You belong to me (4 page)

Susan suppressed a smile as she detected a telltale tinge of red beneath his deep tan. Layton's dark blond hair was sun streaked, she noticed, and though he was soberly dressed in a dark business suit and tie, he still somehow managed to give the impression of an outdoor man.

Sailing, Susan decided for no particular reason.

She glanced at her watch. It was ten minutes of three, time to get directly to the point. Ignoring Layton, she looked straight at Regina Clausen's mother. "Mrs. Clausen, I'm not at all sure that the woman who called the program earlier is going to show up. I am afraid that if she realizes you are here she may make a beeline for the door. I'm going to ask you to stay in this room with the door closed; let me see her in my office, and after I've had a chance to find out what she may know, I'll ask her to consider speaking with you. But you understand that if she does not agree, I can't allow you to infringe on her privacy."

Jane Clausen opened her purse, reached inside, and pulled out a turquoise band. "My daughter had this ring in her stateroom on the Gabrielle. I found it when her possessions were returned to me. Please show it to Karen. If it's like the one she has, she simply must talk to me, although please emphasize that I have no wish to know her true identity, only every detail of the man she began to become involved with."

She handed the ring to Susan.

"Look at the inscription," Layton said.

Susan peered at the tiny lettering, squinting. Then she walked over to the window and held the ring up to the light, turning it until she could read the words. She gasped and turned back to the woman who stood waiting. "Please sit down, Mrs. Clausen. My secretary will bring you tea or coffee. And just pray that Karen shows up."

"I'm afraid I can't stay," Layton said hurriedly. "Mrs. Clausen, I'm so sorry, but I was unable to cancel my appointment."

"I do understand, Douglas." There was a slight but distinct edge in the woman's voice. "The car is waiting for me downstairs. I'll be fine."

His face brightened. "In that case, I'll take my leave." He nodded to Susan. "Dr. Chandler."

Susan watched with increasing frustration as the hands of the clock crawled to five after three, then ten after three. Quarter past became three-thirty, then quarter of four. She went back to the conference room. Jane Clausen's face was ashen. She's in physical pain, Susan realized.

"I could use that tea now, if the offer is still open, Dr. Chandler," Mrs. Clausen said. Only a faint tremor in her voice revealed her acute disappointment.

8

At four o'clock, Carolyn Wells was walking down Eighty-first Street toward the post office, a manila envelope addressed to Susan Chandler under her arm. Irresolution and doubt had been replaced with the sense of an absolute need to get rid of the ring and the picture of the man who had called himself Owen Adams. Any temptation to keep the appointment with Susan Chandler, however, had disappeared when her husband, Justin, phoned at one-thirty.

"Honey, the craziest thing," he had said, a joking tone in his voice. "Barbara, the receptionist, had the radio on this morning, listening to some call-in advice program; she said it was called Ask Dr. Swan, or something like that. Anyway, she said some woman named Karen was one of the callers and she sounded a lot like you and talked about meeting a guy on a cruise two years ago. Anything you haven't told me?"

The joking tone disappeared. "Carolyn, I want an answer. Anything I should know about that cruise?"

Carolyn had felt her palms become clammy. She could hear a question in his voice, a suspicion, the sound that was the sign of mounting anger. She laughed it off, assuring him that she didn't have time to listen to the radio in the middle of the day. But given Justin's past history of almost obsessive jealousy, she worried that she hadn't heard the last of this. Now all she wanted to do was to get this ring and this photo out of her life for good.

The traffic was unusually heavy, even for that time of day. The hour between four and five is the most miserable fame to try to get a cab, she thought, as she observed frustrated would-be passengers trying to flag down taxis, all of which seemed to be displaying off-duty signs.

At Park Avenue, even though the light turned green, she was forced to wait at the front of an impatient throng of pedestrians as cars and vans continued to spin around the corner. Pedestrians have the right-of-way, she thought. Sure.

A delivery van was turning, its brakes screeching. Instinctively she tried to step back, away from the curb. She could not retreat. Someone was standing directly behind her, blocking her way. Suddenly she felt a hand grab the envelope from under her arm, just as another hand shoved against the small of her back

Carolyn teetered on the edge of the sidewalk. Half turning, she glimpsed a familiar face and managed to whisper no as she tumbled forward and under the wheels of the van.

9

He had waited for her outside the building in which Susan Chandler had her office. As the minutes ticked by and she still failed to appear, his emotions ran the gamut from relief to irritation-relief that she wasn't going to show up, and anger that he had wasted so much time and now would have to track her down.

Fortunately, he had remembered her name and knew where she lived, so when Carolyn Wells didn't show up at Susan Chandler's office, he had phoned her home and then hung up when she answered. The instinct that had preserved him all these years had warned that even though she failed to keep the appointment today, she was still dangerous.

He had gone to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and sat on the steps with the small crowd of students and tourists who were hanging around even though it was closed. From there, he had a clear view of her apartment building.

At four o'clock his patience had been rewarded. The doorman had held open the ornate door, and she had emerged, carrying a small manila envelope under her arm.

It was a bonus that the weather was so pleasant and that the streets were so filled with pedestrians. He had been able to walk closely behind her and even make out a few letters of the block printing on the envelope: DR. SU-

He had guessed that the envelope contained the ring and picture she had talked about when she called in to the program. He knew he had to stop her before she reached the post office. His opportunity came at the corner of Park and Eighty-first, when frustrated motorists declined to yield the right-of-way to the pedestrians.

Carolyn had half turned when he shoved her, and their eyes had met. She had known him as Owen Adams, a British businessman. On that trip he had sported a mustache and an auburn wig, and worn glasses and colored contact lenses. Even so, he was sure he saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes just before she fell.

With satisfaction he remembered the screams and shrieks as observers watched her body disappear under the wheels of the van. It had been easy then just to slip away through the crowd, the envelope she had been carrying now hidden under his jacket.

Even though he was anxious to see what she had put in it, he had waited until he was in the safety of his office with the doors locked before he ripped the envelope open.

The ring and picture were enclosed in a plastic bag. There was no letter or note with them. He studied the picture carefully, remembering exactly where it had been taken-aboard ship, in the Grand Salon, at the captain's cocktail party for the newcomers who had joined the cruise in Haifa. Of course he had avoided the ritual of having his picture taken with the captain, but clearly he had been careless. In circling his prey, he had made the mistake of getting too close to Carolyn and ended up within camera range. He remembered that he had sensed immediately that aura of sadness about her, something he always required. Hers was so strong that he knew from the outset she was to be the next one.

He looked carefully at the photograph. Even though he was in profile, the mustache obvious, his hair russet, someone studying that picture with a trained eye might recognize him.

His posture was rigidly straight; his habit of hooking the thumb of his right hand in his pocket was also a potential giveaway; his stance, right foot a half step ahead of the left and bearing most of his weight because of an old injury, likewise would be noticeable to anyone looking for it.

He tossed the picture into the shredder and with grim satisfaction watched it transformed into unrecognizable strips. The ring, he slipped on his pinkie finger. He admired it, looked at it closer, then frowned and reached for a handkerchief with which to polish it.

Another woman would very soon have the privilege of wearing this same ring, he told himself.

He smiled briefly as he thought of his next, his final victim.

10

It was four-fifty when Justin Wells returned to his office and tried to get back to work. In a characteristic gesture, he ran his hand through his dark hair, then he dropped his pen, shoved back his chair, and stood up.

A big man, he nonetheless moved from the drafting table with easy, swift grace, a quality that twenty-five years ago had made him an outstanding college football player.

He couldn't do it. He'd been commissioned to design the renovation of a skyscraper lobby, and he could think of nothing. Of course, today he was having trouble concentrating on anything at all.

The cowardly lion. That was the way he characterized himself. Afraid. Always afraid. Every new job began with the agonizing certainty that this was the one he would flub. Twenty-five years ago he had felt that way before every football game. Now here he was, a partner in the architectural firm of Benner, Pierce and Wells, and he was still plagued by the same self-doubts.

Carolyn. He was sure that someday she would go for good. She'll be furious if she ever finds out what I'm doing, he told himself as his fingers restlessly moved toward the phone on his desk. He had the number of the station. She'll never know, he assured himself. All I'll do is ask for a tape of today's Ask Dr. Susan program. I'll say it's my mother's favorite show, and she missed it today because she had a dentist appointment.

If Barbara the receptionist was right, and it was Carolyn who had called in to that show, she had talked about being involved with some man while she was on a cruise.

He flashed back to two years ago, when after that terrible incident Carolyn had impulsively booked passage on a Mumbai to Portugal segment of a world cruise. She had told him at the time that when she returned she intended to file for divorce. She said that she still cared about him but that she couldn't stand his jealousy and constant questions about where she had been all day and who she had seen.

I called just before the ship docked in Athens, Justin remembered. I told her I was willing to go into therapy, to do anything I could, if she would just come home and work with me in keeping the marriage together. And I was right to worry, he thought. Clearly, the minute she was away from me she met somebody.

But maybe Barbara was wrong, he thought. Maybe it wasn't Carolyn who called in. After all, she had met Carolyn only a few times. Then again, Carolyn's voice was distinctive-well modulated, with a hint of English accent, thanks to childhood summers spent in England.

He shook his head. "/ have to know," he whispered.

He dialed the radio station, and after several minutes of listening to seemingly endless instructions- "press one for schedules; press two for information; press three for directory; press four- press five- hold for operator"-he was finally put through to the office of Jed Geany, the producer of Ask Dr. Susan,

He knew he sounded less than genuine when he gave the flimsy excuse that his mother had missed the program and that he wanted a tape for her. Then, when asked if he wanted a tape for the whole program, he botched his story by blurting out, "Oh, just the listener call-ins," and then tried to correct himself by hurriedly adding, "I mean that's Mother's favorite part, but please make a tape of the whole program."

To make matters worse, Jed Geany himself got on the phone to say they were glad to oblige, because it was good to hear that a listener was that involved. Then he asked for the name and address.

Feeling guilty and wretched, Justin Wells gave his name and the office address.

He had barely hung up when he received a call from Lenox Hill Hospital, informing him that his wife had been gravely injured in an automobile accident.

11

When Susan stopped by Nedda's office at six o'clock, she found her about to lock up her desk for the night. "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," she announced dryly. "How about a glass of vino?"

"Sounds like a great idea. I'll get it." Susan went down the corridor to the closet-sized kitchen and opened the refrigerator. A bottle of pinot grigio was cooling there. As she examined the label, a memory flashed through her mind.

She had been five years old, trailing behind her parents in the liquor store. Her father selected a bottle of wine from the shelf. "Is this one okay, honey?" he had asked as he handed it to her mother.

Her mother had read the label and laughed indulgently. "Charley, you're getting there. Excellent choice."

Mom is right, Susan thought, remembering her mother's outburst on Saturday. She taught Dad all the basic social graces, from how to dress to which fork to use at a dinner party. She encouraged him to leave Grandpa's deli and strike out on his own. She gave him the self-confidence to succeed, then he took hers away.

Sighing, she opened the bottle, poured wine into two glasses, shook a few pretzels onto a plate, and returned to Nedda's office. "Cocktail hour," she announced. "Close your eyes and pretend you're at Le Cirque."

Nedda looked at her steadily. "You're the psychologist, but if I can offer a nonprofessional opinion, you look pretty down."

Susan nodded. "I guess I am. The visits with my parents this weekend still bother me, and then today was pretty bumpy." She filled Nedda in on the angry phone call from Douglas Layton, as well as on the call on the program from the woman who identified herself as Karen. And then she told her of Jane Clausen's surprise visit. "She left the ring with me. She said I should keep it just in case 'Karen' ever does show up. I also get the feeling Jane Clausen isn't well."