Cruel Doubt by Joe McGinniss Page A

when Angela visited, in the company of her friend Donna Brady, Bonnie asked what she could possibly have said that would have been so misinterpreted. Donna Brady spoke right up. What Angela had said, Donna explained, was, “Whoever did this to Lieth deserves to die.”
    Bonnie realized that after any murder in any small town—especially with the murder still unsolved—there would be gossip and rumor. The visit from her Humane Society colleague made her aware for the first time that after this murder, in this town, some of the rumors could get ugly.
    * * *
    The service was held on the gray, drizzly morning of Thursday, July 28, three days after the murder. By afternoon, the drizzle had become a hard rain.
    Bonnie’s brother and his wife had brought her a black nightgown and black bathrobe and black slippers to wear. It occurred to her that such items must not have been easy to find in Little Washington in July.
    Chris had an even bigger problem. At Scott’s, in the mall, he’d picked out a lot of fine new clothing to wear to the service, but when he tried to pay with his credit card, a machine rejected it as being overdrawn. Instead, he had to borrow funeral clothes from his friend Jonathan Wagoner.
    A black car from the funeral home picked up Bonnie at the emergency-room door. At the home, shielded by a screen, she sat out of the view of press and public.
    Despite his having asked her so many questions about Lieth, the minister got many things wrong, such as describing him as a Vietnam veteran. But what did it matter? Her head hurt, she still couldn’t breathe right, the pressure in her chest had not diminished, and Lieth was just a pile of ashes.
    She returned to her hospital bed, where she remained for another four days. Her mother and father and sisters and brother continued to visit. Chris and Angela stopped by much less frequently—so seldom, in fact, as to cause comment both from hospital personnel and from other members of Bonnie’s family.
    Her apparently quick recovery was causing comment, too. Bonnie had never been a complainer. She had a nearfetish about keeping her emotions to herself. To observers, this could easily be mistaken for indifference and could lead to awkward questions about why she wasn’t more upset.
    The nursing notes for the day of Lieth’s service said, “Preparing to leave for husband’s memorial service. Patient shows no outward emotion.” Upon her return, she was described in the notes as “cheerful and alert, talking with visitors.” At least to some, this behavior, combined with the fact that nobody in town knew anything about her, and the fact that her husband’s death had enriched her by $2 million, caused a great deal of talking behind her back.
    To Bonnie, unaware of the reaction, only three things seemed to matter anymore: Who could have done such a thing, why hadn’t the police yet made an arrest, and might the killer return?
    If the days were long, the nights were longer. No matter who was with her, she felt alone and terrified. She was afraid for herself and for her children. Angela, though seeming tranquil, said she was scared. She told her mother she was afraid the attacker had left her alive only because he hadn’t known she’d been there, and that now he might come back to kill her, too.
    Bonnie did not know how to respond. She felt incapable of offering reassurance. Above all, Bonnie was a rational person, and reason offered little solace in this instance. Violence had never been part of her world. Since she didn’t know where it had come from, she couldn’t be sure it was gone.
    â€œPolice Say No New Information in Probe,” the newspaper headline said. The chief said the department was treating the Von Stein murder as “our number-one priority” and promised that despite a lack of progress, the investigation “will not be put on a back burner.”
    No motive had