Peter Jones struggled to choose his words carefully and to sound calm. “Mr. Schultz, you must understand that your client’s credibility is at best highly suspect. Based upon what you have told me, however, I believe that I have an ethical obligation to interview him. We will see where it goes. Mr. Gruber might have been there at the same time, but how do I know that he isn’t simply going to invent a face and claim it’s the one he saw leaving the Lyons home?”
“Mr. Jones, this is a fascinating case that I was following even before Mr. Gruber retained me. It seems to me that if Mrs. Lyons was not involved, then that shot might have been fired by someone else who was close to the victim. From what I have read, this case has no markings of a random intruder. I believe that it is very possible that if a high-quality composite is made, the face may end up being recognized by the family or friends of the victim.”
“As I just told you,” Peter snapped, “I recognize my ethical duty to follow up on this, but I am certainly not promising you anything in advance. I want to speak to Mr. Gruber, and I want to see those license plates. We will check out the E-ZPass charge to Mr. Morley’s account. If, after that, we decide to have him sit down with our composite officer, we will see where the sketch takes us. You have my word that any meaningful cooperation will be brought to the attention of his sentencing judges. I absolutely refuse to get any more specific at this point.”
Schultz’s voice became angry and cold. “I don’t think Mr. Gruber will be very responsive to such a vague offer. Perhaps I should simply give this information to Mr. Scott, who represents Kathleen Lyons. It is most ironic that he is the victim in this burglary, and I assume he would have to advise Mrs. Lyons to obtain new counsel. But I have read that the families are close friends, and I am sure any information that would assist in exonerating this innocent woman would be most welcome. And I have no doubt that Mr. Scott would ensure that my client’s cooperation is brought to the attention of the sentencing judges.”
Peter sensed that Schultz was about to hang up. “Mr. Schultz,” he said emphatically, “you and I are both experienced criminal lawyers. I have never laid eyes on Mr. Gruber, but I do know he is a criminal and looking to benefit himself. It would be totally irresponsible of me to make more specific promises at this point and you know it. If any information he gives us turns out to be of importance, I assure you that his cooperation will be brought to the attention of his sentencing judges.”
“Not good enough, sir,” Schultz retorted. “Let me suggest something. I will wait two days before contacting Mr. Scott. I suggest that you reflect further on my offer. I will call you again on Friday afternoon.
“Have a good day.”
39
On Wednesday morning one of Lillian’s prepaid phones rang at six o’clock. Knowing who would be on the other end of the line, she reached across the pillow to pick it up from the night table. Although she was already awake, she still resented the early-morning intrusion. Her “Hello” was abrupt and sullen.
“Lillian, did you phone Richard last night?” the caller asked, his tone frigid and even threatening.
Lillian debated about whether to lie, then decided it was not worth it. “He knows I have the parchment,” she blurted out. “Jonathan told him he gave it to me. If I don’t sell it to him, he’ll go to the police. Do you realize what that could mean? When the cops were here, I had to admit that the night Jonathan died I was having dinner only twenty minutes from his house in New Jersey. We both know that Kathleen killed him, but if Richard tells them I have the parchment, they could turn it all around and say I went to the house, that Jonathan let me in, then I killed him and took the parchment.”
“You’re getting hysterical and jumping to absurd conclusions,” the caller snapped. “Lillian, how much is Richard going to pay you?”
“Two million dollars.”
“And I am offering you four million dollars. Why are you doing this?”
“Don’t you see why I’m doing this?” she screamed. “Because if I don’t sell it to Richard, he’ll go straight to the detectives. He’s already seen the parchment. He trusts Jonathan’s judgment that it’s authentic. Jonathan told him that he gave it to me. And of course Richard would deny he ever tried to buy it from me. He’ll tell them he’s been trying to persuade me to give it back.”
“Richard has already denied to both Mariah and those detectives just last night that he ever saw the parchment. If he changes his story they’ll start suspecting him. You should call his bluff and tell him to get lost.”
Lillian pushed herself up to a sitting position. “I have a splitting headache. I can’t deal with this much longer. I already lied to the cops when I told them that Jonathan was going to try to sneak out and meet me for dinner the night he was shot. I already told Alvirah I didn’t speak to Jonathan during those last five days, and I’m sure she’s passed that on to Mariah and the cops.”
“Lillian, listen to me. I have an alternate plan that can make this a win-win situation for you. I’ll give you four million dollars for the parchment. Stall Richard until Friday. I can have a first-class expert make a perfect copy of it on two-thousand-year-old parchment, and you can give that one to Richard. He’ll pay you two million, so you end up with six million dollars. That should help dry your tears over Jonathan. And when Richard finds out that it’s a fake, he’ll just think that Jonathan was wrong about it. What do you expect he’s going to do? Go to the police? He’d be knee-deep in trouble himself. Don’t forget, we’re talking about a parchment that was stolen from the Vatican Library. Dear Richard will just have to swallow the whole thing.”
Six million dollars, Lillian thought. If I decided to give up teaching, I could travel. Who knows? I might even meet a nice guy who doesn’t have a crazy wife.
“Where is the parchment, Lillian? I want it today.”
“It’s in my safe-deposit box at the bank a couple of blocks from here.”
“I warned you that the police may very well be getting a search warrant for your apartment and any safe-deposit box in your name. You’ve got to get that parchment out of your box now. Be at the bank when it opens at nine o’clock. Don’t even think about bringing it back to your apartment. I’ll call you in an hour and tell you where to meet me after you’re finished at the bank.”
“What about the four million dollars? When do I get it and how do I get it?”
“I’ll wire it to an overseas account and I’ll have the paperwork for you when I give you the copy Friday morning. Look, Lillian, we have to trust each other. Either one of us could blow the whistle on the other. You want the money. I want the parchment. You give Richard the phony parchment Friday afternoon and collect your money from him. Then everybody’s happy.”
40
Kathleen was sitting up in bed, a tray with tea and juice and toast in front of her. The smell of the toast made her think of sitting at the breakfast table with Jonathan. He was with her now, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was sitting on a chair next to the bed, and his head and arms were leaning against her legs.
Any minute now he will start to bleed, she thought.
She pushed aside the tray, unaware that the nurse grabbed it in time to prevent the tea and juice from spilling.
A voice asked, “What do you want, Kathleen? Why are you doing that?”
Kathleen was clawing at the pillow, trying to yank the pillowcase off.
She did not realize that the nurse made a gesture to stop her, then stepped back.
Her fingers shaking, Kathleen pulled the pillowcase free and tied it around her face.
“Kathleen, you’re frightened. Something is frightening you.”
“I can’t see his face,” Kathleen wailed. “Maybe if he can’t see mine, he won’t shoot me, too.”
41
At a quarter of nine on Wednesday morning, Lloyd Scott dropped in on Mariah. He had phoned at eight thirty hoping that she was up. “Lloyd, I’m on my second cup of coffee,” she had told him. “Come on over, I was g
oing to call you anyhow. There are some things you should know.”
When he arrived he found her in the breakfast room, with neatly laid-out files spread across the table. “I told Betty to take the day off,” she explained. “She stayed late last evening because I had people in for dinner. She’s been practically living here since Dad died, but now it’s time to get back to whatever you’d call normal.”
“I’m sure it is,” Lloyd agreed. “Mariah, you’ll remember I told you I was going to look up Rory Steiger. Well, the report is in and it turns out her real name is Victoria Parker and she has a prison record. She spent seven years in jail in Boston, for stealing money and jewelry from an elderly woman who hired her as a caregiver.”
“Those two detectives were here last night. They told me about the prison record and that Rory is missing,” Mariah said. “They wanted to know if I had heard from her, which I hadn’t.”
Lloyd Scott had learned to keep his face impassive in court even when a witness he was counting on said something unexpected on cross-examination. Even so, his pale blue eyes widened and he unconsciously smoothed back the few strands of hair that nature had permitted him to keep. “She’s missing? Wait a minute. I’ll be right back.”
With the familiarity of an old friend, he went into the kitchen, poured himself a cup of coffee, returned to the breakfast room, and sat down. Mariah briefly explained that Rory had not shown up for a dinner date with a friend and was not answering her cell phone, but that when her super checked on her apartment nothing looked disturbed.
“Lloyd,” she said, “the question seems to be, did Rory disappear on her own or did something happen to her?” Then she added, “It’s funny. I never felt warm about Rory the way I do about Delia, the weekend caregiver, but Rory did seem to take good care of Mom. And Mom listened to her. Delia had to beg Mom to shower or to take her medicine. With Rory there were no arguments.”
“Rory stole from her employer in Boston,” Lloyd said. “Is there any possibility she’s been stealing in this house and is now afraid of getting caught?”
“I think Dad would have noticed if money was missing from his wallet. Betty has a credit card for food shopping. Mom’s jewelry is in the safe-deposit box. Dad caught Mom trying to throw it out and took it away from her.” Mariah’s voice became strained. “What occurred to me is that Rory must have heard talk about the parchment when Dad was on the phone in his study. Last night at dinner, Richard, Greg, Albert, and Charles all admitted that Dad had called and told them about it. Mom loved to sit in the study with Dad, and Rory was always hovering around her. Suppose after Dad died, Rory helped herself to the parchment and found a buyer for it? That would be a good reason to disappear.”
“Do you think that’s what happened?” Lloyd asked incredulously.
“We know that she’s a thief.” For a moment Mariah turned her head so that she was looking out the back window. “The impatiens grew so beautifully,” she said. “And in a few weeks they’ll be gone. I can still see Dad planting them in June. I came out and wanted to help him, but he turned me down. I had just delivered another zinger about Lillian. He turned away from me, shrugged, and went outside. God, Lloyd, if we could only take back the hurtful things we say.” She sighed.
“Mariah, listen to me. I was close to your father. You were the voice of his conscience. He knew he shouldn’t have been involved with Lillian and that it was hurting Kathleen and you. Don’t forget, I’ve lived here for more than twenty years and witnessed how in love he and Kathleen were. I think he knew that if the positions were reversed, there wouldn’t have been anyone else in her life.”
“I still wish I had been more understanding. And the fact is that if those damn pictures hadn’t surfaced, Mom and I would have been blissfully unaware that there was something between Dad and Lillian and a lot happier for it. I always thought that it was Lillian and Charles who were involved. Lillian is and was a good actress, which is what I was planning to bring up with you.” Mariah looked straight into Lloyd’s eyes. “I have done nothing but think about this and, despite what you just told me, I would bet everything I have that Dad gave the parchment to Lillian to hold for him. Whether he did or did not break up with her after he visited Father Aiden that Wednesday two weeks ago, Lillian admitted to Alvirah that she and Dad were not in touch for the next five days, and then he was killed.”
Lloyd nodded. “Alvirah was emphatic about that and if there’s one thing I’m sure of, Alvirah doesn’t misunderstand what she’s being told.”
“Lloyd, suppose they had a quarrel? Lillian might have refused to give the parchment back to him. Suppose she didn’t keep it in her apartment. Maybe she put it in a safe-deposit box for safekeeping?”
“Then you think that Lillian may have the parchment?”
“I’d stake my life on it. Lloyd, think about it. If Dad told her it was over, she’d be hurt and angry. I saw those pictures. They were in love. Now Dad had taken five years of her life and was walking away from her. She might have felt that he owed her plenty.”
Lloyd waited, then decided to voice the possibility that had occurred to him. “Mariah, suppose Lillian came here on that Monday night, ostensibly to give back the parchment. There was no caregiver here. Is it possible that your father let her in, that a quarrel began and that she was the one who pulled that trigger?”
“Except for the fact that my mother is completely innocent, I think anything is possible,” Mariah said. “And this morning I’m driving into New York and I’m going to have it out with Lillian. My father found a sacred and priceless artifact that belongs to the Church and to the generations of people who will be able to view it in the Vatican Library. One way or the other I’m going to make sure they get it back.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “If I can get that letter from Christ to Joseph of Arimathea back and send it to where it belongs, I know that Dad will be aware of it and it will help make up for all of the nasty remarks I’ve been giving him this past year and a half.”
42
On Wednesday morning at eight thirty Alvirah and Willy were sitting in their car parked across the street from the entrance to Lillian’s apartment opposite Lincoln Center. “There’s only one exit from the building,” Alvirah said, more to herself than to Willy, who was reading the Daily News. “I just hope the cops don’t chase us away. I’ll wait until nine, then I’ll march in and give my name to the doorman. When Lillian gets on the intercom, I’ll tell her that I have information that may save her from a stint in the pokey.”
That statement was enough to get Willy’s attention. He had been reading the sports pages and was consumed by the articles covering the closeness of the race for the division championship between the Yankees and the Boston Red Sox. “You didn’t tell me you had that kind of dirt on her,” he said.
“I don’t,” Alvirah admitted matter-of-factly. “But I’m going to make her think that I do.” She sighed. “I love the summer, but truth to tell I’m glad it’s a little cooler the last few days. You can just take so much of the ninety-five-degree weather. This outfit is light, but even with the air-conditioning it feels like a blanket.”
She was wearing a cotton pantsuit that, after the delicious and never-ending food on the cruise, was feeling a bit tight. She was also painfully aware that telltale white roots were springing up like weeds in her artfully colored red hair and that Dale of London, her colorist, was on vacation in Tortola. “I can’t believe I let it go this long, and now Dale won’t be back for another week,” she complained. “I’m starting to look like the old lady in the shoe.”
“You always look gorgeous, honey,” Willy assured her. “At least you and I have hair to worry about. Kathleen’s lawyer is a nice guy but he should get rid of those three strands he combs across his dome and cave in and just go bald. He’d look like Bruce Willis—”
Willy interrupted himself. “You’re too late, Alvirah. Lillian’s on her way out.”
“Oh, no,” Alvirah moaned as she watched the slim fig
ure of Lillian Stewart, dressed in a lightweight running suit and sneakers, walk from the door to the sidewalk and turn right. Her shoulder bag was dangling on her left side and she was carrying something resembling a tote bag tucked under her right arm.
“Follow her, Willy,” Alvirah ordered.
“Alvirah, there’s a lot of traffic on Broadway. I don’t think I can trail her for long. I’ll keep half the buses and taxis in New York backed up behind us.”
“Look, Willy, she’s heading north. It looks as if she’s going at least another block on Broadway. Drive ahead and pull up at the corner. Everybody else around here double-parks. Why not you?”
Knowing it was useless to protest, Willy did as he was told. When Lillian reached the next block, she did not cross at the intersection but turned right.
“Oh, good,” Alvirah said, “it’s a one-way, going that way. Turn left, Willy.”
“Roger, over and out,” Willy deadpanned as he made a precariously sharp maneuver across two lanes of oncoming traffic.
At the next corner, Alvirah let out a triumphant gasp. “Look at that, Willy. She’s going into the bank. I’d bet anything she’s going to pay a visit to her safe-deposit box. Dollars to donuts, when she comes out, there’ll be something in that bag she’s carrying. Don’t forget she accepted Richard’s offer for two million dollars. Shame on both of them.”
Once again Willy double-parked, this time a few doors down from the entrance to the bank. Moments later, an unsmiling face rapped on the driver’s window. “Move along, sir, right now,” a traffic policeman ordered. “You can’t stay here.”
The Lost Years Page 15
