Stolen in the Night (11 page)

“Yeah really,” said Jake.

Erny smiled. “Okay.”

Coming up over a final rise, they spotted the Morris house nestled in a natural valley.
It was a huge Colonial-style house surrounded by trees and gardens.

“Wow,” said Erny.

“I painted that whole place,” Jake boasted.

“Awesome,” said Erny respectfully.

Jake pulled the van up in the driveway beside the house. He got out and opened the
side door so that Leo could get out. Erny had clambered down on his side and come
around the truck. “All right now, listen to me, you two,” said Jake. “You can run
around here. There are fields and stuff. Rock out. Just…no going in the pond. I’ve
heard it’s pretty deep. Have a good time. It’s gonna take me an hour or so to finish
this.” Jake pulled a boom box from inside the van.

“We can go anywhere?” Erny asked.

“Don’t go so far that you can’t hear me when I call you. And when I holler for you
I want you to come back. You got it? All right, scram.”

Erny took off at a flat-out run with Leo chasing him, barking.

Jake smiled, watching them disappear over a hill, and then he set his boom box down
and snapped it on to his favorite oldies station. Jake retrieved his brush and can
of white semigloss from inside the van. Then he unhooked the ladder he would need.
He knew it was dangerous to do a job like this without another guy to spot him on
the ladder, but all his guys were working at a new job. And he had to get this finished.
The season for outdoor painting was just about done for. This was likely the last
nice week they would have. Besides, Jake was not afraid of heights.

He carried the ladder over to the side of the house where he needed to paint the third-floor
trim and squinted up. It was so high up that it was hard to tell if the window trim
had been scraped or not. He stuck a paint scraper and sanding block into his tool
belt with the paintbrush. All right, he thought, let’s get this show on the road.

Humming absently to the eighties tunes on the boom box, Jake scraped and painted,
working without stopping, other than to occasionally climb down to move the ladder.
When, after an hour, he finished painting the last windowsill and stuck the lid back
on the can of semigloss, he felt relieved to have the job finished. While he had been
working, the mild day had vanished. The sky was turning dark and the wind had risen.

Jake descended the ladder slowly this time, holding on tightly because of the stiff
breeze. As he carefully backed his way down and came eye level with the first-floor
windows, he glanced inside. And then he stopped and looked again.

A slight blonde woman he recognized as Chan’s wife, Sally, was sitting on the living
room floor, propped against the sofa like a rag doll, her arms limp, her legs akimbo,
her eyes glazed with pain. Jake hesitated. He didn’t want to be taken for a Peeping
Tom, but the woman looked dazed, as if she needed help. He tapped on the pane and
her vacant gaze traveled to the window.

“Mrs. Morris,” he shouted over the noise of the boom box. “Are you okay? Do you need
a hand?”

She looked at him balefully, and for a moment Jake wished he had minded his own business.
Then, slowly, she nodded.

“Okay. I’m coming right around.” Realizing she probably couldn’t hear him, he nodded
and gestured toward the front of the house, to let her know his intentions. Jake quickly
descended the ladder, went around the side of the house, and rushed up the porch steps.
Just as he was opening the front door, he heard the sound of barking. He turned and
saw Leo, barreling toward the house alone, barking a warning, like a canine Paul Revere.

T
ess thanked Chan for his help and left before he could suggest another, longer interview.
Clutching the articles she had copied, and keeping her gaze lowered, she hurried toward
the door of the newspaper office and nearly collided with a man who had reached it
at the same time. “Sorry,” she murmured without looking up.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

Tess looked up at the silver-haired man who had spoken and blushed furiously.

Ben Ramsey raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not tailing you. I swear.”

“I didn’t think you were,” Tess said, feigning coolness as she opened the door to
the vestibule and slipping outside. Ramsey caught the door and followed her through.
She did not look at him, but started quickly down the sidewalk to the parking lot.
Unfazed, he fell into step beside her. “I met a reporter here to do an interview about
the case, actually,” he said.

“Love that press coverage,” she said grimly. “Good for business.”

He ignored the implied criticism. “I thought you would be avoiding the press.”

“I was looking something up in the archives,” she said.

“What were you looking for?” he asked.

Tess sighed. Why should his persistence surprise her? He was a lawyer, after all.
Persistence came with the territory. “It wouldn’t interest you,” she said.

“Actually, if it’s about this case and Lazarus Abbott, it would interest me very much,”
he said seriously. “I thought a lot about what you said when I met you at the campsite
the other day. The fact that you still believe you were right in your indentification.
I mean, you seem to be a very intelligent, observant person. Maybe it’s not as simple
as a case of mistaken identity.”

Tess did not want him to know how much she had thought about what he’d said during
that conversation. She thought about the photo in her pocket of Ken Phalen, transformed
by a pair of drawn-on glasses. “Or maybe it is,” she murmured.

Ben Ramsey squinted at her. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

Standing there on the sidewalk, Tess could feel the warmth of the springlike day seeping
into her. Ramsey’s concerned expression, and his broad chest and shoulders were magnetic.
She was tempted to lean against him. Tess shook her head. “Look, I can’t talk to you
about this. You’re the Abbotts’ attorney. You just won the victory of a lifetime for
them.”

“For Mrs. Abbott,” he said. “Only for Mrs. Abbott. Mr. Abbott was not equally fond
of me. In fact, he told me, on one memorable occasion, that I could ‘stuff my bill
where the sun don’t shine.’”

Tess smiled in spite of herself. “Well, it seems now that Mr. Abbott is one of Lazarus’s
biggest supporters. And among the latecomers rallying to the cause is his nephew,
the police chief, who thinks I lied to protect my deviant father,” Tess said in disgust.

Ben Ramsey shook his head. “Well, that’s just insulting.”

Tess felt grateful to him for saying that. “Yes, it is.”

“So what was it that brought you here today?”

“I shouldn’t be talking to you,” she said. “We’re adversaries.”

“No, we’re not,” he said seriously. “We both want to know the truth.”

Tess met his gaze and thought that if he was lying to her, he was the best liar she’d
ever seen. She felt as if his eyes were drawing her to him, speaking silently to her
in a secret language known only to the eyes. “I don’t know,” she demurred.

“I know how much fun it is to search through that pile of old papers,” he said wryly.
“I spent some time doing that myself, trying to get a clue as to what happened. I
had a sneezing fit. Several of them, in fact. What about you? Did you find anything?”

Tess hesitated. “I’m very mixed up at this point,” she admitted. “When I came here
this morning, I had a theory. Something my son said to me got me thinking.”

Ramsey did not even smile. “What? What did he say?”

His open, interested gaze made her feel safe, as if he were an ally. And part of her
really wanted to tell him, but she knew better. It was time to terminate this conversation,
she thought. Don’t start romanticizing this guy, she thought. That is dangerous. He
is not your friend. “Nothing important,” she said dismissively.

Ben noticed her change of attitude. “You know, I understand why you wouldn’t trust
me, but I probably know this case better than anyone in this town right now,” he said.
“And I can tell you that it became more than just a job to me. I’ve studied that trial
transcript a thousand times looking for that missing piece of information that would
explain what really happened. I’d be very interested to hear your theory.”

Just as she was about to shake her head and hurry away, Tess suddenly realized that
this might be an opportunity, and that Ramsey might be just the person to talk to
after all. She looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Do you still have a transcript of
Lazarus Abbott’s trial?”

“Sure,” he said.

“Do you think I could take a look at it?”

“Well, if it would be of use to you, sure.”

“Great. Could I get it now?” she asked.

“If you don’t mind coming with me,” he said.

“To your office?” she said.

Ramsey grimaced. “Tess. Can I call you Tess?”

Tess nodded.

“I’m Ben,” he said. “Call me Ben. Look, I know this doesn’t sound too professional,
but…I have to be honest with you. I just…um…got a pup, and I have to go home and deal
with him.”

“A pup?” she said, surprised.

“A puppy. He’s only ten weeks and he’s at that stage where he’s kind of…high maintenance.
Well, you know. You have a dog.”

Tess realized after a moment’s confusion that he was referring to Leo. “It’s not my
dog,” she said.

“Oh. I thought…”

“Leo belongs to my mother.”

“Well, in any case, I have to run home for a few minutes. It’s only about ten minutes
from here. And I’m coming right back…”

“I can’t wait,” said Tess stiffly. “I have to get back.”

“No,” said Ramsey. “You don’t understand. The trial transcript is at my house. I meant,
do you want to ride out there with me?”

“To your house?”

Ben raised his black eyebrows apologetically. “I’m sorry. I have to go. It won’t take
long.

Tess hesitated, knowing she wanted to agree to it.

“Come on,” he said.

The road to Ben Ramsey’s house wound through the woods and around Lake Innisquam.
Tess caught an intermittent glimpse of the sun gleaming on the waters of the lake.
In the car, they hardly spoke at all. His house, when it appeared, turned out to be
a good-size fishing cottage built in view of the lake. “This is it,” he said.

He got out and walked up to a screened porch that wrapped all the way around the house.
He opened the door and called out to her. “Come on in.”

Tess stopped to take in the view. The mild, clear day and the dark water of the lake,
its surface silvery from the sun, made her want to kick her boots off and wade in.
Instead, she followed Ben up the walk to his house. She opened the screen door and
heard him inside, murmuring endearments while a dog yipped delightedly. The house
had four long windows and a door that opened out onto the screened-in porch. She could
see him in the living room, sitting on a hooked wool rug in his good suit, while the
pup, newly released from its crate, leaped happily at him, licking his face. Tess
walked into the house.

“Yes, yes,” he was saying. “I’m glad to see you, too. And we have a guest. Scout,
meet Miss Tess DeGraff.”

Tess reached down and stroked the puppy’s silken fur. “Hello there, Scout,” she said.
“Call me Tess.”

“All right. I’ve got to take you out,” said Ben, rising to his feet. He lifted a leash
from a hook beside the fireplace and bent down to put it on the dog’s collar. Then
he handed it to Tess. “Here, hold this a minute.”

Tess took the leash but was about to protest when she saw that he was rummaging through
the papers on a desk in the corner. “Here it is,” he said. He brought the thick bound
sheaf of paper with a plastic cover over to Tess and handed it to her. “I’ll trade
you,” he said, gesturing to the leash. Tess handed the pup’s lead to him.

“Sit down and have a look through it, if you like,” Ramsey said, indicating the sofa.
“We’ll be right back.”

“Can’t I take it with me?” Tess asked.

“You can,” he said. “I just thought you might be impatient to have a look.”

“It’s true. I am,” said Tess. She sat down on the sofa and opened the document, wondering
if she’d find any clues that the best legal minds might have missed. She heard Scout
yipping cheerfully and rustling in the leaves outside as she read over parts of the
sentencing phase of the trial. After a few minutes, she looked up from the transcript,
ruminating about what she had read, and her gaze scanned the comfortable living room.
She noted that the well-maintained house had a rustic look, but it was a city person’s
idea of rustic. It was tastefully decorated—everything was coordinated in shades of
forest green and wine, plaids and muted prints perfectly matched. She recognized furniture,
cushions, lamps, and even the rug from catalogues that she received herself at home
in Washington. It was as if everything in the house had arrived, at great expense,
by UPS.

Tess remembered Jake’s saying that Ben was a widower and that this had been his and
his wife’s vacation home. There were definite signs that a man now inhabited the place
alone. For one thing, she thought, a woman probably would have set that dog cage somewhere
other than the living room rug. On the oak dining table in front of the long windows
was an empty mug, still stained with coffee, a crumb-covered plate, piles of mail,
and a heap of newspapers with the
Stone Hill Record
on top. The fireplace was filled with cinders, as if no one ever thought to clean
it. A canvas jacket hung over the back of one of the dining room chairs. On the mantel,
beneath a framed map of New Hampshire, was propped a small oil painting of a woman
with her face partially turned away from the artist. Tess peered at it curiously.

“Brrr…the weather’s changing,” Ben said, coming back into the house with the puppy.
“You finding what you wanted?”

The transcript was open on her lap, but Tess’s attention was distracted. “I was just
looking at that painting,” she said truthfully. “It’s really nice.” It looked as if
it had been painted in a forest and the shadows on the woman’s averted face had a
tinge of green in the gray.

“Oh, thank you,” he said. “I painted that.”

Tess saw no reason to pretend not to know he was a widower. “Is it a painting of your
wife?” she asked.

Ben looked away from the painting. “Yeah,” he said brusquely.

Tess reddened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend…”

“It’s all right,” he said. “Sometimes I forget it’s there.”

Tess nodded. “I understand that,” she said. “I’ve had a lot of that lately.”

He frowned at her. “A lot of what?”

“Well, you think you’ve adjusted to a loss and then something reminds you. It jumps
up and grabs you by the throat when you least expect it.”

Ben’s gaze returned to the painting. He shook his head. “I’m over it,” he said.

Liar, she thought. But instead she said, “It’s a beautiful painting. You have some
talent.”

Ben shrugged dismissively. “It won’t pay the rent.” Ben gave his dog a treat and then
pulled out a chair from the dining table and sat down, facing Tess. “So are you going
to tell me what you’re looking for in there?” he asked, nodding toward the transcript.

Tess hesitated. He had asked for nothing in return for showing her the transcript.
A little part of her wanted to see what he thought of her theory. Clearly he was intelligent.
His opinion would be interesting. She decided to share her thoughts and hoped it wasn’t
a mistake. “I’ve been wondering if Lazarus might have had an accomplice,” said Tess.

Ben frowned. “You think Lazarus Abbott had an accomplice?” he asked.

For a moment she thought of the photo of Ken Phalen and she hesitated. No, she thought.
She had to stop second-guessing herself. “Lazarus was the man I saw that night, no
matter what you—or anybody—might think.”

“You could be right,” said Ben. He turned his head and looked out through the screen
porch windows to the lake. Dark clouds were beginning to blow up and the temperature
was falling. A sudden breeze whipped dry leaves against the mesh of the screens.

“What?” Tess finally asked as he sat silently.

“Nothing. It’s an interesting idea,” he said. “It’s possible. And, if you’re right,
there might be some clue in those proceedings as to who it might be.”

“Well, I know it’s not what you want to hear after the great DNA revelation,” she
said. “You don’t want to think that he might have been involved after all.”

Ben Ramsey sighed and leaned over, absently stroking the pup’s head as it nestled
at his feet. Tess was shocked to feel a moment of envy for the puppy as she wondered
how it would feel to have those fingers touch her skin with that languid stroke. She
forced herself to look away, to concentrate on his words.

“No. You’re wrong. I don’t have anything invested in the innocence of Lazarus Abbott.
He seemed to have been a man with a troubled life and very few redeeming qualities.
He may well have acted with an accomplice.”

“But…”

Ben hesitated and seemed to struggle in choosing his words. “Is it possible that you’ve
hated Lazarus Abbott for so long that this might be a way to keep him somehow…tied
to the crime?”

Tess froze, and stared at him without replying.

Ben took a deep breath. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, Tess. But even if he
did have an accomplice, that doesn’t change the fact that Lazarus Abbott’s execution
was a mistake that can never be rectified. He was executed for a crime he didn’t commit,”
Ben said calmly. “Even if he had ten accomplices, that wouldn’t justify his execution.”