I'll Be Seeing You (35 page)

Meghan returned the receiver to its cradle, but held onto it for several minutes. Then she dialed Phillip. “Confirmation.” Quickly she explained what Frances Grolier had just told her.

“Meg, you're a whiz,” Phillip told her.

“Phillip, there's the bell. It must be Kyle. Mac is dropping him off. I asked him to bring something over for me.”

“Go ahead. And Meg, don't talk about this until we get a complete picture to present to Dwyer's office.”

“I won't. Our assistant state attorney and his people don't trust me anyhow. I'll talk to you.”

*   *    *

Kyle came in smiling broadly.

Meghan bent down to kiss him.

“Never do that in front of my friends,” he warned.

“Why not?”

“Jimmy's mother waits at the road and kisses him when he gets off the bus. Isn't that disgusting?”

“Why did you let me kiss you?”

“It's okay in private. Nobody saw us. You were kissing Dad last night.”

“He kissed me.”

“Did you like it?”

Meg considered. “Let's just say that it wasn't disgusting. Want some cookies and milk?”

“Yes, please. I brought the tape for you to watch. Why do you want to see it again?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Okay. Dad said he'll be about an hour. He had to pick up some stuff at the store.”

Meghan brought the plate of cookies and the glasses of milk into the den. Kyle sat on the floor at her feet; using the remote control, he once again started the tape of the Franklin Center interview. Meg's heart started to pound. She asked herself, What is it I saw in this tape?

In the last scene in Dr. Williams' office, when the camera panned over the pictures of the children born through in vitro fertilization, she found what she was looking for. She grabbed the remote from Kyle and snapped the Pause button.

“Meg, it's almost over,” Kyle protested.

Meg stared at the picture of the little boy and girl with identical sweaters. She had seen the same picture on the wall of Helene Petrovic's sitting room in Lawrenceville. “It
is
over, Kyle. I know the reason.”

The phone rang. “I'll be right back,” she told him.

“I'll rewind. I know how.”

It was Phillip Carter. “Meg, are you alone?” he asked quickly.

“Phillip! I just found confirmation that Helene Petrovic
knew Dr. Williams. I think I know what she was doing at the Manning Clinic.”

It was as though he hadn't heard her. “Are you alone?” he repeated.

“Kyle is in the den.”

“Can you drop him off at his house?” His voice was low, agitated.

“Mac's out. I can leave him at the inn. Mother's there. Phillip, what is it?”

Now Carter sounded unbelieving, near hysteria. “I just heard from Edwin! He wants to see both of us. He's trying to decide if he should turn himself in. Meg, he's desperate. Don't let anyone know about this until we have a chance to see him.”

“Dad? Phoned you?” Meg gasped. Stunned, she grasped the corner of the desk for support. In a voice so shocked it was barely a whisper, she demanded, “Where is he? I've got to go to him.”

W
hen Bernie's mother regained consciousness, she tried to shout for help, but she knew none of the neighbors could hear her. She'd never make it up the stairs. She'd have to drag herself into Bernard's TV area where there was a phone. It was all his fault for not keeping the place clean. Her ankle hurt so much. The pains were shooting up her leg. She opened her mouth and took big gulps of air. It was agony to drag herself along the dirty, rough concrete floor.

Finally she made her way into the alcove her son had fashioned for himself. Even with all the pain she was in,
Mama's eyes widened in amazed fury. That big television! Those radios! Those machines! What was Bernard doing, throwing away money on all these things?

The phone was on the old kitchen table that he'd carried in when one of their neighbors put it at the curb. She couldn't reach it, so she pulled it down by the cord. It clattered on the floor.

Hoping she hadn't broken it, Bernie's mother dialed 911. At the welcome sound of a dispatcher's voice, she said, “Send an ambulance.”

She was able to give her name and address and tell what had happened before she fainted again.

“Kyle,” Meg said hurriedly, “I'm going to have to leave you at the inn. I'll put a note on the door for your dad. Just tell my mother that something came up, that I had to leave right away. You stay with her. No going outside, okay?”

“Why are you so worried, Meg?”

“I'm not. It's a big story. I have to cover it.”

“Oh, that's great.”

At the inn, Meg watched until Kyle had reached the front door. He waved and she waved back, forcing a smile. Then she put her foot on the accelerator.

She was meeting Phillip at a crossroads in West Redding, about twenty miles from Newtown. “You can follow me from there,” he had hurriedly told her. “It's not far after that, but it would be impossible for you to find it alone.”

Meg did not know what to think. Her mind was a jumble of confused thoughts and confused emotions. Her mouth was so dry. Her throat simply would not swallow.
Dad was alive and he was desperate!
Why? Surely no because he was Helene Petrovic's murderer. Please, dear God, anything but that.

When Meg found the intersection of the narrow country roads, Phillip's black Cadillac was waiting. It was easy to spot him. There was no other car in sight.

He did not take the time to speak to her but held up his hand and motioned for her to follow him. Half a mile later he turned sharply onto a narrow hard-packed dirt road. Fifty yards after that the road twisted through a wooded area and Meghan's car vanished from the view of anyone driving past.

Victor Orsini had not been surprised by the showdown with Phillip Carter Friday afternoon. It had never been a question of
if
it would happen. The question for months had been
when.

At least he had found what he needed before he lost access to the office. When he left Carter, he had driven directly to his house at Candlewood Lake, fixed himself a martini and sat where he could look over the water and consider what he ought to do.

The evidence he had was not enough alone and without corroboration, would not stand up in court. And in addition, how much could he tell them and still not reveal things that could hurt him?

He'd been with Collins and Carter nearly seven years, yet suddenly all that mattered was that first month. It was the linchpin connecting everything that had happened recently.

Victor had spent Friday evening weighing the pros and cons of going to the assistant state attorney and laying out what he thought had happened.

The next morning he jogged along the lake for an hour, a long healthy run that cleared his head and strengthened his resolve.

Finally, at two-thirty Saturday afternoon, he dialed the number Special Investigator Marron had given him. He half-expected that Marron might not be in his office on Saturday, but he answered on the first ring.

Victor identified himself. In the calm, reasoned voice that inspired confidence in clients and job candidates, he asked, “Would it be convenient if I stopped by in
half an hour? I think I know who murdered Helene Petrovic . . .”

From the front door of the Drumdoe Inn, Kyle looked back and watched Meghan drive away. She was on a story. Cool. He wished he was going with her. He used to think he'd be a doctor like Dad when he grew up but had decided being a reporter was more fun.

A moment later a car zoomed out of the parking lot, a green Chevy. That's the guy who didn't run over Jake, Kyle thought. He was sorry he didn't get a chance to talk to him and thank him. He watched as the Chevy turned down the road in the direction Meg had gone.

Kyle went into the lobby and spotted Meg's mother and Mrs. Murphy at the desk. They both looked serious. He went over to them. “Hi.”

“Kyle, what are you doing here?” That's a heck of a way to greet a kid, Catherine thought. She ruffled his hair. “I mean, did you and Meg come over for some ice cream or something?”

“Meg dropped me off. She said to stay with you. She's working on a story.”

“Oh, did she get a call from her boss?”

“Somebody called her and she said she had to leave right away.”

“Wouldn't that be great if she's being reinstated?” Catherine said to Virginia. “It would be such a morale booster for her.”

“It sure would,” Murphy agreed. “Now what do you think we should do about that guy in 3A? Frankly, Catherine, I think there's something a little wrong with him.”

“Just what we need.”

“How many people would stay in a room for nearly three days and then go charging out so fast he almost knocked people down? You just missed him, but I can tell you there appeared to be nothing sick about Mr. Heffernan. He tore down the stairs and ran through the lobby, carrying a video camera.”

“Let's take a look at the room,” Catherine said. “Come with us, Kyle.”

The air in 3A was stale. “Has this room been cleaned since he checked in?” Catherine asked.

“No,” Murphy said. “Betty said he would let her in just to change the towels, that he just about threw her out when she tried to clean up.”

“He must have been out of bed sometime. Look at the way that chair is pulled up to the window,” Catherine commented. “Wait a minute!” She crossed the room, sat in the chair and looked out. “Dear God,” she breathed.

“What is it?” Virginia asked.

“From here you can look directly into Meg's bedroom windows.” Catherine rushed to the phone, glanced at the emergency numbers listed on the receiver and dialed.

“State police. Officer Thorne speaking.”

“This is Catherine Collins at the Drumdoe Inn in Newtown,” she snapped, “I think a man staying at the inn has been spying on our house. He's been locked in his room for days, and just now he drove away in a mad hurry.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Kyle, when Meg dropped you off did you see if a car followed her?”

Kyle sensed that something was very wrong, but surely it couldn't be because of the nice guy who was such a good driver. “Don't worry. The guy in the green Chevy is okay. He saved Jake's life when he drove past our house last week.”

In near despair, Catherine cried, “Officer, he's following my daughter now. She's driving a white Mustang. He's in a green Chevy.
Find her! You've got to find her!”

T
he squad car pulled into the driveway of the shabby one-story frame house in Jackson Heights, and two policemen jumped out. The shrill ee-aww of an approaching EMS ambulance sounded over the screech of a braking elevated train at the station less than a block away.

The cops ran around the house to the back door, forced it open and pounded down the stairs to the basement. A loose step gave way under the weight of the rookie, but he grabbed the railing and managed to keep from falling. The sergeant stumbled over the mop at the foot of the stairs.

“No wonder she got hurt,” he muttered. “This place is booby-trapped.”

Low moans from a crudely enclosed area drew them to Bernie's alcove. The police officers found the elderly woman sprawled on the floor, the telephone beside her. She was lying near an unsteady table with an enameled-steel top heaped with phone books. A worn Naugahyde recliner was directly in front of a forty-inch television set. A shortwave radio, police scanner, typewriter and fax machine crowded the top of an old dresser.

The younger cop dropped down on one knee beside the injured woman. “Police Officer David Guzman, Mrs. Heffernan,” he said soothingly. “They're bringing a stretcher to take you to the hospital.”

Bernie's mother tried to speak. “My son doesn't mean any harm.” She could barely get the words out. She closed her eyes, unable to continue.

“Dave, look at this!”

Guzman jumped up. “What is it, Sarge?”

The Queens telephone directory was spread open. On those pages nine or ten names were circled. The sergeant pointed to them. “They look familiar? In the last few weeks all of these people reported threatening phone calls.”

They could hear the EMS team. Guzman ran to the foot of the stairs. “Watch out or you'll break your necks coming down here,” he warned.

In less than five minutes, Bernie's semiconscious mother had been secured to a stretcher and carried to the ambulance.

The police officers did not leave. “We've got enough probable cause to take a look around,” the sergeant commented. He picked up papers next to the fax machine and began to thumb through them.