103
A MOVIE AND a good Italian dinner. To Laura, it was a perfect Saturday night date. If it was with the right person.
“Let me help you move your stuff in tomorrow,” Matthew urged as they lingered over espresso.
Laura agreed readily, more for the opportunity just to be with him than for the physical assistance. “We better watch out, though,” she said with a laugh, “or we’re going to get sick of one another.”
“Not on my end, I won’t. You’re good for me, Laura.” Matthew gazed at her lovely face framed with the soft golden hair that glowed by the light of the candle in the center of the table. He was well aware of the fact that he hadn’t taken a Valium all day. Breezily, he handed the waiter his American Express card.
“Ready?”
“Um-hmm.”
The night was unseasonably warm for late January and they strolled, hand in hand, past glittering Lincoln Center, the Marc Chagall murals adorning the Metropolitan Opera House. How lucky they were to have all this around them!
Impulsively, Laura turned to Matthew. “Want to see my new apartment?”
His contented face spread into a wide smile. “I’m dying to.”
They held hands as they strolled out of the park and made their way to Laura’s elegant new address.
Matthew whistled softly through his teeth as they got off the elevator and walked directly into the large foyer. A chandelier with a hundred gleaming crystal prisms lit their way to the living room.
Illuminated by the beautiful wall sconces and porcelain lamps all carefully set on timers, the rich red and blue hues of the sweeping Persian carpet covered most of the parquet floor. A carved red Oriental screen dominated one wall, a Matisse cutout hung on another. Plush furniture was expertly arranged throughout the room.
“Jesus,” Matthew whispered. “The night of the party, it was so crowded in here, I really didn’t get a chance to take this all in.”
“Unbelievable, isn’t it?” asked Laura. “And so not-me.”
“Maybe you’ll get used to it?” Matthew offered.
“I don’t know.” Laura shrugged uncertainly. “But I do know one thing I wouldn’t change.”
She took his hand and led him to the windows and, together, they gazed at the jeweled skyline.
It was the first night Laura spent in her new home. She wasn’t afraid at all.
104
Sunday, January 23
WHEN FRANCHESKA ARRIVED early Sunday afternoon, Laura and Matthew had already made two trips back and forth from Laura’s old apartment. They were unpacking books onto the library shelves when the doorman announced that Miss Lamb was coming up.
As Laura introduced her best friend to Matthew, he studied Francheska’s face with puzzlement.
“You look familiar,” he said slowly. “Have we met somewhere?”
“I don’t think so.” Francheska smiled. “I think that I would remember you. It’s so nice to meet you, Matthew. Laura has told me a lot about you.”
Matthew suddenly realized that Francheska was struggling under a heavy load, so he took the video monitor from Francheska’s arms. “Here, I’m sorry, let me take that for you. Where do you want it?”
“All our computer stuff is going into the library,” called Laura as Matthew went down the hallway.
“He’s cute,” Francheska whispered when Matthew was out of earshot. “How’s it going between you two?”
“So well, I can’t believe it.”
They heard Matthew’s footsteps approaching.
“Well, I’ve got to go,” said Francheska, heading to the door. “I’m going to leave you two alone.” She winked at Laura.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Francheska. Stay,” urged Laura. Matthew seconded it earnestly.
“No, really, I have things to do. It was great meeting you, Matthew. Talk to you later, Laura.” And she was gone.
They went back to the library to finish unpacking. “I know her face from somewhere. Francheska Lamb,” he mused, coming up empty.
“She used to model,” Laura suggested. “Maybe you saw her in some ad or something.”
“Yeah, maybe that’s it.”
105
TAKING ADVANTAGE OF the unusually warm January afternoon, Roger Chiocchi decided to take his six-year-old daughter Catherine to Central Park for a little exercise. As they left the apartment, he grabbed a Frisbee from Catherine’s toy box.
Catherine was such a serious little soul, he reflected, as he held her small hand tightly in his. She needed to get out and run around more, laugh and play outside like he did when he was kid. Of course, he hadn’t grown up in the city.
They crossed Central Park West and entered the park at Women’s Gate, the 72nd Street entrance. Many other parents had the same idea he’d had. The park was crowded with families, Parego strollers and leashed dogs.
“Let’s go see if we can find an empty spot where we can throw our Frisbee,” Roger encouraged. The little girl followed along gamely. They finally reached an open place where the ground looked reasonably dry.
Roger demonstrated for his daughter the flick of the wrist that would make the plastic disc fly through the air. But Catherine was better at running after the Frisbee than throwing it. Undaunted, he kept trying until, gradually, Catherine started to get the hang of it.
“Okay, sweetheart,” called Roger as he backed up several yards. “I’ll throw it to you and see if you can catch it.”
He sailed the Frisbee toward his daughter and would forever curse himself for misjudging and flinging it too hard. The yellow disc sailed over Catherine’s head and flew deep into a thick bramble.
“I’ll get it, Daddy,” called Catherine eagerly as she ran to find the downed Frisbee.
“Wait, honey. Let me get it. There are thorns in those bushes.”
But the child ignored her father’s command. Reaching the bushes before him, she got down on her knees to search for her toy.
Roger would never forget his child’s scream as she found a booted human foot.
106
HER APARTMENT WAS quiet and still. But as Francheska entered, she noticed uneasily that the hallway closet was ajar. She could have sworn she had closed it after she took out her coat when she left to go to Laura’s.
She switched on the lamps in the living room. Everything was as she had left it.
Francheska went to the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of orange juice. Stopping by the bar to lace the drink with a little vodka, she headed for the bedroom.
The closet doors were open there, too.
Leonard had been here.
Her heart pounded. She hadn’t heard from him since she announced she was leaving, nor had she called him. She didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to lose her resolve.
She wondered if he had noticed that some of her clothes were missing. If he had, he must have been surprised, because she knew he didn’t think that she was really going through with it. But she was, she thought with satisfaction. She was finally doing it and she was proud of herself.
The front buzzer rang. She didn’t answer, but walked back into the living room and waited.
She heard the key enter the lock, watched as the doorknob twisted, and waited to speak as the door slowly opened.
“Hello, Len.”
He was caught unawares, a startled expression on his face.
“Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you.”
Francheska pulled a cigarette out from the pack she had left on the table, lit it and exhaled slowly. “I don’t have to tell you where I go or what I do anymore, Len.”
“Oh, baby, put out that cigarette. You know it’s not good for you or for those great looks of yours. Come on, now. Haven’t we gone far enough with all this?”
As he approached her, Francheska smugly noticed that Leonard’s hand was shaking. Good, he was upset. She was glad that he was hurting, too.
She took another draw on her cigarette. “If you really want to know, I st
arted moving into my new apartment today.”
Leonard’s eyes widened, but then he caught himself and laughed meanly. “Sure, Francheska. And where are you getting the money to pay for this new place?”
“I’m moving in with Laura. Moving into Gwyneth Gilpatric’s apartment. And as you know, Gwyneth’s place makes this one look like a dump.”
Leonard’s rugged face darkened with rage. He moved toward her, spitting his words. “No one treats me like this and gets away with it, Francheska. No one, especially not you. You are mine. You are going to regret this. I swear you will.”
Francheska watched as a vein at Leonard’s temple pulsated, and she listened to his angry voice as he delivered his final vicious blow.
“Go ahead, Francheska. Go ahead and try it out there. But you’ll come crawling back, I know you will. Because you’ll always be someone’s ‘other’ woman. You’re not the type that men want to marry. And guess what, sweetheart? You won’t always be so beautiful. I know what you’re going to look like in ten or twelve years. I can tell from your bone structure. I’ve seen it dozens of times. Your face will fall,” he hissed. “In fact, I’ve already noticed that pretty neck of yours getting thicker.”
Leonard turned and left the apartment, slamming the door callously behind him, leaving Francheska curled up and weeping on the red sofa.
107
Monday, January 24
MATTHEW HAD OTHER Hourglass business to attend to and Laura was glad to be interviewing Felipe and Marta Cruz by herself. She wanted to do this on her own, not have Matthew thinking he had to babysit her all the time.
It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the care and attentiveness he was showing her at work. She did. But if their relationship was to be one of equals, she had to earn his respect by holding her own as a competent professional.
Another reason she was glad that Matthew was not coming along on the interview was that she wanted the opportunity to stop afterward and speak to her father in person.
She would have the camera crew drop her off and she could take public transportation back into the city later.
Felipe Cruz greeted them politely at his front door and invited them into his home. Marta Cruz was waiting solemnly in the modest but immaculate living room.
How hard this must be for them, thought Laura as the crew unpacked and set up the gear. She admired their quiet courage as the couple waited patiently to begin.
“Thank you so much for talking with us, Mr. and Mrs. Cruz.”
“We hope this will do some good, Laura,” answered Felipe softly.
“First of all,” began Laura, “I’ve spoken with a police officer who worked on the case at the time of Tommy’s disappearance. Edward Alford. Do you remember him?”
The couple nodded earnestly. “Of course we remember Officer Alford,” answered Marta. “He was very kind to us. I know he worked hard to find Tommy for a very long time. Even when, over the years, there was no word on our Tommy and it seemed everyone else had forgotten, Officer Alford would call us from time to time. He wanted to check and see how we were.”
God, what these people had been through! Laura tried to show no emotion as she continued.
“Officer Alford told me that he never believed that Tommy was a runaway. That yours was such a loving family and that you were such devoted parents that he just didn’t buy the theory that Tommy had run away from home.”
Felipe nodded gravely. “It hurt when everyone was saying that Tommy might have run away. We knew our son. He was a good boy. He would never run away from us.” Felipe looked over at his wife and, seeing the tears welling up in her brown eyes, took her hand.
“It was Officer Alford’s theory that something happened to Tommy in the amusement park,” stated Laura.
“We know,” whispered Marta. “He told us that’s what he thought.”
“What do you think?” pressed Laura.
“We don’t know what to think,” answered Felipe, anguish in his voice. “And what does it really matter? Our boy is dead. This we know now for sure.”
Laura stared at her notebook and tried to compose herself. She wanted to wrap up the interview and not cause these poor people any more pain. But she knew, for the good of the piece, she had to ask a few more questions.
“Do you know how the investigation is going now? Have the police told you that they have any new leads?”
Felipe and Marta looked at one another.
“The police tell us not to talk about anything new while they continue their investigation,” answered Mr. Cruz.
Marta dropped her husband’s hand. “Felipe, the police have not solved this case in thirty years. What makes you think that they are going to solve it now?”
She rose and walked to the well-polished maple hutch that hugged the wall. Pulling open a small drawer, she took something from it.
“Marta!” her husband warned.
“I am sorry, Felipe. In over forty years of marriage I have never disobeyed you,” she said resolutely. “But if I can help find the person who hurt our Tommy, I must do it. I owe it to the other parents.”
She handed Laura the glossy paper.
“It is a picture of a necklace they found with Tommy’s body. The police say they think it might have fallen from the neck of someone as they buried him. I begged the police for this picture. I want to have anything that is part of what happened to my Tommy.”
Laura studied the picture of the cross and chain. It was quite unique. Her chest tightened as she realized that she had seen one like it before.
108
THOUGH KITZI MALCOLM’S murder near her Fifth Avenue apartment was under the jurisdiction of another precinct, Alberto Ortiz had been sharing information with the East Side homicide squad, and they with him.
Delia Beehan’s murder, committed just a few blocks from the Gilpatric apartment, was being handled by the Central Park precinct.
A crumpled credit card receipt bearing her signature was found in the pocket of Delia’s frayed winter coat, along with a set of keys that Ortiz was certain would open Gwyneth Gilpatric’s apartment.
Though Ortiz’s recognition of Delia’s body was certain enough, they were looking for her next of kin to make the positive ID. So far, they were coming up empty.
Ortiz flipped through his notepad until he found the information he was looking for. He picked up the phone and called KEY News.
109
THE INTERVIEW CONCLUDED, the crew loaded their gear into the trunk of the car parked in front of the Cruzes’ house and Laura pulled out her cell phone.
There was no answer at Emmett’s.
Next, she checked her voice mail.
“Miss Walsh? Detective Alberto Ortiz. Will you call me, please? It’s urgent.” He left his number.
Dreading what she would hear, she stood in the cold wind and forced herself to call him back, her face darkening as she listened to the detective’s matter-of-fact words.
“I’ll be there in about an hour,” she answered, closing her cell phone and slipping it into her pocket.
“Where to next, Laura?” asked the cameraman as they got into the car.
“Back to the Broadcast Center,” said Laura grimly. “But I have someplace I want you to drop me off on the way.”
110
IT WAS MIDAFTERNOON before Laura, pale and exhausted, returned to the Broadcast Center. She headed straight to Matthew’s office.
“Hey, stranger!” He smiled welcomingly. “Where have you been?” His pleasant expression turned to one of deep concern as he assessed her. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
She sank into a chair and slowly unbuttoned her coat. “I was just at the morgue.”
“What?”
“I just identified Gwyneth’s maid. Delia Beehan. She was found dead yesterday in Central Park.”
“God, Laura, that must have been awful for you.” Matthew took her cold hands in his and rubbed them gently. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He lifted her trembling h
ands and held them to his lips.
She had been holding back the tears the whole cab ride back from the morgue, but now, with the tenderness of Matthew’s touch, they began to flow. He took her in his arms and held her as she sobbed, whispering that everything was going to be all right.
“Look at it this way,” he said, trying to joke her out of her despair. “Now Joel has his lead for tomorrow night’s show.”
111
Tuesday, January 25
“WHY DON’T YOU just quit that damned job?” Francheska demanded. “It’s just too stressful and you don’t need it with all that’s been happening. God knows, Laura, you certainly don’t need the paycheck.”
Francheska had arrived early, pulling a large wheeled suitcase containing more of her possessions. She found Laura in the kitchen, staring morosely into her morning coffee.
“Oh, Francheska, quitting my job isn’t the answer. That wouldn’t solve anything,” she said with resignation. “Three women, all connected in some way to me, have been murdered.”
“All connected to Gwyneth Gilpatric,” Francheska corrected. “I’m telling you, Laura, get out of that crazy TV world. It’s not healthy.”
“I’ve got to get to work,” declared Laura firmly, wanting to end their conversation. She rose with her cup and dumped the rest of the lukewarm coffee into the sink. “And what are you going to do today?” she asked sarcastically.
That was cruel. Laura regretted her words and her tone as soon as she asked the question. Francheska was struggling with leaving Leonard. There was nothing to be gained by reminding Francheska of her aimlessness.
But if Francheska was hurt, she didn’t show it.
“I’m going to bring more of my stuff over. I should be sleeping here by next week, as soon as I get back from visiting my parents.”
“Good,” pronounced Laura, giving her friend a hug. “I can’t wait. It’s going to be great being together again.”
As she walked from the kitchen, she turned. “And don’t forget. You promised that you’d come with me to the Palisades Park fund-raiser tomorrow night.”
Let Me Whisper in Your Ear Page 20
