“Of course,” Griff said, nodding. “Let me get my coat.”
Twenty minutes later, they stood outside Keniston’s hospital room, talking to Benji Eastman.
“He’s developed a heart arrhythmia,” Benji said. “They think it was brought on by stress and the chemo. He’s pretty weak, but he wanted to see you before—well, just in case anything should happen to him.”
“I’m glad to be here,” Griff said. “I’m grateful to him for taking my side in this mess, and I want to thank him in person. I’m grateful to you too, bro.”
“I never believed for a second that you could hurt Kate. None of us did. Dad wants to talk to you and Jenny about the case. If it’s all right, I’m gonna duck out, go grab some coffee.”
“Sure thing. Take care, man.”
They shook hands, and clasped each other on the back warmly. Griff had always liked Kate’s half brothers. With Griff’s father in prison and his mother not in his life, Kate’s family had been his only family for a while now. He was going to miss them.
In the room, Keniston lay barely breathing under the flimsy hospital blanket, hooked up to tubes. Griff couldn’t believe such a fierce lion of a man could be brought low like this.
“Feels like just a minute ago that he was in his prime, and now look,” Griff whispered.
Keniston opened his eyes. “I’m not dead yet,” he croaked. “And I can hear you.”
The three of them laughed. Keniston’s laughter turned to choking.
“Water,” he said.
A Styrofoam cup with a straw sat on a wheeled table beside the bed. Jenny held the cup for him, and he drank.
“Better,” he said, and cleared his throat, gazing at Griff with a look akin to wonder. “I’m amazed to see you out of prison, son. I wasn’t sure we could pull it off.”
Tears sprang to Griff’s eyes. “I’d still be in that damn cell if not for you. I can’t thank you enough for what you did for me, Keniston.”
“You should thank me. Jenny here was no help,” Keniston said, in a joking tone.
Jenny flushed bright red. “What are you talking about? I replaced the chief of police to get him off Griff’s back. That wasn’t easy.”
Keniston raised a bony hand, then let it drop back down to the blanket wearily. He cleared his throat again. “I was teasing. But I do have something serious to discuss. I’m concerned this new fellow is making the same mistakes. I want this ended. I don’t want some big investigation into this doctor that Kate was mixed up with. From what I understood, Walters conjured up the evidence against this fellow, to divert attention and get Griff out. I don’t want some new unjustified arrest on my conscience.”
“I understand,” Jenny said, “and I agree completely.”
“But Walters didn’t make up evidence,” Griff said. “What he said was true. Saxman’s the last person we know saw Kate alive. And now they found Kate’s handbag in his car. We can’t just let that go. The police should investigate.”
“Kate leaving her bag in his car doesn’t prove he killed her,” Keniston said.
“Keniston’s right,” Jenny said. “We don’t want to make the same mistake Rizzo did. We’re hoping to rule Ethan Saxman out as a suspect and announce that to the press in the next day or two. I’m sure you both know there’s been another option on the table all along.”
“Suicide,” Keniston said.
“Exactly,” Jenny said. “Rizzo decided Kate was murdered based on an expert’s opinion about the nature of her skull fracture and the absence of water in her lungs. We brought in a different expert, and no surprise, he has a different opinion. He believes Kate’s injuries were sustained when she fell, or jumped, from the railroad bridge. So unless new evidence comes to light, it’s likely the coroner will rule Kate’s death a suicide, and we’ll close the case.”
“And Saxman just skates away?” Griff said.
Griff didn’t believe Saxman killed his wife. Not directly. But if he’d never seduced her, never turned her away from Griff, then Kate would be alive right now. Saxman ought to pay for that.
“He’ll suffer, don’t worry,” Jenny said. “He’s going to lose his job because of the negative publicity, and Aubrey will divorce him for sure after this.”
“It’s not enough,” Griff said, and hung his head.
They all fell silent. After a moment, Keniston lifted his hand, which appeared to take great effort. Carefully, so as not to dislodge any tubes, Griff took Keniston’s hand in his own.
“Griffin,” he said. “Isn’t it Kate you should be angry at?”
“I can’t. I never could be angry with her,” Griff said.
“That’s what I was afraid of. I feel responsible,” his father-in-law said, and his eyes were watering. Griff had never seen the old man cry in all the years he’d known him, not even at the funerals of his own wife and daughter. He was shocked to see it now.
“Responsible for what?” Griff asked.
“For the fact that you married my daughter. I sent you to her because I couldn’t handle her anymore. I did that knowing full well how she crushes the people who love her. And now she’s crushed you. It’s my fault.”
“It’s all right. I chose my life. I chose her.”
“It’s not all right. I’m going to make it up to you,” Keniston said.
Griff and Jenny exchanged glances over Keniston’s head. Jenny was probably thinking the same thing he was—that Keniston didn’t have enough time left to make anything up to anybody.
“I spoke with my lawyer. You won’t have any problems about the money.”
He closed his eyes, and seemed to fall into a deep sleep. Griff and Jenny waited for a while longer, but then decided they should probably let him rest. They both had tears in their eyes as they left the hospital room, because they knew it was the last time they’d see him.
As Jenny drove down the hill from the hospital, Griff took a deep breath and looked out over the town nestled in the valley below. He could see the lights of College Street, and the beacon on top of the Ogden Library tower. Carlisle was perfect from up here, and yet it was spoiled, because he couldn’t look at it without thinking of Kate. But then, every place in the world made him think of Kate. No place was untouched. He thought of her in New York, as she’d stood glowing in the light at the middle school dance. He thought of her in Paris, thin and haunted in the tabac, as he begged her to come away with him. He thought of her on their boat with her golden hair rippling in the breeze, or on a sunny piazza in Italy, a drink in hand, laughing her throaty laugh. He could go to the ends of the earth and never find a place that didn’t remind him of her.
“I want my phone,” he said to Jenny. “I need those pictures.”
She shook her head. “Griff.”
“Just stop, all right. If you’re going to tell me to get over her, I can’t, and I don’t want to hear it.”
“I wouldn’t presume to tell you that,” Jenny said, her hands on the wheel.