Original Sin (70 page)

He wiped his hands on his handkerchief and Tess could tell that his patience was wearing thin.

‘Miss Garrett,’ he sighed, ‘it’s our job to find out the truth and to bring people to justice and I spent my whole career trying to do that. But sometimes we go looking for things and they just ain’t there.’

Tess nodded. ‘I appreciate that, Mr Carson,’ she said, ‘but it’s also my job to find out the truth, too. I have to know. If you’ve read the papers, you’ll understand just how much is at stake.’

Carson began to massage his neck. ‘Sure, I got that. But you gotta understand that Olivia Martin was a high–profile woman and this case was investigated properly. She wasn’t reported missing for over thirty–six hours, and missing people who aren’t found in the first forty–eight hours are very rarely found at all.’

‘So do you think she’s alive?’

Carson turned up his hands. ‘Some people do manage to drop out of society, but Olivia was well known and people were looking for her; I think she would have been spotted. I do know the sister got an inquest held, and it didn’t go so far as to declare suicide. That’s pretty much impossible when there’s no body.’

‘Did the sister get any money?’ asked Tess.

He shrugged. ‘A missing person can be declared dead after seven years. The sister was the only living relative so she would have got any life insurance, but she was in Sacremento the night of the wedding, if you’re wondering if
she
could have killed Olivia.’

Tess could tell that she had exhausted her welcome. She could understand it: who wants to keep answering questions about something that happened forty–something years before, especially when there were no answers. Tess picked up her bag and stood up.

‘Thank you for your time, Mr Carson,’ she said, offering her hand. ‘Before I go, can I just ask you what you think happened? Was it suicide? Murder?’

Carson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Ever heard of Ockham’s Razor?’

Tess shook her head.

‘It’s a principle used in medicine. In layman’s terms, it kinda means that when you have different conflicting theories, the simplest explanation is most likely to be the best, or most true explanation.’

Tess mulled it over as they walked down the steps and into the garden.

‘So the theory that a depressed, drugged–up Olivia Martin takes a walk by the river and then falls in is more likely than the theory that her sister killed her for insurance money or Howard Asgill killed her so she’d keep quiet about an affair?’

Carson nodded.

Tess paused on the sidewalk. ‘You’re certain it couldn’t have been Howard?’

‘Miss Garrett, I interviewed Howard Asgill myself,’ he said firmly. ‘In my professional opinion, he wasn’t involved in any way. If someone
did
kill Olivia Martin, it wasn’t him.’

*

Tess was thoughtful as she drove back to Riverview. She was honestly no wiser as to the truth of the Olivia Martin case, but she found that she was enjoying the process: asking questions, talking to people; it felt as if she was doing something constructive. If she was honest, her confrontation with Alicia Wintrop had upset her more than it should. Alicia’s accusation that working for the Asgills and effectively covering up lies and transgressions – misleading people – was somehow morally suspect had hit a nerve. It was something Tess knew to be true, but had so far managed to ignore. But now, out here, away from the glitter of Manhattan, Tess could see that the truth was actually a little more complicated. Everyone had things in their past that they would rather stayed in the past; everyone made mistakes. The question was which of them should remain buried.

Tess felt a sense of real relief as she turned through the iron gates of Riverview. She hadn’t changed her clothes since her flight down, and was beginning to feel a bit icky. Back in her room, she showered, changed into a long cool dress and headed down to the hotel restaurant. It was busy, but Tess found a quiet table in the corner and ordered a mint julep. She had been thinking about the one she had rejected a couple of hours earlier all the way back from Vacherie.

‘Is everything all right, Miss Garrett?’

She looked up to see an elegant woman of around sixty, whose dove–grey linen slacks were exactly the same colour as her hair.

‘Lori Adams,’ she said, extending a hand. ‘Assistant manager. I believe you’re here from the
Chronicle
?’

Tess smiled politely. It was par for the course on press trips to be accosted by the management for a tour of the grounds or detailed briefing on the latest improvements to the hotel. She knew it was the trade–off for getting free accommodation, but she wished she’d called room service.

‘Everything’s great,’ she smiled. ‘This is a really special place.’

‘May I?’ asked Lori, pointing at the chair opposite Tess.

‘Please do.’

Lori signalled to the waiter to bring her another mint julep. ‘Yes, it is special, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘It’s certainly going to be hard giving it up, I can tell you.’

‘Giving it up?’

‘I retire next week,’ smiled the woman. ‘There’s a lot of memories here; Riverview has been my life. Although perhaps it’s time, things are beginning to change now we’re part of a big corporate business. It wasn’t like that when I started working here forty years ago.’

‘Forty years?’ said Tess, sipping her drink thoughtfully. ‘I didn’t think Riverview was a hotel back then?’

‘It wasn’t,’ said Lori wistfully. ‘I worked for the family who used to own the house.’

‘Meredith Asgill’s family, the Carters?’

‘You’re well informed.’

‘New York’s a small place,’ shrugged Tess. ‘I know Brooke Asgill quite well.’

The older woman’s face lit up. ‘You do? Oh how wonderful. Do you know Meredith too?’

Tess nodded. She had a hunch Lori Adams might be more help to her than Sidney, the hotel manager.

‘And how is Meredith?’ asked Lori as she took her cocktail from the waiter.

‘A little stressed. Usual mother–of–the–bride stuff.’

Lori gave a little tinkling laugh. ‘That doesn’t surprise me. Meredith always was very particular, very exact. I remember her wedding day – everything had to be just so.’

‘Really?’ said Tess, trying to contain her excitement. ‘You were at the wedding?’

‘I was the Carter’s maid back then,’ said Lori. ‘I worked my way up through housekeeping to a management position. As I said, I’ve been at Riverview all my working life.’

‘So what happened at Meredith’s wedding?’

Lori arched her brow. ‘You mean the Olivia Martin business?’

Tess put down her drink. ‘Oh, don’t worry, this isn’t for the story. I don’t think any of our readers in England would know who Olivia Martin was. I just know that Brooke is curious; you must know there’s still some pretty nasty rumours about her father?’

Lori nodded.

‘Have you been out to see cottage twelve?’ she asked, lowering her voice a little.

Tess shook her head. ‘No, Sidney told me that there was someone in it.’

Lori pointed to a couple holding hands at a table on the far side of the restaurant.

‘That’s them having dinner over there,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘We can go and have a look quickly if you’d like?’

The grounds were quiet after the noise of the busy restaurant, the sky jet black and marbled with starlight. They skirted around the back of the house and followed the lantern–lit path, past a stone fountain and a small Japanese garden, until Tess could hear the low, rumbling sound of water.

‘What’s that?’ asked Tess.

‘The Mississippi,’ said Lori. ‘Folks are often surprised that she makes a little noise, but she’s a grand old lady.’

Finally they saw the cottage, its windows glowing orange. It was certainly private. There were just two other cottages within view. Using her pass–key, Lori let them in. Tess felt a sudden rush of adrenaline, partly from doing something slightly underhand, but also because she felt she was getting closer to the truth. There wasn’t much to the cottage, simply a living space, a bedroom, and a bathroom.

‘It’s all been changed since then, of course,’ said Lori. ‘But the layout is the same.’

Seeing the couple’s clothes and personal items everywhere, Tess began to feel a little awkward.

‘Shall we go back outside?’ she said. They closed the door and stood on the small veranda, leaning against the rail.

‘So what were you doing that night, Lori?’ asked Tess, her voice hushed.

‘Well, I was a drinks waitress. There were hundreds of people here, all very thirsty,’ she laughed. ‘The wedding was at four in the afternoon, then the wedding breakfast lasted until about eight p.m., and then there was dancing. There was a wonderful jazz band and at midnight an incredible fireworks display that folks said you could even see in the next county.’

Tess tried to put herself there, tried to imagine it was 1964 and that the party was going on all around her.

‘Where was the firework display?’

‘Everyone crowded around the front of the house to watch it, right by the fountain.’

‘So, when the fireworks went off, this area by the cottage would have been deserted. If Olivia did take a midnight walk by the river and fell in, no one would see it or hear her scream because nobody was around.’

Lori nodded. ‘Yes, I always thought that too. Apparently there was a poker game going on from about one a.m. to four a.m. in cottage ten just there,’ she said, pointing to the nearest neighbouring cottage to cottage twelve. ‘The guests in cottage nine and eleven were also up until three a.m. There would have been far more chance of someone seeing or hearing something then.’

Lori caught Tess’s enquiring look and laughed. ‘You’re wondering how I remember all these details? Because no one talked about anything else for weeks afterwards, months even. It was the biggest thing to happen in these parts for years. I guess we all became little detectives, trying to work out what had happened to poor Olivia.’

Tess felt her mobile vibrate in her pocket.

‘Excuse me,’ she said to Lori, and moved down the steps out of earshot.

‘Tess? Why haven’t you been answering your cell?’

Tess recognized Meredith’s voice immediately. ‘I’m out of the city.’

‘
Out of the city?’
she hissed
.
‘I need to see you at once. I’ve just had Wendell Billington on the phone about this
Washington Spy
story. Where are you?’

Tess hadn’t wanted to tell Meredith she had visited Riverview until she had found out more. After all, it could well have been a wild–goose chase. But there was another reason. For all she knew, Meredith could have given Howard his alibi and been covering up his involvement in Olivia’s disappearance for decades. She didn’t want to tell her employer that she was gathering evidence that might send her to jail. Still, there was no reason to pretend and, anyway, it was David who had asked her to get to the bottom of the story. If Meredith had been talking to his father, she might well find out anyway.

‘I’m at Riverview,’ said Tess.

There was silence at the other end of the phone.

‘David asked me to come, Meredith,’ she explained. ‘We need to know what happened. It’s the only way we can kill this story.’

When she spoke, Meredith’s voice was icy. ‘With respect, Tess,’ she said, ‘dozens of police officers couldn’t find out what happened to Olivia and I doubt you’ll have any more luck over forty years later. I would suggest your time would be better spent doing your real job, putting a more positive spin on the
Washington Spy
story before Wendell starts having serious conversations with David about his bride.’

She sounded furious. Tess could imagine her pacing up and down her Upper East Side drawing room, demanding her maid bring camomile tea and bourbon to calm her.

‘The Billingtons are putting the thumbscrews on Ben Foley to run an apology in the next issue of the
Spy
. Plus I’ve set up an interview with the
New York Chronicle
magazine for David and Brooke to run just after the wedding. It will bring up the Olivia Martin case and say that the police have no reason to believe this was ever foul play.’

‘I want you back in the city, Tess.’

‘Just give me twenty–four hours on this,’ pleaded Tess.

Meredith paused for a moment. ‘Very well. I’ll see you in the office on Thursday.’

‘Thank you, Meredith,’ said Tess, feeling a little thrill as she hung up. What was it? Fear? Excitement? And then she remembered: it was the story. It was what she had loved doing on newspapers and what she had missed working for the Asgills. The thrill of the chase. The story. The truth. Whatever
that
was.

CHAPTER SIXTY

Matt looked at Brooke incredulously. ‘You’re taking me for a night out in Brooklyn? I didn’t think you ever crossed the river, uptown girl, or are we going to Peter Luger for steaks,’ he said name–checking Manhattan’s best steakhouse.