She flipped on the light, made her way to the white bathroom and knelt on the cold floor beside the toilet. She remembered briefly the feeling she’d had once on a small sailboat on Long Island Sound. The nausea that wouldn’t go away until the body relieved itself. Being seasick was worse than having a virus or a flu. Or so she had thought until now.
She retched violently. Then again. And again. She vomited until there was nothing left to throw up. Then she vomited green. She knew it to be bile.
She was scared. Alone in her hotel room, hundreds of miles from home. The nausea was not going away. She lifted her heavy head from the bowl. The room spun. She was afraid she was going to pass out. She had to get to the phone. Call Mack. Crawling across the tile floor she knew there was something wrong. Something terribly wrong.
The entire room had turned yellow.
Chapter 109
“Mrs. Twomey, Mrs. Twomey,” shouted Janie from the living room. “Mommy isn’t on the TV this morning.”
Mrs. Twomey walked from the kitchen to the living room, wiping her floured hands on a dish towel. She looked at the television. Janie was pointing at the screen.
“See? Mommy’s not on.”
Janie was right. Mrs. Blake’s friend Mack was sitting in the skybox where Eliza was yesterday.
“Okay, Janie. Let’s turn on Sesame Street instead.”
“But where’s Mommy? I want to see my mommy!”
Chapter 110
She wasn’t on! It worked! Eliza had taken the pills.
The murderer smiled. Now everything was taken care of.
Chapter 111
Dr. Randi Hagerman didn’t usually find herself at work so early in the morning.
Though the emergency room doctor at Twelve Oaks Hospital suspected flu or food poisoning, he had thought it wise to call the sharpest internist on staff. Considering who the patient was, he didn’t want to be held responsible for any misdiagnosis.
Dr. Hagerman had listened as the duty doctor described over the phone Eliza Blake’s violent vomiting and yellow vision. She immediately ordered an electrocardiogram. By the time Dr. Hagerman got to the hospital, the answers were back.
She had expected to see the “hockey stick” pattern on the EKG tape. The surprising thing was the patient. Young, healthy-looking Eliza Blake was the owner of very disturbing, inexplicable test results.
Chapter 112
“I want to see my mommy.” Janie’s lower lip was protruding dangerously.
“Honey, I’m sure Mommy must be busy doing something else. She’ll probably be calling us soon.” Mrs. Twomey tried to sound nonchalant.
Janie looked uncertain. Mrs. Twomey changed channels and Big Bird appeared. Janie’s curiosity over what the big yellow fellow was going to do today distracted her for the moment.
Mrs. Twomey returned to the kitchen and her blueberry muffin batter. She switched on the small kitchen set, already tuned to KEY, and adjusted the volume lower, insuring that Janie would not hear anything. Mack was on the screen talking to Harry Granger in New York.
“Middle of the night, major league stomach upset, Harry. She’s resting well enough, though. In fact, she had to be forced to stay in bed and take it easy this morning. But the last I heard, she is determined to be working the convention floor tonight.”
As she slid the muffin tins into the oven, a worried Mrs. Twomey wondered if what she had just heard was the whole story. When she heard from Eliza herself, she’d know for sure.
Chapter 113
Detective Colburn got to the precinct a little later than usual. Bunny and the kids were leaving for the Cape and he had wanted to see them off. He was going to join them up there in a couple of days. Unless, of course, something big came up between now and the weekend.
Colburn had just taken a seat at his desk and was pulling the plastic lid off his coffee when his chief walked over and informed him that the patrol guys had picked up the graffiti artist the night before. He was being held downstairs.
“Let me go get a look at him,” sighed the detective, putting the lid back on the Styrofoam cup.
“Don’t get your hopes up about getting any answers that make sense. He’s a schizo.”
The man in the holding cell was lying on his side in the corner. His eyes were closed and his mouth was hanging open. Watching closely, Colburn could see the man’s shoulders and chest moving slowly up and down. He was sleeping. Probably the best sleep the poor bastard has had in quite a while, thought the detective. Colburn decided to let him sleep. Whether he was questioned now or after lunch wouldn’t make a whole lot of difference. Let the guy rest and get something to eat. This sad soul wouldn’t complain about the jail food. He’d be grateful to get it.
On his way back upstairs, Detective Colburn stopped to check the homeless man’s personal effects.
“Pathetic,” said the property sergeant. “The poor guy’s whole life wrapped up in a couple of lousy garbage bags.” He gestured to the black plastic lawn bags piled next to the wall.
“Anything in them?”
“Take a look for yourself.”
Colburn let out a low whistle as he surveyed the booty. A zoo’s worth of brass animal doorknockers, plus four cans of spray paint. . . .
“Four cans of spray paint, old clothes, a blanket, a ratty old pillow, a pot and a frying pan, a couple books, a cardboard container of half-eaten Chinese food and a package of noodles. God knows what garbage can he picked those out of. And a few old programs from the Guggenheim.”
Colburn pictured the bedraggled homeless man stooping down to pick up the discarded programs in front of the beautiful, smooth white building.
There was also a small silver key ring.
The detective turned the key ring over in his hands. It was a loop with a small ball attached to the end that could be screwed on and off to accommodate added or subtracted keys. Two keys and a tag, slightly larger than a quarter, hung from the loop. “Sterling” was stamped in tiny letters at the bottom of the tag. On the other side, Colburn read the inscription “Please return to Tiffany & Co., New York.” Beneath that was a registration number. Colburn wrote it down.
He returned to his desk and his now lukewarm coffee. He was about to call Tiffany’s when he got a call to go to a robbery scene at a luxury high-rise on East Seventy-ninth Street.
Tiffany’s would have to wait.
Chapter 114
“Do you have a heart condition?”
In an examining room at Twelve Oaks Hospital, Eliza stared back quizzically at Randi Hagerman. “A heart condition? What do you mean, a heart condition?”
“Are you taking any heart medication, like digitalis or digoxin?”
“No, of course not. My heart is fine. I’m fine. What are you talking about?”
Dr. Hagerman held the electrocardiogram record for Eliza to examine. “See this pattern here?” She pointed. “The one that looks like a hockey stick repeated over and over?”
Eliza nodded.
“Well, that and the facts of the vomiting and the yellow vision, taken together, indicate that you may have had too much digitalis. Digitalis is a common medication for congestive heart failure.”
“Digitalis?” Eliza was incredulous. “I’ve never taken digitalis in my life! And I’m as healthy as a horse . . . or I was until a few hours ago.”
Eliza thought back to last night. She’d eaten that blackened redfish at the reception.
“Are you sure this isn’t food poisoning?”
Dr. Hagerman shook her head. “Food poisoning would cause the vomiting. It wouldn’t make you see yellow or make your heart beat the way it did when you took this test. Are you sure you didn’t take any medication? Maybe someone else’s medication by mistake?”
“The only thing I took last night was Fiorinal before I went to bed.”
“Do you have the rest of the bottle?”
“It’s in the wastebasket at the hotel. That was the last of it. I cursed myself for not bringing more with me.” E
liza paused, recalling the night before. “In fact, I remember being surprised that it was the end of the bottle. I thought I had more left than that.”
Chapter 115
Someone wanted to kill her!
Who? Even Mack, usually so calm and steady, was crazed.
Eliza felt panicked. Why would someone want me out of the way? She remembered the scene at the party last night. Wingard, Heller and Judge Quinn.
Get right back into the saddle again, Eliza told herself as she dressed slowly. As she maneuvered her aching legs into her hose, she cursed the fact that her legs weren’t tanned enough to go bare. Carefully sliding into a red linen skirt, she wondered how she was going to make it through all the hours to come on the convention floor.
From the hospital, she had called home to check on Janie and to suggest to Mrs. Twomey that she permit the little girl to stay up for the start of the convention coverage tonight. She wanted Janie to see her and know that her mommy was all right and at work as usual.
Dr. Hagerman’s words echoed through her mind. Any more of the digitalis in her bloodstream could have killed her. She could not allow herself to think of the near miss in terms of her daughter. The idea of a motherless, parentless Janie shut her down and she had to do her job. There would be enough time next week, at the beach, to let go. Now, Eliza had to concentrate on surviving the convention.
The phone rang loudly in the quiet hotel room. It was Yelena Gregory.
“How are you holding up?”
“About the same as I was an hour ago when you called. I’m fine, Yelena, just fine. A little spent maybe, but I should be okay.”
“Thank God for that.” There was a short pause. “Eliza, I want to have some security men assigned to you tonight.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I think it is. I wouldn’t forgive myself if something else happened. If someone deliberately tried to poison you, you must have protection. I’m not taking any chances.”
“Yelena, if something else happens, I doubt it would be on the convention floor. You know the security, the metal detectors that have to be gotten through to get into the Astrodome, the Secret Service, the police. Unless whoever wants to get me wants to be caught, he isn’t going to do anything at the convention.”
Yelena relented slightly. “All right, but I sure as hell want you to have a bodyguard outside, the rest of the time we are in Houston.”
Eliza considered Yelena’s words. She felt safe inside the Astro complex with thousands of delegates and journalists milling around. She’d be distracted and feel ridiculous with bodyguards hovering around while she worked. But maybe an escort going back and forth from the hotel to the convention would be a smart idea.
“Okay, Yelena.”
“Good. Have you been out of your room yet?”
“No.”
“Well, there’s a guard outside your door right now. He’ll drive you to the Astrodome.”
Chapter 116
The highlight of the evening was the speech Joy Wingard gave on the AIDS Parade for Dollars. Joy asked the American people to continue their grass roots efforts to eradicate the deadly disease. She paraphrased a JFK statement—or was it FDR?—saying that much could be told about a country by how it treated the weakest of its citizens. She called for patriotism and determination in conquering the scourge that was sapping the whole country. It was a compassionate and moving address. Thousands on the convention floor gave her a standing ovation.
When the gavel came down for the night, Eliza met her bodyguard. He drove her directly back to the hotel, positioning himself outside her door.
Mack called, offering to come over.
“Thanks, Mack, but I really am exhausted and I have to be up in just a couple of hours. I just want to crash. I feel secure with the guard outside.”
“Okay, but remember, I’m just a phone call away.”
“How could I forget, sweetheart?”
Eliza undressed and got into bed quickly but she did not sleep soundly.
Five hours later, another bodyguard drove Eliza back along dark Highway 610, the city loop, to the Astrodome for her KEY to America duties.
Her dream last night was nagging at her. It started out the same way as the dream she’d had the night Bill died. Pete Carlson was pursuing Bill down a long hallway and Eliza was trying to warn Bill of something. But this time, Pete Carlson changed into a big, greasy black rodent with tiny eyes and fierce front teeth. Yelena Gregory then appeared. She was petting the slick fur of the ratty animal. The rodent began sniffing around at Yelena’s feet. Suddenly, Eliza heard Janie calling out to her, “Mommy, Mommy,” but Eliza had not been able to move. She could not get to her daughter. She was paralyzed, transfixed by a large, black mole on Janie’s face.
Chapter 117
Detective Colburn scanned the Daily News headline. WINGARD NOMINATED TONIGHT, JOY WOWS ’EM WITH AIDS SPEECH. Colburn wasn’t sure yet whom he would vote for in November. As far as he was concerned, President Grayson seemed like a nice enough guy, but he hadn’t gotten all that much accomplished in the past four years. Wingard didn’t really excite him either.
He had been tied up most of yesterday with the high-rise robbery and he knew that he had more work to do on it today. First, he wanted to tie up loose ends on the graffiti case. The homeless man was still in the cell downstairs. Had he been the one who had taken the knocker from Bill Kendall’s door the night after his suicide and left it next to the body of Dr. Leo Karas? Colburn hoped to God it didn’t turn out that the mentally ill man had murdered the psychiatrist.
He called Tiffany’s, identified himself and made his request, reciting the identification number on the silver key ring tag. The woman at Tiffany’s was exceedingly polite but said that it was contrary to company policy to give out such information over the telephone. If the detective would like to come in person, with the proper identification, Tiffany’s would be delighted to cooperate.
Colburn sighed. It had been worth a shot, but he hadn’t really expected Tiffany’s to give him the information over the phone. He’d have to find time to drive down to Fifty-seventh Street.
Chapter 118
Father Alec Fisco sat in his living room on the quiet third floor of the cathedral rectory and watched as the huge red, white and blue balloons fell from the top of the Astrodome. Fireworks exploded in an ambitious pyrotechnic display. The delegates danced, sang and cheered, delirious with their promising choice. It was the grand finale of Haines Wingard’s convention.
Watching Haines and Joy Wingard smiling ecstatically from the Astrodome stage, Father Alec thought of Wingard’s acceptance speech. It had been a masterful piece. The camera had cut to the intense little man who had been with Joy that day at St. Michael’s. NATE HELLER, CAMPAIGN MANAGER was the identification at the bottom of the screen. Nate had a reverential, almost trancelike expression on his face.
Would the presidential candidate develop AIDS?
Father Alec rose, switched off the television set and walked over to the window. From Cathedral Hill in Newark, the whole New York skyline, from the Twin Towers to the George Washington Bridge, sparkled in a summer night’s haze.
The president of the United States and AIDS. Maybe it was God’s plan. Maybe that’s what it would take.
Chapter 119
Breakfast had been good and the homeless man wondered what they would be serving for dinner. The beef stew had been delicious last night. He hoped for meatloaf and mashed potatoes. He hadn’t had meatloaf in a long, long time.
He wished he could stay in this place. He ate well and slept well. No one bothered him or poked him along, urging him to keep moving. In fact, that cop had actually been nice to him.
What did he say his name was? Cochran? Kelberg? Something like that. Oh no, Colburn—that was it.
He wasn’t bad to talk to. He had listened to the treasured safari stories, the stories that represented the only pleasure and satisfaction the homeless man derived from his life. Detec
tive Colburn seemed really interested. He had a list all drawn up of the animals in the menagerie. He knew all about the fox, the wolf, the cat, the lion, the horses and even the unicorn. The policeman knew about some that he himself had forgotten all about.
Then the cop asked about the elephant. Ah, his favorite. He explained that the pretty woman on television told him to take that one. Like she told him to follow the doctor.
Then Colburn asked him about the key ring. The friendly policeman left the cell when the graffiti artist told him where that had come from.
Tit for tat. Tit for tat.
Chapter 120
Yelena insisted on sitting with Eliza on the flight back from New York.
“You were almost killed,” Yelena cried as she took a long drink of her Scotch. “And I’m so afraid.”
“I’m afraid, too.”
“But you don’t understand. I told Pete things about you, about your hospitalization, about your seeing Dr. Karas. I didn’t want to face it, but he was using me. I knew it, but I so wanted someone in my life.”
She was now openly weeping. Eliza found herself feeling sorry for her. Like all human beings, Yelena needed love. But she had lost her self-respect in trying to get it.
“Pete’s afraid that I want his job,” Eliza stated.
“Not anymore. Not now that Wingard’s going to the White House. He was only after you in case Wingard didn’t make it.”
“So he planted the Mole stories and he tried to kill me?”
Yelena took another drink.
“The Mole, yes. But he has no reason to kill you. He’s going to get what he wants. I know—I think I’ve always known. But he’s not a murderer.”
Eliza was scared, for herself, for her child.
Do You Want to Know a Secret? Page 26
