Last Day (13 page)

“We are investigating every lead,” Reid said and thanked them for their time.

As he drove away, he thought about the Waterstons. They seemed like a long-married couple, comfortable with each other. Scotty seemed very maternal and kind, obviously devastated over Beth’s murder. Was something else driving her emotions? Reid’s instinct told him there was some kind of trouble in paradise. Scotty had made that crack about trust between couples and Nick running every day; did he have something to hide? Was that why Scotty drank wine so early?

You never knew what went on behind a family’s closed doors. Even in pretty, affluent, seemingly picture-perfect Black Hall, people could be hiding ugly truths. Heading toward a local restaurant to meet the next witness, he mulled over what Scotty had said: “We keep each other’s secrets.”

Reid wondered what other secrets of Beth’s she was keeping.

13

While he drove to meet Leland Ackerley, Reid considered the issue that had been bothering him since seeing Tom yesterday: that he had an ax to grind with Pete Lathrop. Tom had been right to question his objectivity. Caring about the sisters, keeping an eye on them, had given him too much information about Pete and the way he had treated Beth.

Now, considering the way the time line was shaping up, and Pete having had no obvious opportunity, Reid had to rethink his theory. He wasn’t supposed to be emotionally involved in his cases, but he couldn’t help the fact he had a pit in his stomach: if not Pete, who? He really needed to hear from the forensic examiner and find out whether Beth had been raped. Maybe there really was a stranger.

Still, he had to rule Pete out. Of all the crew, he was most interested in interviewing Leland Ackerley. The other guys were casual acquaintances of Pete’s, but according to Miano, who had taken an initial statement from Ackerley on the dock in Menemsha, he had known Pete the longest and had actually attended school with him.

Reid had arranged to meet him at the Bee & Thistle, a Black Hall restaurant halfway between New York and Boston. Ackerley was traveling from his studio in Tribeca to Boston to meet with someone at the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Arriving ten minutes early, Reid parked in the curved driveway in the shade of a massive oak tree and then googled Ackerley’s name.

Leland Ackerley owned a small company that built high-end stringed instruments, which, as Scotty Waterston had just said, were works of art themselves. His work was so sought after there was a seven-year waiting list. He had supplied acoustic guitars to James Taylor and Mary Chapin Carpenter, mandolins to top bluegrass artists, a cello to Yo-Yo Ma, and a violin for a soloist with the London Philharmonic, among others. He played guitar and occasionally sat in with the clients whose instruments he built.

It was clear that Ackerley was a top businessman as well as a talented musician. After reading some articles, Reid formed the opinion that he was serious and accomplished, two things Pete Lathrop was not.

Ackerley arrived right on time. Reid watched him park a vintage black Jaguar E-type and get out. He was tall with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. He wore black Ray-Ban sunglasses that he removed as he entered the restaurant. Reid followed him in.

“Thanks for coming,” Reid said, meeting up with him in the bar area. They shook hands and sat at a table next to the window.

“Well, I want to help, any way I can,” Ackerley said. “Beth was a good friend.”

“You knew her a long time?”

“Through Pete, yes. I was in their wedding.”

The waitress came over, and both men ordered iced tea.

“You went to high school with him?” Reid asked.

“Boarding school in Rhode Island. Saint George’s.”

“You’ve stayed close all this time?”

Ackerley paused. “Yes,” he said.

But to Reid, he didn’t sound convincing. Reid waited.

“I wouldn’t say
close
,” Ackerley said. “We’re very different. But for the most part we’ve stayed in touch since then.”

“I’ve heard that you’re the reason Pete was invited along on the sailing trip.”

“Well, that’s true.” Ackerley stared out the window for a second. “It sounds terrible to say, but I feel sorry for him. Or I did . . . till recently.”

“Why?”

“Back in school, he wanted so badly to fit in. He tried really hard, and the harder he tried, the more certain guys smelled blood in the water. They’d mention lower school at Collegiate when they knew Pete was ashamed of going to parish school in Providence. Someone would mention an upcoming vacation skiing in Chile or sailing in Antigua, knowing Pete was going to spend his washing floors at a gym.”

“You were one of those guys, mean to him?”

Ackerley shook his head. “I liked the way Pete hung in there. He didn’t quit. Some people bet he wouldn’t come back after the first Thanksgiving break, but there he was. I respected him for that. He tries really hard at whatever he does. My family invited him sailing with us one winter vacation, and everyone liked him. He turned out to be a great sailor.”

“And you’ve kept it up all these years?”

“Yes,” Ackerley said. “A bunch of us get together to go out every summer, and I make sure he’s invited.”

“This year’s trip—you picked him up at his house?”

Ackerley nodded. “I left the city early, drove straight to his house, and we went on from there.”

“And you saw Beth?”

Ackerley frowned, staring down at the table. The waitress delivered their iced teas. He took a long gulp and swirled the ice in the glass for a few seconds before looking at Reid.

“No, I didn’t see her.”

“Okay.”

“But she called goodbye from upstairs,” Ackerley said.

“Did Pete go up after that?” Reid asked. Now he wondered how long it would take for Pete to smash Beth’s head in, strangle her with her panties. Could he have cut
Moonlight
from its frame then too? How
long before Ackerley would get impatient? And wouldn’t he hear sounds of a struggle? It seemed like a stretch.

“No, he did not go up after that,” Ackerley said. “He said he had already kissed her goodbye. He was ready to get on the road.”

“Got it. Was he ever out of your sight? Even for a few minutes?”

“Not once.”

“Let’s go back to Beth calling down from upstairs,” Reid said. “What did she say?”

Ackerley looked out the window again, then finished his iced tea. The waitress returned with a refill. Reid hadn’t touched his. He sat there staring at Ackerley, who seemed involved in some sort of internal debate. Reid waited for him to speak.

“I wouldn’t lie for him,” Ackerley said.

That got Reid’s adrenaline going. He watched Ackerley fidget with his spoon. “Did he ask you to?”

“Look, as I sit here right now, I believe I heard her voice. But . . . I didn’t remember that right away. After we knew she died, I mean. We were rushing out of the house, like I said; Pete was so anxious to get going. And—I never would have thought it would be the last time. I wouldn’t have necessarily registered it.”

“Okay,” Reid said, nodding. “That makes sense. You were in a hurry.”

“Yeah, we were.”

“So,” Reid said, keeping his voice steady. “If you didn’t remember or register hearing Beth right away, how did that change?”

“Pete keeps reminding me she called down the stairs.”

“Reminding you,” Reid said, and now his heart was beating out of his chest. “So it might not have happened? He’s coaching you to alter your recollection?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Why didn’t she come downstairs, by the way?”

“Beth was in bed. She had edema in her legs.”

“Complications from the pregnancy,” Reid said.

“Exactly. So it makes total sense she wouldn’t come down to see us off. Pete said she wanted to get outside, back into the garden. She had been out earlier and gotten overheated. The day was so hot and muggy.”

That jibed with what Scotty had said.

“So Pete talked her out of it—he was afraid she’d get heatstroke. And that’s why she stayed in bed, didn’t come downstairs to see us off. But she did call down.”

“And what did she say?” Reid repeated.

“‘Have a great trip, Lee! Love you, Pete!’” Ackerley said.

“Did you hear that or not?” Reid asked.

“Pretty sure,” Ackerley said.

“Okay,” Reid said. “What about on the boat?”

“He was worried about her. We all understood—it didn’t seem strange or out of character. He’s a caring guy. He had messed up his marriage, and he was trying to put it back together.”

“What about his clothes?” Reid asked.

“His
clothes
?”

“What was he wearing on board?”

Ackerley gazed outside, into the branches of the big oak tree as if trying to remember. “I didn’t really notice.”

“Long sleeves, short sleeves?”

“I have no idea,” Ackerley said. Then, “Wait, hang on.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and began scrolling through.

“What have you got there?” Reid asked.

“I know, the other detective said you wanted our photos, but I didn’t have any of Pete then. Someone texted this to me late last night—a guy we ran into on Nantucket. His band was going to be playing at the Chicken Box. I made his guitar, and he wanted us to come by for a set, but we were taking off. He wanted a shot of me playing the guitar.”

Ackerley handed Reid the phone, and Reid examined the photo. The men were lined up on the ferry’s deck, with Leland Ackerley holding
the guitar, everyone smiling. The sun was bright, glinting off the water. Everyone but Pete was in T-shirts. Pete wore that same long-sleeved sun protection shirt he had had on when Reid had met him at Menemsha.

“Looks like Pete was cold,” Reid said carefully.

“Well, there was a breeze—it can get chilly, especially if you’ve had too much sun.”

“I wonder why he was the only one,” Reid said.

“I don’t know,” Ackerley said.

“Did you notice scratches on his arms? The backs of his hands? At any time did he go swimming—did you see him with his shirt off? Scratches on his neck?”

“No,” Ackerley said. “Not at all.” He paused. “Look, I know what you’re getting at. I didn’t see any scratches. He’s innocent. Why aren’t you looking for the person who stole that painting? The moon one? That’s who you should be after.”

“We’re following all leads,” Reid said.

“I mean, don’t you know what happened to Beth when she was young? All for that painting?”

“Yes,” Reid said. “We’re aware.” He paused for a few seconds. “Did you know he and Beth were having problems?”

“Of course,” Ackerley said. “Pete told me.”

“At the beginning, when I asked if you were close, you said you felt sorry for him. And you added
until recently
. What happened recently?”

“Maybe I didn’t put it right,” Ackerley said. “In fact, maybe I should have started feeling even sorrier for him. He screwed things up with Beth.”

Reid waited for him to go on.

“Nicola, the affair. Then having a kid with her. Jesus.”

“So, you’re saying it was hard on Pete?”

“Of course. He fell in love. He’s a middle-aged idiot who fell for a grad student. And he ruined his marriage.” Ackerley shook his head. “He couldn’t get out of his own way, just kept compounding his mistakes.”

Reid wanted him to say more about the mistakes, but Ackerley pushed back his chair and stood up. He pulled his sunglasses from his pocket and put them on, signaling that the interview was over.

“I have to get going,” he said. “Good luck finding who did it.”

Reid paid the bill and walked outside, caught up with Ackerley as he was unlocking the Jag.

“Listen,” Ackerley said. “Pete felt really bad about hurting Beth and Sam, wrecking the marriage, but it wasn’t all his fault.”

“In what way?” Reid asked.

“I loved Beth. But she never gave Pete any credit. He might not have grown up in the art world, but he caught on right away. He’s a member of Mensa, you know?”

“I’ve heard,” Reid said, trying not to roll his eyes.

“Well, he could have run that gallery like a real business instead of, to be honest, a family hobby. That’s all it was to Beth. A way of showcasing her family’s collection. She was all about coddling artists, not making money. Not turning a profit.”

“How did she coddle artists?”

“You know, they’re all so sensitive. A little crazy. Suffer for their art, you know? Pete would see her turning herself inside out, paying them more than their paintings were worth. Getting taken advantage of. She’d send them to the doctor if they were sick, including therapy in at least one case. She even paid for a sculptor to have a root canal. She’d get too involved with them.”

“Is that what Pete told you?”

“Well, yes,” Ackerley said, his brow furrowed. “But it was pretty obvious to anyone who knew her. She got more wrapped up in the artists than she was in her husband. Poor Pete.”

Reid looked at Ackerley’s troubled expression. Whether Pete was the killer or not, he was a manipulator. Guys like him wanted the world to feel sorry for them.

“Thanks for your time,” Reid said, handing him his card. “If you think of anything, don’t hesitate to call. And please text me that photo.”

“Yeah,” Ackerley said. He started the car. The engine gave a throaty roar as he pulled out of the parking lot. Within twenty seconds, Reid’s phone buzzed: Ackerley had texted the photo.

Reid drove up the I-95 entrance ramp, merging onto the highway and hitting normal summer-in-Southeastern-Connecticut traffic. As soon as he could, he sped up to eighty miles per hour and headed toward his office to meet Pete. He knew a lot more about him than he had at their first encounter, on the dock in Menemsha. He wasn’t sure what it added up to, but it made him all the more interested to hear what Pete would have to say.

14

“I want to take a polygraph,” Pete said the instant Reid walked into the lobby of the Major Crime Squad’s offices in Walboro. He was wearing pressed khaki pants and, as always, a long-sleeved shirt. He looked perpetually suntanned and windblown.

“You do?” Reid asked, surprised by the statement.

“Yes, absolutely,” Pete said. “Put this to rest so you can start looking for the person who really killed Beth.”