Murder, She Wrote Domestic Malice (29 page)

Read Murder, She Wrote Domestic Malice Online

Authors: Donald Bain

Seth Hazlitt instinctively knew the conflicting feelings I was suffering and made it a point to stop by.

“Stop beating yourself up, Jessica,” he told me after arriving with a box of pastries from Sassi’s Bakery. “You did the right thing.”

“But I can’t help feeling that because of me this lovely little girl now has to live for the rest of her life not just with the horrible memory of having killed her own father, but the certainty that everyone around her knows what she did. The impact on Mark Wolcott is equally profound. I questioned myself long and hard before going into the judge’s chambers and pointing an accusatory finger at Mark Wolcott. I kept asking myself was I doing the right thing. I knew I had to do it, but . . .”

“The children will receive the best psychiatric and psychological care,” he said. “You know that. What happened inside the Wolcott house that led to this tragedy was beyond anyone’s ability to intervene.”

“But we should have done more,” I said. “Myriam came to the women’s shelter office looking for help, and we didn’t provide it.”

“From what you and Edwina have said, you suggested that she leave the house, told her it was a dangerous situation. She didn’t listen. Damn shame what happened, but you didn’t cause it. Get over it, Jessica. You knew what was goin’ on in court was wrong and you made it right. Sometimes innocent people get hurt when someone else does the right thing, but that doesn’t mean you don’t do it. Heah?”

“Yes, Seth, I h-e-a-h.” His words, plus the bear hug he gave me, did wonders for my psyche and snapped me back into a semblance of the person I usually am.

Later that day, I received a call from Edwina Wilkerson.

“Richard Mauser died,” she said.

I’d known that he’d remained in critical condition since suffering his coronary and that Edwina had kept track of how he was doing through frequent calls to the hospital.

“I’m sorry to hear it,” I said.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over the hatred I felt for the man.”

I remembered Seth’s advice to me. “Knock it off, Edwina,” I said in my best impression of Seth Hazlitt, and proceeded to give her the sort of pep talk I’d received from my physician friend. It seemed to help, and we promised to get together in the coming days.

Two other visits bolstered my spirits.

The first was from Sharon Bacon, Cy O’Connor’s right-hand woman, who had come by to help put my mind at ease.

“The attorney assigned to defend Ruth Wolcott has worked out a plea with the district attorney,” she told me, “and Judge Mackin has approved it. Ruth will be treated as a child and placed on probation while receiving counseling. When she reaches twenty-one—and providing she does everything expected of her by the court—her record will be expunged. The court recognizes that she acted impulsively and reacted to her father’s abuse of the mother. It’s not an excuse, of course, but there are plenty of extenuating circumstances that weigh in her favor.”

“I’m pleased to hear that,” I said. “And I hope Mark receives similar help, as well. What about the others, the grandmother, who pressured her daughter to file a false plea, Myriam’s brother, who removed the weapon from the scene, Myriam herself, and Cy O’Connor? They were all involved in a scheme of sorts.”

“The grandmother’s off the hook,” Sharon said. “She never lied to authorities or in court under oath. The brother faces charges of obstructing justice. The DA is charging Myriam with conspiracy and lying under oath, but considering the circumstances, a plea deal is likely to be worked out. As for Cy, there’s a real possibility that disbarment proceedings will be discussed by the Maine Bar Association. He told me the other day that he’s closing up his practice here in Cabot Cove and moving to New York City.”

“Where does that leave you, Sharon?” I asked.

Sharon laughed. “His leaving has forced me to make up my mind about what to do with my life. I’m looking forward to a pleasant retirement.”

“Well deserved,” I said. “It was really good of you to stop by. I feel better knowing that Ruth Wolcott won’t be treated too harshly.”

“Sometimes our legal system does the right thing,” Sharon said.

The second visitor was a complete surprise to me. When I opened the door I was faced with a friendly-faced middle-aged woman wearing a gray-and-black dress. I didn’t know her. A car with a driver was parked at the curb, its engine running.

“Yes?” I asked.

“Mrs. Fletcher? My name is Laura Mauser. My husband was Richard Mauser.”

“Oh, dear,” I said. “I was so sorry to hear about your husband’s passing. I intended to go to the wake, but . . .”

“Please,” she said, “there’s no need to explain.”

“Won’t you come in?”

“I’d rather not,” she said. “I know I’m intruding and don’t want to take up your time. I just came by to give you this.”

She extended an envelope to me.

“I considered giving it to Ms. Wilkerson, but in light of the problems between her and my husband, I thought better of it.”

I hesitated to open the envelope, but when it was clear that she was waiting for me to do just that, I slid my finger under the flap. Inside was a check made out to the Cabot Cove women’s shelter in the amount of one hundred thousand dollars.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“It’s in Richard’s memory,” she said. She managed a small smile. “He could be difficult, but he wasn’t as bad as some made him out to be. Use it well, Mrs. Fletcher. The shelter is much needed here in Cabot Cove.”

It took me a while to get over the shock of the check and what the sentiment behind it meant. When I had, I picked up the phone and called Edwina Wilkerson.

“Thanks for the pep talk the other day,” she said. “I needed it.”

“Edwina,” I said, “I’d like to start volunteering at the shelter again one night a week.”

“Wonderful. How about tonight?”

“Tonight sounds fine. I’ll be there along with something I think you’ll be both surprised at and delighted with.”

“What is it?”

“Just a reminder that life can be good. See you at seven.”

AUTHORS’ NOTE

A
uthorities tell us that most cases of domestic violence are never reported to the police. Yet one in four women will experience domestic abuse in her lifetime. For children, being a witness to domestic abuse is the strongest risk factor for the perpetuation of violence from one generation to the next. If you know someone who is being abused, help is available twenty-four hours a day. Please reach out to the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE.

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