The following day, in late morning traffic, Jerry looked absolutely content behind the wheel of the generic sedan they had rented for the ride out to Rosedale, Queens. He had suggested the rental car so they could discuss the case without worrying about an eavesdropping driver, but Laurie realized he was also anticipating his upcoming car purchase. He had mentioned as they got into the car that the dealer would have his new car ready for him to pick up after work.
Adele’s latest hit single was playing on the radio. As Jerry sang along, Grace indulged him with some harmonies from the backseat. So much for discussing the case, Laurie thought.
George Naughten’s block was nearly vacant. They were here to gather whatever information he swore he had for them about his lawsuit against Martin Bell. Laurie had convinced Martin’s parents to waive the nondisclosure agreement that George had signed as part of his settlement with Martin’s estate. They were eager to protect their son’s professional reputation, but she had persuaded them that this was the only way to learn whatever secret George was harboring.
Jerry pulled to the curb in front of George’s house, and the production truck followed behind them. A third vehicle stopped at the curb across from them, on the left side of the street. Leo hopped out and tossed his police parking permit on the dash. After the incident on Monday night, he was not about to let Laurie meet with a convicted stalker without an additional level of protection. He had promised to maintain a “low profile,” going so far as to drive separately, but she knew he had his gun in a shoulder holster beneath his sports coat.
Laurie turned down the radio and looked at Ryan.
“You all set?” she asked.
He flashed her a thumbs-up. They had spent the morning trying to anticipate all the possibilities of what might unfold here today.
“Living in this neighborhood is one way to cut down on the commute to JFK,” Jerry said as he stepped out of the car, noticing a plane taking off overhead.
“So is living in Lakeview,” Grace said. “Before my parents moved, I was over this way all the time.”
“Hope they never had a neighborhood run-in with Mama Naughten. You know how angry George would get if you crossed her,” Jerry joked.
“Or know someone who knows someone who crossed her.”
Laurie waved her fingertips across her throat, signaling for them to knock off the banter as they approached George’s house.
As he had for their last visit, George poked his head out the barely cracked front door and squinted suspiciously at the small crowd gathered on his stoop.
“Hi, George. Laurie Moran from Under Suspicion?” she offered, even though she was certain he knew her identity.
“Oh, yes, okay,” he said, motioning for them to enter. “I just didn’t expect all these people.”
“Well, if we want this on camera, these are the people who make that happen.”
Laurie introduced the crew as they began to set up in the living room. They had brought extra lighting to compensate for the room’s darkness, and the space soon transformed into a proper studio. George, wearing the same T-shirt and sweatpants as the last time, watched the operation with wide eyes.
“No reason to be nervous, George,” Ryan said cordially.
Ryan extended a copy of their standard participation agreement to George for his signature, along with a pen. George glanced at the provisions only briefly before signing. The document gave Fisher Blake Studios exclusive control over both the use and editing of the footage. They fully expected George to air his grievances against Martin Bell, but they weren’t required to use the footage.
“I’d like to sit in my chair for this,” George said, heading toward the La-Z-Boy.
Leo immediately rushed to the chair and conducted what Laurie recognized as a quick pat-down for any hidden weapons. “Just want to make sure there’s nothing there that could interfere with the equipment,” he muttered by way of explanation.
Seemingly satisfied, George got comfortable while a production assistant mic’ed up his T-shirt.
Once the cameras were in place, they began rolling.
“Let’s start with the events that inspired the lawsuit,” Ryan said. “How did you find your mother’s treatment under Dr. Martin Bell?”
“Oh, Ma, she used to be so spunky,” he said longingly. He paused, and then a smile broke out across his face, the first Laurie had seen. “You know she was going to bike across the country? From New York to California! She got the crazy idea when she turned sixty-three. She was following a whole training program, doing her speed-walking around the neighborhood on Mondays and Wednesdays, swimming over at the community center on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I promised her I’d buy her a good bike, something reliable that wouldn’t break down on her in Tennessee or Kansas.
“But then the accident happened and everything changed. At first, the doctors all said, ‘Oh, it’s just a fender bender, let’s not blow it out of proportion.’ But that ‘fender bender’ was the beginning of the end. Sure, there were still days when she was okay. Her old self. But for two years, I’d wake up to Ma crying out in pain from her bed. Once she started to see Dr. Bell, the crying stopped, and the pain went away. But the meds left her totally out of it—emptied her so she was just a shell of herself. Like a zombie. Then I found her there on the floor.” George pointed toward the kitchen.
Laurie had already known the basic allegations of the lawsuit, but had never heard George describe his mother’s impairment in his own words. Like a zombie. That phrase had been in his lawsuit, and it was precisely how Caroline Radcliffe had described Kendra Bell toward the end of her time with Martin. Out of it. A shell of herself. George could have been talking about Kendra.
Why hadn’t she seen it before? She told herself that she could confirm her suspicions later. Right now, she needed to focus on what George had to say.
“You blamed Dr. Bell for your mother’s death, didn’t you?” Ryan asked.
“Of course I did.”
As Ryan walked George through the confrontation at Martin’s office, Laurie watched George’s face on the screen in front of her, wondering what new information he was about to drop on them.
Ryan continued pressing George on the details of his encounter with Martin. “The police warned you about returning to his office.”
“And I took it to heart,” George said. “I never went back to his office again.”
Laurie saw a glimmer flash across Ryan’s eyes, and she immediately understood why. George had insisted that he had never gone back to Dr. Bell’s office. He had used the same phrasing the last time they interviewed him: I never went back to his office again.
“But you didn’t exactly leave Dr. Bell alone either, did you?” Ryan asked pointedly.
“I never approached him. Or spoke to him. Or anything like that.”
“But you watched him, didn’t you?”
George put his head in his hands. “I couldn’t help it. He was all I could think about, and seeing him in person somehow helped me. He couldn’t hurt other people under my watch.”
“Were you watching him the night he was killed?” Ryan asked. The entire set fell silent, as if they were holding their collective breath, waiting for George’s answer.
“No,” he finally said. “I was home.”
“By yourself,” Ryan added.
George nodded.
“So no one can vouch for you. You have no alibi.”
George looked at his feet.
“Here are the facts, George,” Ryan started. “You have no alibi. You have a history of obsessing over the people you blame for your mother’s demise. You were stalking Dr. Bell. And you owned the very model of gun used to kill—”
“I was trying to do the right thing,” George blurted out, interrupting Ryan’s cross-examination. “Yes, I blame Dr. Bell for Ma’s death, but I’m no killer. I know it all looks bad. That’s why I never mentioned what I saw.”
“What did you see, George?”
“It was a night about a week before the murder, around lower Manhattan, in the Greenwich Village area. I was following Dr. Bell when he got into a cab. A woman was waiting for him in the backseat, and he kissed her. I know I should have come forward, but I was scared I might become a suspect. I feel so guilty.”
“Who was the woman?” Ryan asked, ignoring George’s plea for sympathy.
“It was too dark to make out her face. I couldn’t tell.” George’s high voice shook with fear. “I just assumed it was his wife, but then after the murder, everyone said they weren’t getting along. So, you know, maybe it was some different lady.”
Of all the scenarios Laurie and Ryan had gamed out, this wasn’t among them. Ryan followed up with the obvious questions—Hair length? Hair color? Age?—but George had no other details to offer.
“Why should we believe you after all these years?” Ryan asked skeptically.
“Because if I was lying, I’d make up some answers to all these questions you’re asking me. Look, I can’t even swear it was a woman in the cab. I just saw a kiss. To be honest, it made me mad he had someone who’d let him do that.” He looked away sadly. “And I know how pathetic this makes me sound, and that’s another reason everyone should believe me. I swear to you . . . I’m telling the truth.”
Ryan glanced in Laurie’s direction, and she nodded her confirmation. It was a good place to end the interview.