A Rip in Heaven: A Memoir of Murder And Its Aftermath by Jeanine Cummins

Author:Jeanine Cummins [Cummins, Jeanine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2004-06-01T04:00:00+00:00

After a call from Gene during dinner about the news of the disastrous polygraph results, Kay spent the next half hour talking quietly on the phone in her parents’ room. Tink and Kathy couldn’t hear a word despite their best eavesdropping efforts at the door. Grandpa Art shooed them away every few minutes, but they crept back repeatedly. The first call she made was to Sheila at Ginna’s house. Sheila seemed to be waiting by the phone.

“It’s all sorted out,” Sheila began — all business. “He knows that you may call, although he’s not privy to the details yet. His name is Frank Fabbri.”

Kay thanked her, jotted down the lawyer’s number and hung up. Her next call was to Frank Fabbri, criminal defense attorney. Fabbri was cordial to Kay, but like Sheila, he was quick — very much down to business. After Kay introduced herself, he began firing off questions almost immediately. Kay answered them as best she could.

“Do you mean to tell me he’s been down at that police station all day long answering questions without an attorney present?” he asked, almost angrily.

“Uh-huh,” Kay answered. “He insisted on helping.”

“Shit,” Fabbri responded, and then, without missing a beat, he began a detailed list of instructions. “Okay, here’s what I need you to do. Call your husband back at the police station. Tell him to go straight to the desk sergeant and say ‘This has gone on long enough. I’m taking my son and we’re leaving.’ Tell him to write down exactly what the officer says, and then to call you back immediately with the response. Then call me back.”

Kay listened to her instructions, growing more frightened all the time, but her fear seemed to lend her resolve. Now she finally had something concrete to do. Now she could help. The only thing that had kept her from losing her temper with the police up to this point had been her maternal instinct to support Tom. She had been disgusted by the way they had brushed her aside at the bridge that morning. They had patronized her and ignored her in turns, while speaking respectfully and urgently to her husband. They wore their sexism as proudly as their badges, she thought. And now that they had given her a mother’s reason for anger, now that they accused her son, her fury was quick and motivating. She drew in a sharp breath of determination and immediately dialed the number of the pay phone that Gene had given her. The courtesy of the extra detective’s desk and phone in the homicide room had been retracted from him sometime before. He picked up the wall-mounted pay phone after half a ring.

“Okay, you’re to go to the desk sergeant and tell him very deliberately that you and Tom are leaving. Write down his exact response and call me back,” Kay instructed.

She hung up and waited. She jumped when the phone rang several minutes later, and she grabbed it. Gene sounded more distraught than ever.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

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