Piece of My Heart

by Mary Higgins Clark

  “Mommy, look!” Chloe was stomping her feet in the water of the kiddie pool Andrew had set up for them in the backyard.

  “You’ll let me know if any reporters contact you trying to follow up on this?” Marcy asked.

  “Absolutely. I promise.”

  As she hung up, Chloe was still trying to get her attention, sloshing around in the water. “Look how much I can make it splash!”

  Emily crossed her arms in protest. “Stop it, Chloe. You’re making a mess, and the pool’s going to be empty.”

  “Then we’ll fill it up again from the hose.”

  “Well…” Emily struggled for a retort. “Then you’re taking water away from fish that need it.”

  Chloe was telling her sister that wasn’t how it worked when the doorbell chimed. Marcy jumped up from the table. Please be good news. Please.

  Through the living room window, she caught sight of a light gray Buick parked in their driveway.

  “Andrew,” she cried out. His home office was down the hall. “Someone’s here!”

  She ran to the front door and peered through one of the side panels of glass. She didn’t recognize the woman standing there alone, nervously looking down at her tapping foot. Marcy guessed she was around sixty years old. She had a soft, round face framed by a blondish gray bob, parted in the middle. She wore a short-sleeved navy-blue cotton dress with a simple chain holding a small cross pendant.

  “Can I help you?” Marcy asked from behind the door.

  “Mrs. Buckley?”

  “How can I help you?” she asked again.

  “My name is Sandra Carpenter. My daughter was your son’s… She gave him to you for adoption.”

  Chapter 33

  Marcy poured a glass of iced tea for their unexpected guest and then took a seat next to Andrew, who had emerged from his office just as Marcy opened the front door. Now they were seated at the kitchen table, where she was able to keep an eye on the girls through the sliding glass doors.

  She felt Andrew’s hand squeeze her knee beneath the table. With that small touch, she felt so connected to him. He was the only person on the face of the planet who truly shared her pain.

  She patted his hand and kept it there. Sandra had already explained her reason for coming over. She was offering to help however she could.

  According to her, she had found the Buckleys’ address but no phone number on the papers that she’d been able to locate in her old files from the time of the adoption. Marcy wondered why she wouldn’t have simply called Father Horrigan to reach out to them on her behalf, but then recalled the priest mentioning that Sandra had switched to another parish after Johnny was born. Perhaps she was reluctant to involve Father Horrigan any further into matters involving her daughter and the adoption. Whatever her reasons, Marcy was starting to wish she had never opened the front door to their surprise visitor.

  “We appreciate your keeping us in your thoughts, Sandra,” Marcy mustered. “I know this must be very hard on you, as well.”

  “I haven’t been able to sleep,” Sandra said. “It didn’t seem right not to reach out to you. I know my daughter gave her baby up, but I still think of Johnny as the last living piece of my little girl, even though I have never been a part of his life. To know that he’s in danger—and to realize how scared you must be—makes me miss Michelle all over again. Does that make any sense at all?”

  “Of course.”

  “When Michelle was young, we were so close. She used to tell me I was her best friend, all the way up until she was in high school. When she decided to go to the University of Baltimore, she chose it over a more prestigious college in Colorado because she didn’t want to be so far away from home. She was always a top student, even though she was waiting tables part-time along with her classes. I trusted her when she told me she wanted to take time off from college for a little while. The couple that owned the restaurant she worked at in Baltimore was opening a sister restaurant near their vacation house in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, and wanted her to manage it for them. It sounded like a sensible move. They were offering her a nice place to live in their guest cottage. She’d make a lot of money during the summer, and then they would basically match that during the off-season for her to stay on their property and look after it. I understood why she saw it as a good opportunity. She was a short walk’s distance to the beach, and only two and a half hours from me, so we visited each other regularly. She even had room for me in the guesthouse, so it was like I had a little vacation spot of my own. She thought after three years, she’d have enough saved up to go back to college without any debt or even a part-time job, so she could commit herself a hundred percent. She wanted to be valedictorian. I remember her saying, Top of your class from a public school is better than the middle of the pack from Harvard. She had big dreams. She wanted to be a journalist.”

  Marcy had no doubt this woman believed she had come here to help another family, but it was clear that Sandra’s thoughts and heart were still focused on her own loss.

  Andrew, as if reading Marcy’s mind, began to rise from his chair. “Thank you so much for coming, and, again, we are so grateful that Michelle—”

  It wasn’t enough to stop Sandra from reminiscing, and Andrew retook his seat. “My biggest regret is how I handled the news of the pregnancy. My views are very… traditional. Very. When she couldn’t even tell me who the father was, that she met him at a bar, I could have been more supportive. I did my best to focus on the matter at hand—how to take care of the baby—but I’m sure I left her feeling judged. I think that’s the moment everything began to spiral downward for her. After she gave up Johnny for the adoption, she pushed me away. I think she felt ashamed. I thought it was temporary, but weeks became months, and months became years. When the Philadelphia police called me about her overdose, it was so cold, as if I were a stranger.”

  Marcy could see that this woman—a mother, just like her—was in pain, still mourning the loss of her own daughter. But to Marcy, she was a stranger, and her unannounced appearance at their front door ultimately did nothing to help them find Johnny.

  Next to her, Andrew stood again, and this time, he did not let Sandra’s storytelling deter him. “Mrs. Carpenter, thank you so much for reaching out, and we’re sorry for your loss. We need to be alone as a family right now. Let me walk you out.”

  Alone at the kitchen table, Marcy felt her shoulders begin to shake as she envisioned herself getting a phone call like the one Sandra had gotten about Michelle. Perhaps it would be from Detective Langland in East Hampton. Or a cop in New York City or Cleveland or New Orleans or Phoenix, whatever place someone had taken Johnny off to. How long would she need to wait for an answer? And just as Sandra could trace the beginnings of her daughter’s demise to her own conduct, Marcy would forever blame herself for leaving Johnny on that beach with a babysitter she didn’t even know.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of her cell phone on the table. It was a text from Laurie.

  We just got to the prison.

  Chapter 34

  Laurie silenced her cell phone after sending a quick text update to Marcy. She couldn’t imagine the anguish she and Andrew were feeling. She hadn’t slept more than a few hours at a time since Johnny went missing. The idea of being away from Timmy for nearly a week and having no idea where he was? It would be more than Laurie could bear.

  Tucking her cell phone in her blazer pocket, she turned her attention to her cameraman, who was studying his digital screen. “How’s it looking, Nick?”

  The space provided by the prison was small, one of the rooms typically used by defense attorneys to meet with their clients. Laurie had planned accordingly, keeping the team small—just her, Ryan, and her head cameraman with a single field camera in tow. Tracy Mahoney, Gunther’s lawyer, had already introduced herself to them and said she was amenable to any seating arrangement as long as she did not appear on camera.

  “Check it for yourself,” Nick said, stepping back to give
her a look. “This is as good as I can get it.”

  The only furniture in view was a small round table and the two chairs they had positioned at it. Ryan was seated closest to the entrance, with his back to the door, reviewing notes he had scribbled on a legal pad.

  The challenge was to get both Ryan and Gunther in the same frame from such a close perspective. Nick had managed to do it by positioning the camera in the farthest corner from the table.

  “As you can see,” Nick explained, “you get a slightly better view of where Ryan’s sitting than of the other chair.”

  Ryan flashed a smile and a quick wave to the camera. The result was far from the film quality they’d usually have, but it would suffice.

  “So we’ll put Gunther there, and, Ryan, we’ll shoot you more in profile. And then we’ve got this chair in the corner out of camera view for the defense lawyer.”

  “Works for me,” Ryan said. “It creeps me out having my back to the door anyway.”

  Laurie flashed Nick a thumbs-up. “You’re a miracle worker, always a pro.”

  “You’re just saying that because I got up at the crack of dawn to make the trip up here.”

  “Hey, at least the drive came with a little care package from the Doughnut Project.”

  Laurie had learned that Nick was a sucker for the pastry shop’s bacon maple bar, which was exactly what it sounded like.

  Nick patted the front of his shirt with a smile. “My arteries say no, but my belly says ‘please and thank you.’ By the way,” he added, lowering his voice, “I just wanted to let you know that the missus and I have been including Johnny in our prayers. Anything we can do to help, we’re there for you.”

  Johnny’s presumed abduction had been prominent in the local news, including his family connection to federal judge Alex Buckley.

  “I appreciate that,” Laurie said. “Being here, doing the work… that’s the help I need right now.”

  Nick nodded knowingly. “Gotcha. Well, I’m ready to go here whenever you are.”

  Laurie had a feeling that Nick suspected a connection between Johnny’s disappearance and the sudden urgency with which Laurie was tackling the show’s latest case, but he wasn’t the type to ask questions beyond camera angles and lighting choices.

  She looked to Ryan, who had repositioned himself on the opposite side of the table.

  “Let’s rock and roll,” he said.

  She knocked on the narrow glass pane in the security door, and a guard opened the door. “We’re all set here,” she said.

  “Let me get your prisoner. His lawyer’s on-site, too.”

  When the door was closed again, she felt a wave of panic wash over her. This might be their one shot to save Johnny. They couldn’t blow it.

  * * *

  If it weren’t for the forest-green prison jumpsuit, Darren Gunther could have passed for a Hollywood actor strutting into an audition room, full of cool confidence and a laser-beamed focus.

  “Ah, a nice sojourn to the luxurious legal team suite. Much more refined than the riffraff common area.”

  He politely thanked the guard who unlocked his shackles and replaced them with a single set of handcuffs to connect one of his wrists to a bracket at the edge of the tabletop.

  Tracy Mahoney, Gunther’s lawyer, was tall with broad shoulders and an untamed mop of curly gray-blond hair. Her Brooklyn accent was hard to miss. “Is all that really necessary? We’re on camera. The locks on the door are Fort Knox–worthy.”

  The guard shook his head. “You know the drill.”

  Once the guard left, Gunther used his free hand to offer a self-assured shake to Ryan.

  “You must be Ryan Nichols,” he said. “I recognize you from your television show. I looked up your pedigree, too. Impressive. I look forward to the opportunity to tell you the truth about my case.”

  “I’m sure we’ll have an enlightening conversation,” Ryan responded.

  “And you must be Ms. Moran,” he said, nodding toward Laurie.

  “I am.” Usually, she would have had a thorough preproduction interview with any subject by now, but these weren’t usual circumstances. “I’m looking forward to hearing your side of the story.”

  He held up the index finger of his free hand. “Be careful what you wish for, Ms. Moran. You know that saying about never try to meet your heroes? Your dad’s considered to be quite a hero, and you may not like what I have to say about him. There’s a side of him I doubt he displays for his admiring daughter and adorable little grandson. His name’s Timmy, is that right?”

  His feigned smile appeared kind, but a white-hot burn filled her throat at the sound of her son’s name on Gunther’s lips. She was reminded again of the tricky challenge that lay ahead of them. If Gunther had orchestrated the abduction of a boy he thought was Leo’s grandchild in order to gain leverage over Leo, he certainly couldn’t admit it to them on camera. He would have to drop veiled clues to confirm an implicit trade: the kidnapped child’s freedom in exchange for his. Gunther had immediately mentioned Laurie’s son. Was that the type of hint they were looking for, or simply his way of trying to get to the TV producer whose show he wanted to manipulate?

  “Why don’t we get started,” she said.

  Chapter 35

  As Ryan walked Gunther through his version of the story behind Lou Finney’s death, Laurie realized how badly she wanted to vindicate her father, even if it turned out Gunther had nothing to do with Johnny’s abduction.

  The interview covered all of the events on the night of the murder, and the supposedly exonerating DNA evidence, without a single interjection from Gunther’s lawyer. So far, Gunther had not strayed from either his trial testimony or the motions filed in his wrongful conviction case. He was also nice-looking, articulate, and even charming at times. The average TV viewer would look at him and think it impossible for him to be a killer. Laurie knew from experience, though, that a murderer could reside inside the most unlikely people. There had to be some other explanation for the presence of Mason Rollins’s DNA on the murder weapon. Laurie would never believe that her father had fabricated a confession to frame an innocent man.

  As if reading her thoughts, Gunther suddenly shifted away from the DNA evidence, looked directly into the camera, and said, “I know what people are thinking: even if I sound like a reasonable person to you; even though I’ve been a model prisoner for all these eighteen years, insisting on my innocence; even though I can prove, beyond any doubt, that it’s not my DNA on that murder weapon, but that of a known felon with a penchant for attacking people with knives”—he ticked each point off on his fingertips—“at the end of the day, many of you are going to think, But a decorated cop says he confessed, and for you, that will be enough. Because the cop I’m up against isn’t just any old man in blue, it’s former first deputy commissioner Leo Farley, who soared through the ranks like a rocket after my conviction. For people who don’t know what that means, he’s literally one step down from the commissioner himself. Farley was considered a shoo-in for the next commissioner if he hadn’t retired, but he’s still treated like a rock star. He gets profiled in New York magazine and hangs out with the mayor in a private suite at sports events.”

  A jolt of electricity shot through Laurie’s brain at the mention of that magazine profile. That was the publication that had run the photograph of them in the mayor’s suite at Yankee Stadium. Timmy had looked then so much like Johnny did now. They now at least had confirmation that Gunther had seen that picture. She forced herself to focus as Gunther continued to list Leo’s many accolades.

  “He marches beside the cardinal at the front of the St. Patrick’s Day Parade, with the grand marshal’s float. My goodness, the man has so many commendations that the medals on his dress uniform flicker like a disco ball.”

  “I think your point about First Deputy Commissioner Farley’s reputation has been made,” Ryan said. “You’re saying that in a swearing match between you and him, you suspect most people will simply defer to
the decorated police veteran.”

  “Precisely. But here’s the thing.” Gunther aimed his penetrating gaze directly into the camera again. “How did Leo Farley climb up to such rarified air? What made him so different from all the other beat cops and detectives whose names no one knows? What made Farley so special that he’s practically law enforcement royalty?”

  Ryan seized his opening. “One explanation is that he’s the kind of dedicated investigator who, for example, goes back to the station house after his shift because he still hasn’t gotten to the truth. And then he’s so good at his job that he manages to get someone as smart and controlled as you to confess to stabbing a man in a fit of rage after being rejected by a woman at a bar.”

  Gunther smiled quietly. “You sound like a man who works for Leo Farley’s daughter. I assume this production will disclose the blatant conflict of interest so viewers can take that into account when forming an opinion.”

  “We always give our viewers the straight facts.”

  “Well, did you know the straight fact that Leo Farley was under consideration for the job of deputy commissioner of public information at the time of my arrest? Until then, he was an ambitious cop, but hadn’t had the kind of high-profile cases that would put him in the spotlight. But Lou Finney’s case had all the hallmarks of a front-page story. The beloved owner of a popular bar in one of the hottest neighborhoods in Manhattan. A private college student and a rich-kid real estate heir were the suspects. A tale of old New York City meets new. A clash of the classes. And Leo supposedly getting the goods on me made him the star of the story. Then guess what? He got the big promotion, making him the chief public spokesperson for the entire NYPD, able to command as much media attention as a mayor.”