyone is going to prove that you killed her.”

“Conner, give me some credit. There’s no such thing as ‘no way.’ Until now I have absolutely believed in my innocence. I’m not so sure anymore. I do know that I would never willingly harm another human being, but I did serious bodily harm to that cop the other night. I did the same thing years ago to Vince. Maybe I’ve done it in other instances, too.”

Conner Banks felt his mouth go dry. “Peter, you don’t have to answer this next question and think carefully before you do. Do you actually believe that, in an altered state of mind, you might have killed Susan Althorp and Jonathan Lansing?”

“I don’t know. The other night I thought I was looking for Susan’s body on the lawn of her parents’ home. I had to make certain that she was dead. Was that a dream, or was I reliving what happened? I’m not sure.”

Banks had seen Carrington’s expression on the faces of other clients, people who knew they were almost certainly facing a lifetime in prison.

“There’s more.” Peter’s voice lowered and became halting. “Did Kay tell you that the night we got home from our honeymoon, she saw me sleepwalking at the pool, and that I had my arm in the water, under the cover?”

“No, she did not.”

“Again, maybe it was just a nightmare, or maybe I was reenacting something that actually took place. I don’t know.”

“Peter, none of this will come out in court. We’ll make a case for reasonable doubt.”

“You can keep your reasonable doubt. I want my defense to be that if I committed those crimes, I was sleepwalking and unaware of what I was doing.”

Banks stared at him. “No! Absolutely not! There isn’t a prayer in hell that you wouldn’t be convicted with that defense. You’d be handing the prosecutor your head on a platter.”

“And I say there isn’t a prayer in hell that I won’t be convicted with the defense you’re planning. And even if there is, see it my way. My trial will get plenty of publicity. This is a chance to let the world understand that if you are cursed with sleepwalking, and unknowingly commit a crime, you may not be responsible.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“I have never been more serious in my life. I’ve had Vince look up the statistics for me. Under British and Canadian law, a crime committed during sleepwalking is called a ‘noninsane automatism.’ According to the laws in those countries, the deed does not make a man guilty unless his mind is guilty. If at the time of the offense there is an absence of mental control so that any action carried out was automatic, then in law the defense of automatism is possible.”

“Peter, listen to me. That may be true in British and Canadian law, but it doesn’t work here. I’d be a fool on a fool’s errand if I went to court with that defense. We have two cases in this country in which men were convicted of killing people they loved very much while sleepwalking. One man bludgeoned his wife to death, then threw her body in the pool. Another drove miles to his in-laws’ home. He was devoted to them, but he was also under great stress. He brutally beat his father-in-law and stabbed his mother-in-law to death. He woke up as he was driving home, went straight to the nearest police station, and told them that something terrible must have happened because he was covered in blood and had a vague memory of seeing a woman’s face.”