Indefensible (29 page)

Monday, 7:12 p.m.

R
andall Barrett stared at the document box in his cell. He had thought he'd hit rock bottom on Friday when he'd been strip-searched, had all his personal belongings taken away and been assigned a prison ID number. The final indignity had been when he had to sign out a razor. Never again would he take for granted his possessions.

The first night had been grim. The correctional center was located on the outskirts of an industrial park. They'd put him in a cell by himself—for his own protection, they told him. He'd spent the night awake, lying on his narrow bed, listening to the strange noises, the yelling, the catcalls, everything hollow and metallic with nothing on the walls or the ground to dampen the sound. He thought of his massive, comfortable bed, the cool serenity of his garden, the crickets he'd hear at night. The low, throaty call of the mourning dove in the early morning. Charlie snoring at his feet. He remembered
he had tickets to the symphony benefit at the end of the month. He'd tell his mother to use them.

His thoughts skittered randomly, skipping from one stepping stone to another, trying to avoid toppling into the river of worry that rushed through him: Lucy, Nick, his mother. They were his family. They needed him to steer them through this disastrous turn in their lives.

And he couldn't.

He'd failed the ones he loved the most.

What kind of man was he?

How had he ended up in this place?

The box with the Crown's evidence had provided a set of answers. They repelled him. Was it because they were the ugly truth?

Every time he thought he'd hit rock bottom, he was in reality descending to another level of misery whose depths had not been plumbed. There was no rock bottom. Just thin ledges on the sides of the abyss. And they kept crumbling out from under him.

Like this morning. When Kate had arrived. He'd stared at her, drinking in her trim figure, her gleaming hair, her calm assurance. He was consumed with a need to be with her. She was his only connection to his old life, to his old firm, to the world that had rejected him. His heart leaped, foolishly, with hope.

She hadn't been able to meet his eyes.

He knew she needed to maintain objectivity. He kept telling himself that was why she was so disconcertingly cool. Why she hadn't visited him over the weekend. She needed to keep her distance because she was too emotionally involved with him, he'd thought.

Instead, he discovered she kept her distance because she no longer trusted him.

And thus, he discovered, another ledge had given away. But he did not anticipate the depths to which he'd fall until he opened the evidence box.

How many times had he lugged the identical bland brown boxes to hearings, or stacked them in the corners of his office and asked clerks to review their contents? They were a professional appendage, a practical necessity. Not a Pandora's box that would reveal the pain he had wreaked on a woman he'd once sworn to cherish and protect.

He'd sifted through the papers, slowly, carefully. The police had only allowed him certain information prior to his arrest. Now he was given the full accounting of the horror of Elise's murder through Nick's damning statements, the M.E.'s clinical findings and Lucy's traumatized recounting of her mother's final hours.

But it was Dr. Gainsford's notes that sent him free falling into the abyss.

At first, the notes had simply magnified his guilt about leaving Toronto. Elise had told her therapist she felt tremendous stress parenting her two children without Randall being in the same city to share the load. That she believed many of Nick's behavioral issues were related to Randall's absence.

Of course, he knew all this. She'd yelled most of these accusations at him at some time or another. But seeing them written in Dr. Gainsford's scrawl gave his ex-wife's perspective an unnerving weight.

He'd always felt justified in moving to Halifax; after all, it was Elise who'd made him a laughingstock of the
Toronto bar. As he read the chronological summary of Elise's visits to Dr. Gainsford, he could see how this distance had contributed to many of the crises that Elise had either precipitated or had to manage.

He'd hoped that time and distance would ease her hurt, but according to Dr. Gainsford's notes, it magnified her feelings of abandonment and neglect.

He'd had no idea how fragile her emotional state had been when he confronted her over Nick's theft in June. And he was sure he'd made it worse. He crossed a boundary with her, opening doors long barricaded. Then retreated from her to the point where she did not confide in him about her pregnancy. Or her abortion. He fervently hoped that her therapist provided her with some good support. He flipped the pages until he found June's entries.

…her ex-husband forced her to have sexual relations.

He froze. Reread the notation. Subsequent entries were equally damning:
patient fears for her safety…ex-husband is emotionally abusive…threatening.

Jesus.
He came across as a textbook wife abuser.

No wonder Kate had looked at him like that.

The abyss yawned below him. The air around him was black with remorse. Thick with shame.

He sprang to his feet, pacing his cell. His blood pounded a rhythm of denial. Why did she lie to her therapist? He'd never threatened her.

A thought stopped him. Did she believe this was true? Did she think he would hurt her?

He was sure he hadn't forced her. He'd never forced a woman in his life. The thought disgusted him.

But did Elise
think
he forced her?

He'd closed his eyes while they had intercourse. He couldn't bear to look at her face.

Jesus. Maybe he
had
forced her.

No. She moaned when she came.

He exhaled a deep breath. She had an orgasm. He hadn't forced her.

But why did she tell her therapist that he had?

Calm down, Barrett.
Notes weren't always foolproof; maybe Dr. Gainsford misheard her. But the rest of his notes for the month of June were consistent with the claim that Elise was fearful of her ex-husband.

Randall knew he hadn't raped Elise; he truly believed it was a consensual act. But the rest of what she'd told Dr. Gainsford…

Had she really been scared of him?

And if she believed him capable of violence…

Had he really killed her?

 

“I hate to ask this of you, but I'm in a bind,” Randall's mother said. Somehow Penelope Barrett had gotten hold of Kate's cell phone number.

Kate slowed down to a walk. It was early evening. She'd taken Alaska out for a run, craving the endorphins that would calm her nerves. Tomorrow afternoon was Randall's bail hearing and she needed to unwind. Either that or she'd end up joining Eddie on the sidewalk, smoking her nerves into submission.

“Of course,” Kate responded, wondering what Randall's mother could want with her.

“Charlie is supposed to be picked up from the veterinary hospital tonight. But she still needs to be monitored
regularly. And the vet wants to check her on a daily basis for another week. She's worried about infection.” Penelope Barrett cleared her throat. “The problem is that Animal Cruelty won't release Charlie to my care because Nick is staying with me. They want her to go to a foster family.”

There was an expectant silence. “You want me to foster her, Mrs. Barrett?” Kate asked. How in the world could she look after a sick dog? She was working flat out on Randall's file, along with the other cases that were now backed up and demanding her attention.

“Animal Cruelty said they'd be willing to give her to you.”

Kate crossed the road, Alaska at her heels. They were five minutes from her house. “I'm not sure I could do it.”

“Please, Ms. Lange. Lucy would be devastated if the dog were taken away from us. She's lost so much already…”

Kate's gaze fell on her own dog. On his softly plumed tail, his confident, wolflike sleekness that belied his gentle affection. She knew what it was like to be twelve years old and have your world change for the worse. Lucy had lost more than Kate had at that age.

“Fine,” Kate said, trying to figure out how the heck she could make this work. “I'll go to the vet hospital and pick her up.”

“I hate to ask more of you than I have already, Ms. Lange… I hope you understand that in normal circumstances I would never presume to impose on you in such a manner, but these are not normal circumstances.” Penelope Barrett's voice thickened. She cleared her
throat again. “I don't think the children should attend their father's bail hearing. Nick is very unpredictable right now. And Lucy is too fragile. I don't think she could bear it if bail was denied. And, if at all possible, I'd like her to avoid seeing her father in a jumpsuit.”

Kate had been the same age when her father was convicted of fraud. She had seen him in cuffs and a jumpsuit. It had devastated her. And shamed her.

Until Randall was convicted of the charges against him, Kate agreed with Lucy's grandmother: his daughter should not see him like that. She would never look at him the same way again. “I understand,” Kate said softly.

“I thought you might.” There was something in Penelope Barrett's voice that made Kate wonder how much she knew of Kate's family history. “The problem is that I don't want to leave Lucy alone with Nick tomorrow. I'd much rather her be in town, closer to me. She'd dearly love to be with Charlie, she told me…”

“Would you like her to stay at my house?” Kate asked, resigned to the answer. “I could ask my neighbors to watch her. They are quite lovely. I'm sure they wouldn't mind.” Enid and Muriel would love to have a girl to fuss over.

“Could she?” Penelope asked. “I had a friend lined up, but she wasn't able to take Charlie in her apartment. Your suggestion would make things so much easier.”

“Why don't you bring her at 8:30 a.m. I have to leave after that, but I can get her settled in. You could stay with her until you need to leave for the hearing. I'll get my dog walker to check in, too.”

“Thank you, Ms. Lange. You don't know how much I appreciate this.”

Oh, yes. I do.
“I'll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Barrett.”

Tuesday, 9:30 a.m.

D
id anyone ever get used to this place? Kate wondered as she was buzzed through the security gates at the correctional center. She hoped not, for Randall's sake. Everything was cold and unyielding. The walls, fences, floors, guards, inmates. She could not imagine Randall becoming deadened to prison life like some in mates. It wasn't in his nature. He'd probably kill himself first, Kate thought. A chill ran through her. He probably would.

She entered the same room she'd been in the last time. Randall was at the same table. Routine, routine, routine. It was mind-numbing, which was good for maintaining order, Kate supposed.

The only thing that wasn't the same was the way he looked at her. His expression was guarded. But she was glad to see that his bruises looked better. She wanted him to look as much like his old self as possible—not like a thug who belonged in that jumpsuit.

She sat down and leaned toward the glass barrier. “Charlie came home last night. She's doing well.”

“She's at your house?”

“Yes. It was difficult for your mother to take her while she was caring for Nick and Lucy.” Kate didn't have the heart to tell him about Animal Cruelty. He didn't need to worry about that yet.

“Thank you.”

“Did you read the files in the box?”

“Yes.” His eyes did not waver.

A good liar? Or an innocent man? Kate could not tell. And it was killing her. “Here's our strategy for today. We are going to request bail by establishing your credentials and the fact you are not a threat to society—”

“Bloody hell,” he whispered. “Has it come to this? A threat to society?”

“I'm sorry, Randall.” And she was. He had been a pillar of the community just five days ago.

He shook his head. “Fine. But whatever you do, don't drag Nick into this.”

“Randall, I understand how you feel—”

“No, you don't. Until you have a child yourself you couldn't possibly, Kate.”

Kate dropped her eyes so he wouldn't see how deeply those words had wounded her. He'd effectively shut her out and made her feel as if she was a heartless bitch.

She straightened. That was her role right now. Heartless bitch defense lawyer. “It would really help your case. He is the only eyewitness. We need to discredit his statement—”

“No!”

A guard looked over, his expression alert.

Kate saw how Randall forced his body language to relax. Become nonthreatening. “That's why I fired Bill Anthony, Kate. You can't screw over my son.”

“Randall, he lied to the police once already.”

“Look. I read his statements. I believe him. I think he lied about seeing Elise commit suicide because he thought I killed her. And that I would get away with it.” His laugh was bitter. “He's an idealist, my son.”

“Aren't we all.”

“Kate…” The notes had shaken him, she could see that. They had ratcheted up his own doubt. His eyes searched hers, asking her: Do you think I did it?

“Randall, there is nothing to connect you to the crime. Except Nick's evidence. That's why we want to discredit him.”

“I believe he saw something that night, Kate. I believe his statement.”

Conviction burned deep in his bloodshot eyes. It kindled her own doubt. Maybe she'd gotten the theory of the case backward. Maybe Nick hadn't made up his story. But if—as she desperately wanted to believe—Randall hadn't killed Elise, then who did Nick see commit the murder?

“Do you think Nick saw a man that night who physically resembles you?”

Randall shrugged. “I wondered that myself. The man's back was to Nick and he had a stocking over his head. I think Nick mistook him for me because I'd been over earlier and I'd fought with Elise.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “God knows what Nick really saw.”

Kate hated to say this, but it was her job. “The
problem is that the therapist's notes indicate you threatened Elise. So if we let Nick's story stand, then the notes corroborate Nick's belief it was you he saw.”

“I know.” He stared down at his hands. “Those notes killed me, Kate.” In his face, Kate saw pain. Remorse. Shame. “I didn't force her. I swear it.”

Kate's heart climbed a notch out of its mire of distrust. “I believe you didn't think you forced her.” She paused. “Could Elise have believed otherwise in the circumstances?” How was that for pussyfooting around the real question?

“No.” He glanced down at his hands again. “She had an orgasm, Kate…”

Too much information,
Kate thought.
I don't want to know this.
“I see,” she managed to say. “Well, given that occurrence, unless she was into S&M it's hard to argue that the sex was nonconsensual. Do you think Elise lied?”

“I don't know. She was very upset after I left. But why would she lie to her therapist? What advantage would it give her?”

“Maybe she couldn't deal with the ramifications of what happened.”

“Maybe. The whole situation was pretty horrible.”

She could tell he was thinking about Elise's pregnancy. But time was running out. His hearing was this afternoon. If she didn't get him out on bail he'd have plenty of time to think about things while he paced his medium-security jail cell. She glanced at her watch. “Okay,” she said briskly. “You don't want us to test Nick's credibility. That means we have to make sure the therapist's notes are discredited.”

“I don't want Elise to be portrayed as hysterical or unstable, Kate,” Randall said. “Everything she said up to the month of June was a fair recounting of the situation, just with her own emotions attached.”

“So it's the notes from June that you disagree with?”

“Yes. I never threatened her. I never abused her. In fact, I went to great pains to avoid speaking to her.”

“Why do you think the therapist wrote those things?”

“I have no idea.”

The timing nagged Kate. Everything happened in June: Elise's pregnancy, the misrepresentations in the notes. “Do you think Elise could have gotten pregnant by someone else? And the therapist covered up for her?”

“But why would he do that?”

They stared at each other. “Because it was the therapist who got her pregnant,” Kate said softly.

“Jesus.” Randall looked at her. His eyes gleamed, giving Kate a glimpse of the old Randall. “You know, that could make sense.”

And if that made sense… “Then Nick's evidence could make sense, too. He really could have seen a man kill Elise.” A thought struck her. “Do you know what Dr. Gainsford looks like?”

Randall shook his head. “I never met him.”

Kate stood. “I think it's time we did some digging around.”

Hope gave Randall's eyes the first light they'd seen in days.

 

“Nat, I've got a new angle for you to work,” Kate said into her headset, hunched over her steering wheel. She was driving as fast as she dared from the correctional center—which was just ten kilometers over the limit because who knew when you'd drive by a police car along here—and heading downtown for a last-minute session with Eddie. She needed to brief him on the change in strategy that Randall wanted.

“What've you got?”

“Before I tell you, I need you to promise that you won't print this until I give you the go-ahead. Okay?”

Kate sensed Nat's hesitation over the line. And it bothered her. Why did Nat always feel so driven to get her scoop over everyone else's needs? She almost ended the conversation then and there. But she needed Nat. She needed information—quickly—and she didn't have time to find it. Nat was better at it than she was, anyway.

“Okay,” Nat said finally. “But it better be good. Is it about the Clarkson case?”

“No. Put that baby to bed, Nat.” Before Nat could protest, Kate said, “It's about the Vanderzell murder. I need you to do some background checking for me.”

“Oh?” Nat's voice sounded casual, but it seemed to Kate that the wireless waves were writhing in excitement.

“Elise Vanderzell was seeing a therapist. His notes are part of the evidence against Barrett…”

“Ooh, tell me more, tell me more.” Nat was likely rubbing her hands together on the other end of the phone, Kate thought.

“We think he's lying, Nat. The thing is, we don't know why. Can you do some digging around?”

“Absolutely. When do you need it by?”

“In an hour.”

“Geez. It's that critical?”

“Yes.” Kate turned into the parkade of her office building. “His name is Dr. Jamie Gainsford. He's based in Toronto. And one more thing…”

“Uh-huh?”

“Could you dig up a photo of him?”

“Your wish is my command.”

Right on cue, the headset cut out.

 

It was getting chilly on Kate's deck. It had been a lot warmer when Lucy and Finn walked the dogs an hour ago. Lucy grabbed her book and went back inside. Charlie opened her eyes when Lucy walked in, thumping her tail lightly. Alaska pushed himself to his feet, lazy after his morning walk with Finn, and greeted her with a warm nuzzle to her hand.

A child squealed with delight. Then another. Lucy had glimpsed the little kids through the leafy trees of Kate's backyard. They raced through a sprinkler, back and forth, shrieking when the cool water hit their skin.

It was the sound of the kids that had jarred Lucy. All she'd heard for days was the drumming of the ocean, the muted jangle of music coming from Nick's room, the seabirds cawing overhead while she roamed the rocks.

“Would you like some lemonade, Lucy?” Enid asked.

“Yes, please.” Lucy studied the elderly woman who reminded her a lot of Grandma Penny. They were both quick, full of energy, although she guessed Enid was a lot older. Muriel wasn't at all like her sister, Enid, although it was probably because of her Alzheimer's disease. Lucy had never met anyone with it before, and it was funny how Muriel could seem so normal and then do something kind of random.

Enid and Muriel had arrived promptly at eight forty-five this morning, loaded with books, a dog-eared game of Scrabble, a puzzle of a butterfly garden and a deck of cards with a picture of two cats on the back.

Lucy had watched them bustle into the house with a mixture of trepidation and relief. She had no desire to play games or do a puzzle, but the pair did not look the type to order her around. Still, she wished her grandmother had found someone younger to be with her. She hoped the Richardson sisters would just leave her alone.

Kate conducted a series of hurried introductions and then rushed out the door. Muriel told Lucy that she better eat her breakfast or she'd be late for school.

Then they made tea. Lucy drifted over to Charlie's crate and stroked her ears while Grandma Penny and the Richardson sisters spoke in low voices over their teacups. She knew they were talking about her, but she didn't care. All she could think about was what would happen this afternoon.

Would her father get bail? She hadn't seen him for three days. She couldn't imagine him being in a large concrete prison surrounded by security gates. She
blocked the image from her mind and read the directions for Charlie's medications.

Alaska got to his feet and stood by the door. A low whine in his throat announced the arrival of his dog walker, Finn. He was really cute. Lucy hunched back against the wall, watching him stride into the kitchen. He grinned at her, then joked around with Enid, devouring one of her scones in two bites. Kate had obviously told him about her, because then he turned to where she sat by Charlie and invited her to go on Alaska's walk.

Lucy hesitated.

“Go on, Lucy. You'll enjoy all the dogs,” her grandmother had said. So she agreed, turning her face to the breeze from the open window of his pickup, relaxing with his easy banter. They drove to the Dingle park, one he didn't take the dogs to very often, he told her. It was a big treat. But she knew he'd gone to a different place because he didn't want to drive by Cathy's house. He didn't want to upset her.

He let her hold some of the dogs' leashes and showed her how to make Alaska sit. On their way out of the park, he pulled the truck into Pinky's and convinced her to buy an ice cream cone. At first she said no because food kept choking her when she ate, but he bought her one anyway. And when she tried it, it slid down her throat, cool and sweet.

The morning had gone by quickly. “Thank you, Finn,” her grandmother had said, gratitude in her eyes. Lucy knew she was worried about the hearing this afternoon.

The thought of her father being in a prison cell terrified them both. What terrified Lucy even more was
the knowledge he could be in there until she was thirty-seven. She'd read the newspaper; she knew that, if convicted, her father faced a jail term of twenty-five years. Her grandmother would probably be dead before he came out.

What will happen to you, Daddy? What will happen to me?

And Nick?