From Cradle to Grave (20 page)

‘Or . . . she’s going to be persuaded because she admires what you’re trying to do for your friend,’ he said.

‘Do you really think she would listen?’ Morgan asked.

‘Well, I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But you haven’t got another attorney. And you can’t let the time get away from you. I say it’s worth a try. Not that my advice is worth anything,’ he said.

‘As a matter of fact,’ she said, ‘I think your advice is just what I needed.’

TWENTY-FIVE

‘
W
e’re just about to watch Finding Nemo,’ said Gert.

‘I realize this is probably not a good time,’ said Morgan. ‘But it’s very important.’

‘I know. It’s always important,’ said Gert, taking a detour into the kitchen. She waggled a finger indicating that Morgan should follow her. Morgan hesitated and then entered the kitchen.

Gert punched a button on a CD player on the counter, popped out the disc and set it back in its plastic case, which she closed with a clack. Gert handed the CD to Morgan. ‘She’s good. I loved that ‘Let Your Hair Down’ cut. I figured I might as well listen to it before I gave it back to you,’ said Gert wryly. ‘Because it’s certainly isn’t mine.’

Morgan avoided her accusatory gaze by looking down at the Corinne Bailey Rae disc in her hand. ‘No,’ said Morgan.

‘At least you’re not trying to con me now,’ said Gert, folding her arms over her chest. ‘What are you up to anyway?’

Morgan grimaced. ‘Did you tell Noreen?’

‘Not yet,’ said Gert.

Morgan looked at her pleadingly. ‘It’s a long story and I had a good reason. Please. I really need to see Noreen. I’ll explain it to her.’

‘Mommy. Come on,’ childish voices called down the hall. ‘Let’s watch the movie.’

Shaking her head, Gert led the way down the hall, opening the door to the bedroom. The two children Morgan had seen at her last visit were snuggled on either side of the flannelpajamaed Noreen, a plastic bowl of popcorn perched precariously in front of them on the bedcovers.

‘Get down for a minute,’ said Gert. ‘Nonny’s got to talk to this lady.’

Noreen frowned at the sight of Morgan, and shushed the yelps of protest from her children.

‘Just for a few minutes,’ said Gert, deftly lifting the popcorn bowl off the covers, as she shepherded the complaining children down from the bed, warning them to be careful not to kick Noreen. Gert threw Noreen a warning look. ‘We haven’t got that much time before bed.’

‘I’ll be brief,’ said Morgan, but looking at Noreen’s impatient expression, she felt that she could not be brief enough, and her reception was likely to be chilly.

‘I hope so,’ said Gert, as she herded the children out and closed the door.

Morgan looked anxiously at Noreen. Her red hair stood out around her face like a stiff mane, and was matted flat in the back from the bed pillows.

‘Couldn’t this wait?’ Noreen said.

Morgan shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t be here if it could.’

‘All right, fine. What is it?’ Noreen asked.

‘I need your help,’ said Morgan.

Noreen rolled her hands as if trying to propel Morgan to hurry.

Morgan took a deep breath. ‘Claire did not kill her baby. Someone else did. I’m sure of it. And the evidence may still be in that house. Can you prevent them legally from having the house scrubbed down? Or can you make the police retest the evidence from the bathroom? Or let us hire someone to retest it?

Noreen stared at her without speaking.

Morgan went on. ‘I know you think I’m crazy too, but . . . I took the DVD of her confession from your office . . .’

‘What?’ Noreen cried.

Morgan did not stop. ‘I had an expert look at it, and when he pointed this out to me it was so obvious that he was right. She made a false confession. She didn’t kill that baby, and I don’t care how much you want this to be about post-partum depression . . .’

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa,’ said Noreen. ‘Back up. You took the DVD from my office?’

Morgan stuck out her chin defiantly. ‘Yes.’

‘Whatever made you think that you had a right to do that?’

‘I was desperate,’ said Morgan. ‘I took a chance.’

Noreen glowered at her. ‘Really? And whom did you show it to?’ she asked.

‘A professor named Oliver Douglas. He wrote a book about false confessions.’

Noreen looked away from Morgan, her hands balled into fists on the top of the bedcovers, her mouth pursed.

‘I know a lot of people think that there is no such thing as a false confession, that it’s just a trick or a tactic but Professor Douglas has studied this extensively.’

‘I know all about Professor Douglas,’ Noreen said flatly.

‘I know I shouldn’t have taken it,’ said Morgan, ‘but I had to do something. Claire’s life is hanging by a thread. And she didn’t commit this crime.’

‘Everybody’s innocent,’ said Noreen sarcastically.

‘If you looked at the tape with Professor Douglas you’d see. She’s making up the part about killing Drew. She doesn’t remember it at all. It’s obvious.’

‘And her husband’s death?’ said Noreen.

Morgan sighed. ‘Professor Douglas thought that probably did happen the way she said. Guy came into the bathroom and found Drew in the tub and Claire . . . He was shocked. He probably accused her, or tried to save the baby. Or maybe he tried to take the baby’s body from her. They struggled, there was an accident of some kind. I don’t know. Obviously she did not overpower him.’

‘Obviously not.’

‘Guy was sleeping in the guest room upstairs when this happened. I know that for a fact. Professor Douglas’s theory is that Claire found the baby and started screaming. That’s when Guy jumped up from his bed and came downstairs. It makes sense. Look at the tape and you’ll see.’

‘How can I do that?’ Noreen asked in a cutting tone. ‘You have the tape.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Morgan. ‘I know I shouldn’t have taken it.’

Noreen looked at her narrowly. ‘If you didn’t like the way I was handling this case, why didn’t you just get another attorney?’ she asked.

Morgan remained defiant. ‘I tried to. But now there’s no time.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ said Noreen.

Morgan felt like they were trading punches with their words. ‘Look, I can’t worry about your confidence. I can only worry about Claire.’

There was a light tapping on the closed door that made Morgan jump.

‘Nonny, we want to watch the movie,’ a child’s voice pleaded.

‘In a minute,’ said Noreen calmly. Noreen put out her hand. ‘All right. Let’s have it. I presume you have the DVD of the confession. You won’t be needing that anymore.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Morgan fumbling in her bag and pulling out the plastic sleeve. She handed it to Noreen. She pointed to a post-it note which she had placed on the case. ‘That’s Professor Douglas’s number. He’ll be glad to talk to you. He said he would testify.’

Noreen frowned at the writing on the post-it note. ‘You have been quite the busy bee, haven’t you?’ Noreen asked.

Morgan was unrepentant. ‘My friend’s life is at stake.’

Noreen chewed the inside of her mouth for a moment. Then she looked up at Morgan. ‘So, I imagine you still want an answer to your question. The answer is yes.’

Morgan frowned. ‘Yes what?’

‘Yes. The defense can petition the court for access to all materials in that house for testing.’

Morgan felt a sudden, cautious elation. ‘Really? Will you do that?’

‘I will, after I look at this confession again, with what you’ve said in mind.’

Morgan kneaded her hands together. ‘The thing is, I’m not sure that the police did a very thorough job in that house. They weren’t looking for evidence of another killer. I think they need to go over that bedroom and bathroom again.’

‘Leave this to me,’ said Noreen. ‘I know how to get this done. It’s my job.’

‘You believe me?’ said Morgan, amazed at the attorney’s acquiescence.

‘No. Not necessarily.’

‘But you’re willing to consider the possibility that it wasn’t post-partum psychosis? That someone else killed the baby?’

Noreen gave Morgan a slight smile. ‘My plan for Claire’s defense was a strategy. Not a religion. I am capable of considering other possibilities.’

‘Thank you so much,’ said Morgan, almost faint with relief.

‘This is an unorthodox way to go about it, but, I have to admit, I’m impressed by your . . . determination. I am willing to file the petition and have the tests examined for any evidence that might support this theory.’

‘I’m sure it’s right,’ said Morgan.

‘And do you also have a theory about who
did
kill Claire’s baby?’ Noreen asked.

Morgan saw a trap in the attorney’s question. She was not willing to voice her myriad suspicions. She was sure that such speculation would only undermine her argument in the attorney’s eyes. ‘I have no idea,’ she said. ‘We just need proof that there was someone else in that bathroom the day the baby died. If we can prove that, and Professor Douglas can convince a jury that her confession was coerced . . . was false . . .’

‘That’s a very risky way to proceed,’ said Noreen.

‘Not if it’s true,’ Morgan insisted.

Noreen leaned forward and pointed her index finger at Morgan’s face. ‘All right. Now hear me, Morgan. I appreciate that you are concerned for your friend, but you’ve interfered more than enough. It’s time to butt out of this. If you’re right, and someone else killed that baby, you had better not go around voicing your suspicions. Do you understand? That could be dangerous.’

‘Yes,’ said Morgan.

‘I mean it,’ said Noreen.

‘I understand.’

‘All right. So go home. Now, open the door and let my kids in. We’ve kept them waiting long enough.’

All the way back to the Captain’s House, Morgan turned over the encounter with the attorney in her mind. Noreen had believed her. She felt triumphant at the thought of it. Noreen was going to take it in hand. Even though she was hobbled by being laid up in bed, Noreen still exuded authority, a sense of capability. She would take care of the evidence. She would see to it that Claire’s rights were protected. She would confer with Professor Douglas and Claire might end up going free. Tonight Morgan felt as if it had all been worthwhile – her missed trip, the . . . misunderstanding with Simon. None of that mattered if Claire would simply recover, and be set free. For the last few miles, Morgan sang every show tune she could remember.

The Captain’s House looked dark and forbidding when she pulled into the gravel drive and Morgan wished she had left some lights on. It was the kind of house you’d want to invite all your friends and their parents and their children to, she thought, so that people would be rocking on the porch and yodeling out the windows toward the sea. But it was not, Morgan had to admit, the sort of place you wanted to stay in alone. She fished for her keys in her bag, and climbed the steps to the front door, unlocked it, and hurried inside, locking the door behind her.

She did not bother to turn on the lights in the front rooms of the house. Instead, she went through to the kitchen and the tiny bedroom where she was staying. Morgan lay down on the bed, still fully dressed, and the exhaustion she felt after this day rolled over her like a wave. It was a day of progress, she thought. Although she felt low at the moment, she knew that she had done all she could to help Claire today. As much as she would rather have been on her trip to England, there was comfort in that.

The thought of the trip made Morgan think longingly of Simon. Why had she assumed the worst of him? He was unable to get the money back and so he decided to use the reservation. And he invited a friend to join him. That didn’t mean . . . anything. No one wanted to take a trip like that alone. She groped in her bag for her phone and scrolled down to his cellphone number. Still lying on the bed, she punched it in and held the phone to her ear. The moment it began to ring she remembered, too late, the time difference. She glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table and froze. It was three o’clock in the morning there. ‘Oh shit,’ she said. Oh well, she thought. He had called her in the middle of the night. Turnabout was fair play.

Still, she felt a little sheepish when a groggy voice answered.

‘Simon?’ she said apologetically.

‘No,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘It’s Tim. Who’s this?’

‘I’m trying to reach Simon,’ she said.

‘Just a minute,’ he said irritably. ‘Simon,’ she heard him mumble. ‘Phone.’