I 've Heard That Song Before

27

It was six o’clock and pitch dark before we finally got home. Outside it was still raining heavily. A police officer stood guard by the roped-off area of the grounds that the dogs had not yet searched.

Thanks to Vincent’s quick action, Peter did not have to spend the night in jail. As soon as I phoned to tell him that Peter had been arrested, he had arranged to have whatever amount of bail the judge set wired to a bank near the courthouse in Hackensack. As soon as the arraignment was over, he rushed to that bank, got a check certified in the amount of ten million dollars, and returned to the courthouse to post it with the bail unit.

While he was gone and we waited for Peter to be released, I was allowed to stay with Conner Banks and Walter Markinson in the empty jury room off Judge Smith’s courtroom. I think that they were almost as startled and shaken by the attack from Grace’s brother, Philip Meredith, as I was. Then, to have it followed by the pitiful tears of Susan Althorp’s mother made it all seem surreal. I watched Peter as he heard Meredith’s accusations and Gladys Althorp’s sobs. I don’t think the expression on his face could have conveyed more pain if he were being flayed alive.

I said that to Markinson and Banks.

They expressed concern that, in the eyes of everyone in the courtroom, everything that happened was prejudicial to Peter, and they acknowledged that the media coverage of the event was going to be absolutely terrible. Even Markinson did not offer his usual conciliatory pats on the shoulder to me.

Then Conner Banks asked a question that absolutely threw me: “To your knowledge, did any member of the Meredith family ever threaten to file a civil suit for wrongful death against Peter?”

I was shocked. “No,” I responded immediately. Then I amended my answer: “At least, Peter never told me about one.”

“I’m going to be cynical,” he said. “Philip Meredith may be a brother lusting for what he perceives to be justice, or he may be looking to extract a settlement from Peter. Actually, it’s probably both. He certainly knows that the last thing Peter needs is to have another legal battle going on at the same time as his murder trial.”

When Peter was released, Markinson and Banks spoke to him for a few minutes before they headed back to New York. They suggested he try to get as much rest as possible and told him that they would be at the house the next day, early in the afternoon.

Holding Peter’s hand, I was aware suddenly of the electronic bracelet on his wrist. We walked down the long corridor toward the car waiting outside. I had hoped naïvely that there wouldn’t be any media around when we finally left the courthouse. I was wrong, of course. They were there in force. I found myself wondering if they were the same people who had filmed Peter this morning on his way into jail, or if this was a fresh batch of reporters and photographers.

They began to hurl questions at both of us: “Mr. Carrington, have you anything to say about-?” “Kay, did you ever meet-?”

Vince was standing beside the car, the door open. We rushed into the backseat, ignoring the questions. When we were finally out of sight of the reporters, Peter and I wrapped our arms around each other. We hardly exchanged a word on the drive home.

Peter went straight upstairs. He didn’t have to tell me that he wanted to shower and change. I’m sure that after the experience of being in a cell, it was a physical need to have gallons of hot water splash over him.

Vincent was staying for dinner. Saying he had business phone calls to make, he went to his office in the back of the house.

I headed to the kitchen. I would have thought that nothing could lift my spirits, but the heartwarming smell of pot roast simmering on the stove gave me a genuine pickup, if for no other reason than the fact that Peter had told me it was his favorite meal. I was grateful for Jane Barr’s thoughtfulness in remembering that and preparing it tonight.

Gary Barr was in the kitchen, watching television. He turned it off as soon as he saw me, but not soon enough. On the screen I could see that Philip Meredith was being interviewed. For a moment I was tempted to find out what he was saying, but I quickly changed my mind. Whatever it was, I had heard enough from him today.

“Where would you like me to serve cocktails, Mrs. Carrington?” Gary asked.

I had almost forgotten that I’d invited Elaine and Richard for dinner. “In the front parlor, I guess.”

Elaine and I hadn’t discussed time for the simple reason we hadn’t known what time Peter would be home, but when I’d been at the house for dinner before Peter and I were married, cocktails were always served around seven.

I hurried upstairs to shower and dress. I wondered briefly why Peter had closed the door leading from the parlor to the other bedroom, then decided he must have wanted to lie down for a few minutes. It was late, but I took the time to wash my hair. The mirror told me that my face looked pale and tired, so I took special care with makeup, adding eye shadow, mascara, a touch of blush, and lip gloss. I know Peter likes my hair loose on my shoulders so I decided to wear it that way tonight. I thought my black velvet pants with a print silk shirt would seem a little upbeat, although in reality there was nothing to be upbeat about.

When I was ready, I still hadn’t heard a sound from Peter. Wondering if he had fallen asleep, I went through the parlor and quietly opened the door of the other bedroom. I gasped when I saw Peter standing at the side of the bed, a bewildered expression on his face, staring down at an open suitcase.

“Peter, what is it?” I ran to him.

He clutched my arms. “Kay, when I got up here, I lay down. I just wanted to rest for a few minutes. I must have fallen asleep. I know I was dreaming that I was going somewhere, and then I woke up. And look.”

He pointed to the interior of the suitcase. Underwear and socks were neatly stacked inside.

In the forty minutes since we had been home, he had been sleepwalking again.