Everything to Gain and a Secret Affair (24 page)

Sarah, who had been hovering in the background, said, “I'm Sarah Thomas, an old friend of Mrs. Keswick's, a friend of the family, actually.”

Detective Johnson nodded, and Detective DeMarco murmured, “Ms. Thomas,” and inclined his head, scrupulously polite.

I led them into the living room and said, “Is there some sort of problem? My husband's late getting home. I, we, that is, Sarah and I, have been a bit worried. He's not been in an accident, has he?”

“Let's sit down, Mrs. Keswick,” DeMarco said.

I shook my head. “Just tell me what's wrong, please.”

DeMarco cleared his throat and began, “Something tragic has happened. I think we should sit down.”

“
Tell me
.” My voice quavered as I spoke, and a dreadful trembling took hold of me. Sudden fear surged through my body, and reaching out, I gripped the top of the wing chair to steady myself.

“We found your husband's Mercedes on Park Avenue at One Hundred Nineteenth Street. Your husband was hurt—”

“Oh, my God! Is he badly injured? Where is he? Oh, God, my children! Are they all right? Where are they? Where's my husband?”

My heart was racing. Filled with a mixture of panic and dread, I moved forward and grasped DeMarco's arm. Urgently, I said, “Why didn't you bring my children home? Which hospital is my husband in? The twins must be frightened. Take me to them, please.”

Gasping, fighting my tears, I swung to Sarah and cried, “Come on, Sash, let's go! We must go to the twins and Andrew.
Come on
! They need me.”

“Mrs. Keswick, Ms. Thomas, just a minute,” DeMarco said.

I stopped, looked at him. There was something odd in his voice. My stomach lurched. He was going to say something awful, something I didn't want to hear. I knew it instinctively.

He said, “I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs. Keswick, but your husband has been shot. He's—”

My eyes opened wide.
“Shot!
Who shot him?
Why?”
The blood was draining out of me; my legs had gone weak.

My eyes flew to Sarah. Her face had turned the color of bleached bone. In an unusually high voice, she exclaimed, “I thought the car was in some sort of accident.”

I stood staring at her; somehow I had thought the same thing.

“No, Ms. Thomas,” DeMarco said.

“He's not badly hurt, is he?” Sarah asked, endeavoring to speak in a more controlled voice.

“Where are my children?” I demanded before either of the detectives could answer her. “I want to go to my children and my husband.”

“They're all at Bellevue,” Detective DeMarco said. “And so is your dog. I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but your—”

“My children . . . are . . . all right . . . aren't they?” I interrupted, speaking very slowly, fearfully.

Detective Johnson shook his head. He looked dour.

DeMarco said, “No, Mrs. Keswick. Your husband, your children, and your dog were all fatally shot this afternoon. We're very sorry.”

“No! No! Not Andrew! Not the twins! Not Jamie and Lissa! It's not possible! It can't be true,” I cried, gaping at DeMarco, uncomprehending. I began to shake.

I heard Sarah saying over and over again, “Oh, my God, my God!”

I stepped away from DeMarco, stepped away from the chair, and went lurching across the room to the entrance hall, shaking my head from side to side, denying, denying. Blindly I reached out, grabbing at air, at emptiness.

I had to get out of here.

Get to Bellevue.

Bellevue.

That's where they were.

My husband.

Get to Andrew.

To Lissa and Jamie.

Get to my children.

My children needed me.

My husband needed me.

My little Trixy needed me.

He'd said they were dead.

All dead.

The four of them.

NO!

The room became very bright, and it began to sway and move.

I heard it then. The noise.

It was a terrible, piercing scream that went ripping right through me. A bone-chilling scream rising higher and higher. It sounded like the scream of an animal being tortured, of an animal in torment.

It grew louder and louder until it filled my mind absolutely. And it deafened me.

As the floor came up to hit me in the face, I knew that it was I who was screaming.

W
hen I regained consciousness, I was lying on one of the sofas in the living room.

As I opened my eyes, it was Sarah's face I saw. She sat in a chair next to me.

“Mal,” she whispered, reaching out, taking hold of my hand. “Oh, Mal, darling.” Her voice broke, and tears welled in her dark, compassionate eyes. I saw the pain on her face.

I grasped her hand tightly, pinning her with an intense gaze. “Tell me it's not true, Sash,” I pleaded tearfully. “Tell me it's not. They're all right, aren't they? It's been a horrible mistake, hasn't it?”

“Oh, Mal,” was all she could say, in a muffled voice. She was unable to continue speaking, and tears trickled down her strained white face.

I saw him then.

Detective DeMarco.

He was standing near the living room window, looking across at me. Fleetingly, a look of pity washed over his face and was instantly gone; but I knew without a doubt that it was true.

It
had
happened.

It was not a bad dream from which I had just awakened.

It was
real
, this nightmare.

My eyes shifted. Through my tears I could see his partner, Johnson. The older detective was standing by the small antique desk in front of the window overlooking
Seventy-second Street. He was speaking on the phone. I heard him say, “Yes, that's correct.”

I shouted in a shrill, angry voice, “I want to go to my husband and my children. I want my family. I want my dog. I want to be with them.” I tried to struggle off the sofa, but Sarah put her arms around me, held me still, endeavored to soothe me.

“I want my babies,” I shouted through my wracking sobs. “I want my family. I'm going to them now.” I continued to struggle against Sarah, but she held me tightly.

“Yes, we
are
going, Mal, in a few minutes.” Sarah's voice was low, drained. She went on. “The detectives are going to take us to the mor—to Bellevue. I just gave Detective Johnson your mother's number. He's been talking to her and David. They're coming now; they'll be here in a couple of minutes.”

I clung to Sarah, sobbing against her shoulder. I wanted Andrew, I wanted the twins. What had happened this afternoon? I didn't understand. Who had shot my family? And why? Why had this happened to us? Why would anybody shoot a decent man like Andrew? Shoot innocent little children and a dog?
Why ?

Suddenly I heard the front door and my mother's voice exclaiming, “Where's my daughter? Where's Mrs. Keswick? I'm Mrs. Nelson, her mother.”

I pulled away from Sarah. My mother was rushing toward me across the living room. Her face was stricken, ashen, her eyes full of horror and disbelief.

“Oh, Mom!” I cried out. “Oh, Momma! Andrew and the twins have been shot And Trixy. Why, Mom? I don't understand.”

My mother sank down heavily on the sofa, wrapped her arms around me, and held me close to her. “It doesn't make sense,” she whispered, and she kept repeating this like a litany. She began to weep, and we
held on to each other desperately, struggling with our pain and heartbreak.

Between sobs, my mother said, “I don't know how to help you, Mal, but I'm here for you, darling. Oh, God, how can anybody help you? This is too much for anyone to bear.” She rocked me in her arms, weeping, and whispered in a cracking voice, “I can't believe it. Lissa and Jamie gone, Andrew gone. It doesn't make any sense. What has this world come to? It's godless.
Godless
.”

After a few minutes, David left the detectives and came over to the sofa, knelt down on the floor in front of us, and put his arms around my mother and me.

His voice was gentle, caring. “I'm so very, very sorry, Mal. I'm here for you and your mother. I'll do anything to help you both. All you have to do is ask me. Anything at all, Mal.”

Eventually I managed to sit up. Gently, I extricated myself from my mother's arms. She lay back against the sofa; her face was haggard.

David rose, came and sat in a chair near me. “Take your time, Mal, we're in no hurry.”

I looked at him, tried to speak, but I couldn't say anything. I began to weep once more. Wrapping my arms around my body, hugging myself, I moved backward and forward on the sofa, making low, keening noises. I was distraught, I was in an agony of mind, soul, and body. Every part of me felt as if it had been bludgeoned.

Finally I stopped moving and leaned back, closing my eyes. But the tears kept coming, seeping out from underneath my lids.

Opening my eyes at last, I gazed at David helplessly. He gave me his handkerchief.

After I wiped my eyes, I said in a shaky voice, “I want to see my family.”

“Of course, and you shall,” David said. “The detectives
are ready to take you to Bellevue, Mal. We'll all come. Your mother and Sarah and I. We'll be with you.”

I could only nod my understanding.

David said, “Can I get you anything? Anything to drink? Brandy, maybe?”

I shook my head. “Just water, please.”

My mother stood up shakily. “I'll get it, I need a glass myself.”

Sarah said, “I'll come with you, Auntie Jess.”

David took hold of my hand, held it tightly in his, wanting to comfort me. His light gray eyes were full of sympathy, and his tactfulness and concern were palpable. I was thankful he was here. I had grown to know him quite well since he'd married my mother, and he was kind and considerate. He was also quick, efficient, and smart, and as a criminal lawyer he knew how to properly and effectively deal with the police.

After a second, he said, “I need to talk to the detectives, Mal. I didn't learn much from them on the phone. My fault, I didn't give them a chance to fill me in. Your mother and I just raced around here within minutes of receiving their call.”

He started to get up, but I wouldn't let go of his hand.

Puzzled, he looked at me closely. “What is it, Mal?” he asked.

“Can you bring them over here? I want to hear what they have to say.”

Nodding, he rose and strode across the floor. He stood talking to Johnson and DeMarco for a few minutes, and then the three of them came back and sat down near me.

Detective Johnson said, “We don't know what happened, Mrs. Keswick.” He threw David a quick glance, and went on in a low voice. “It could have been a crime of opportunity, such as robbery, we're just not sure. And
we won't be able to give you any real answers until we've done a proper investigation.”

David said, “You told me you found the car on Park Avenue at One Hundred Nineteenth Street. At the traffic light there.”

“Yes,” Johnson said.

“Was the family in the car?”

Johnson said, “Yes. Mr. Keswick was in the front seat, the driver's seat, and he'd fallen across the passenger seat. His door was open, and his legs were out of the car, as if he'd been trying to get out. One back door was also open, and the children were on the backseat together, with the dog.”

I pushed myself to my feet. On shaking legs I half walked, half staggered out of the living room. I managed to get to my bathroom. Closing and locking the door, I knelt on the floor and vomited into the toilet, retching until there was nothing left inside me. Then I fell over on my side and curled into a ball, sobbing my heart out. I was in shock, disbelieving. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't. This morning I had been talking and laughing with Andrew on the phone, and now . . .

“Mal, Mal, are you all right?” Sarah called, knocking on the bathroom door. “We're concerned about you.”

“Give me a minute.” I dragged myself to my feet, splashed cold water on my face, and looked at myself in the mirror. The face staring back did not look like mine. It was stark, the cheekbones sticking out like blades, and it was as white as chalk under all the freckles. I felt stunned, dazed, and my glazed eyes reflected this.

Not me, that's not me. But then, I would never be me again.

There were two medical examiners waiting for us at Bellevue Hospital, where the New York City Morgue was
located. I followed them into the morgue, accompanied by Detectives Johnson and DeMarco as well as David Nelson.

I had protested to Detective DeMarco, begging him to let me go in alone except for the two doctors. It was Johnson who had explained the law; the police officers who were the first to arrive on the scene of a crime must be present at the identification of the body or bodies. It was mandatory.

David had insisted on coming in with me, and I hadn't had the strength to argue. In any case, the medical examiners seemed to think his presence was essential.

When they pulled out Andrew's body and showed it to me, I gasped and cried out in anguish, then pressed my hands to my mouth. I felt my legs buckle, but David was there, standing right behind me, and he put his arm around my waist, held me upright.

Oh, Andrew, my darling, my heart cried out.

My eyes were streaming as they led me to the next two compartments, pulled out the slabs, and showed me Lissa and then Jamie. My children, my darling babies. I could barely see their faces for my blinding tears. They were so still, so quiet, so cold. All I wanted was to keep them warm, to keep them safe. Oh, my poor babies.

Looking at one of the medical examiners, I gasped through my tears, “They didn't suffer, did they?”

He shook his head. “No, Mrs. Keswick. None of them suffered. Death was instantaneous.”

Detective Johnson was edging me away, edging David and me away from my children.