Degree of Guilt (21 page)

Terri began to turn, then was stopped by a black and white photograph, the ascetic face of a man in his sixties.

It hung on the wall by itself. The man’s face was thin, his skin like parchment; his eyes, pale and translucent, betrayed no feeling.

‘Your father?’ Terri asked.

Steinhardt nodded. ‘I hung it myself, just before Mr Ransom’s visit. It seemed somehow appropriate.’

Terri was quiet for a moment. Turning, she asked, ‘Can you tell me about that?’

‘Of course.’ Steinhardt took one chair, Terri the other. ‘It was really quite amusing, in its way.’

The dimness of the room, Terri realized, was oppressive. ‘In
what
way?’ she asked.

‘The way he changed. When he arrived, Mark Ransom projected this restless energy – a prisoner in his own skin, a red-haired Irishman wrestling with his devils. It was something you could feel if he’d never said a word.’ Steinhardt gazed around her, profile almost leonine. ‘But once he got here, in
this
room, it was like he’d entered a cathedral. When I showed him the tapes, all he could do was stare.

‘“Play one for me,” he asked.’ Steinhardt’s voice became almost teasing, as if replaying the moment. ‘So I did. Just one.’

‘The one he played for Mary Carelli?’

‘Oh, no. Like Laura herself, I wanted to save the best for last.’ Steinhardt flicked back her hair. ‘For him, the sound of her voice was enough – Laura Chase, returned from the dead.’

‘What did he do?’

‘He just sat there, hunched forward, listening. He hardly moved.’ Steinhardt smiled. ‘And when it was over, he offered me a hundred thousand dollars.

‘I told him, more in sorrow than in anger, that his offer was deficient. And then I told him about Laura’s last tape.’ The strange smile returned. ‘The one with James Colt.’

It had been a game between them, Terri realized. Quietly, she asked, ‘What did Ransom say?’

‘Oh, it was more how he looked that confirmed my sense of value. His face was – how should I say it – so
avid
.’ Steinhardt’s voice took on the jaded tone of a woman mocking a discarded lover. ‘It felt as if I had offered him Laura Chase herself.’

Terri imagined the moment with something close to horror. In return for money, Jeanne Steinhardt had set far more in motion than she could ever have imagined.

‘What happened?’

‘We reached an agreement, sitting here in this room. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, plus thirty percent of any royalties.’ Steinhardt gazed up, as if addressing her father’s picture. ‘The last ten percent,’ she said in a mordant tone, ‘was for letting Mark take Laura home with him.’

Terri watched her face. ‘Did he say how he would use the tape?’

‘No. But I assumed that he would use it to promote the book. The tape goes far toward explaining her suicide, don’t you think?’ Pausing, Steinhardt still gazed at her father’s photograph. ‘Laura’s, that is.’

For a moment, Terri found she had lost her train of thought. Then she asked, ‘Did he ever talk about playing the tape for Mary Carelli?’

‘No.’ Steinhardt turned back to Terri, her voice edged with contempt. ‘But then he also failed to tell me that he saw the tape as foreplay. With my limited imagination, I merely saw it as the basis for a number-one best-seller regarding Laura’s suicide. You know, the book that finally tells the world “Who Killed Laura Chase.”’

Terri paused. ‘In connection with Laura Chase,’ she asked, ‘did he mention
any
other women?’

Steinhardt paused. ‘I do recall him mentioning Lindsay Caldwell,’ she finally said. ‘Although the connection wasn’t clear to me.’

Terri hesitated, surprised at this mention of the distinguished actress, still beautiful at forty, and as well known for her social causes as for the Oscars she had won. As an undergraduate at Berkeley, Terri had heard Lindsay Caldwell speak on women’s issues. Drawing on her own painful evolution from ‘Barbie Doll to Superwoman,’ as Caldwell dryly put it, the talk had been surprising for its candor and universality. She was, Terri thought, the polar opposite of Laura Chase – the kind of woman whose politics and persona Mark Ransom would most resent.

‘What did he say about her?’ Terri asked.

‘The first reference I don’t exactly recall. I do remember Mark asking if I knew her. Which I don’t.’

‘Did he ask whether she had some connection to Laura Chase?’

Steinhardt shook her head. ‘He didn’t, and I don’t know. But unless I’m wrong, Laura died when Lindsay Caldwell was barely out of her teens.’

Terri’s gaze moved across the shelves to the space where two tapes might have been. ‘Did Lindsay Caldwell ever see your father? Professionally, that is?’

‘I didn’t memorize the index, if that’s what you’re asking.’ Steinhardt hesitated. ‘When I listened to the tapes, I confined myself to Laura Chase. The last tape, really.’

‘Why was that?’

Steinhardt’s expression turned cool, her voice cooler. ‘The circumstances of her death intrigued me.’

Terri paused again, decided not to pursue it. ‘A moment ago,’ she said, ‘you mentioned Ransom’s “first reference” to Lindsay Caldwell. Was there another?’

‘Yes. He called me from New York. I had asked to read what he had written, to be sure he truly understood the implications of Laura’s tape. He was going to be here, he explained, to see Lindsay Caldwell. He sounded quite pleased with himself.’ Steinhardt gave a faint smile. ‘I never saw his draft, and he never met with Caldwell. He was scheduled to meet with her one day after Mary Carelli.’

Terri paused. Quietly, she asked, ‘May I see the index?’

‘No.’ Steinhardt’s voice was level. ‘I’m afraid you can’t.’

The woman’s gaze was watchful, impenetrable – rather, Terri thought, like the cold face in the photograph.

‘Perhaps,’ Terri said, ‘you can look at it yourself. All I want to know is whether Lindsay Caldwell was a patient of your father’s.’

Steinhardt’s look turned curious. ‘To what end?’

‘I’m not sure, quite. Perhaps she knows something about the tape.’

‘Well, you’ll have to ask Miss Caldwell about any relationship to my father.’ Turning, Steinhardt gazed at the rows of tapes. ‘After Mark Ransom and I made our arrangement, I burned the index.’

Once again, Terri was surprised. ‘Why?’ she finally asked.

Steinhardt’s eyes moved to her father’s picture. ‘For the same reason,’ she answered coldly, ‘that I now intend to destroy these tapes. Because I had done what I set out to do.’

All at once, and for the first time, Terri understood what Steinhardt had done. And then she saw, as Steinhardt still did not, how pointless all of it had been. Softly, she said, ‘This was never about money, was it?’

‘Oh, it was.’ Steinhardt’s smile was bleak. ‘If I made Mark Ransom pay dearly for that tape, I thought he would have no choice but to use it. And I dearly wanted him to use it.’

Terri nodded. ‘Because of your father.’

‘Yes.’ Steinhardt’s eyes became fierce. ‘Have you ever listened to that tape?’

‘No.’

‘It was a revelation to me. For almost fifty minutes, Laura Chase talks about how worthless James Colt had made her feel. By the end, she was sobbing convulsively. My father spoke only to ask for more detail about what they did to her. And then he told Laura that her time was up.’ Steinhardt’s voice became so raw that it sounded painful. ‘By the time the tape was over, I knew that my father was a collector and we were his specimens. Every one of us.’

But no one else, Terri thought, would hear what Steinhardt heard. Quietly, she asked, ‘When did your mother kill herself?’

‘Thirty years ago. She died quite anonymously. No one remembers her, including me.’ Steinhardt’s face had turned to stone. ‘But now, because of me, no one will ever forget who murdered Laura Chase.’

‘I find it refreshing,’ Johnny Moore told Terri, ‘that this case offers us at least one celebrity who’s still alive.’

Terri sat on the balcony of a suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel, courtesy of Christopher Paget, speaking into the first cordless telephone of her experience. Moore would make her smile, Terri thought, if she weren’t so depressed.

‘Do you have a number for her?’ she asked.

‘Just her answering service. I took the liberty of leaving a message on your behalf: “Call Teresa Peralta, attorney for Mary Carelli, regarding Mark Ransom.”’ Moore laughed softly. ‘An adequate attention getter, I would think, even in la-la-land. Otherwise, I’d have left a message from Ransom himself.’

Terri gazed across a courtyard filled with flowers, watching the sun fall into an ocean she could not see. ‘I wonder if she’ll call me.’

‘That may depend,’ Moore answered, ‘on why Ransom wanted to see her. Or she
him
– although I find that harder to understand.’

His voice was sardonic. ‘Jealous?’ Terri asked.

‘You’ve caught me out, Ms Peralta – what a man we have lost in Mark. Of course, I’m quite put out with
her
too. All that feminist propaganda decimated my happy home.’

‘Really.’

‘Oh, yes. Surely it had nothing to do with my rotten hours, sporadic drinking, mysterious absences, and dubious friends. After all, Harriet Nelson would have understood.’

‘Those were the good old days,’ Terri gibed, ‘before they started giving women jobs.’

‘Now, that,’ Moore answered lightly, ‘is what’s ruined the American family. Millions of women can actually leave their odious husbands and not starve to death. It’s a poor society that pins its hopes on marriage counseling.’

Terri smiled. ‘My only question is whether Richie can afford to leave
me
.’

‘The family meal ticket, are you? Then go make partner, and you’ll inspire the love that lasts forever. In the interim, just be sure he’s on your health plan.’

Terri felt a touch of shame; even joking about Richie was like a betrayal of their secret. ‘It’s not that bad,’ she said. ‘I’d never let it be.’

Strange, Terri thought, asking Johnny to believe what she could not believe herself.

‘Oh, Terri,’ he said gently, ‘is there no romance left?’

It was as if Moore understood her and wished to make her smile again. But his feelings would not be hurt, she thought, if he could not see her.

‘Thanks for everything,’ she answered, and said goodbye.

She was watching the sunset when the phone rang again.

Tense, she answered, ‘Teresa Peralta.’

‘Hi, Ter. What’s this message about your not coming home?’

She slumped in the chair. ‘I’ve got more business than I thought. Another witness – at least maybe.’

Richie sounded put out. ‘Yeah, well, we really need you here.’

No questions about her day, Terri thought – not that she’d feel comfortable telling Richie other people’s secrets. ‘I’ll be home tomorrow night,’ she said. ‘Unless this person can’t fit me in until later.’

‘So tell him to see you tonight.’

‘I’ll try.’ Suddenly Terri felt tired. ‘Can I talk to Elena?’

‘She’s not here. When I got your message, I asked Janie to keep her for the night.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ve got another investor dinner. Janie said it was fine, that Lainie and Tess do well together.’

For a moment, Terri wondered whether sending Elena to a neighbor’s was some obscure form of punishment, not for Elena but for her. ‘I thought I told you that Elena doesn’t like Tess all that much.’

‘Really? I guess I forgot.’

‘You were at your computer.’ Terri stood, watching the falling sun become a ribbon of orange. ‘Maybe you didn’t hear.’

‘I guess not. Anyhow, getting out makes kids more independent.’ Before Terri could retort, he shifted subjects. ‘Listen, Ter, there’s something I was wanting to talk to you about.’

Why, Terri wondered, did she feel a knot forming in her stomach. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s about capital. We’re still a few thousand short of seed money.’

‘Maybe we can sell my body.’

‘I’m
serious
.’

Terri rubbed her temple. ‘So am I. We don’t have money – just a new computer I can’t seem to pay off. Maybe you can sell that.’

‘I need it for my business. Besides, it’s all deductible – you’ve got to factor in the tax benefits.’

‘We don’t have any more money,’ she said slowly. ‘It’s that simple.’

There was a long silence. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk with you about.’

The headache, Terri realized, started in the cords of her neck and ended at her eyes.

‘What, exactly?’

‘Your pension plan.’ Richie paused. ‘We can borrow against it.’

Terri touched her eyes. ‘I’m not sure we can.’

‘We can, though. I checked with your accountant, at the firm.’

‘You
called
her?’

‘You weren’t
here
, all right? Lighten up, Ter. I didn’t take the money or anything. Nothing can happen until you sign the papers.’

Until, Terri thought. Finally, she said. ‘I haven’t been here that long. It’s probably only about five hundred dollars.’

‘Nearly thirteen hundred.’ Richie began speaking faster. ‘You can borrow up to
half
of that, at a cost of less than eighty dollars a month. No monthly payments, even – they just take it off the top of your check.’

‘You mean, like having your wages garnisheed?’

‘Listen to yourself.’ Richie’s voice rose. ‘This is what I mean about complete nonsupport. Except it’s even worse – you try to humiliate me to control me.’

Terri sat down. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to humiliate you. I just want us to get a grip on our life. I can’t
predict
anything, Richie – there’s always something else.’ She paused, struggling to explain. ‘You begin to talk, and I feel paralyzed. My stomach gets like this fist.’

Richie’s tone softened. ‘I’m sorry, babe. I forgot how rules-oriented your mom was. All those limits.’