“I—I rushed into the house with Judith. My heart felt as if it was on fire. By the time Franklin returned, I was hiding with Judith in the upstairs closet.” Esther paused as she struggled with the memory. “That is when Franklin told me that Dean Wexler is Judith’s father.”
Andrea felt the world slip sideways again, though she had known that this was coming. Her thoughts threatened to spin out of control—if Dean was Judith’s father, that meant he’d lied about his sterility, and if he had lied about that, what else was he hiding?
“Franklin told me that we had to pay Wexler to go away. They had made a bargain, and Franklin would handle it.” Esther clasped together her hands to keep them from shaking. “I should have immediately called the police. I can see that so clearly now, but, at the time, I did nothing.”
Andrea could only ask, “Why?”
“I was terrified that Wexler would find a way to get Judith. You can’t imagine the vicious look on his face that day in the garden. To this day, I truly believe he is a manifestation of evil.” Her fingers returned to the cross around her neck, working it like a talisman. “Wexler could have sued for parental rights, you see. He could have taken Judith away from us. Or been granted visitation. Or somehow had a say in how she was raised. The most expedient way to rid ourselves of the threat was to pay him to stay away.”
“But,” Andrea said. “If Wexler had tried to claim parental rights, he was basically admitting to statutory rape.”
“You must put that admission in the context of the times. The constitutionality of statutory rape laws was not upheld by the Supreme Court until March of 1981. Delaware state law held age of consent at seven years of age until the 1970s. Rape shield laws were only a few years older. When I first sat on the bench, the woman’s claim of assault had to be corroborated by an eyewitness in order to be considered credible.”
Andrea had to say, “Excuse me, judge, but not that much has changed. A tragically raped and murdered white woman is still a tragically raped and murdered white woman.”
“You’re speaking to the tabloids, not the court of law.” Esther paused, her fingers gripping the tiny cross. “How do you get from A to B? Dean was admitting to sex, not murder, and he could always recant the confession. My stature and the salacious details alone would make any prosecutor wary of trying an iffy case with no corroborating evidence. Franklin and I had already hired a private detective who’d had no success finding Emily’s killer. We were faced with the same problem as always—the glaring lack of evidence.”
Andrea spoke carefully. “The police get informers to flip on suspects all the time.”
“You mean pay or induce someone to corroborate Dean’s guilt?” Esther did not sound offended by the prospect, which meant she had considered it. “What if that person recanted? What if they ended up blackmailing us? Better the devil you know, and Wexler was the devil incarnate.”
Andrea knew that Esther had likely made the best of all the bad decisions available. She also knew something else that had happened around that same time. “Wexler told us he inherited money from a dead relative. That’s how he was able to purchase the farm.”
Esther slowly began to nod. “The property had belonged to Franklin’s mother. Upon her death, it was meant to go to Emily, then pass to Judith.”
Andrea watched Esther pull a tissue from the sleeve of her dress. She carefully wiped away her tears before continuing.
“Franklin deeded the land into a partnership. The partnership sold the land to a shell corporation for a nominal price. Then the shell corp made non-public transfers into a trust that was controlled by Dean Wexler.” Esther looked at Andrea, explaining in simple terms, “Tax fraud, tax evasion, embezzlement, forgery, perhaps money laundering, but I would need to look up the 1983 statute.”
Andrea knew that Wexler hadn’t stopped there. “Did you have anything to do with the labor board case?”
Esther nodded again. “Franklin told me that I would have to call in some favors. That was always how he phrased it—you need to call in a favor. I never questioned him. I did as I was told because I wanted to protect Judith.”
Andrea pointed out a flaw in the judge’s story. “According to Bob Stilton’s case file, Wexler maintained that he couldn’t be the father. He had some kind of childhood illness that caused him to be sterile.”
“Again, there was no proof.” Esther had clearly read the case file, too. “Franklin told me we had to take Wexler at his word. The risk was too big. I was so desperate to protect Judith that I didn’t ask questions. By the time I started to wonder, it was too late.”
“You never asked Wexler for DNA?”
“To what end? After one submits to blackmail, one must always submit to blackmail. Both Franklin and I had incriminated ourselves with the original land deal. Dean had proof that we broke the law. We had no proof that he had murdered our daughter.” Esther’s sigh was filled with exhaustion. She had spent decades hitting the same brick walls that Andrea had banged up against for only a couple of days. “I told myself that the threat was too personal to risk breaking our pact. Wexler could always find a way to get to Judith. And then when Guinevere was born, the stakes were even higher.”
Andrea looked down at her swollen left wrist. “Do you know what Dean is doing to the women at the farm?”
“For years, I chose not to know. Emily called it my gift of willful blindness.”
Andrea wanted to be tactful, but then she thought about Star Bonaire and Alice Poulsen. “Ma’am, you seem to have a lot of details for someone who claims they were left out of the details.”
Esther’s gaze settled on her husband. His breath had turned raspy. The seconds in between had grown farther apart. “After Franklin suffered his stroke, there was no longer a buffer. Wexler came to me directly. I told him I was finished. I knew that my cancer was inoperable. I wanted to spend the remainder of what little time I had left with Judith and Guinevere.”
Andrea had seen how Dean Wexler treated women who stood up to him. “What did he do?”
“A piece of mail was sent to the house addressed to Guinevere.” Esther’s hand went to her throat again. She held onto the gold cross. “I recognized the return address. Wexler had sent an application to apply for a volunteer position at the farm. Guinevere’s name and address were pre-entered into the form.”
“That’s all?” Andrea asked. She didn’t see Dean Wexler being that subtle.
“The envelope included photographs of Guinevere. Someone had followed her from school to home. One photograph was taken through the open curtains of her bedroom window.”
Andrea could feel the desperation in her voice. “What did you do?”
“I panicked again,” Esther said. “I had learned nothing from the first time. Instead of finally coming forward with the truth, I manipulated the system. It’s as you said. I wrote the death threats. I knew Judicial Security would intervene.”
Andrea gently corrected her story, because she hadn’t taken the first few offers of protection. “You wanted Bible.”
“Leonard is a good man,” Esther said. “So much of my life has been spent in fear of bad men. Of my husband. Of Wexler. Of my own people. I’ve lived with the terror of losing—always losing. Emily saw my fear and called it cowardice. She was right, of course. I have no delusions that I will not suffer in the afterlife for my sins. I wanted to spend what little time I have left surrounded by people who love me.”
“And after you’re gone?” Andrea asked, because the judge clearly had a plan.
Esther shook her head, but said, “I should apologize for underestimating you. Leonard told me that you had the spark of brilliance.”
Andrea didn’t take the compliment. There were too many other women who were suffering at Wexler’s hands. “Judge, what’s in your briefcase?”