in his rocking chair, as if calmly waiting for my arrival, though I hadn't called ahead. His German shepherd companion looks just as mean as ever, but Tara seems to see something in him that I don't, since she jumps right out of the car and ambles over to him. They commence sniffing each other, which seems to go well enough, since in a few seconds they're lying down next to each other in the sun.
“Hello, Wally,” I say. “I saw you in court the day of closing arguments, but afterward I looked for you, and you had gone.”
“You seemed pretty busy,” he says.
“Have you heard what happened?”
He nods. “Lieutenant Stanton called and told me. He said Markham was the real killer.”
“Yes.”
“He took my whole family. Doesn't seem right that he lived free all these years. Or that Willie Miller didn't.”
“No,” I say, “it's certainly not right.”
“But better late than never.”
“Much better,” I agree.
“You did a good thing, and I thank you for it,” he says.
“Believe me, I was glad to do it.”
I stay another two hours, during which time not another word is mentioned about the murders or the trial. We mostly talk baseball, a subject on which his knowledge is virtually encyclopedic. By the time I leave, Wally McGregor is no longer a man I've helped, nor is he a man I feel sorry for. He is simply a good friend.
Tara and I arrive on Long Beach Island in the early evening, as ready for peace and quiet as I have ever been in my life. The first thing I do, since I know it will hover over me if I don't, is try to understand my father's role in the events that shaped and destroyed so many lives. Unfortunately, I have limited success in doing so. There is no one to tell me if he had direct involvement in Julie McGregor's death and murder, or why he took and then never touched the two million dollars. I can make guesses, some exculpating and some painful, but they seem destined to remain guesses.
I can make a more informed judgment of his involvement in the Willie Miller trial. I believe that he considered Willie to be guilty. He would likely never have known Julie McGregor's name, and therefore would have had no reason to connect Denise's murder to that horrible night all those years before. He may have taken a hands-on role in the prosecution because of his prior friendship with Victor, but he must have believed that Willie was guilty. I suspect that years later he may have started to question that belief, and that is why he asked me to take the case.
I've given a few people permission to call me on my cell phone, while admonishing them to make sure they do so only in an emergency. I'm lying in bed on the tenth day, about nine o'clock in the morning, when the phone rings. It's Pete Stan-ton calling, with the briefest of messages. “Turn on CNN.”
He hangs up without waiting for me to say anything, and I rush to the television and do as I'm told. There is a press conference taking place, featuring the current DA, Richard Wallace's boss. Wallace is at his side as he announces the arrests of Victor and Edward Markham. They have turned themselves in, rather than face the indignity of being brought into the jail-house in handcuffs, and they are facing arraignment the next morning.
I'm pleased and more than a little gratified, and I suppose my thirst for revenge is at least partially quenched, but I'm also strangely detached from this news. My role in this case is over, and I have no desire to relive or resurrect it. It is in competent hands, as evidenced by the speed with which the investigation has been conducted, and I'd just as soon leave it alone.
So, in terms of the last four days of my stay here at the beach, I wouldn't describe the impact this news has as drastic. Instead of spending all my time walking, sunbathing, and reading, I add a Walkman to the mix, and occasionally listen for radio reports on the Markham situation.
I learn that a conditional bail has been set at two million dollars for both Victor and Edward, an amount which of course Victor is able to raise with ease. He and Edward have been released to electronic house arrest, which means that they must stay in Victor's house, with high-tech ankle bracelets recording their