Piece of My Heart

by Mary Higgins Clark

  “What’s there now?”

  “Yet another bank. My heart hurts every time I pass it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too,” she said sadly. “Shoot, I better go. If that timer goes off while I’m back here with you, my client will act like she was stranded for hours on a desert highway.”

  “One more thing, if I may? Did you remain in contact with Clarissa?”

  “Sure did,” she said, beaming at the mention of her name. “The best friend I ever had. She always wondered what would have happened that night if Darren Gunther’s loser friend hadn’t left the bar. Maybe he wouldn’t have been in such a vengeful mood. My father would have lived, all because that vile punk didn’t feel alone on his birthday.”

  “Gunther was there with someone else? I was under the impression he was alone.”

  “No, Clarissa said he arrived with someone else, but then the other guy moved on without him, and he continued to pester one of the female customers.”

  “I’d love to talk to Clarissa directly. If you have a number for her, or could give her my information—”

  Sadness fell across Samantha’s face. “Clarissa passed away three months ago.”

  “Oh no. Samantha, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—”

  “It was a car accident. She was on her way to Boston to visit her aunt, and it was pouring rain. She ran off the side of the road into a ravine. No one saw it happen, but the police think she took a curve too fast and lost control. All I know is that I lost my best friend, and the only other person who understood how much that bar meant to my dad.”

  As Laurie left, she looked up at the sign on the facade above the storefront and wondered how long Samantha would wait to rename it again. A hair salon called Finn’s would be a nice tribute indeed.

  Sunday, July 19

  Day Five

  Chapter 31

  On the television screen in the living room of Laurie’s Upper East Side apartment, the chief of the LAPD was dressing down a city politician for using a homicide case as campaign fodder. Laurie glanced over at her father, sitting in his favorite lounge chair next to the sofa. These were usually the types of scenes in a police procedural that could send him on a rant about the lack of realism. Instead, she saw him nodding along.

  On her other side, Timmy was similarly enrapt from his spot on the couch. The three of them were catching up on the newest season of Bosch. Timmy had had a nightmare last night, as he had every night since Johnny was missing. She was trying to find ways to take his mind from his worries. A detective show might not be the typical ten-year-old’s comfort fare, but Timmy was not a typical child. This was his favorite program, and they only watched it together as a family. She hoped that watching justice in a fictional setting might somehow comfort him at a subconscious level.

  Leo had dark circles under his eyes, and she knew she had a matching set. They both knew the gruesome statistics. More than 90 percent of abducted children survived and were eventually found, but with each passing day, the odds worsened. More than a third were recovered in the first twenty-four hours, another third within the next forty-eight. Those who were missing for more than a week were more likely to be dead than alive. It had been five days of volunteer searches, chasing down reported sightings of fair-haired boys, and the Coast Guard’s search of the ocean with boats and helicopters, and Johnny was still missing.

  Perhaps the roughest moment since Johnny’s disappearance had come this morning, when Marcy and Andrew made the painful decision to return to Washington, D.C., with Johnny’s sisters. The mysterious vanishing of their son had become the hottest chatter on the east end of Long Island. Over margaritas and rosé wine, vacationers would speculate that the boy had drowned, or been killed by a predator, or been taken hostage because of some imagined wrongdoing of his parents. He had become a topic of conversation rather than a real person.

  And every time Marcy and Andrew left their hotel room, they had to protect their daughters from the relentless gossip and the glare of the public eye. Finally, a family friend who was a therapist pleaded with them to go home and stay in touch with law enforcement from there. Laurie couldn’t imagine how gut-wrenching it must have been to drive away without Johnny.

  So, for now, for just a little while, their favorite television show was a way to escape. The scene on the screen hit its climax just as her cell phone buzzed on the coffee table in front of her. The area code was 518, Upstate New York. She hit the pause button.

  “Mo-oooom.” Timmy was not happy about the interruption.

  “I’m sorry,” she called out as she ran to the kitchen. “I have to get this.”

  She wasn’t surprised when Leo trailed behind her, listening to her side of the conversation expectantly.

  “Absolutely, Warden… I understand.… We will definitely abide by all of those conditions. Thank you again for accommodating us. I know these are unusual circumstances.”

  Arranging for media access to a prisoner was always tricky, but what Laurie had sought for Darren Gunther was probably unprecedented. This was going to be an in-custody interview of a convicted murderer, in the presence of his lawyer, conducted by a television show produced by the daughter of the detective in charge of the original investigation. She had needed the consent of not only Gunther and his lawyer, Tracy Mahoney, but also the NYPD, the District Attorney’s Office, and the Department of Corrections. Now that the prison warden was signing off, she finally had all of the pieces in place.

  So far, only the NYPD commissioner and Detective Langland knew they suspected Gunther’s involvement in Johnny’s abduction. They didn’t want to run the risk of anyone tipping off Tracy Mahoney to their suspicions and depriving them of the element of surprise.

  She flashed a thumbs-up to Leo as she hung up. “The warden is on board. We can do it tomorrow. We’re scheduled for two o’clock.” Gunther was serving his sentence at the Clinton Correctional Facility in Dannemora. It was a five-hour drive from the city. “It’s rushed, but I’ve got the whole team ready. As I suspected, the warden’s only letting us bring one camera, so it will be a pretty basic setup.”

  She and the entire team had been at the office all weekend.

  “It’ll be fine,” Leo assured her. “I know you’re the one calling the shots—but Ryan knows the case cold now, as well as I do, in fact.”

  They had been walking a fine line to keep her production’s decision-making separate from her father’s role in law enforcement. Laurie knew from past experience that if her show did manage to obtain any incriminating evidence against Gunther, his lawyer would argue that the show had been acting as a “stalking horse” for the police. That said, she and Ryan had already conducted a thorough informational interview with Leo as the investigating detective. Laurie made certain they could show a pattern of following the same procedures in other cases they had featured. In short, it was permissible for them to communicate with Leo as a witness to the story they were covering, but they could not let him dictate the course of their investigation or reporting.

  She glanced at her watch. It was already 6:45. “Shoot. I better change before Alex picks me up.” She was wearing the jeans and Coldplay concert T-shirt she’d donned only a couple of hours ago to watch TV. “Maybe I should cancel—”

  “Don’t you dare,” Leo scolded. “At the very least, you two deserve to have a little time alone tonight. I’ll stay here with Timmy as planned and then come back whenever you need me tomorrow so you can take off bright and early in the morning.”

  Alex had called earlier, announcing that he had a surprise and would be picking her up at seven o’clock “for a date.”

  “Okay, but you have to promise that you’re going to make time to see Maureen soon.” Her father had met Chief Judge Maureen Russell at Alex’s induction three months earlier. He had been tight-lipped about their ongoing interactions, but she could tell from the way he smiled as he read his texts on occasion that he enjoyed her company. “I’m not the only one with a
love life.”

  “And I have no plans to discuss any of that with my daughter. Now, really, there’s nothing more you can do before you get in the room with Gunther—for either your show or for Johnny. Get out of here.”

  Knowing her father was right, Laurie made her way to her bedroom closet and selected a black cap-sleeved A-line dress for the evening. She’d dress it up with strappy sandals and a statement necklace. She tried not to look at the white garment bag consuming a good percentage of her hanging space as she closed the closet doors.

  In it was her wedding gown. In another world—one where Johnny had stayed safely on the beach with the rest of the family—today was the day she was supposed to have worn it. As she tinkered with the clasp of her necklace in the mirror, she realized that the cap sleeves, V-neckline, and princess waist of her outfit all matched the unworn dress left hanging in the closet and wondered if that was why she had opted for it. Her necklace in place, she took one last look in the mirror and wiped away a tear.

  * * *

  When she stepped outside, Ramon was waiting and opened the back door of Alex’s black Mercedes. Alex was seated inside, wearing a tuxedo.

  “You look amazing,” he said.

  “Seriously? I changed out of a T-shirt, but I had no idea this was black tie. I have such an early morning, Alex.”

  He grabbed her hand and clasped it. “For a few minutes, let’s pretend the world is normal.”

  Normal. It had only been five days, but she couldn’t remember what normal felt like. The unimaginable had happened, and now, day after day, they were left to wonder how to go on.

  Ramon took a left turn on 86th Street, then continued past Third Avenue and took a right turn on Second, heading south again.

  “Ramon, I hate to be that typical New Yorker to question the route, but where are we heading?”

  Alex gave her knee a gentle squeeze. “Surely you must realize where we are.”

  It became obvious to her as Ramon took the next turn on 85th Street. They were right around the corner from their new apartment. Ramon pulled in front of the building and stopped.

  Seeing her confused expression, Alex said, “We just need to approve a couple of final touches with the designer. It will only take a second, then we’ll have our date.”

  She recognized the doorman on duty as Luis. She already knew that he was from Puerto Rico and had a daughter who was Timmy’s age. He gave them a friendly wave as they made their way to the elevator. “You’re certainly upping the wardrobe game around here. When are you officially moving in?”

  “Ask the contractors,” Alex said. Most of the new furniture they had ordered for the apartment had already been delivered, but the bathrooms and kitchen still needed some finishing work.

  “Maybe we’ll see you next year then,” Luis said dryly.

  Laurie felt a tiny ripple in her stomach as Alex slipped a key into the front lock. For so many years, it had been just her and Timmy. Now they were adding Alex to their family, and their move to this apartment was a big part of that. They were so close to the finish line.

  When the door opened, she was struck by the smell of something fresh and natural, a mix of sweet fruit and musk. Alex hit a light switch in the front hall. The entire apartment was filled with flowers. Roses, lilies, orchids, tulips, daffodils. White, yellow, red, pink, purple.

  She spun in a circle in the living room, taking in the sight of what had to be at least fifteen flower arrangements. “Are we running a floral shop on the side now?”

  Alex’s shoulders shook with his chuckle. “Remember how we split up all the phone calls we needed to make?”

  “How could I forget?” The choice to call off the wedding had been obvious, but every phone call had been a reminder of how excited they had been to start a new life together and how dire Johnny’s situation was to require them to cancel the ceremony.

  “So… I was the one who called the Four Seasons to cancel our suite.” After their wedding and a small reception, they had planned to spend the night in the penthouse suite. “But I sort of forgot that I had made a separate florist order to surprise you in the room. So… here they are, in our new home instead.”

  “Alex, this is crazy. How many flowers are here?”

  “One for every single day since I first met you.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re a crazy person, but you’re my crazy person.”

  “Have I told you how lucky I am to have you?” he asked.

  She looked up at the ceiling, feigning a search for the answer. “Not for at least an hour. Seriously, I can’t believe you did all this.”

  He tucked her hair behind one ear and dropped a kiss on the nape of her neck. “Will you, Laurie Moran, take me to be your completely charmed and enchanted husband?”

  “I will. A hundred thousand percent.”

  Monday, July 20

  Day Six

  Chapter 32

  Six days.

  There was a time when six days rushed past in a minute, filled with PTA meetings, playdates, music lessons, and the general rhythm of keeping up with a busy family’s daily life.

  But now Marcy had lived six days without speaking to her son. Every second felt like an hour. Every hour felt like a year. Every night felt like another eternity. She pressed her hands against her face, trying to remain calm.

  It had been too many days since she had seen Johnny, and now she was also obsessed with the physical distance between her and the beach where she had last seen him.

  “Maybe we should have stayed in New York.” She had uttered the same sentence at least a hundred times in the last twenty-four hours, after she and Andrew had driven the girls back to D.C. from the Hamptons.

  They had consulted with both a crime victims advocate and two child psychologists before making the decision to go home. Detective Langland was keeping them up-to-date on the state of the investigation, but there was no quick ending in sight. Meanwhile, they had Chloe and Emily to think about. According to the experts, children were remarkably resilient. The absence of a routine, however, was a constant reminder that something was wrong with the world. In a hotel in the Hamptons, waiting each day for news about Johnny, they were suspended in limbo. And every time they left their room, they had to worry about a stranger offering awkward condolences or, worse, someone sneaking a clandestine photograph of the grieving family to post on the internet.

  At home, they supposedly would feel more secure about their own safety. They’d be able to rely upon the familiar setting and old patterns of behavior to move through the days—or weeks or months—lying ahead.

  And so back to D.C. they had gone.

  At least it was summer. A few months from now, the girls would begin half days at school for pre-K. Marcy couldn’t imagine sending them out of her sight right now.

  She was sitting at the outdoor table on their back deck, reading through the comments on the Find Johnny website, hoping that whoever had him might try to make contact online. Whatever you want, she thought. I will give you everything we own. I’ll trade my life for his. Please, just send him home.

  But instead, she found the usual posts from well-intentioned strangers expressing their thoughts and prayers for Johnny and their family. She tried to ignore the negative ones. A small group of true-crime buffs had developed a conspiracy theory that Johnny must have been taken as revenge for some kind of criminal activity his parents were involved in. Then there were the cranks who believed the entire case was a “hoax” to drum up publicity for some unknown reason. But the comments that really stung were the ones blaming Andrew and Marcy for placing their son in danger: What kind of parents leave their kids with a sitter on a family vacation? Sometimes she thought she might die from the guilt.

  Marcy’s stomach felt hot when she read the next comments:

  I wonder if they would have watched him closer if he weren’t adopted.

  Wait: The boy was adopted? How do you know that?

  I’m obsessed with
this case and have been reading everything I can find about it online. The adoption hasn’t been mentioned by any of the big outlets yet, but I read it here. Very interesting.

  Marcy clicked on the link. It was to a website called New York Crime Beat. She’d never heard of it. There was no byline on the article. She skimmed through a basic summary of facts that had already been widely reported, until her eyes landed on the eight-letter word she’d been searching for: adoption.

  According to a law enforcement source, the missing boy was adopted by the Buckleys as a newborn. When asked whether his disappearance might be connected to the adoption, the source stated that police had eliminated that theory and were working on the assumption of an abduction by a stranger.

  When Detective Langland answered her cell phone, Marcy did not bother with an introduction. “How does some website know that Johnny is adopted?” she demanded.

  “What are you talking about?” The detective’s voice was gentle, even though Marcy had lashed out at her. “What website?”

  Marcy could tell that this was the first Langland had heard of the report. She waited while Langland pulled up the article herself.

  “Marcy, I’m so, so sorry. I promise you, it wasn’t me. Both fortunately and unfortunately, this case has been a huge news story, at least locally. The downside is that it’s brought out the vultures. No responsible journalist would invade your privacy that way. Plus it sounds like they only had one anonymous source, which would never be enough for reputable media outlets.”

  “Johnny doesn’t know. Neither do our girls. We were going to tell him when he was a little older.” Marcy heard a heavy sigh on the other end of the line.

  “Look, I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Marcy. But this website? I’ve never even heard of it, and I’m a cop. I’ll make sure all my people know how completely unacceptable this kind of leak is, and hopefully this crummy little site is the end of the story.”