Just Take My Heart

by Mary Higgins Clark

  The sketch depicted a white male in his midthirties with longish blond hair. He was attractive in a scholarly way, with thick brows and rimless glasses covering oval-shaped brown eyes.

  The District Attorney's Office was located in lower Manhattan at 1 Hogan Place. Emily parked in a garage nearby and walked through the crowded streets to that address. She had phoned ahead to the Captain of Detectives, who had assigned veteran Detective Steve Murphy to retrieve the Jamie Evans file and assist Emily when she arrived.

  In the lobby, a clerk called up to Murphy, who verified the ap?pointment. Emily was then permitted to pass through security. The detective was waiting for her when she got off the elevator on the ninth floor. A pleasant-faced man of about fifty with close-cropped hair, he greeted her with a warm smile.

  “Haven't you got enough crime in New Jersey without coming over here to solve our twenty-year-old cases?” he asked genially.

  Emily liked him immediately. “We've got more than enough crime in New Jersey,” she agreed. “Feel free to solve ours anytime.”

  “I have the Evans file in one of our offices near the squad room.”

  “Fine.”

  “I took a look at it while I was waiting for you,” Murphy said, as they walked down the hall. “We figured it was a robbery gone wrong. She probably resisted giving him anything. Three other women were mugged in the park around that same time. Evans was the only one killed.”

  “That's what I understand,” Emily told him.

  “Here we are. Not the most palatial surroundings.”

  “I assure you, neither are ours.” Emily followed Murphy into a small room furnished with only a battered desk, two unsteady-looking chairs, and a file cabinet.

  “The Evans file is on the desk. Take your time. We can copy any?thing you want. I'll be back in a minute. I need to make a couple of calls.”

  “Of course. I promise I won't be too long.”

  Emily didn't know quite what she was looking for. I'm like the judge who was trying to decide a pornography case, she thought. He said, “I can't define it, but I know it when I see it.”

  She read quickly through the stack of detective reports in the file. She had already seen a number of them, since they had been in the packet that Billy Tryon had brought back. Jamie Evans had been at?tacked early in the morning and strangled. She had been dragged from the jogging path to an area behind thick bushes. Her watch, pendant, and ring were gone. Her wallet was emptied of cash and credit cards, and was discovered on the grass beside her. Her credit cards have never been used.

  At the time of her roommate's murder, Natalie Raines gave the police a physical description of the man in the picture she had seen only once in Jamie's wallet. She told them that Jamie had confided to her that the man she was secretly seeing was married, but had promised to get a divorce. Natalie had indicated that she believed the man, whom she had never met and whose name she didn't even know, was stringing Jamie along.

  Natalie had suspected so strongly that Jamie's death may have been caused by this mysterious boyfriend that the detectives had taken her down to the District Attorney's Office so that they could do the sketch.

  So far, nothing, Emily thought. I've seen all this before. But then when she got to the police artist's sketch, her mouth went dry. The sketch in the folder Billy Tryon had brought to New Jersey was not the same as the one in the New York file.

  This man was handsome, about thirty years old with blue eyes, a straight nose, a firm mouth and a full head of charcoal brown hair.

  This was the picture of a man with a distinct resemblance to a younger Billy Tryon. Emily stared at it, stunned. Noted on the sketch was one sentence. “May be known by the nickname 'Jess.' ”

  Steve Murphy was back. “Find any good clues we can work on?”

  Emily tried to keep her voice steady as she pointed to the sketch. “I hate to say it, but my files may have gotten mixed up. This isn't the one I have in my file. I'm sure that the original your artist made is kept somewhere.”

  “Sure. You know the system. The sketch is made and copies are rolled off. We can check against the original. No problem. But I have to tell you, my guess is that if there's been a mixup it happened in your office. I was around when that girl was killed. This is defi?nitely the one I remember being in the file. Is there anything else you want to copy?”

  “The whole file if you don't mind.”

  Murphy looked at her. His voice crisp, he asked, “Are you seeing something that might help us to solve this case?”

  “I don't know,” Emily said. But as she waited for the file to be copied, she wondered what else is in the Evans file that Billy didn't bring back. Could Billy have been the mysterious boyfriend that Natalie suspected of murdering her friend? Had Billy Tryon ever met Natalie Raines?

  And if so, was that why he may have been eager to piece together Jimmy Easton's story and have Gregg Aldrich convicted of Natalie's murder?

  Everything is beginning to make sense, Emily thought.

  It's not a pretty picture but the parts may be falling into place.

  Just Take My Heart

  76

  Where better to hide than in his own house? On Tuesday morning, the idea struck Zach like a thunderbolt. He knew the routine. The police would have stormed in there like gangbusters looking for him. He could just picture them, guns drawn, afraid for their lives, going from room to room, then disap?pointed that they didn't reel in the big fish.

  If it weren't for the worry over Henry Link's nosy son-in-law going to the police about the van, he could have lasted for awhile in this shabby motel thirty miles north of Glen Rock. He'd had a fairly de?cent sleep last night and he felt pretty safe. The owner, a shuffling old guy with thick glasses, would never connect him with the pic?ture on his small-screen television.

  But what good was that when the van got reported and every cop within a hundred miles was looking for it?

  He still had the option of driving straight down to North Caro?lina right now and trying to disappear into the waves of newcomers settling there. But the need to go back to Emily was overwhelming. He'd sleep here tonight, he decided, pay for the next few days and leave the van here. In the morning, he would take a bus to the Port Authority in New York, then another one out to Glen Rock after dark.

  He'd slip through the backyards in his neighborhood, and with any luck his extra key to the rental house would still work. He could go in the back door and wait it out. Of course they'd have a guard for Emily. He knew that routine. Of course she would have had her locks changed. But she always opened the door to let Bess out in the backyard for a minute or two before she went to bed.

  Of course Bess would bark when she saw him. But he'd buy those treats she loved so much and throw a couple of them on the ground. That's all the time he'd need to force his way in.

  It was a good plan.

  And he knew he could pull it off.

  Just Take My Heart

  77

  Emily drove directly home after she left the DA's office. I have to be very careful, she thought, and I have to be very sure. Page by page, word by word, I'll compare the reports that Billy brought back two and a half years ago to the entire Jamie Evans homicide file that I have now.

  The sketches are completely different. Steve Murphy confirmed that only one sketch had been done during the Evans investigation and that was the one that I saw this morning. What other reports didn't Billy bring back? What else am I going to find?

  As she turned onto her block, she saw that the yellow tape was still around Madeline Kirk's home, but it had been completely re?moved from both the front of Zach's rental and her own house. I can't wait to see who the new tenant will be, she thought wearily. Whoever it is has to be a vast improvement over the last one.

  She waved to the police officer in the squad car at the curb, ad?mitting to herself that it was very comforting to see him there. The locksmith and the alarm people were scheduled to come later in the day. Yesterday she had arranged
it that way so she would have a few quiet hours with the Aldrich file before they arrived.

  Richard's call last night certainly changed all that, Emily mused as she parked and got out of the car. Before that call I never would have dreamt that I'd be in Ted Wesley's office this morning, then moving to have Gregg Aldrich released on bail. And when I drove to New York, I certainly never thought I'd find out that my detective has been tampering with evidence.

  She went into the house and was greeted with a noisy welcome from Bess. “Bark as loud as you want, Bess,” she said, as she scooped the little dog up in her arms. “And no, we're not going for a walk. I'll let you out in the back and that's it for now.”

  She unbolted the door from the porch and stood on the steps as Bess raced around the yard, her paws making scraping sounds on the fallen leaves. The day had started out with brilliant sunshine but now the sky was becoming overcast and there was a feeling of im?pending rain.

  Emily waited for five minutes then called, “Want a treat, Bess?” That does the trick every time, she thought as Bess willingly scam?pered back inside. After carefully rebolting the door, Emily rewarded Bess with the promised treat and put the kettle on.

  She knew that she needed a jolt of coffee. If I don't have some I'll fall asleep standing up. And I'm hungry. I never did eat dinner last night. Richard's call took care of that.

  Thanks to Sunday's food shopping, the refrigerator was well stocked. She decided on a ham and cheese sandwich. When she'd made it and poured the coffee, she sat at the kitchen table to have a quick lunch. By the time she finished the second cup of coffee, the caffeine had kicked in and she felt clearheaded as she considered what to do next.

  She knew what would happen if she confronted Billy with the sketch he had brought back from New York. He would explode and rant that it wasn't the one he had put in the Aldrich file and obvi?ously some stupid clerk had mixed them up. But why would our office have a second sketch from the Manhattan DA with the same date from nearly twenty years ago unless Billy had brought it back?

  He could certainly say that the sketch I have now may have a general resemblance to him but also to loads of other people. He would also point out scathingly that the artist had worked from a de?scription given by a woman who had never even met the person she was talking about.

  If I go to Ted now, especially since he's so angry about the Jimmy Easton mess, he'll probably tell me that I somehow mixed them up myself.

  I have considered every possibility, Emily concluded. For what?ever reason, Billy removed the copy of the original sketch when he brought the file back to New Jersey and then managed to get a sec?ond one created as a substitute. That's called tampering with evi?dence. He never expected that I would ever go to New York to look at the file myself. But I did.

  However this turns out, when I'm done with it, I am going to go back through every file that he has ever handled where there have been complaints about him. And that's whether his cousin, our about-to-be attorney general, likes it or not.

  The front doorbell rang.

  Bess began barking frantically. Emily carried her to the door. It was the locksmith, a man in his sixties wearing jeans and a Giants football sweatshirt. “I understand you want me to check everything, ma'am, all the doors and windows.”

  'Yes, I do. And I want the strongest locks you can give me."

  “Don't blame you. People need them these days. That's for sure. Just look at what happened to your neighbor across the street. Poor old lady. Hear the nut who killed her got in a back window, no prob?lem, and she didn't have a security system.”

  “I'm having a new one put in today,” Emily said. “The technician should be here soon. I wanted both of you to meet my dog so that she won't bother you while you're working.”

  The locksmith eyed Bess. “In the old days a barking dog was considered all the protection you needed. He reached down to rub her head. ”Hello, Bess. Hey, you don't scare me."

  Emily went back into the kitchen and put the dishes she had used in the dishwasher and then, not wanting to be around the locksmith, whom she suspected of being a talker, went up to her bedroom and shut the door. While she changed into slacks and a sweater, she con?tinued to go back and forth in her mind about how deeply Billy Tryon might be involved, not only with Easton in the Aldrich case but also in the death of Jamie Evans.

  Was it possible that Billy Tryon was Jamie's mystery boyfriend?

  He definitely resembles the man Natalie described to the police art?ist. He's been divorced twice. The rumor is that both wives got sick of his affairs. Jamie Evans was a young actress. I understand from the scuttlebutt that his girlfriends are usually in some kind of show busi?ness. For heaven's sake, I just met one of them last week.

  Billy was assigned to head the Raines murder investigation from the beginning. And then it came up that her roommate had been murdered many years before. He made sure that he was the one who would go to New York and go through that file.

  If he did kill Jamie Evans, he must have been frantic when he saw that sketch. So he decided to replace it before he brought back the file.

  The doorbell rang again. This time it was the alarm company team. After making the necessary introductions to Bess, Emily de?cided that there was no way that she was going to get any work done at home this afternoon. My bones are aching, she thought. Maybe I can get an appointment for a massage.

  I'm just not sure what to do next. One thing I can do is try to find out if anyone knows if Billy ever used the nickname “Jess.”

  And there is one other thing that I can follow up on, she thought. If Natalie Raines was really as frightened as Gregg Aldrich testified she appeared to be when he was looking through the window at the Cape house, could that be why she drove there at midnight after her final performance in Streetcar? Not just to get away from it all, but because she was escaping from somebody who terrified her?

  There's only one person who might be able to help me find the answer to that question, Emily thought. Natalie's mother. I never re?ally asked her if she was surprised that Natalie had gone to the Cape so suddenly.

  Her cell phone rang before she could try to reach Alice Mills. It was Jake Rosen. “Emily, we just got a call from Newark. Jimmy Eas?ton is dead.”

  “Jimmy Easton dead! Jake, what happened to him?” Emily could hear Jimmy telling the judge only twenty-four hours ago that he was afraid to go back to prison because the other inmates hated a snitch.

  “They're pretty sure he was poisoned. The autopsy will tell.” Jake paused, then said, “Emily, you know as well as I do that we're going to have a lot of problems over this. Some people will believe it was prison justice for cooperating. Others will think that someone took care of him because he wouldn't keep his mouth shut about the Al?drich case.”

  “And they'll be right,” Emily said. “Plenty of defendants cooper?ate to get reduced sentences and they don't end up dead. Jake, I'd stake my life that Billy Tryon had something to do with this.”

  “For God's sake, Emily, be careful. You can't go around making statements like that!” Jake's tone was both shocked and worried.

  “All right,” Emily answered. “Consider it unsaid. But I'm allowed to think it. Jake, let me know whatever else you hear. I suppose that I should come into my office but I am not going to. I'll get a lot more done here. Bye.”

  Emily broke the connection and then dialed 411. She knew that Alice's number was in the Manhattan directory and that it was easier to just dial information than to go back downstairs and pull it out of the file. As she was dialing, she thought, Wait a minute, I do remember it. 212-555-4237! She pressed the numbers, thinking that while she usually had a pretty good memory, this was really good. But on the other hand, maybe I'll get connected to a dry cleaner.

  The phone rang three times and then a message came on. “This is Alice Mills. I can be reached at 212-555-8456.” She's probably been staying with Katie at the Aldrich apartment, Emily thought.

  Emily's mind was filled with
the memory of the day Alice Mills had come to her office and had sat across the table from her in her black suit, heartbroken but composed. I put my arms around her before she left, Emily remembered.

  I wanted so much to help her stop hurting.

  Realizing the incredible irony of dialing the apartment of a de?fendant whom she had just prosecuted and whose case was still open, Emily heard the generic voice say that no one was available and to please leave a message. “Alice, it's Emily. I really need to talk to you. On the stand Gregg testified that he thought that Natalie seemed frightened. You never brought that up so maybe you don't agree. It just occurred to me that she went to Cape Cod right after her last night at the theatre. I know that people she worked with gave statements but I want to look into that area again. I think that maybe we will find something important there.”

  A roundabout way of saying that maybe Billy Tryon was dating an actress in Streetcar and had happened to run into Natalie that last night. And maybe she had recognized him from a long time ago.

  Her cell phone rang. It was Ted Wesley's secretary. Her voice ner?vous, she said, "Emily, the prosecutor wants you in his office now.

  “And he said to bring back any files that you took from this of?fice.”

  Just Take My Heart

  78

  Forty-five minutes later, Emily, Billy Tryon, and Jake Rosen were in Ted Wesley's office. Wesley, white with rage, stared at them with uncontrolled disdain in his expression. “May I say that I have never seen a sloppier, more disorganized, careless, and wasteful series of events than what you three have managed to achieve. Billy, did you in any way help Jimmy Easton to put together the story that he so convincingly delivered on the witness stand?”

  “No, Ted, I did not.” Billy's tone and manner were subdued. “But wait. Let me be exact. When Easton told me about writing the letter to Aldrich to say he wasn't going to go through with their contract, but he also wasn't going to return the five thousand that Aldrich had already given him, I said something like you must have considered it a nonrefundable advance. He laughed and then he repeated that phrase on the stand.”