Execution of Innocence Page 5

  “To the Crossroads?” Mary asked.

  Riles glanced at Sharp and nodded.

  “How did you know the gun was at the Crossroads?” Sharp asked.

  Mary paused. Then she shrugged. “That's where you found the body. I assumed the gun would be there as well.” She hesitated. “Do I have to come?”

  “You're under no legal obligation,” Sharp said. “But we think it would be a good idea.”

  He didn't say it, but he almost added, “Now.”

  Now that Mary admitted she knew where the gun had been left.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Spelling house was not only large but was beautifully designed as well. Set in the woods on a ridge that offered a view all the way to Mt. Shasta in California, the house was constructed with exposed beams of cedar wood. There were four levels, each sparsely furnished. Mr. Spelling had opted for an open feeling. But each piece of furniture was tasteful and expensive. While waiting to see the important man, Mary sat on a ten thousand-dollar couch beside a table holding an antique Chinese vase. Curiously enough, neither Dick nor Hannah was at home. Mary tried reading a magazine while waiting for Mr. Spelling, but found herself stuck on the first paragraph. She was more than nervous because she realized, as Dick had said, that the rest of her life could depend on this meeting.

  Finally Mr. Spelling called her into his office. One wall was entirely glass, and framed a view out into the trees. The others were decorated with award plaques she couldn’t easily read. Mr. Spelling sat behind a desk as massive as himself. Neither of his children took after him, physically at least. He was a bull of a man, with a swollen red neck and intense blue eyes that looked as if they could melt wax if he got mad enough. She had heard about his temper, yet at the moment he seemed relaxed, even in a good mood. She had met him once before, last year when she had gone out with Dick. He acted as if he remembered her well. After a few minutes of small talk, he turned the conversation to Stanford and Mary. Mr. Spelling sounded a grim note.

  “You know that Stanford is rated number one in the country now,” he said. “Their admission standards have gone through the roof. I’m not even sure Dick will get in.”

  “Sure he will. He practically has straight A’s. I don’t know what his SAT scores were, but I’m sure they were high.” She refrained from adding higher than mine. She continued, “He’s also school president. You know how colleges like stuff like that.”

  Mr. Spelling played with a gold paperweight on his desk. It was a solid lump, three pounds of crude metal, worth God only knew how much. He appeared thoughtful.

  “Dick has really tried to excel,” he mused.

  “Hannah doesn’t do too bad herself,” Mary said.

  It was the wrong thing to say. Mr. Spelling made a face and waved his hand. He stood up and moved to the window, staring out.

  “Hannah is hopeless,” he muttered finally.

  She felt bold. She thought he would respect that.

  “You have high standards, Mr. Spelling,” she said. “Hannah is envied at school. I consider her a good friend.”

  He snorted to the trees. “I heard you two got drunk yesterday.”

  Mary frowned. “Did Hannah tell you that?”

  “No. But I hear what goes on in this town.”

  Mary forced a smile. “In that case we drank a whole bottle of whiskey together.” She touched her head. “I still feel slightly hung over.”

  Mr. Spelling turned back to her. He smiled briefly but it was more of a reflex. “Personally I don’t care if she gets drunk once a week. It’s more her attitude that disturbs me. She has no sense of responsibility.”

  “She’s only eighteen. What sense of responsibility does any eighteen-year-old have?”

  “Dick is very responsible. I tell him to do something, and it's as good as done. You are responsible. I know you save every penny you make at the library so that you can go to school. But what does Hannah do with her time? Frankly, I don't know.”

  “She's a complex person. Give her time, Mr. Spelling.”

  “Time to do what? Get even more off track?”

  Mary was not sure what to say. “I just know that she's my friend. And that I think she'll turn out fine.”

  Mr. Spelling sat at his desk, wanting to get down to business. “Give me the facts of your record.”

  Mary spoke softly. “I have a three point seven five GPA. I got an eleven hundred and fifty on the SAT.”

  “The average student at Stanford practically got straight A’s in high school. The average SAT is well over thirteen hundred.”

  Mary gulped. “I know that.”

  “What has Dick told you about my relationship with the university's chancellor?”

  “He said you were good friends.”

  “We are not good friends. We are past business associates. There is a profound difference. If I ask him for a favor, I have to give him a favor in return.” Mr. Spelling chewed on the situation for a moment, then he sighed. “I know this means a lot to you,” he said finally.

  “It means everything to me,” Mary spoke sincerely. “But I don't want to put you on the spot, Mr. Spelling. I would appreciate anything you can do. But if I don't get in, I won't blame you. It will be my fault for not doing as well as Dick these past four years.”

  There was an awkward moment of silence. Then Mr. Spelling abruptly stood and offered his hand. “I appreciate that, Mary. Let's see what happens.”

  She shook his hand and left feeling that he would do nothing for her.

  The night of the Sadie Hawkins dance, Mary tried to dress as if she were someone else. Unfortunately it wasn’t a costume ball, and by the time Dick arrived she still looked like herself. A dozen times she second guessed herself about telling Charlie what she was up to, but she honestly decided he wouldn't hear about her date. He talked to a total of three people at school on a regular basis, and she was one of them. And if he did learn of her being with Dick, she figured she'd just tell him the whole story then.

  But that wasn’t a story she looked forward to relating. The more time she spent with Charlie, the more she realized how possessive he was. His casual demeanor hid a number of insecurities. Of course, she was no one to talk. If he went out with someone else, she would have thrown a fit. And she didn’t see his clinging as a negative quality, but rather, as a sign of his devotion to her. So she didn't start out her date with Dick feeling relaxed and happy—anything but.

  The dance was formal. Dick met her at her front door wearing a high-collared black and white tux that needed no tie. Mary wore a long green dress that her mother had copied from a picture on a magazine cover. Her parents didn't seem to mind that she was going with Dick instead of Charlie, although she had sworn them to secrecy. They liked Charlie, but maybe they liked Dick’s money better.

  “You look like a fox,” Dick said when they were safely enclosed in his pearl white BMW. He leaned over to give her a kiss on the cheek and she pulled back.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” she said.

  He smiled. “You're in a friendly mood.”

  “You know my conditions. We're going out as friends.”

  “So I'm friendly.”

  She gestured to the steering wheel. “Drive, we'll be late. And don't try to kiss me at the dance.”

  He was curious. “What will you do if I try?”

  “Something unpleasant,” she said.

  The dance was in the ballroom of Maple's one and only decent hotel. The place was jammed as they walked in and Mary cowered. Everyone was checking to see who Big Time Dick had brought, and she even thought she heard Charlie's name being whispered. But perhaps it was only her imagination because as they settled and started talking to people, no one asked her about Charlie. Dick was charming as usual. Everyone liked him except those who knew him well. But wasn't that the same with politicians everywhere? Mary could see Dick running for important offices in the future.

  They danced; they ate from the buffet; they drank too much punch. On the w
hole it was a nice evening. Toward the end Mary began to relax fully. Her only regret was that Hannah was nowhere in sight, even though she’d said she’d be there. Mary asked Dick about his sister but he brushed the question off.

  Out in the parking lot, when they were leaving to go home, Dick suddenly grabbed her and started kissing her hard. His timing could have been worse, however. Luckily they were one of the last couples to leave, and there was no one in sight. Still, she didn't like being attacked. Twice she pushed him off only to have him keep coming at her. Finally she slapped him across the face. He stopped and held his hand to his cheek as if she had shot him. She did have a strong arm, and there may have been blood on his lip. Even in the dark she could see the red in his blue eyes.

  “What did you do that for?” he demanded.

  “You have a lot of nerve,” she swore quietly, checking around and seeing no one. “This is a casual date, I’ve told you a thousand times. I don’t need your tongue in my mouth.”

  “I thought you wanted me to kiss you.”

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” she asked.

  “The way you kept looking at me all night.”

  “I just looked at you. You weren't turning me on for godsakes.”

  “I think you liked it.”

  She opened the passenger door. “Take me straight home.”

  He slowly opened his door. “I thought you wanted to get a snack?”

  “That was ten minutes ago. Really, Dick, you’re impossible.”

  His voice had an edge to it. “No, Mary. I just think anything is possible.”

  He made another move on her in the car just outside her house. She couldn’t believe his nerve, or his strength. This time he practically pinned her to the seat as he tried to kiss her. She thought he must be high on something but she didn't smell alcohol on his breath. This time she had to slug him in the throat to get him off. To her amazement he cocked his fist back, ready to take her head off. He was pissed, and she was really scared.

  “Hit me and I’ll scream,” she hissed.

  He paused. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  She glanced at her house. There was a light on, her mom was waiting up for her. “It's you who wouldn’t dare,” she said softly.

  He relaxed his hand and stared down the street. “You’re never going to get into Stanford,” he whispered.

  “If sleeping with you is what it takes, I’d rather repeat high school.” She opened the car door. “Thanks for the horrible evening.”

  He grabbed her arm and caught her eye. “Don't talk about tonight. To anyone. Understand?”

  She held his eye. “You don’t talk about tonight, I won’t talk about it.”

  “Agreed.”

  She shook off his arm. “And don’t even look at me at school. I don't want to have to see you.”

  Dick grinned. “You'll be back, Mary. You want it as much as I do.”

  It was all she could do not to spit in his face.

  She got out of the car and slammed the door.

  The next day the world ended. Charlie called her and told her to come over. It was an order, and not a friendly one. When she got to his house he was sitting on his front porch lighting wooden matches and letting them burn down low. She sat next to him for five minutes before she had the nerve to say anything. It wasn't as if he'd look at her. She couldn’t understand how he'd found out so fast. It must have been Dick, she thought. Dick the bastard. He had probably called Charlie in the middle of the night to tell him how he had boinked their mutual love.

  “I'd like to talk about it,” she said finally.

  He stared at a flame that was on the verge of licking his thumbnail.

  “There's nothing to talk about,” he muttered.

  “It's not what you think,” she said.

  The flame died between his fingers. It must have hurt, but if it did Charlie gave no sign. He smiled as he snorted. He finally looked at her and she hardly recognized him.

  “You don’t know what I think, Mary,” he said.

  Her lower lip trembled. “I didn't go out with him to go out with him. Dick’s father is a friend of Stanford's chancellor. Dick told me if I'd go with him to Sadie Hawkins, he would persuade his father to put in a good word for me.”

  Charlie stared at her with strange eyes. “I know you screwed him.”

  Mary sucked in a breath. “Who told you that?”

  “It's all over town.”

  “Charlie! How can you say such a thing!”

  He jumped up and glared down at her. “You cheated on me! You told me you had to study last night! You lied to me!”

  She got up and forced herself to speak in an even tone.

  “I did lie to you and I'm sorry for that,” she said. “But you must know I have absolutely no romantic interest in Dick.”

  He was bitter. “Then why were you making out with him in the parking lot? Don’t deny it.”

  “I wasn't making out with him. He forced himself on me. He attacked me.” She tried to touch him. “Charlie. You have to believe me. I didn’t sleep with him. I don't even like him.”

  He brushed her hand away and stared at the ground.

  “I never want to see you again,” he said quietly.

  Tears stung her eyes. “Why?” she asked desperately. “Because I made a simple mistake? Because I just want to get into college? Are you going to condemn me because of that? Charlie, look at me. Tell me you forgive me.”

  He did look at her, but his face was not something she wanted to see. His jealousy had transformed him into a demon. His next words moved like a pitchfork through her guts.

  “I never want to see you again because you're a whore,” he said.

  Then he walked away. From his own house. From his own true love. And all she could do was stand there and feel the pain.

  By the time she was sitting with Hannah in Day Glow Donuts that night she was as angry as she was hurt. For ten minutes her friend listened to her spew out tears and threats, and still Mary showed no sign of slowing down. Hannah listened closely with a cigarette in her hand and a cloud of smoke hanging over her head.

  “He didn’t even give me a chance to explain,” Mary said for the tenth time. “He just called me a whore and walked away. Can you believe that?”

  “He's a guy,” Hannah said. “I believe it.”

  Mary shook her head. “We’ve made love. We've slept together naked in the same bed. We've been as close as two people can be. I've told him my deepest dreams. He's shared with me the hopes he has for the future. Now I make one little mistake and I go from being the greatest thing in the world to a whore. Can you believe that?”

  “Yes.”

  Mary sipped her coffee and then pounded the table. “I hate him! I want to kill him!” Then she lowered her head and burst out crying. “How can he do this to me? I love him, Hannah, I really do. You don't do this to someone you love.”

  “Did he ever say he loved you?” Hannah asked.

  Mary looked up. “What?”

  “Did he ever say he loved you? I mean, I know you say you loved him. But I don't see any sign that Charlie felt the same way about you.”

  Mary was taken aback. “He loves me. Or he did, I know he did.” She wiped at her face. “When we slept together it was wonderful. He gave me so much love.”

  “When you slept together he gave you so much pleasure, and vice versa. Mary, a guy doesn't have to love you to sleep with you. You're eighteen, you should know that by now.”

  Mary stared at her a moment and then shook her head. “You don’t understand. Charlie and me—we were really close. When we were together it was like magic.”

  Hannah tapped her cigarette and smiled. “This magic doesn't sound that long lasting.” After a pause she added, “But I do feel like you do. I feel he never gave you a chance to explain.”

  “He didn’t,” Mary said. “I wonder how he found out so fast?”

  “That’s a stupid question. I heard half the school was at the dance. Anyo
ne could have told him. And while I'm on the subject, you were a fool to think he wouldn’t find out.” Hannah puffed on her Marlboro. “You know for a smart girl you do the dumbest things.”

  Mary continued to rub her eyes. “What am I going to do?”

  “Do? You can’t do anything. You just have to let it go.”

  Mary lowered her hands. “I can't. I love him.”

  “I thought you hated him?”

  “I do hate him! He called me a whore! And the only person in the whole world I've slept with is him! God, I want to kill the bastard!”

  “Lower your voice. People are listening.”

  Mary put a hand to her face and sighed. “I don't give a damn. About anything.” Then she was crying again. “God, I love him and he calls me that. I tell you I can't stand this.”

  “Don't get mad, don't get sad.” Hannah blew more smoke. “Get even.”

  Mary raised her eyes to Hannah’s, showing interest. “What do you mean?”

  “I have an idea.”

  “What kind of idea?”

  Hannah slowly smiled. “A revenge kind of idea.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Deputy Howard was waiting when the four of them—Lieutenant Riles, Lieutenant Sharp, Mary, and Hannah—arrived at the Crossroads. But they no sooner arrived than the deputy left. He told them he was cold, and after both lieutenants congratulated him on his excellent work, they dismissed him.

  The four of them walked toward the gun.

  Both cops carried flashlights. The twin beams sparkled on the snow.

  It was a silver revolver with a black butt and a four-inch barrel. Deputy Howard spotted it two hundred yards from where he had discovered the body, in the trees behind a cluster of bushes, in an inch of snow. He performed this remarkable detecting feat by following two sets of footprints to within yards of the gun. Footprints that led away from where Dick had been lying with his blood leaking onto the snow.

  The deputy hadn’t touched the weapon, so Riles carefully donned gloves and picked it up by the tip of the barrel. The two officers studied the chambers. There were six of them, with bullets in only two. But there were faint dark powder marks on the remaining chambers. The cops looked at each other. The two girls stood nearby, watching. Sharp spoke first, quietly, just to his partner.