“Only if I’m interrupting something.” He handed her the check.
She led him into the kitchen and toward the family room. He followed her, sensing another’s presence and steeling himself for a face-off with some guy he’d prefer to kick in the groin than shake hands with. But sitting on the couch was Lanie Walker, and he felt a cool rush. “Good to see you, Lanie.” Which was never so true. Lanie was a close friend of Dana’s, supportive and amusing at times. But she was also nosy and officious.
“Good to see you, too. How you doin’?” She was drinking a glass of white wine.
She knew perfectly well how he was doing. “Just dandy.”
“Would you like something—Coke or juice?” Dana asked.
“I’m fine.” Dana returned to the couch. “I thought you were only going for the Botox.”
“We talked it over and agreed that it was a good idea to get the lids done.”
“You mean his next Mercedes payment is due.”
She gave him a dismissive look, but Lanie snickered. “No,” Dana said. “It was my decision. And if it makes you happy, he did the procedure at half the usual fee.”
“Caught the weekly special.”
Lanie cut in. “In another week you’ll never know she had it done. And she’ll look great.”
Except for the swelling and discoloration, Dana’s eyes did look more open. The flesh on her upper lids was tight and smooth but not stretched to perpetual shock like half the TV anchors. The crease above her nose was gone. “Looks like you got the Botox, too.”
“You don’t approve of that either?”
He knew he sounded sour. He felt sour. And it was totally irrational. He resented her not telling him. He resented being out of the loop. He also resented Lanie because they looked so together on the couch—her new closest confidante and coconspirator in reinventing Dana’s looks and the rest of her life.
“You have to admit the guy’s a real artist,” Lanie said. “Did you know he’s famous for pioneering all sorts of procedures including face transplants? Like that Canadian guy who got burned. They used cadaver tissue and he’s like new again. I mean, she got the best in the business.”
Steve nodded, thinking Lanie also probably gave Dana the name of a good divorce lawyer. They chatted some more, then he got up to leave.
“So you think that professor guy killed that stripper?” Lanie asked.
“The investigation is ongoing.” He checked his watch. “Bye.” And he left the room.
Dana followed him to the front door. She whispered, “I think you were rather rude to her.”
“Not even close.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” The flesh around the sutures was discolored and swollen, but her eyes were definitely more open. He looked into them and wanted to lose himself. “Is this the last of it?”
“As soon as he can schedule me, I’m going to get my nose fixed.”
He nodded.
“You don’t approve.”
“No.”
“If it’s any consolation, I’m paying with my own money.”
“It’s not the money. I like your face the way it is.”
“It’s something I’ve wanted to do forever, so I’m getting it done.”
He nodded.
She studied his face. “What’s your problem?”
“The more you get done, the less you look like yourself.”
“I think I know where you’re going with this. This is not about you.” She opened the door.
“Are you still going to look for another job?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t turned in my resignation. I think I might miss the kids. Maybe I’ll wait another year.” There was a moment’s silence.
“I miss you.”
She nodded.
“Are you dating anyone?”
She sighed. “No. Are you?”
“No. Want to go out? Maybe dinner or a movie?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. Thanks for the check.”
He headed back to his car, thinking about the gun in the glove compartment.
43
On Monday morning Earl Pendergast was brought to Boston Municipal Court on New Chardon Street near Government Center. The presiding judge read the charge—one count of murder in the death of Terry Farina. He asked Pendergast if he understood the charge and Pendergast said that he did and that he was innocent. The judge said that it was not a trial and he could not make a statement.
At that point, the Assistant District Attorney Mark Roderick argued that bail be denied because of the seriousness of the crime and the fact that Earl Pendergast posed a severe risk of flight. He was, in fact, scheduled to leave Boston for London in two days.
The judge then asked Pendergast to enter a plea, and his attorney, Alden Goodfellow, said, “Not guilty.” The judge then ruled that bail was denied. For the second time, Attorney Goodfellow argued that since the Commonwealth did not have a strong case Pendergast should not be denied bail, in fact, a nominal bail should be set. He explained that Professor Pendergast had never been arrested before, that he had no criminal record, that he had worked in the community, and was a popular educator and beloved professor at Hawthorne State, and that evidence in the case was at best circumstantial. Nothing had been presented to connect Pendergast to the actual crime scene, nor was there an established motive, nor did he have a history of violence, nor had he ever posed a threat to Ms. Farina or others.
The judge dutifully listened to Attorney Goodfellow then agreed to set bail at one million dollars surety. He then asked the attorneys to check their schedules for a probable cause date, which was agreed to be in three weeks. With the slap of the gavel, the arraignment was adjourned, and Earl Pendergast was returned to the Nashua Street jail to wait to see if friends, family members, and neighbors could raise the $100,000 cash bail so that he could be released on personal recognizance.
By the evening, the story was all over the local news channels about the arrest and arraignment of the English professor held for the murder of an exotic dancer. Interviews were held with colleagues, neighbors, and Pendergast’s brother, who said it was a travesty of justice to hold an innocent man. Pendergast’s attorney said that he may have made some mistakes in the past but he had paid dearly for them and was innocent of any wrongdoing and that whatever evidence prosecutors had was, at best, circumstantial.
Meanwhile, Captain Reardon asked Steve to continue with the investigation of Professor Earl Pendergast while pursuing other leads.
Like Mr. Hyde.
44
SPRING 1975
It was the best and worst night of his fourteenth year. It was the night he got a standing ovation for his Romeo and the night he wished he had died for real.
He had known Becky Tolland since third grade. She had gone to middle school with him; she was in his catechism class at Holy Name Church. She was currently in his homeroom at Franklin High, where they had joined the drama club. But it wasn’t until they got the leads in Romeo and Juliet that they became more than childhood friends.
Of course, Lila was proud he had gotten the role, boasting to friends and neighbors about his delivery when he practiced the script with her, saying that he had a natural gift of dissociating himself from his own being to become somebody else. Yet her bragging made him uncomfortable, not just because of the attention but because he could detect a note of sadness in her voice. She had been praised in high school and college for her own acting skills, but her adult life was a string of go-nowhere performances.
On opening night she and his father sat in the tenth row. Every so often he’d glance their way and see her flash him the thumbs-up sign and a wide grin. He had delivered his lines with such credibility that following the famous “But, soft!” soliloquy in the Capulet orchard scene, the crowd burst into applause. When the final curtain came down, the audience gave a standing ovation that continued for two curtain calls. Each time he looked, Lila was applauding, her face wet with tears. And his dad made victory punches in the air.