Not Guilty (43 page)

Keely’s eyes filled with tears. She couldn’t tell if the tears were from the pain in her knee or from remembering Mark’s gaze when he looked at Abby.
What was real?
she thought. He had looked at Keely with adoring eyes as well, but that had not been real.

“My plan depended on it,” Lucas said. He was still cradling Abby as he stood at the edge of the pool.

Keely felt her heart leap with fresh alarm. “Your plan? What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry, Keely. This is going to sound harsh to you. But in fairness, I have to tell you this. That night, the night of Mark’s death, I was holding your baby in my arms. Just like this,” Lucas said, and there was a faraway look in his eyes. Abby’s eyelids had started to droop as he rubbed her little back. “I made sure we walked out by the pool, talking about work—just the usual chatter. And then, when we were this close to the edge,” he said, nodding down at the apron where he stood, “I told him everything I knew. Mark denied it, of course. But I wasn’t listening to his excuses. I had proof. I would have never have done this without proof,” Lucas assured her, turning back to look Keely in the eye. She tried to rise again but fell back.

“When I was finished—when I’d said everything I wanted to about all he’d done and all he’d taken from me—I held the baby out over the edge of the pool and said to him, ‘I’ll give you a chance to save her. That’s more than you gave to me.’ ” Lucas looked down at the little one, asleep now in his arms. Then he looked back at Keely, who was staring helplessly at him.

“Then I dropped her in,” he said.

Y
ou dropped her? In the pool?” Keely cried. She felt lightheaded, and there was a rushing noise in her ears. She wanted to jump up and attack him, claw at his eyes.
How could you?
she screamed inside her head.
How could you? How could anyone . . . ?
But her swollen knee would not even hold her weight. She tried to push herself up but fell back instead. She was trapped, watching as Lucas, a man who had passed the point where he had anything to lose, cuddled her baby.

“I know it was cruel,” he insisted. “It was a terrible thing to do. She wasn’t to blame for her father’s sins. I really hesitated to do it. I almost couldn’t do it.” Lucas looked at Keely with narrowed eyes. “But then I thought of Prentice. And then I was able to do it. I let her go.”

“Lucas,” Keely said, her voice shaking. “Give me my child. Now.”

Lucas cocked his head and looked down wistfully at Abby. “She’s beautiful, Keely. I’m glad he did at least have the decency to jump in after her.”

To give up his life for her,
Keely thought. Her feelings about Mark were so confused at that moment that she didn’t know whether she felt hate or gratitude toward him. She knew only one thing for certain. “It was a vile, horrible thing to do, Lucas,” she said. “Now give her to me.”

“What about Mark?” he demanded. “What about the vile things he did to me? To you, for that matter.”

“Abby is just an innocent baby,” she cried, and there was a catch in her voice. They were so close to the edge of the pool, she realized. If he dropped Abby now . . . if she hit her head on that concrete apron . . . He had been willing to sacrifice her once. She was still Mark’s child.

Lucas clutched the baby close to his chest, as if her warmth was
keeping him alive. “You know, I took an interest in him because I saw something in him. Some spark. I defended him
pro bono
in the juvenile court and I remember telling Betsy that he was a remarkable boy. That I wanted to help him. And she accused me . . .” His voice trailed away.

“Of what?” Keely asked, but her entire attention was focused on Abby, who swayed in his arms. Her heart was hammering and her mouth was dry. All of a sudden, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of white moving up behind Lucas. She realized in an instant what it was. Dylan. He had climbed up the pool ladder directly behind them and was moving quietly, stealthily. “What did she say?” Keely asked, stalling Lucas, trying to keep him from noticing.

“She said I . . . preferred him to Prentice. That he was more like me . . .” Lucas shook his head. “She didn’t understand that I could never love Mark the way I loved Prentice. Mark was an extraordinary boy. But Prentice was my son. My flesh and blood. I would do anything for him. You can understand that, Keely. I know you can.”

Suddenly, she saw Dylan’s face over Lucas’s shoulder, a look of warning in his wide, young eyes, and then his white goosefleshed forearm shot out like a switchblade and jerked back, clamping Lucas’s neck from behind.

Lucas let out a strangled cry and staggered back, still holding the baby. But Keely saw, as if in slow motion, Lucas’s grip giving way, as Dylan kneed him from behind and buckled his knees. Abby started to slip, screaming. Keely jumped up, insensible to her own pain, and managed two steps before she felt herself going down. She hurled herself toward Lucas’s knees and felt a thud as the baby hit her on her way to the concrete pad, then rolled on her side.

“Abby,” Keely cried.

The baby righted herself and blinked, and then her face crumpled and she began to wail. Blood ran down her face from a scrape on her scalp. Keely crawled toward her and reached out, pulling the baby to her across the pebbly cement.

Dylan and Lucas wrestled on the ground, Lucas tugging at the boy’s thin, sinewy arm around his neck. Keely cried out, “Help,” and craned her neck, looking for someone, anyone to see her predicament. But the pool
area was deserted, the lounge beyond the doors completely empty, as if it were a ghost motel. Suddenly, as she looked back in horror, Lucas let go of Dylan’s forearm, ignoring his chokehold, and reached inside his coat, fumbling until he pulled out an old notched revolver that glinted in his grasp.

“Dylan,” Keely screamed. “Let him go. He has a gun.”

Ignoring his mother’s warnings, Dylan tried to increase the pressure on Lucas’s neck, but the older man shifted in his grasp and managed to place the cold barrel into the white flesh of the boy’s side.

“Dylan,” Keely barked. “Let him go. Right now. Lucas, please, please don’t,” she cried.

Dylan released his grip and jumped back, shivering, as Lucas staggered to his feet, keeping the gun trained on the boy.

“Lucas, you can’t. You wouldn’t,” Keely pleaded. “He’s just a kid. He was only trying to protect me.”

Lucas was shaking, the gun bobbing in his hand.

“That’s not real, is it?” Dylan asked sarcastically. “That’s some old cowboy gun. It probably doesn’t even work.”

“It’s old all right. Part of my collection. But I assure you it still shoots. Don’t force me to show you,” said Lucas. “Get over there with your mother.”

Sullenly, Dylan wrapped his arms around his shivering frame and trudged over toward the chaise. Keely felt around for a towel and handed it to him, keeping her gaze trained on Lucas.

“You know everything now,” said Lucas.

“I told you I didn’t want to know. I begged you not to tell me,” Keely cried.

“I had to tell someone,” said Lucas sadly. “It was important that you know what happened, and why.”

Keely closed her eyes and shook her head. “What difference could it possibly make now?”

Lucas sighed. “I must admit I was proud, in an unseemly way, about how I got rid of Mark. I mean, what could be more likely than that a man who couldn’t swim might drown in his own swimming pool? It was a perfect solution. Dare I say it? A perfect murder. If not for Dylan and his skateboard, no one would have ever questioned it. It was your own
doing, you know. You couldn’t let well enough alone,” Lucas said bitterly.

“I wasn’t going to have my son blamed for something he didn’t do,” Keely replied.

“I defended Dylan, didn’t I?” Lucas demanded. “I went to bat for him every time. I wasn’t about to let him pay for my crime.”

“We’re all paying for your crimes,” Keely said miserably.

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” said Lucas. “That’s not what I wanted.”

Suddenly, the door to the pool area opened and two police officers and a man in a coat and tie burst in shouting. “Mr. Weaver! Put the gun down! Police!”

Startled, Keely, Dylan, and Lucas looked around, and then Lucas, still pointing the gun, began to back away, the whites of his eyes showing. Keely, who was cradling Abby’s bleeding head, stared in disbelief. Someone outside the pool area must have seen Lucas pull a gun. But how could the police arrive so quickly? she wondered.

“Lucas Weaver,” the man in the jacket boomed, and his voice seemed to ricochet in the vaulted room.

“Someone must have seen us,” Keely breathed. “Thank God.”

“No,” Dylan muttered.

“No what?” said Keely.

But Dylan didn’t answer. He was on his feet, watching as the police began to approach Lucas, who was backing away.

“Get down, son,” said one of the officers, roughly pushing Dylan down and out of sight behind the chaise.

“You’re standing up,” Dylan protested.

“We have vests on,” said the cop. “Ma’am, can you get the children out of here?”

“I can’t walk,” said Keely.

The cop nodded and spoke quietly into his remote transmitter. “All right,” he said. “Someone will be along to help you. You just stay down in the meanwhile.”

“Drop it, Mr. Weaver,” said the man in the jacket. “I’m Detective Bartram of the Alexandria police. We have more officers on the way and a warrant for your arrest, which was signed this evening in St. Vincent’s Harbor.”

The gun shook in Lucas’s hand, but he kept it pointed at the cop.
“I’m not going back,” he said.

“Sir, I’m told you are an attorney. You know very well that it will go better for you if you just agree to cooperate with us.”

Huddled between her children, behind the lounge chair, her knee throbbing in pain, Keely looked out at Lucas, who was still brandishing his gun, a look of desperation in his eyes. She wanted to call out to him, but her voice stuck in her throat.

“Come on now, Mr. Weaver,” the detective cajoled him. “Just put the gun down and we’ll get this whole thing sorted out.”

Lucas shook his head. “No,” he said. “It’s too late.”

“What’s he going to do, Mom?” Dylan whispered. “Why is he acting so crazy?”

As soon as she heard Dylan’s question, Keely suddenly knew. She knew what he was going to do. Despite everything, she couldn’t just sit there and watch it. She had to try to stop him. “Close your eyes,” she ordered Dylan. She rose up on one knee and called out to him.

“Lucas, don’t,” she said.

“Believe me, Keely,” he said, “I was never going to hurt you.”

“I do believe you. Please stop. This is not the answer.”

“There’s nothing left,” said Lucas.

“It’s not true,” Keely cried. “I’ll testify for you. About Mark. About the terrible things he did.”

“No one will understand. He was still my son. I caused his death. And I’m not even sorry.”

“Lucas, he was a liar and traitor. I’ll tell them so. People will understand.”

Lucas shook his head. “And Maureen? How will you make them understand that?”

Maureen. Her implacable enemy. Her husband’s mistress. But, in the end, Maureen gave up her persecution of Dylan when she realized that it was Lucas who had sent Mark to his death. When it came right down to it, she was only seeking justice, insisting that Lucas pay for his crime, and for that, she was murdered. An impulse? A moment of madness? Perhaps. But murder, all the same. There would be no explaining it away. Keely
could feel the doubt, the hesitation that showed in her own eyes.

“Put the gun down, Mr. Weaver,” said Detective Bartram. “We’ll talk this over. Just put it on the ground.”

Lucas sighed and looked at the undulating surface of the pool. “I took my own vengeance. I wasn’t going to leave it to the law. But I know the rules. I have to pay,” he said.

Keely gave it another try. “Betsy needs you,” she said. “Don’t do this to Betsy.”

The crazed look in Lucas’s eyes vanished for an instant, and he met her gaze steadily, his fine eyes filled with unfathomable sorrow. “Tell Betsy,” he said. “Tell her that I loved him more than my own life.”

Keely understood. She knew who he meant—Prentice. “You can tell her,” she cried.

Lucas shook his head.

“Please, Lucas, don’t,” she pleaded.

“I became what I hated,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

Keely closed her own eyes as she saw him lift the gun. She threw her arms over her children, forcing their heads down, so they couldn’t watch.

“No, Mr. Weaver, don’t,” the detective cried.

But it was too late. The roar of the gunshot was muffled because the barrel was in Lucas’s mouth. The police rushed forward. There was a tremendous splash. Keely opened her eyes. She could see Lucas’s trenchcoat, spread open in the pool like wings, and dark tendrils curling in the aquamarine water around the pulpy mass that was the back of his head.