I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT to do. After Evan left, I tried to read but ended up staring out the window as the shadows in the woods purpled and lengthened. I couldn’t concentrate, thinking of how foolishly I had acted and how I had messed up my life. The accusations in Graciela’s eyes floated in my mind, and the knot of anxiety in my stomach tightened. I set aside my book.
Something was not right.
What had Evan said? “Tobias was usually pretty dogged, determined to get to the bottom of things.” If he was so determined, and he knew that Katherine’s death had been caused by a medicine she wasn’t supposed to take, why in the world had he been so quick to dismiss my confession? Even if he thought I was senile, it seems like a basic desire to dot every “i” and cross every “t” would require him look into it, at least a little.
Of course, maybe he was. The thought chilled me, but I had to admit it was possible. Perhaps he had taken me seriously and just didn’t want to let on. Keeping his cards close to his chest.
A movement caught the corner of my eye. A deer had ventured from the adjoining woods to nibble at the base of the tree where my birdfeeder hung. My breath caught in my throat. Remembering, for once, that nowadays phones have cameras, I slowly slipped mine out of my pocket. Miraculously, I located the camera icon, tapped on it as my grandkids had taught me, lifted it and took a photo of the doe as she nibbled at the fallen grain. A cardinal landed above her, showering more millet. I tapped the screen again. The bird bobbling the feeder seemed to bother the deer. She pulled her head up, glanced around, and bounded away.
I peered down at the photos, proud of myself for having remembered how to use the camera. I swept my finger across the screen, looking at the few other images I had captured with the device.
And there it was. The photo I’d taken of the top of the medication cart.
It all came back so clearly now, framed in hindsight and without the self-deception I’d been embracing. Looking back I realized how my interest in the med cart, and in which spices the judge used, was just the preamble, the unexamined roots of my half-baked plan; the hesitant, half-considered, indirect way I had allowed vengeance to permeate my mind, growing unchecked till it had weight and shape, till it had become an inevitability. Unable to admit it to myself, I had allowed it to take hold as if I were a bystander in my own thinking. Scorched with shame, I looked at the photo again.
But this time I noticed something I hadn’t before.
Oh my God. I enlarged the picture.
I peered out again at the forest preserve, my hand covering my mouth. But I wasn’t seeing the woods or the pond or the birds.
“All told, it’s probably a tender mercy anyway.” Now I knew where I’d heard that phrase before.
I thought of that last real conversation I’d had with Katherine. Her opacity, the sense she was trying to say something I just wasn’t picking up on. I thought of Lisa and our talk in the lobby.
You never know when it’s the last time you’ll see someone, I’ve always thought. After Bethany died, it became sort of a mantra for me.
But Katherine knew. In our last conversation, she’d been trying to tell me. Her opacity, her good manners kept her from saying so directly. But she knew. She’d been saying goodbye. I remembered my talk with Lisa, “Oh so you know her trouble is not going to get better.”
At the time I assumed Lisa was referring to some generic challenge of old age … none of our heart troubles, rheumatism, or eyesight were going to get better. I’d been too irritated to sense the more specific truth behind the words. And after Katherine died, I’d been so focused on my own guilt, and the simultaneous fear that my actions might be exposed, that I could think of nothing else. I peered into the screen again, spreading my thumb and forefinger, making the glowing image as large as I could, and examined it more closely.
I thought of Nathaniel’s back trouble. And the night that I’d rushed to their apartment. And how Graciela had also gone there. And how he’d taken his meds from Graciela but sent her away when she tried later to deliver Katherine’s.
How could it not have occurred to me? I’m a nurse, for God’s sake. How could I not have seen it? And the answer, immediately: the same reason no one else did. We are old. We have pain, we have anxiety, we have sleeplessness. We are sick. And what’s more, we have prescriptions, the bottles of which we never see. Prescribed by our doctors, paid for by our insurance, and kept in a med room. To be prepared by unseen hands and delivered to us.
I was certain. I had no direct proof, but I also had absolutely no doubt.
I knew what I had to do. I pushed myself to my feet and went to the bathroom. I took a quick look in the mirror and put on lipstick. I wasn’t entirely sure why, but it seemed like I should be a little bit spiffed up when confronting a killer.
I rode the elevator to the third floor. I hadn’t been there since Katherine’s death. That night I had been in a panic, desperate and frightened. Now I was cloaked in calm.
Piano music slipped into the hall from the Kearney apartment, and I recognized the same jazz tune I’d heard Nathaniel play in the music room, so long ago, it seemed. Marty Paich, I think he’d said the composer was. I rang the bell.
The music stopped, and after a few moments, the door opened. Nathaniel’s appearance shocked me. He had bags under his eyes, and his face was ashen. But despite his diminished state, he still managed to be imperious. “I’m afraid this isn’t a good time.”
“There is something I need to talk to you about.”
“I am not receiving visitors.”
I let my manner match his formality. “I’m afraid I really must insist. It’s important.” I pressed forward as I said this. I could see the confusion on his face when he realized I was not going to stop. He backed into the foyer. I got all the way inside and moved into the living room, past the gleaming grand piano he’d bragged about, which was stationed in front of large windows framing a view of the trees and the pond. I lowered myself onto a settee on the opposite side of the room.
Suddenly, the certainty and the energy that had been propelling me shifted. I realized I had no idea how to begin, and although I was certain I knew what had happened, I didn’t have anything more than the vaguest notion of what I was going to say.
Nathaniel stood in the door to the room and frowned at me. “May I ask what is so important that you feel entitled to invade my privacy?”
“I know what happened, Nathaniel. I know.”
He stared at me for a moment, blinking. Then I saw understanding come into his eyes. He drew himself up into full imperiousness. “I’m not sure what you are speaking of. You must be confused. Perhaps I should call the reception. They can send someone up to help you back to your apartment.”
“I know what happened. There is no need to pretend.” I took the phone from my pocket and enlarged the image it bore, spreading my finger and thumb. On it was the photo of an aqua blue cup holding a little gray pill, familiar from my hospital days. The cup sat on a card labeled “N. Kearney.”
“Do you know what this photo shows?”
He seemed determined not to face me. He walked stiffly to the piano, dropped onto the bench, and cleared his throat. I was reminded once again of the afternoon when we met and when I first encountered Katherine.
“What was it? Was she having a lot of pain?”
Instead of answering, he lifted his hands to the keyboard and began stroking the black keys lovingly, but without sounding them.
I went on. “She didn’t seem to be suffering. But you were worried. Was she losing the ability to care for herself?”
He played a chord, softly. I saw his Adam’s apple bob in his throat before he said, “Katherine was very dignified. Very proud.” He slowly sounded middle C, then rippled a few keys. He tilted his head. “She was always very private, you know. In fact, even with me, she changed in a separate room, always had her hair and makeup in place before we …” His fingers slid gently over a few keys before finding a soft remnant of the melody. “They found a tumor, pressing on her brain.” He paused. “She would have hated needing help with the toilet or bath. Not to mention diapers.” He played a few more bars.
So I was right—she had been saying goodbye. I waited for the notes to fade away. “It was your medicine, wasn’t it? The pills for the pain in your back?”
He leaned over the instrument. Softly a melody flowed into the room. It was an old Fred Astaire song, “Let’s Face the Music and Dance.” The darkest, slowest, most dirge-like version imaginable.
I spoke over the music. “This photo shows the medication. Very powerful. With her heart trouble it wouldn’t have taken much.”
He stopped abruptly and looked at me, cool and dispassionate. “I didn’t want to see her lose her sense of herself, her ability to take care of her body … to become so dependent. She wouldn’t have wanted it either.” He stroked a piano key with one finger. “We thought we had a few more weeks at the very least. But that night she took a turn. Could barely move. I had to help her from the toilet to the bedroom. It seemed the time had arrived.”
“So you simply took the pills you’d saved and then gave them to her.” It was a statement, not a question.
He lifted his head to look out the window again. Then, instead of replying. he resumed softly sounding keys on the piano, and something about his entitled silence made me furious.
I slapped my knee. “Judge Kearney!” The change in my tone seemed to get through to him. He turned to me, and his face was no longer so vacant. His eyes sharpened. Proud. Haughty.
“Do you know who I am?” I asked.
He shrugged. “You’re Katherine’s friend. She liked you. You were a nurse.”
“How about Roger Stinson? Does that name ring a bell?”
He drew his brows together and looked at me again, actually seeing me this time. Suddenly his eyes widened. He knew who I was. Or at least who Stinson was.
But he didn’t let on. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe I should go down to my apartment and fetch an envelope I have. It’s full of press clippings—newspaper stories. Perhaps they will jog your memory.”
He shrugged, turning away. Feigning unconcern. But I could see a vein jumping in his temple. “Why should I care about your scrapbooks?’
“Not scrapbooks. Evidence. Newspaper stories. Investigations into dishonest lawyers and a corrupt judge who took money to give drunk drivers absurdly light punishments.”
He still wouldn’t face me, but I felt him stiffen, every cell attuned to what I was saying.
I spoke slowly but without raising my voice. “Do you recollect now? You let Stinson go with barely a slap on the wrist. And then he got behind the wheel, drunk again, and plowed into a teenage girl.”
He lifted his chin, his profile strong against the window light.
“Her name was Bethany. She was my granddaughter. I bet you remember her mother. That ridiculous farce of a trial and the insulting ‘punishment’ you gave Stinson for killing Bethany nearly destroyed her. You had her escorted out of your courtroom. As if she was the problem.”
His eyes narrowed as he faced the front of the piano.
He finally turned his gaze to me. “Those rumors were slander.”
“You killed my granddaughter.”
“You just want someone to blame. You’re not strong enough to accept that life can be hard, so you are blaming—”
“Stop it!” I demanded, sharp and loud. He pulled back, surprised.
I lifted my chin. “You are a corrupt judge. You dishonor the title.”
“How dare you?” he barked. He turned toward me, bringing one hand down, hard, on the piano, sending forth a discordant clang. “I am a respected member of the bar.”
There was a shuffling, and from down the hall, a door opened and I heard a muffled call. “Dad? You okay?”
Nathaniel inhaled, nostrils flaring. He answered, “Yes, Lisa. All is fine. Please, go back to your work.”
He was still glaring at me. I leaned toward him, my voice lowered. “I know everything. The question is, what do we do about it?” I settled back. “Perhaps I should tell the police.”
He sniffed. “They won’t believe you. They know me.” He lifted his brows, full of arrogance. “Katherine’s death was caused by error—simply a regrettable medical error.” He sent me a chilly smile.
Fury threatened to derail me. I dug may nails into my palms. “And what about the person who will be blamed? You are ruining her life, her reputation.”
He lifted one eyebrow and shrugged. “Sometimes these things happen. But I’m sure if she moves to a new position at another facility, all will be forgotten.”
I saw it now. He knew that Graciela could figure it out, and he wanted her gone. He’d engineer it if he had to.
My voice rose, ragged and outraged. “But she may be deported. How can you—” I caught myself. It was all too obvious. But what leverage did I have?
And then I realized a possibility.
I sat back and folded my hands in my lap, lifted my voice and called, “Oh, Lisa?”
It wasn’t quite loud enough for her to hear, but he got the idea. His head whipped around, and alarm flashed across his face. “No,” he hissed, pushing himself up. “I will not have it.”
I scoffed at that. “You have no authority to stop me, Nathaniel.” The self-satisfaction was gone now. Instead I saw fear, real fear. And I saw I had guessed right. Now that he was living with the devastation of having lost Katherine, the only person keeping him from being bereft of any human connection was Lisa. The daughter he’d never developed “heartstrings” with was the only person he had, the only one keeping him from dying alone and unmourned. He needed her goodwill at all costs.
It was the only play I had. I had no real power to make him confess. He was right, the cops would much rather call Katherine’s death a medical error than deal with the messy consequences of an elderly judge with a compromised history who’d killed his wife. Even in mercy. Or not.
I leaned forward and continued, watching his face, feeling my way. “Maybe Lisa never read the newspapers during that time. Or perhaps she did, but she listened to you, your version of things.” I lifted my brows. “But I wonder if hearing the story from the point of view of a family member of one of the victims, along with all the clippings and interviews—would bring it all to life? And surely she doesn’t know you killed her beloved Katherine?”
He was vibrating with umbrage. I went on. “I’ll make sure she knows everything. And that knowledge will be in her mind every time you need her, and you will see it in her eyes every time she looks at you.”
His eyes grew wide. He couldn’t face it, the unraveling of his image.
That was it. The key. I saw it clearly. His vanity—which is probably what had made him so susceptible to corruption to begin with—animated what was left of his life force. Which also made it his weakness, his Achilles heel. It wasn’t only his need for Lisa. Yes, he depended on her and her goodwill. But perhaps just as strong was his desire to protect his bloated self-image, to preserve his appearance as an upstanding individual at all costs. This was where I could apply pressure.
I went on, feeling like I was gaining the upper hand. “And it isn’t only Lisa I’ll talk to. You know how news travels around here. I’m sure many people would love to hear about the details of your career. It would make for juicy conversation in the dining room.” I added ominously, “And in case you think people will discount me, you should know I am not the only one here who realizes who you are. Who knows your history.”
The judge half rose. His eyes bulged, and he looked so enraged and red that for a moment I thought he was about to have a stroke. “I … I …”
“You have a choice.” I lifted my hand, to still him. “Talk to the police. Say you did it by mistake or that Katherine made the mistake. But if you don’t, I will tell. Not just about the pills. About your career. I know the investigators. I can get access to their records, the statements of your collaborators. I’ll make sure Lisa knows everything. I will make her feel what you did to my family, and others. Every time she has to take care of you as you grow old and helpless, she will be thinking, ‘This man enabled killers.’ ” I tilted my head. She’ll think, “‘This man killed my stepmother.’”
“You have no right to talk about my relationship with my wife,” he spat. “I loved her. I did it out of mercy.”
“Did you? Or was it that you couldn’t bear to be the one who had to be the caretaker, not the center of her attention?”
“How dare you?” His eyes were wild. “I loved her more than anything. I couldn’t stand to see her suffer.”
I shrugged. Even in this absurd situation, I realized I was hardly in a position to question someone else’s self-deceptions. And it didn’t matter.
“Maybe. Either way, you enabled killers as a judge, and now you’ve killed your wife.” Confident in having landed a defining blow, I stood. “Somehow or another, you must make sure Graciela or any other staff person isn’t implicated in any way.”
He raised his hands and banged them, hard, on the keyboard. “I will not be impugned by the likes of you.”
I stopped and started toward the hall, calling, “Lisa.”
“No!”
I turned toward him. “Then for once in your life do the right thing. Live up to Katherine.”
I paused before heading to the door. “I’ll let you think about how you want to handle this. If I don’t hear from you by tomorrow, I will start letting the cats out of the bag.”
His face collapsed like a bridge falling into water. He glared at me, and I felt the impotent fury in his gaze as I headed toward the hall.