public would hold it against him that he had in good faith relied on the doctor’s testimony. He had no reason to doubt him.
“And don’t forget,” she added, “I’m far from being convinced that justice was denied in the Reardon case. It’s just that by coincidence I’ve stumbled on this one thing, and I can’t live with myself if I don’t follow through on it.”
When the conversation ended, Kerry returned to the transcript. By the time she finally laid it down, she had filled pages with notes and questions.
The sweetheart roses: Was Skip Reardon lying when he said he didn’t bring or send them? If he was telling the truth, if he didn’t send them, then who did?
Dolly Bowles, the baby-sitter who had been on duty in the house across the street from the Reardon home the night of the murder:
She claimed she saw a car in front of the Reardons’ house at nine o’clock that night. But neighbors were having a party at the time, and a number of their guests had parked in the street. Dolly had made a particularly poor witness in court. Frank Green had brought out the fact that she had reported “suspicious-looking” people in the neighborhood on six separate occasions that year. In each instance, the suspect turned out to be a legitimate deliveryman. The result was that Dolly came through as a totally unreliable witness. Kerry was sure the jury had disregarded her testimony.
Skip Reardon had never been in trouble with the law and was considered a very solid citizen, yet only two character witnesses had been called: Why?
There had been a series of burglaries in Alpine around the time of Suzanne Reardon’s death. Skip Reardon claimed that some of the jewelry he had seen Suzanne wearing was missing, that the master bedroom had been ransacked. But a tray full of valuable jewelry was found on the dresser, and the prosecution called in a part-time housekeeper the Reardons had employed who flatly testified that Suzanne always left the bedroom in a chaotic state. “She’d try on three or four outfits, then drop them on the floor if she decided against them. Powder spilled on the dressing table, wet towels on the floor. I often felt like quitting.”
As she undressed for bed that night, Kerry mentally reviewed what she had read, and noted that there were two things she had to do: make an appointment to talk with Dr. Smith, and visit Skip Reardon at the State Prison in Trenton.
23 Friday, October 27th
In the nine years since the divorce, Kerry had dated on and off, but there had never been anyone special. Her closest friend was Margaret Mann, her roommate at Boston College. Marg was blond and petite, and in college she and Kerry had been dubbed the long and the short of it. Now an investment banker with an apartment on West Eighty-sixth Street, Margaret was confidante, pal and buddy. On occasional Friday evenings, Kerry would have a sitter in for Robin and drive to Manhattan. She and Margaret would have dinner and catch a Broadway show or a movie or just linger over dessert for hours and talk.
The Friday night after Geoff Dorso left the transcript, Kerry arrived at Margaret’s apartment and gratefully sank onto the couch in front of a platter of cheese and grapes.
Margaret handed her a glass of wine. “Bottoms up. You look great.”
Kerry was wearing a new hunter green suit with a long jacket and calf-length skirt. She looked down at it and shrugged. “Thanks. I finally got a chance to buy some new clothes and I’ve been sporting them all week.”
Margaret laughed. “Remember how your mother used to put on her lipstick and say, ‘You never know where romance may linger’? She was right, wasn’t she?”
“I guess so. She and Sam have been married fifteen years now, and whenever they come East or Robin and I visit them in Colorado, they’re holding hands.”
Margaret grinned. “We should be so lucky.” Then her expression became serious. “How’s Robin? Her face is healing well, I hope.”
“Seems to be fine. I’m taking her to see another plastic surgeon tomorrow. Just for a consultation.”
Margaret hesitated, then said, “I was trying to find a way to suggest that. At the office I was talking about the accident and mentioned Dr. Smith’s name. One of the traders, Stuart Grant, picked up on it right away. He said his wife consulted Smith. She wanted to do something about the bags under her eyes, but she never went back after the first visit. She thought there was something wrong with him.”
Kerry straightened up. “What did she mean?”
“Her name is Susan, but the doctor kept slipping and calling her Suzanne. Then he told her he could do her eyes, but he’d rather do her whole face, that she had the makings of a great beauty and was wasting her life not taking advantage of it.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Three or four years, I guess. Oh, and something else. Smith apparently also rambled on to Susan about how beauty brings responsibility, and that some people abuse it and invite jealousy and violence.” She stopped, then asked, “Kerry, what’s the matter? You have a funny look on your face.”
“Marg, this is important. Are you sure that Smith talked about women inviting jealousy and violence?”
“I’m sure that’s what Stuart told me.”
“Do you have Stuart’s phone number? I want to talk to his wife.”
“In the office. They live in Greenwich, but I happen to know that the number’s unlisted, so it will have to wait till Monday. What’s this about, anyhow?”
“I’ll tell you about it over dinner,” she said distractedly. It seemed to Kerry that the trial transcript was on a Rolodex in her mind. Dr. Smith swore that his daughter was in fear for her life because of Skip Reardon’s unfounded jealousy. Had he been lying? Had Suzanne given Skip reason to be jealous? And if so, of whom?
24 Saturday, October 28th
At eight o’clock Saturday morning, Kerry received a phone call from Geoff Dorso. “I beeped in to the office and got your message,” he told her. “I’m going to Trenton to see Skip this afternoon. Can you make it?” He explained that in order to register for the three o’clock visit, they would have to be at the prison by 1:45.
Almost as a reflex, Kerry heard herself say, “I’m sure I can make it. I’ll have to make arrangements for Robin, but I’ll meet you there.”
Two hours later, Kerry and an impatient Robin were in Livingston, New Jersey, in the office of Dr. Ben Roth, a noted plastic surgeon.
“I’m going to miss the soccer game,” Robin fretted.
“You’ll be a little late, that’s all,” Kerry soothed. “Don’t worry.”
“Very late,” Robin protested. “Why couldn’t he see me this afternoon after the game?”
“Perhaps if you’d sent the doctor your schedule, he could have worked around it,” Kerry teased.
“Oh, Mom.”
“You can bring Robin in now, Ms. McGrath,” the receptionist announced.
Dr. Roth, in his mid-thirties, warm and affable, was a welcome change from Dr. Smith. He examined Robin’s face carefully. “The lacerations probably looked pretty bad right after the accident, but they were what we call superficial. They didn’t deeply penetrate the dermis. You haven’t got any problems.”
Robin looked relieved. “Great. Thanks, Doctor. Let’s go, Mom.”
“Wait in the reception area, Robin. I’ll be out in just a moment. I want to talk to the doctor.” Kerry’s voice carried what Robin called “the tone.” It meant “and I don’t want to hear any arguments.”
“Okay,” Robin said with an exaggerated sigh as she departed.
“I know you have patients waiting, so I won’t be long, Doctor, but there is something I must ask you,” Kerry said.
“I have time. What is it, Ms. McGrath?”
