asleep. That's pretty thin," Kerry commented.
"It's thin but it's true. Skip had established a very successful business, mostly building quality homes, although recently he had expanded into shopping malls. Most of his time was spent in the office, taking care of the business end, but he loved to put on work clothes and spend the day with a crew. That's what he'd done that day, before coming back to work at the office. The guy was tired."
He opened the first volume. "I've flagged Smith's testimony as well as Skip's. The crux of the matter is that we are certain that there was someone else involved, and we have reason to believe it was another man. In fact, Skip was convinced that Suzanne was involved with another man, perhaps even with more than one. What precipitated the second quarrel, the one that occurred when he went home at six o'clock, was that he found her arranging a bunch of red roses--sweetheart roses, I think the press called them--that he had not sent her. The prosecution maintained that he went into a rage, strangled her, then threw the roses over her body. He, of course, swears that he didn't, that when he left, Suzanne was still blithely puttering with the flowers."
"Did anyone check the local florists to see if an order for the roses had been placed with one of them? If Skip didn't carry them home, somebody delivered them."
"Farrell did at least do that. There wasn't a florist in Bergen County who wasn't checked. Nothing turned up."
"I see."
Geoff stood up. "Kerry, I know it's a lot to ask, but I want you to read this transcript carefully. I want you to pay particular attention to Dr. Smith's testimony. Then I'd like you to consider letting me be with you when you talk to Dr. Smith about his practice of giving other women his daughter's face."
She walked with Geoff to the door. "I'll call you in the next few days," she promised.
At the door, he paused, then turned back to Kerry. "There's one more thing I wish you'd do. Come down with me to Trenton State Prison. Talk to Skip yourself. On my grandmother's grave, I swear you'll hear the ring of truth when that poor guy tells you his story."
In Trenton State Prison, Skip Reardon lay on the bunk of his cell, watching the six-thirty news. Dinnertime had come and gone with its dreary menu. As had become more and more the case, he was restless and irritable. After ten years in this place, he had managed for the most part to set himself on a middle course. In the beginning he had fluctuated between wild hope when an appeal was pending and crashing despair when it was rejected.
Now his usual state of mind was weary resignation. He knew that Geoff Dorso would never stop trying to find new grounds for an appeal, but the climate of the country was changing. On the news there were more and more reports criticizing the fact that repeated appeals from convicted criminals were tying up the courts, reports that inevitably concluded that there had to be a cutoff. If Geoff could not find grounds for an appeal, one that would actually win Skip his freedom, then that meant another twenty years in this place.
In his most despondent moments, Skip allowed himself to think back over the years before the murder, and to realize just how crazy he had been. He and Beth had practically been engaged. And then at Beth's urging he had gone alone to a party her sister and her surgeon husband Were giving. At the last minute, Beth had come down with a bug, but she hadn't wanted him to miss out on the fun.
Yeah, fun, Skip thought ironically, remembering that night. Suzanne and her father had been there. Even now he could not forget how she looked the first time he saw her. He knew immediately she meant trouble, but like a fool he fell for her anyway.
Impatiently, Skip got up from the bunk, switched off the television and looked at the trial transcript on the shelf over the toilet. He felt as though he could recite it by heart. That's where it belongs, over the toilet, he thought bitterly. For all
"It's thin but it's true. Skip had established a very successful business, mostly building quality homes, although recently he had expanded into shopping malls. Most of his time was spent in the office, taking care of the business end, but he loved to put on work clothes and spend the day with a crew. That's what he'd done that day, before coming back to work at the office. The guy was tired."
He opened the first volume. "I've flagged Smith's testimony as well as Skip's. The crux of the matter is that we are certain that there was someone else involved, and we have reason to believe it was another man. In fact, Skip was convinced that Suzanne was involved with another man, perhaps even with more than one. What precipitated the second quarrel, the one that occurred when he went home at six o'clock, was that he found her arranging a bunch of red roses--sweetheart roses, I think the press called them--that he had not sent her. The prosecution maintained that he went into a rage, strangled her, then threw the roses over her body. He, of course, swears that he didn't, that when he left, Suzanne was still blithely puttering with the flowers."
"Did anyone check the local florists to see if an order for the roses had been placed with one of them? If Skip didn't carry them home, somebody delivered them."
"Farrell did at least do that. There wasn't a florist in Bergen County who wasn't checked. Nothing turned up."
"I see."
Geoff stood up. "Kerry, I know it's a lot to ask, but I want you to read this transcript carefully. I want you to pay particular attention to Dr. Smith's testimony. Then I'd like you to consider letting me be with you when you talk to Dr. Smith about his practice of giving other women his daughter's face."
She walked with Geoff to the door. "I'll call you in the next few days," she promised.
At the door, he paused, then turned back to Kerry. "There's one more thing I wish you'd do. Come down with me to Trenton State Prison. Talk to Skip yourself. On my grandmother's grave, I swear you'll hear the ring of truth when that poor guy tells you his story."
In Trenton State Prison, Skip Reardon lay on the bunk of his cell, watching the six-thirty news. Dinnertime had come and gone with its dreary menu. As had become more and more the case, he was restless and irritable. After ten years in this place, he had managed for the most part to set himself on a middle course. In the beginning he had fluctuated between wild hope when an appeal was pending and crashing despair when it was rejected.
Now his usual state of mind was weary resignation. He knew that Geoff Dorso would never stop trying to find new grounds for an appeal, but the climate of the country was changing. On the news there were more and more reports criticizing the fact that repeated appeals from convicted criminals were tying up the courts, reports that inevitably concluded that there had to be a cutoff. If Geoff could not find grounds for an appeal, one that would actually win Skip his freedom, then that meant another twenty years in this place.
In his most despondent moments, Skip allowed himself to think back over the years before the murder, and to realize just how crazy he had been. He and Beth had practically been engaged. And then at Beth's urging he had gone alone to a party her sister and her surgeon husband Were giving. At the last minute, Beth had come down with a bug, but she hadn't wanted him to miss out on the fun.
Yeah, fun, Skip thought ironically, remembering that night. Suzanne and her father had been there. Even now he could not forget how she looked the first time he saw her. He knew immediately she meant trouble, but like a fool he fell for her anyway.
Impatiently, Skip got up from the bunk, switched off the television and looked at the trial transcript on the shelf over the toilet. He felt as though he could recite it by heart. That's where it belongs, over the toilet, he thought bitterly. For all
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