As she worked diligently, her thoughts turned to her new job. She wanted so to make a success of it. Range had told her today that she would be traveling with the news staff to the conventions this summer. She was thrilled. She wanted to do a good job, wanted everyone to see her value. She planned to study up before the trips.
Pete Carlson would be anchoring at the conventions this year. She hoped he flopped. Failed miserably. Carlson had nerve, thinking he could replace Bill.
It still bothered her having to leave Bill’s personal files on the computer in what was now Pete Carlson’s office. What if that slug ever accessed them?
That’s impossible, Jean consoled herself. If she couldn’t figure out Bill’s password, then Carlson couldn’t either.
As she scrubbed away, Bill’s bracelet smashed against the tile wall, breaking apart. She knelt down to pick up the pieces, tears welling up in her eyes.
Bill’s gift. Ivory.
“ ‘An elephant never forgets.’
“Elephant!”
Chapter 88
Mack was waiting for Eliza when she arrived at the KEY to America studio at 5:00 A.M. As she approached him, her face lit up in a smile and she felt her heart beat faster.
“What in the world are you doing here so early? Never mind. I’ve missed you.” She wanted to kiss him but, mindful of where they were, she held back. Her initial reaction of happy anticipation was quickly replaced by a sense of foreboding when she saw the strange expression on Mack’s face.
“Let’s go up to your office.”
“What? What is it? Just tell me now.”
“Trust me.”
He took her arm and guided her out of the newsroom and down the hall to the elevator. Once inside her office, he closed the door and indicated she should take a seat.
“Okay, now. What is it?” she demanded.
“Here.”
He pulled a rolled-up copy of the newest issue of The Mole from his jacket pocket. Eliza felt her pulse race as she read the headline:
ELIZA BLAKE: THE TIE THAT BINDS DEAD ANCHOR AND MURDERED DOCTOR!
As Eliza scanned the innuendo-filled story, Mack said, “You’ve got to confront this head on.”
Chapter 89
The last few minutes of every KEY to America were usually devoted to off-the-cuff banter between Eliza and Harry. But today, everyone was talking about Eliza’s soliloquy on this morning’s broadcast.
Yelena re-cued the videotape to watch it again. Eliza, in a honey-colored jacket, looked resolutely into the camera, her blue eyes clear.
“In closing this morning, I want to talk to you about something very personal. It’s about a time of my life, a very painful time, a time that I’d always thought I could keep to myself.
“Unfortunately, now, due to recent published reports, erroneous reports, I feel I must set the record straight.”
The camera pulled tighter on Eliza’s solemn face.
“Four years ago, after the death of my husband and the birth of my daughter, I went through a very difficult time. Simply put, I collapsed emotionally. At that time, Bill Kendall, our former anchorman and my dear friend, was very supportive, going as far as recommending a good therapist, Dr. Leo Karas.
“It’s been reported that I was hospitalized. And that is true. I spent almost a month at a hospital in New Jersey recuperating and I continued therapy with Dr. Karas after my clinic stay. Fortunately for me and my child, I was able, with wonderful care, to get through that hard time. I am very grateful for that.”
Yelena watched as Eliza stared determinedly from the screen.
“It’s also been reported, however, that I had a drug problem. That is not true. I have never used cocaine or any other illegal drug in my life. I hasten to add, though, that people who are addicted to drugs need to be helped, not attacked.
“Within the past two months, we’ve lost Bill Kendall to suicide and Dr. Karas has been murdered. I, as much as and perhaps more than anyone else would like to know what, if any, connection there is between these two tragic deaths.”
Here, Eliza was adamant.
“But to suggest, as has been done in print, that I may have had something to do with these events, is libelous, malicious and outrageous. Both of these men were very dear to me, and important in my life.”
Yelena stopped the videotape. The KEY News switchboard had been inundated with calls, and faxes had been coming in all day. The overwhelming majority of viewers were supporting Eliza.
The news president was relieved, but not just because it was good for KEY News.
Chapter 90
Jean sat in the back of a yellow cab riding up Tenth Avenue, eager to get to Eliza’s Upper West Side apartment.
It hadn’t been too difficult to get to the computer. She still had her key to Pete’s office—no, she corrected herself—Bill’s office. She waited until everyone had cleared out after Friday’s show. She’d simply let herself into the office, sat behind the desk and typed in the eight letters.
E-L-E-P-H-A-N-T. Magic.
Bill’s Remember directory opened. The first file in the alphabetical list was ‘ETHICS.PC.’ Jean had almost bypassed this file, thinking PC stood for “politically correct.” When she double-clicked on it, the file opened and she discovered that the letters stood, instead, for Pete Carlson.
The cab pulled up in front of Eliza’s building. The doorman announced her and Jean was let into the apartment by Mrs. Twomey. Janie was at the housekeeper’s side.
“Mommy is getting ready for a big party,” she announced proudly.
Eliza came down the hall, wearing a bathrobe, her hair wrapped in a towel, looking worried.
“Jean, is everything okay?” Jean had never come to the apartment before.
“Eliza, you have to help. I have to tell you what I found on Bill’s computer. Pete Carlson!” Jean was out of breath.
Eliza took her arm. “Here, Jean, sit down. Calm your-self. Now, what’s the matter?”
“It’s Pete Carlson.”
“Mrs. Twomey, would you please take Janie into the kitchen and get her some ice cream for dessert?” Eliza didn’t want Janie in on this.
“Now, start again, Jean.”
Bill’s secretary tried to collect herself. “Okay. You know how Bill was planning on writing a book?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he kept notes on his computer for it. Notes that were password-protected, I couldn’t access them after he died, couldn’t erase them from the computer, the computer that is now in Carlson’s office.”
“Goon.”
“Well, I figured out the password.”
Down the hall, Eliza could see Mrs. Twomey in the kitchen. Beyond the housekeeper, she saw Janie globbing Hershey’s syrup on her vanilla ice cream. So normal a scene in what had become such a complicated life.
She forced herself to ask, “What did you find?”
“Something about Pete Carlson and the Wingard campaign. Oh, God, it’s all in the computer. I didn’t want to make a hard copy of the files. But you can come and see the notes yourself.”
Eliza glanced at her watch. In twenty minutes, Mack would be picking her up to drive out to the New Visions dinner. She had to give the speech tonight. She’d promised. First, the lies in The Mole yesterday, then her defense before a national audience, now this.
“Look, let’s take this one step at a time. Tomorrow, I have a shoot all day. Why don’t you make a copy of the notes and bring them over here on Sunday. We’ll go over them and decide what to do next.”
Calmer now, Jean nodded. “I’ll make copies of everything. There’s more in there I didn’t even get to read . . . something about a judge, and a file named JOY.ALL. Maybe I should call Yelena.”
Eliza wanted to go to Bill’s old office right then. But another day wouldn’t matter.
Chapter 91
Many heads turned to stare as Eliza Blake entered the crowded Marriott ballroom. She stood in the doorway, erect and elegant in a form-fitting wh
ite strapless gown. Her hair was swept up in a French twist which showed to advantage her long, graceful neck and the twinkling diamond studs decorating her earlobes. She wore no other jewelry.
“So this is how it feels to make an entrance with a star,” Mack whispered in her ear.
Eliza smiled up at him in reply.
“You’re beaming,” he said.
“Mack, I actually feel glamorous tonight. I haven’t felt glamorous in a very long time.”
“I’m glad I’m here to see it.”
She took his hand. “You’ve certainly made your contribution to making me feel this way.”
He wanted to kiss her, long and hard. But that would have to wait. Later, after an evening of anticipation.
“Eliza. Mack.” Louise Kendall, smashing in a tuxedo-style suit with a very high slit in its long, black skirt, came to their side. “Eliza! You look wonderful. Thank you again, so much, for coming tonight. We’re sold out! Everyone wants to see and hear you!”
Louise steered them to one of the fifty round tables that dotted the festive room. Five hundred well-turned-out people had paid five hundred dollars a ticket to support New Visions for Living and its goal to open yet another group home for the developmentally disabled. The theme this year was “Black and White” and the ballroom was decked out accordingly. Black and white helium-filled balloons covered the ceiling, white dinner plates lay on top of black porcelain chargers, and flower arrangements of white blooms dominated each table. In a corner of the room, a white BMW coupe with a black convertible top preened seductively. Some lucky raffle winner was going to drive home in style tonight.
“I hope you won’t mind, but I’ve seated you next to William.”
“Fine. I’d especially like to get to know William a little better.”
Louise smiled gratefully. “Well, don’t let him chew your ear off.”
What a gentle soul the young man was! He cast his eyes down bashfully as Eliza extended her hand to him, but he managed to shake it firmly. Eliza complimented him on how handsome he looked dressed in his dinner jacket.
“You look pretty, too,” William said, blushing.
Eliza gently tried to draw him out and they talked for a while about his group home and his computer. “My dad and I worked on the computer,” he said quietly. “I miss my dad.”
“I miss your dad, too, William. Many people do.”
“They do? I thought I was the only one.”
Eliza felt the sting of tears. The poor kid. Bill was central to William’s life, as John had been central to hers. Just a few weeks after his father’s death, William must be hurting terribly.
She felt the faint stirrings of a headache.
Now, Louise was standing next to her chair.
“Eliza, have you met Father Alexander Fisco?”
“I remember you, Father. From Bill’s funeral. It was a beautiful Mass.”
The priest smiled, almost shyly, Eliza thought. “Thank you.”
Louise was going on. “We’re blessed to have Father Alec here tonight to give the invocation before dinner.”
Eliza made a mental note to talk to the priest before the evening was over. Father Alec took the seat on the other side of William.
People kept coming over to the table, wanting to be introduced to the anchorwoman. Louise did so enthusiastically. Satisfied diners this year would mean guaranteed ticket sales next year. Louise stood again, now accompanied by a slick-looking man in a tuxedo. Eliza finished swallowing her Fiorinal.
“Eliza, I’d like you to meet Judge Dennis Quinn. Dennis and Bill worked on fund-raising for New Visions years ago. After a hiatus, Dennis is back working with us again, and we couldn’t be more pleased.”
Eliza rose to shake the man’s hand, but she was interrupted by her young dinner partner.
“The man with the funny red hair.” William was staring at the judge with a dark scowl on his face.
Eliza looked back at the judge. His hair was jet black, streaked with a few grays.
William looked down at his plate and began speaking to himself. “Well, you’re gonna give it back every bit, how can I do that, we’ll figure out a way, well you’re gonna give it back every bit, how can I do that, we’ll figure out . . .”
No one moved. Louise tried to quiet the young man, placing his spoon in his hand, telling him, “It’s okay, William.”
Louise looked up apologetically.
Judge Quinn shrugged and smiled uneasily. “Poor kid,” he said.
William went back to eating his fruit cup. Father Alec stared at the judge.
Chapter 92
How could late June be so hot? It must be that global warming thing.
A blast of scorching air shot through the window at the toll plaza. The black Lincoln Continental pulled off the New Jersey Turnpike at 15W and headed for Route 280, the highway that led to Newark and points west.
The advance call this morning had been a good idea. The priest had not asked for identification. When asked about the possibility of confession, Father Alec had answered that the sacrament of reconciliation was celebrated in the cathedral every Saturday at 11:30. After learning that anonymity was essential, the priest had been very reassuring: it was unlikely that many people would be coming to confession on a sweltering Saturday morning.
“Father, I’d rather even you didn’t see me.”
“Fine.” The priest had not missed a beat. “I could wait for you in the confessional at the fourth station of the cross, at the right rear of the cathedral at 11:30. I won’t be able to see you from inside the box. And once you get inside, you’ll be able to see my outline through the screen, but I won’t be able to see you.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Maybe he was telling the truth, maybe he wasn’t. But the chance had to be taken. It was important to know if Father Alec was going to present a problem. A problem that would have to be dealt with.
Route 280 was a real garden path. Industrialized Newark was the garden. Driving this way every day would be really depressing. Fortunately, there was no need for that. Today would be a one-shot deal. Unless, of course, it was necessary to take care of the priest.
Getting off at Exit 14, the Lincoln turned right onto Clifton Avenue. Immediately after Branch Brook Park, the granite cathedral loomed. Heat waves rippled over the brick courtyard of Pope John Paul II Plaza, as the car passed slowly in front of the cathedral and then took a turn to the right onto the street that separated the church from the public high school. The rectory was attached to the rear of the cathedral.
Father Alec had explained that it would be necessary to enter the cathedral through the side door of the rectory. The beautiful, massive front doors of the cathedral were only open on Sunday and for major services. At all other times, anyone entering had to pass through the rectory lobby. A chance to be seen, but a chance that had to be taken.
The car clock read 10:45. Okay, find a place to park. The Lincoln continued down the street and pulled into a spot at the corner. It would be easy to pull out from here.
There was no one to pass on the short, hot walk back down the street to the rectory entrance. Inside the welcoming coolness, the teenager at the office window barely looked up. The youngster’s demeanor suggested that his policy was to answer, not ask, questions. Lucky.
A black and white sign indicated that the cathedral was to the right, down a long hallway flanked with stained glass depictions of rather dour-looking saints. Entering at the side of the main altar and looking around carefully, Dennis saw that the priest had been right. The cathedral appeared to be empty. There were no Catholics hanging out in church on this unusually hot Saturday in June.
The best thing to do would be to act like a tourist and slowly make the path around the interior walls of the building until the fourth station was located. A pious pilgrim would have walked across the width of the nave to begin the Way of the Cross on the eastern wall. Here, at the western end of the transept, wa
s where the Savior’s sorrows ended.
Walking down the west aisle, the impious could begin at the fourteenth station, which was a multicolored mosaic of the lifeless body of the Christ being lowered into the tomb.
Ah, the last shall be first.
The next station was Jesus coming down from the cross, followed by Jesus expiring on the cross, Jesus being nailed to the cross, Jesus being stripped of his garments, Jesus falling a third time and, then, Jesus consoling the holy women of Jerusalem.
The vestibule was a welcome break from Jesus’ travails. It might also be a good place to hide and wait. Up the east aisle of the nave, to the fourth station, “Jesus Meets His Afflicted Mother.” The oaken confessional box was right beside it. No need to go farther. Find a place to hide where the confessional was visible.
11:00 A.M.
The vestibule provided as good a spot as any. No one would look askance at someone admiring the carvings there or reading a pamphlet on the cathedral basilica. A quick look down a short hallway off the vestibule provided a bonus. A small area with double doors. The slit between the doors provided a perfect view of the fourth station. It was very unlikely that anyone would come upon this spot. It was a good place to sit and watch.
Time passed. A small pleasant-looking, white-haired man with a large key ring attached to the belt loop of his workpants entered the nave and began making his way along the eastern wall of the church, methodically shining the marble floor with his large, electric floor polisher. At the same time, Father Alec, dressed in a black clergy shirt, crossed the church and stopped to genuflect in front of the main altar. He quickly caught up to the older man.
“Buon giorno, Vittorio.”
“Buon giorno, Padre. How are you today?” Vittorio asked with a thick accent.
Do You Want to Know a Secret? Page 22