Authors: Phillip Margolin
“Ashleyâ¦.”
“No, my mind is made up. I have a passport. I'll book a flight over the Internet. All I need is for you to set up an account for me so I can get money to live on.”
“This is crazy.”
“My life is crazy. Maxfield wants to kill me. He's murdered my family. If I stay here I'll never be able to live a normal life. It will be like I'm the criminal. I'll be locked up, surrounded by guards. I won't be able to go to school. I won't have friends. And I'll be afraid every minute. Don't you see? I have to get away from him.”
A
shley Spencer has disappeared,” Larry Birch said as soon as he walked into Delilah Wallace's office.
“She what?!”
“She's been living at the Van Meter mansion. Henry Van Meter moved her over from the dorm and hired a team of private guards. This morning, after breakfast, she slipped out. No one has seen her since. Mr. Van Meter called me as soon as he was certain that she was really gone.”
“Did Maxfieldâ¦?”
“I don't think so. Van Meter has the estate looking like an armed camp. I doubt Maxfield would try to take her from there again.”
“So you think she's running away?”
“That's my guess. She definitely took steps to evade the guards. But none of her clothes are missing, and her toothbrush, hairbrush, stuff like that, are still in her room.”
Delilah sat back in her chair and shook her head slowly. She looked sad.
“That poor, lonely kid. How frightened she must be. I can't imagine.”
Delilah's intercom buzzed. “There's a Jerry Philips at the front desk,” the receptionist said. “He wants to talk to you about Ashley Spencer.”
“Send him back.”
Two minutes later, Jerry Philips was shown into Delilah's office. He looked embarrassed and could not meet the DA's eye.
“Where is she, Mr. Philips?” Delilah demanded. Jerry noticed that she was not calling him by his first name as she usually did.
“I can't tell you.”
“Listen, Jerry,” the homicide detective said, “Ashley is a material witness in a murder investigation and she's in great dangerâ¦.”
“You don't understand,” Philips interrupted. “I can't tell you because I don't know. Believe me, I tried to find out, but she wouldn't tell me where she was going.”
“Then why are you here?” Delilah asked.
“Ashley instructed me to come. She didn't want you to worry that Maxfield had her. She wanted you to know that she's safe.”
“Did you help her get away?”
Jerry looked down at his shoes. “My conversations with Ashley are covered by the attorney-client privilege. I can't tell you what we talked about.”
Larry Birch had rarely seen Delilah angry, but she was angry now. She levered her two-hundred-fifty-plus-pound bulk up from her chair and stared at Ashley's lawyer. He avoided her eyes.
“We are talking about a frightened young girl, Mr. Philips. She is a child and she has no business being out in the world on her own.”
“I really can't tell you,” Jerry mumbled. “You know I'm forbidden by law to reveal client confidences.”
“Don't you care about her?” Delilah asked.
Philips looked miserable. “Of course I do. Don't you think I tried to talk her out of this? But she's terrified.” He gathered his courage and looked first at the DA then at the detective. “And you couldn't protect her.” Now it was Birch and Delilah's turn to look uncomfortable. “That's why she ran. She doesn't think you can stop Maxfield. She's convinced that he will kill her if she stays in Oregon.”
Delilah sat down. “Do you know how to get in touch with her?”
“I can't discuss that.”
Delilah started to get angry again but she checked herself.
“If she does contact you, will you ask her to call me or write me? We
need to get her back, Jerry. She may think she can hide, but Maxfield will find her if he wants to.”
Â
Ashley looked out the window of the plane and felt as if she was floating among the clouds that surrounded her. She was free for the first time since the night Maxfield invaded her home. The feeling was exhilarating and left her giddy with relief. Each mile the plane traveled put another mile between her and her former life. Her fear was fading and hope was building. Before her stretched a future filled with adventure and exotic sights, sounds, and experiences, a future free of terror and despair.
Jerry Philips had tried to get her to change her mind from the moment he met her on the service road that led to the boathouse until he dropped her off at the airport. He hadn't given up until he'd handed her the dufflebag full of clothes and toiletries she'd told him to buy, and five thousand dollars. Ashley's plane ticket was electronic, and she already had her passport.
Ashley's plane would land in Frankfurt, Germany. Then she would take a train to a destination she would decide on in the airport lounge. By operating with spur-of-the-moment choices she hoped to avoid leaving a trail based on her past. She had no favorite places anyway. Everywhere she went would be new and exciting. And every place she went would be free of Joshua Maxfield.
M
iles Van Meter closed the copy of
Sleeping Beauty
from which he had been reading. While the audience applauded, he drank from the bottle of water that Jill Lane had left on the podium.
“Joshua Maxfield's home invasion devastated Ashley,” Miles said when the applause died down, “but the loss of her mother, several months later, was a killing blow. Then Maxfield made his spectacular escape from the courtroom and returned to the Oregon Academy that very night to try to murder Ashley.
“The authorities claimed that they would protect Ashley, but she had no faith in them after Maxfield's near miss at the Academy. She fled to Europe and stayed there until the totally unforeseen events that compelled her return to Oregon.
“In the years between his escape and recapture, Joshua Maxfield went underground. The best efforts of the FBI and international police organizations were of no avail. When interest in the manhunt began to wane, I wrote
Sleeping Beauty
to keep my sister's plight and the memory of her killer in the public eye. I had no idea how successful my tribute to Casey would be.
“Meanwhile, Ashley was living under assumed names and leading the life of a vagabond; staying for short periods in small towns throughout Europe, working odd jobs when she could get them, and drawing
money from her account when she had to. But, of course, I didn't know that when I wrote
Sleeping Beauty,
and the original book ended with Maxfield's escape, Ashley's disappearance, and a brief account of the efforts of the authorities to track one of history's most diabolical serial killers.
“And now I'd be pleased to answer your questions.”
In the back of the room, a well-built young man dressed in khaki pants and a plaid shirt raised his hand. Miles pointed at him.
“I'm thinking of writing a true-crime book about a real murder case that my cousin was involved in, but I don't know how to get started. There were some things in the case that happened in other states. Can you tell me how you did your research on the other murders that Maxfield committed around the country?”
“Sure. Researching
Sleeping Beauty
wasn't that different from preparing a case for trial. When I'm litigating, I have to interview witnesses, read documents, and learn all of the facts in the case. I approached my book as if I was preparing for Maxfield's trial.
“By the time I started writing
Sleeping Beauty,
the FBI had already done a pretty good job of matching up the fictional murders in Maxfield's novel with real crimes in Connecticut, Montana, and other states. Larry Birch and Delilah Wallace were very helpful. They gave me access to the reports of the Oregon police and the FBI. I also read stories about these crimes in local newspapers. After that it was simply a question of contacting the person in charge of each case in each state. Detective Birch called these people to vouch for me. That helped me get my foot in the door.
“When I traveled to a state, I would contact the detective in charge, read the reports, then interview witnesses. I also visited the crime scenes and read autopsy reports and viewed the crime scene photographs. Some jurisdictions videotaped the crime scene, which really helped me write accurately about what went on.”
“Weren't you working as a lawyer during all this?” an older man in a sweatshirt and jeans asked.
“Yes, but my firm was very supportive. On the few occasions I needed it, they gave me time off for my investigation. But I was fortunate,
because a few of Maxfield's crimes were committed in cities like Boston, where I traveled frequently on business.”
A young man wearing jeans and a T-shirt from a local college raised his hand.
“Mr. Van Meter, I just finished reading
Sleeping Beauty.
I thought it was great. One thing bothered me, though. Everyone always assumed that Joshua Maxfield murdered Ashley's parents, but in light of what happened when Ashley returned to Portland I wonder if Randy Coleman was ever a suspect. Ashley never saw the face of the man who killed her father and tried to kill her after Maxfield escaped. Coleman fit the description of the man who invaded her home and hunted her at the Academy.”
“That's right,” Miles agreed, “but you're forgetting one thing: Coleman had no motive to murder Ashley until everyone discovered who she really was.”
A
shley chose San Giorgio for her meeting with Jerry Philips because tourists rarely visited the little Tuscan hill town. The narrow, dusty streets were anything but picturesque, and none of the local shops sold goods that would be of interest to vacationers from Wisconsin or Osaka. Its only possible tourist attraction, a thirteenth-century castle, was in disrepair because there wasn't money to maintain it. Weeds had conquered battlements that had kept out human invaders for hundreds of years.
Chestnut trees shaded the piazza. There was a stone church with no famous frescos or relics at one end, and a restaurant at the other. In the center of the piazza stood an uninteresting fountain that was bone-dry at the moment. Ashley arrived an hour early and watched the square from the upper story of the church to make sure that her attorney had not been followed.
Jerry Philips had sent an email requesting an emergency meeting several weeks ago, but Ashley had not checked her messages until two days before, when she'd dropped into a cybercafé in Siena. Lawyer and client had exchanged several frantic messages. Ashley asked why Jerry needed to see her in person. Jerry swore that he should be with her when he explained a matter of the utmost importance. Time was of the essence, he had insisted, and he'd proved it by flying out of Portland the day Ashley agreed to the meeting.
Shortly after the churchbells rang in six o'clock, Philips appeared at the end of one of the cobblestone streets that emptied into the town square. He paused in the shade of a chestnut tree to catch his breath. The sun was still blazing in a clear blue Italian sky and the temperature was in the nineties. Jerry was sweating heavily. He'd had to park in a lot at the base of the hill, because the twisting streets were too narrow for ordinary traffic. The only vehicles he'd seen were small trucks delivering to the shops of the town. When one passed him on the way out of San Giorgio he'd been forced to press himself against a wall to avoid being hit.
Ashley watched Jerry drag himself across the piazza to the restaurant. She'd always liked her lawyer. She remembered how young she thought he was when they first met. Maybe that was it. He'd never seemed that much older than she was, even though he was an adult. She studied him as he scanned the piazza. He was dressing better than he had when they'd first met; he'd switched to contacts, and his hair was shorter. He looked handsome. Ashley smiled. Despite her reservations about meeting anyone who could lead Joshua Maxfield to her, it felt good to see a familiar face.
At the restaurant, two old men dressed in worn brown suits and open-necked white shirts were sipping espresso at a table on the piazza and debating the fortunes of a local football team. Another man, covered in dustâa laborer, a mason perhapsâwas eating a sandwich and reading a newspaper. Jerry sat apart from them at a small table that was shaded by an umbrella. He angled his chair so he was completely in its shadow. Ashley saw him check his watch. After a minute he took off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. Ashley left the church.
The trek from the lot had made Jerry thirsty but there was no waiter in sight. He craned his neck toward the door of the restaurant. When he turned back, a woman with short, jet-black hair was sitting down at his table. She was dressed in a powder-blue shirt and tan slacks. Sunglasses hid her eyes. Jerry's face split into a grin.
“I didn't recognize you for a moment,” he said. “You look great. The dark hair suits you.”
Ashley touched her hair self-consciously. “Blond stands out like neon here.”
As she spoke, Ashley checked for signs of danger.
“I'm pretty sure I wasn't followed,” Jerry said to allay her fears. “When we hung up I phoned for tickets and I left for the airport two hours later. No one would even know that I was meeting you. I drove straight here as soon as I landed in Florence.”
A waiter appeared in the doorway of the café.
“How well do you know this place?” Jerry asked.
“Why?” Ashley asked, quickly looking over her shoulder.
Jerry laughed. “Will you relax? I asked because I'm famished. I've been traveling for twenty hours and all I've eaten is the crap food on the plane. What's good here? This is Italy. They must serve pasta.”
The tension drained out of Ashley's shoulders and she laughed, too.
“Sorry. It's justâ¦.”
“You don't have to explain. You just have to get me something to eat and drink.”
Ashley smiled. “This place is decent if you'll settle for something simple.”
“I'll settle for anything that's food.”
Ashley waved over the waiter and chatted with him in Italian.
“You sound like a native,” Jerry said as soon as the waiter left.
Ashley shrugged. “If you know Spanish, Italian isn't that tough to pick up.”
Jerry sat back and studied her. He could not get over how much Ashley had changed. It wasn't just the new hair color. It was the new maturity he saw in her body and face. It suddenly dawned on him that the last time he'd seen Ashley she was a teenage girl. The Ashley sitting opposite him was a woman.
“I've really worried about you,” Jerry said. “How are you holding up?”
“I'm okay. I love Italy. I love the quiet.” She shrugged again. “I feel safe.”
Jerry sighed. He sat back. “You have to come home.”
Ashley looked frightened. “I can't.”
“You have to. Something's happened. Something that changes everything.”
“What?”
“Henry Van Meter is dead. He passed away a week ago.”
“I'm sorry,” Ashley said. She looked sad. “I liked him. He was very kind. But what does his death have to do with me?”
“He's the one who hired me to come here and explain everything.”
“Explain what?”
Jerry paused, trying to find the right words.
“Casey is still in a coma.”
Ashley nodded. She wished that Jerry would stop dancing around the reason for his visit.
“While Henry was alive, he and Miles argued about what to do with Casey. Henry wanted to keep her alive and hope for a miracle. Miles wants to take her off life support. Henry was afraid that Miles would be appointed Casey's guardian when he died, and he's trying to do just that. Miles has filed papers with the court asking to be appointed Casey's guardian. The hearing is set for next week.”
Ashley looked confused. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Everything.” Jerry paused. He looked very uncomfortable. “When you hear what I have to say you'll understand why I felt you needed to be with someone when you learned why I'm here.”
“Jerry, please. What is going on?”
Philips reached across the table and took Ashley's hands in his. He looked her in the eye.
“You have to come back to Portland and ask the court to make you Casey's guardian.”
“Why would I want to do that? Why would the court even consider me?”
He tightened his grip on her hands. “Casey is your mother.”
Ashley's mouth gaped open but she couldn't speak. She pulled her hands away and stared at Jerry as if he was insane.
“I know that this is hard for you to takeâ¦.”
“My mother?” Ashley laughed harshly. “My mother is dead, Jerry. Joshua Maxfield killed her.”
“No, your mother is not dead. Casey Van Meter is your biological mother. I've seen the proof.”
Ashley shook her head stubbornly. “Terri Spencer is my mother. I hardly knew Casey Van Meter.”
Jerry let out a puff of air. “I knew this wouldn't be easy. Let me explain everything, okay? Then you can make up your mind. Remember I told you that my father died shortly before your father was killed?”
Ashley nodded.
“What I didn't tell you is that he was murdered.”
“Oh, Jerry.”
“A burglar broke into his house in Boulder Creek andâ¦. He beat him to death. Now do you understand why I've tried so hard to help you? Both our fathers died horrible deaths within weeks of each other. I knew exactly what you were going through.”
Ashley didn't know what to say.
“The burglar set a fire to cover up his crime. The fire destroyed all of the files that my father took to Boulder Creek with him. I thought that your father's files burned up. That's why I didn't know what was in them when I started representing you.
“A few weeks ago, Henry Van Meter asked me to come to his house. He showed me documents relating to your birth and adoption that he kept in his safe. They prove that Norman Spencer adopted you when you were born.”
“Are you saying that Norman wasn't my real father?”
“No, he's your biological father.” Jerry paused. “Look, it's complicated. It took Henry a while to explain everything to me.”
“How do you know that he didn't lie to you?”
“I know that he was telling the truth because I found your father's files. Dad must have brought them back to Portland when he met with your mother. They were in a filing cabinet but they'd been misfiled.”
“I still don't believe this. It can't be true.”
She sounded lost. Jerry reached out and touched her hand again.
“It is true, Ashley. You'll believe me when I explain everything I know. Let me tell you what happened from the beginning.”