Sex: M SS#: 013-42-1057 Mother: Norma Erickson

Father: Thomas

Home Address: 829 Park Avenue Ethnicity: White

NY, NY 10021

Alias Name(s): None

Date: 05/22/95 Manhattan Docket #6656 CR952387

Criminal Offense: Operating to Endanger

Lives and Safety

Disposition: Dismissed

Date: 05/22/95 Manhattan

Criminal Offense: Operating Under the Docket #6656 CR952388

Influence of Alcohol

Disposition: Dismissed

Date: 09/06/81 Manhattan

Criminal Offense: Domestic Assault Docket #7513 CR811116

Disposition: Convicted

(Probation)

Date: 07/23/80 Manhattan

Criminal Offense: Violation of Restraining Docket #4912 CR800034

Order, Abuse Prevention Act

Disposition: Convicted

(Probation)

____________________

Nothing about the rap sheet gave me any comfort. Bishop's 1981 conviction for assault obviously had been for smacking his first wife, Lauren, around. And that episode had apparently followed another worrisome event during 1980-something threatening enough that the court had issued a restraining order against Bishop, an order he then violated. So much for the "I couldn't have a better friend" line that Bishop had fed the New York magazine writer who asked about his and Lauren's divorce.

For all his Manhattan and Nantucket cachet, Bishop was starting to look like a garden variety alcoholic and domestic abuser-something I knew more than a little bit about, firsthand. I'd grown up with one. It didn't seem like much of a reach to think Bishop could be beating Billy, or that he could have killed little Brooke.

I called North Anderson 's mobile phone from the lobby. He answered right away.

"I just picked up a copy of Darwin Bishop's criminal record in New York," I told him.

"What criminal record?" he asked.

"I found a newspaper article that referenced an assault charge against him during the early eighties, so I pulled his whole sheet."

"And?"

"Not good. He was convicted of a domestic assault on his wife Lauren during 1981. He also violated a restraining order the prior year. That's on top of charges of driving to endanger and driving under the influence during the mid-nineties that he managed to get dismissed, with the help of F. Lee Bailey."

"That puts Sir Bishop in a whole new light," he said. "How about Billy? What did you learn from him?"

"He says he's innocent."

"What do you think?"

"I'm not sure what to think. Billy says his father's been beating him, badly. He has welts all over his back to prove it. He also seems convinced that his father is the one who killed the baby. He even suggested a motive: According to him, Darwin never wanted the twins. He pressured Julia to get an abortion. Ranted and raved about it, all hours of the night. But she wouldn't give in."

"And Bishop's used to getting his way," Anderson said.

"Probably in any way he has to," I said. I took a deep breath and let it out. "We've got to remember, though: Billy's no saint. He's a sociopath, whether he murdered Brooke or not. He may be lying about his father's feelings toward the twins. The wounds he showed me could even have been self-inflicted."

"This case keeps getting more complicated," Anderson said. "There's another wrinkle."

"What's that?"

"My friend Sal Ferrera, a private eye out of Brooklyn -used to teach at Xaverian-did a little research for me. Turns out Claire Buckley's job description must be something more than the traditional nanny. She and Darwin traveled together to San Francisco, Chicago, Palm Beach, London, and Buenos Aires, just this year. No other family members had reservations on any major airline for any of the dates they were away."

"She could be an executive assistant type," I said, even though I didn't really believe it.

"According to Sal, they only booked one room at each of the hotels where Bishop checked in," Anderson said. "There were plenty of room service charges for two meals. And there was a hell of a lot of wine and champagne on the tab."

"The man has his needs," I said.

"So, if I'm Darwin Bishop," Anderson said, "looking to hook up with my nanny, maybe make her Mrs. Bishop number three, I might not like the idea my present wife is saddling me with twins. I might see that as a direct threat to my future."

I winced, wondering whether Anderson 's own conflicted feelings about his unborn child might be coloring his perspective. But I went with the theme he was developing, because it did seem powerful. From my perspective, Darwin Bishop was starting to eclipse Billy as the lead suspect in Brooke Bishop's murder. "Bishop is a man who has recreated himself," I said. "He's Jay Gatsby. He rises out of poverty, sheds his Brooklyn roots and accent, plants his flag on the Upper East Side and Nantucket. He's at the top of the world. He wouldn't take kindly to anyone telling him that he can't go forward with his plans. In fact, he may experience people who get in his way as, quite literally, trying to do him in, trying to kill off his vision of himself. Then he's psychologically prepared to defend himself-by lethal means, if necessary." I paused. "What do we do to protect the other baby?" I asked.

"I'm not sure there's much we can do," Anderson said. "The D.A.'s office has decided to charge Billy with the murder. Tom Harrigan is in court today seeking an order to arrest him and bring him back to Massachusetts. New York seems to be cooperating. Making the case that Tess Bishop could be in danger from another family member isn't going to fly."

"Even if it's true," I said.

"I wish it were always about that, Frank," he said. "Welcome back to my world."

6

I flew to Logan and got to my loft at about 9:30 p.m. I listened to my phone messages and found one from Julia Bishop. My pulse started to race, partly because the message took me by surprise, partly because Julia's voice took me back to feelings I hadn't felt since splitting with Kathy. It was a voice full of intelligence and worldliness at the same time as it brimmed with vulnerability. She said she needed to meet me, alone, but didn't say why. And I found myself not only willing but wanting to see her, something I should have pegged as trouble right off the bat.

The phone number Julia left on my machine was different from the one directory assistance gave me for the Bishops' home in Nantucket. I dialed it, taking the chance she would be somewhere she could talk.

"Yes?" she answered.

"Frank Clevenger," I said.

"I'm glad you called."

"Where are you?"

"A friend's house. Here on the island. But I have to get back home."

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"Can we meet?" Her tone had urgency and a hint of fear in it. "I could come to Boston tomorrow. Win has a full day of business meetings at the house."

"Of course," I said. "Did you have a specific place in mind?"

"Wherever you like," she said. "I can be in the city by one."

"Bomboa Restaurant," I said. Bomboa was tucked in an alleyway, and quiet in the afternoons. "It's right downtown on Stanhope Street, around the corner from Mistral, if you know that place. I'll wait for you at the bar."

"I'll wait for you at the bar-another sign of trouble," the voice at the back of my mind said.

"I'll see you then," she said. She hung up.

I didn't know exactly why Julia wanted to meet, but I knew I was being invited deeper into the Bishop family's psyche. That reassured me I was burrowing toward their truth. It also worried me because I sensed that the journey would end in a very dark place.