Bill hadn’t known that he was supposed to answer Amen, so Father Alec said it for him.
“Bill, give me your hands.”
They had trembled as the priest anointed them.
“May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up.”
Bill had looked into the priest’s eyes and said, “Amen.”
Looking back at it, Father Alec wondered if Bill would have committed suicide if he hadn’t been anointed. For all intents and purposes, the anointing of the sick was the same as the last rites. On the one hand, the priest felt comforted knowing that Bill had died in the state of grace. He was trying to console, trying to ready Bill for the Lord. He had said and done what he thought to be the right thing at the time. But feelings of self-doubt, of not having said something that would have prevented the suicide, ate at the young priest.
Chapter 65
Thank God, they hadn’t found the key ring.
It was hard to think of a way that things could have gone any better than they had. All the reports on the television had virtually the same spin. Karas was the victim of the street violence that was so prevalent in today’s society.
Police were leaning heavily toward the robbery theory. Dr. Karas’s body was found on East Eightieth Street, between Park and Madison Avenues. A somewhat inebriated gentleman, coming home from an evening at a nearby posh eatery, quickly sobered up when he found the doctor lying on the sidewalk. The man called 911. Police and a paramedic team were there within minutes. It was already too late for Dr. Karas.
No wallet was found on the body, nor was there a watch or any other jewelry. The doctor was primarily identified by the L. KARAS written indelibly into the neck of his shirt in launderers’ ink.
A jogger catching an early morning run in the southern part of Central Park found Dr. Karas’s discarded wallet, credit cards intact, money gone.
And so, the reports concluded, a prominent member of society, a contributor to the betterment of the human condition, had lost his life in a senseless act of violence.
How eager the police were to close out a case! Didn’t anyone suspect some other sort of foul play? An irate patient would be so obvious a possibility, or a disgruntled business partner. Oh well, the New York Police Department’s overwork was just pure good luck. Or better yet, God’s sign of approval. Clearly, God must be showing that the right thing had been done in getting rid of Dr. Leo Karas.
The doctor certainly had been a hard worker. It had been after one in the morning when anyone who wanted to hear could have overheard the doorman say to the psychiatrist, “Good night, Dr. Karas.”
“Good night, Juan. See you tomorrow.”
Thank you very much, Juan, for identifying him.
The streets were quiet. As Karas crossed Park Avenue, it seemed as good a time as any. There wasn’t anyone to be seen. Seize the moment. Karas was just a few steps ahead. He was an easy target.
He never even heard the shots.
Chapter 66
Detective Colburn read the Daily News and New York Post accounts of the murder of Dr. Leo Karas. He noted with satisfaction that the police press information officer had done as instructed and withheld the part about the elephant doorknocker found next to the dead man’s body.
The last thing they needed was someone coming up with a SERIAL DOORKNOCKER MURDERER theory.
And if the press knew that the knocker was the one stolen from Bill Kendall’s townhouse, they’d really go to town with that!
Chapter 67
Louise could tell by the position of the sun that it was time to get inside. She had been lying by the pool for an hour and a half, thinking about dinner with Range.
Just about everything was ready. The townhouse was immaculate, the result of yesterday’s thorough going over by the cleaning man. The small round table on the terrace was set with a hot pink cloth and napkins and splashy, glazed Mexican pottery. The refrigerator was stocked with a marinating shrimp appetizer and the club steaks that she planned to grill. Two bottles of Vernaccia di San Gimignano were cooling in a glass ice bucket, and a Chianti Riserva sat on the counter. Louise made a mental note to open it when she got back from the farm.
She pulled her cotton sundress over her head, slipped her feet into matching canvas espadrilles and gathered up her sunbathing paraphernalia. The towel, sunscreen, water bottle and the paperback novel she was unable to concentrate on were shoved into her straw bag. She remembered that her wallet and car keys were in the bag as well and she decided not to bother stopping back at the house. She’d go straight to her car and drive to the farm.
She made her way around the pool smiling and saying hello to other residents lounging in their deck chairs. That was about as far as it ever went. People here liked their privacy and respected the privacy of others residing in the complex. There wasn’t much cup-of-sugar borrowing.
Stopping in the ladies’ room in the Bears Nest clubhouse, she looked in the lighted mirror. Whoa! You better get going, sweetheart, there’s work to do on you. Best to get everything else out of the way first.
Louise drove down Spring Valley Road, windows open, breeze blowing. Demarest Farm, in neighboring Hillsdale, was less than five minutes away. She pulled into the long, curving driveway to the huge red barn abutting the Garden State Parkway. At one time, not too long ago, Demarest Farm had sold its produce at a tiny roadside stand. Now, like so much in northern New Jersey, the small-time atmosphere was gone, even though the Demarests tried hard to maintain their personal touches.
The help at the farm was courteous and hardworking, the stockboys offering to carry purchases out to the customers’ cars. Louise thought back to Mrs. Demarest giving William many polished red apples to chomp over the seasons the Kendalls had patronized the farm. Now daughter-in-law Marsha ran things. Marsha was unfailingly cheerful and eager to answer any questions.
Louise made her way to a bushel basket of fresh green beans, and filled a plastic bag with the best-looking specimens. Next, a head of romaine, some radicchio and a couple of juicy red tomatoes were heaped into the shopping basket hanging from her arm. She decided to cheat a little and go to the salad bar for the rest of the ingredients. She spooned sliced mushrooms, shredded carrots, and some sugarsnap peas into a plastic container.
She hoped that there would still be some good bread left this late in the day. The bakery section did not disappoint her. A long loaf of french bread went into the basket.
Dessert? Better not go for the pie. Some sliced fresh strawberries would do just fine.
At the counter by the cash register was a big metal can full of bunches of snapdragons. The red, yellow, orange and pink blossoms would look great with the Mexican pottery. Marsha wrapped the bunch Louise selected with green tissue paper.
“Having a party tonight?” asked Marsha, eyeing the overflowing shopping basket.
“A small one.”
As Louise left the barn, Marsha thought that Mrs. Kendall looked happier than she had seen her in a long, long time.
Chapter 68
Wrapped in a white terrycloth robe, Eliza lay curled on her bed, hair tousled, her eyes swollen from crying.
Again, someone whom she had cared about had been taken.
She listened to the muffled sounds of Mrs. Twomey reading to Janie in the next room. Janie was giggling at the misadventures of P. J. Funnybunny, a mischievous little rabbit who was always getting into trouble and learning his lessons the hard way.
There are no mistakes, only lessons. Where had she heard that? Dr. Karas?
It was a sunny, almost summery day, but Eliza had the drapes closed tightly. Left alone with her thoughts in the quiet of the darkened room, the events of the past few weeks reeled round and round inside her head. Bill’s startling death had become a tragic suicide at the same time as her own life was being thrown into another upheaval. Those events had sent her back to Dr. Karas. Dr. Karas. Her doctor. Bill’s doctor.
Dr. Karas’s last words to her. “Be very careful
of Pete Carlson.”
And now Leo Karas murdered. A coincidence?
Please, God, let it be a coincidence. Even as she uttered the silent prayer, she knew it was more than mere chance. She didn’t care what the police said, Dr. Karas’s death wasn’t a random act of violence. All her instincts told her Leo Karas had been murdered.
She rose from the bed, pulling the belt of the robe firmly, and walked barefoot to the den. Slowly seating herself at the polished desk, she tiredly switched on the computer. Carefully and purposefully, she opened and closed each of Bill’s files, scanning through his notes. The Leo Karas entries were still there. The appointments were next to the psychiatrist’s name, dates going back to February.
Why had Bill gone back to see Karas then?
Why right after the New Hampshire primary?
She tried to remember back to the New Hampshire remote. Cold. It had been cold outside the morning after Wingard’s victory. She’d worn layer after layer of clothes beneath her down coat. She’d wished the producers had come up with a nice, warm, indoor location for KEY to America’s broadcast. But they were adamant about the covered bridge backdrop.
The covered bridge. Eliza tried to concentrate. She had interviewed Wingard in front of the bridge. After the interview, as the show went to commercial, Wingard had gotten up from his chair opposite hers. Think, Eliza, think! Something else. Did something else happen?
She had watched Senator Wingard as he left the set. The candidate approached his wife who was waiting for him off to the side. Suddenly, Eliza recalled!
Joy Wingard was talking to Bill. But Bill’s face had looked different. He wasn’t wearing his usual confident expression. He looked bewildered. Puzzled. Hurt.
Eliza remembered at the time being a bit surprised to see Bill out so early. There was no good reason for Bill to be out at the KEY to America location that morning. He wasn’t scheduled to appear.
Had he come to see Joy Wingard?
She typed in Joy’s name.
The computer searched.
Chapter 69
Dopey Yelena. She always ended up telling him everything he wanted to know. She did seem somewhat reserved of late, but she still made conversation.
Pete Carlson called his contact at The Mole.
“That’s right. Eliza Blake and Bill Kendall had the same shrink, Leo Karas. Kendall’s dead, and now Karas has been murdered.”
He listened impatiently to the response.
“Make of it anything you want. That’s your job,” Carlson snapped.
Chapter 70
It had gotten chilly on the terrace and Louise suggested that they go inside to have an after-dinner drink in the library.
“Come on, let’s be lazy and decadent,” Louise said, steering Range into the closet-size elevator and pushing 3. “When I was deciding on buying this place, I wasn’t sure about the idea of having an elevator. It just wasn’t me or something. I hardly ever use it, except to bring up the groceries from the car. It’s always easier just to run up or down the stairs. But I suppose it’s a nice feature to have in a place with four levels. If I were ever disabled, I’m sure I’d be glad to have it.”
Range was listening at the same time as he was making mental note of the buttons in the elevator. G was the lower level with the family room, garage and laundry. The living room, dining room, terrace, kitchen and powder room was 1. And if 3 was the library, that left 2 as the bedroom floor.
The elevator door slid quietly open and Louise led Range into the library. Strategically aimed track lighting from the vaulted ceiling illuminated the room. The walls were painted a deep forest green. The far wall was filled with bookshelves stocked with leatherbound classics and more current fiction and nonfiction. A mahogany partners desk was positioned near the window, a computer terminal perched on top. In the corner was a recessed wet bar, brass sink shining, glass shelves gleaming with crystal cocktail glasses. In another corner, two green leather armchairs faced each other across a game table inlaid with a checkered board and decorated with jade chess pieces. An inviting-looking overstuffed sofa, covered in an oriental print, faced the bookcases. On the well-polished hardwood floor was a hand-cut Chinese rug in shades of green and pink.
Louise gestured to the couch. “Relax.”
She went over to the bar, removed two brandy snifters from the shelf and recited the cordial choices. Range begged off anything sweet, so Louise suggested a Remy Martin. “I’ll take mine on the rocks,” he added. While pouring the brandy, Louise reflected on how well the evening had been going. The chemistry was there, all right. She desired Range Bullock and all the signs were telling her that he desired her, too. Funny how it came back to you, the thrilling feeling of something new and unknown.
Louise made her way toward the couch, extending one of the snifters to Range. She caught the admiring look in his eyes as he appraised her. She wore a sleeveless white silk shell and shortish navy silk skirt that gathered and tied on the side. Heeled sandals with navy patent straps wrapped her pedicured feet, peachy nail polish glimmering on her pampered toes. She was already tanned so she wore no stockings. One thick gold bangle bracelet cuffed her right wrist and large gold hoop earrings dangled from her ears.
Range took the brandy from her and tried to get his mind off imagining what it would be like to untie the skirt.
Louise, for the moment, was more interested in continuing the discussion begun at dinner. They had been talking about KEY News, broadcast journalism and the kinds of situations Range found himself in as executive producer of a network news show. She had been getting excited as he related some of his tales. She realized that, for her, the power-as-aphrodisiac factor was at work, but she reassured herself that there was some compassion and sensitivity in his professional reactions to events. She didn’t want to overanalyze him. It had been a long time since anyone had even remotely interested her. She knew she was hungry for something and as the minutes passed she was more and more sure that Range Bullock was it.
Louise slipped off one of her sandals and tucked her foot underneath her as she took a seat beside Range.
“I didn’t want to bring it up at dinner, but how’s it going with Pete Carlson? Is it getting any easier?”
Range groaned. “I can’t stand the guy. But I’ve been doing my best to make him look good. When the Evening Headlines ratings go down, it’s bad for me, too.”
“And . . .?”
“The ratings are still down.”
“Ouch.” Louise grimaced. Trying to make him feel better, she said, “You know, I’ve been making it a point to watch the show. I think those Eliza Blake pieces have been quite good.”
Range nodded. “Yeah, Eliza’s good, all right. But she’s hit a rough patch lately. I’m worried about her. One more thing would be bad for her. Pete may be a blowhard, but at least he’s scandal-free. You know, Leo Karas was Eliza’s shrink. She’s really taking his murder hard.”
“Yes, Eliza told me at the barbecue that she’d been to Dr. Karas. In fact, I was thinking of going to talk to him myself. I wanted to see if he knew that Bill was thinking of killing himself.” Louise took a sip of her Remy and recalled, “Bill began to see Karas a short time after William was diagnosed. Bill was really thrown by it. He always said that Leo saved his life.”
“So you weren’t surprised to see his name in the will?”
“Yes and no. After all, that was thirteen years ago. I suppose Bill never forgot what the man did for him. What relationship they had, since Bill and I divorced, I don’t know.”
“What about you? How did you deal with the Fragile X diagnosis?”
“At first it was a relief to finally have an answer. For years, we hadn’t known why William was having such a hard time. He was slow to sit up, slow to crawl, slow to walk. Talking took years. He was almost six before he was trained. It was good to have an explanation for why he was struggling, why he’d flap his arms and bite his hands. We were one of the first families formally diagnosed. Over the y
ears, much more has been learned than they knew then. Fragile sites on the X chromosome. That doesn’t sound so bad, does it? But those little fragile sites can manifest in a wide range of ways, from learning disabilities to mental retardation.”
Louise took another sip of brandy and stopped to consider. “I’ve alternated over the years. At times, I’ve been a wreck and felt totally overwhelmed. At other times, I’ve thought I’ve had the whole thing under control. But most of the time, I’ve just tried to do the best I could.” She laughed vulnerably. “I suppose there are some who would say that I obsessed on it. I tried to learn everything. Many times I knew more than some of the specialists I’ve had to consult. But what else could I do? He’s my child. I didn’t choose Fragile X, it chose me. Once dealt, I had to play the cards I had, the best I could. But God, he was such a lovable little boy and he is an incredibly dear young man. Sometimes, I’ve felt gypped and other times I’ve felt particularly blessed.”
He wanted to take her right then.
“Where’s William this weekend?”
“At a friend’s.” She studied the light brown liquid, watching carefully as it reflected the soft lights of the library. “At a friend’s,” she repeated. “You know, there was a time when I worried constantly about William and what his life would be like. I wondered what his peer group would be, wondered if he’d even have friends.” Looking up from her glass, she smiled. “I needn’t have worried so much. He’s found his way. In fact, sometimes I think he has a better social life than I do.”
Range reached out and took her hand. “I’d like to do something about that.”
“I wish you would.”
He took the snifter from her hand and placed it beside his own on the end of the table. He stood, gently pulled her up from the couch and guided her to the elevator. His mouth firmly covered hers as his right hand began to untie the knot on her skirt and his left hand pushed 2.
Do You Want to Know a Secret? Page 18