Social Death: A Clyde Shaw Mystery (19 page)

I lifted my glass to show him that it was still mostly full.

“Not a lightweight, are you?”

Maldone didn’t know my history, or that my tonic didn’t have any vodka in it. I took a few steps to the middle of the terrace. It was as far as my fear of heights would let me go. “Do I look like a lightweight?”

He smiled indulgently. “I don’t think I should answer that.”

“That answer wouldn’t play well on TV.”

“What would?”

“Changing the subject.”

“I’ll remember that.” He took a long sip of his drink. “By the way, good show tonight.”

We’d opened with a followup report from Connecticut and closed the hour with the editor of Charles Kravis’s memoir. “You watch
Topical
?”

“Never miss it,” he replied.

“Have you read the memoir?”

Prentice leaned forward, gazing out at the view. “Charles is an interesting man. Patriotic. Hardworking. Highly conservative, yes, but a dedicated newsman. Not too many of those anymore.”

“What are you?”

“A businessman.” He turned back around and took another sip of what looked like Scotch. “I’m sorry I didn’t have much of a chance to get to know Olivia. All I know is the work she was doing with the foundation. It’s interesting, though, that she didn’t have a larger role at the network. Considering what I read in the memoir, Charles clearly thought the world of her.”

“That was Olivia’s choice. She preferred being able to help people and change lives—for the better. That’s not what we always end up doing at FirstNews.”

“Are the Kravises being helpful to you?”

I didn’t know how to answer that. The truth was that they weren’t, but it would be disloyal—not to mention unprofessional—for me to say so. “As much as can be expected. It’s a rough time for them.”

He set his drink down on the ledge. “May I ask you for a favor, Cornelia?”

“Sure.”

“In all likelihood, Olivia’s murder had nothing to do with network business—”

“Was Olivia opposed to the merger?” I asked, interrupting him.

He gave me a pointed look. “I’m sure I would be the last person to know that. A trusted friend, on the other hand.”

“Olivia and I didn’t talk about network business. We discovered that it was better for our friendship.” Just saying that aloud reminded me of the other, not-so-insignificant topic we didn’t discuss.
What else was she keeping from me?
“So I didn’t know about the merger, let alone how she felt about it.”

He considered my response. “The timing concerns me. I’m not a fan of coincidences.”

“And I don’t believe in them.”

“Then we understand each other.” He picked up his drink and moved closer to me, closer than would have been considered appropriate in an office setting. “Cornelia, can I depend on you to do something for me?”

I nodded. Prentice was, after all, going to be my new boss.

“I’d like you to let me know if you discover any correlation between this crime and the merger. Even if it’s something you can’t corroborate or put on the air, I still want to know about it.”

Prentice led me back downstairs to the party. At the base of the stairs, he pressed his card into my hand. “That has my direct line on it. Please do not hesitate to use it.” Then he disappeared into the swarm of bodies.

The party had doubled in size while I was upstairs. Georgia was nowhere to be seen. I elbowed my way through the room to seek out a few bites of food before I called it a night. Halfway to the door I heard a familiar voice in the crowd. It was Penny Harlich.

What the hell is she doing here?
This was a FirstNews and Maldone Enterprises party. Was it possible that Diskin was thinking about hiring her away from GSBC? I shuddered at the thought and should have put it out of my mind, but curiosity got the better of me. I abandoned my plans to leave and found the staircase. Up a few steps, I could watch Penny easily, not that she would be hard to miss in the spiky heels and skintight cherry-red dress she was wearing.

She circulated the room, waving to some of the other on-air talent, getting a drink, but not stopping to talk to anyone. She was clearly looking for someone specific. A minute later, she spotted her prey. Downing her drink and fluffing her mane, she walked right up to Prentice, wrapping one of her tawny arms around his shoulders as she whispered something in his ear. He looked up at her and laughed. To a woman like her, a man like Prentice looked a lot taller standing on his money.

I don’t know why I did it, but I took out my phone and snapped a picture. Then I ditched my tonic water and headed to the bar, where Penny was standing, waiting for a pair of refills for her and Prentice.

“Enjoying yourself?” I asked.

She gave me an icy smile. Her perfume smelled of cloyingly sweet gardenias and vanilla, and she had long nails that had been painted the same shade of her dress. Without wanting, my mind pictured them raking across Alex’s muscled chest. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” she asked.

She knew who I was, but I introduced myself anyway. “Clyde Shaw.
Topical Tonight.
We kicked your ass last night.”

“So you did. And I think I do recognize you. You’re the hag who works for Alex Amori.” She tapped the side of her face mockingly. “Or had he called you a nag? I can’t be sure. What I can be sure of is that the Hart family scoop is your last. I don’t care what kind of inside track you think you have on this case, I’ve got better.”

Her response was anything but expected. Alex was right: Penny was smart. But my network loyalty prevented me from seeing her as anything other than my sworn enemy, which is how I would have preferred Alex see her, too. I took another glass of tonic from the bartender. “By the way, I don’t know how it works at GSBC, but at our network it doesn’t matter how much leg you’re willing to show if you don’t have the numbers to back you up. Yours are falling, and last I checked, you’re running out of skirt.”

It would have been a perfect exit, if I hadn’t walked in the wrong direction of the elevator. I didn’t want Penny to see me doubling back on myself, so I kept walking and carved a little space for myself on one of the sectionals. I set my glass down on a side table and found my phone in my bag. There was a new text from Phil Drucker, the lawyer I’d met at Michael Rockwell’s firm. He wanted to know if he could get away with wearing his green lizard-skin cowboy boots to the Kravis benefit. I was reasonably confident he didn’t own a pair. I took a few sips from my glass and texted back. “By all means.”

A moment later, his reply arrived. “Good. They go with the corsage I’m getting you.”

I laughed to myself, took one last sip of tonic and slipped my phone back into my jacket pocket. Then I stood up and I started for the elevator, but with each step I grew more exhausted, the fatigue of the past two days finally catching up with me. I needed to splash some water on my face. A waiter pointed me in the direction of the bathroom, which turned out to be down a small corridor at the back of the gallery.

I barely made it. Sliding open the door to the bathroom, my legs buckled beneath me, and my head banged into the indigo tile floor. I had just enough presence of mind to realize that what I was feeling wasn’t exhaustion.

Someone had drugged me.

The bathroom door opened. I discovered I couldn’t move. The room grew dark, and my whole body felt like it was sinking, being pulled under by a heavy fog.

“You are treading on very dangerous ground,” growled a voice in my ear. In my deadened state, I couldn’t make out if it was male or female, or if it was even real.

I gasped for breath. Everything was black. Fingers dug into my cheeks. “You’ll only get one warning.”

Friday

I
woke up at a hospital, screaming, hooked up to an IV and a heart-rate monitor. I’d been dreaming, or remembering, I wasn’t sure which.

“I’m here, Clyde. You’re OK. You’re safe.”

It was Alex. His hand took mine. I felt nauseous as I looked around the room, gathered my bearings. The clock on the wall read half past five a.m. “What are you doing here?”

A small Asian woman in blue scrubs entered the room and stood at the end of my bed. “Good to see you’re awake, Ms. Shaw. I’m Dr. Cho. You’ve been admitted to Beth Israel Hospital.”

“What happened to me?”

She walked toward me and grabbed my arm, feeling for a pulse. “Your blood test confirmed you received a large amount of Ketalar, otherwise known as Ketamine or Special-K. It’s sold to veterinarians as a general anesthesia and sedative, but is also used and sold illegally as a hallucinogenic and a so-called date-rape drug. Do you know how this substance may have been given to you?”

I rubbed my forehead with my free hand. I looked to Alex, hoping he could fill in the blanks. “I wasn’t there,” he said to the doctor. “I was told she passed out at a party.”

“Are you her husband?” Dr. Cho asked.

“A friend,” Alex replied.

“Colleague,” I corrected.

The doctor wrote that down in my file. “Did you have anything to drink at this party?”

I nodded. “I had a couple tonic waters.”

“Without anything else? No alcohol?”

“No.”

She made another note. “Did you ever leave your glass unattended?”

“I can’t remember.”

She put the file down, sidled up next to me and took out a small penlight, which she shined in my eyes, checking my pupils. “The effects are pretty immediate, within five and twenty minutes of drinking the substance, depending on how much food you had in your stomach.”

I turned my head to Alex. “How did you know I was here?”

“Penny saw you carried out on a stretcher and called me.”

“Penny? Who else saw me?”

“I think everyone there. All she said was that you were on a stretcher, passed out, and the paramedics were bringing you here.”

“They just sent me here alone?”

“One of Maldone’s assistants was in the waiting room when I got here at a quarter to midnight.” He ran a hand down the rumpled front of his denim button-down. “Alice, Maldone’s assistant, told me she found you on the bathroom floor and tried to revive you. When she couldn’t, she dialed 911.”

Dr. Cho opened my chart. “Would you like for me to call the police?”

I wanted to speak to Panda. If the hospital called the authorities, I didn’t know whom I’d get. With my luck, it’d be some rookie who would drown me in paperwork. “I can do that. I just need my cellphone. Is my purse around here somewhere?”

Dr. Cho looked around the room. My coat was resting on a chair, but I didn’t see my purse. “Did Ms. Shaw have a bag with her last night?” she asked Alex.

“It wasn’t here when I got here.”

My throat seized. My notebook and tape recorder, with all my notes from Olivia’s case, were in there. I sat up and pawed at the tape securing the IV to my arm. “I’ve got to get it. I need to go.”

Dr. Cho moved swiftly around the bed. “Ms. Shaw you are in no condition.”

I was about to argue with her when the room began to spin. I rested my head back down against the pillows and waited for the spinning to stop before looking back at Alex. He had my jacket in one hand, my phone in the other. “It was in here,” he said, handing both to me.

“But my notes,” I said, my eyes widening with urgency.

Alex grabbed his own jacket from the back of his chair. “I’ll call Maldone’s assistant. She left her card. They must have it.” He hovered by the door. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay, Clyde? I can have someone else handle this and stay with you.”

“Just go find my bag.”

The door shut behind him. I turned back to Dr. Cho. “Is it normal not to be able to recall anything?”

“Memory loss is common.”

“Will it ever come back?”

Dr. Cho checked my IV bag. “It may. It’s hard to tell. If you’ve been sexually assaulted we’ll be able to find evidence of that upon examination. I did a visual exam when you were admitted and I didn’t see any evidence of an assault, but I would still like to do a rape kit just to be sure. Do I have your permission?”

I nodded, sickened by the thought. I wanted to call my dad, but if I did he’d only get worried and insist on taking me back upstate with him. “When can I leave here?” I asked Dr. Cho.

“After I examine you, I’d like to keep you under observation for the next few hours, then you can go home to rest. You received a rather large dose of Ketamine, Ms. Shaw. The sedative effects will take some time to wear off completely.”

“When can I go back to work?”

Dr. Cho poured water in a cup and handed it to me. “By tomorrow afternoon you should be able to return to your normal daily activities. But you probably won’t feel like working for another forty-eight hours. I’ll come back in a few minutes for your examination. In the meantime, ring the call button if you need anything.”

I drank my water, wondering who at the party had seen me get carried out and whether the news had filtered to the network, specifically to Georgia and the dozen or so colleagues who had been around at the height of my drinking days. I hoped they’d give me the benefit of the doubt and not jump to any wrong conclusions.