McNally's Chance

by Lawrence Sanders

The clever reporter looked at me and asked, “Do you know who her father is, Mr. McNally?”

  One of the few perks of the situation made it possible for me to answer honestly in the negative.

  Determined to finish his story, Silvester was saying, “Sabrina received three calls last week. She went out at night after each one of them. I asked her where she was going, but she refused to tell me. I had no doubt that it was to meet Jill’s father.”

  “How could he know what was going on?” Gillian said.

  “Really,” I answered for Silvester. “Between Lolly’s gossip column and your snooping around the library and calling newspaper editors he would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to know.”

  “I think,” Silvester said, ‘that Sabrina tried to assure him that she would keep his secret and that she would take Jill home. Zack’s profession had also become common knowledge because Zack can’t refrain from showing people his press card. You can imagine how Mr. Anonymous felt about that.”

  “I show my card when I have to,” Ward said. If Gillian wasn’t clinging to his hand, I believe he would have hauled off and hit Silvester.

  Unperturbed, Silvester continued, “Sabrina was not a diplomat and I think the guy lost patience in their last meeting.”

  It was clear they all believed only one man was involved. Would I have to tell the police differently, naming all three? How would Gillian react to that? Silvester? Zack Ward would love it. Would the men be forced to give a blood sample? Would the doctor go on national television holding an envelope and emote, “And the winner is…”

  But now that Cranston and Appleton were in the clear did I have to name them? Couldn’t I just cut to Harry Schuyler? I didn’t know. But either choice would result in a betrayal of Sabrina’s bargain.

  “Lost patience,” Gillian ridiculed. “Lost patience and took mother’s jewelry and money? It was a common thief. We would only be helping the murderer if we force the police to look elsewhere.”

  “How would the police find your father?” Ward asked, as usual making the most sense. If we couldn’t find him, how will they?”

  “That’s not the point,” she answered. “If we confess everything to the police the media will have a field day with it and my father will think that we are accusing him. That I believe he’s guilty. He would never agree to meet with me.”

  “Which he has no intention of doing anyway, Jill.” Silvester seemed to take great pleasure in reminding his stepdaughter of her father’s reluctance to come forward. “I think that should be perfectly clear to you by now. We have to tell the police what we know.” Silvester looked at his watch. “The time has come to go down and face those reporters.”

  My steroid al hormones were telling me the time had come to beat a hasty retreat. I began to withdraw slowly, shortening the distance between my back and the door.

  “What do you suggest we tell the press, Mr. McNally?”

  “No comment,” I suggested.

  “Would you like to come to the police station with us?” Silvester invited.

  “No, thanks. I have my car.”

  “What will you tell the police?” Gillian called.

  I had reached the door and opened it before replying, “The truth.”

  “No,” she moaned. “No, no, no.”

  I went directly to an accommodation phone and dialed Al Rogoff. If he was there I vowed to have no more than one cigarette a day for the next year.

  “Palm Beach Police, Sergeant Rogoff speaking.”

  And I learned firsthand the peril of answered prayers. Al, it’s Archy.”

  Archy, where have you been? Sabrina Wright’s family is on the way here and the lieutenant wants to speak to you before he sees them.”

  “Indulge me, Al, and refresh my memory. You told me no one knew that Sabrina had been relieved of her cash and her baubles. Does no one include her husband, Robert Silvester?”

  “Yeah. We didn’t tell him nothing. He told us what she was wearing and he made a brief statement. That would be about three o’clock Sunday morning.”

  “Could he have seen the jewelry missing when he saw the body?”

  “He didn’t see it,” Al said. “The body went straight to the morgue. We knew who it was because of the car and the photo on her driver’s license, which was in her purse. The formal ID and grilling is set for today. How come you’re asking about them gems? We got a screwy call from some cheap rag up north this morning. They wanted to know if we could give them an estimate of the value of the missing jewelry. The lieutenant blew a fuse. So who leaked it?”

  “Zack Ward. Sabrina’s daughter’s boyfriend. He works for that cheap rag.”

  “So how does he know?”

  “The murderers told him, Al.”

  That got his attention. “You said ‘murderers!” Archy?”

  “That’s right. The plural of murderer.”

  “I don’t need no English lesson, pal. You on the level?”

  “Trust me with this one,” I said. “The only people other than the police and this ignoramus investigator who knew that money and jewels were missing are the people who took them. Gillian Wright knows because she told me so and Silvester didn’t seem a bit surprised by the fact. When they get to the palace, Al, separate them posthaste.”

  “You telling us how to run the show, Archy?”

  “I think Zack Ward is a patsy. But he can tell you who told him about the missing loot and I can corroborate.”

  It was to Al’s professional credit that he took my news calmly, silently digesting the facts before acting upon them. “Good,” he said,

  ‘the lieutenant will still want to see you.”

  “I’ll be there, pal.”

  Inspired by a flash of diabolical naughtiness I was unable to resist, I dialed Arnold Turnbolt. Arnold is secretary to Mrs. John Fairhurst, a PB matron on all the “A’ lists. Arnie doubles as Mrs. Fairhurst’s private ‘walker, a labor of love for which he is compensated by a tailor-made tux in which to strut about the best homes on the island.

  Arnie is also a film buff nonpareil with an impressive collection of movie memorabilia, like old movie-house showcase stills and the official wedding photo of Alice Faye and Tony Martin, whose marriage was so brief neither party seemed to remember it in later years. When the actress Debbie Reynolds visited PB to speak at the Mary Rubloff YWCA Harmony House luncheon she saw Arnie’s collection and tried to snare a few items for her movie museum. If anyone could help me, it was Arnie.

  “Fairhurst residence,” Arnie announced.

  Archy McNally here.”

  Archy, how are you? Long time no see.”

  “Busy days, Arnie.”

  “Sabrina Wright,” he said. “What a scandal. According to Lolly you were her main man. What do you know?”

  “No time now, Arnie. I’m calling to ask if you have a mock statue of Oscar.”

  “You mean the Academy Award Oscar? No, but I wish I did. When an actress, who shall be nameless, pawned hers I tried to get it out of hock, but the ghouls with deep pockets got there first. Why do you need one?”

  “I want to present it to a young lady,” I confessed. “She just gave the performance of her life, and I thought it would be a nice gesture.”

  “Is she Hollywood bound?” Arnie asked.

  “No. In fact, she’s on her way to twenty-five years to life without parole.”

  “You know the nicest people, Archy.”

  “It’s my star quality that attracts ‘em. Thanks, anyway, Arnie, and if you drop in at the Pelican tomorrow night, I’ll stand you a drink for your trouble.”

  “You got a date, Mr. McNally.”

  Twenty-Five.

  Wanting to give the police and their suspects time to get acquainted, I lunched before driving to the station house. My gourmet meal consisted of two slices of pizza topped with pepperoni and washed down with a bottle of commercial beer. This gave me time to reflect on the events of the past week and the circumstances that had shaped them. In that w
eek a life had been snuffed out and two others would pay the piper with theirs. But the real story went back thirty years. An unwanted pregnancy resulting in an overbearing mother and a virago wife. Sabrina Wright had ruled her kingdom like a tyrant and there would be those who said she got what she deserved. Not this observer. Daughter and husband were not indentured servants. They could have walked away, but refused to leave all that moola and privilege behind. Oppression was their excuse, greed their motive.

  At the end of every case you look back and rue all the stupid mistakes you made from the start. You gather information, draw conclusions, and drive merrily up the garden path, never noticing the tow line attached to your front fender.

  The television vans and the reporters, including Lolly Spindrift, had followed Sabrina’s family to the precinct. Lolly waylaid me as soon as I got out of the Miata.

  “What’s happening, Archy? And remember, you owe me big,” he hassled.

  “The police will have a statement for the press shortly and I will give you an interview when they do,” I promised. I moved past him and the others who now recognized me, thanks to Lolly’s reception.

  I entered the palace without my statuette and was immediately grateful for Arnie’s inability to provide one when I was greeted by an officer bearing the name tag “Lieutenant Oscar Eberhart.” The gods move in mysterious ways and, as mother often said of life’s disappointments,

  “Everything happens for the best.”

  2U’m going to overlook Sergeant Rogoff’s telling you what you have no business knowing because it’s saved us mucho time, trouble, and embarrassment,” Oscar said. “If he does it again, it’ll cost him his badge.”p>

  “Thank you, sir.” I tried to sound humble, which was difficult under the circumstances. I did crack the case. “Have they made a statement?”

  “The reporter, Ward, told us the husband and the girl told him about the missing jewels and cash. When we confronted them with it they clammed up. I think the girl will crack, but this Silvester won’t budge. He called some big-shot lawyer in New York and the guy is on his way here.”

  “I can corroborate Ward’s story,” I said.

  “So Rogoff tells me.” Oscar didn’t seem particularly pleased with my offer. “We’re getting a warrant to search their rooms at the hotel. If the jewels Silvester described turn up we can hold the one who’s hiding them until a judge sets ball. The reporter is innocent. He talked, never knowing that he had incriminated the pair. He can go as soon as we’ve gone over his room, but he’ll have to stay in Palm Beach until we issue a formal indictment.”

  “Can I see Silvester?”

  “Ten minutes, but only because he might open up to you. There’s a guard in the room with him. If you can get him to talk, the guard will get me.”

  It was a small room containing a table, four chairs, a uniformed policeman, and Robert Silvester. “Nice try,” I said.

  He told me what I could go do to myself, which, as we all know, is a physical impossibility.

  I sat opposite him. “How long have you and Gillian been plotting to get rid of Sabrina?”

  I was again told to do the impossible, so I answered my own question.

  The two of them must have said, “I could kill her, often enough for the empty threat to become a conspiracy. Perhaps a joke at first, devising means and opportunity, they were suddenly handed both when Sabrina made her confession to the girl. How simple. Gillian goes in search of her father who is reluctant to come out of hiding and the man must silence the only person who can finger him.

  “I’m sure it was your idea,” I said. “Gillian is the actress. You’re the writer and director. When you told me she had attended drama school I should have paid closer attention. I also should have asked you how you managed to find the girl and Zack Ward so soon after arriving in Palm Beach. Now we know the seemingly chance meeting was prearranged.

  “Zack Ward, a tabloid reporter, was a dividend sent from heaven.

  Gillian and Zack came to Palm Beach in search of daddy and up went the curtain.”

  They needed an investigator to snoop around and spread the word and Silvester remembered me. He comes after Gillian, breaks contact with Sabrina, and she comes looking for the both of them. Silvester has already told Sabrina he will elicit my help in finding Gillian, therefore Sabrina contacts me upon arrival.

  “It was you who tipped Lolly Spindrift, wasn’t it? You told him Sabrina was here looking for a man and that was the match that lit the fuse. How did you know when and where Sabrina arrived? Now it’s perfectly clear. Like a dutiful husband you called her travel agent in New York.

  “Then Gillian, with the unsuspecting Zack, starts her search with all the fanfare of a marching band. Were you surprised when Sabrina got that first call and went off to meet the man you believed to be Gillian’s father?”

  Forgetting himself, Silvester said, “I was shocked. I didn’t believe Sabrina’s story. She was a genius when it came to creating plots.”

  But not even Sabrina Wright could have created the plot she had lived.

  Now, thanks to her assassins, and a loyal Archy McNally, her story would never be told and three very lavish floral wreaths, unsigned, would see her to her rest.

  If Silvester didn’t believe Sabrina’s story of Gillian’s birth, neither did Gillian. But when the calls came they didn’t stop to wonder that Sabrina was telling the truth. They thought it convenient that their fictional patsy was real, but Gillian had no intention of waiting around to claim her birthright. She and Silvester wanted only to get away as soon as possible and leave it to the police to solve the thirty-year-old mystery.

  The first call must have taken them by surprise. They were not ready to make their move. They needed time for the gossip mill to build momentum. The second call was also a surprise, but when Sabrina went out that night they must have lacked opportunity, perhaps because they couldn’t get rid of Ward. Time was running out and just as they were beginning to put what must have been their original plan into operation, the third call came. This time luck was with them. Zack wanted to see the ball game. Lucky for him. If he hadn’t they would have gotten him out of the way if they had to drug him.

  “Sabrina left, you and Gillian got in Gillian’s rented car and followed her. It was conceivable that the meeting would not take place in a public place and you were right.”

  But where was Schuyler? If he had kept his date, Silvester and Gillian would have seen him. Did he arrive late to find Sabrina dead?

  “It was Gillian’s turn to make the anonymous call,” I finished. “And because you thought any murderer would try to make it look like a robbery, you took the jewelry and cash. That was stupid, Rob. Very stupid.”

  Breaking his silence for the second and last time, he said, “The only stupid thing I did was remember your name.” Then he turned his back on me.

  Outside I spotted Al Rogoff, but we did not communicate. Due to the delicate nature of our business we find it advantageous to keep our friendship under wraps when in public and especially on Al’s home turf.

  It was absolutely necessary for Al to tell his superior of our last conversation and Lieutenant Eberhart’s reaction, grateful though he was, exemplifies the prudence of this artifice.

  I could not see Gillian Wright as she was making a statement. I could imagine her trashing mommy, putting the gun in Silvester’s hand, and pleading guilty of being abused by the one and manipulated by the other. If she gave a jury of her peers as good a performance as she had given me this morning, and if she only aided and abetted in the act of matricide, she just might get off with a slap on the wrist. Would she write a book? I must remember to tell her to refrain from mentioning me as I don’t like to be wrote about.

  I did see Zack Ward.

  “I’m sitting on the biggest story of the century and I can’t get to a phone,” he griped.

  My, wasn’t he concerned for the fate of his sweetheart. When he held Gillian’s hand, all he was doing was hanging on to
a story. Poor, poor Gillian. Tell me,” I asked him, ‘did you believe Sabrina’s story about a former rich lover in Palm Beach?”

  He shrugged. “Yes and no. I was along for the ride. If we struck pay dirt I had the scoop. If we didn’t I could get an exclusive with Sabrina.”

  “What did you think when Sabrina got a call from Gillian’s father?”

  Ward grinned. “Was it Jill’s father? Only Rob was so certain. Truth is, I thought Sabrina was getting it on with some young dude. That was her thing, you know, young hunks.”

  “Silvester didn’t mind?”

  “Why should he? He had a few bimbos on the side.” Tabloid reporters sure do tell it like it is.

  Fearing the worst, I said, “Not Gillian, I hope.”

  “No way. Jill is in love with me,” came the modest retort.

  “And you never found Daddy Warbucks,” I said by way of an exit line.

  “But I came up with something interesting,” he divulged. “Just about thirty years ago this rich kid named Harry Schuyler gave some wild parties in his hotel suite in Fort Lauderdale during the spring-break craze. The police raided one of them for dope.

  It was all pot then, remember? All the kids were hauled in and this Schuyler’s father posted bail for the lot.

  “I’d like to check the Fort Lauderdale police blotter for an account of the raid and see if Sabrina Wright was one of the guests. Good angle for my piece and who knows where it might lead?”

  I knew exactly where it would lead because this is where I came in so I left.

  “The husband did it,” herb called as I passed him on my way to the elevator. “The daughter made a statement. She was in on it. It’s on CNN,” herb keeps a television, the size of a postage stamp, in his kiosk.

  Mrs. Trelawney was about to tell me much the same thing, but I stopped her with, “I was at the police station when the girl talked.”

  She was most impressed but for the wrong reason. “You went to the police station in a yellow raw-silk jacket? I’m surprised they didn’t arrest you.”

  “Watch your tongue, Mrs. Trelawney; the mater and pater purchased this handsome coat on their travels. Is the master in his lair?”