"That's the end of it!" Anderson yelled from the hallway, half a dozen yards past the reception desk. He walked toward us.
Bishop pointed at me, but kept his distance. "I want him out of here."
Anderson walked up to me. "Let's go outside. I can bring you up to speed."
I took a mental note of that minor surrender and followed him back through the sliding glass doors, over to his cruiser.
"What the hell is going on?" I said. "What happened to Tess?"
He leaned against the hood. "Cardiac arrest," he said. "They got her back, but her heart's still not beating the right way. They're not sure if there's damage to her brain from lack of oxygen."
"My God."
"The Bishops rushed her to the ER at about three a.m." he explained. "I guess she'd been crying for about an hour before she stopped breathing. Julia and Claire were with her the whole time. When she passed out, they called 911. Actually, they had Darwin place the call."
"What does the doctor say?"
"She drew a toxic screen and found a high level of nor… trip… something."
"Nortriptyline," I said.
"That's it."
Nortriptyline is an antidepressant medication that can be fatal in overdose. Too high a concentration in the bloodstream slows electrical conduction through cardiac muscle, making the heart skip beats, then spiral into chaotic rhythms that pump no blood. "Where did the nortriptyline come from?" I asked.
"It's Julia's, prescribed by a psychiatrist in Aspen," Anderson said. "She was skiing there with Darwin a year or so back and was really feeling low. She says she felt better when they got home, so she stopped using it."
"But she kept the bottle?" I said.
"Right."
"So what are you thinking?"
"Actually, Frank," Anderson said, "it's looking like Billy's our man."
I hadn't even broached the news about Billy having broken into the Bishops' home. "Why do you say that?"
"He snuck into the house through a bathroom window during Brooke's funeral, stole some cash and jewelry. I guess he must have decided to take a little side trip to the nursery and feed Tess the pills. Claire had been writing letters in Darwin 's study most of the night."
"How did you know he'd been in the house at all?" I asked.
"He left a note," Anderson said.
"What did it say?"
"Payback's a bitch. Love, Billy."
"Where did he leave it?" I asked.
"In an empty bank envelope Bishop says was full of cash-about five grand. The envelope was in a little antique desk in the master bedroom. I guess that's where he keeps his spare change."
"Interesting." I shook my head, thinking how peculiar it would be for Billy to tie himself so clearly to a murder scene. "Billy left me a message on my Chelsea machine about an hour ago. I tried calling you to tell you about it just before I headed here."
"What did he say?" Anderson asked.
"That he went in through that window, stole some things. That's all."
"I've got officers combing the house for evidence. We'll see what turns up. All hell is going to break loose on the island now."
"Meaning?"
"I've asked the State Police to help with a manhunt for Billy," Anderson said. "They're bringing in thirty troopers, dogs, infrared search devices, the whole nine yards. And that's the tame part. Bishop may have used his contacts to keep the press at bay so far, but that dam won't hold. Reporters will start pouring in as soon as word about Tess filters through the wires. One rich kid murdered at home sounds like yesterday's news. Another attempted murder in the same family, and you've trumped the Ramseys."
"And raised them about nine hundred million," I said. "How's Julia?"
"Stunned," Anderson said. "She hasn't said ten words in there."
I wanted to be with her. More, I felt it was my place to be with her. But I was troubled by the fact that it was Julia's medication Tess had overdosed on. "Anyone in that house could still be the killer," I said. "The signs of nortriptyline toxicity can show up many hours after an overdose. Tess could have been poisoned before the funeral." Another thought occurred to me. "I'm not sure Billy would even know a nortriptyline overdose can be lethal. The only ones who talked to the doctor in Aspen were Darwin and-"
"Julia," Anderson said. "Agreed. Nobody's cleared yet. But anybody would say Billy is the lead suspect, by a country mile."
"Why would he leave a note and a voice message about breaking into the house, if he knew he would be connecting himself to another murder?" I asked.
Anderson shrugged. "We're not talking about a normal kid."
"No," I said, "we're talking about a sociopath. They usually don't make our work easy, do they?"
"I didn't say to stop poking around," Anderson said, "to the extent Bishop lets you."
"He could have poisoned Tess as easily as anyone else," I said. "For all we know, he might have decided Billy's break-in was the perfect cover. So, tell me: When, exactly, did he start deciding who investigates what?"
Anderson stiffened. "Don't go there again, Frank. I'm paying him the same deference I'd pay anyone. He doesn't have to give you access if he doesn't want to. I'm sure you can figure a way around him."
"Great," I said. "I'm on my own, all of a sudden. This wasn't a case I exactly lobbied you for, if you remember. I took it because you said you needed help."
"And I still do." He winked. "We're waiting on a helicopter from Mass General. Tess will be flown to their ICU for observation and treatment. Julia's going along for the ride, not Darwin. He meets her there tomorrow."
"So if I had a few questions for Julia, I should get to Boston sooner rather than later," I said.
"That sounds right," Anderson said. "Once Bishop lands in Beantown, I'd head back here to touch base with Claire and Garret. She was home alone with Tess during the funeral, and he strikes me as one very angry young man."
"Not a bad plan," I said.
"For a guy abandoning you." He looked out over the hospital's expansive lawn. "You know, I wanted to give Billy a real chance. He just didn't read like a killer to me." He looked at me. "I think I may have read him wrong."
"Maybe," I said. "Maybe I did, too. But my gut tells me to dig deeper."
"Then that's what you'll…" He caught himself. "That's what we'll do."
12
As I waited for a space to open up on the ferry back to Hyannis, three ferries came in carrying some of the state troopers North Anderson had requested for the manhunt. More than twenty drove off in cruisers, SUVs, and ATVs. Reporters from local networks, and a few of the nationals, had traveled on the same boats. I spotted R. D. Sahl from New England Cable News, Josh Resnek from the Independent News Group, and Lisa Pierpont from Chronicle TV, all cozying up to Jeff Cooperman, from Dateline NBC. The skies hosted not only the usual commuter planes but more than one State Police helicopter, no doubt fueled to crisscross the hidden forests and ponds and cranberry bogs that make up the Nantucket Moors, better known as the Commons.
On any day in late June, Nantucket has no shortage of celebrities strolling down Main Street, but the Bishop tragedy was one of those island events that felt like it might resonate for generations. People who were not impressed by many things seemed to want to be part of the spectacle. Or perhaps, collectively and unconsciously, they were intent on making it into a spectacle, draining it of its terror and tragedy, in order to tame it into an entertainment event that could fit neatly inside a twenty-inch television. Then it could be labeled on-screen, over a ten-second clip of ominous, computer-generated music: "Infanticide on Nantucket: Day Four." The murder of a baby and attempted murder of another would be inscribed in something as innocuous as TV Guide.
I finally made it onto the 3:00 p.m. ferry, which landed me in Hyannis at 4:40 p.m. I caught the 5:00 WRKO news broadcast, driving up Route 3. The Bishops were the lead story. About fifteen seconds were devoted to the facts of the case, and the next minute or so to Darwin Bishop's billionaire lifestyle. Money sells better than murder and almost as good as sex. If the press had only known about Bishop sleeping with Claire Buckley, we might not have heard any other news for days.