different husband now, a much nicer one.)
It’s not easy being shown the door and tossed on the scrap heap of life when you still think you have a lot to offer. I went into a long downward spiral with the help of drugs and booze. When I finally hit bottom, I ended up in the rehab facility where I’m now on the board of directors.
I’m writing to say thank you for not just sitting down and shutting up when they told you to.
I’ve read through the material posted at cutlooseblog.com, and I think you’re providing a real service for people going through tough times. Being busy is helping you, and it’s also helping others, so keep it up. And please accept my condolences on the loss of your dear friend.
Katherine Amado Burke
P.S. Feel free to post this if you wish.
For a long time after she finished reading the note, Ali sat staring at the words. Katherine Amado was the last person Ali would have expected to offer her either kindness or encouragement, and she found the letter touching. The next one intrigued her:
Dear Ali,
I wish I knew more about the treatment Lisa was receiving, and I’d certainly tell you if I did. It was evidently some kind of experimental protocol and part of her being admitted to the program was signing a confidentiality agreement.
I know it was expensive. She sold her house and took a prepayment on her life insurance proceeds in order to fund her care. She said it was an investment. That what she was doing might not help her, but that maybe it would help the people who came behind her.
Lisa was unmarried and had no children. I’m her only heir. The boxes containing her personal possessions are all out in my garage. I’ve put off going through them because the thought of doing it makes me incredibly sad. But it’s a job I need to tackle before it gets any hotter. If I find out anything more, I’ll let you know.
Sincerely,
Louise Malkin
Ali puzzled over that one for a long time, too. If Lisa had used both the equity from her home and an advance on her life insurance policy to pay for the medication, it had to be expensive-similar to the unattainable $80,000 price tag Howie Bernard had mentioned.
Ali sent an immediate reply.
Dear Louise,
Cleaning out garages is no fun, but if you do happen on any information regarding Lisa’s course of treatment, I’d really appreciate knowing about it.
Ali
The next message was utterly chilling. There was no salutation and no signature. It consisted of only two words:
She’s gone.
There was no need for Ali to scroll back through her old mail to know the sender had to be Watching. Regardless of whether or not Watching’s wife had read Ali’s post, she had taken Ali’s advice and headed for the hills, hopefully taking her two-year-old with her. And Ali didn’t have to consult his message to remember verbatim what Watching had said about that: “If she tries to leave me, I’ll come looking for you.”
Ali was thinking about that when the phone rang and startled her. It wasn’t her cell phone-it was Aunt Evie’s, the land line she paid for and hardly ever used. The phone that seldom rang unless it was a solicitor doggedly making his way through a list of numbers. Caller ID said it was a private call. Thinking about Watching and about the possibility of him being out there, looking for her, Ali almost didn’t answer. Finally, on the fourth ring, she did.
“Ali Reynolds?” a man’s voice asked. A real man this time, not Helga Myerhoff’s smoking-induced baritone.
“Yes.”
“This is Detective Farris from the Coconino County Sheriff’s Department. Dave Holman suggested I give you a call. I understand from him that you and Ms. Bernard were good friends.”
“Yes,” Ali said. “From high school on.”
“Dave also mentioned that she had been in touch with you shortly before her death and that you thought that communication might have some bearing on the case. What was it, a phone call, letter, e-mail?”
“A greeting card,” Ali said. “Reenie liked to send greeting cards.”
“And what did it say exactly?”
Ali retrieved her purse. Ignoring the Glock which had somehow managed to rise to the surface, Ali pawed through the purse’s contents until she located Reenie’s card. “Here it is: ‘I think I’m in for a very bumpy ride, but I’m not ready to talk about it yet. I’ll call you next week. R.”
“That’s all?” Farris asked.
“Yes,” Ali answered.
“And what is it about this card that makes you doubt the authenticity of the suicide note we found in the wreckage of Reenie Bernard’s vehicle?”
“It’s just that Reenie was a friend of mine,” Ali said quickly. “Sending a typed suicide note just isn’t like her. She wouldn’t do it.”
“You’re saying your friend would commit suicide, but instead of typing the note, she’d write it out longhand?”
“I didn’t say…” Ali began.
“Look,” Detective Farris said. “I don’t mean any disrespect, and I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Reynolds, but Mrs. Bernard’s secretary over at the YWCA tried to tell me the same thing, that when we did find a note, it would be on some kind of greeting card, something with a pretty picture on it.”
“Yes, but…”
“I’m a detective, Ms. Reynolds,” he said. “A homicide detective. I’ve investigated any number of suicides over the years, and I have to say that as far as notes are concerned the results are about fifty-fifty, half typed and half handwritten. A few were done on typewriters. Most of the typed ones were computer generated and without benefit of a valid signature, but that didn’t mean the notes weren’t valid. And none of them-not a single, solitary one-ever showed up on a greeting card of any kind.
“Just to set your mind at rest, we’ve examined the printers from Ms. Bernard’s office as well as the one they have at home. We’re reasonably sure the note wasn’t typed on either one of those. The truth is, however, Ms. Bernard was in the Phoenix area that day. She could easily have gone to a Kinko’s somewhere to write and print the note.”
“But…”
Farris went on without pausing long enough to listen to Ali’s objection. “I know losing a loved one is difficult,” he continued, “and the fact that someone has taken his or her own life is often particularly difficult to accept, but so far I’ve found nothing at all that doesn’t point to the fact that Reenie Bernard committed suicide. We’ve been unable to find any legitimate reason for Ms. Bernard to be coming down Schnebly Hill Road in the middle of a snowy night. She was from around here. When she opened the gate at the top of the hill, I’m sure she knew how dangerous it was. I think she also knew exactly what she was doing.
“I’m probably saying more than I should, but I want you to understand where we are on this, Ms. Reynolds. The autopsy findings also bear out what I’m telling you. Her injuries are consistent with that plunge down the side of the mountain. There’s nothing at all that indicates foul play.”
“What about her trip to the bank?” Ali asked.
“Her intended trip to the bank,” Farris corrected. “No banking slips or receipts were found in her vehicle or at the scene. We’ve already ascertained that there was no activity on any of the Bernard accounts that day. Now, if you have something more substantial to add, some kind of additional information, I’ll be happy to look into it, but until then…”
The call-waiting signal beeped in Ali’s ear.
