The last I saw of Dr. Voorhis was his smile… thin-lipped and sinister. I thought about that smile long after he was driven away in the ambulance, with Officer Duvall sitting by his side. I think about it today.
The five who were left stood on the porch of All Hallows and watched the vehicles disappear down Roland Avenue into the night. I shivered and held tight to my husband’s hand. “What do you suppose will happen to him, Dennis?”
“I think after they get his head stitched and bandaged, he’ll have had time to think. However good confession may be for the soul, I’ll bet he’ll have forgotten all about it on the advice of his lawyer.”
“But we got it on tape!” Connie exclaimed.
Paul squeezed my hand. “Let’s hope the lawyers don’t figure out a way to suppress the tape as evidence.”
Dennis stared in the direction where the ambulance had disappeared. A light snow had begun to fall. “With lawyers, anything’s possible. Consider O.J.”
“Let’s not,” I said.
“What next?” Paul was resting his chin on top of my head, and I could feel his chin move whenever he talked.
Dennis reached for Connie’s hand. “I’m taking this lady home, and I suggest you do the same.”
“Hannah?” Paul asked.
“Home.” I turned to Paul and wrapped my arms around his waist, enjoying the solid, familiar feel and smell of him. I looked up into his face. “But first, we need to stop at Georgina’s.”
chapter 22
You can’t judge a book by its cover. The proverb came to mind as Paul and I stood on the sidewalk in front of Scott and Georgina’s neat, middle-class home, complete with white picket fence. Paul reached out to open the gate, but I stopped him. “Just a minute.” He seemed puzzled, but waited patiently while I stood in the cold night air admiring my sister’s house. Golden light shone through the lace curtains and cast warm rectangles on the porch. A TV murmured softly somewhere inside; a shadow, probably Julie, darted across the glass like a nymph. It was a Norman Rockwell painting, the epitome of home and family. It was difficult for me to contemplate what really might be going on inside that house. I sighed, and my breath came out in a white cloud.
“Hannah?”
I shivered inside my warmest jacket. “It’s OK. I was just thinking that appearances can be so deceptive.”
“Do you want to come back later?”
“No. I need to let Georgina know that they’ve arrested Diane Sturges’s killer.”
“When she finds out who did it, do you think she’ll welcome the news?”
I shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”
Paul opened the gate and I passed through ahead of him. Once on the porch, we discovered that the screen door was locked for the night, so we rang the bell.
The porch boards vibrated as pint-size feet scrambled to answer. The chain lock rattled, the door eased open, and the serious blue eyes of one of the twins peered around it. “It’s Aunt Hannah!” he shouted, throwing the door wide.
I could see from the pattern of freckles on his nose which twin it was. “Hi, Sean.”
“We already ate dinner.”
“We haven’t come for dinner, Sean. We came to talk to your mommy.”
“She’s in the kitchen.” Sean unlatched the screen door and backed away as we opened it and came through. At that moment, Dylan careened around the corner, chasing a ball. He fell on it, hugged it against his chest, and rolled over three times. “Hi! Wanna play soccer?”
“Me or your uncle Paul?” I asked.
Dylan scowled. “Girls don’t play soccer.” He looked at Paul for confirmation, then asked, uncertainly, “Do they?”
“I’m afraid they do, squirt.”
“Oh.” Dylan struggled to his feet, still clutching the ball. He aimed it at Sean, threw, and made a direct hit, thumping his brother soundly on the head.
“Ouch!” Sean whined. “You cut that out!” We were instantly forgotten as Dylan streaked around the corner into the living room with Sean in hot pursuit. Still wearing our coats, we wandered back to the kitchen.
The table held the remains of dinner. Julie sat in a chair, stirring a bowl of ice cream into chocolate soup. Scott lounged at the head of the table, leaning on his elbows, sipping coffee. Two empty bowls, one licked clean, marked the places Sean and Dylan had recently occupied. Georgina stood at the sink, her back to us. A flowered apron was tied in a bow at her waist.
Scott’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair. “Well, look who’s here!”
With her hands still dealing with a greasy roasting pan in the sink, Georgina glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, hi.”
I pulled out a chair and sat down. “Paul and I have news for you.”
Scott set his mug down and stared at me curiously. “What news?”
Georgina turned, the picture of domesticity, wiping her hands on her apron. “Julie, are you going to eat your food or just play with it?” She must have suspected the worst. I could tell she was trying to get rid of her daughter.
Julie laid down her spoon, picked up the bowl with both chubby hands, tipped it toward her mouth, and slurped. When the ice cream was gone, she burped loudly.
Georgina snatched the bowl from her daughter’s hands and banged it on the table. “That’s enough for you, young lady. Go get ready for your bath.”
Julie’s chin was coated with chocolate. Scott held her chin and gently wiped it off with his napkin. “Off you go, missy.”
Julie slid off her chair, ran across the room, and threw her arms around my knees. “Hi, Aunt Hannah.” Traces of chocolate remained in the corners of her mouth as she grinned up at me.
I patted her head. “Did you save any ice cream for me, Julie?”
Julie shook her head solemnly. “Daddy ate it all up.”
Scott smiled broadly at his daughter. “Bath. Go.”
“Bye!” Julie scampered down the hall.
Georgina watched her go, then turned to stand behind Scott’s chair, a damp dish towel draped over her shoulder. “What’s wrong?” I could see the wheels turning. She thought something had happened to Mother.
“Why don’t you sit down, Georgina?” Paul pulled out a chair and motioned her into it.
Georgina settled into the chair and turned her face toward us, lined with worry.
“It’s what’s right,” I told her. “The police have arrested Dr. Voorhis.”
“What?” Georgina shot a panicked look at Scott. “Why?”
“He killed his daughter, Diane.”
“No!” The color drained from her face. Against the bright red and yellow flowers on the bib of her apron she looked pale. Scott reached out and gathered her hand into his.
“It’s true. He confessed. He’d sexually abused her throughout her childhood, Georgina. When she confronted him about it, he panicked, they fought… and the rest you know.”
“Then Daddy didn’t kill Diane?”
“No.”
“I was sure he’d done it.”
“Daddy didn’t kill Diane Sturges, and he didn’t hurt you.”
Georgina shook her head. “That doesn’t change what he did to me.”
I tried another tack. “Do you remember a woman named Stephanie Golden?”
Georgina nodded. “She used to come to the therapy group, but dropped out all of a sudden.”
“Do you know why?”
“No.”
“She told me she had come to believe that no matter what Diane Sturges seemed to think, she had not been sexually abused. When she mentioned this in therapy, something must have triggered a memory in Diane. Memories of abuse at the hands of her own father came washing over her. I think Diane realized then what a mistake she had made with some of her patients.”
“Mistake?” Scott held tightly to his wife’s hand.