by Pat Young
Was she turning into a recluse? How ironic would that be? To escape from her life with Curtis only to end up trapped by her own fears, terrified to leave the building in case anyone recognised her. Had she run from one prison straight into another?
That wasn’t going to happen. She’d be better off owning up to murder and being sent to jail. At least there she wouldn’t be in solitary confinement.
Lucie stood up tall and concentrated hard on getting her breathing under control. ‘In for six, out for six,’ she whispered, trying to focus like she used to do before a big race. Gradually her heart slowed and her breathing returned to normal. She went to the kitchen, poured a glass of cold water and took it to the huge window.
She had to get out and face the world, before the prospect became too big for her. Fear had trapped her once before, kept her with Curtis when she knew he was no good for her. Even when the love between them had gone, buried with their poor wee baby, she’d been unable to leave. It was clear to Lucie now that she’d suffered some sort of postpartum depression. When she’d mentioned it to Curtis as a reason for her lethargy, tears and mood swings, he had scoffed. ‘How can you have the baby blues if you haven’t got a baby?’
With hindsight it was easy to see how Curtis had chipped away at her self-esteem, but things were different now. She was different. And if she was strong enough to fight Curtis and win, she was brave enough to walk out of this building.
It couldn’t be that difficult. All she needed to do was not think about it. Focus on the breathing and the little things. Normal, everyday things. Like shoes.
The shoes she’d chosen, a pair of Charlotte’s plain black pumps, were a little on the narrow side, already squeezing her toes, but they’d be fine for an hour or two.
Determined to keep her mind off her fears, Lucie watched her feet walking along the hallway. She had a flashback to the red-soled Louboutins she’d seen discarded on the street just before the dust came down.
The elevator began to slow and Lucie’s heart began to race. She had survived the dust cloud, she could survive this. Focusing on the elegant shoes on her feet, she stepped into the lobby. It wasn’t enough to wear Charlotte’s shoes. Until she made it through the lobby and out into the street, she had to be Charlotte.
Rob greeted her from the desk with a cheery good morning. ‘Sorry I had to bother you about the grocery guy and the cleaners. Security is high and I’m on strict orders to let no one into the building without checking.’
‘Fine,’ said Lucie, smiling back.
‘You have a great day now, Ms Gillespie.’
Nice to be living in a place where everyone was protected from harm. Well, unless some crazy terrorist flew a plane into the building. Lucie looked up at the sky, empty now where once the towers had stood. Manhattan looked wrong without them. Sure, there were enormous buildings all around but nothing that tall, or that special.
The air smelled like a burnt saucepan and, though there was no dust that she could see, Lucie could still smell it. That odour would stay with her forever, the way some aroma-memories did. Like the baby soap Mum always used when Lucie was tiny. The merest whiff of it used to make her feel happy, loved and secure. She had bought a bar when she first knew she was pregnant, but eventually threw it in the bin. Baby soap without a baby had no magic.
There was a guy lounging against the apartment block opposite, one trainered foot flat on the wall behind him. His casual style looked out of place amongst the business types. A tourist, on his way to Ground Zero? The wreckage was attracting as many visitors as Times Square, according to one snippet of a TV report.
When he saw her, he pushed off the wall and start walking in her direction. She hurried towards the subway, glancing back once she got to the end of the block. He was gone. She exhaled loudly then smiled, feeling silly. Why on earth would anyone be following her?
On the subway, where no one ever made eye contact with anyone, Lucie continued to concentrate on shoes – old ones, new ones, polished ones, dull ones, ten-dollar shoes like she used to wear and two-hundred-dollar shoes like the ones on her feet, which were starting to hurt already, threatening blisters.
It was good to be out in the world again, an anonymous traveller like everyone else on the subway train. When Lucie reached the hospital, she felt more alive than she had for months. As she walked through the front doors, she threw back her shoulders and attempted to smile, knowing she would have to appear confident if she was to get the information she needed. Two women sat at a reception desk, their attention on the monitors in front of them. Lucie eyed them up, trying to decide which one to approach.
The younger of the two was well made-up with long, glossy hair that she kept running her fingers through. The other was much older, a small, mousey-looking woman who could have been anyone’s favourite aunt. Both looked up as Lucie approached the desk. She had the feeling the younger one was sizing her up, appraising the clothes she was wearing, making a judgement. The older woman smiled warmly and Lucie moved towards that side of the desk. She noticed the young woman tossing back her hair and returning her gaze to the screen, her interest in Lucie apparently over.
Mousie removed her spectacles and said, in a voice as warm as her smile, ‘Help you, dear?’
Lucie’s face felt like it had frozen. ‘Hi,’ she said, then cleared her throat. ‘I’m looking for Margaret McBride. I believe she’s a patient here?’
‘Let me just check for you. Do you know which station Ms McBride’s in?’
‘No, not exactly. I think she might be in Intensive Care. I was hoping you could tell me.’
Mousie gave her such a long look, Lucie began to wonder if she’d picked the wrong receptionist.
‘We’re not really supposed to divulge that information.’
Lucie took a snap decision. ‘She’s my mum. She’s badly hurt. I only just found out.’
‘So many of the patients we have with us right now were injured like your mom. What a dreadful thing to happen to our city.’
Lucie had been planning to play for sympathy by telling the woman how her mother flew all the way from Scotland to see her but had a crash on the way in from the airport. Now it seemed she wouldn’t have to.
Lucie swore a tear came into the woman’s eye before she put on her glasses and looked back at her monitor. She scrolled down, clicked twice and said, ‘Can you give me your mother’s full name and date of birth, please?’
Lucie tried to remember what year her mum had been born and crossed one finger over another as she said the month and the day of her mum’s birthday and took a chance with the year.
Mousie nodded and Lucie felt like a schoolkid who’d got the right answer to a hard question.
‘Try ICU station three. Go to the end of the corridor, turn right and you’ll find the elevators and the stairs. Take either one to the third floor and Intensive Care is through the double doors on your left. And I hope your mom will be okay, dear.’
Lucie wanted to hug the woman. She followed her directions and stopped when she came to the double doors, scared to go any further.
Lucie leaned forward to take a peek through the glass panel. Suddenly both doors swung open, like curtains on a stage. She expected all eyes to be upon her but no one gave her a second look. Nurses rushed about, intent on their work, doctors consulted notes at a central desk and, on a bank of seating, a man appeared to be comforting his weeping wife.
Lucie sneaked her way along a row of windows, peeping into patients’ rooms. There was no sign of her mother.
23
One of his cell phones rang just as the entrée was being served.
‘Oh, really, darling. Must we have those things at the dinner table?’
His friend Ray came to the rescue. ‘Business is business, Diane. You know that.’
Diane, in perfect hostess mode, raised her glass to her guest with a coquettish smile. ‘Well, of course ah do, Raymond,’ she said, her best southern drawl exaggerated for his benefit. ‘But don
’t y’all agree it’s just a teensy bit tiresome during dinner?’ She pronounced it ‘dinnah’. Her accent was the first thing about Diane he’d fallen in love with. The second was the size of the estate she would inherit on her daddy’s death.
‘My daddy, may God rest his soul, would never take a phone call once his guests were called to table. It’s just downright bad manners.’
Their dinner guests laughed. Everyone loved Diane, especially when she turned up the heat on that Southern Belle charm.
He checked the phone and walked backwards out of the dining room saying, ‘Sorry, everyone. I really need to take this.’
‘Speak!’ he barked into the phone, once he was out of earshot.
‘Boss?’
‘Didn’t I tell you not to ring me unless it was urgent?’
‘It is urgent, Boss.’
‘It better be.’ He tapped the fingers of his free hand on the mantelpiece. The smell of perfectly roasted beef drifted from the dining room and straight up his nose. His famished stomach rumbled in anticipation of the feast to come.
‘Well, for God’s sake, spit it out, man. I’ve got dinner guests waiting. You couldn’t have picked a worse time to call.’
‘Sorry, Boss.’
‘What is it? You got something?’
‘Yessir.’ The guy sounded like a kid at Christmas. One who’d got all the presents on his Santa list. And then some. ‘She’s there.’
His stomach gave a lurch, all desire for food gone in an instant. This was the last thing he expected. ‘You sure about that?’
‘Yessir, I’m sure. I saw the woman with my own eyes, walking out the building, just like you said she might.’
‘You sure it was her?’ He’d never thought, for one minute, that Charlotte would appear. He’d simply been crossing t’s and dotting i’s. That’s why he’d got Ray to find him a low-grade nobody of a private eye. Somebody who’d disappear back under a stone after a couple of days’ reconnaissance of Charlotte’s building. All Ray and his private dick knew, a mistress was cheating, and some proof was needed.
‘Definitely, Boss. I have a picture of her right here in my head. I haven’t seen her close up, but it’s her all right. What did you say her name is?’
‘I didn’t. You don’t need to know her name.’
‘It’s just, she was chatting to the doorman like she’s known him all her life. I was gonna check with him I’ve got the right person.’
He shook his head and tried to keep his temper. Where the hell did Ray get these guys? Stupid or what?
‘And let her know I’m having her followed? That’s about the dumbest idea I ever heard. Don’t you go near that doorman. Or her, you hear me?’
The youth became sycophantic. ‘Sure thing, Boss. Sorry, Boss.’
Time to tone it down. He didn’t want this guy getting suspicious about Charlotte and why she was so important. As far as this second-rate sleuth was concerned, Charlotte was just another two-timing gal with an angry lover checking up on her whereabouts.
‘Sorry, Boss. I’ll keep a low profile from now on.’
He hated crawlers. ‘You even know what that means?’
The guy ignored the jibe, proof he didn’t understand. ‘She didn’t come out with another guy, Boss. I know that for sure.’
‘Well, that’s all I need to know. You sure she didn’t see you?’
‘She didn’t see me, I swear.’
‘I hope not.’
‘Boss, pardon me for saying this, but you don’t sound too happy. Will I still get paid?’
‘Sure you will. Your contact will be in touch and you’ll get paid. I’m a man of my word. Good job.’
‘Anythin’ else you need, Boss, I’ll be glad to help out.’
He killed the call without answering. As far as he was concerned, this bozo just did his last job.
All the guy had been asked to do was watch the apartment block for a few days and let him know if a woman answering Charlotte’s description appeared with a man.
It had been a setback, not to mention a shock, to hear the professional cleaning crew had been turned away. They were supposed to erase all trace of Charlotte Gillespie. Pack up her belongings, drop them at a storage facility and clean that apartment till it shone like no one had ever lived there. The only difficulty he had anticipated was their gaining access to the building, but the doorman had examined their ID and it checked out. Security had never been tighter in New York. Everyone was terrified of everyone else. The man living next door. The passenger sitting opposite you on the subway. The solitary kid hanging out on the street corner. Any one of them could be a terrorist.
He hadn’t anticipated the cleaners being sent away. By the woman who lived in apartment 40/1. The woman who was supposed to be dead.
He didn’t understand how the guy he’d hired to get rid of Charlotte had managed to get his hands on the ribbon and key if he didn’t kill her. Whatever else he’d done, it was clear he didn’t finish her off.
Charlotte had run back to the sanctuary of her home. She would assume he had died in the North Tower, and if she loved him as much as she claimed, she’d be devastated by his loss. Not to mention the loss of her business premises and most of her employees. The woman would be an emotional wreck. A very rich one, but a wreck nonetheless. He almost felt a little sorry for her.
Charlotte’s business colleagues were gone, vaporised. She had no close friends these days. All her girlfriends, she said, had got married and had babies, moved out to the suburbs or closer to family – while she’d been busy working or working out, training for marathons. And then, of course, she’d had to find space in her life for him, so there wasn’t much room left for girly get-togethers. He’d been so flattered by her affections that he’d broken his no relationships rule. To begin with, an illicit affair had suited Charlotte perfectly. She wasn’t looking for a husband. She was already married, she said, to the business she’d built up from nothing. Now Gillespie Solutions was gone, but Charlotte Gillespie was still around to make trouble for him. What a balls-up.
He flopped into a Louis XIV armchair by the fireplace and chewed on his fingernail. He’d expected to be very relaxed, and very rich, by this stage. With not a care in the world more serious than which bathing suit to pack for his hard-earned vacation.
Now he’d have to deal with the cheating scumbag who caused this mess. That man had taken a lot of money for a job he didn’t complete. Charlotte should be dead by now.
It was his own fault he’d been made a fool of. He should know better than trust low-life trash. Problem was, only low-life trash would be prepared to kill a woman at short notice and in broad daylight. To make a few thousand lousy bucks. The money didn’t matter to him. It was more important to find out what went wrong. And why Charlotte was still alive.
He’d hoped to keep his hands clean, but he hated loose ends. And this loose end was big enough to unravel the whole garment. He preferred everything nice and tidy. You didn’t get to be rich by ignoring the details.
There would be a lot of deals to be brokered in the forthcoming months. When the stock exchange opened again he could expect to net more income than the GDP of many a small country. Then there were the reinvestments, not to mention the big bucks to be made from keeping America’s citizens safe in their beds at night. He had too much riding on this to leave anything to chance. Or to anyone else. He had to sort this out himself.
He’d catch up with Charlotte later.
Right now, what he needed was an explanation as to why she was still alive. And once he’d got that explanation? Well, he hoped the ass-wipe enjoyed his money while he had the chance. A reckoning was on the cards.
He selected another phone and made the call.
‘Remember me?’
‘Sure. You got another job for me?’
‘The biggest of your life. Meet me tonight, nine o clock.’
‘No deal, man. I ain’t goin’ into no Central Park after dark. You crazy?’
‘I
never mentioned Central Park. Listen up. I’ll give you the address in a minute. And make sure you come on foot.’
Diane was not going to be happy. He opened the ornate doors that led into the dining room. Dinner was in full swing. He was glad they hadn’t waited for him. Except Ray, who looked a little anxious, all their guests seemed to be having a good time, laughing and chatting.
He coughed to get attention and everyone looked at him, including Diane, whose face was cloudy as a winter sky. She shook her head slowly from side to side, her expression saying, ‘Don’t you dare.’
Smiling broadly, he announced, ‘Friends, I cannot tell you how sorry I am, but I’m going to have to ask you to excuse me.’ Without further explanation, he gave a bow that would have done credit to a courtier and backed out of the room.
He could hear their disappointment as he pulled the double doors towards him. Diane’s dinner parties were always fun, she made sure of that. Everyone knew how prestigious it was to receive a dinner invitation from himself and Diane and he was proud of their social standing. And he enjoyed the role of host. It suited his personality.
He could hear Diane’s voice on the other side of the doors. ‘Well, I do declare, that man will be the death of me with his business dealings at all hours of the day. Still, who says we can’t have a party without him?’
Their guests, as expected, responded with much laughter and a tiny round of applause. If he were a less confident man he might think he wasn’t wanted, but he knew this was all part of Diane’s act and her very special way of supporting him. He often had ‘business’ to attend to late at night, and Diane, bless her, never asked any questions.
