Chapter 18: Three Hundred Witnesses

"My father signed that," I said.

"At two this morning," the trooper said. "He called it in himself."

I stared at the folder in his hand.

Dad had listened to Shane's voice in his own study and called it a computer trick.

Now he had put his name under Shane's story as well.

Malcolm picked up his phone and dialed.

"It's me," he said. "Tell me you have something."

I heard the detective's voice, small and sharp.

"The judge signs the warrant at three," she said. "I have the bracelet. Phoebe's mother knew it by the initials inside the clasp."

"And?"

"I have the autopsy bruises. And I have the housekeeper's statement, which she gave an hour ago at the hospital."

"Where's Shane?"

"At the Caldwell hotel, dressing for his wedding. I can't touch him until three."

"The ceremony is at four."

"Then Ms. Caldwell stays out of the building until I get there."

Malcolm looked at me.

I was already pulling on yesterday's dress.

"Lena."

"If I stay out, Dad signs the trust at the altar," I said.

"The detective will come."

"And find him alone in a back room, where he lawyers up in the car."

"He'll have his lawyer in an hour either way."

"Not in front of three hundred people."

Malcolm closed his eyes.

"I'll drive," he said.

We reached Boston at half past three.

The ballroom of the Caldwell hotel was full of white roses.

Three hundred guests sat on gilt chairs in the late light, and a string quartet played something slow and sweet.

The altar stood at the far end under an arch of lilies.

Shane stood beneath it in a black morning suit with his hands folded and a single white rose in his lapel.

Next to him, where the bride belonged, was an empty space on the carpet.

Dad sat in the front row with his glasses in his hand.

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