“Here?” It was a protest.
“You’ll see why. We won’t be long. When was the last time you saw your wife?”
“Two nights ago. I was on a run to the Coast.”
“And you arrived home at what time?”
“About an hour ago.”
“Did you speak with your wife in those two days?”
“No.”
“What was your wife’s mental state when you left?”
“I told you.”
“If you’d just tell Dr. Carroll.”
“Vangie was worried. She’d become quite apprehensive that she might miscarry.”
“Were you alarmed about that possibility?”
“She’d become quite heavy, looked like she was retaining fluid, but she had pills for that and I understand it’s quite a common condition.”
“Did you call her obstetrician to discuss this with him, to reassure yourself?”
“No.”
“All right. Captain Lewis, will you look around this room and see if you notice anything amiss. It isn’t easy, but will you study your wife’s body carefully and see if there’s anything that in some way is different. For example, that glass. Are you sure it’s the one from your bathroom?”
Chris obeyed. His face going progressively whiter, he carefully looked at every detail of his dead wife’s appearance.
Through narrowed eyes, Charley and Richard watched him.
“No,” he whispered finally. “Nothing.”
Charley’s manner became brisk. “Okay, sir. As soon as we take some pictures, we’ll remove your wife’s body for an autopsy. Can we help you get in touch with anyone?”
“I have some calls to make. Vangie’s father and mother. They’ll be heartbroken. I’ll go into the study and phone them now.”
After he’d left, Richard and Charley exchanged glances.
“He saw something we missed,” Charley said flatly.
Richard nodded. “I know.” Grimly the two men stared at the crumpled body.
♦7♦
Before she’d hung up, Katie had told Molly about the accident and suggested lunch. But Molly’s twelve-year-old Jennifer and her six-year-old twin boys were home from school recovering from flu. “Jennifer’s okay, but I don’t like to leave those boys alone long enough to empty the garbage,” Molly had said, and they’d arranged that she would pick Katie up and bring her back to her own house.
While she waited, Katie bathed quickly, managing to wash and blow-dry her hair using only her right hand. She put on a thick wool sweater and well-tailored tweed slacks. The red sweater gave some hint of color to her face, and her hair curled loosely just below her collar. As she bathed and dressed, she tried to rationalize last night’s hallucination.
Had she even been at the window? Or was that part of the dream? Maybe the shade had snapped up by itself, pulling her out of a nightmare. She closed her eyes as once more the scene floated into her consciousness. It had seemed so real: the trunk light had shone directly into the trunk on the staring eyes, the long hair, the high-arched eyebrows. For one instant it had seemed so clear. That was what frightened her: the clarity of the image. The face had been familiar even in the dream.
Would she talk to Molly about that? Of course not. Molly had been worried about her lately. “Katie, you’re too pale. You work too hard. You’re getting too quiet.” Molly had bullied her into the scheduled operation. “You can’t let that condition go on indefinitely. That hemorrhaging can be dangerous if you let it go.” And then she’d added, “Katie, you’ve got to realize you’re a young woman. You should take a real vacation, relax, go away.”
From outside, a horn blew loudly as Molly pulled up in her battered station wagon. Katie struggled into a warm beaver jacket, turning the collar up around her ears, and hurried out as fast as her swollen knees would allow. Molly pushed open the door for her and leaned over to kiss her. She eyed her critically. “You’re not exactly blooming. How badly were you hurt?”
“It could have been a lot worse.” The car smelled vaguely of peanut butter and bubble gum. It was a comforting, familiar smell, and Katie felt her spirits begin to lift. But the mood was broken instantly when Molly said, “Our block is some mess. Your people have the Lewis place blocked off, and some detective from your office is going around asking questions. He caught me just as I was leaving. I told him I was your sister and we did the number on how wonderful you are.”
Katie said, “It was probably Phil Cunningham or Charley Nugent.”
“Big guy. Beefy face. Nice.”
“Phil Cunningham. He’s a good man. What kind of questions were they asking?”
“Pretty routine. Had we noticed what time she left or got back—that kind of thing.”
“And did you?”
“When the twins are sick and cranky, I wouldn’t notice if Robert Redford moved in next door. Anyhow, we can barely see the Lewises’ house on a sunny day, never mind at night in a storm.”
They were driving over the wooden bridge just before the turn to Winding Brook Lane. Katie bit her lip. “Molly, drop me off at the Lewis house, won’t you?”
Molly turned to her, astonished. “Why?”
Katie tried to smile. “Well, I’m an assistant prosecutor, and for what it’s worth, I’m also adviser to the Chapin River Police Department. I wouldn’t normally have to go, but as long as I’m right here, I think I should.”
The hearse from the Medical Examiner’s office was just backing into the driveway of the Lewis home. Richard was in the doorway watching. He came over to the car when Molly pulled up. Quickly Molly explained: “Katie’s having lunch with me and thought she should stop by here. Why don’t you come over with her, if you can?”
He agreed and helped Katie out of the car. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “There’s something about this setup I don’t like.”
Now that she was about to see the dead woman, Katie felt her mouth go dry. She remembered the image of the face in her dream. “The husband is in the den,” Richard said.
“I’ve met him. You must have too. At Molly’s New Year’s Day party. No. You came late. They’d left before you arrived.”
Richard said, “All right. We’d better talk about it later. Here’s the room.”
She forced herself to look at the familiar face, and recognized it instantly. She shuddered and closed her eyes. Was she going crazy?
“You all right, Katie?” Richard asked sharply.
What kind of fool was she? “I’m perfectly all right,” she said, and to her own ears her voice sounded normal enough. “I’d like to talk to Captain Lewis.”
When they got to the den, the door was closed. Without knocking, Richard opened it quietly. Chris Lewis was on the phone, his back to them. His voice was low but distinct. “I know it’s incredible, but I swear to you, Joan, she didn’t know about us.”
Richard closed the door noiselessly. He and Katie stared at each other. Katie said, “I’ll tell Charley to stay here. I’m going to recommend to Scott that we launch a full investigation.” Scott Myerson was the Prosecutor.
“I’ll do the autopsy myself as soon as they bring her in,” Richard said. “The minute we’re positive it was the cyanide that killed her, we’d better start finding out where she got it. Come on; let’s make the stop at Molly’s a quick one.”
Molly’s house, like her car, was a haven of normality. Katie often stopped there for a glass of wine or dinner on her way home from work. The smell of good food cooking; the kids’ feet clattering on the stairs; the blare of the television set; the noisy young voices, shouting and battling. For her it was re-entry into the real world after a day of dealing with murderers, kidnappers, muggers, vandals, deviates, arsonists and penny-ante crooks. And dearly as she loved the Kennedys, the visit made her appreciate the serene peace of her own home. Except, of course, for the times that she would feel the emptiness of her house and try to imagine what it would be like if John were still alive and their children had starte
d to arrive.
“Katie! Dr. Carroll!” The twins came whooping up to greet them. “Did you see all the cop cars, Katie? Something happened next door!” Peter, older than his twin by ten minutes, was always the spokesman.
“Right next door!” John chimed in. Molly called them “Pete and Repeat.” “Get lost, you two,” she ordered now. “And leave us alone while we eat.”
“Where are the other kids?” Katie asked.
“Billy, Dina and Moira went back to school this morning, thank God,” Molly said. “Jennifer’s in bed. I just looked in and she’s dozed off again. Poor kid still feels lousy.”
They settled at the kitchen table. The kitchen was large and cheerfully warm. Molly produced Reubens from the oven, offered drinks, which they refused, and poured coffee. Molly had a way with food, Katie thought. Everything she fixed tasted good. But when Katie tried to eat, she found her throat was closed. She glanced at Richard. He had piled hot mustard onto the corned beef and was eating with obvious pleasure. She envied him his detachment. On one level he could enjoy a good sandwich. On the other, she was sure that he was concentrating on the Lewis case. His forehead was knitted; his thatch of brown hair looked ruffled; his blue-gray eyes were thoughtful; his rangy shoulders hunched forward as with two fingers he lightly drummed the table. She’d have bet that they were both pondering the same question: Who had been on the phone with Chris Lewis?
She remembered the only conversation she’d had with Chris. It had been at the New Year’s party, and they’d discussed hijacking. He’d been interesting, intelligent, pleasant. With his rugged good looks, he was a very appealing man. And she remembered that he and Vangie had been at opposite ends of the crowded room and he’d been unenthused when she, Katie, congratulated him on the coming baby.
“Molly, what was your impression of the Lewises—I mean their relationship to each other?” she asked.
Molly looked troubled. “Candidly, I think it was on the rocks. She was so hung up with being pregnant that whenever they were here she kept yanking the conversation back to babies, and he obviously was upset about it. And since I had a hand in the pregnancy, it was a real worry for me.”
Richard stopped drumming his fingers and straightened up. “You had what?”
“I mean, well, you know me, Katie. The day they moved in, last summer, I went rushing over and invited them to dinner. They came, and right away Vangie told me how much she hoped to have a baby and how upset she was about her best childbearing years being over because she’d turned thirty.”
Molly took a gulp of her Bloody Mary and eyed the empty glass regretfully. “I told her about Liz Berkeley. She never was able to conceive until she went to a gynecologist who’s something of a fertility expert. Liz had just given birth to a little girl and of course was ecstatic. Anyhow, I told Vangie about Dr. Highley. She went to him and a few months later conceived. But since then I’ve been sorry I didn’t keep out of it.”
“Dr. Highley” Katie looked startled.
Molly nodded. “Yes, the one who’s going to . . .”
Katie shook her head, and Molly’s voice trailed off.
♦8♦
Edna Burs liked her job. She was bookkeeper-receptionist for the two doctors who staffed and ran the Westlake Maternity Concept team. “Dr. Highley’s the big shot,” she confided to her friends. “You know, he was married to Winifred Westlake and she left him everything. He runs the whole show.”
Dr. Highley was a gynecologist/obstetrician, and as Edna explained, “It’s a riot to see the way his patients act when they finally get pregnant; so happy you’d think they invented kids. He charges them an arm and a leg, but he’s practically a miracle worker.
“On the other hand,” she’d explain, “Highley is also the right person to see if you’ve got an internal problem that you don’t want to grow. If you know what I mean,” she’d add with a wink.
Dr. Fukhito was a psychiatrist. The Westlake Maternity Concept was one of holistic medicine: that mind and body must be in harmony to achieve a successful pregnancy and that many women could not conceive because they were emotionally charged with fear and anxiety. All gynecology patients consulted Dr. Fukhito at least once, but pregnant patients were required to schedule regular visits.
Edna enjoyed telling her friends that the Westlake Concept had been dreamed up by old Dr. Westlake, who had died before he acted on it. Then, eight years ago, his daughter Winifred had married Dr. Highley, bought the River Falls Clinic when it went into bankruptcy, renamed it for her father and set up her husband there.” She and the doctor were crazy about each other,” Edna would sigh.” I mean she was ten years older than he and nothing to look at, but they were real lovers. He’d have me send her flowers a couple of times a week, and busy as he is, he’d go shopping with her for her clothes. Let me tell you, it was some shock when she died. No one ever knew her heart was that bad.
“But,” she’d add philosophically, “he keeps busy. I’ve seen women who never were able to conceive become pregnant two and three times. Of course, a lot of them don’t carry the babies to term, but at least they know there’s a chance. And you should see the kind of care they get. I’ve seen Dr. Highley bring women in and put them to bed in the hospital for two months before a birth. Costs a fortune, of course, but buh-lieve me, when you want a baby and can afford it, you’ll pay anything to get one. But you can read about it yourself, pretty soon,” she’d add. “Newsmaker magazine just did an article about him and about the Westlake Maternity Concept. It’s coming out Thursday. They came last week and photographed him in his office standing next to the pictures of all those babies he’s delivered. Real nice. And if you think we’re busy now, wait till that comes out. The phone’ll never be on the hook.”
Edna was a born bookkeeper. Her records were marvels of accuracy. She loved receipts and took a sensual pride in making frequent and healthy bank deposits in her employer’s account. A neat but prominent sign on her desk let it be known that all payments must be made in cash; no monthly bills would be rendered; retainer fees and payment schedules would be explained by Miss Burns.
Edna had been told by Dr. Highley that unless specifically instructed otherwise, she was to be sure to make follow-up appointments with people as they left; that if for any reason a patient did not keep the next appointment, Edna should phone that patient at home and firmly make a new one. It was a sound arrangement and, as Edna gleefully noted, a financial bonanza.
Dr. Highley always complimented Edna on the excellent records she maintained and her ability to keep the appointments book full. The only time Dr. Highley really gave her the rough side of his tongue was when she was overheard talking to one patient about another’s problems. She had to admit that had been foolish, but she’d allowed herself a couple of Manhattans for lunch that day and that had lowered her guard.
The doctor had finished up his lecture by saying, “Any more talking and you’re through.”
She knew he meant it.
Edna sighed. She was tired. Last night both doctors had had evening hours, and it had been hectic. Then she’d worked on the books for a while. She couldn’t wait to go home this evening, and wild horses wouldn’t drag her out again. She’d put on a robe and mix herself a nice batch of Manhattans. She had a canned ham in the refrigerator, so she’d make that do for supper and watch television.
It was nearly two o’clock. Three more hours and she could clear out. While it was quiet she had to check yesterday’s calendar to make sure she’d made all the necessary future appointments. Frowning nearsightedly, she leaned her broad, freckled face on a thick hand. Her hair felt messy today. She hadn’t had time to set it last night. She’d been kind of tired after she had a few drinks.
She was an overweight woman of forty-four who looked ten years older. Her unleavened youth had been spent taking care of aging parents. When Edna saw pictures of herself from Drake Secretarial School she was vaguely surprised at the pretty girl she’d been a quarter of a century ago. Always a mi
te too heavy, but pretty nevertheless.
Her mind was only half on the page she was reading, but then something triggered her full attention. She paused. The eight-o’clock appointment last night for Vangie Lewis.
Last night Vangie had come in early and sat talking with Edna. She was sure upset. Well, Vangie was kind of a complainer, but so pretty Edna enjoyed just looking at her. Vangie had put on a lot of weight during the pregnancy and, to Edna’s practiced eye, was retaining a lot of fluid. Edna prayed that Vangie would deliver that baby safely. She wanted it so much.
So she didn’t blame Vangie for being moody. She really wasn’t well. Last month Vangie had started wearing those moccasins because her other shoes didn’t fit anymore. She’d shown them to Edna. “Look at this. My right foot is so bad, I can only wear these clodhoppers my cleaning woman left behind. The other one is always falling off.”
Edna had tried to kid her. “Well, with those glass slippers I’ll just have to start calling you Cinderella. And we’ll call your husband Prince Charming.” She knew Vangie was nuts about her husband.
But Vangie had just pouted and said impatiently, “Oh, Edna, Prince Charming was Sleeping Beauty’s boyfriend, not Cinderella’s. Everybody knows that.”
Edna had just laughed. “Mama must have been mixed up. When she told me about Cinderella she said Prince Charming came around with the glass slipper. But never mind—before you know it, you’ll have your baby and be back in pretty shoes again.”
Last night Vangie had pulled up that long caftan she’d started wearing to hide her swollen leg. “Edna,” she’d said, “I can hardly even get this clodhopper on. And for what? God Almighty, for what” She’d been almost crying.
“Oh, you’re just getting down in the dumps, honey,” Edna had said. “It’s a good thing you came in to talk to Dr. Fukhito. He’ll relax you.”
Just then Dr. Fukhito had buzzed and said to send Mrs. Lewis in. Vangie started down the corridor to his office. Just as she left the reception area, she stumbled. She’d walked right out of that loose left shoe.
The Cradle Will Fall Page 4