Dark Lady (52 page)

“Perhaps at the start. But, in the end, it was because of yOU.” Brett hesitated, and then she touched Caroline’s sleeve. “Will I see you again?” Caroline smiled. “Maybe you’ll come to see me. I’d like that, very much.”

“Would you?”

“Oh, yes. After all, you’ve never been to San Francisco.” Brett smiled at this; for an instant, Caroline wanted to hold her, to tell her how she truly felt. Then she saw the fresh grave of her father, and knew once more that the final judgment was hers to make, the wounds of silence hers to bear. For a last time, Caroline studied her daughter’s face.

“I’m ready to leave here,” she said. “Are you?”

Brett was quiet for a moment. “Yes,” she answered,

“So you’re leaving tomorrow,” Jackson said.

“Uh-huh. By six o’clock, I’ll be in San Francisco.” Caroline’s voice softened. “It’s time, Jackson. Before I make some terrible mistake.”

They sat at the end of Jackson’s boat dock, each drinking a can of beer and watching the last light of evening fade on Heron Lake. Quietly, Jackson said, “You did the right thing, you know.”

Caroline turned to him. “Did I?”

“Sure.” He smiled a little. “Besides, who ever said you’d be such a great mother? Was yours?”

Caroline gave him a cool look. “That hurts a bit, you know. But no, she wasn’t particularly. In some ways, I suppose, I was my own mother.”

Jackson had stopped smiling. “Then I take it all back.” He fell quiet for a moment. “You’re a good person, Caroline. To me, you grasped what seems important here: that your father’s silence hurt you, but that—at least for now—yours is a kindness. And that there are no rules for this kind of thing, merely the hope of empathy.”

She faced him now, sitting cross-legged on the dock. “You’re the only person I’ve told all this. Perhaps the only one I’ll ever tell.”

He gazed at her a moment, accepting this. “Then that makes me indispensable, doesn’t it? Or maybe just inconvenient.”

Caroline shook her head. “No,” she said. “You’ve helped me a lot. You know that.”

The look that Jackson gave her was tentative, inquiring. “Because I’ve wondered, after all this settles in, whether you’d ever want to see me again. Or whether, for your own sake, it would be easier to do what you did before.” For a long time, Caroline was quiet. “It’s gone too far for that, I think. Although I guess I’d like it better if, like Brett, you came to San Francisco.” Caroline smiled. “Of course, you’ll save hotel fare if you stay with me. I hear civil servants in New Hampshire don’t make much money. Even judges.” She touched his hand, finishing quietly: “I do care for you, Jackson. More than I ever knew.” After a moment, Jackson smiled again. “Then do me a favor, okay?”

“What’s that?”

“Take the judgeship, Caroline. You don’t have to give up everything. And it may make you better company.” In that moment, looking at Jackson, Caroline saw that this was more than kindness. He was asking her to accept the gift of his generosity. To accept it for herself. Perhaps she could, Caroline thought. Perhaps she could accept who she was: the daughter of Channing and Nicole, mother in silence to Brett. Flawed, with a life she did not yet understand, but learning still. She could feel Jackson watching her. That night, Caroline stayed with him. The next morning Caroline Clark Masters, soon to be a judge of the United States Court of Appeals, flew back to San Francisco to prepare for her confirmation hearings. Her niece, Brett, drove her to the airport.

As usual, my task was made easier by a number of friends, old and new. In San Francisco, I consulted Assistant District Attorney Bill Fazio; defense attorneys Hugh Anthony Levine and Jim Collins; medical examiner Boyd Stephens; homicide inspector Napoleon Hendrix; and private investigator Hal Lipset. And once again, Assistant District Attorney A1 Giannini advised me and reviewed the manuscript. For three books now, their help has been invaluable. Readers devoted to New Hampshire will recognize that Masters Hill and the town of Resolve are fictional locations: a small community in New Hampshire seemed too particular a place to fairly depict here. I hope that I have nonetheless captured the flavor and legal milieu of this unique region. My dear friend and fellow writer Maynard Thomson helped impart to me his deep love and appreciation for the state. Others generous with their time include Assistant Attorney General Janice Rundies; County Attorney Lincoln Soldati; Jennifer Soldati of the New Hampshire Trial Lawyers Association; attorney and writer John Davis; defense attorneys Bob Stein and Paul Maggiotto; Kathy Deschenaux of the office of the New Hampshire Medical Examiner; and Sergeant Kevin Babcock of the New Hampshire State Police. I owe all of them a great debt for whatever success 1 have achieved; any errors, or simplifications for narrative purposes, are mine. Special mention should be made of the late Dr. Roger Fossum, chief medical examiner for the State of New Hampshire. In the time that I spent with Roger, I quickly came to appreciate the professionalism, intelligence, humanity, and good humor that endeared him to his many friends. Martha’s Vineyard has a unique charm and history. William Marks—environmentalist, publisher, and writer—was extraordinarily generous in sharing the history of the island, suggestions for locating specific scenes, and advice on sailing. The Vineyard portions of the novel would have been far different without him.

Thanks also go to George Manter, a former chief of police of West Tisbury, who helped fill in several gaps in island history. In addition, John Bitzer and his family showed me around their wonderful home and graciously allowed me to use it as a model for the Masterses’ summer home.

In assessing the possible impact of drugs and alcohol on Brett’s behavior and perceptions, I was kindly assisted by Dr. David Smith of the HaightAshbury Free Clinic, and writer Rick Seymour. Dr. Rodney Shapiro helped me consider the potential emotions and motivations of Brett, Channing Masters, and Megan Race. In outlining for me the possible routes through which Caroline Masters might come to be considered for an appellate judge-ship, my friend Chief Judge Tbelton Henderson enabled me to better posit what might be happening to Caroline. Finally, renowned serologist Dr. Henry Lee graciously responded by telephone to several questions regarding the potential medical evidence in a case such as this. I hope I have done their advice something close to justice.

My wife, Laurie; my friend and agent, Fred Hill; and my wonderful publishers Sonny Mehta of Knopf, and Linda Grey and Clare Ferraro of Ballantine—commented on the manuscript. And, as usual, Philip Rother and Lee Zell were generous with their advice.

Most of all, there is my assistant, Alison Thomas. With each new day’s writing, Alison helped me pick it apart—looking for weak spots; flaws in characterization; infelicitous language; and flagging plot lines. Writing is a solitary business: without Alison’s keen eye and kind encouragement, it would be far more difficult. She has become a dear friend and an integral part of my work. For all those reasons, and more, this book is dedicated to her.

Long estranged from her blue-blooded New England family, attorney Caroline Masters is summoned home to defend her niece against charges of murder. Police found twenty-two-year-old Brett Allen blood-splattered and incoherent near the scene of the crime, the weapon covered with her fingerprints.
Caroline has doubts of her own about Brett’s innocence. But as the sensational trial heats up, she’ll find disturbing inconsistencies in the testimony of the prosecution’s star witness and find herself facing some of the challenges of her life and career—from trusting her former lover, state prosecutor Jackson Watts, to risking the federal judgeship she’s worked her whole life for, to exposing a dark family secret that could save her niece or destroy them both.

*

Richard North Patterson frequently rejects the label “legal thriller” for his novels, and
The Final Judgement
works hard to transcend this limiting category. A cleverly assembled murder mystery told in rich prose (“Moonlight refracted on the still, obsidian waters of the lake and traced the pines and birches and elms surrounding it. The only sound Brett heard was the rise and fall of James’s breathing.”) and filled with a cast of quirky small-town New Englanders, the novel ultimately succeeds through Patterson’s talents as a writer, not just as a plotter.
As in many of Patterson’s best novels,
The Final Judgement
draws on flashback sequences to ground the story and establish key characters. Forty-five-year-old Caroline Masters, a minor figure in
Degree of Guilt
and
Eyes of a Child
is the narrative centre, and much of the suspense in the novel derives from the slow unwrapping of her past—the death of her mother and estrangement from her father. In the opening of the novel, Caroline is waiting for a message from the White House appointing her to the U.S. Court of Appeals, when, instead, her long-distant father gives her a call. Her niece has just been named the primary suspect in the murder of her boyfriend. The college-age Brett Allen was found naked, passed out from drugs and alcohol, with a knife in her hand and covered in her boyfriend’s blood. The family wants Caroline to return to New Hampshire to defend the girl.
The perils that face Caroline multiply quickly. By taking the case, Caroline clearly jeopardizes her chances for the Court of Appeals appointment. And by returning home, she must inevitably face the accumulated memories and resentments of the New Hampshire crowd, including her high-school boyfriend who is the prosecuting attorney. But her niece’s life is at stake. Ultimately,
The Final Judgement
is a tale of the deep and twisted history of a New England family, but it is told in a captivating style that is—despite Patterson’s reservations about the classsification—“thrilling”.

*

A family-revenge story and courtroom drama. A young man is brutally murdered and his distraught girlfriend is charged and brought to trial. Her aunt, about to take up a top job in the US Court of Appeals, decides to defend her, but it is the girl’s first contact with her family for 20 years.