Lost Innocents (27 page)

“Oh, God, I’m sorry. I forgot when I left you here…” She thought of how she had rushed out of the house, trying to flee from the police, trying to get to Doug before the cops did. “I’m so sorry.”

She reached for a pillow from the bed and put it under his head. “Don’t move now. I’m going to call 911,” she said. “You’re in bad shape.”

The man on the floor did not protest. As Maddy scrambled to her feet, she heard a cry behind her. She turned around and saw Bonnie, standing in the doorway to the guest room, her face ashen. Her mouth had dropped open as she stared at her husband on the floor.

“Terry, oh, Terry,” she cried. “What happened?”

“It’s my fault,” said Maddy. “I thought you’d be right back.”

Bonnie did not hear a word that Maddy said. “Oh, my darling,” she wailed. She fell to her knees and crawled to her husband’s side, lifting his head and cradling him against her breast. “What happened, my darling?”

Maddy bent down and cupped a comforting hand around Sean’s little shoulders. “Apparently Terry heard Sean crying for him, came up, and lifted him out of the crib. I’m calling an ambulance. He doesn’t look good,” she said.

Terry looked up into his wife’s anguished eyes. “He kept calling for Dada,” he whispered. There was a smile on his own gray countenance that was half grimace, half bliss.

“Oh, you fool,” Bonnie cried. “You silly fool. You did this for that brat? He’s not even ours. Now look what’s happened.”

Maddy stared at the woman bent over her husband. She looked at Sean, who sat unnoticed by the foot of the crib. She thought for a moment that she had heard her wrong. But she knew by the sick, awful churning in her stomach that she had not.

In that same instant, Bonnie’s back straightened, and she seemed to freeze. Terry was regarding her dazedly through a fog of pain. When Bonnie turned, Maddy thought she had never seen such coldness on a human face.

Maddy tried to pretend she hadn’t heard it, but it was no use. Bonnie had instantly realized her mistake, and both women knew what it meant.

“My son,” Terry whispered plaintively. Maddy and Bonnie just stared into each other’s eyes.

T
he duet from the second act of
Manon
was announced on the classical station that Nick had playing on his car radio. The duet was one of his favorites, and the cut they were about to play, with Placido Domingo and Montserrat Caballé, was, to his mind, the most stunning version of it. The angry recriminations of Des Grieux against the vain, shallow Manon, who has chosen wealth and ease over his love, and her anguished pleas for him to give her another chance, never failed to move him. The heady, passionate splendor of their mutual confession of love blew him away every time. Yet he was tempted to turn it off. It was only a fantasy, he thought bitterly. In real life people didn’t give up luxury for love. People lived with their choices, hardly ever admitted their mistakes. His hand hovered over the dial, and then he drew it back and clamped it on the wheel. He could not resist the beauty of it. He was willing to feel the ache. The glorious voices spiraled up, filling the car with their golden sound. Nick let it flow over him, washing away his momentary cynicism. Since when did I become so bitter? he thought as the lovers’ last notes hung in the air. He had seen plenty of faithlessness and deceit between couples who came to him complaining of the empty shell their lives together had become. But in his years as a priest, he had also witnessed supreme devotion between lovers. He had seen couples stand by one another through sickness, despair, and disaster. He knew perfectly well that there was such a thing as true and lasting love—a steady flame that could not be extinguished by the sorrows of life. It’s just my own love that was unrequited, he thought. No need to tar the world with that brush. He was glad he had listened to the duet. Just because he would never have his love was no reason to try to stop feeling.

He drove along in the gathering twilight, feeling weary and looking for a place to stop for the night. The days were short now, and he was unused to driving for hours at a time. As if in answer to this idle thought, a road sign announced that the town called Gravesport was ten miles away. It took him a minute to recognize the name, and then it occurred to him. That was the town where Bonnie Lewis had been a librarian. He thought about Bonnie and Terry. Theirs was an unlikely love story, but they had a life together. There could be no more devoted lover than Bonnie. Making all those trips, standing by Terry despite the fact that she must have met with universal disapproval for her choice. Admittedly it was a weird way to meet someone, but they had met, and found one another, and now they had a family.

Still, it was unfortunate that on the eve of Terry’s freedom they had been in an auto accident. If you had to bump into someone, you were lucky to bump into Maddy, he thought. But still, it seemed as if they were so alone. Bonnie was too proud to admit that she needed anything. He wondered if anyone knew of their difficulties or might be willing to help them. Maybe I’ll stop there, he thought. I could ask around and find out if someone who knows Bonnie might be concerned enough to lend the family a helping hand.

In a few minutes he reached the Gravesport exit, grateful to be off the highway at last. He drove to the center of town and cruised slowly down the main street. A sign on an ancient brick building at the end of the street read “Hotel.” He parked in front and went inside.

The lobby was dimly lit and devoid of decoration except for the boldly patterned wallpaper of fire engines and old cars in burnt umber on a sallow gold background. By the front window stood two captain’s chairs pulled up around a low table bearing a dusty plastic flower arrangement and an assortment of Yankee and Reader’s Digest magazines. Nick walked up to the front desk and looked around. No one was in sight. The only indication that this was indeed a hotel was the cross-hatched cabinet behind the desk with keys hanging out of the various pigeonholes.

“Hello,” Nick called out. “Anybody here?”

A heavyset old woman with an uncombed thatch of gray hair shuffled out from behind a curtained doorway and stared suspiciously at the would-be customer.

“Could I get a room?” Nick asked.

With a nod the woman turned the guest book around and handed him a pen. Nick signed on the first empty line while the woman turned to the pigeonholes, found a key, and handed it to him. Nick knew that Maine natives had the reputation of being laconic, but this woman set a new standard, he thought.

She turned the book around, studied his signature, and said, “How long you staying?”

“Just the night,” he said.

“Twenty-five dollars. Pay now.”

Nick counted out the money and handed it to her. “Anywhere good to eat around here?” he asked.

“There’s a cafe, on the corner,” she said.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Room one.”

I wonder if I’m the only one here, he thought as he carried his overnight bag up the stairs. Do they ever have enough customers to fill up to room two? he wondered. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and steeled himself. But the room was perfectly clean and comfortable, although, as in the lobby, no effort had been wasted on frivolity. There was a slightly sagging double bed with a green bedspread, a small bathroom with ancient fixtures, and two paint-by-number seascapes, each hanging in splendid isolation, one over the bed and one on the opposite wall.

This’ll be all right, he thought. He turned on the bedside lamp and decided to go out and face the cafe.

When he went back down the stairs, the proprietor had disappeared again. He went out into the quiet street and looked around. The cafe had a lighted sign, and he headed toward it. As he came around the curving corner of the main street, he saw that the public library, a small white clapboard building across the street, was still open. He hesitated for a moment, then crossed the street and went in.

The library was of a pretty good size for a town like this, and he tried to imagine Bonnie working here day after day. Nick browsed through the stacks, more interested in the place than in the books. A couple of teenage girls sat together at a library table and giggled. Otherwise the library was empty. Behind the library desk sat a wiry old woman who looked as if she would crumble into dust if you touched her. Occasionally she looked up and glared at the girls, who stopped their giggling for a moment and then resumed. Nick walked up to the desk and smiled, but the woman did not return his smile. “Yes?” she asked.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m…uh…I’m just in town for the night. I have a…friend who used to work here in the library. Bonnie Lewis. Her name used to be—”

“Nolan,” the woman said flatly. She did not seem in the least surprised by, or interested in, his query. She didn’t inquire after Bonnie’s well-being. Obviously this was not a person who would be interested in helping out.

“Nolan, right,” said Nick. “I was wondering…does she have family still living here in town?”

The woman pondered this question. “Bonnie? No. Not anymore. She lived with her mother until her mother died. That was a few years back.”

“Oh,” said Nick. “Was there nobody else?”

The woman glanced over at the girls, who were at it again. “Girls,” she said. “You’re in the library.”

“Sorry, Miss Carr,” said one of the girls, and bent her head over her book.

The woman shook her head. “She took a room in a house over on Maple Street. Do you want me to look up the address?”

“Would you?” asked Nick. “That would be very nice.”

“Certainly,” said Miss Carr in a tone of voice that said “Looking things up is my business.” She began to page neatly through a folder on her desk. No wonder Bonnie left here, Nick thought. Not so much as a “How’s she doing? How’s the baby?” These people must have been scandalized when Bonnie up and married a lifer in a prison and had a baby by him. There wasn’t any liberal-minded, big city—type tolerance in a place like this.

Miss Carr handed him an address written on a three-by-five card in a flawless cursive hand. “There you are,” she said crisply. She looked at her watch. “Fifteen minutes, girls,” she said.

“Well, thank you,” said Nick, holding the card aloft.

“You’re welcome,” said Miss Carr, turning back to her work.

Nick waited a moment for her to say something, anything. Clearly she was finished with him, their business concluded. Nick was glad to get back out onto the street. He looked at the address in the light of the lanterns on either side of the library door. It read “Bonnie Nolan,” and then the “Nolan” was crossed out, and “Lewis” was typed above it. Then it said “c/o Hartwell, 12 Maple Street.”

Nick sighed. He doubted he would have much luck at this house. It wasn’t a family member—just someone she had roomed with. If Miss Carr was any indication, Bonnie wasn’t much missed around here. He decided to eat first before he called on the Hartwells. He put the card in his pocket and crossed the street to the cafe.

D
oug smoothed back his hair and followed Charles Henson out of the elevator and through the lobby of the Taylorsville Courthouse. When they reached the sidewalk outside, Doug finally caught up with his attorney. The walkway to the courthouse was lined with gas lamps that exuded a pale glow in the autumn evening.

“Charles,” he said, extending his hand him. “You did a great job for me in there.”

They had just met with the district attorney, who had tried to convince them to accept a plea on a lesser charge than murder in the death of Rebecca Starnes; but Charles had rejected their offer and insisted that they didn’t have enough evidence to even indict Doug, much less to win trial.

“How about stopping somewhere for a drink?” Doug suggested.

Charles Henson turned and clasped the handle of his briefcase with both hands in front of him in an obvious effort to avoid the handshake. “I want to get home to my wife,” he said. “It’s a very important night us. Frankly, I hesitated to come here tonight, but for the seriousness of the charges…”

Doug did not inquire what the Hensons’ occasion was. He was far too absorbed in his own situation. “Well, maybe another time,” he said.

Charles looked coolly at Doug. “This fight is just beginning, Doug. You understand that, don’t you? You won this round, but the fight is far from over.”

“Well, I have confidence in you,” said Doug.

“Doug,” he said, “you’re entitled to the best possible legal representation. I don’t think I’m that man anymore.”

Doug stared at him in disbelief. “Wait a minute. You mean you’re dropping my case? Are you worried that I’m not going to pay you? ’Cause if that’s it…”

Charles shook his head. “I can recommend any number of people…”

“I don’t want any number of people,” said Doug. “I want
you
!”

“That’s impossible,” said Charles. “I made up my mind while I was in there. Look, this case is going to take a lot of extra time. They’re not just going to let it drop. Chief Cameron will not rest until you are in jail for this crime. This is going to take all the time and cunning of a good attorney, and right now I have more pressing matters in my personal life. I can’t get involved in this. I’m going to be cutting back on my practice, and I’m not taking on something so demanding…”

“But I am
innocent
,” said Doug. “I never killed that Starnes girl. And I certainly don’t know anything about a missing baby. It’s absurd. They can’t prove I did it, because I
didn’t
do it. But I need you to defend me.”

Charles peered at him through the lamplit darkness of the evening with thinly-veiled contempt. “
Are
you innocent, Doug?”

“Of course I am, what do you mean?” Doug said.

Charles shook his head. “After viewing that tape in the DA’s office, I think it is fatuous of you to call yourself innocent.”

“All you’re supposed to be concerned with is the crime itself, isn’t that right?”

Charles glanced at the clock set into the courthouse cupola. Then he turned back to Doug. “Sometimes…things that happen in your life remind you that there are absolutes that have nothing to do with the law. It’s important to me, right now, to stay on the side of the angels.”