MARY CLARK - Piece of My Heart

“Right now, it looks like you, Toby, and your friend Darren killed her to spring your buddy from prison, set me up as a liar, and split the big paycheck he’d be getting from the state. So you better explain.”

“I didn’t know any of this in advance. One day, some dude from the DA’s Office shows up, asking me about the night that Darren got arrested. When he told me my DNA was on that knife, I freaked out. I had no idea about touch DNA or whatever. Then the next day, that guy Toby tracked me down at my apartment. He said I’d get twenty percent of whatever money Darren hustled out of the state for locking him up. All I had to do was stay mum. Not tell anyone about my connection to Darren.”

“What about Toby’s half sister, Summer? Was she involved?”

Rollins shook his head. “At least, I don’t think so. Toby said she was a flake, but she really believed Darren was innocent. I got the impression she’s, like, in love with him or something. Toby was the one with the street smarts.”

“And what about Clarissa?”

“I told Toby there was a problem with their plan, because the waitress on duty that night had seen us together. I could tell we were getting on her nerves. Once my name got into the press as the big bad felon whose DNA was found on the knife, she’d probably recognize me and make the connection. Toby said it wouldn’t be a problem, though.”

“You got that woman killed, Mason.”

The color drained from his face. “No! Please don’t say that. I thought he meant she’d be getting a cut of the money, too. I got the impression Toby would be, as well. It seemed like they were doling out lottery money. I can’t believe Darren got me pulled into this.”

“Maybe the two of you can talk about it when you join him in Dannemora.”

“Please, no. You’ve got to believe me, I didn’t know they were going to hurt that girl. Let me help you. I’ll do anything.”

“ Anything? ” Leo had a plan.

Chapter 55

Marcy Buckley paced in circles around her kitchen island, waiting for the phone to ring.

From the moment Laurie had called this morning, all the links in the chain had connected. Marcy’s first call was to Sandra Carpenter, who easily recalled the name of the Rehoboth Beach restaurant where her daughter worked—the Sand Bucket. We used to call it the Sandra Bucket because I spent so much time there when I visited.

From there, Marcy left a voicemail message for the restaurant, assuming they wouldn’t get back to her until the late afternoon. Instead, she received a return call within the hour from one of the owners, April Meyer. April was initially overjoyed to learn that Marcy and her husband were the ones who had adopted Michelle’s baby. That’s all she really wanted, was for her child to have a loving family.

April remembered Michelle fondly and recalled counseling her during her unplanned pregnancy. That poor girl was so terrified to tell her mother what was happening. She was certain her mother would disown her.

April was clearly floored when Marcy explained that the biological father was married to the woman who was responsible for marketing the restaurant’s opening launch. And then Marcy had moved on to the real bombshell: Johnny’s kidnapping.

“We have reason to believe that Michelle reached out to this man and told him for the first time about the child they conceived. We think he’s extremely dangerous. If we’re right, he killed Michelle and has Johnny.”

For the first time, the other end of the line had fallen silent. She thought the call had disconnected until April finally spoke. “I’ll have to get back to you.”

If Marcy had to guess, April was in the process of contacting the woman who had been in charge of their marketing. Somewhere, a woman was learning that her husband had been unfaithful. That he had cheated with a young waitress that the woman had known and trusted. That a child had been born from the union. Her heart would probably be broken.

Marcy prayed that whoever the woman was, she’d be able to see that Johnny was the person who mattered most right now. He was an innocent child.

The ringtone of her phone sent her heart racing. It was an unknown caller. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Buckley? My name is Roseanne Robinson. My ex-husband’s the man you’re looking for. His name is Daniel Turner.”

Marcy did her best to spell out what she knew about Michelle Carpenter’s life after Johnny’s birth. “It was a downward spiral. She became addicted to drugs, floating around for a few years. But she eventually recovered and was staying clean. She moved to Philadelphia and was making a living selling handmade jewelry online. She was attending meetings. She thought the drugs were her way of punishing herself for the affair she had, albeit unwittingly, with a married man.”

Marcy saw no need to mention that Daniel had led Michelle to believe that they would be getting married and having children together.

To Marcy’s surprise, Roseanne sounded genuine. “That poor girl. I can’t imagine what she was going through. I was in that restaurant at least once a week. I would talk to her all the time about her pregnancy. To think, she knew the whole time that I was married to the father. It must have been gut-wrenching for her.”

“You had no idea he was having an affair?”

“Danny and I went through a rough patch that one summer when I didn’t think we’d make it. He was always working, or on his phone, or running off to yoga. I thought he might be bored with our marriage. Sometimes I even wondered if there might be another woman in the picture, but I never confronted him about it. That must have been when he was with Michelle.”

“Is that why you separated?” Marcy asked.

“No. At some point, things just seemed to get better. He was home more. Less distracted. He bought himself a motorcycle, and I thought, Okay, I guess it was some kind of early midlife crisis, and this stupid Harley’s what he needed for some excitement. But that must have been after she saw us together and ended the affair. The timing lines up. We were good again for the next few years. But then a truck hit him when he was riding that ridiculous death-machine. I’ll never forget the day I was called to the hospital. I sat in the emergency room, convinced I’d never see my husband again. Then I got the news that he’d be okay. He had a traumatic brain injury, but he would survive. I truly believed I’d gotten a restart on my life. That we’d go right back to the way we were.”

“How terrifying,” Marcy said. “When was this?”

“Five years ago.”

“Johnny was already two years old,” Marcy said. She had no idea at the time that another woman was out there, a stranger, her life playing out in parallel with Marcy’s, leading them both here. Their children were half siblings.

“I was absolutely devoted to taking care of him,” Roseanne said. “We found a fantastic personal injury lawyer. He got a settlement that left us financially comfortable for life. But the TBI completely altered his personality. He became paranoid, irrational, and hot-tempered.”

Her explanation of her ex-husband’s condition was clearly the product of years spent trying to understand it. According to what she had been told by doctors, a rare but real subset of patients with traumatic brain injuries develop what resembles a psychotic disorder within the first two years of their injury. Symptoms such as hallucinations, paranoia, and delusions often lead to a misdiagnosis of schizophrenia. Even more common among patients are smaller but noticeable personality changes, such as impatience, outbursts of anger, and a lack of both empathy and impulse control.

“I was miserable as a result,” she said, “but initially I felt too guilty to leave because his conduct wasn’t his fault.”