Stolen in the Night (13 page)

Jake’s expression was cold and closed. “If it makes you feel any better, Tess, I was
scared half to death. All right?”

“Well, I should hope so,” she snapped.

“Tell Erny I’ll see him later.” Jake turned and stalked out of the waiting room, slamming
through the double doors that led out to the parking lot. Tess watched him go, her
eyes blazing. It was the first time she could remember, since they were kids, that
she had ever gotten angry at her brother. But it felt as if that anger had been coiled
within her for a long time—back to the time when he had deserted her and Phoebe, with
disastrous consequences. Her parents had always told her it was wrong to blame Jake,
wrong to blame herself. But was it wrong? she wondered. She already blamed herself.
She always had. Wasn’t Jake even more to blame than she was?

Dawn came back holding a can of Sprite. She glanced around the waiting room and then
asked, in a soft voice, “Where’s your brother?”

“Gone,” said Tess. “Where else would he be? Gone.”

T
hree hours later, Erny was released and Tess was able to get him back to the inn,
where she tucked him into his bed and then went into the kitchen to heat up some soup
for him. By the time she returned to their room, he was sprawled out on his stomach
fast asleep. Tess closed the door to the room gently, leaving her son to sleep, and
carried the soup bowl and spoon back to the kitchen.

Dawn was preparing a tea tray with cookies to set out in the sitting room for the
guests. The afternoon was completely gray now and cold rain spattered the kitchen
windows. Dawn looked up when Tess entered the room. “How’s our boy doing?” she asked.

“Sound asleep,” said Tess.

“He’s had quite a day,” said Dawn. “Your brother felt terrible about what happened.
These things do happen with kids.”

Tess evaded a conversation about Jake. “I’ll never get used to the worry. How did
you ever manage with four of us?” Tess asked.

Dawn’s gaze was far away. “Oh, you do get used to it. All your father and I ever wanted
was a big family,” she said. Then she sighed.

Tess averted her eyes from the pain in her mother’s face. It had been a simple enough
wish, Tess thought. Not a greedy plan. Just a desire to love and be loved. And it
had been very successful, too. Until a maniac had destroyed their peaceful life.

Dawn put the last of the cookies on a plate along with a steaming flowered teapot,
a sugar bowl, and a matching pitcher. Tess was constantly amazed by her mother, who
never shirked her duties to her family, to her job at the inn, even when she had the
weight of the world on her shoulders. Who could ever have imagined, Tess thought,
on that sunny, holiday afternoon when they first met the Phalens, the owners of the
Stone Hill Inn, that they would all end up so enmeshed in this place.

“Mom, you know, I wanted to ask you something,” said Tess.

“Hmmm…?” said Dawn.

“Do you remember the people who used to own this place? The Phalens.”

Dawn nodded. “Yes. Of course. What about them?”

“How well did you know them?” Tess asked.

“Not…too well. They were…they seemed like good people,” said Dawn. “They were very
kind to us.”

“Didn’t their daughter commit suicide?” Tess asked.

Dawn’s expression was wary. “Yes, she did. Why?”

“No real reason,” said Tess. “But…suicide at fourteen. It makes you wonder…”

“Wonder what?” said Dawn.

“It’s just…unusual,” said Tess.

“You mean you wonder if it was their fault? Her parents’?”

“I’m just thinking about everything and every…one in a new light,” she said. “Now
that we know the DNA results.”

Dawn frowned at her. “I don’t follow you.”

“Well, I mean, we didn’t really know Kenneth Phalen. He lived right near the campground.
And his daughter killed herself when she was fourteen. Just a year older than Phoebe
was. Is it possible he might have…had a side we didn’t see?”

“Tess, for heaven’s sake,” said Dawn. “How can you even think of slandering innocent
people with speculation like that?”

“I’m not slandering anyone,” said Tess. “The Phalens aren’t even around here anymore.
I was just…thinking out loud.”

“Well, don’t,” Dawn insisted. “Just stop it.”

Tess winced at her mother’s angry response. She thought about the photo of Ken Phalen
that she had altered with her black pen. It didn’t really look that much like Lazarus.
Besides, it was just a photo. In real life, she doubted if they looked anything alike.
“You’re right. I’m grasping at straws.”

Dawn was still simmering. “Why do people always blame the parents? The ones who suffered
the most?”

Tess thought of Rusty Bosworth, suggesting that Rob DeGraff might have killed Phoebe.
“I don’t know why people do that,” Tess said. “You’re right. It’s cruel.”

Dawn picked up the heavy tray. “I have to take this out,” she said.

“I’ll take it out for you,” said Tess.

Dawn’s shoulders seemed to slump. She set the tray back down. “Thank you. I’m tired,”
said Dawn. “I think I’ll sit down.”

“Why don’t you?” said Tess. “Sit down and rest.” Dawn turned her back on Tess and
sat down in the breakfast nook. Tess carried the heavy tray carefully out through
the dining room and into the comfortable sitting room where the afternoon tea was
always served. A couple was seated in front of the fire and both of them looked up
as Tess walked in.

“Oh good,” said the woman, setting down her magazine and getting up. “I could use
a pick-me-up.”

Her husband, who was wearing well-worn corduroys and an expensive golf sweater, said
to Tess, “Do you spike that stuff?”

Tess forced herself to smile as she set down the tray. “We don’t, but you may.”

The man turned to his wife. “Did you hear that? I told you I should bring my flask
on this trip.”

His wife shook her head, smiling. Tess excused herself and left the room. She started
back toward the kitchen when the front door opened behind her and a man came in wearing
an Irish tweed hat and a beige raincoat.

“It’s gotten nasty out there, hasn’t it?” Tess asked.

“Sure has,” said the man pleasantly. “I don’t want to mess up your rug.”

“It’s all right. These rugs can take it. Can I help you?”

The man opened his coat, reached into his pants pocket, and pulled out a handkerchief.
He removed his glasses, gave them a quick swipe, and then put them back on. Then he
began to fumble in the inner pocket of the raincoat.

“I’m looking for Tessa DeGraff,” the man said.

“That’s me,” said Tess.

The man drew a manilla envelope out of the inside pocket of the coat and handed it
to her.

Tess reached out and took it, frowning.

“You’ve been served,” the man said. Before Tess could reply, he turned, opened the
front door again, and went out. “Have a nice day,” he said.

“What…?” Tess tore open the envelope and pulled out the papers inside. She scanned
the first few pages. It did not take her long to realize what the legal documents
meant. The papers informed her that she was being sued for damages in civil court
by Nelson and Edith Abbott for the wrongful death of their son, Lazarus.

Wrongful death…Tess felt as if she had been punched in the gut. She thought about
her encounter with Nelson on the street and the way he had maundered on about getting
justice for Lazarus. Justice for Lazarus, indeed, Tess thought. What he really meant
was that he saw an opportunity for a great big financial settlement for himself. What
had begun as a vague feeling of dislike for Nelson Abbott was now cementing itself
into emnity in her mind.

Tess crushed the legal papers in her fist. “You bastard,” she muttered. But she wasn’t
referring to Nelson Abbott. She was thinking of Ben Ramsey. It was pointless to deny
to herself that she found him attractive. And despite their clash over the execution
of Lazarus Abbott, she had felt a certain respect for his principles. But this…this
was something else again. How could he have acted so sympathetically when all the
while he was getting ready to file this lawsuit against her? It pained her to think
that she had considered trusting him while he was planning to betray her. Tess looked
at her watch and jammed the stapled sheaf of papers into her pocketbook, pulled an
umbrella from the porcelain stand by the door, and checked to be sure she had the
car keys. She walked back and poked her head into the kitchen. Dawn was still seated
there, staring into the gloom.

“Mom, I’m going out. Will you keep an eye on Erny for me?”

Dawn looked around. “Where are you going?”

Part of Tess wanted to pull the legal papers out and show her mother, but she could
see the weariness, the sadness in Dawn’s eyes. It would be one more thing for her
mother to worry about. One more thing she didn’t deserve to have on her mind.

“I just have to take care of something,” said Tess.

E
ven in the rain, it was easy to find the law offices of Cottrell and Wayne. Ben had
pointed his office out to her only hours earlier when he drove her back to town, explaining
that he was not yet a partner because he had only worked with the firm for a year.
But he had the office pretty much to himself, for Cottrell now had emeritus status
and Wayne divided his time between New Hampshire and his vacation home in Florida.
The office was off the town square and the building must, at one time, have been a
private home. Tess walked into the neatly tended building, through a carpeted vestibule
and waiting area, and up to the desk of the middle-aged receptionist seated behind
a bank of family photos and a dusty bowl of fake flowers. She was eating a snack cake
and drinking a mug of coffee. “I’m here to see Mr. Ramsey,” Tess announced.

“Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked pleasantly.

“No, but please tell him that Miss DeGraff needs to see him right now.”

The woman hesitated, as if taken aback by the irregularity of the request, but then,
possibly in a desire to get back to her snack cake, she buzzed Ben Ramsey’s office
and then told Tess to go in. “Third door down the hall on the left, dear,” she said.

Tess marched down the hall and burst into Ben’s decorless, book-lined office. Ben,
still in his tie but with his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up, was seated at
his desk. He looked up at her, his eyes alight, and then his smile faded at the sight
of her face.

“You know,” she began without preamble, “you have a lot of nerve doing this to me.
I guess it’s all about the money with you.”

“What?” he cried. “Doing what?”

“Don’t play dumb. This morning you were all about the ethics.”

Ben stood up behind his desk and faced her squarely. “Hold it. What the hell are you
talking about?”

Tess was surprised by his reaction. She had to admit to herself that he looked clueless.
“The lawsuit,” she said.

Ben shook his head, as if to say that he still didn’t understand.

“The lawsuit you filed against me for the Abbotts. The papers just arrived.”

Ben picked up a pencil and tapped it on the desktop. “I didn’t file any lawsuit against
you,” he said.

“You didn’t,” she said skeptically.

“No. I didn’t. Did you check the letterhead? Because it certainly wasn’t mine.” Tess
hadn’t actually looked at the letterhead. She had simply assumed that the Abbotts
would bring all their legal business to Ben.

Tess’s indignation faltered. “No,” she admitted. “Just a minute. The papers are in
my bag.” She put her purse down on his desktop and rummaged around in it. She pulled
the papers from her bag and looked at the letterhead. Her cheeks flamed. She shook
her head.

“Can I see?” he asked.

Mutely, Tess handed him the document. Ben looked at the letterhead and then scanned
the document. She expected him to reproach her for jumping to a hasty conclusion.
Instead, he shook his head. “Wrongful death? That’s a stretch.”

“Why do you say that?” Tess asked.

“For one thing, the statute of limitations has run out on a wrongful death claim.”
Then he frowned. “They’re probably going to argue that the statute of limitations
needs to be adjusted because of the DNA results. It’s…creative. I’ll give them that.”

“How come they didn’t come to you for this?”

Ben frowned. “I suspect this attorney approached
them.
This firm is from North Conway. They specialize in civil suits. The attorney probably
followed the case on the news and called them to suggest the suit. These civil suit
guys…there’s no end to their…creativity when it comes to blame.”

“Sorry,” she murmured, humiliated.

Ben handed the papers back to her, unsmiling. “Natural enough mistake, I guess.”

“Do they have a case?” she asked.

Ben shook his head. “Against you? Well, civil suits are not my specialty. But no jury
is going to see this as your fault.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said.

“Of course, a crafty attorney can keep one of these suits dragging on for years. And
Nelson Abbott is just the kind of client they love. Self-righteous and mean-spirited.”

Tess nodded, feeling both embarrassed and chastened. She wanted to retreat as hastily,
if not gracefully, as possible. “I’m very sorry…Ben. I…I know you’re busy. I really
am sorry…let me just get out of your hair.”

Ben resumed his seat behind the desk. “You’re not in my hair. I’m glad you came. Especially
since that has nothing to do with me,” he said, pointing his pencil at her pocketbook.

Tess nodded.

“You will need to get yourself an attorney, though,” he said. “To fight this.”

Tess shrugged. “Interested?” she asked.

Ben shook his head. “Not my area of expertise. And it could be a conflict of interest.
But I can recommend my senior partner…”

“I have an attorney at home. He handled my adoption of Erny. I’ll call him and send
him the papers.”

“You might want to have somebody here in town,” he said.

“I’ll be fine,” she insisted stiffly. “I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”
She pulled tight the belt on her coat. “Thanks,” she said, turning to leave.

“Wait. Don’t go,” he said.

Tess frowned at him. “Why not?”

Tess thought she noticed his face color slightly. “The fact is,” he said, “I wanted
to talk to you. I was thinking about what you said earlier.”

“What I said?” Tess asked.

“Yes. Do you have a minute?”

Tess nodded.

“Sit,” he said, pointing to the client’s chair. Tess hesitated and then sat down.

“After I got back to the office, I was thinking about what you said about Lazarus
having an accomplice.”

“This morning you accused me of clinging to that idea so that I could still blame
Lazarus.”

“I asked you if that was a possibility,” Ben said. “I didn’t say it was a bad idea.”

“Wait a minute,” she said, holding her forehead. “It’s a conflict of interest for
you to represent me, but you want to talk about whether or not Lazarus had an accomplice?”

“Lazarus wasn’t my client,” he said.

“That’s splitting hairs,” she said.

“Not to my mind,” he said. “We’re just…friends, having a conversation.”

Tess tilted her head and studied him. She had noted his hesitation on the word “friends”
but she wasn’t about to mention it. “Does this mean that you think there might be
something to the accomplice idea?” she asked.

“Well, if we assume that you were right in your identification of Lazarus…”

“You’re assuming I was right?” she cried.

“Just for argument’s sake,” he said.

“Ah,” said Tess calmly. But she felt almost giddy with surprise and…gratitude.

“It would explain the DNA discrepancy,” said Ben. “I was doing some research this
afternoon. The experts seem to agree that in a pair of killers there is usually a
dominant personality and a subservient one. The subservient one is in some kind of
thrall to the dominant one. The dominant one can be cruel and controlling. It’s very
often a relationship based on fear. Now, if there was such a pair at work here, it’s
unlikely that Lazarus was the dominant one. He would have been the passive one, the
follower. Doing the bidding of the other.”

Instantly, as he spoke, a face appeared in Tess’s mind’s eye and she blanched.

“What?” he asked.

“I was just thinking. According to the sentencing phase of the trial transcript, and
what I’ve heard from everyone else, Lazarus was a loner who had no friends. He didn’t
have dealings with anyone outside the family.”

“That doesn’t mean that he didn’t have any relationships—”

“Wait, hear me out,” said Tess.

Ben nodded.

“Now, apparently, his only occupation was working for his stepfather, Nelson Abbott.
And Nelson Abbott was always angry at him. He abused him for years.”

“That’s true. Nobody ever said that Lazarus…wait a minute.” Ben peered at her. “Are
you suggesting…?”

Tess stared back at him.

“Not Nelson,” Ben scoffed.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Well, for one thing, Nelson has no record as a sexual predator.”

“Yes, but he’s got a history of violent behavior in his own family.”

Ben shook his head. “I don’t see it.”

Tess leaned forward in the chair. “Ben, they know that Phoebe’s body was transported
to the ditch in Lazarus’s truck. A witness recognized the truck leaving the scene.
There was no time to clean up the truck. Phoebe’s blood was in that truckbed. Shreds
of her clothing. But that truck actually belonged to Nelson. He just let Lazarus drive
it.”

“Tess, the police searched the Abbott house after they found the body. And the garage
and the basement. They couldn’t find any proof that he kept her there.”

“But he may have,” said Tess. “He might have cleaned it up.”

“Well, it’s true that if we’d had the forensic techniques we have nowadays, they might
have found evidence,” said Ben. “By now, of course, it’s too late.”

“Ben,” said Tess carefully, “if Lazarus kept her in that house, or on that property,
who else would have had…access to Phoebe there?”

Ben tilted back in his own chair, gripping the armrests. Then he shook his head. “No.
If that were the case, why wouldn’t Lazarus have implicated his stepfather? His life
was at stake.”

“Well, that’s a good question. But he didn’t implicate anyone. He just said he was
innocent.” Tess shrugged. “He was afraid of his stepfather. Terrified of him.”

“He was facing execution…” Ben protested.

“I know,” said Tess. “A normal person would have named his accomplice. But of course
a normal person wouldn’t have committed the crime in the first place. And it’s hard
to imagine what went on inside the snake pit that was Lazarus Abbott’s mind—I’m just
speculating—but I know that abuse victims rarely accuse their abusers.”

“That’s certainly true,” said Ben. “It’s a crime that’s so difficult to prosecute.”

Tess leaned forward in her chair. “In fact, nowhere in the sentencing phase of the
trial did Lazarus ever even acknowledge that his stepfather beat him and humiliated
him. That all came from people outside the family.”

Ben frowned.

“And who really cared? Nelson was a solid citizen. His stepson had a record as a pervert,”
Tess continued.

They sat in silence for a moment.

“I’m not accusing anyone,” Tess protested. “I just wonder if it would be possible
to make a discreet comparison of Nelson’s DNA to the test results.”

Ben shook his head. “There’s no way Nelson would voluntarily give a sample.”

“Could the police…demand a sample? Legally?” Tess asked.

Ben frowned, tapping the pencil absently on his desk. “They could. But Rusty Bosworth
is Nelson’s nephew so I think you can forget about that happening,” said Ben. “And
Nelson can’t be forced to give a DNA sample. That would violate his fourth amendment
rights…”

Tess reached a hand out and put it lightly on his, to still the tapping. She felt
his warmth radiate up through her fingertips. She pulled her fingers back. “Isn’t
it possible to obtain a person’s DNA without their knowledge?” she asked. “People
leave DNA on drinking cups or clothing or hairbrushes, don’t they?”

“Sure, it’s possible. But the police aren’t going to try and obtain a sample at all,
never mind illegally.” Ben looked at her meditative profile with a kind of possessive
admiration. His blue eyes were at once bemused, and chiding. She was pressing her
steepled fingers against her lips. “And neither should anyone else. Tess?”

Tess looked up at him, her gaze opaque. “No,” she said absently. “No. Of course not.”