Dying for Mercy with Bonus Material Read online

  She still couldn’t decide which space she liked better. When she’d been anchor of KEY Evening Headlines, her office had been right above the central newsroom, and she could look down and watch the staff on the phones, at their computers, scurrying from desk to desk and interacting with one another. It was a constantly moving scenario that never ceased to fascinate and energize her.

  When she’d come back to hosting KEY to America, she’d handed off her prized piece of Broadcast Center real estate to Anthony Reynes, her successor at Evening Headlines. Her new office, on a higher floor, was spacious and flooded with natural light. The view, looking out over the river to the shores of New Jersey, was more peaceful and serene, and she felt somewhat insulated and removed from the thick of things. That had its advantages.

  But today the view did little to soothe her.

  Eliza walked to the office door and leaned out toward the vestibule where her assistant sat. “Paige, will you see if Margo Gonzalez is here today?” she asked.

  “Thanks for coming, Margo,” said Eliza as she gestured toward one of the upholstered chairs positioned on the other side of her desk. “Don’t tell Linus, because he’s under the impression that your job here is to act as a KTA mental-health contributor. He doesn’t understand that I need you to perform a far more important function. It’s nice to be able to call on my own in-house psychiatrist.”

  Margo smiled. “Glad to be of assistance,” she said as she sat down. “What’s up?”

  “Innis Wheelock was a friend of mine,” said Eliza.

  Margo’s smile faded. “I gathered that might be the case after I heard you say on the air this morning that you’d been at a party at his home last night. Oh, I’m so sorry, Eliza.”

  “And I had a private conversation with him shortly before he killed himself.”

  Margo nodded. “So you’re feeling guilty, as though you could have done something to stop him.”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “Tell me what happened,” said Margo.

  Eliza recounted the walk in the garden at Pentimento. “He came out and told me he was ashamed of himself, Margo. That he’d done things that were wrong, that he’d hurt and ruined people. I could tell he was troubled, but I never thought he was a candidate for suicide.”

  “Why do you think he confided in you?” asked Margo.

  Eliza considered the question. “I guess he trusted me,” she said. “He said I cared about right and wrong and that I would do what needed to be done.”

  “What do you think he meant by that?” asked Margo. “What do you think he thought needed to be done?”

  “I have absolutely no idea,” said Eliza.

  Margo sat back in her chair and ran her fingers through her short red hair. “You know, Eliza, suicide is not a random act,” she began. “And the fact that Innis Wheelock actually chose the stigmata as a way of killing himself means he had planned this out very carefully.”

  “I suppose that’s true enough,” said Eliza. “He told me he wanted to be like St. Francis, wanted to ‘unite himself’ with him in the most vivid way possible. By choosing the stigmata, he did that. But why? Why would Innis do it?”

  “Suicide represents an answer to a seemingly insoluble problem; it’s a choice that the person makes thinking death is preferable to facing whatever it is in life that seems so dreadful.”

  “Maybe Innis was sick, had some terminal illness,” said Eliza. “Maybe he didn’t want to face a pain-filled future and a miserable death.”

  “Perhaps,” said Margo. “But the most common reason for suicide is intolerable psychological pain. Shame, guilt, anger, fear, sadness, in excruciating degrees, very often serve as the foundation for self-destructive behaviors. Suicide is the most self-destructive you can get.”

  Eliza considered Margo’s words. “You know, when I look back on it, I think Innis did have a plan, a plan beyond taking his own life. I feel like he was trying to tell me something, something he wanted me to follow through on, something he was counting on me to do after he was gone.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Listening to Mike snoring beside her, Annabelle could not get to sleep. She was no closer to reaching a stage of suspended consciousness than she’d been when she snuggled in several hours before. She looked at the clock on the bedside table and realized that the kids were going to be getting out of school in just over an hour. Even if she finally fell asleep now, she would only be roused from slumber when they came bounding in. Sometimes getting a little sleep was worse than getting no sleep at all.

  Thinking that a long, hot bath would make her feel better, Annabelle went in and started the water and poured into the tub some of the lavender-scented bath salts the twins had given her for Mother’s Day. She noted that the bottle was still more than half full five months later.

  While the old white tub filled, Annabelle went to the living room. Her canvas tote bag was on the sofa where she’d thrown it. She extracted the complimentary copy of Us Weekly magazine she had taken from the newsroom.

  Annabelle sank into the calming water, luxuriating in the warmth and the soothing scent. She put her head back against the rim of the tub and closed her eyes to rest. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t keep the images of Innis Wheelock lying on the ground from replaying in her mind. Suicide was bad enough, but the bizarre manner in which he’d killed himself made her shiver even in the heated water.

  There was no point in going over and over it. Annabelle reached out and grabbed the magazine from the floor next to the bathtub. With wet fingers she began to page though it. She noted those who had dressed the best that week and those who hadn’t lived up to the judges’ standards and were mocked accordingly for it. She read about which stars were having babies and which ones were getting divorced. She learned who was using Botox and who was going all out for the face-lift. Annabelle stopped and looked at the pictures before starting to read the article about Angelina Jolie.

  Annabelle marveled at the full-length pictures of Angelina. The woman’s figure seemed even better after she’d given birth to her children than before. How was that possible?

  Sighing deeply, she turned the page. The next glossy picture showed Angelina wearing a black strapless cocktail dress that was hemmed just below her knees. She stood tall, elegant, and erect with her body angled toward the camera. Her long dark hair was swept to one side, leaving the top of her left arm and the tattoos there exposed. The caption explained that the rows of tattooed numbers displayed the map coordinates of the places where her children were born.

  Sleep-deprived and staring at Angelina Jolie’s thin arm, Annabelle figured out the meaning of the numbers painted on the terra-cotta pot next to Innis Wheelock’s bloody corpse.

  CHAPTER 25

  With the midterm elections fast approaching, political guru Peter Nordstrut had plenty of work to do, but he couldn’t concentrate. He hadn’t been able to focus on the latest polling numbers all day. His mind was tortured with the image of Innis Wheelock lying on the greenhouse floor.

  Peter got up from his desk and walked over to the mirror hanging on the wall next to the office door. He peered at himself through his horn-rimmed glasses. His blond hair was going gray; his face looked puffy, his eyes a bit bloodshot. No wonder: He’d barely slept the night before.

  He paced across the blue carpet, his eyes avoiding the pictures that lined the office wall. There were too many photographs of Innis and Valentina and him there. In Tuxedo Park, in Albany, in Washington, in Rome.

  Peter had been with the Wheelocks since he was a very young man, just a few years out of law school. He’d signed on as a volunteer when Valentina made it clear that she intended to run for governor. He knew that he’d proved himself invaluable in that campaign, ensuring that he would be along for all the others. It had been a wonderful ride for as long as it lasted.

  Since the Wheelocks had returned from Italy, things hadn’t been the same. Peter had first thought that it was his imagination, but it became clear that
Innis was simply not returning his calls and was avoiding every opportunity to meet with him. It had become so obvious that Peter had been stunned to receive an invitation to the St. Francis party at Pentimento. He had eagerly accepted.

  Now, however, Peter suspected that he’d been invited to the party because Innis wanted him to see what he did to himself. Perverse, yet perhaps fitting, considering everything else they’d been through together. Every ugly thing.

  Walking over to the American flag that stood in the corner of the room, Peter began counting the stars on the field of blue. He kept losing his place, forcing himself to start all over again.

  What are you doing, Peter? You need to get some help.

  He couldn’t go to a psychiatrist and unburden himself. Confidentiality laws or no, a doctor’s records could always be subpoenaed. The last thing Peter could survive was having what he’d done revealed in a court of law.

  Where can you get relief? Who can help you?

  Impulsively, Peter told his assistant to hold his calls. Then he called 411 for the number of Mount Carmel’s rectory in Tuxedo. When the parish secretary answered, he asked to speak with Father Michael Gehry.

  Peter didn’t identify himself. “Father, I’m not a churchgoer, but I need to go to confession. I knew Innis Wheelock, and his death has me feeling I should make things right with God. Innis always said he found confession to be such a relief. I want relief, too, Father. I need forgiveness.”

  “I can hear your confession,” said Father Gehry. “Would you like to make an appointment to come to Mount Carmel?”

  “Before I say anything, Father, I have to ask you something.” Peter paused before putting his question to the priest. “You can’t reveal anything you hear in confession, can you?”

  “Absolutely not,” Father Gehry said firmly. “The sacramental seal is inviolable.”

  “That’s what I’ve been told, Father, but if you knew something that would save someone’s life, wouldn’t you speak up?”

  “No,” said Father Gehry. “But I could pray that those responsible would do the right thing.”

  Peter considered the priest’s words. The thought occurred to him that Innis might already have told Father Gehry about what Peter had done. With that possibility in mind, Peter had to reflect on how he wanted to proceed. “You know what, Father? Thanks for your time, but I think I’m going to hold off confessing anything after all.”

  Father Gehry checked the ID window on the telephone and recognized the name of the caller.

  Innis Wheelock had spoken quite a lot about Peter Nordstrut. Father Gehry could well understand why Peter Nordstrut would feel he needed to go to confession.

  CHAPTER 26

  The hybrid sedan stopped in the driveway.

  “See you in the morning, Charlie,” Eliza said as she got out.

  “Too bad, it will be here before we know it,” the driver said good-naturedly. “Isn’t that the truth!” said Eliza, smiling wanly.

  She was exhausted as she walked wearily up the slate path that led to the large Federal-style brick Colonial. The security car wasn’t stationed in front of the house. It was parked outside Janie’s school now and would remain there until Janie came home.

  Eliza let herself in through the front door. She greeted Mrs. Garcia, discussed the dinner menu, and then went upstairs to wash the heavy TV makeup off her face. She changed into a pair of blue sweatpants and a long-sleeved University of Rhode Island T-shirt. She didn’t really feel like it, but she knew she should get some exercise. It would make her feel better now and help her sleep later.

  She went across the hallway to the bedroom she had converted into a small gym, outfitted with a treadmill, some light weights, and a miniature trampoline. Going to the wall unit, Eliza selected a disc and placed it in the DVR. As the lithe yoga instructor appeared on the screen, Eliza spread out her mat and got down on the floor. She followed along as the instructor guided her through the series of stretching and breathing exercises.

  The last few minutes of the yoga session were devoted to relaxation and meditation. Try as she might to find peace and calmness, Eliza’s mind strayed. Instead of concentrating on the voice of the instructor, she kept thinking about what Innis Wheelock had done.

  “I’m home, Mom.”

  The sound of her daughter’s voice called from downstairs. Eliza was glad to be diverted.

  “Up here, sweetheart,” she called back as she got up from the mat.

  Janie came running up the stairs and bounded into the room. Eliza held out her arms, and mother and child gave each other a long hug.

  “How was school?” Eliza asked.

  “All right,” said Janie. “Mrs. Wojciezak gave us the October calendars today.” She zipped open her backpack and took out an orange piece of paper. “We’re going to have a Halloween party in a few weeks.”

  “I guess we better start thinking about your costume, huh? Do you have anything in mind?” asked Eliza.

  “Well, I can’t decide. I was thinking about being Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, but then I thought maybe it would be better if I was Glinda the Good Witch, but, you know, the Scarecrow is really my favorite.”

  Eliza laughed. “Any of those would be great, sweetheart. But let’s decide by next week so we don’t have to run around and come up with a costume at the last minute.” She put the yoga mat in the corner. “Any homework tonight?” she asked.

  “Just my reading.”

  “Want to do that now?” asked Eliza, worried that she might not be able to stay awake after dinner.

  “Do I have to? I just got home from being in school all day long. I need a break.” Janie’s facial expression was earnest.

  Eliza smiled and patted the top of her daughter’s head. “Okay, kiddo. Everybody deserves a break. Let’s go downstairs and see what Mrs. Garcia has for a snack.”

  As the two of them sat in the kitchen and ate warm oatmeal cookies, Janie broached the subject.

  “Rachel’s family is going to Hershey Park this weekend. They’re sleeping over there.”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” said Eliza. “We’ll have to go there, too, someday.”

  “Rachel wants me to come with them.” The child paused for a moment, watching her mother’s face. “Can I, Mommy? Can I?”

  Eliza was taken aback. There hadn’t been a day since the kidnapping when Janie hadn’t slept in her own bed, when Eliza hadn’t tried to see her daughter as much as possible during their waking hours. The fact that Janie seemed eager to go away for the weekend with her little friend, was ready to leave the security of their home, that was a good sign. But Eliza wasn’t sure that she herself was prepared.

  “You know, this is the first weekend we were going to try our little house,” said Eliza. “Don’t you want to do that?”

  “I do, Mom, but you told me we are going to be able to go there every weekend,” said Janie. “And this is the only weekend I can go to Hershey with Rachel.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Valentina Wheelock stood inside the walk-in closet and stared unseeingly at the precisely arranged men’s suits that hung there.

  How could Innis have done this to himself, to both of us?

  She couldn’t remember a time when Innis hadn’t been part of her world. She’d known him since she was a young girl, and he, five years her senior, had been self-assured and smart and popular among all the young people in the park. Someone the girls had a crush on. When they grew older and five years was no longer an enormous chasm in age, Valentina was thrilled when Innis began paying attention to her.

  They’d been through it all together—marriage and the birth of a child after years of infertility, professional and political triumphs and disappointments, life in the public arena, the private struggles that were part of every life and some that were unique. When they returned to Tuxedo Park after their years in Italy, Valentina had assumed that they would grow very old together in this house.

  How wrong I was.

  She reached out an
d took hold of the arm of one of Innis’s jackets and held it to her nose. Smelling him in the soft fabric, Valentina began to cry.

  “Let me help you, Valentina.”

  Valentina stiffened. “You know I don’t like it when you call me that, Rusty. I think it’s disrespectful.” She looked into her son’s eyes. “Please, dear, call me ‘Mother.’”

  Russell Wheelock put a strong arm around Valentina’s shoulder, steered her out of the closet, and guided her to the chaise in the corner of the master bedroom. He went over to his father’s dresser and removed a snowy white handkerchief from the top drawer.

  “Here,” he said.

  Valentina took it and wiped at her eyes.

  “Why don’t I choose what Father will wear?” he suggested.

  “All right,” said Valentina. “Thank you, Rusty.”

  He flipped through the suits, narrowing the choices down to a navy silk and a charcoal wool pinstripe. He took both of them off the rack and brought them out to his mother.

  “Which do you think is better?”

  Valentina considered the options. “The blue one.” She sniffed. “Your father had that made in Rome before we left. He loved that suit.”

  Russell hung the gray suit back in the closet and laid the navy one out on the bed. He went back into the closet, chose a starched white shirt, a blue-and-beige Marinella tie, and shoes of soft black Italian leather. Then he went to the dresser again and selected underwear and dark blue socks.

  “What about a watch?” he asked.

  Valentina thought for a moment. “I don’t see any point in that. You should have all your father’s watches, Rusty.”

  She watched her son zip the garment bag closed. “Thank you, dear,” she said. “I’m so grateful to have you with me.”

  Russell didn’t look at her.