The Book of Cold Cases(96)

“Whatever,” Beth said, sounding more like the twenty-three-year-old she’d been in the seventies instead of a woman who was over sixty. “I also saw the 60 Minutes thing. Were you trying to pull at my heartstrings?”

The 60 Minutes piece was an interview with the wives and grown children of Thomas Armstrong and Paul Veerhoever about the devastation the murders had left in their lives. “No, that was all Michael,” I said to Beth. “I know better. You don’t have a heart.”

“Neither do you.”

I smiled, stroking Winston Purrchill’s grumpy head. “I have a heart, Beth. I just don’t let you see it. How’s Lily? I haven’t seen her since she pushed me off a cliff.”

“What a bitch you are,” Beth said mildly. “I knew it when I first saw you in that park, thinking you could follow me. I knew you’d be a pain in my elderly ass.”

I leaned back against my pillows. “If I’m such a pain in your ass, then why are you calling me?”

“Because Ransom is dead.”

I went quiet, staring into the darkness. I wondered what to feel. Sadness, anger, pity? Try all of them. “I’m sorry,” I said, the phrase we all use when we can’t think of what to say, one that provides no comfort at all.

Beth was quiet for a long moment, and I realized she was collecting herself. I’d never known her to have any kind of strong emotion, let alone one that made her speechless. I was witnessing it now. I waited.

“Well,” Beth said at last, her voice tight. “Don’t think this means anything. There are other lawyers. He left me in the hands of his successor, in fact. I’ve still got some fight in me. So what’s your next move?”

“Your DNA,” I said.

“You must have been so disappointed to find out they didn’t take samples in 1977,” Beth said. “It was blood type they looked at back then, not DNA. But they never even asked for my blood, because they had nothing to compare it to.”

“They’ll get it now,” I said.

“My lawyer is fighting that.”

“He’ll lose.”

The first time we’d had one of these middle-of-the night conversations, it had felt utterly strange. Beth and I were supposed to be enemies. I was trying to get her put away for murdering Lily. But she’d call me, and we’d spar like we had in her living room in the Greer mansion.

I didn’t know why we did this. I just knew it was instinctive for me. Beth understood my obsession with this case because she was the center of it and was as obsessed as I was. And, of course, there was Lily. No one knew Lily the way Beth and I did. No one had seen her, felt her presence, the way we had. It was impossible to explain, which made it so simple when I talked to someone I didn’t have to explain it to.

“Is Joshua talking to you?” I asked her.

“Joshua will never talk to me again,” Beth said, “but you knew that already. How is he, by the way?”

“He’s fine,” I said. “Angry and determined, but fine. He doesn’t act like he’s retired.”

“That’s because he isn’t. On paper, yes, but otherwise, no. I’m glad I’ve given him a new cause so he can do his white-knight act again. He was always happiest when he had a crusade.”

“What did you do with the ashtray?” I asked her.

“It’s still in the house. I’ve tried to throw it away a dozen times, but Lily won’t let me. It always comes back, and she moves it around the house. It was in the living room one day when you were here. You saw it.”

I remembered the ashtray I’d seen, big and heavy. I’d thought at the time it was the size of a child’s head. Strange, because Beth didn’t smoke. She had hit Lily with it so hard—so hard. They must have found the marks on Lily’s skull. “You never left town in all this time,” I said.

“You think I didn’t try?” Beth laughed without humor. “I’d pack my suitcase, and she would unpack it. I’d throw things out, and she’d bring them back. I got in the car a dozen times without any belongings except the clothes on my back, trying to run. I always ended up back at this house. You can believe me or not, but it’s true.” She paused. “I didn’t want to do any of this, Shea. I know I’m the villain here, and I accept that. But I’ve paid and paid and paid. Prison might even be refreshing at this point. Do you know why I call you at one in the morning? Because despite everything, you’re the only person I can talk to.”

I had just been thinking the same thing about her, but I wasn’t about to admit it. “Giving my name to the press was a nice touch,” I said. “Have I mentioned that you got me fired?”

“Being fired isn’t the only thing you should thank me for.”

I sat up against my pillows. “Thank you? For what?”

“For waking you up—all the way up. It’s amazing what you can do when you stop sleepwalking through your own life, isn’t it?”

I thought about my life now—my writing career, my relationship with Michael, my new relationship with Esther. I was starting the process of getting my driver’s license, and I had stopped hiding in my condo all the time. Still, I couldn’t let Beth Greer take all the credit. “You didn’t change my life, Beth. I did.”