Stillwatch (34 page)

Authors: Mary Higgins Clark

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Anthologies (Multiple Authors)

BOOK: Stillwatch

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216

“I’ll never forget how Willard’s mother went to that woman andsat with her when the plane was overdue. She never even called tosee how
I
was.”“Well, they’re together now, Abby. Look how fast the traffic ismoving. We’ll be at the studio right on time.”As they pulled into the private parking area, Abigail asked quietly,“What did you do last night, Toby-play poker or have a date?”“I saw the little lady from Steakburger and spent the evening withher. Why? You checking on me? You want to talk to her, Senator?”Now his tone had an indignant edge.“No, of course not. You’re welcome to your cocktail waitresses,on your own time. I hope you enjoyed yourself.”“I did. I haven’t been taking much personal time lately.”“I know. I’ve kept you awfully busy.” Her voice was conciliatory.“It’s just . . .”“Just
what,
Senator?”“Nothing . . . nothing at all.”

At eight o’clock Eleanor was taken for a lie-detector test. She hadslept surprisingly well. She remembered that first night in a cell elevenyears ago when she had suddenly started to scream. “You expressedacute claustrophobia that night,” a psychiatrist had told her after thebreakdown. But now there was a curious peacefulness about notrunning anymore.Could Father have hurt those old people? Eleanor racked her brain,trying to remember a single example of his being anything but kindand gentle. There was none.“This door.” The matron led her into a small room near thecellblock. Detective Barrott was reading the newspaper. She was gladhe was there. He didn’t treat her as though she were a liar. He lookedup at her and smiled.Even when another man came in and hooked her to the lie-detectormachine, she didn’t start to cry the way she had after her arrest forstealing from the Senator. Instead, she sat in the chair, held up herdoll and a little embarrassed, asked if they’d mind if she kept it withher. They didn’t act as though it were a crazy request. Frank Crowley,

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that nice fatherly-looking man who was her lawyer, came in. She hadtried to explain to him yesterday that she couldn’t pay him more thanthe nearly five hundred dollars she’d saved, but he told her not toworry about it.“Eleanor, you can still refuse to take this test,” he told her now,and she said that she understood.At first the man who was giving her the test asked simple, evensilly, questions about her age and education and her favorite food.Then he started asking the ones she’d been gearing herself to hear.“Have you ever stolen-anything?”“No.”“Not even anything small, like a crayon or a piece of chalk whenyou were little?”The last time she’d been asked that, she’d started sobbing, “I’mnot a thief. I’m
not
a thief.” But now it wasn’t that hard. She pretendedshe was talking to Detective Barrott, not this brusque, impersonalstranger. “I’ve never, ever stolen anything in my life,” she saidearnestly. “Not even a crayon or a piece of chalk. I couldn’t takeanything that belonged to anyone else.”“What about the bottle of perfume when you were in high school?”“
I did not steal it.
I swear to you. I forgot to give it to the clerk!”“How often do you drink? Every day?”“Oh, no. I just have wine sometimes, and not very much. It makesme sleepy.” She noticed that Detective Barrott smiled.“Did you take the seventy-five thousand dollars from SenatorJennings’ campaign office?”Last time during the test, she’d gotten hysterical at that question.Now she simply said, “No, I did not.”“But you put five thousand dollars of that money in your storageroom, didn’t you?”“No, I did not.”“Then how do you think it got there?”The questions went on and on. “Did you lie when you claimedToby Gorgone phoned?”“No, I did not.”“You’re sure it was Toby Gorgone?”

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“I thought it was. If it wasn’t, it sounded just like him.”Then the incredible questions began: “Did you know Arthur Stevenswas a suspect in the death of one of his patients, a Mrs. Anita Gillespie?”She almost lost control. “No, I did not. I can’t believe that.” Thenshe remembered the way he’d yelled in his sleep:
“Close your eyes,Mrs. Gillespie. Close your eyes!
”“You do believe it’s possible. It shows up right in this test.”“No,” she whispered. “Father could never have hurt anyone, onlyhelp them. He takes it so to heart when one of his patients is in pain.”“Do you think he might try to stop the pain?”“I don’t know what you mean.”“I think you do. Eleanor, Arthur Stevens tried to set fire to thenursing home on Christmas Day.”“That’s impossible.”The shock of what she was hearing made Eleanor blanch. Horrified,she stared at the interrogator as he asked his last question: “Did you everhave any reason to suspect that Arthur Stevens was a homicidal maniac?”

During the night Arthur swallowed caffeine pills every two hours.He could not risk falling asleep and calling out. Instead he sat crouchedin the closet, too tense to lie down, staring into the dark.He’d been so careless. When Patricia Traymore came home, he’dlistened at the door of the closet to the sounds of her moving aroundthe house. He’d heard the roar of the pipes when she showered; she’dgone back downstairs and he’d smelled coffee perking. Then she hadbegun playing the piano. Knowing it was safe to go out, he’d sat onthe landing listening to the music.That was when the voices started talking to him again, telling himthat when this was over he must find a new nursing home where hecould continue his mission. He’d been so deep in meditation that hehadn’t realized that the music had stopped, hadn’t thought about wherehe was until he heard Patricia Traymore’s footsteps on the stairs.In his rush to get to his hiding place he’d stepped on the looseboard, and she had known something was wrong. He hadn’t dared to

219

breathe when she opened the door of the closet. But of course it neveroccurred to her to look behind the shelves.And so he had kept watch all night, straining for the sounds of herawakening, glad when she finally left the house, but afraid to leavethe closet for more than a few minutes at a time. A housekeeper mightcome in and hear him.The long hours passed. Then the voices directed him to take thebrown robe from Patricia Traymore’s closet and put it on.If she had betrayed Glory, he would be suitably clothed to meteout her punishment.

220

Pat arrived at the network building at nine thirty-five and decided tohave coffee and an English muffin in the drugstore. She wasn’t readyfor the charged atmosphere, underlying irritability and explosivenerves that she knew would be waiting on this final day of taping andediting. Her head was vaguely throbbing, her whole body sore. Sheknew that she had slept restlessly and that her dreams had beentroubled. At one point she had cried out, but she couldn’t rememberwhat she had said;In the car she had turned on the news and learned about CatherineGraney’s death. She couldn’t put the image of the woman out of hermind. The way her face had brightened when she talked about herson; the affectionate pat she had given her aging Irish setter. CatherineGraney would have followed through on her threat to sue SenatorJennings and the network after the program was aired. Her death hadended that threat.Had she been the random victim of a mugger? The report had saidshe was walking her dog. What was his name? Sligo? It seemed unlikelythat a criminal would choose to attack a woman with a large dog.Pat pushed back the English muffin. She wasn’t hungry. Only threedays ago she had shared coffee with Catherine Graney. Now thatattractive, vibrant woman was dead.When she reached the studio, Luther was already on the set, hisface mottled, his lips bloodless, his eyes constantly roving, huntingfor flaws. “I said to get rid of those flowers!” he was shouting. “Idon’t give a damn whether they were just delivered or not. They lookdead. Can’t anybody do anything right around here? And that chairisn’t high enough for the Senator. It looks like a goddamn milkingstool.” He spotted Pat. “I see you’re finally here. You heard about

221

that Graney woman? We’ll have to redo the segment of Abigail talkingabout traffic safety. She comes across a little too heavy on the pilot.There’s bound to be backlash when people find out his widow is acrime victim. We start taping in ten minutes.”Pat stared at Luther. Catherine Graney had been a good and decentperson and all this man cared about was that her death had caused a setbackin the taping. Wordlessly she turned and went into the dressing room.Senator Jennings was seated in front of a mirror, a towel wrappedaround her shoulders. The makeup artist was anxiously hovering overher, dabbing a touch of powder on her nose.The Senator ’s fingers were tightly locked together. Her greetingwas cordial enough. “This is it, Pat. Will you be as glad to be finishedas I?”“Yes, I think so, Senator.”The makeup girl picked up the can of hair spray and tested it.“Don’t use that stuff on me,” the Senator snapped. “I don’t wantto look like a Barbie doll.”“I’m sorry.” The girl’s tone faltered. “Most people . . .” Her voicetrailed off.Aware that Abigail was watching her in the mirror, Pat deliberatelyavoided eye contact.“There are a few points we should discuss.” Now Abigail’s tonewas brisk and businesslike. “I’m just as glad we’re redoing the air-safety segment, even though of course it’s terrible about Mrs. Graney.But I want to come off more emphatically on the necessity for betterfacilities at small airports. And I’ve decided we should talk moreabout my mother. There’s no use not meeting that
Mirror
picture andthat spread in yesterday’s
Tribune
head on. And we should certainlyemphasize my role in foreign affairs. I’ve prepared some questionsfor you to ask me.”Pat put down the brush she was holding and turned to face theSenator. “
Have
you?”

Four hours later, over sandwiches and coffee, a small group sat inthe projection room viewing the completed tape. Abigail was in thefirst row, Luther and Philip on either side of her. Pat sat several rows

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behind them with the assistant director. In the last row, Toby kept hissolitary vigil.The program opened with Pat, Luther and the Senator sitting in asemicircle. “Hello, and welcome to the first program in our series
Women in Government
. . . .” Pat studied herself critically. Her voicewas huskier than usual; there was something in the rigid way she wassitting that suggested tension. Luther was totally at ease, and on thewhole, the opening sounded all right. She and Abigail complementedeach other well. Abigail’s blue silk dress had been a good choice; itexpressed femininity without frills. Her smile was warm, her eyescrinkled. Her acknowledgment of the flattering introduction had nohint of coyness.They discussed her position as senior Senator from Virginia.Abigail: “It’s a tremendously demanding and satisfying job. . . .” Themontage of shots of Apple Junction. The shot of Abigail with hermother. Pat watched the screen as Abigail’s voice became tender.“My mother faced the same problem as so many working motherstoday. She was widowed when I was six. She didn’t want to leave mealone and so she took a job as a housekeeper. She sacrificed a hotel-management career so that she’d be there when I came home fromschool. We were very close. She was always embarrassed about herweight. She had a glandular problem. I guess a lot of people canunderstand. When I tried to get her to live with Willard and me, she’dlaugh and say, ‘No way is the mountain coming to Washington.’ Shewas a funny, dear lady.” At that point Abigail’s voice trembled. Andthen Abigail explained the beauty contest: “Talk about win it for theGipper . . . I won that for Mommy. . . .”Pat found herself caught in the spell of Abigail’s warmth. Eventhe scene in Abigail’s den when the Senator had called her mother afat tyrant seemed unreal now. But it
was
real, she thought. AbigailJennings is a consummate actress. The clips of the reception and thefirst campaign. Pat’s questions to Abigail: “Senator, you were a youngbride; you were completing your last year in college and you werehelping your husband campaign for his first seat in Congress. Tell ushow you felt about that.” Abigail’s answer: “It was wonderful. I wasvery much in love. I’d always pictured myself getting a job as anassistant to someone in public office. To be there right at the beginning

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