The Bishop's Wife (33 page)

“Apparently, Will has an alibi for the time of her death and he was hundreds of miles away in Las Vegas. But they claim they are still looking for the man involved and they're hoping this press release will bring a witness forward who might identify the killer. The reason they called me was because they don't know how the information is going to affect the Westons in particular. It seems that Carrie was soliciting sexual partners for money on this Will's computer while she was staying with him. She posted photos of herself that aren't very, shall we say, tasteful?”

I felt my throat constrict. What experience with sex would have made her treat her own body so badly? Was this yet further evidence of how terrible her marriage to Jared had been?

“I thought you might be the best person to talk to the Westons about this,” Kurt was saying. “Make sure they're not blindsided. I don't know if there's anything you can really do to make it hurt less, but you can try.”

“All right, I'll call them,” I said. I couldn't even blame this chore on his being bishop. I had kept on with this even when he'd told me not to.

“Maybe you should go over and talk to them in person,” said Kurt.

“Obviously. Kurt, I meant I would call and ask them if I could come over to visit. I just want to make sure they're both home.”

“Oh, yes. Good,” said Kurt. “Thank you. I'll see you tonight?”

“Or maybe not, if I end up spending a lot of time with them.”

“Right, of course. Then I'll call Samuel on his cell and see what he wants to eat.”

I thought about asking him to get something somewhat healthy, but didn't. Kurt was proud of his refusal to eat rabbit food.

The last time I had talked to the Westons had been when they had told me that they were giving up the custody battle. After a minute of prayer that I would say the right thing, I called the number the Westons had left with me. A male voice answered immediately.

“This is Linda Wallheim,” I said. “Is this Aaron?” I was surprised that he was home during the day.

“Yes, Linda, it's me.”

“I was wondering if I could come over and talk to you,” I said. “You and Judy both. Would you be home in about thirty minutes?” It would take me twenty minutes to drive north to Sandy.

“Yes, we'll be home. We don't do much these days, either of us.” There was a short silence. “I lost my job when Carrie disappeared, and I couldn't go into work for several weeks. I haven't started looking for a new one yet. I can't find the heart for it and there's no guarantee that I would be able to get anything like the same level of position in management at another company.”

“I'm so sorry,” I said. “I didn't realize that.” What kind of company would fire a man for having trouble working after his daughter disappeared?

“This is about Carrie, isn't it?” asked Aaron.

“Yes, yes it is,” I said.

I left a note for Samuel atop a plate of fruit suggesting that any of these would be an excellent choice for an after school snack. Then I got into the car.

As I drove by the Helm home, I could see Alex Helm through the front living room window. I cringed at the sight of him. Jared and Alex seemed to be sharing childcare responsibilities for Kelly now that the press had disappeared. I didn't think Kelly had gone back to school, and I hadn't seen her at all since the argument Alex and I had had back in March on his front lawn. How much of what her mother had done would Kelly ever understand? I didn't know. But for now, I had to deal with her grandparents, and the reality of her mother's death.

The drive did not take long enough. I tried to make myself appreciate the beautiful mountains on either side and the outline of the Great Salt Lake in the distance. Whenever friends from other parts of the country come to Utah, the first thing they mention is the
feeling they get from the mountains. Some people feel oppressed by them. Others feel safe, like they are wrapped in a cocoon. But I am so used to them I take them for granted. If I go elsewhere, somewhere without mountains, that's when I realize how much I miss them. I don't know how anyone can tell what direction they're headed without mountains around to help.

I was dreading the conversation I would have to have with the Westons, who had already been forced by the law to virtually walk away from their granddaughter. Their lawyer claimed that even demanding a monthly visitation would be impossible unless they could prove that they had had frequent contact with their granddaughter before Carrie's death—which they hadn't. I arrived at the large house in a tract of large houses, and turned off the engine. I took a moment to gather my thoughts and stared out at the immaculate lawn. The flowers weren't as spectacular as Tobias Torstensen's, but it was clear that the lawn was treated with chemicals often and never allowed to go brown.

The three-car garage was dwarfed by the rest of the house. It was grey stucco and the columns in front rose to the third story. Inside, there were marble floors in the foyer, stained-glass windows in the dining room, and the kind of carpet so thick you can feel it even through your shoes.

With hardly a word, Aaron Weston led me to a small office that seemed completely unused, despite the huge oak desk in the center and the leather chairs. Judy was waiting for me there, as well.

I kept thinking about Carrie Helm. She'd come from this. How did any of her subsequent choices make sense, knowing that? Why would a woman who realized her marriage had failed run away to Las Vegas with a lover, and then feel forced to sell her body online, when she could have come home to this? Why hadn't she made frequent visits with Kelly to her parents? I knew she was afraid of her husband and likely her father-in-law, but to go from this to that—there was something I was missing.

“I'm so sorry,” I said, my mind whirling.

“Oh, dear,” said Judy. “That doesn't sound like a good beginning.”

Aaron held her hand. “She's gone now. There's nothing more that can hurt us,” he said, but there was a catch in his voice.

“It's going to be on the news tonight or tomorrow, but Kurt learned from the police that she was found naked and that she had had sex—most likely consensual—within an hour of her death.” Putting it so baldly made me want to cringe. I wished I had thought of a better way, but really, what was going to make it sound better? I wanted to get the facts out quickly, so that I could get on to comforting them.

Kurt would really be better at this than I would. He would be able to tell them with far more confidence that they would see their daughter again, that she would rise again in the resurrection to her perfect form. All I knew was that these parents must be feeling the same way I had felt after my daughter died, and there was a part of me that was cowardly enough that I wanted to shrink away from them.

Judy let out a long breath, and I stared at her. For that one moment, I thought that she was faking her sadness. I don't know what it was about her, but something seemed false to me. Too many tears. Too much ultra-feminine hand-wringing and weakness.

But what right had I to judge other women for their unique responses to their own situations? I shook myself. Judy Weston had the right to act as over-the-top as she needed to. A mother wasn't supposed to outlive her children. She was supposed to lay herself down and take the blow instead. But we didn't always get that choice.

“Is it this man Will?” asked Aaron. “Do they think he did it? Are you telling us there will be an arrest soon?” There was a fierce look in his eyes.

“No,” I said. “It isn't Will. He was far away at the time.” I took a breath and steeled myself for the rest. “There's more, I'm afraid.”

“Oh,” said Judy, gripping her husband's arm more tightly.

“She apparently met a stranger near to where she was found, to trade sex for payment.”

There was no sound from either parent.

“She had put photos of herself online. Asking for men who wanted to meet her,” I said. “For money.”

“Oh, my poor Carrie,” said Judy. She put a hand to her heart.

There it was again. My sense that she wasn't really feeling the emotions she was putting on. What was going on here?

“So the police are following up on this lead? This man she met for sex? They think he's the killer?” asked Aaron, who was pale but composed, his hands resting gently in his lap. He was very well dressed for someone who didn't have a job. He was wearing a full suit and a white shirt that had probably been professionally cleaned and starched. His tie was expensive silk, better than anything Kurt had ever worn. I realized, thinking back, that he'd always been dressed well—I just hadn't noticed before, because of the context of our meetings.

Why had Carrie left Jared Helm and not come home? Why had she been virtually estranged from her parents?

I had been silent for too long. I had to focus to remember Aaron Weston's question. “The man she met for sex? Yes, I suspect they will try to find him. I don't know anything about that part.” It was hard to speak. Words demanded a certain distance from pain, and I felt as if the pain—the pain of Carrie's death, of continually being reminded how little I knew about her, of how I'd failed her, of her daughter's suffering, the pain of my own loss, so distant and yet so fresh—had come crashing down over my head, drowning me. They said that you eventually conquered grief, but it didn't feel like that to me. It felt like grief conquered me again and again, and I never knew when it would strike.

“But they aren't going to give up on the case, just because of how she was killed, are they?” asked Aaron.

I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. Then I took another breath. “It's been given a lot of publicity. That's thanks to you two, so I think you can take some comfort in that. You did help, in the end.”

“Do they know who he is? Do they have any information about him?” asked Aaron. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at his hands, and the words sounded sad and almost rote.

“I don't know. I'm sure they're doing all they can,” I said.

“But do they have a name? A face? Anything?” Aaron's questions were rapid-fire. “Do they know where she met him, if it was so close to where she died? Was it in a car? Did they have an argument? Did she change her mind about having sex with him and he got angry with her?”

I shook my head. “We'll have to wait and see. I just wanted to make sure that you knew about this before it came out publicly.”

“But why?” said Judy. Her face was dripping makeup now.

“I don't know,” I said softly. “Maybe someday we will find out the answer. Maybe we won't. We'll have to live with it anyway.”

“I think Judy meant why would the police put out this information publicly?” Aaron asked. “They don't have to tell all the details. It would only tarnish Carrie's memory.”

“Oh. Of course.” I scrambled to think logically rather than emotionally. “They must think it will help them find the killer, if people know more about the circumstances of her death.” That was my own conclusion, anyway.

“Or maybe they're doing it because we pressured them and made them look bad,” said Aaron darkly. “Maybe this is their revenge. We look bad in return. Carrie's name is forever ruined. And what about Kelly? What will this do to that little girl?”

“I'm sure she won't understand it,” I said. “She's too young, really. That will protect her, in a way.” I felt a sensation like scissors in my stomach at the thought of Kelly Helm hearing this about her mother. I could imagine Jared and Alex Helm sitting her down and forcing her to listen to the details. They would want to pound into Kelly
that her mother had been a bad woman, that Kelly should forget about her.

“And what about how it makes us look to our friends and neighbors, in the church? It will make everyone question the way that we raised our daughters. How will anyone trust me in a business situation? I used to have control over millions of dollars.” Aaron looked angry, but there was a thread of panic in his anger. It sounded like he cared more about his own vanity than his daughter's death—or his granddaughter.

But I tried to be sympathetic. He had probably not slept for days, I reminded myself. And he had just buried his daughter. He had lost his job. He had this huge house to pay for. The pressure on him must be enormous. But even as his wife was reacting too dramatically, I could not help but think that he was taking this all in too coldly. Instead of feeling anguish, he seemed to be planning, thinking about his future business empires and his reputation. And that made me wonder about his lost job, and his choice to give up pursuit of custody of Kelly legally.

“There's no need to make assumptions about what will happen in the future. One day at a time,” I said. I had thought that Kelly would be better off with the Westons, but suddenly I was not so sure.

I had seen real love, however twisted, between Alex Helm and Kelly. He was protective of her, and seemed to see her as more than an extension of himself. I wasn't so sure about the Westons. I realized I had never seen them interact with Kelly, unless you counted Aaron Weston's addressing his granddaughter from the funeral podium. Did the Westons love Kelly? It was humbling to realize how quickly I had jumped to the conclusion that they would feel for the little girl as I did.

I stayed a few minutes longer, then drove home in a daze, wondering if I had been a party to bringing Carrie Helm home from Las Vegas, and if that had ultimately led to her death. Was I part of her betrayal, too?

On Sunday night, Kurt told me there had been an argument in priesthood between Alex Helm and Brother Rhodes over the subject of black people and the priesthood. Brother Rhodes had loudly insisted on the historical facts, which were that black men had been ordained in the early days of the church, but then the practice stopped and certain General Authorities said that it was because black skin was the “mark of Cain.” Others said that it was because blacks had been “less valiant” in the preexistence. Those General Authorities had gone silent when the 1978 revelation restored universal priesthood.