Cast into Doubt

THIRTY-NINE

Hugh Kendricks, standing in Shelby’s kitchen, handed his granddaughter, Molly, two drinks he had just poured. ‘Take this one to your grandmother,’ he said. ‘And the other one to Dr Winter.’

Molly frowned. ‘Who’s Dr Winter?’

Hugh pointed to the dove-gray sofa in Shelby’s living room. ‘The woman sitting next to Grandma.’

Molly obediently took the glasses from Hugh. ‘When do you think Mom will come back?’ she asked worriedly.

Hugh patted his shaken granddaughter on the shoulder. ‘I’m sure it won’t be too long,’ he said. ‘They had to ask her a lot of questions about your stepfather.’

‘Is Mom in trouble?’ Molly asked.

‘I don’t think so. I don’t think she had anything to do with . . . all this. Anyway, don’t you worry. Your dad is with her,’ said Hugh. ‘He’ll make sure they treat her fairly. He knows your mom would never have wanted to hurt Chloe.’

Molly sighed and nodded. Then she got on with her task of serving the drinks to the people assembled in Shelby’s apartment. Tonight, Molly needed to be kept busy. In fact, everyone gathered there seemed in need of the distraction of company and a little camaraderie. Glen had offered to make his famous hobo’s stew for dinner, but Shelby had talked him into ordering take-out and they were waiting for it to arrive. Jen was drinking wine and questioning Glen about his life and his prospects. Glen was at his most evasive, and charming, best. Shelby smiled to herself. After all their conversations together, Shelby knew, when it came to men, that Jen had a weakness for a lost cause.

‘What’s funny, Shep?’ Jeremy asked.

She was resting on the sofa, with Jeremy perched on the arm beside her. ‘Nothing. I’m just glad to be with you,’ she said, squeezing his little arm.

Someday, when he was grown up, Shelby thought, she might explain to Jeremy how very close she had come to never seeing his angelic face again. Thanks to the timely arrival of the Philadelphia police, she was not dead at the bottom of the Devil’s Pool, but comfortably ensconced in her own apartment, surrounded by the murmur of people who cared about her.

In the end, Harris had given up without a struggle when the police surrounded them in the Wissahickon. He had been dragged off in handcuffs, hanging his head, without a backwards glance at her, while EMTs hustled Shelby into an ambulance and rushed her to Dillworth Memorial Hospital. Talia and Glen had been waiting for her when she was released, after an examination proved that she was physically unharmed. Glen had embraced her tightly, and Talia, in a gesture which was expansive for her, had briefly patted Shelby’s shoulder. At that, to Talia’s alarm, Shelby had burst into tears.

That was just an hour ago. Rob was still at the police station with Lianna, who was being questioned. Rob’s parents had brought Jeremy and Molly over to Shelby’s apartment. Somehow, Vivian seemed to be making easy conversation with Talia. Shelby felt peaceful in the midst of the hubbub. She could not remember the last time there had been so many people in her home.

‘Somebody’s at the door,’ said Molly offering Shelby a glass of sparkling water.

‘Maybe it’s dinner,’ said Shelby. ‘Hand me my pocketbook, will you? It’s on the kitchen counter.’

As Molly approached the counter where Jen was sitting, Jen looked up from her conversation with Glen. ‘Oh, no you don’t,’ she said. ‘This dinner is on me. I’ll get the door. Molly, why don’t you help me carry the food?’

Molly seemed happy to have another job to do. She followed Jen to the door and then rushed back into the room, wide-eyed. ‘It’s an FBI man.’

‘FBI?’ said Shelby.

‘That’s what he said,’ Molly reported.

Jen came back into the living room followed by a tall, clean-cut, gray-haired man in an open-necked shirt and a sports jacket. Shelby struggled to get up from the sofa.

‘Ms Sloan?’ he asked. ‘Don’t get up. Pardon my casual appearance but I’m here unofficially. My name is Chuck Salomon. I’m from the FBI. I’m in charge of the Philadelphia office. I didn’t mean to interrupt the party.’

‘It’s not a party,’ said Shelby. ‘We’re all just taking shelter, you might say.’

‘Could I speak to you for a moment?’

‘Sure.’ Shelby turned to Molly. ‘Molly, can you take Jeremy in the den? You two can watch a movie. I’ve got a collection of his favorites.’

‘I know where it is,’ Jeremy said importantly. ‘It’s my room when I come to Shep’s. Follow me.’ Molly obediently trailed her brother down the hallway.

Shelby offered the FBI agent a seat. ‘Is there something wrong?’ she asked.

‘Well, I got a call from Elliott Markson. He’s very concerned about you and asked me to personally reopen the investigation into your daughter’s death.’

‘He did?’ said Shelby.

‘Yes. He called me at home. His late wife was my niece, so we have a family connection. Anyway, I said I would stop by and see you.’

His late wife, Shelby thought. She was sure she had detected sadness beneath Elliott’s detached exterior. ‘Well, as it happens,’ said Shelby. ‘There won’t be any need for that. I now know what happened to my daughter. Chloe’s killer has just been arrested.’

‘Really? Down in St Thomas?’

Shelby shook her head, her lips pressed together. ‘No, actually. Right here, in Philadelphia.’

Salomon raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Someone she knew then?’ he said.

‘The man who threw her overboard was a man named Bud Ridley. He was a stranger on the cruise who pretended to be trying to help my daughter. In fact, he was planning all the while to kill her.’

Salomon frowned. ‘So he’s been arrested?’

‘No. Bud Ridley hanged himself. Apparently, the guilt was too much for him to bear.’

‘So, I don’t understand. Who was arrested?’ Salomon asked.

‘A man named Harris Janssen. He paid Bud Ridley to kill my daughter. Well, to be accurate, Ridley owed him an enormous debt, which he was trying to repay.’

‘And your daughter knew this fellow Janssen.’

‘Yes. We all did.’

‘How terrible,’ Salomon said, looking genuinely distressed by this news.

She thought about telling him that Harris Janssen had kidnapped her, and that he was a confessed murderer, but she felt too weary to answer the questions that might follow. ‘It is. Many lives have been torn apart by this,’ said Shelby.

‘Ms Sloan, I’d like the agency to get involved in following this up,’ Salomon said. ‘I don’t know what kind of evidence has already been amassed, but murder for hire is a federal crime and we have all the technological tools in our arsenal that one could ever need to make sure that this Janssen fellow pays a heavy price for his crime.’

Shelby sighed. ‘Well, I don’t want to step on anybody’s toes – especially not the Philadelphia police department. It was one of their officers who stopped this man, when he was getting ready to shoot me and toss my body in the Wissahickon.’

‘Good God. You have had a day,’ he exclaimed.

Shelby smiled weakly. ‘Yes, I have.’ Before he could question her further she said, ‘As for Chloe’s death, I don’t know under whose jurisdiction that crime might fall. Or any of that . . .’

‘I understand,’ said Salomon. ‘I assure you, we have a history of cooperation with the Philadelphia department. We can work in tandem. In any case, it’s not for you to worry about. Chloe’s murder was our case to begin with, but it was clearly not investigated as thoroughly as it should have been.’

‘No. It was not,’ she said firmly.

‘Let me see what I can do to make amends for that,’ said Salomon kindly. ‘I’ll have a discussion with the Philadelphia authorities and we’ll sort this out.’

‘That would be wonderful,’ said Shelby.

‘It must be a relief to know the truth now – about what happened to your daughter.’

‘Yes. I guess it is. I mean, if I had a choice I’d rather have my daughter back, but, obviously . . .’ Shelby sighed.

‘Justice is the next best thing,’ he said.

‘I suppose. Can I offer you a drink or something?’ Shelby asked.

‘No. I’ll just head back home if you’re sure you’re all right.’

Shelby looked around at the people in the room. ‘Yes, I’m all right.’

‘I’ll let Mr Markson know that the agency is going to be getting involved.’

‘All right,’ Shelby said. ‘No. Wait. I’ll speak to him myself. I want to thank him. That was so kind of him.’

‘Well, he’s a good man. Our family knows that for a certainty.’

Agent Salomon extended his hand, and Shelby shook it. ‘I’ll see you to the door,’ she said.

Shelby walked Agent Salomon to the door, and wished him a good night. As the elevator doors opened for him, the delivery man appeared with dinner. Shelby invited him in. She was going to limp back down to the kitchen to get her purse, and then she decided against it. All these people were here, wanting to take care of her. Let them, she thought, and it was as if Chloe’s voice were whispering in her ear, urging her to accept the love she was offered.

‘Jen,’ she called out. ‘The dinner is here.’

Jen appeared in a minute, followed by Glen, who was fumbling in his pants pocket and bringing up dollar bills. ‘I’ve got this,’ Jen said firmly. ‘You can help carry.’

‘Happy to,’ said Glen. He gathered up the bags and headed back to the living room calling out, ‘Soup’s on. Come and get it,’ while Jen settled up with the delivery man. Jen closed the door behind him and turned to Shelby.

‘Let me help you back down the hall,’ she said.

‘I’m OK,’ Shelby assured her. ‘You go ahead. I’ll be down in a minute.’

‘Don’t take too long. You need to eat,’ said Jen sternly.

Shelby gave her a quick hug, and Jen followed Glen down the hallway.

Shelby went into her bedroom, and pulled out the phone book from a drawer in the bedside table. Before she did anything else, she needed to thank Elliott Markson. It was a comfort to her to know that the FBI would be involved, and there was no chance of Harris Janssen squirming out of this. The police had promised her, at the scene, that he would never get out of jail, but there could be loopholes when expensive attorneys were involved. It was a good thing that the FBI had something to prove in this case. It should guarantee justice for Chloe. Shelby would remain involved in the legal process for as long as it took. That she knew for certain.

She sat down on the bed and leafed through the phone book, pondering what Chuck Salomon had said – that his family knew all about Markson’s goodness. A long illness perhaps, that led to his wife’s death? Some sort of ordeal that tested a person? She knew something about that, she thought with a sigh. Shelby ran down the list of Marksons, and located his name. He lived in a new high rise on Rittenhouse Square. She recognized the address. She punched his number into her cell. The phone rang and then went to voice mail. Shelby was almost relieved.

‘Mr Markson – Elliott,’ she said. ‘This is Shelby Sloan. Chuck Salomon from the FBI was just here. He said you had asked him to help me. I just wanted to thank you for that. That was really . . . extremely kind of you.’ For a moment she was silent, thinking about how important that genuine show of concern had been to her. She felt foolish, trying to express her appreciation in a voice mail. ‘OK, um, I will . . . speak to you soon. Thanks again, Elliott. Really. It means a lot.’

She ended the call, glad that he had not answered, and that she didn’t have to explain the whole story tonight. Sometime, perhaps, if he wanted to know it, she would find the will to tell it. Perhaps she would ask him about his own ordeal. They say we ease one another’s burdens by sharing them, she thought.

Shelby could hear the movie playing in the den, the kids laughing, and people talking in her living room. She felt safe. Surrounded. It was still hard for her to believe that Glen, and even Talia, had searched for her. That Jen had helped them. That Rob had sounded the initial alarm. She was not completely alone, after all.

As she replaced the phone on the bedside table, she picked up the framed photo that always sat there, beside her reading lamp. It was taken when Chloe was eight, and they had had Chinese banquet day at her elementary school. Shelby had arranged for a long lunch hour and had arrived at school in time to eat with the other mothers and their children. Someone had taken a photo of her and Chloe, wielding chopsticks and beaming into one another’s eyes. It had always been one of her favorite pictures. They both looked so perfectly happy.

Shelby kissed the photo and held it to her aching heart, tears rising again to her eyes. She wondered if the pain would ever fade. She closed her eyes and, in her heart, she spoke to the girl in the picture. I’m sorry, my darling. For all the ways I failed you. I’ll miss you forever, she thought. I’ll never get used to living without you. But at least I fought for you. As hard as I could. At least I did that. She gazed at the photo and kissed it again. Then, she set it back down on the table in its permanent place beside her pillow.