STILL TREMBLING, I return Monty Alderson’s call, the detective from Manhattan South.
“Stat must mean something different up there than it does down here,” he says when I’m put through.
I apologize. “It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah, news travels fast.”
I don’t bother to ask how much he knows. “What have you got for me?”
“Stella Walker.”
“Stella Walker? You pick her up for drunk and disorderly? Last I saw her was Monday night at The Plaza Bar, she’d had a lot to drink. I walked her to her door.”
“It’s why I’m calling. Not drunk and disorderly. Deceased. She was discovered by management early this morning in her room at The Plaza Hotel after management received a call from the husband. They had to crow-bar the dead-bolt to gain access; room was locked from the inside. Appears she ODd on a mix of alcohol and pills. We found a half-empty bottle of Dom and an empty container of Trazadone on the nightstand.”
I swallow hard. “You calling it suicide?”
“It was suicide, Fortune. Like I say, door was dead-bolted from the inside. How was Mrs. Walker’s mood when you left her?”
Thinking back to Stella Walker’s expression of fear, I say, “She was pretty desperate, yeah. As next of kin, she would know about her son-in-law’s death. Could have pushed her over the edge.”
“Desperate enough to do something like this?”
“I’d say so, yeah.”
“She left a note.”
“She left a note?”
“Which is why I’m calling. The note was in a sealed envelope addressed to you, Detective Dexter Fortune, NYPD.”
“You open it?”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“You read it?”
“It’s definitely something you want to see sooner rather than later. I shouldn’t be doing this, but I’ll text you an image. What’s your number?”
✽ ✽ ✽
The letter is written by hand in blue ink on hotel stationery.
Dear Detective Fortune:
They say the truth will set you free: Don’t you believe it. More likely it will take hold of your neck and choke the life out of you. Please don’t think me insensitive for the reference--I’m old and drunk and about to die, so should be forgiven my transgressions.
Being old, I’m also foolish—foolish and vain. Being foolish (and old and vain!) I’m vulnerable--susceptible--to many things, not the least of which is the attention of a younger man. It helps for him to be handsome, intelligent, accomplished, successful, and charming, all of which Marcus Livingstone is. (Jonathan--as I’m sure you know, not so much, though God knows he did manage to make a lot of money during our marriage and cheat on me in the bargain if you can imagine that possible).
Your detective is right about one thing: Marcus and I are in a relationship, a sexual relationship. We have been for years, starting almost since the time Miranda became pregnant the first time. How vulgar! I’m not proud of my behavior, but I’m not ashamed either. I regret it, but can’t wish it away, can I? I won’t say we were lovers, because this would seriously overstate the nature of the bond. More like allies. And the sex is good--for me, at any rate.
It was after the children were born that Miranda found us out. She discovered us in bed, together. I can’t even imagine the shock, to find your own mother in your marital bed on all fours rutting like a bitch in heat with your own husband! It was true what I said: Miranda had always been difficult. But this was IT!!!, the beginning of the end for her, the start of the heavy drinking and the drugs.
At first, Marcus tried to control it. Rohypnol, Trazadone, a mix of uppers and downers meant to make Miranda compliant and to help her forget, or at least not complain too loudly. But she wasn’t, and she didn’t. Compliance wasn’t in her nature, neither was silence. So, he abetted. Kept her hooked and dependent.
Me? I just hoped she’d OD.
Recently, Miranda had been trying to straighten herself out, threatening to report Marcus to the New Jersey Chapter of the American College of Physicians, to the police. She’d managed to retain the services of an attorney willing to plead her case pro bono. Even had she not prevailed, the public scandal would have ruined Marcus professionally, personally, financially. She may even have been awarded full custody of the children and denied access to both Marcus and me.
What this would have done to me is unthinkable because by then I considered the children my own. When Marcus told me, I begged him to do whatever he needed to do to stop Miranda. At any cost. I managed to convince myself it was in the best interest of Maddie and Josh.
Apparently, Marcus has taken me at my word and done what he believed needed to be done. I know, now, Marcus has paid a fitting price for his sins. For mine, too.
As with so many things in my life, I can’t wish what I’ve done away. I’m too old to forget, and too selfish to be sorry.
Yours,
Stella Walker