I’ve always been impressed with my daughter. And I suppose all parents think their child is the smartest, kindest, most talented kid around. But when Lizzie walked into the kitchen the next morning, I got a flash of the way others might see her. There she stood, all five feet six inches of her, a halo of blonde hair complementing those striking green eyes. She had a closet full of power suits, but that day she wore a black dress beneath a gray blazer. Chic and elegant. She wanted to project a no-nonsense image and had succeeded.
“You look great, Mother. I love that sweater.”
“And you look professional and competent.”
“I try.” She finished her coffee. “The kids are on their way to school, and I called the office and told Josh to remind me to call Ashley Knight. My first appointment’s at two. Looks like we’re set.”
When she picked up her black suede briefcase, I was even more impressed.
Sidney Watson looked like he wouldn’t harm a fly, let alone a person. The few hairs he had left on his head were combed over to the right side. His eyes were big and brown, reminding me of Quincy, the basset hound I’d had when I was six. There didn’t appear to be any muscle definition beneath his white T-shirt. As he walked sluggishly into the meeting room, he had to keep pulling up his gray sweatpants. When the guard told him to sit at the table, opposite Lizzie and me, he obediently plopped down.
Lizzie stuck out her hand to him. “Mr. Watson, I’m Elizabeth Farina. I’m a family lawyer.”
Watson shook her hand then looked at me. “And you are?”
“Katherine Sullivan,” I said, shaking his hand. “I used to be the—”
“—chief of police here. I know. Your name’s been all over the paper for years.”
“So you’re originally from here?” I asked.
“There’s been three generations of us Watsons in Edina.” Then he looked down at his hands, never asking why we were there.
“The reason we’re here,” Lizzie began, “is because it’s come to my attention that another man might be responsible for the death of your wife.”
“Look, Ms. Farina, the police have my signed confession. I guess the court will appoint a lawyer if I need one. So I don’t understand why either of you are here.”
I gave it a try. “Dean Bostwick was telling me the other day that he and his wife are close friends. He thinks very highly of you. Carolyn’s death hit them very hard.”
“The four of us had some good times.”
“And your children,” I pushed on, “were close too.”
“Yeah, they were.”
“Have you ever heard of or met Charles Kerrigan?” Lizzie asked, forcing Sid to deal with the moment.
The confusion on his face gave us the answer before his words did. “No. Never.”
“And you won’t get the chance to ever make Mr. Kerrigan’s acquaintance,” I said, “because he’s dead, Mr. Watson. Run down like a dog, left by the side of the highway. So if you’re worried that he’ll come back to harm your son, there’s no need. Charlie Kerrigan can’t hurt anyone again.”
“You think this guy hurt Carol?”
“Come on, why don’t you tell us why you confessed to a murder you didn’t commit,” Lizzie asked. “I came here today because I need your help.”
“But you think the real killer’s dead, so what can I do?”
“There’s a couple in town, Everett and Diana Larkin . . .” I stopped when he jerked up in his chair.
“Now that’s a name I recognize,” he said. “Everett Larkin was the man having an affair with Carolyn.”
“Did you ever meet him?” Lizzie asked.
“I caught them together once—just one time. Right out in public, for all the world to see. I was meeting a client at the Sheraton in Bloomington. As I was going in, they were coming out. All over each other. They didn’t care who saw. So I walked over and asked what was going on. Carol made up some excuse about a job interview. She was unhappy working part-time and wanted a place that would give her more hours. All the time she’s chattering away, this Larkin guy is smiling and nodding. But he didn’t fool me.”
I watched Sid closely as he spoke and could detect the control he held over his anger. He just didn’t seem the type that would explode into a rage.
“Did you and your wife discuss it again?” Lizzie asked.
“She apologized for not telling me about their meeting. She swore there was nothing going on between her and Larkin. But I’m not stupid, you know.”
“No one said you were,” I assured him. “But confessing to a murder that Mr. or Mrs. Larkin choreographed isn’t a good idea.”
“Wait . . . I thought you said this Kerrigan guy killed my wife.”
I looked him in the eyes. “Charlie had no grudge against your family. He needed money, that’s all. To him it was just a business transaction.”
It was obvious he was weakening. Lizzie could read the signs as well as I could and made a move.
“Don’t you want to go home to your son, Mr. Watson? There are so many events you’ll miss out on. Graduations, weddings . . . grandchildren. And all for what?”
At the mention of his family, he started to sob.
When the discomfort level was unbearable, I said, as gently as I could, “You’re not alone, Sid. People confess to crimes they never committed all the time. Maybe they think it’ll fix things—get some answers for their family so they’re not left wondering for the rest of their lives. They offer themselves up like a sacrificial lamb.”
He picked up the front of his shirt and wiped his eyes. “They didn’t deserve this. They’re great kids. And I wasn’t Dad of the Year. Maybe it was all my fault that Carol cheated the way she did. If that’s what got her killed, then it’s all my fault and I should pay. I could have given her more attention. But I tried. I can always say I tried my best.”
“So you’ll let us help get you out of here?” Lizzie asked.
“I can’t afford a lawyer. There’s no savings. And I don’t want my kids to suffer because there’s no money. They deserve better than I can give them right now.”
“This is about giving you a second chance,” Lizzie said. “Forget about a public defender. All you have to say is that I’m your lawyer, and I’ll start the paperwork. I work a lot of cases pro bono. I’ll just add you to the list. I’m your lawyer now, and we’re going to get you out of this.”