Almost beside himself with frustration, Simon barked, “Do it. I’ll get the tech unit to come here and go over the car for prints.” He paused. “And I’ll have to let Lloyd Scott know what’s going on.”
Three missing women in five days, he thought grimly. All of them connected to Jonathan Lyons. And probably connected to that parchment.
His introspection was interrupted by Rita. “The guys with Gruber are already over the bridge. They’ll be waiting for us at the office.”
77
Her head hurt so much. Mariah tried to touch it but could not raise her hand that high. She opened her eyes. The light was dim, but she could see that she was in some kind of strange place. She lifted her head and looked around.
She was in a museum.
I’m dreaming. It has to be a nightmare. This can’t be.
Then she remembered Lillian’s call. I went rushing to meet her. He was waiting for me. He slammed my head against the car. Then I was in a car trunk and Lillian was there.
Bits and pieces about the ride came back to her. It was so bumpy. My head kept hitting against the floor. Lillian was next to me. She was tied up too.
Mariah recalled hearing the sound of a door opening, like a garage door going up. Then he opened the trunk and dragged Lillian out. She kept pleading, “Please don’t hurt me. Please let me go.”
Then he came back for me, she remembered. He picked me up and carried me to a lift. And then it went up. And then we were here in the museum. He took me into a bathroom and untied my hands. He said, “I’ll let you have a few minutes in here.” I tried to lock the door behind him, but there was no lock. I heard him laughing. He knew I was going to try to lock it. I tried to wash the crusted blood from my head and face, but then I started bleeding again. I pressed a towel against the gash and then he came back.
Mariah remembered how helpless she had felt when he retied her hands and legs and dragged her into this room and threw her down on a mattress on the floor. He didn’t care at all that I was still bleeding, she thought. He wanted to hurt me.
Her head was throbbing but her thoughts were starting to come more clearly. He had held up what looked to be a large antique silver jewelry case and opened the lid. He reached inside and took something out. He held it over my head, she thought. It looked like one of those rolled-up scrolls that she had seen in her father’s study.
“Look at it, Mariah,” he demanded. “It is so unfortunate that your father would not sell this to me. If he had, he would be alive today and so would Rory. And neither would Lillian be here with us. But that was not meant to be. Now I want to honor what I know would be your father’s fondest wish: that you touch it before you join him. I know how much you have missed him.”
He brushed the parchment against her neck, taking care that it did not come into contact with any of the blood that was still oozing from her forehead.
And then he had laid it back into the silver chest, which he placed on the marble table next to her.
I don’t remember what happened after that, Mariah thought. I must have passed out again. Why didn’t he kill me right away? What is he waiting for?
She strained to raise her wrists and look at her watch. It was twenty minutes past eleven. When I was in the bathroom it was almost five o’clock, she thought. I’ve been unconscious for more than six hours. Is he still here? I don’t see him.
Where is Lillian?
“Lillian,” she called out, “Lillian.”
For a moment there was no answer, but then a sudden terrified wail from near the center of the room made her cringe. “Mariah, he’s going to kill us!” Lillian screamed. “He only held off killing me so that he could use me to trick you into coming to the motel. When he comes back, I know what’s going to happen. I know what’s going to happen.”
The sound of Lillian’s gasping sobs became a crescendo of terror that echoed throughout the cavernous room.
78
Wally Gruber did not know why the detective who was driving him to the New Jersey prosecutor’s office suddenly stepped on the gas and turned on the flashers. “I’m in no hurry,” he chided them. “I’m enjoying the ride. In fact I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to stop for coffee on the way.”
He was sitting in the backseat of the van, shackles covering his wrists and legs, and separated from the front area by a locked grille. There were two other detectives escorting him, one in the front passenger seat and the other sitting next to him in the secured section.
None of the three detectives answered him. Wally shrugged his shoulders. They’re not too sociable today, he thought. So what? He closed his eyes, concentrating again on the face that might get him back on the street much sooner. He had made bets with some of his fellow inmates. In fact they had a pool going. The odds were up to four to one that he wasn’t bluffing about seeing the killer of that professor.
They weren’t in the parking lot of the courthouse long enough for him to get a decent breath of fresh air before he was in the elevator going up to the prosecutor’s office. He was taken straight to a room where there was a guy sitting at a computer who stood up as they entered. “Mr. Gruber,” he said, “I am Detective Howard Washington. I will be working with you to formulate the composite.”
“Call me Wally, Howie,” Gruber replied cheerfully.
Washington ignored the invitation. “Please sit down, Mr. Gruber. I will explain to you exactly how we’re going to do this. I am informing you that this process will be videotaped. I will first take a detailed description from you of the person whom you have indicated you saw, then I will be using the computer to show you images of various head and facial parts, such as the forehead, eyes, nose, and chin, as well as head and facial hair.”
“Don’t stress over any facial hair, Howie. He didn’t have any.” Wally sat down next to Washington and leaned back in the chair. “I wouldn’t mind a nice hot cup of coffee,” he said. “No milk. Two sugars.”
Simon Benet and Rita Rodriguez had just come into the room. Simon felt his blood boil as he listened to Wally’s nonchalant comments. He felt Rita put a restraining hand on his arm. I’d love to deck this guy, he thought.
“I’m going to start with some very specific questions with regard to the person’s physical appearance. I will be taking notes as you speak. I’m going to start with our initial checklist.”
The questions began. “Male or female… color of skin… approximate age… approximate height and weight…”
When Detective Washington had completed the preliminary questions, he started putting up multiple images on the screen.
Wally began shaking his head, then said, “Hold it. That’s the way the hair looked when he pulled the scarf down. You’re hitting the nail on the head.”
Simon Benet and Rita Rodriguez looked at each other. From Wally’s description they already knew how the composite would come out. The question burning in both of their minds was, where and when had Gruber seen this face? Was it the night Jonathan Lyons was shot or was it from a picture in a newspaper after Lyons had died?
They waited until Wally Gruber, looking at the current composite on the screen, said to Detective Washington, “You did a good job, Howie. That’s him.”
Simon and Rita stared at the screen.
“It’s as though Greg Pearson sat for the picture,” Rita said as Simon nodded in agreement.
79
After she called Lloyd to tell him that Mariah might be missing, Alvirah rushed to shower and dress, leaving the half-eaten Danish on her plate. Her heart pounding with anxiety, she dressed in her lightweight running suit, swallowed her vitamins, and hastily put on some light makeup. Just as she was finishing, Lloyd phoned to say that Mariah’s car had been found.
“I’m on my way to the prosecutor’s office,” he said tersely. “That guy Gruber should be there by now. If he’s on the level, saving Mariah’s life may depend on the description he gives to them.”
“Lloyd, I have had my suspicions,” Alvirah said. “And
since yesterday I’m ninety-nine percent sure that I’m right. Albert West told the prosecutor’s office that Charles Michaelson was trying to sell the parchment, but then I made Albert call his source, who admitted that the so-called tip came from an anonymous phone call. I think the person who made that phone call was trying to set Michaelson up. I just don’t believe Michaelson or West is involved.”
Warming up to her theory, Alvirah paced back and forth across the bedroom as she spoke. “That leaves Richard Callahan and Greg Pearson. My gut tells me Richard is not a killer. I knew he was holding back on something, and then I realized it’s as plain as the nose on your face. He’s so in love with Mariah that he’s been willing to spend most of his own money to try to get that parchment back.”
Hoping she was getting through to Lloyd, Alvirah said, “Lloyd, I can’t be one hundred percent positive until we see that composite, but that leaves only Greg Pearson.”
“Alvirah, hold on. I’m Kathleen’s attorney. With the exception of Mariah, there’s nobody who wants to get the real killer more than I do. So even if everything you surmise is true, I can tell you right now that no jury would ever convict Greg Pearson on evidence that consists primarily of Wally Gruber’s identification. Pearson’s attorney would annihilate him on cross-examination.”
“I agree with you. I understand what you’re saying. But he has to have a place where he’s kept the parchment. He’d never be dumb enough to hide it in his apartment or office or a safe-deposit box. But if he thought that Gruber had identified somebody else and he was out of the woods, he might feel comfortable going to wherever that parchment is hidden.”
Pleading her case to Lloyd, Alvirah tried to keep her voice from rising too much. “And you know, I think even the detectives are pretty convinced that Lillian had the parchment under her arm when she got on the subway. She had to be going somewhere to meet someone. I think it was Greg. Think about it. Rory could have let him in the house that night. She knew where Jonathan kept the gun. Rory could have easily left it out somewhere for him. She’s an ex-con who skipped parole. Maybe Greg found out about her secret past and threatened to expose her if she didn’t cooperate. And then he had to get rid of Rory because she was a danger to him.”
“Alvirah, what you’re saying makes sense, but why would he go after Mariah?” Lloyd said.
“Because he was crazy about her and could see that Mariah was crazy about Richard. I could always tell that he was jealous. He never took his eyes off her. Add that to his being terrified that he would be identified from that composite. I think all this probably sent him over the edge. My opinion is that the only way we have any hope of finding Mariah is to make Greg Pearson believe the composite shows someone else so he’s sure he can come and go without anyone watching him.”
Alvirah took a breath. Her voice passionate, she added, “I’ve got to talk to Simon Benet. If that sketch is of Greg, Simon has simply got to lead him into believing that he’s in the clear. After that, Greg has to be followed around the clock.”
“Alvirah, as much as you’re helping, I don’t think that Detective Benet will tell you about the results of the composite,” Lloyd said. “But, as Kathleen’s attorney, he will tell me. I will absolutely convey to him everything you have said, and I will call you back right after I speak to him.”
“Lloyd, please make him understand that if Mariah is still alive, this may be her only chance to survive.”
Willy had been making the bed and listening to Alvirah’s side of the conversation. “Honey, it sounds to me like you got this whole thing figured out. I hope they’ll listen to what you said. It sure makes sense to me. You know, I never said anything, but whenever we were with Greg at Jonathan’s dinners, I could never quite figure out what made him tick. He always acted like the others were the ones who knew the most about that ancient stuff, but a couple of times he came out with a comment that said to me he knew a whole lot more than he let on.”
Alvirah’s face crumpled. “I keep thinking about poor Kathleen and how awful it would be for her if Mariah is gone. Even with the Alzheimer’s, at some point it would sink in and it would kill her.”
Willy was about to place the decorative pillows against the headboard. His forehead deeply lined, his warm blue eyes clouded with concern, he said, “Honey, I think you’d better start getting ready to hear some very bad news about Mariah.”
“I won’t believe that,” Alvirah said forcefully. “Willy, I can’t believe that.”
Willy dropped the pillows and hurried to put his arms around her. “Hang on, sweetheart,” he said. “Hang on.”
The loud sound of the telephone ringing startled both of them. It was the doorman. “Willy, a Mr. Richard Callahan is here. He says he has to see you right away.”
“Send him up, Tony,” Willy said. “Thanks.”
As they waited for Richard to come up, the phone rang yet again. It was Lloyd Scott. “Alvirah, you were right. I’m at the prosecutor’s office and I’ve seen the composite. It’s a dead ringer for Greg Pearson. I’ve been talking to Simon Benet. He agrees that at this point your suggestion is probably the best option they have. We know Pearson is in his office. Benet is going to make the call to him in about a half an hour, after he’s sure the New York guys are in place to follow him.”
80
At quarter of twelve, the phone in Greg’s office rang. “Detective Simon Benet is on the line, sir,” his secretary said.
His palms sweaty, his mind and body tingling with fear and apprehension, Greg picked up the phone. Was Benet going to ask him to come in for another talk?
“Good morning, Mr. Pearson,” Benet said. “Sorry to disturb you.”
“Not at all.” He sounds pretty friendly, Greg thought.
“Mr. Benet, it’s very important I get in touch with Professor Michaelson immediately. He’s not answering his home phone or his cell phone and he’s not at his office at the university. We’re contacting all of his friends to see if we can locate him. By any chance have you spoken to him recently or has he otherwise mentioned any travel plans he may have?”
A gigantic wave of relief swept over Greg Pearson. That Gruber lowlife never saw me. He must have seen that picture of all of us that was in the newspapers and decided to pick out Charles. And probably Albert told Benet that Charles was shopping the parchment. My anonymous call to Desmond Rogers did the trick.
Once again, he felt fully in control, master of his universe. His voice cordial, he said, “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Detective Benet. I haven’t spoken to Charles since we were at dinner at Mariah’s home on Tuesday evening. That was when you and Detective Rodriguez stopped by.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pearson,” Benet said. “If you do happen to hear from Professor Michaelson, I would appreciate it very much if you’d ask him to call me.”
“Of course I will, Detective, although I must say that I think it most unlikely that Charles would contact me. Our mutual friendship with Jonathan Lyons and my going on his archaeological expeditions was pretty much the basis of our connection.”
“I see. Well, I’ve already given you my card, but if you don’t have it handy, perhaps you’d like to jot down my cell number now.”
“Of course.” Greg took out his pen, wrote the number, exchanged a pleasant good-bye with Benet, and put down the phone. He took a long deep breath, then got up.
Time to visit the ladies and say good-bye, he thought. Then he smiled.
Maybe I’ll treat them to lunch first.
81
There are probably New York cops in plainclothes all over the place,” Alvirah said. “I didn’t ask for permission for us to follow Greg ourselves because I know I would have been told in no uncertain terms to stay out of it. But none of us can sit home at a time like this.”
They were in the car on West 57th Street, stopped in a no-parking zone a few yards from the busy entrance to the Fisk Building, where Greg had his office on the tenth floor. Richard, his face and lips deadly pale, his expressio
n agonized, was in the front seat with Willy. Alvirah was perched on the edge of the backseat behind Richard.
“Honey, one of those traffic cops is going to chase us away any minute,” Willy said.
“If that happens, Richard can get out and keep an eye on that door,” Alvirah replied. “We’ll circle the block for as long as we have to. If Greg comes out and gets on the subway, Richard can follow him and stay in touch with us.”
“Honey, if he spots Richard, he won’t go to whatever hiding place he has.”
“With that hooded sweatshirt of yours covering Richard’s hair and with those dark glasses covering half of his face, unless Greg was two feet away from Richard, he wouldn’t recognize him.”
“If he gets on the subway, I’ll make damn sure he doesn’t see me,” Richard said, his voice deadly calm.
“I keep going over and over this,” Alvirah said. “If I hadn’t lost Lillian the other day, Mariah might not be missing now. I’ll never stop blaming myself because—there he is!”
Their eyes were riveted to the sight of Greg Pearson leaving the building. They watched as he walked the few steps to the corner and turned right on Broadway. Richard leapt out of the car. “He may be going into the subway,” he said.
Willy started the car but by the time they reached the corner, the traffic light was red. “Oh, God, please don’t let Richard lose him,” Alvirah moaned.
When they were finally able to make the turn, they could see Richard’s hooded figure turning onto 56th Street and heading west. “We can’t follow him there,” Willy said. “It’s a one-way street. I’ll have to turn on 55th and hope we can meet up with him.”
Alvirah’s phone rang. It was Richard. “I’m half a block behind him. He’s still walking.”
The Lost Years Page 24
