Dying for Mercy with Bonus Material (17 page)

T
he successful Middle East peace talks and the president’s arrival back in Washington led the news on
KEY to America.
Wildfires in California ran second. The story Annabelle and B.J. had produced was third to air.

Eliza had recorded the narration, a script written by Annabelle, the moment she arrived at the Broadcast Center. B.J. had edited the video to it in just over a half hour.

In the control room, Linus kept one eye on the monitors tuned to ABC, CBS, NBC, Fox, and CNN.

“Good!” he shouted, pumping his fist in the air. “We’re the only ones who got an interview with the dead guy’s secretary!”

Though neither Annabelle nor B.J. was in the control room at the time, word of the executive producer’s pleasure got back to them.

“For once I can go home for the weekend and not be agonizing over the fact that Linus hates me,” said Annabelle as she and B.J. had bagels and coffee in his edit room.

“He doesn’t hate you, not really. But even if he did, it doesn’t matter to him if he hates you. He hates pretty much everybody. As long as you produce pieces that beat the competition, Linus will never get rid of you,” said B.J. He took a bite out of his bagel and sat back in his chair.

Annabelle slowly shook her head and sighed deeply. “He’s a freakin’ nutcase,” she said.

“The devil you know,” said B.J. “If the ratings tank, they could bring in somebody else who’s even worse. Linus may be a maniac, but he’s our maniac.”

After the show was over, Annabelle stopped by Eliza’s office.

“Nice piece,” Eliza complimented her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” said Annabelle. “I bet you’re counting the minutes till you can get out of here today. What time does Mack’s plane get in?”

Eliza looked at her watch. “He should be landing at eleven. Then he’s coming in here for a meeting with Range Bullock. After Mack is finished in the president’s office, we’re leaving for Tuxedo Park.”

“Well, have a great time,” said Annabelle, smiling. “I know you will. And hopefully, if you two can tear yourselves apart at some point, you can track down that Bill O’Shaughnessy and find out what the story is with his brother.”

“Will do, boss,” said Eliza, exaggerating a salute.

F
inished with morning prayer, Father Gehry closed his breviary. He was fully aware that Zack Underwood had been murdered. He had several suspects in mind for the horrendous crime, yet, though he ached to, he would never go to the police with his suspicions.

He leaned back in his chair, feeling the warm leather against his head, and he began to pray silently.
Dear Lord, give me peace of mind. I know I can’t break the seal of confession, but so many people might get hurt if I remain silent. Find some other way, Lord, to keep everyone safe.

Innis Wheelock had confessed everything before he killed himself. Father Gehry knew what had happened twenty years before—things that had haunted Innis all that time, especially after his years in Italy. His devotion to St. Francis had gotten Innis to obey his conscience. It had also taken him too far. Religion had pushed Innis over the edge.

Innis wasn’t the only one who had something terrible to confess. But Father Gehry could never—would never—tell another living soul who else had been involved in the murder of Marty O’Shaughnessy and the cover-up that followed.

K
nowing that he’d already blown off his nine o’clock class, Russell turned over in bed and decided he wasn’t going to his eleven o’clock either. It would be a waste of time. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate. He was emotionally and physically spent.

He lay there for a while but couldn’t drift back to sleep. He wasn’t happy with the way things had gone last night. But it was probably all for the best.

Eventually Russell got up to go to the bathroom, where he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the sink. There were two long, angry scratches cutting across his cheek. The girl had been capable of putting up a fight. She was much stronger than she looked.

He wondered if she had reported anything to the police, but Russell wasn’t particularly concerned. It was a big city, and the cops had too much to do. No rape had occurred, not even a mugging, and it wouldn’t get a lot of attention. Russell doubted very much that anything he’d said or done last night would lead the police to his door. He was smart enough to know how not to get caught.

D
oubting that Aurelia Patterson was going to call and volunteer the information about what was missing from Zack Underwood’s office, Annabelle decided to take the initiative. The woman answered on the second ring.

“Oh,” said Aurelia when Annabelle identified herself. “I was hoping it would be the police with some news.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” said Annabelle. “I know how anxious you must be.”

“I didn’t sleep at all last night,” said Aurelia. “I just kept thinking about poor Zack and the way he looked when I found him.” Her voice trembled. “I know I’ll never be able to forget how he looked.”

“It’s a terrible, terrible thing,” Annabelle said. “Is there anyone you can talk to about it?”

“You mean a shrink?” asked Aurelia.

“Yes,” said Annabelle. “Some professional help might be a very good thing for you. You’ve been through a profound trauma.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Aurelia said uncertainly. “I got through my divorce without a therapist, but I don’t know if I can get through this.”

“Well, if you decide you want to talk, I have a friend who could probably refer you to someone good up near you.”

“Thank you,” said Aurelia. “You’re very kind.”

“Not at all,” said Annabelle.

She wished she could claim that she’d been calling to see how Aurelia Patterson was doing, but the fact was, her action was more professionally motivated. She had to get to the reason for the call.

“Aurelia, were you able to figure out what was missing from the office?”

Annabelle sensed that the woman was hesitant to answer.

“Did the police tell you not to say anything about the case?” Annabelle asked.

“Yes,” said Aurelia.

“I can respect that,” said Annabelle. “But maybe you can confirm something we already have reason to suspect.”

Aurelia waited.

“You see, we think that Zack’s murder is connected in some way with Innis Wheelock’s suicide,” said Annabelle. “We also think that Innis orchestrated some sort of puzzle that he built right into his house. Innis would have needed some help to do that. And it makes sense that he would have enlisted his architect, even if the architect didn’t understand what he was helping with. What do you think of that scenario?”

“Go on,” said Aurelia.

“We know that Zack signed a confidentiality agreement,” Annabelle continued. “But, as I understand it, with Innis’s death, the agreement could be considered null and void. Suppose Zack was killed because his murderer thought he knew too much about the puzzle and that Zack would talk about the clues that he’d built into the house.”

“And the murderer was worried the clues would ultimately lead back to him?” asked Aurelia.

“Exactly,” said Annabelle. “So he would want to get rid of Zack and get rid of any evidence of the clues incorporated in Pentimento.”

“Like design plans and pictures that were taken of the finished project?” asked Aurelia.

“Yes,” said Annabelle. “Is that what was taken from Zack’s office? Just tell me if I’m wrong.”

Aurelia’s silence was her answer.

“Here, Midnight. Come here, boy.”

The border collie came right over to Aurelia. She petted the dog’s soft coat and then bent down to hug him for her own comfort. She could feel her pulse racing.

If Zack was murdered because he knew too much about Pentimento, then she was in danger, too.

Aurelia hadn’t thought to tell the police that she had copies of all the pictures taken at Pentimento and arranged in the turquoise album. In fact, she’d been the one who had taken the photos. They were all stored on her computer.

M
ack appeared at the doorway, holding his index finger up to his lips.

“Is she in there?” he whispered.

Paige smiled broadly and mouthed, “Yes.”

Quietly Mack walked to the open office door. Eliza had her back to him. She was looking out the window at the Hudson River.

“Hey, you,” he said.

She turned quickly, her face lighting up with pleasure.

“Mack.”

He dropped his bag on the floor, and they moved toward each other. While they embraced, Paige discreetly shut the office door.

“Oh, I’ve missed you,” he said, closing his eyes and holding her tight.

“Me, too,” said Eliza. She pulled her head back and regarded his face. “You look great, but a little tired,” she said.

“You look great period,” he responded. He leaned down, and his mouth found hers.

“What time is your meeting with the prez?” asked Eliza as she stood before the mirror on the back of the door and reapplied her lipstick.

“Range canceled on me,” said Mack. “His secretary said he had some sort of family situation he had to take care of, but I think he might be avoiding me.”

“Range Bullock is a pretty straight shooter,” said Eliza, pulling a comb through her hair. “If he didn’t want to see you, he wouldn’t have made the appointment to begin with.”

“I’m getting the feeling that he has something to tell me and he knows I won’t like it,” said Mack.

“Like what?”

“Like despite the fact he’s been leading me to believe that when I finish this contract cycle I can come back to New York, he’s not going to make good.”

“I don’t think he would do that,” said Eliza.

“Well, you know him better than I do, and I hope you’re right, but I’m getting a bad vibe.” Mack shook it off. “Forget it. Let’s not think about that for the next few days. Let’s not let it ruin our time together.”

“Deal,” said Eliza as she leaned in to kiss him again.

As they left the office and walked down the hallway, they met Annabelle getting off the elevator.

“I know you guys are anxious to get out of here,” she said. “But I just want to tell you, Eliza, that Zack Underwood’s secretary found that the plans and photographs of Pentimento were missing from the office.”

“She told you that?” asked Eliza.

“Not in so many words, but trust me—that’s what she was saying.”

Eliza considered the information and its implications. “All right, let me see what else I can come up with this weekend,” she said.

“What’s this all about?” asked Mack.

“I’ll tell you on the ride up to Tuxedo Park,” Eliza promised.

They said good-bye to Annabelle, and Mack pushed the button to summon the elevator. Annabelle got only a few steps away when she turned.

“I know the last thing in the world you need is to see anyone else this weekend, Eliza, but if it turns out you need some help up there, don’t hesitate to call.”

F
itzroy had been very quiet all morning, and Unity was concerned. After lunch, when he said he wanted to go for another long walk to clear his mind, Unity became genuinely worried.

Because of his limp, taking long walks had never been her husband’s habit. And now, as she listened to news reports and read the paper, it occurred to her that Fitzroy had been gone during the time that Zack Underwood was murdered.

T
he carriage house on Clubhouse Road was one of several that had been converted since the days when horses and their grooms awaited their masters’ pleasure, providing them with transportation and sport. At one time forty miles of bridle paths wound through the park and the Tuxedo Horse Show had been a world-class event. Over the years, cars and SUVs had replaced carriages and horse-drawn sleighs. Human beings now lived in the stables.

When they entered the front door, Eliza immediately remembered why she’d rented the place. The combination living and dining room was crowned with rough-hewn beams crisscrossing a vaulted ceiling. The floor was wide-plank antique oak partially covered with sisal rugs. Big, comfortable chairs flanked the fireplace, and an inviting sofa slipcovered in white duck cloth was positioned under the window. A round table surrounded by four ladder-back chairs filled the dining area. Sunshine streamed into the room, warming the pale taupe walls. In the kitchen, open shelves were stocked with glassware and white crockery. All the appliances were modern and of high quality.

Eliza opened the Sub-Zero refrigerator.

“Great,” she said as she inspected the contents. “Mrs. Garcia has already been here.”

Mack poked his head around the refrigerator door. “I’m hoping she made that chicken I love,” he said.

“She did,” said Eliza. “Want me to heat some up?”

“Later,” said Mack as he leaned in to kiss her.

She led the way upstairs to the larger of two bedrooms. On the queen-size bed, the soft white sheets were turned down, a subtle contrast to the sand-colored comforter and matching linen that covered the headboard. A vase full of fresh flowers sat on the bedside table along with several pillar candles resting on a glass tray.

“Wait till you see the bathroom,” said Eliza, taking Mack’s hand.

A very deep freestanding bathtub was the focal point of the room. The tub overlooked a walled garden.

“I can’t wait to fill that with bath salts and soak in water up to my chin,” said Eliza.

Mack inspected the depth and width of the tub. “Good,” he said. “There’s room enough for the both of us.”