Even so, she introduced herself. “I’m Alexandra Moreland. I met with Mr. Wilson yesterday. Is he here?”
“I’m his secretary, Louise Kirk. He’s in the building, but …”
Trying not to cringe as she saw the agitation that was exuding from the other woman, Zan interrupted her. “It’s a beautiful building, and from what I saw of it yesterday the people who move in here will be very, very happy. I certainly hope to be part of it.”
I don’t know how I can sound so calm, she thought. And then immediately she had the answer. Because I must get this job. Zan waited silently, her eyes fixed on the other woman’s face.
“Ms. Moreland,” Kirk began, hesitantly. “There really isn’t any point in your waiting to see Kevin — I mean Mr. Wilson. Earlier this morning, he asked me to pack your proposal and return it to you. In fact, it’s right there if you want to take it now, or else I’ll have it delivered to you, of course.”
Zan did not look at the package on the table. “Where is Mr. Wilson?”
“Ms. Moreland, he really doesn’t …”
He’s in one of the model apartments, Zan thought. I know he is. She turned, walked around the desk and picked up the package of her fabrics and sketches. “Thank you,” she said.
In the lobby she headed straight for the elevators.
Wilson was not in the first apartment or in the second. She found him in the third, the largest unit. Sketches and fabric samples were laid out on the kitchen counter. Zan knew they had to be Bartley Longe’s designs for this apartment.
She walked over to stand next to Wilson and set her package down. Without greeting him, she began, “I’m going to tell you right now,” she said, “if you go with Bartley, the effect will be ravishing and damn hard to live with.” She picked up a sketch. “Beautiful,” she said. “But take a look at that love seat. It’s too low. People will avoid it like the plague. Look at those wall hangings. Simply gorgeous, and so-oo-oo formal. But this is a very large apartment. Maybe somebody who has kids will be interested in it, but this design isn’t going to inspire them. And no matter how much money you have, when you come home you want a home, not a museum. I offered you three different apartments that will make people feel comfortable.”
She realized that for emphasis she had grabbed his arm. “I’m sorry for barging in,” she said, “but I had to talk to you.”
“You have, so are you finished?” Kevin Wilson asked quietly.
“Yes, I am. You’ve probably heard that photographs have surfaced that appear to show me kidnapping the child I’ve been hungering to find for almost two years. We’ll know soon enough if I can prove that no matter how much the woman in those photos looks like me, it’s not me. Just answer one question. If the photos that I’m talking about didn’t exist, would you have given the job to Bartley Longe or me?”
Kevin Wilson studied Zan for a long minute before answering. “I was inclined to give it to you.”
“Well, then, I ask you, I beg you, don’t make a decision yet. I am going to be able to prove that whoever the woman in those photos is, it isn’t me. I’m going to see the client who is the reason I hired the babysitter to take Matthew to the park that day, and ask her to come with me to the police and prove that I could not have been in the park at that time. Kevin, if you go with Bartley simply because you prefer his designs, that’s one thing. But if you would have given me the job because you like my designs better, I implore you to let me clear my name. I implore you to wait before announcing a decision.”
She looked up into Wilson’s face. “I need this job. That doesn’t mean I’d expect you to give it to me out of pity, because that would be ridiculous. But every cent I can save is being squirreled away so that I can hire another agency to try to find my Matthew. And something else that you should think of. I bet I’m thirty percent cheaper than Bartley. That ought to count for something.”
Suddenly all the energy and fire was gone from her. She pointed to the package with her samples and sketches on the counter. “Would you consider looking at them again?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Thank you,” Zan said, and without looking at Kevin Wilson again left the apartment. As she passed the floor-to-ceiling window at the elevator bank, she could see that the earlier drizzle had turned into a hard, driving rainstorm. She stopped for a moment to look out. A helicopter was hovering over the West Side Heliport preparing to land. She watched as the wind tossed it from one side to another. Finally, it settled down safely on the tarmac. It made it, she thought.
Dear God, please let me make it through this storm, too.
26
Billy Collins’s partner was Detective Jennifer Dean, a handsome African-American woman his own age whom he had met at the Police Academy, where they had become fast friends. After a stint in the Narcotics Division, Jennifer had been promoted to detective and transferred to the Central Park Precinct. There, to their mutual satisfaction, she had been assigned to be his partner.
Together, they met with Tiffany Shields at Hunter College during her lunch break. By that time Tiffany had convinced herself that Zan Moreland had deliberately drugged both her and Matthew. “Zan insisted I have that Pepsi that day,” she told them, her mouth tightened into a narrow line. “I felt lousy. I didn’t want to babysit. She gave me a pill. I thought it was Tylenol for colds, but I think now it was the kind that makes you sleepy. And let me tell you something else. Matthew was out like a light. I bet anything she drugged him, too, so that when she grabbed him out of the stroller, he wouldn’t wake up.”
“Tiffany, you didn’t tell me that you thought Zan Moreland drugged you the day Matthew disappeared. You never hinted that you thought that,” Billy said quietly. His tone did not reflect the fact that to him what the girl was saying made sense. If Moreland had been looking for a way to kidnap her own child, Tiffany may have given her a priceless opportunity. That day was unseasonably warm, the kind that made anyone sleepy, never mind someone who was drowsy from having a cold and then possibly drugged.
“There’s something more I’ve been thinking about,” Tiffany went on, her voice sullen. “Zan put an extra blanket at the foot of the stroller just in case I wanted to sit on the grass. She said that it was so warm that every bench in the park would probably be filled. I thought she was being nice, but now I think she was just hoping that I’d fall asleep right away.”
The detectives looked at each other. Was Moreland possibly that manipulative? they both wondered. “Tiffany, you never suggested the day Matthew disappeared — or any time after that when we spoke to you — that you had been drugged,” Jennifer Dean reminded her calmly.
“I was hysterical. I was so scared. All those people and cameras around and then Zan and Mr. Carpenter coming, and I knew they were blaming me.”
Because of the heat, the park had been unusually crowded that day, Billy thought. If Moreland had waited her chance, then casually walked past the stroller and picked up Matthew, no one would have thought it unusual. Even if Matthew had awakened, he wouldn’t have cried. We attributed Moreland’s calm to shock. When Ted Carpenter arrived on the scene, he did what most fathers in his position would have done. He tore into the babysitter for falling asleep.
“I’ve got a class,” Tiffany said, as she stood up. “I can’t be late for it.”
“We don’t want you to be late for it, Tiffany,” Billy agreed, as he and Jennifer rose from the hallway bench where they had been sitting.
“Detective Collins, those photos prove that Zan Moreland took Matthew and set me up to be the fall guy. You don’t have a clue how miserable these two years have been for me. Try listening to my 911 call to you. You can still find it on the Internet.”
“Tiffany, we can understand how you feel.” Jennifer Dean’s tone was soothing.
“No, you can’t. No one can. But do you think Matthew might still be alive?”
“We have no reason to think that he is not alive,” Billy hedged.
“Well, if he’s n
ot, I just hope that that lying, lousy mother of his spends the rest of her rotten life in a jail cell. Just promise me that I get a front seat at her trial. I’ve earned it.”
Tiffany spat out the words.
27
He had put the plan in motion. Step by step he was now bringing it to a head. He knew it was time. Gloria was getting too restless. Also, he had made a terrible mistake when he told her that it would be necessary to kill Zan and make it look like a suicide. Gloria had only gotten into it for the money he promised her. She didn’t understand that it would not be enough simply to make Alexandra Moreland dangle in the wind to public ridicule.
He would not be happy until Zan was dead.
Last night when he called Gloria, he told her that he was planning to have her come back to the church with him soon, but he didn’t tell her why. She started to object, and he shouted her down. He didn’t tell her that he planned to get rid of the old priest and that she had to be caught looking like Zan on the security cameras.
Zan’s suicide would be believable.
The plan was that on the same day, Gloria would abandon Matthew in a public place where he would be noticed. He could see the headlines already: MISSING CHILD FOUND HOURS AFTER MOTHER’S SUICIDE.
He could savor the story that would follow. “Alexandra ‘Zan’ Moreland was found dead in her apartment in Battery Park City, an apparent suicide. The troubled interior designer, suspected of kidnapping her own child …”
Those photos that the tourist has taken. Why had they come to light now? The timing couldn’t be worse. On the other hand, they could be a magnificent, unexpected gift.
He had pored over them himself, studied them, enlarged them on his computer. Gloria looked just like Zan. If the cops believed they were authentic, Zan’s denials about making all the purchases to her credit cards would only be one more proof that she was crazy, that she had staged the kidnapping herself.
By now they were undoubtedly wondering if she might have done away with her own child.
But if the cops, or anyone else, could find one single discrepancy in those photos, they wouldn’t believe that any of the rest was true. The whole thing would fall apart.
Would they interview the babysitter again?
Of course they would.
Would they interview Nina Aldrich, the potential client Zan claimed to have been with when her son disappeared?
Of course they would.
But Nina Aldrich had had a good reason to be vague about that time frame two years ago and that reason still existed. She wouldn’t want to be pinned down now, he thought.
The greatest threats to him were Gloria herself, and the photos that tourist had taken.
He never phoned Gloria during the day. There was always the chance that the boy might be within earshot and no matter how much he warned her, Gloria had a bad habit of calling him by name when they talked.
He looked at the clock. It was almost five. He couldn’t wait any longer. He had to talk to Gloria. He had bought two prepaid cell phones, one for her and one for himself. He locked the door of his office and tapped in her number.
She answered on the first ring. From the angry tone of her voice he could tell that the call was going to be trouble.
“I’ve been seeing the story plastered all over the Internet,” she said. “They keep showing those pictures.”
“Was the boy nearby when you were on the computer?”
“Of course he was. When he saw his picture, he loved it,” Gloria snapped.
“Don’t try your lamebrained sarcasm on me. Where is he?”
“He’s in bed already. He didn’t feel well. He threw up twice.”
“Is he getting sick? I can’t have him going to a doctor.”
“Not that kind of sick. I put that coloring stuff in his hair again this afternoon and he hates it. This crazy life is getting to him. It’s getting to me, too. You said one year tops, and it’s been nearly two years.”
“It’s going to be over very soon. I can promise you that. Those pictures of you in the park will bring it to a head. But you’ve got to rack your brain. Look at them on the Internet again. See if there’s anything that the cops might notice that would make them suspect that the woman there isn’t Zan.”
“You paid me to follow her around, to study her photos, to learn how to walk and talk like her. I’m a damn good actress and that’s what I want to be doing, not babysitting that little kid and keeping him from his mother. God Almighty, he keeps a bar of soap under his pillow because it’s the kind she used and the scent reminds him of her.”
He had not missed the moment of hesitation in Gloria’s voice and then her answer, first defensive, then trying to steer the conversation to the subject of the child.
“Gloria, concentrate,” he warned firmly. “Is there anything about the way you dressed, or jewelry that you wore, that would make the police take seriously Zan’s claim that she was not the woman in that picture?”
Enraged when she did not answer, he asked, “And something else, exactly what did you tell that priest?”
“If you keep bugging me about that, I’ll go crazy. So here’s the way it was. I told him that I am a participant in an ongoing crime, that a murder is going to be committed, and that I can’t stop it.”
“You told him that?” The caller’s voice was deadly calm.
“I told him that, damn you. But I told him under the seal of the confessional. If you don’t know what that seal means, look it up. And I’m giving you fair warning. One week more and I’m out of here. And you better have two hundred thousand dollars in cash for me. Because if you don’t, I’ll go to the cops and tell them you forced me to keep the kid because otherwise you would have had him killed. I’ll trade everything I know about you for immunity from prosecution. You want to know something? I’ll be a hero! I’ll get a book contract for a million dollars. I’ve got it all figured out.”
Before he had time to answer, the woman, known to Matthew and her father as Glory, had pressed the END button on her cell phone.
Despite his frequent and frantic efforts to reach her again, she did not answer his calls.
28
After she left Kevin Wilson, Zan went directly back to the office, once again using the delivery entrance to get into her building.
Josh was waiting for her. She had left the note saying that she was going to try to meet with Wilson. When she saw the expression of deep concern on the face of her young assistant, she attributed it to his fear they might have lost the job of decorating the model apartments, and said reassuringly, “Josh, I think we might get a break with Wilson. He’ll hold off making a decision until I can clear myself.”
Josh’s expression did not change. “Zan, exactly how can you clear yourself?” he asked, his voice trembling with emotion. He pointed to the front page of the two newspapers that were lying on the desk.
“Josh, I’m not in those pictures,” Zan said. “That woman looks like me, but she isn’t me.” The protest came from lips that were suddenly dry. Josh has been my dear friend as well as my assistant, she thought. Last night he came rushing to get me out of the Four Seasons and past all those reporters. But he hadn’t seen the pictures yet.
“Zan, a lawyer named Charles Shore called you,” Josh told her. “He said that Alvirah had recommended him. I’ll dial him back for you. You need to be protected right away.”
“Protected from whom?” Zan demanded. “The police? Ted?”
“You need to be protected from yourself,” Josh shot back, as tears glistened in his eyes. “Zan, when I first came to work for you after Matthew disappeared, you told me about those blackouts you had after your parents died.” He came around the desk and put his hands protectively on her shoulders. “Zan, I love you. You’re a brilliant interior designer. You’re the big sister I never had. But you need help. You’ve got to prepare a defense before the cops start questioning you.”
Zan pushed his hands away and stepped back. “Josh, you mean wel
l, but you’ve got to understand. I can prove I was with Nina Aldrich when Matthew was taken from the stroller. I’m going to see her right now. Tiffany took Matthew to the park at about 12:30. By two when she woke up, he was gone. I can prove I was meeting with Nina Aldrich during that time. I tell you, I can prove it! Something crazy is going on, but I am not the woman in those photos.”
Josh did not look convinced. “Zan, I’m calling that lawyer for you right now. My uncle is a cop. I talked to him this morning. He said it’s obvious you’re a suspect now in Matthew’s disappearance, and he’d be surprised if you’re not brought in for questioning before the end of the day.”
Nina Aldrich is my only hope, Zan thought. “Call that lawyer,” she said. “Tell me his name again.”
“Charles Shore.” Josh reached for the phone.
As Josh was dialing, Zan steadied herself by putting both palms on the desk. The panic was building up. She felt herself wanting to retreat to escape it. Not now, she prayed. Please God, not now. Give me the strength to hang on. Then from a distance, she heard Josh shout her name, but she no longer had the strength to answer him.
It all became a blur. She thought she felt people pressing around her, people shouting at her, the wail of an ambulance. She heard herself sobbing, calling for Matthew. Then she felt a prick in her arm. It was real.
When she finally woke, she was in the emergency room of a hospital. Josh and a man with iron gray hair and steel-rimmed glasses were sitting beside her in the curtained-off cubicle. “I’m Charley Shore,” the older man said. “I’m Alvirah’s friend, and your lawyer if you’ll have me.”
Zan struggled to focus on him. “Josh called you,” she said slowly.
“Yes. Don’t try to talk now. We’ll have plenty of time tomorrow. As a precaution, the doctor would like you to stay here overnight.”
“No. No. I have to go home. I have to talk to Nina Aldrich.” Zan tried to pull herself up.
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