Just Take My Heart

by Mary Higgins Clark

  The Prosecutor's section, in the west wing of the courthouse, was home to forty assistant prosecutors, seventy investigators, and twenty-five secretaries. She punched in the code of the security door with one hand, pushed it open, waved to the switchboard operator, then slipped out of her coat before she reached the tiny windowless cubi?cle that was her office. A coatrack, two gray steel filing cabinets, two mismatched chairs for witness interviews, a fifty-year-old desk, and her own swivel chair comprised the furnishings. Plants on top of the files and on the corner of her desk were, as Emily put it, her attempt to green America.

  She tossed her coat on the unsteady coatrack, settled in her chair, and reached for the file that she had been studying the night before. The Lopez case, a domestic dispute that had escalated into homi?cide. Two young children, now motherless, and a father in the county jail: And my job is to put him in prison, Emily thought, as she opened the file. The trial was scheduled to begin next week.

  At eleven fifteen her phone rang. It was Ted Wesley, the prosecutor. “Emily, can I see you for a minute?” he asked. He hung up with?out waiting for an answer.

  Fifty-year-old Edward “Ted” Scott Wesley, the Bergen County Pros?ecutor, was by any standards a handsome man. Six feet two, he had impeccable carriage that not only made him seem taller but gave him an air of authority that, as a reporter once wrote, “was comforting to the good guys and disconcerting to anyone who had reason not to sleep at night.” His midnight blue eyes and full head of dark hair, now showing light traces of gray, completed the image of an imposing leader.

  To Emily's surprise, after knocking on the partially open door and stepping inside his office, she realized her boss was scrutinizing her carefully.

  Finally he said, crisply, “Hi, Emily, you look great. Feeling good?”

  It was not a casual question. “Never better.” She tried to sound offhand, even dismissive, as though she was wondering why he had bothered to ask.

  “It's important that you feel good. The grand jury indicted Gregg Aldrich.”

  “They did!” She felt a shot of adrenaline. Even though she had been sure it would happen, Emily also knew that the case was largely based on circumstantial evidence and would certainly not be a slam dunk at trial. “It's been driving me crazy to see that creep plastered all over the gossip columns, running around with the flavor of the month when you know he left his wife bleeding to death. Natalie Raines was such a great actress. God, when she walked onstage, it was magic.”

  “Don't let Aldrich's social life drive you crazy,” Wesley said mildly. “Just put him away for good. It's your case.”

  It was what she had been hoping to hear. Even so, it took a long moment to sink in. This was the kind of trial a prosecutor like Ted Wesley reserved for himself. It was sure to stay in the headlines, and Ted Wesley loved headlines.

  He smiled at her astonishment. “Emily, strictly and totally between us, I'm getting feelers about a high-level job that's coming up in the fall with the new administration. I'd be interested, and Nan would love to live in Washington. As you know, she was raised there. I wouldn't want to be in the middle of a trial if that situation does work out. So Aldrich is yours.”

  Aldrich is mine. Aldrich is mine. It was the gut-level-satisfying case that she'd been waiting for before she was derailed two years ago. Back in her office, Emily debated calling her father, then vetoed that idea. He'd only caution her not to work too hard. And that's exactly what her brother, Jack, a computer designer who worked in Silicon Valley, would say, she thought, and anyhow, Jack's probably on his way to work. It's only eight thirty in California.

  Mark, Mark, I know you'd be so proud of me . . .

  She closed her eyes for a moment, a tidal wave of pure longing washing through her, then shook her head and reached for the Lopez file. Once again, she read every line of it. Both of them twenty-four years old; two kids; separated; he went back pleading for a reunion; she stormed out of the apartment, then tried to pass him on the worn marble staircase of the old apartment building. He claimed she fell. The babysitter who had followed them from the apartment swore that he'd pushed her. But her view was obstructed, Emily thought, as she studied the pictures of the stairway.

  The phone rang. It was Joe Lyons, the public defender assigned to Lopez. “Emily, I want to come over and talk about the Lopez case. Your office has it all wrong. He didn't push her. She tripped. This was an accident.”

  “Well, not according to the babysitter,” Emily replied. “But let's talk. Three o'clock would be good.”

  As she hung up, Emily looked at the file picture of the weeping defendant at his arraignment. An unwelcome feeling of uncertainty nagged at her. She admitted to herself that she had doubts about this one. Maybe his wife really did fall. Maybe it was an accident.

  I used to be so tough, she sighed.

  I'm beginning to think that maybe I should have been a defense attorney.

  Just Take My Heart

  4

  Earlier that morning, through the tilted slats of the old-fashioned blinds in the kitchen of his house, Zachary Lanning had watched Emily having her quick breakfast in her kitchen. The microphone he had managed to secretly install in the cabinet over the refrigera?tor when her contractor left the door unlocked had picked up her random comments to her puppy, who sat on her lap while she was eating.

  It's as though she was talking to me, Zach thought happily, as he stacked boxes in the warehouse where he worked on Route 46. It was only a twenty-minute drive from the rented house where he had been living under a new identity since he fled from Iowa. His hours were eight thirty to five thirty, a shift that was perfect for his needs. He could watch Emily early in the morning, then go to work. When she came home in the evening, as she prepared dinner, he could visit with her again. Sometimes she had company, and that would make him angry. She belonged to him.

  He was sure of one thing: There was no special man in her life. He knew she was a widow. If they happened to see each other outside, she was pleasant but distant. He had told her he was very handy if ever she needed any quick repairs, but he had been able to tell right away that she would never call him. Like all the others during his whole life, she just dismissed him with a glance. She simply didn't understand that he was watching her, protecting her. She sim?ply didn't understand that they were meant to be together. But that would change.

  With his slight build, average height, thinning, sandy hair and small brown eyes, in his late-forties, Zach was the kind of nondescript person whom most people would never remember having met.

  Certainly most people would never imagine that he was the target of a nationwide manhunt after coldly murdering his wife, her children, and her mother a year and a half ago in Iowa.

  Just Take My Heart

  5

  Gregg, I've said it before and 111 be saying it again over the next six months because you'll need to hear it.“ Attorney Richard Moore did not look at the client sitting next to him as his driver slowly managed to work the car through the throng of media that was still shout?ing questions and aiming cameras at them in the Bergen County Courthouse parking lot. ”This case hangs on the testimony of a liar who's a career criminal,“ Moore continued. ”It's pathetic." It was the day after the grand jury had handed up the indictment. The prose?cutor's office had notified Moore and it had been agreed that Al?drich would surrender this morning.

  They had just left the courtroom of Judge Calvin Stevens, who had arraigned Gregg on the murder indictment and had set bail at one million dollars which had been immediately posted.

  “Then why did the grand jury vote an indictment?” Gregg Aldrich asked, his voice a monotone.

  “There's a saying among lawyers. The prosecutor could indict a ham sandwich if he's so inclined. It's very easy to get an indictment, especially in a high-profile case. All the indictment means is that there's enough evidence to allow the prosecutor to go forward. The press has kept this case front and center. Natalie was a star and any mention of her se
lls papers. Now this longtime crook Jimmy Easton, caught red-handed in a burglary, claims you paid him to kill his wife. Once there is a trial and you're acquitted, the public will lose inter?est in it quickly.”

  “Just the way they lost interest in O.J. after he was acquitted of his wife's murder?” Aldrich asked, a note of derision in his voice. “Richard, you know and I know that even if a jury finds me not guilty— and you're a lot more optimistic than I am about that outcome—this case will never be over unless and until the guy who killed Natalie knocks on the prosecutor's door and spills his guts. In the meantime, I'm out on bail and I have surrendered my passport, which means I can't leave the country, which is terrific for someone in my business. Of course, that is to say nothing of the fact that I have a fourteen-year-old daughter whose father is going to be front and center in newspapers, on television, and online for the indefinite future.”

  Richard Moore let further reassurances die on his lips. Gregg Aldrich, a very intelligent realist, was not the kind of client to accept them. On one hand, Moore knew the state's case had serious problems and depended on a witness he knew he could skewer during cross-examination. On the other hand, Aldrich was right that having been formally accused of the murder of his estranged wife, no mat?ter what the verdict, in some people's minds he would never be free of the suspicion that he was a killer. But, Moore thought wryly, I'd much rather have him dealing with that situation than sitting in prison for life after a conviction.

  And was he the killer? There was something that Gregg Aldrich was not telling him. Moore was sure of it. He didn't expect anything resembling a confession from Aldrich, but with the indictment only a day old, he was already beginning to wonder if whatever information Aldrich was withholding would come back to haunt him at the trial.

  Moore glanced out the window. It was a miserable March day, totally in keeping with the mood inside the car. Ben Smith, the private investigator and sometime chauffeur, who had worked for him for twenty-five years, was at the wheel. From the slight tilt of his head, Moore knew that Ben was catching every word of what he and Aldrich were saying. Ben's keen hearing was a plus in his line of work, and Moore often used him as a sounding board after his conversations with clients in the car.

  Forty minutes of silence followed. Then they were stopping in front of the Park Avenue apartment building in Manhattan where Gregg Aldrich lived. “This is it, at least for the present,” Aldrich said as he opened the car door. “Richard, it was good of you to pick me up and deliver me back. As I told you before, I could have met you somewhere and saved you the trouble of a round trip over the bridge.”

  “It was no trouble and I'm spending the rest of the day at the New York office,” Moore said matter-of-factly. He extended his hand. “Gregg, remember what I told you.”

  “It's burned in my mind,” Aldrich said, his voice still totally flat.

  The doorman hurried across the sidewalk to hold open the car door. As Gregg Aldrich murmured his thanks he looked into the man's eyes and saw the expression of barely concealed excitement that he knew some people experience when they are close spectators to a sensational crime story. I hope you're enjoying yourself, he thought bitterly.

  On the elevator to his fifteenth-floor apartment, he asked him?self: How could this all have happened? And why did he follow Nat?alie to Cape Cod? And did he in fact drive to New Jersey that Monday morning? He knew that he had been so distraught, tired, and angry that when he got home he had gone out for his usual run in Central Park, and later was shocked to realize he had been jog?ging for nearly two and a half hours.

  Or had he been?

  He was terrified to realize that he was not sure now.

  Just Take My Heart

  6

  Emily admitted to herself that the combination of Mark's death and her own sudden illness had devastated her. Added to that was her father's marriage, his decision to move permanently to Florida, and the fact that her brother Jack had accepted a job offer in California—all emotional blows that had left her reeling.

  She knew she had kept up a good front when both her father and brother worried about leaving her at this time in her life. She also knew that her father signing over the house to her, with Jack's heartfelt consent, was a certain salve to their consciences.

  And it's not as if they should feel guilty, she thought. Mom's been dead twelve years. Dad and Joan were seeing each other for five years. They're both pushing seventy. They love sailing and have the right to enjoy being able to do it year round. And certainly Jack couldn't pass up that job. He's got Helen and two little kids to think about.

  All that having been said, Emily knew that not being able to see her father, her brother, and his family regularly had made the adjustment to losing Mark even more difficult. Certainly it was wonderful to be back in the house —it had a “return to the womb” aspect that brought with it a healing quality. On the other hand, the neighbors who were still there from when she was growing up were the age of her parents. The ones who had sold their homes had been replaced by families with young children. The sole exception was the quiet little guy who rented next door to her and who had shyly told her he was very handy in case she ever needed anything fixed.

  Her immediate inclination had been to turn him down flat. The last thing she wanted or needed was a close neighbor who might try to latch onto her under the guise of helpfulness. But as the months passed, and the little she got to see of Zach Lanning was if they happened to arrive or depart their homes at the same time, Emily's guard began to drop.

  In the first weeks after she was assigned the Aldrich trial, she spent long hours reviewing and absorbing the file. It immediately became necessary for her to leave the office at five o'clock, race home to walk and feed Bess, then return to the office until nine or ten o'clock at night.

  She liked the demands of her job. It gave her less time to dwell on her own sorrow. And the more she learned about Natalie, the more she felt a kinship with her. They had both returned to their childhood homes, Natalie because of a broken marriage, Emily because of a broken heart. Emily had reams of information she had downloaded on the subject of Natalie's life and career. She had thought of Natalie as being a natural blond, but the background material re?vealed that she had changed her hair color from brunette when she was in her early twenties. Seeing her early pictures, Emily was struck by the realization that there was a genuine resemblance between the two of them. The fact that Natalie's grandparents came from the same county in Ireland where her grandparents had been born made her wonder if four or five generations back, they would have been considered “kissing cousins,” the Irish term for extended family.

  Even though she loved the process of preparing a new case and truly didn't mind the hours, Emily soon began to realize that running back and forth from the office to the house to take care of Bess was just too time-consuming. She also felt guilty that Bess was alone so long every day and now late into the evening.

  Someone else had noticed it, too. Zach Lanning had begun to prepare his yard for spring planting. Early one evening he was waiting after she had deposited Bess back into the house. “Miss Wallace,” he began, his eyes slightly averted, “I can't help but notice that you seem to be hurrying home because of the dog. And I see you rush right out again. I read about that big case that you're in?volved in. I bet it's a lot of work. What I mean to say is that I love dogs, but the owner is allergic and won't let me have one in this house. I'd really enjoy having your dog—I heard you call her Bess — as company when I get home. If your house is just like this one, your back porch is enclosed and heated. So if you wanted to leave the cage out there and give me a key to just the porch, I could let her out, then feed her, then take her for a nice long walk. My backyard is enclosed and she can run around a bit while I'm working in the garden. Then I'll put her back and lock the door behind me. That way you don't have to worry about her. I bet that she and I would get along great.”

  “That's really nice of you, Zach. Let me just gi
ve it some thought. I'm really rushed right now. I'll call you in the next day or so. Is your number listed?”

  “I just have a cell phone,” he responded. “Let me jot down the number for you.”

  As Emily pulled the car out of her driveway to head back to the office, Zach could barely contain his excitement. Once he had a key to her porch, it would be easy to take a wax impression of the lock on the door that led into the rest of the house. He was sure she was going to take him up on his offer. She really loves that useless hunk of fur, he thought. And once I'm inside, I'll go up to her bedroom and go through her drawers.

  I want to touch everything that she wears.

  Just Take My Heart

  7

  Alice Mills dreaded the thought of being called as a witness at the trial. The loss of her only child, Natalie Raines, had left her more bewildered than bitter. How could he do that to her? was the question she asked herself over and over again during the day, and haunted her at night. In her recurring dream, she was always trying to reach Natalie. She had to warn her. Something terrible was going to happen to her.

  But then the dream became a nightmare. As Alice ran blindly in the dark, she felt herself stumble and fall. The faint scent of Nata?lie's perfume filled her nostrils. Without seeing it, she knew she had tripped over Natalie's body.

  And that was when she would wake and scream, “How could he do that to her?” as she bolted up from the pillow.

  After the first year, the nightmare had come less frequently but then increased again after Gregg was indicted and the media frenzy began. That was why, when Alice received a call in mid-April from Assistant Prosecutor Emily Wallace asking her to come in for an interview the following morning, she sat up the night before in the comfortable chair where she often dozed off while watching television. It was her hope that if she did fall asleep, it would be a light slumber that wouldn't let her sink into the nightmare.