The Melody Lingers On

by Mary Higgins Clark

  “Yes I do.” Let there be something of substance, Sean prayed.

  “Well, you see, I’ve been really trying to search my memory. And the other night I came up with something.”

  As Sean listened, Eleanor explained about bumping heads with Parker Bennett. “I mean it wasn’t just a little bump. Now I remember he had dropped some cards out of his wallet, and when I reached for one of them, he lunged at it. I think now that he was afraid to have me see it.”

  “Eleanor, when did this happen?”

  “It was when we moved into the new office.”

  That was the beginning of the fraud, Sean thought. “Eleanor, do you know what kind of card that was?”

  “It’s come back to me. It was a driver’s license, but not an American one. I just can’t remember anything more than that, even though I think I did get a pretty good look at it.”

  “Eleanor, this could be very important. Would you consider being hypnotized to see if we can learn more about what information may be on that card?”

  “That’s a little scary. Does it hurt?”

  “No, Eleanor. There is absolutely no pain attached to hypnosis.”

  “I mean, I’m not afraid of pain. It’s just such a strange idea to me. But if it helps to find Mr. Bennett, or where the money is, I’d be glad to do it.”

  “Eleanor, this could be nothing, but it may be worth everything to try it. I’ll make an appointment with a psychiatrist who is also a very good hypnotist and I’ll get back to you.”

  Sean did not put down his cell phone after he said good-bye to Eleanor. Instead he immediately dialed Rudy Schell and told him what was going on.

  “Rudy, I’ve heard that in some cases the FBI uses hypnosis to help people recall certain events?”

  “Yes we do, Sean. Why are you asking?”

  “Because it’s possible that Eleanor Becker needs to fully recall something that happened right at the beginning of Parker Bennett’s fraud. She thinks she saw a driver’s license that definitely was not an American one, and that Parker rushed to get it out of her hand.”

  Rudy had hoped that the publicizing of a two-million-dollar reward might be a lure for anyone who had any shred of evidence to offer, but Sal Caparo, the agent who made the rounds of people who had been seen frequently with Bennett, had drawn a blank.

  His biggest hope had been Pamela Winslow, a close friend of Countess Sylvie de la Marco. The fact that they knew each other in Staten Island and had remained close friends made Rudy hope that the countess might have confided something about Parker to her.

  But of course to someone married to a billionaire, the two-million-dollar reward was pocket change. Pamela had vigorously defended her friend, even to the point of saying that Sylvie de la Marco only saw Parker on a business basis.

  But now, maybe, Eleanor Becker could provide meaningful evidence under hypnosis that would help them apprehend Parker Bennett at last.

  39

  Ranger figured out where to buy a gun, but he didn’t have any idea about what kind of gun he should buy. He drove his car into one of the housing developments in the Bronx that was known to be a high-crime area.

  This time his car fit well in the rundown neighborhood with its broken windows, trash-filled streets, and permeating sense of desolation.

  He drove cautiously, noting with concern the young men hanging out in groups of three or four on the street corners. He wasn’t really sure what he should do. Do I go up to one of those guys? he asked himself. Suppose they don’t have a gun? Suppose they’re okay kids and turn me in to the cops?

  Moistening his dry lips with his tongue, he slowly cruised the neighborhood. Then he stopped at a traffic light and a kid who didn’t look more than sixteen sidled up to the car and tapped on the window.

  “Hey dude. What are you looking for?” he asked. “Pot, smack, coke?”

  Ranger swallowed hard, unable to speak for a moment. Then, his voice hoarse, he whispered, “There’s a guy out to get me. I need a gun.”

  “Sure, what kind?”

  “I don’t know—something simple. I mean, I only want it for protection.”

  “Sure you do. Ever use a gun?”

  “No.”

  “All right. Let’s make it easy for you. Man, you want a Smith and Wesson .38 Special. Pull over to the curb.”

  Ranger parked as the kid disappeared down the alleyway between two apartment buildings. In five minutes he was back, his right hand in his pocket. He glanced up and down the street, obviously looking for a police car, and then pulled his clenched right hand from his pocket. “The best,” he said proudly. “Like I promised, a .38 Special Smith and Wesson, two-inch barrel, easy to use. Loaded. You got five shots before you have to reload it.” He handed it to Ranger.

  Ranger held the gun gingerly but liked the feel of it. “You said five shots?”

  “Five. The cops had this kind of gun for a time. No harder than using a water pistol.” The kid laughed. “But whoever gets hit with it at close range won’t think he got hit by no water pistol. Most likely he’ll be dead.”

  Nervously, Ranger put the gun in the glove compartment.

  “How much?” he asked.

  “Two hundred bucks.”

  Ranger wanted nothing more than to get away, out of this neighborhood where a cop would be sure something was going on, seeing him parked here and the kid leaning in the window. He pulled out his wallet. He handed the money to the kid.

  As he was closing the window and starting the car he was unaware of the kid’s friendly, “Anytime, dude.”

  Nor was he aware that the kid burst out laughing when he counted the money. Two hundreds bucks for an old pistol, he thought, and then the dope was so nervous he gave me an extra twenty by mistake. Can’t have a better day than this!

  40

  The Monday after Lane’s visit to Anne Bennett, Lane and Glady were at the countess’s apartment awaiting the arrival of two antique Bashir rugs for the salon.

  “Do you remember what La-di-da said when I showed her pictures of them?” Glady asked Lane.

  “Sure I do. She thought they looked a little dull. She says she likes bright colors.”

  The rugs had a soft pallette of creams, beiges, and terra-cotta that would project old-world elegance within a more modern context. The ceiling and paneling of the salon were now creamy beige. Austrian crystal chandeliers were hanging above the two seating areas.

  “I hope she gets smart enough to appreciate all this,” Glady said tartly.

  Then, switching subjects as usual, she asked, “Lane, what’s the matter with you? You look as though you just lost your best friend. It depresses me to see that long face on you. What’s going on?”

  Lane was not sure whether she wanted to confide in Glady but then decided to go ahead. “When I brought out those pillows to Anne Bennett’s apartment . . .”

  “The ones I gave her for free?”

  “I know, Glady. The gist of it is that Anne told me that Eric cares very deeply for me and that he has been afraid to call me because I might have been upset about our picture together being in the Post.”

  “As he should be,” Glady snapped.

  “Glady, I believe Eric is innocent.”

  “I don’t.”

  “I know that, but hear me out. I’m certainly not ready for a serious relationship with Eric, but I do like him and don’t want to be one of the people who would reject him because of his father. In fact I’m going to call him. The problem is that Katie was getting so attached to him.”

  “Lane, if you’re going to keep seeing this guy in any way, do yourself a favor. Don’t meet him at your apartment, because it’s obvious he would see Katie there. Whenever possible don’t go to a restaurant in Manhattan. Now that you’ve been seen with him the paparazzi may not be interested, but there are plenty of people out there who feed gossip to the columnists.”

  She stopped. “There’s the doorbell. The rugs are probably here.”

  As two burly deliverym
en unrolled them, Glady picked up where she’d left off. “Lane, my final word on the subject is you should go to New Jersey and meet him at some restaurant there. Have dinner with him, then drive yourself home. There’s a two-million-dollar reward for information leading to the arrest of his father that’s just become public. I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody who knows something, like her Royal Nobody here, may start singing. And if they catch Parker Bennett and he decides to tell all, I’ll bet every nickel I ever made in my life that it will come out that Eric and Parker’s fingers were in the same cookie jar.”

  That evening, after Katie was in bed, Lane called Eric. He answered on the first ring. “Lane, how are you?”

  “I’m good.” She hesitated. “You must know that your mother talked to me about us?”

  “Yes. Is this a brush-off?”

  “No, it isn’t, Eric. I enjoy being with you and I’d like to see you, but I’m not ready to go any further than to have dinner every week or so, at least for a while.”

  “It’s as much as I can hope for. Lane, I only wish they’d catch my father if he is still alive. That’s the only way my name will ever be cleared. When can we meet?”

  “I’m going to my mother’s in Washington with Katie for Thanksgiving. I’ll be back on Sunday.” She was not sure what Eric might say. He certainly was aware of what her stepfather, Dwight Crowley, had been writing about him.

  But there was no change in the tone of his voice as he said, “You’ll be back on Sunday. I’ll call you Sunday evening. Happy Thanksgiving to you and Katie, Lane.”

  Before she could answer, Eric ended the call.

  41

  On the day before Thanksgiving, a distinctly nervous Eleanor Becker met Sean Cunningham at the office of Dr. Steven Papetti, who was both a psychiatrist and a hypnotist in Manhattan.

  Sean had asked Eleanor if she would permit Rudy Schell to be present during the session. “Eleanor, I know he is sympathetic to you and he very much hopes that the hypnosis causes you to remember information that will help them find Bennett. This can only help you on your own case. Talk to your lawyer and see if it’s okay with him.”

  “I will call him and just tell him I’m going to do it,” Eleanor replied firmly. “I don’t care what he says and I’m not paying him to sit there and watch. And I agree with you, Sean. Deep down, I think that Rudy Schell believes that I am innocent.”

  When he saw her, Rudy sprang from his chair and hurried over to Eleanor. Under his shock of gray-streaked black hair, the expression on his ruddy face was concerned, and he took her hand in both of his.

  “Mrs. Becker,” he said in a gentle voice. “I understand why you feel you have every reason to consider me hostile to you. But please let me reassure you. It is my job as an agent in the Federal Bureau of Investigation to find evidence and build a case against criminals. It is also our sacred obligation to protect innocent people from wrongful punishment. You have always maintained that you had no involvement in Parker Bennett’s theft.”

  “None whatsoever,” Eleanor said, her voice breaking. “I feel so sorry for every one of those poor people who lost their money. I guess I’m stupid, terribly, terribly stupid, but I thought he was not only a businessman but a philanthropist.”

  Frank put a protective arm around his wife. “It’s okay, honey, it’s okay.” He looked at Rudy. “Are you on the level that you can keep an open mind about Eleanor’s involvement in this mess?”

  “Absolutely,” Rudy answered promptly.

  Sean was standing back, ready to greet them. “Eleanor,” he said. “You’re doing a great job. You’ve started to remember the incident that seemed odd to you. Now with Dr. Papetti’s help you may remember most of it or all of it. Do you remember that old commercial about Ivory Soap?”

  “Ninety-nine and forty-four one hundredths pure,” Eleanor said smiling. “But I used Camay, ‘the soap for beautiful women.’ I thought if I used it, I’d be beautiful too.”

  “You are a Camay beauty, and with a little luck your memory will be as pure as Ivory Soap.”

  As they both laughed, Rudy, watching them, observed how fragile both Eleanor and Frank Becker had become.

  In the past two years, they had not only both lost weight, but their expressions were alike—despondent and wary, as if waiting for another blow. But that sudden touch of humor from Eleanor reminded him once again of what happens to people who get caught up in the justice system. Anyone he had interviewed about Eleanor at the beginning of the investigation had described her as having a good sense of humor. This was the first time he had ever seen a touch of it.

  They had barely hung up their coats when the woman at the reception desk invited them to follow her into the doctor’s office.

  Dr. Steven Papetti was a handsome man in his midfifties or so, with a thick head of graying hair. He stood up from his desk as they came in and greeted them with a friendly smile. Clutching Frank’s hand, Eleanor nodded timidly to him.

  The room was large. A La-Z-Boy leather chair was a few feet from the window that faced into the room. Across from it was a standard office chair, the kind that swiveled. There were also three folding chairs set halfway between the La-Z-Boy and the desk.

  Dr. Papetti invited Eleanor to sit down and lean back in the La-Z-Boy chair.

  “I imagine you don’t quite know what to expect?” His voice was gentle.

  “No, I guess I do, but no, I don’t really.”

  “Well, let’s talk about why you’re here, Eleanor.”

  “Well, I guess you know that I’m here because I’m trying to remember something that may help the police find Parker Bennett, the man who swindled so many people of their life savings.”

  “That’s exactly right, Eleanor. Dr. Cunningham has probably told you that going under hypnosis is absolutely painless. What we are trying to do is go down into your memory and try to retrieve the information you may have. It’s not unlike looking for something you misplaced, like keys or a cell phone.”

  Eleanor smiled. “Oh, I know all about that. It seems to me that never a day goes by without me looking for my glasses, and it feels pretty good when you find them.”

  It was obvious to Sean that Eleanor was becoming relaxed under Dr. Papetti’s gentle approach.

  “Eleanor, you know that Dr. Cunningham and Agent Rudy Schell will be here while you and I are working.”

  “And Frank,” she quickly added. For a moment her voice was fearful. “Frank is going to stay, isn’t he?”

  “Of course he is. Eleanor, why don’t you lean back in the chair until your feet are up? You don’t have to go all the way back. You can be quite comfortable in a slightly reclined position. And now I want you to close your eyes and forget that any of us are here.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Sean, Rudy, and Frank listened intently as Dr. Papetti, his voice quiet and soothing, invited Eleanor to imagine getting into an elevator. The elevator would stop at every one of ten floors and she would enjoy the ascent.

  “Are you comfortable with that idea?” he asked Eleanor.

  “I guess so. It’s fine.” She looked appealingly at Frank. When he gave her a thumbs-up, she leaned back.

  “Eleanor,” Dr. Papetti began, “close your eyes and think about getting into the elevator.” Slowly, slowly, he took her up, stopping at every floor of a ten-story building. Then he said, “Eleanor, we’re going to start going down in the elevator. You are sinking deeper and deeper as the elevator descends. Are you enjoying the trip?”

  “Yes.” Eleanor’s voice had taken on a monotone quality.

  “Ninth floor, eighth floor, seventh floor.” Dr. Papetti continued to ask her if she knew she was going down.

  Finally, when the imaginary elevator reached the first floor, Dr. Papetti said, “Eleanor, I think it’s time for you to go back into Parker Bennett’s office. You have only recently begun to work for him. Tell me about the office.”

  In a halting voice, Eleanor began to speak. “It’s such a pretty offi
ce.”

  “How big is it, Eleanor?”

  “It has a reception area, and Mr. Bennett has a big private office.”

  “How is it furnished?” Papetti asked.

  “He fixed it up so it’s very comfortable. It has a little kitchen off of it. That’s where I make tea or coffee for people who come to see Mr. Bennett.”

  “Do you have your own office, Eleanor?”

  “Oh yes. It’s down the hall. It’s where I keep my paperwork, copies of letters I write inviting people to meet Mr. Bennett. Usually, I sit at the reception desk answering the phone and greeting people when they come in.”

  “Does anyone else work there, Eleanor?”

  “No, not in the office. The paperwork for client accounts is handled by people at other locations.”

  “Do you like Mr. Bennett, Eleanor?”

  “Oh, you couldn’t meet a nicer man.” Her voice lost some of its lack of expression. “But then suddenly one day he wasn’t there, and then money was missing and people thought it was my fault too.”

  “Eleanor, do you remember the day you and Parker Bennett bumped heads?”

  “Yes I do.”

  “Can you remember what happened?”

  “Well, it was just at the beginning of when I went to work for him. It was very cold out that day. When he came into the office he took off his gloves and told me that he had waited for a cab outside the restaurant and his fingers were frozen. He took off his overcoat. His wallet was in the back pocket of his pants. I could see it sticking out from under his suit jacket.” There was a long hesitation. Finally, she continued. “I said, ‘Mr. Bennett, your wallet is about to fall out of your pocket. I hope you didn’t lose anything.’ He didn’t say anything. He just grabbed the wallet and saw that the flap that held the credit cards was open and a couple of them were sticking up.” Her voice hesitated.

  “Eleanor, what did you see then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Eleanor, think of how nice it is to go down in the elevator, how warm it feels.”