Read Not Guilty for Free Online

pale blue lozenge afloat in the darkness. There were more strangers, everywhere she looked. Police, people in hospital scrubs, emergency personnel. Then, in the midst of the confusion, Keely saw a familiar face. It was Evelyn Connelly, her next door neighbor. The pudgy woman, who was wearing a sweatsuit with a strand of pearls, was gesturing widely as she spoke to a sober-looking police officer with a gray mustache. The man nodded, but his gaze traveled to Keely. Evelyn turned, and her eyes widened as she recognized her neighbor. She tilted her head to one side and regarded Keely with a pitying glance.
    “Evelyn,” Keely cried, as if she were a long-lost friend.
    The older woman approached and grasped Keely’s hand in her own puffy, liver-spotted hand with its weighty diamond ring. “I’m sorry,” she said, as if in answer to Keely’s unspoken question. “I called them. I went to let the dogs out, and I heard the baby screaming. It went on for a long time. I was afraid it would upset Dad—he gets agitated by that kind of thing. So I came over to check.”
    The gray-haired officer approached Keely. “Are you Mrs. Weaver?”
    “What is it?” Keely demanded. “What’s going on? Where is my husband? Where’s my baby? And my son?”
    “You have to be very brave now, dear,” said Evelyn, gripping her hand. “This is not easy.”
    A couple of people looked up at Keely, and then away. A woman in a short-sleeved blue uniform with a stethoscope around her neck was holding Abby. Keely yelped with relief and reached out for her child. She clutched the baby to her chest. Everything Abby wore—her hair, her little shoes—was wet and icy cold. Keely looked at the baby in confusion. “You’re all wet,” she said wonderingly.
    Abby buried her face in her mother’s neck and whimpered.
    “Mrs. Weaver,” said the graying officer, “I’m Sergeant Henderson.” He did not seem to realize that Keely did not care who he was.
    Clutching Abby, Keely pushed past him, feeling as if she were moving in a soundless, weightless atmosphere, like a dream landscape. An old dream. An old nightmare. Through the open door of the gate, she could see them. Beside the pool, a knot of people seemed to be working, concentrating. No one was moving with any particular haste or urgency. But the tension in the air was palpable. As Keely approached, she could see that someone was lying on the concrete apron of the pool. Someone fully dressed, with shoes on. She recognized the pants, the pin-striped shirt. She stopped and stared.
    “Mark?” she whispered. There was no response from him. “Mark!” she cried, as if urging him to stand up.
    She tried to get near him, but others materialized and held her back. The sergeant came up to her again. “Mrs. Weaver, I have to detain you for a minute. The medical examiner is with him right now.”
    “Is that a doctor?” Keely asked. “What’s the matter with him?”
    “I’m sorry, ma’am. We found him in the pool.”
    “The pool?” Keely whispered. “No, no, that can’t be right. My husband can’t swim.”
    “No,” said Sergeant Henderson, as if he already knew it. His gaze was steady, pitying.
    She felt a furious impatience with all of them. “Why is everyone standing around while my husband is lying there? Get him to the hospital. Hurry.”
    “I’m afraid that wouldn’t help, ma’am.”
    “Well, that’s impossible,” Keely insisted. “He wouldn’t go in the pool. He was afraid of the water. . . . He wouldn’t . . .” But even as she said it, something was penetrating the fog in her brain. Abby, in her arms, was wet. Completely sopping wet.
    Keely looked at Abby as if she were seeing her for the first time. “Why is my baby so wet?”
    “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but it was already too late when we got here, Mrs. Weaver.”
    “Too late?” she whispered. The police officer seemed to realize that she was not taking it all in.
    “The medical examiner is examining