56

For the second morning in a row, Vincent Slater received a seven A.M. phone call; this time it was from Conner Banks. “We’ve got a problem,” Banks said without introduction. “Peter was sleepwalking last night, during his stay at the sleep clinic, and tried to open the door of his bedroom. It could be viewed as a violation of the terms of his release. As soon as the prosecutor hears about it, there’ll be another bail hearing. Krause will move to have the bail forfeited.”

Slater swung his legs over the bed and sat up. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t want you to do anything except pray that the judge sees it our way-that Peter didn’t know what he was doing. Otherwise you can kiss another twenty-five million dollars good-bye.”

“You absolutely cannot let that happen!”

“Do you think I won’t give it my best shot? Vince, I’ve been telling you all along that this sleepwalking defense is madness. There is no way that the judge is going to buy it. He certainly wasn’t happy with allowing Peter to go to the sleep disorder center, even with the guards. My big worry is that it might look as if this is a stunt to boost Peter’s sleepwalking defense at trial. If the judge views it that way, your money is going to help the State of New Jersey reduce its budget shortfall.”

“Have you told Kay about this?” Slater asked.

“I didn’t want to disturb her yet. The last time I saw her was Monday, and she was pretty upset then.”

“I saw her yesterday and she was still very upset. Let me be the one to talk to her.”

“I’m sure the prosecutor will ask for an emergent hearing regarding Peter’s bail,” Banks told him. “You’d better warn Kay. She’ll want to be there. I’ll let you know what time it’s set for.”

Warn Kay, Slater thought as he showered and dressed. Yesterday she had me send one million dollars to Elaine’s account because she believes Elaine has something that could hurt Peter. Then Elaine upped the ante. Blackmail on top of blackmail.

It’s got to be the shirt, he thought.

Or could it be something else?

There was no use going into the Manhattan office today, he decided. If there was going to be an emergent bail hearing, he intended to be there. Rather than going into the city, he would work out of his office at the mansion, then drive Kay to the hearing.

It wasn’t easy to phone Kay and tell her what had happened at the sleep center, but he got the job out of the way. An hour later he drove through the gate of the Carrington estate. The security guard gave him a friendly wave. The guard stationed at the house nodded to him as he drove around the mansion and parked his car in the back. He used the key to his private office to enter the house. He was barely inside before his cell phone rang.

It was Nicholas Greco, requesting a brief meeting at his convenience.

“Mr. Greco,” Vincent said, “I can see no reason for our meeting, today or any other time. Peter Carrington has been indicted for murder because you located that maid who, for her own reasons, now claims that the sworn statement she made twenty-two years ago was a lie. Why would I be interested in exchanging a single word with you?”

“Mr. Slater, I am not in anyone’s employ at this time. For my own sake, I do not like to leave loose ends dangling when I work on a case. I understand that Peter Carrington may admit in court that it is possible he committed those crimes while he was unaware of his actions. But is it not also possible that there is, in fact, another answer? As his close friend and assistant, please give me half an hour. Hear me out.”

Without answering, Vincent Slater slammed the phone shut.

“Who was that, Vince?”

He turned around. Kay was standing in the doorway.

“Nobody important, Kay,” he told her. “One of those crank callers who somehow manage to get private numbers.”

57

When the sheriff’s officers reported to Prosecutor Barbara Krause that Peter Carrington had attempted to leave his hospital room by forcibly pulling on the locked door, she immediately requested, and was granted, another emergent bail hearing just as Conner Banks had expected.

At 2:30 that afternoon, she and the defense attorneys and Peter Carrington once more stood before Judge Smith. And as before, the courtroom was filled with the media and dozens of spectators.

I sat with Vincent Slater in the row behind Markinson and Banks. It’s difficult to express how I felt. I guess the best way to put it is to say that I felt numb. In the space of a few days-by opening the possibility that Susan had been the woman I overheard in the chapel all those years ago-I had, according to Peter’s attorneys, established a motive for him to have murdered her. I had seen the stained shirt he was wearing the night Susan disappeared, and I had paid one million dollars to his stepmother to get it from her. It was blackmail, but I felt I had no choice. And then after paying that money, I’d been held up for more blackmail. I had also visited Susan Althorp’s closest friend and learned that Susan had referred to Gary Barr as “her pal.” So much was happening, and I was still trying to make sense of it.

I watched as Peter, my husband, my love, was led into the court, emotionally wounded and degraded, wearing shackles and manacles, paraded around for all the world to see on the evening news.

The prosecutor had a triumphant yet outraged air about her as she got up to speak. With every word she uttered, I hated her more.

“Your Honor, this is the second time that this man, who is indicted for two murders, and is a suspect in one other death, has violated the conditions of his bail. The first time, he left his home and went on the property of Susan Althorp’s family, which caused them enormous distress. One of the police officers who attempted to arrest him was seriously assaulted. Last night, Peter Carrington attempted to force open the door of his hospital room in yet another attempt to escape. The sheriff’s officers reported to me that he desperately pulled on the door for at least a minute. Fortunately, he was not successful.”

Peter, I thought, Peter. What are you thinking? Why is this nightmare happening to us?

“Your Honor,” the prosecutor was saying, “the state moves that the twenty-five-million-dollar bail posted by Peter Carrington for the purpose of allowing him to go to the Sleep Disorders Center overnight be forfeited. We ask that he now remain in the Bergen County Jail while he awaits trial. It is hard to imagine a person who would constitute a greater risk of flight than he does.”

Conner Banks had been waiting impatiently for the prosecutor to finish. Now it was his turn. I watched as he arose from his chair at the defense table and prepared to address the judge. He had a confident air about him that gave me a measure of hope. He glanced at the prosecutor as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard; then he began his argument.

“Your Honor, let’s talk about the risk of flight. If Peter Carrington wanted to leave the country, he could have done it over twenty years ago. Instead he has lived in his own home, tried to ignore the scurrilous rumors, cooperated with all the investigations, and now, knowing he would never willingly harm another human being, he has tried to find an explanation for the crimes he may have committed. Or that he may not have committed.”

It was far too soon for me to have any response from the child I was carrying, but I swear I felt a phantom kick of approval.

Conner continued with his argument: “The entire purpose of the neurological testing at the sleep disorder clinic was to determine whether Peter Carrington is a sleepwalker, and, if he is, to determine the severity and frequency of this problem. I have been informed by my client’s doctors that his neurological readings, when he is asleep, are highly irregular, and clearly indicative of a person with a serious sleepwalking disorder called parasomnia. The doctors who have viewed the tape of this incident have told me that, in their judgment, it was clearly a sleepwalking episode, and that he was totally unaware of his actions.”