‘I’m sorry, Mom, but I’d promised Mac I wouldn’t say anything. We had to protect Carly.’
‘Did he ever kill again?’ Michael asked.
‘I don’t think he did.’ Mac shook his head. ‘He’s not a serial killer as far as I know.’
‘How can you be sure?’ Maureen asked.
It was Allegra who answered. ‘Because his DNA, his genetic fingerprint, is now in the DNA criminal databank. And he’s not been matched up to any similar murders of young women. And that’s a nationwide databank.’
Maureen simply nodded her head.
‘Will I have to give evidence at the trial?’
‘Yes, Katie,’ Mac responded. ‘And so will Carly, if she’s able to when the trial starts.’
‘Allegra, can you explain how Carly suddenly came out of the coma?’ Maureen frowned as she spoke to the Medical Examiner. ‘I still don’t really understand.’
‘I’ll try, Maureen. I’ve done a little more investigating into coma in the last few weeks, and I think what happened is that Carly was probably wrongly diagnosed right at the outset. It was an easy mistake for anyone to make. You see, she was in a coma when she was taken to the hospital after the attack. Now, a true coma usually lasts about six to eight weeks, although it has been known to last two years. But if it’s two years there’s usually real brain damage when a patient comes out of it. I tend to agree with Dr Nelson, who now thinks Carly was in a coma, then subsequently went into a semi-vegetative state. She may have been aware of a lot of things going on around her for years, but was unable to make this known to her nurses, because she couldn’t speak, had no motor skills. I also go along with Dr Nelson’s theory that she may have had some sort of brain-stem blockage that kept stimulation from getting to her brain until that moment when she spoke to Katie.’
‘And what about the amantadine he gave her?’ Katie said.
‘That may well have been a factor. I just heard the other day of a similar case, of a woman coming out of a coma in New Mexico,’ Allegra explained. ‘And she had also been given amantadine to prevent pulmonary infection. By the way, that woman had been in a semi-vegetative state for fifteen years.’
‘How amazing!’ Katie exclaimed. ‘And just think, Hank Thurloe would have got away with murder if Carly’s memory hadn’t come back.’
‘Absolutely correct,’ Allegra agreed. ‘Because we’ve always needed a suspect to match up to the DNA samples I took from Denise’s body, and which we’ve held all these years. But blood doesn’t lie…DNA doesn’t lie.’
‘What’ll happen to Thurloe?’ Michael stared across the table at Mac.
‘Hank Thurloe will spend the rest of his life in jail. And without any possibility of parole, of that I am certain,’ Mac answered.
Later that same day Katie drove over to the hospice to see Carly. She sat with her for a while, holding her hand and talking to her. And then, at one moment, when Carly seemed more relaxed and aware, Katie said, ‘I’ve just been with Mac MacDonald, the detective who came to see you about a month ago. Do you remember him?’
Carly blinked. ‘Yes…Katie.’
‘He wanted you to know that they’ve arrested Hank Thurloe for attacking you. He’s in prison.’
A small smile touched Carly’s mouth and her eyes seemed much brighter all of a sudden.
Katie was about to explain to her that Denise was dead, and then she instantly changed her mind. There was no need to tell her this now. That bad news could wait until Carly had improved further. It would be such a painful thing for her to hear, and Katie did not want her to have a setback at this stage of her recovery.
Instead, she leaned forward, and put her arms around Carly, held her close. And against her hair she whispered, ‘Justice has been done, Carly, and you have nothing to fear now.’
Chapter Thirty-five
The curtain calls seemed to go on forever. Katie was aware that the entire cast had given of their very best, and that the audience had loved them, and loved the play. It had been a sensational performance.
She knew that she herself had given her all. Every ounce of her talent and skill had gone into making Emily Brontë a living, breathing person on this stage. She had brought her to life in a way she never had before. She had actually become Emily for two hours tonight.
Carly was out there in the audience with Niall and their parents, and in a certain way she had played to Carly, and to her alone, because she had wanted to excel for her friend.
After she had taken her last bow, Katie hurried off the stage, almost running back to her dressing room. She knew she had to tone down her stage make-up and change into her own clothes as quickly as she could. Her parents were taking them all to supper at Circo on West 55th Street, and she wanted to join them without delay. Mostly because she wanted to see Carly, to hear what she had to say about the play. And her performance, of course.
Once she had taken off some of her theatrical make-up, Katie brushed her hair, and then got dressed in the pale-grey cotton suit she had worn to the theatre earlier. It was fairly cool for June, and as she pulled on the white tee-shirt she decided she had made the perfect choice. Within minutes she was slipping on the jacket, picking up her red shoulder bag, and running down to the stage door.
As she stepped out into the alley she collided with a man, and stepped back, began to apologize. And then she stopped, stood gaping. It was Christopher Saunders.
‘Now it’s your turn to knock me down,’ he said. ‘Remember how I collided with you at the hospice?’
Katie opened her mouth to make a sharp retort. But no words came out. How could they? Chris had pulled her into his arms and was kissing her.
Finally managing to push him away, Katie exclaimed, ‘What a nerve you’ve got, Christopher Saunders! You come back here after all these months of silence, and think you can just pick up where you left off.’
‘Yes, I do, because I love you. And you love me.’
‘Not any more I don’t!’
‘Liar.’
‘I’m not a liar!’
‘Yes, you are. I know you love me because your mother told me.’
‘My mother. What’s she got to do with this?’
‘I guess she wants me for a son-in-law.’
‘I’ll never marry you.’
‘Oh yes you will, and the sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned.’
‘Oh go back to your rain forests, and good riddance!’ Katie cried.
‘I can’t go back to my rain forests because I’ve given them up.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. I’ve given them up. For love.’
‘You have? But you love your rain forests.’
‘True. But I also love the Everglades and they’re also endangered, and let’s face it, Katie mine, Florida’s much closer than Argentina.’
Katie had been rendered speechless, and she stood gazing at him, thinking how wonderful he looked in his navy-blue blazer and grey slacks.
Chris said, ‘Did you understand? I’ve left Argentina, Katie. I’ve come back to New York. I’m going to live here. With you. If you’ll have me.’
‘Oh.’
‘Don’t say oh. Say yes.’
‘Yes!’
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her again. She clung to him. After a moment he drew away from her, and stared into her face. ‘You mean it, don’t you? You will marry me, Katie?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, of course I will…’ She gave him a penetrating look, her head on one side. ‘What made you do this, Chris?’
‘You did, Katie.’
‘Me. How?’ she asked, her bafflement obvious.
‘I came to New York in May. On business. And of course I had to see you. But I knew you would give me short shrift, so I didn’t call you. Instead I came to see the play again. I suddenly understood everything you’d said to me when we broke up. I wondered how I’d ever expected you to give up your acting. It is you, Katie, I know that now. And it would be very selfish of m
e to take you away from the stage. You’re a natural, and far too good, too brilliant. I’m a dediated ecologist, you know that. But I can be an ecologist in lots of places. So I decided to swap rain forests for the Everglades. In a nutshell, I asked for a transfer. And I finally got it. I’m here to stay.’
‘Oh Chris.’
‘We’d better not stand here talking. We’ve the rest of our lives to do that. Everyone’s waiting for us at Circo.’
‘My God, you’re all in cahoots!’
‘Just about. Come on, darling, I’ve a car waiting.’
Her parents beamed at them when Chris and Katie came to the table in Circo. So did Carly and Niall.
Carly turned slightly in her wheelchair, and said, ‘You were…great…Katie.’ She spoke carefully, slowly, but her speech was much improved, almost back to normal after months of therapy.
‘Thanks, Carly.’ Katie bent over her, kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’m so glad you finally got to see the play.’
Carly nodded. ‘You were…always…the best. Even then…Before…’
‘We were all good, darling,’ Katie murmured. ‘You and me and Denise were the best. The three of us.’
Carly merely smiled, and moved her wheelchair so that Katie and Chris could sit down together on the banquette.
Maureen said, ‘We’ve ordered champagne, Katie and Chris. Because we have so much to celebrate.’
As she spoke, Michael beckoned to the waiter, who came to the table and opened the bottle of Dom Perignon. There was a pop when the cork came out of the bottle, and then the sparkling wine was being poured into their glasses.
Katie looked at each person sitting with her at the table. Her mother. Her father. Her brother. Her best friend. And the man she was going to marry.
‘It is very much a celebration. A celebration of life,’ Katie said.
Acknowledgements
I would like to mention a number of people who have helped me during the research and writing of this book. Most particularly, I am indebted to Lieutenant Eric C. Smith, Commanding Officer, Western District Major Crime Squad, Connecticut State Police, for walking me through police procedures at major crime scenes and events thereafter. My thanks to Bette Bartush, Connecticut State Police, for explaining other police procedures; to Arthur H. Diedrick, Chairman of Development, Office of the Governor of the State of Connecticut, for advice about matters pertaining to that state; to Fran Weissler for clarifying certain aspects of the Broadway theatre; to Rosemarie Cerutti and Susan Zito of Bradford Enterprises for help with many different aspects of this book, and to Liz Ferris for a marathon typing job meticulously done so quickly. My editors Deb Futter of Doubleday, New York, and Patricia Parkin of HarperCollins, London, are sounding boards par excellence, and my thanks to them. Last, but by no means least, I must express my gratitude to my husband Robert Bradford for his belief that I could write a mystery and for his constant encouragement for me to do so.
About the Author
Barbara Taylor Bradford was born in Leeds, and by the age of twenty was an editor and columnist on Fleet Street. Her first novel, A Woman of Substance, became an enduring bestseller and was followed by seventeen others, most recently Three Weeks in Paris. Her books have sold more than sixty-one million copies worldwide in more than ninety countries and forty languages. She lives in New York City with her husband, producer Robert Bradford.
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BY THE SAME AUTHOR
A Woman of Substance
Voice of the Heart
Hold the Dream
Act of Will
To Be the Best
The Women in his Life
Remember
Angel
Everything to Gain
Dangerous to Know
Love in Another Town
Her Own Rules
A Secret Affair
Power of a Woman
A Sudden Change of Heart
Where You Belong
Three Weeks in Paris
Copyright
HarperCollinsPublishers 77-85 Fulham Palace Road, Hammersmith, London w6 8JB
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2001
Copyright © Beaji Enterprises, Inc 2001
The Author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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EPub Edition © DECEMBER 2009 ISBN: 978-0-007-33064-5
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The Triumph of Katie Byrne Page 29
