Gone, But Not Forgotten Read online

  “Why didn’t you go public?” Betsy asked. “You could have let everyone know who Lake was and what he’d done.”

  “Only a few people knew Lake was the rose killer and we were sworn to silence by the terms of the pardon.”

  “Once the women were free, why didn’t you say to hell with him and go public anyway?”

  Colby looked into the fire. His voice sounded hollow when he answered.

  “We discussed the possibility, but we were afraid. Lake said he would take revenge by killing someone if we breached our agreement with him.”

  “Going public would have destroyed the senator’s career,” Wayne Turner added, “and none of us wanted that. Only a handful of people knew about the pardon or Lake’s guilt. O’Malley, Gordon, Grimsbo, me, the U.S. attorney, the attorney general, Carstairs, Merrill and the senator. We never even told the mayor. We knew how courageous Ray had been to sign the pardon. We didn’t want him to suffer for it. So we took a vow to protect Ray and we’ve kept it.”

  “And you just forgot about Lake?”

  “We never forgot, Mrs. Tannenbaum,” Colby told her. “I used contacts in the Albany Police and the FBI to hunt for Lake. Nancy Gordon dedicated her life to tracking him down. He was too clever for us.”

  “Now that you know about the pardon, what are you planning to do?” Turner asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “If the pardon, and these new murders, become public knowledge, Senator Colby cannot be confirmed. He’d lose the support of the law-and-order conservatives on the Judiciary Committee and the liberals will crucify him. This would be the answer to their prayers.”

  “I realize that.”

  “Going public can’t help your client, either.”

  “Wayne,” Colby said, “Mrs. Tannenbaum is going to have to make up her own mind about what to do with what she knows. We can’t pressure her. God knows, she’s under enough pressure as it is.

  “But,” Colby said, turning to Betsy, “I do have a question for you. I have the impression that you deduced the existence of the pardon.”

  “That’s right. I asked myself how Lake could have walked away from Hunter’s Point. A pardon was the only answer and only the governor of New York could issue a pardon. You could keep the existence of a pardon from the public, but the members of the task force would have to know about it and they’re the ones who were rewarded. It was the only answer that made sense.”

  “Lake doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

  Betsy hesitated, then said, “No.”

  “And you haven’t asked him to confirm your guess, have you?”

  Betsy shook her head.

  “Why?”

  “Do you remember the conflicting emotions you felt when Lake asked you to pardon him? Imagine how I feel, Senator. I’m a very good attorney. I have the skills to free my client. He maintains his innocence, but my investigation turned up evidence that made me question his word. Until today, I didn’t know for certain if Martin was lying. I didn’t want to confront him until I knew the truth.”

  “Now that you know, what will you do?”

  “I haven’t worked that out yet. If it was any other case, I wouldn’t care. I’d do my job and defend my client. But this isn’t any case. This is …”

  Betsy paused. What could she say that everyone in the room did not know firsthand.

  “I don’t envy you, Mrs. Tannenbaum,” the senator said. “I really believe I had no choice. That is the only reason I’ve been able to live with what I did, even though I regret what I did every time I think of the pardon. You can walk away from Lake.”

  “Then I’d be walking away from my responsibilities, wouldn’t I?”

  “Responsibilities,” Colby repeated. “Why do we take them on? Why do we burden ourselves with problems that tear us apart? Whenever I think of Lake I wish I hadn’t gone into public life. Then I think of some of the good I’ve been able to do.”

  The senator paused. After a moment he stood up and held out his hand. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Tannenbaum. I mean that.”

  “Thank you for your candor, Senator.”

  “Wayne can drive you back to your hotel.”

  Wayne Turner followed Betsy out of the room. Colby sank back down into the armchair. He felt old and used up. He wanted to stay in front of the fire forever and forget the responsibilities about which he had just spoken. He thought about Betsy Tannenbaum’s responsibility to her client and her responsibilities as a member of the human race. How would she live with herself if Lake was acquitted? He would haunt her for the rest of her life, the way Lake haunted him.

  Colby wondered if the pardon would become public. If it did, he would be finished in public life. The President would withdraw his nomination and he would never be reelected. Strangely, he was not concerned. He had no control over Betsy Tannenbaum. His fate rested with the decisions she made.

  CHAPTER 20

  One

  “Dr. Simon Reardon?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Reginald Stewart. I’m a private investigator. I work for Betsy Tannenbaum, an attorney in Portland, Oregon.”

  “I don’t know anyone in Portland.”

  Dr. Reardon sounded annoyed. Stewart thought he detected a slight British accent.

  “This is about Hunter’s Point and your ex-wife, Dr. Reardon. That’s where I’m calling from. I hope you’ll give me a few minutes to explain.”

  “I have no interest in discussing Samantha.”

  “Please hear me out. Do you remember Peter Lake?”

  “Mr. Stewart, there is nothing about those days I can ever forget.”

  “Three women were kidnapped in Portland recently. A black rose and a note that said ‘Gone, But Not Forgotten’ were left at each scene. The women’s bodies were dug up recently on property belonging to Peter Lake. He’s been charged with the homicides.”

  “I thought the Hunter’s Point police caught the murderer. Wasn’t he some retarded deliveryman? A sex offender?”

  “The Multnomah County d.a. thinks the Hunter’s Point police made a mistake. I’m trying to find the Hunter’s Point survivors. Ann Hazelton is dead. Gloria Escalante won’t talk to me. Mrs. Reardon is my last hope.”

  “It’s not Mrs. Reardon and hasn’t been for some time,” the doctor said with distaste, “and I have no idea how you can find Samantha. I moved to Minneapolis to get away from her. We haven’t spoken in years. The last I heard, she was still living in Hunter’s Point.”

  “You’re divorced?”

  Reardon laughed harshly. “Mr. Stewart, this was more than a simple divorce. Samantha tried to kill me.”

  “What?”

  “She’s a sick woman. I wouldn’t waste my time on her. You can’t trust anything she says.”

  “Was this entirely a result of the kidnapping?”

  “Undoubtedly her torture and captivity exacerbated the condition, but my wife was always unbalanced. Unfortunately I was too much in love with her to notice until we were married. I kept rationalizing and excusing …” Reardon took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. She does that to me. Even after all these years.”

  “Dr. Reardon, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but Mr. Lake is facing a death sentence and I need to know as much about Hunter’s Point as I can.”

  “Can’t the police tell you what you want to know?”

  “No, sir. The files are missing.”

  “That’s strange.”

  “Yes, it is. Believe me, if I had those files I wouldn’t be bothering you. I’m sure it’s painful having me dig up this period in your life, but this is literally a matter of life and death. Our d.a. has a bee in his bonnet about Mr. Lake. Peter was a victim, just like you, and he needs your help.”

  Reardon sighed. “Go ahead. Ask your questions.”

  “Thank you, sir. Can you tell me about Mrs. Reardon, or whatever she calls herself now?”

  “I have no idea what her name is. She still called hersel
f Reardon when I left Hunter’s Point.”

  “When was that?”

  “About eight years ago. As soon as the divorce was final.”

  “What happened between you and your wife?”

  “She was a surgical nurse at University Hospital. Very beautiful, very wanton. Sex was what she was best at,” Reardon said bitterly. “I was so caught up in her body that I was oblivious to what was going on around me. The most obvious problem was the stealing. She was arrested for shoplifting twice. Our lawyer kept the cases out of court and I paid off the stores. She was totally without remorse. Treated the incidents like jokes, once she was in the clear.

  “Then there was the spending. I was making good money, but we were in debt up to our ears. She drained my savings accounts, charged our credit cards to the limit. It took me four years after the divorce to get back on my feet. And you couldn’t reason with her. I showed her the bills and drew up a budget. She’d get me in bed and I’d forget what I’d told her, or she’d throw a tantrum or lock me out of the bedroom. It was the worst three years of my life.

  “Then she was kidnapped and tortured and she got worse. Whatever slender string kept her tethered to reality snapped during the time she was a prisoner. I can’t even describe what she was like after that. They kept her hospitalized for almost a year. She rarely spoke. She wouldn’t let men near her.

  “I should have known better, but I took her home after she was released. I felt guilty because of what had happened. I know I couldn’t have protected her—I was at the hospital when she was kidnapped—but, still, you can see how …”

  “That’s very common, that feeling.”

  “Oh, I know. But knowing something intellectually and dealing with it emotionally are two different things. I wish I had been wiser.”

  “What happened after she came home?”

  “She wouldn’t share a bedroom with me. When I was home, she would stay in her room. I have no idea what she did when I was at work. When she did speak, she was clearly irrational. She insisted that the man who kidnapped her was still at large. I showed her the newspaper articles about Waters’s arrest and the shooting, but she said he wasn’t the man. She wanted a gun for protection. Of course I refused. She started accusing me of being in a conspiracy with the police. Then she tried to kill me. She stabbed me with a kitchen knife when I came home from the hospital. Fortunately a colleague was with me. She stabbed him too, but he hit Samantha and stunned her. We wrestled her to the floor. She was writhing and screeching about … She said I was trying to kill her … It was very hard for me. I had to commit her. Then I decided to get out.”

  “I don’t blame you. It looks like you went above and beyond the call.”

  “Yes, I did. But I still feel bad about deserting her, even though I know I had no choice.”

  “You said you committed her. Which hospital was that?”

  “St. Jude’s. It’s a private psychiatric hospital near Hunter’s Point. I moved and cut off contact with her completely. I know she was there for several years, but I believe she was released.”

  “Did Samantha try to contact you after she was released?”

  “No. I dreaded the possibility, but it never happened.”

  “Would you happen to have a photo of Samantha? There weren’t any in the newspaper accounts.”

  “When I moved to Minnesota, I threw them away, along with everything else that might remind me of Samantha.”

  “Thank you for your time, Doctor. I’ll try St. Jude’s. Maybe they have a line on your ex-wife.”

  “One other thing, Mr. Stewart. If you find Samantha, please don’t tell her you talked with me or tell her where I am.”

  Two

  Randy Highsmith drove straight to the district attorney’s office from the airport. He was feeling the effects of jet lag and wouldn’t have minded going home, but he knew how badly Page wanted to hear what he had found out in Hunter’s Point.

  “It’s not good, Al,” Highsmith said as soon as they were sitting down. “I was a day behind Darius’s investigator everywhere I went, so he knows what we know.”

  “Which is?”

  “Nancy Gordon wasn’t straight with you. Frank Grimsbo and Wayne Turner told me only Gordon considered Lake a serious suspect. She was fixated on him and never accepted Waters as the rose killer, but everyone else did.

  “There’s something else she didn’t tell us. Three of the Hunter’s Point women didn’t die. Hazelton, Escalante and Reardon were found alive in an old farmhouse. And, before you ask, Hazelton is dead, I haven’t located Reardon and Escalante never saw the face of the man who abducted her.”

  “Why did she let me think all the Hunter’s Point women were murdered?”

  “I have no idea. All I know is that our case against Martin Darius is turning to shit.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Page said, more to himself than to Highsmith. “Waters is dead. If he was the rose killer, who murdered the women we found at the construction site? It had to be someone who knew details about the Hunter’s Point case that only the police knew. That description only fits one person, Martin Darius.”

  “There is one other person it fits, Al,” Highsmith said.

  “Who?”

  “Nancy Gordon.”

  “Are you crazy? She’s a cop.”

  “What if she’s crazy? What if she did it to frame Darius? Think about it. Would you have considered Darius a suspect if she didn’t tell you he was Lake?”

  “You’re forgetting the anonymous letter that told her that the killer was in Portland.”

  “How do we know she didn’t write it herself?”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Well, believe it or not, our case is disappearing. Oh, and there’s a new wrinkle. A Portland private investigator named Sam Oberhurst was looking into the Hunter’s Point murders about a month before the first Portland disappearance.”

  “Whom did he represent?”

  “He didn’t say and he didn’t tell anyone why he was asking about the case, but I’m going to ask him. I have his phone number and I’ll get the address through the phone company.”

  “Have they had any luck with the files?”

  “None at all.”

  Page closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of his chair.

  “I’m going to look like a fool, Randy. We’ll have to dismiss. I should have listened to you and Ross. We never had a case. It was all in my head.”

  “Don’t fold yet, Al. This p.i. could know something.”

  Page shook his head. He had aged since his divorce. His energy had deserted him. For a while this case had recharged him, but Darius was slipping away and he would soon be a laughingstock in the legal community.

  “We’re going to lose this one, Randy. I can feel it. Gordon was all we had and now it looks like we never had her.”

  Three

  “Hi, Mom,” Betsy said, putting down her suitcase and hugging Rita Cohen.

  “How was your flight? Have you had anything to eat?”

  “The flight was fine and I ate on the plane.”

  “That’s not food. You want me to fix you something?”

  “Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” Betsy said as she hung up her coat. “How was Kathy?”

  “So-so. Rick took her to the movies on Saturday.”

  “How is he?” Betsy asked, hoping she sounded disinterested.

  “The louse wouldn’t look me in the eye the whole time he was here. He couldn’t wait to escape.”

  “You weren’t rude to him?”

  “I didn’t give him the time of day,” Rita answered, pointing her nose in the air. Then she shook her head.

  “Poor kid. Kathy was all excited when she left with him, but she was down in the dumps as soon as he dropped her off. She moped around, picked at her food at dinner.”

  “Did anything else happen while I was gone?” Betsy asked, hoping there had been some good news.

  “Nora Sloane came by, Sund
ay evening,” Rita said, smiling mischievously. “I told all.”

  “What did she ask about?”

  “Your childhood, your cases. She was very good with Kathy.”

  “She seems like a nice woman. I hope her article sells. She’s certainly working hard enough on it.”

  “Oh, before I forget, when you go to school, talk to Mrs. Kramer. Kathy was in a fight with another little girl and she’s been disruptive in class.”

  “I’ll see her this afternoon,” Betsy said. She sounded defeated. Kathy was usually an angel at school. You didn’t have to be Sigmund Freud to see what was happening.

  “Cheer up,” Rita told her. “She’s a good kid. She’s just going through a rough time. Look, you’ve got an hour before school lets out. Have some coffee cake. I’ll make you a cup of decaf and you can tell me about your trip.”

  Betsy glanced at her watch and decided to give in. Eating cake was a surefire way of dealing with depression.

  “Okay. I am hungry, I guess. You fix everything. I want to change.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Rita said with a smile. “And, for your information, Kathy won the fight. She told me.”

  CHAPTER 21

  When Betsy Tannenbaum was a very little girl, she would not go to sleep until her mother showed her that there were no monsters in her closet or under her bed. The stage passed quickly. Betsy stopped believing in monsters. Then she met Martin Darius. What made Darius so terrifying was his dissimilarity to the slavering, fanged deformities that lurked in the shadows in her room. Give one hundred people the autopsy photographs and not one of them would believe that the elegantly-dressed gentleman standing in the doorway to Betsy’s office was capable of cutting off Wendy Reiser’s nipples or using a cattle prod to torture Victoria Miller. Even knowing what she knew, Betsy had to force herself to make the connection. But Betsy did know, and the shining winter sun could not keep her from feeling as frightened as the very little girl who used to listen for monsters in the dark.