Just Take My Heart

by Mary Higgins Clark

  Jake would never be part of helping Easton to fabricate evidence, but Tryon might. Jake had said he was there for that first interview in the police station, but he had also said that he arrived there after Billy Tryon did.

  I don't care if Ted Wesley fires me while he still has the chance, Emily thought. I'm going to see this through. Then she said aloud what she had been trying to deny. “Gregg Aldrich is innocent. I did everything I could to convict him and I knew he was innocent while I was doing it.”

  The words Alice Mills had screamed at her echoed in her mind: “You know that this is a travesty and in your heart you're ashamed to be part of it.”

  I am ashamed, Emily thought.

  I am ashamed.

  She was startled by how certain she was.

  Just Take My Heart

  61

  Belle Garcia could not get over the fact that Gregg had been con?victed. She had hardly slept on either Friday or Saturday night. Last year she had watched a late-night documentary about prisons, and the thought of Gregg being locked up in a cage was simply awful.

  “Even Natalie's mother believed in him, so why did those stupid jurors take the word of that horrible crook? If I had been on that jury, he'd be home with his child,” she said not once but over and over again to Sal.

  On Saturday evening he finally exploded. “Belle, can't you get it straight? I'm sick of hearing about it. No more. Get it? No more!” Then he stormed out of their apartment to take a long walk.

  On the other hand, Belle's eighty-year-old mother, Nona 'Nonie' Amoroso, wanted to hear everything about it. On Sunday morning, her cruise ship docked in Red Hook, Brooklyn. Belle picked her up and on the way home that was all they talked about. When Belle dropped her at her apartment, around the corner from theirs, she said, “Mama, I know you're a little tired, but come over to dinner to?night. We've missed you so much. But, remember, don't bring up the trial. Like I said, Sal has gotten downright surly at the mention of it.”

  Seeing the disappointed look on her mother's face she added, hastily, “I have it all planned. Sal has a big moving job tomorrow. He'll be leaving really early in the morning, so he'll want to go to bed pretty early tonight. I'll call you after he's asleep, probably around ten o'clock. Get comfortable in your bathrobe because I've got a lot to tell you.” She did not add that she might be seeking her advice about a big decision that she had to make.

  “I can't wait,” her mother replied. “I've been dying to hear every?thing about it.”

  When she arrived for dinner, Nonie was carrying a bag full of the pictures she and her friends had taken, and since she couldn't talk about the case, she proceeded to fill them in on every detail of every day on the cruise.

  "Olga and Gertie got seasick right away and had to wear that patch behind their ears. I got one just in case but I never needed it. . .

  "The food was out of this world. We all ate too much . . . They were putting something in front of you all day and all night. . .

  “And I really enjoyed going to hear the lectures they had. My fa?vorite was the one about sea life . . . you know . . . the whales, and the penguins, and whatnot . . .”

  Sal, normally good-natured about his mother-in-law's agonizingly-boring stories, couldn't even pretend to listen. Belle did her best to look interested and even sincerely admired the already framed pic?ture of her beaming mother in her lovely new pants suit posing with the captain.

  “You mean that guy has to have his picture taken with every per?son on the ship?” Sal asked incredulously, momentarily joining in the conversation and thinking that some days the captain must be tempted to jump overboard.

  “Uh-huh. Of course when you have a couple or a family group, they pose together. But the girls and I all wanted individual pictures so that our families would have them someday after we're gone,” Nonie explained.

  I get their drift, Sal thought. None of the “girls” are under seventy-five.

  After they finished dessert and a second cup of tea, he suggested. “Nonie, you've got to be tired after your trip. And I've got to get out early tomorrow morning. If you don't mind, I'll walk you home now.”

  Belle and her mother exchanged satisfied glances.

  “That's a good idea, Sal,” Nonie agreed. “You really need your rest and I'm ready to call it a day. It'll be good to be back in my own bed.”

  An hour later, just before ten o'clock, the bedroom door closed and Sal already in a deep sleep, Belle settled in her favorite chair in the living room, pulled the hassock under her feet, and dialed her mother.

  For the next hour and a half they conducted a thorough review of all of the evidence. The more they talked and the more Belle heard her mother declare that Gregg had been framed, the more an?guished she became. Even though Sal denies it, I am almost sure that Jimmy Easton worked for him, she thought. She finally decided to tell her mother about her suspicions.

  “You mean that Jimmy Easton may have worked for Sal?” Nonie exclaimed. “Did Sal ever deliver anything to Gregg's apartment building?”

  “Sal used to deliver for some antique shop that went bust. I guess not enough people buy that kind of stuff. I don’t particularly like it myself. But I know those deliveries were usually on the East Side to those fancy apartment buildings,” Belle answered, her tone worried. "I know that's why Sal is upset if I talk about the case . . .

  “He's afraid,” she sighed. Over the years he's hired a lot of differ?ent guys when he needs extra help. He always pays them in cash. He doesn't want to get involved in all that extra paperwork he'd have to do if they were on the books."

  “To say nothing of the medical plan he would have to have,” Nonie agreed. “It would cost a fortune. You know how it is, the rich get richer and the rest of us get squeezed. You know how long it took me to save up for my trip with the girls.”

  Nonie cleared her throat for several seconds. “Sorry, that's my al?lergies. There was a musty smell on the ship and I think that's what kicked them off. Anyway, Belle, I don't want to see Sal get in trouble over taxes. But if Jimmy Easton worked for him and went into that apartment on a delivery, it would explain why he knew so much about it.”

  “That's what's been torturing me.” Belle was close to tears.

  “Honey, you can't let anyone be locked in prison if by just open?ing your mouth you can change everything. Besides, if because of you Gregg gets out, I'll bet he'll write a check for Sal's back taxes the next day. Tell Sal that. Tell him he's got to do the right thing and if he won't do it, you will.”

  “You're absolutely right, Mama,” Belle said. “I'm really glad I talked to you about it.”

  “And I want you to tell Sal he can confide in me. I don't mind saying I have a good head on my shoulders.”

  Belle knew that was never going to happen.

  Sal left early Monday morning. Hauling her laundry cart with her, Belle immediately went down to the basement, where the little storage area that came with their apartment was located. It was there that Sal kept cardboard boxes filled with records of his moving com?pany from the last twenty years. She knew that Sal hated paperwork, but at least he marked the boxes with the years that the records cov?ered.

  Natalie Raines is dead two and a half years, Belle thought. I want to start at that point and work backward. She hoisted the two boxes containing records for the two years prior to the murder onto the cart and got into the elevator.

  Back in her living room she began to go through the first box. Forty-five minutes later she found what she was looking for. Sal had a company receipt for delivering a marble standing lamp to “G. Aldrich” at the apartment address that she had heard several times on television. The receipt was dated March 3rd, thirteen days before Natalie's death.

  Holding the receipt, Belle collapsed into a chair. With her total recall of all important dates in the case, she knew that March 3rd was the day Easton had claimed he had met with Gregg in the apart?ment and had received the down payment to kill Natalie.

  She shiver
ed as she looked at the clear signature of the person who had accepted the delivery. Harriet Krupinsky. She was the Aldrich housekeeper who had retired a few months later and then passed away suddenly about a year after Natalie's murder.

  In her bones Belle was sure that Jimmy Easton had made that delivery. How could Sal know this and live with himself? she won?dered sadly. What that poor man and his daughter must be going through.

  Continuing her search, she soon found absolute proof that Eas?ton had worked for Sal. It was in a crumpled pocket telephone book that contained a couple of dozen names. Some of them Belle recog?nized as people who had worked part-time for Sal. There was noth?ing under tab E but then she turned to J. Scribbled at the top of the page was “Jimmy Easton.” And a telephone number for him.

  Nearly crushed by disappointment in Sal, and equally anxious about how revealing this information would impact on him, Belle repacked the boxes but kept the receipt and the phone book. She lifted the boxes back into the laundry cart and returned them to the basement. Then deciding that it would be better for Sal if he was the one to make the call, she slumped back down in the chair and again dialed her mother.

  “Mama,” she said, her voice breaking, “Sal lied to me. I went through his records. Jimmy Easton did work for him and there's a receipt for a delivery to the Aldrich apartment thirteen days before Natalie died.”

  “My God, Belle. No wonder Sal has been such a wreck. What are you going to do?”

  “As soon as Sal gets home, I'm going to tell him what I know and that we're going to call Michael Gordon's tip line. And you know something, Mama? In a way I bet Sal will be relieved. He's a good man. It's just that he's so frightened. I am, too. Mama, do you think there's any chance they'll put Sal in jail?”

  Just Take My Heart

  62

  Tom Schwartz, the executive producer of Fugitive Hunt, called the Bergen County prosecutor's office on Monday, just after four o'clock. He reached the prosecutor's secretary and told her that it was extremely urgent for him to talk to the prosecutor about a serial killer they had recently profiled and who might be living in Bergen County.

  Ten seconds later Ted Wesley was on the phone. “Mr. Schwartz, what's this about a serial killer?”

  “We have good reason to believe that a tip we have just received may lead to the location of a serial killer. Are you familiar with our program?”

  “Yes, but I haven't seen it recently.”

  “Then if you'll bear with me for a few minutes, I'll give you the background.”

  As Schwartz rapidly laid out the history of the murderer last known as Charley Muir and why his coworker believed that he and Zach Lanning were the same person, Ted Wesley was already envi?sioning the positive press coverage that he would get if his office was able to capture this fugitive. “You said this guy lives in Glen Rock. Have you got an address for him?” he asked Schwartz.

  “Yes, but remember our tipster said that when Lanning called his boss this morning to quit his job, he told him he was leaving for Florida right away. He may already be gone.”

  “I'll put my detectives on it right now. We'll get back to you.”

  Wesley put the phone down and pressed the intercom. “Get Billy Tryon in here. And get the Des Moines prosecutor on the phone.”

  “Right away.”

  As he waited impatiently, Wesley tapped his reading glasses on his desk. Glen Rock was a quiet, upscale town. Emily lived there, and so did some other people in the office. He reached behind him and took the office directory from a shelf. The tipster had given Zachary Lanning's address as 624 Colonial Road.

  Wesley's eyes widened when he opened the directory and looked up Emily's address. She lived at 622 Colonial. My God, if this is the right guy, she's been living next door to a nut, he thought.

  At precisely the same moment, the Des Moines prosecutor's call came through and Billy Tryon rushed into the office.

  Twenty minutes later, Tryon, Jake Rosen, and the squad cars from the Glen Rock Police Department were at the house where Zach Lanning had lived for two years. When there was no answer at the door, a Glen Rock officer got the number of the realtor who rented the house to Zach and called him to get permission to enter the house.

  “Sure you can go in,” the realtor replied. “When Lanning phoned me this morning, he told me he'd hang the keys on a hook in the garage. His rental is over. Why are you looking for him?”

  “I'm not at liberty to say why right now, sir,” the young officer re?plied. “Thank you.”

  They retrieved the key from the garage and, with guns drawn, cautiously went inside, then fanned out, checking every room and closet. They found no one.

  Billy Tryon and Jake Rosen then went back through each room to see if there were any clues as to where Lanning had gone but there wasn't so much as a newspaper or magazine in the entire house.

  “Get the fingerprint people here right away,” Tryon said. “We should be able to get prints and then we can verify that he's our guy.”

  “I hope we can get prints,” Jake Rosen commented. “This guy must be compulsively neat. There isn't a spot of dust anywhere and take a look at the way the glasses are lined up in the cabinet.”

  “Maybe he went to West Point,” Tryon snapped, sarcastically. “Jake, tell the Glen Rock guys to ring the doorbells on this block and see if any of the neighbors know anything about him. Make sure the town cops know that we already put out an APB on his car and li?cense plate.”

  Tryon looked around. A small device on the sill of the kitchen window caught his eye. Then he was astonished to hear a dog barking as loudly as if it were in the room. The sound was coming through the device, which was operating as an intercom system.

  He looked out the window. Ted Wesley had told him Emily lived next door to Lanning. Right now she was hurrying out of her car and up the walkway to her front door. That's why the dog's barking, he thought.

  He watched as she opened the door and went inside. Then he could distinctly hear her call out a greeting to her pet.

  “Jake,” he yelled, “come in here and look at this. That guy Lan?ning has some kind of microphone planted in Emily's house and he's been listening to everything she says.”

  “Come on, Bess,” Emily was saying. “I'll let you out quick. There's something going on next door with that crazy guy who used to walk you.”

  “My God,” Jake muttered as he listened to the crystal clear sound of Emily's voice. He tilted the blind. “Look, Billy. He's had a direct view into Emily's kitchen. And you know what I think? Looking at this house, this guy is superorganized. He didn't forget to take this device. He left it for the police to find and for Emily to hear about.” They heard the porch door open, then Emily calling the dog back inside.

  A Glen Rock detective walked into the kitchen. “We're ninety-nine percent sure Lanning is the guy,” he said, trying to control the excitement in his voice. “I watched that program the other night. One of the clues they talked about is that Charley Muir loved to plant yellow mums. We just found three big garbage bags filled with them in the garage. We figure he watched that program, too, and got nervous about them.”

  Through the window, they could see Emily crossing the drive?way. She joined them in the kitchen. “Ted Wesley called me and said you're checking out this guy. He filled me in on some of the details. You were talking about the mums in the garage? Zach planted them a little over a week ago on a Saturday and dug them up and planted new flowers twenty-four hours later. I thought it was very odd, but on the other hand he was always very strange.”

  “Emily,” Jake said, softly, “we're pretty certain now that Zach Lanning is the serial killer Charley Muir. There's something else we have to tell you and I know it's going to be very upsetting.”

  Emily froze. “It can't be worse than what I'm realizing. Back in June, he offered to walk Bess for me in the afternoons. I keep Bess on the enclosed porch during the day and I gave him a key to that area only, not to the door that opens into the kitchen. Bu
t one night when I came home late he was sitting inside the porch and it scared me. I stopped the dog walking immediately. I made up some excuse for ending it, but I could tell that he didn't buy it and he was upset.”

  Her eyes widened and her face paled. “I'm sure now that he was in my house last week. One night when I came home I noticed that the bottom drawer in one of the dressers in my bedroom had a small piece of a nightgown sticking out of it. I was certain I hadn't left it like that.”

  She stopped. “Oh, my God. Now I know what was bothering me yesterday when I packed those nightgowns to give away. One of them was missing! Jake, tell me what you have to say.”

  Jake pointed to the window. “Emily, he's got a listening device planted in your house. We could hear you talking to your dog just now.”

  The enormity of Zach's invasion into her life made Emily physi?cally ill. She immediately had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach and her legs felt wobbly.

  At that moment a Glen Rock detective rushed in. “Looks like we've got a burglary across the street. There's a screen cut out of a back window and the old lady who lives there isn't answering the door. We're going in.”

  Tryon, Rosen, and Emily hurried across the street with the po?lice. An officer kicked in the front door. Within a few minutes they knew that Madeline Kirk was not in the house. “Check the ga?rage,” Tryon ordered. “There's a car key in a dish by the kitchen door.”

  Following a few steps behind the officers, Emily observed that Madeline Kirk's afghan was crumpled on the floor in the den. She gasped when she saw the pad on the table next to the chair. The words Fugitive Hunt were written on the pad. A pen was lying across it. Now certain that something bad had happened to her neighbor, she followed the detectives into the garage. They were searching the interior of Madeline Kirk's car.