“How did he respond?”
“He was furious, but he tried not to show it. A waiter brought the ring back and Ted slipped it into his pocket. He tried to make a joke of it. He said something like ‘I’ll hold it till tomorrow when she’s in better shape.’ Then we got her to the car and brought her home. Ted helped me to put her to bed. I told him I’d have her call him in the morning, when she woke up.”
“Now on the stand I’ll ask you what their living arrangements were.”
“He had his own apartment on the second floor in the same building. I spent the night with Leila. She slept past noon. When she woke up, she felt rotten. I gave her aspirin and she went back to bed. I phoned Ted for her. He was in his office. He asked me to tell her he’d come up about seven o’clock that evening.”
Elizabeth felt her voice quaver.
“I’m sorry to have to keep going, but try to think of this as a rehearsal. The more prepared you are, the easier it will be for you when you are actually on the stand.”
“It’s all right.”
“Did you and your sister discuss the previous night?”
“No. It was obvious she didn’t want to talk about it. She was very quiet. She told me to go to my place and get settled. I had literally dropped my bags home and rushed to her play. She asked me to call her around eight and we’d have dinner together. I assumed she meant she and Ted and I would have dinner together. But then she said she wasn’t going to take his ring back. She was through with him.”
“Miss Lange, this is very important. Your sister told you she was planning to break her engagement to Ted Winters?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth stared down at her hands. She remembered how she had put those hands on Leila’s shoulders, then run them across Leila’s forehead. Oh, stop it, Leila. You don’t mean that.
But I do, Sparrow.
No, you don’t.
Have it your way, Sparrow. But call me around eight, okay?
The last moment of being with Leila, of putting the cold compress on her forehead, of tucking the blankets around her and thinking that in a few hours she’d be herself again, laughing and amused and ready to tell the story. “So I fired Syd and threw Ted’s ring, and quit the play. How’s that for a fast two minutes in Elaine’s?” And then she’d throw back her head and laugh, and in retrospect it would suddenly become funny—a star having a public tantrum.
“I let myself believe it, because I wanted to believe it,” Elizabeth heard herself telling William Murphy.
In a rush she began the rest of her testimony. “I phoned at eight. . . . Leila and Ted were arguing. She sounded as if she’d been drinking again. She asked me to call back in an hour. I did. She was crying. They were still quarreling. She had told Ted to get out. She kept saying she couldn’t trust any man; she didn’t want any man; she wanted me to go away with her.”
“How did you respond?”
“I tried everything. I tried to calm her. I reminded her that she always got uptight when she was in a new show. I told her the play was really a good vehicle for her. I told her Ted was crazy about her and she knew it. Then I tried acting angry. I told her . . .” Elizabeth’s voice faltered. Her face paled. “I told her she sounded just like Mama in one of her drunks.”
“What did she say?”
“It was as if she hadn’t heard me. She just kept saying, ‘I’m finished with Ted. You’re the only one I can ever trust. Sparrow, promise you’ll go away with me.’”
Elizabeth no longer tried to check the tears that welled in her eyes. “She was crying and sobbing. . . .”
“And then . . .”
“Ted came back. He began shouting at her.”
William Murphy leaned forward. The warmth disappeared from his voice. “Now, Miss Lange, this will be a crucial point in your testimony. On the stand, before you can say whose voice you heard, I have to lay a foundation so that the judge is satisfied that you truly recognized that voice. So this is how we’ll do it. . . .” He paused dramatically.
“Question: You heard a voice?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said tonelessly.
“How loud was that voice?”
“Shouting.”
“What was the tone of that voice?”
“Angry.”
“How many words did you hear that voice say?”
In her mind, Elizabeth counted them. “Eleven words. Two sentences.”
“Now, Miss Lange, had you ever heard that voice before?”
“Hundreds of times.” Ted’s voice was filling her ears. Ted, laughing, calling to Leila: “Hey, Star, hurry up, I’m hungry”; Ted deftly protecting Leila from an overly enthusiastic admirer: “Get in the car, honey, quick”; Ted coming to her own opening performance last year Off Broadway: “I’m to memorize every detail to tell Leila. I can wrap it all up in three words: You were sensational. . . .”
What was Mr. Murphy asking her? . . . “Miss Lange, did you recognize whose voice shouted at your sister?”
“Absolutely!”
“Miss Lange. Whose voice was that shouting in the background?”
“It was Ted’s . . . Ted Winters’.”
“What did he shout?”
Unconsciously she raised her own voice. “‘Put that phone down! I told you, put that phone down.’”
“Did your sister respond?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth stirred restlessly. “Do we have to go through this?”
“It will be easier for you if you get used to talking about it before the trial. Now, what did Leila say?”
“She was still sobbing . . . she said, ‘Get out of here. You’re not a falcon. . . .’ And then the phone slammed down.”
“She slammed the phone down?”
“I don’t know which one of them did it.”
“Miss Lange, does the word ‘falcon’ mean anything to you?”
“Yes.” Leila’s face filled Elizabeth’s mind: the tenderness in Leila’s eyes when she looked at Ted, the way she would go up and kiss him. “God, Falcon, I love you.”
“Why?”
“It was Ted’s nickname . . . my sister’s pet name for him. She did that, you see. The people close to her—she gave them special names.”
“Did she ever call anyone else by that name—the name Falcon?”
“No . . . never.” Abruptly, Elizabeth got up and walked to the window. It was grimy with dust. The faint breeze was hot and muggy. She thought longingly of getting away from here.
“Only a few minutes more, I promise. Miss Lange, do you know what time the phone was slammed down?”
“Precisely nine thirty.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yes. There must have been a power failure when I was away. I reset my clock that afternoon. I’m sure it was right.”
“What did you do then?”
“I was terribly upset. I had to see Leila. I ran out. It took me at least fifteen minutes to get a cab. It was after ten when I got to Leila’s apartment.”
“And there was no one there.”
“No. I tried to phone Ted. There was no answer at his place. I just waited.” Waited all night, not knowing what to think, half-worried, half-relieved; hoping that Leila and Ted had made up and were out somewhere, not knowing that Leila’s broken body was lying in the courtyard.
“The next morning, when the body was discovered, you thought she must have fallen from the terrace? It was a rainy March night. Why would she have gone out there?”
“She loved to go out and stand and just look at the city. In any weather. I used to tell her to be careful . . . that railing wasn’t very high. I thought she must have leaned over, she had been drinking; she fell. . . .”
She remembered: Together she and Ted had grieved. Hands entwined, they had wept at the memorial service. Later, he had held her when she could no longer control her racking sobs. “I know, Sparrow. I know,” he said, comforting her. On Ted’s yacht they had sailed ten miles out to sea to scatter Leila’s ashes.
And then, two weeks later, an eyewitness had come forth and sworn she had seen Ted push Leila off the terrace at nine thirty-one.
“Without your testimony, that witness, Sally Ross, could be destroyed by the defense,” she heard William Murphy saying. “As you know, she has a history of severe psychiatric problems. It’s not good that she waited that length of time before coming forward with her story. The fact that her psychiatrist was out of town and she wanted to tell him first at least explains it somewhat.”
“Without my testimony it’s her word against Ted’s, and he denies going back up to Leila’s apartment.” When she had heard about the eyewitness, she had been outraged. She had totally trusted Ted until this man, William Murphy, told her that Ted denied going back to Leila’s apartment.
“You can swear that he was there, that they were quarreling, that the phone was slammed down at nine thirty. Sally Ross saw Leila pushed off the terrace at nine thirty-one. Ted’s story that he left Leila’s apartment at about ten after nine, went to his own apartment, made a phone call, then took a cab to Connecticut doesn’t hold up. In addition to what you and that other woman testify, we also have a strong circumstantial case. The scratches on his face. His skin tissue under Leila’s fingernails. The testimony of the cabbie that he was white as a sheet and trembling—he could hardly give directions to his place. And why the hell didn’t he send for his own chauffeur to take him to Connecticut? Because he was in a panic, that’s why! He can’t come forward with proof of anyone he reached on the phone. He has a motive—Leila rejected him. But one thing you have to realize: the defense will harp on the fact that you and Ted Winters were so close after her death.”
“We were the two people who loved her best,” Elizabeth said quietly. “Or at least, I thought we were. Please, can I go now?”
“We’ll leave it at that. You do look pretty beat. This is going to be a long trial, and it won’t be pleasant. Try to relax next week. Have you decided where you’ll be staying these next few days?”
“Yes. Baroness von Schreiber has invited me to be her guest at Cypress Point Spa.”
“I hope you’re joking.”
Elizabeth stared at him. “Why would I joke about that?”
Murphy’s eyes narrowed. His face flushed and his cheekbones suddenly became prominent. He seemed to be struggling not to raise his voice. “Miss Lange, I don’t think you appreciate the seriousness of your position. Without you, the other witness would be annihilated by the defense. That means that your testimony is about to put one of the richest and most influential men in this country in prison for at least twenty years, and thirty if I can make Murder Two stick. If this were a Mafia case I’d have you hidden away in a hotel under an assumed name and with a police guard until this trial is over. Baron and Baroness von Schreiber may be friends of yours, but they’re also friends of Ted Winters’ and are coming to New York to testify for him. And you seriously propose to stay with them at this time?”
“I know that Min and the Baron are testifying as character witnesses for Ted,” Elizabeth said. “They don’t think he’s capable of murder. If I hadn’t heard him with my own ears I wouldn’t have believed it either. They’re following their conscience. I’m following mine. We all do what we have to do.”
She was not prepared for the tirade Murphy let loose at her. His urgent, sometimes sarcastic words pounded in her ears. “There’s something fishy about that invitation. You should see that for yourself. You claim the Von Schreibers loved your sister? Then ask yourself why the hell they’re going to bat for her murderer. I insist you keep away from them, if not for my sake or your own neck then because you want justice for Leila.”
In the end, embarrassed at his obvious contempt for her naïveté, Elizabeth agreed to call off the trip, promised that instead she’d go to East Hampton and there either visit friends or stay in a hotel.
“Whether you’re alone or with someone, be careful,” Murphy told her. Now that he had gotten his way, he attempted a smile; but it froze on his face, and the expression in his eyes was both grim and worried. “Never forget that without you as a witness, Ted Winters walks.”
* * *
Even with the oppressive mugginess, Elizabeth decided to walk home. She felt like one of those punching bags that were weighted with sand and flopped from side to side, unable to avoid the blows rained on them. She knew the district attorney was right. She should have refused Min’s invitation. She decided she wouldn’t contact anyone in the Hamptons. She’d check into a hotel and just lie on the beach quietly for the next few days.
Leila had always joked, “Sparrow, you’ll never need a shrink. Put you in a bikini, dunk you in the briny and you’re in heaven.” It was true. She remembered her delight in showing Leila her blue ribbons for swimming. Eight years ago, she’d been a runner-up for the Olympic team. For four summers she’d taught water aerobics at Cypress Point Spa.
Along the way she stopped to pick up groceries—just enough to have a salad for dinner and a quick breakfast. As she walked the last two blocks home she thought of how remote everything seemed—as if she were seeing her whole life before Leila’s death through the far lens of a telescope.
Sammy’s letter was on top of the mail on the dinette table. Elizabeth reached for the envelope and smiled at the exquisite handwriting. It so vividly brought Sammy to mind—the frail, birdlike figure; the wise eyes, owlish behind rimless glasses; the laceedged blouses and sensible cardigans. Sammy had answered Leila’s ad for a part-time secretary ten years ago and within a week had become indispensable. After Leila’s death, Min had hired her as a receptionist-secretary at the Spa.
Elizabeth decided to read the letter over dinner. It took only a few minutes to change into a light caftan, fix a salad and pour a glass of chilled chablis. Okay, Sammy, time for our visit, she thought as she slit the envelope.
The first page of the letter was predictable:
Dear Elizabeth
I hope this finds you well and as content as possible. Each day I seem to miss Leila more and can only imagine how you feel. I do think that after the trial is behind you, it will get better.
Working for Min has been good for me, although I think I will be giving it up soon. I really have never recovered from that operation.
Elizabeth turned the page, read a few lines; then, as her throat closed, pushed aside the salad.
As you know, I’ve continued to answer the letters from Leila’s fans. There are still three large bags to finish. The reason I am writing is I have just found a very troubling anonymous letter. It is vicious and apparently was one in a series. Leila had not opened this one, but she must have seen its predecessors. Perhaps they would explain why she was so distraught those last weeks.
What is so terrible is that the letter I found was clearly written by someone who knew her well.
I had thought to enclose it in this envelope, but am not sure who is collecting your mail while you are away and would not want this seen by a stranger’s eyes. Will you call me as soon as you return to New York? My love to you.
Sammy
With a growing sense of horror, Elizabeth read and reread Sammy’s letter. Leila had been receiving unsigned very troubling, vicious letters from someone who knew her well. Sammy, who never exaggerated, thought they might explain Leila’s emotional collapse. For all these months, Elizabeth had lain awake trying to understand what had driven Leila into hysteria. Poison-pen letters from someone who knew her well. Who? Why? Did Sammy have any inkling?
She grabbed the phone and dialed the office at the Spa. Let Sammy answer, she prayed. But it was Min who picked up the receiver. Sammy was away, she told Elizabeth. She was visiting her cousin somewhere near San Francisco and would be back Monday night. “You’ll see her then.” Min’s tone became curious. “You sound upset, Elizabeth. Is it something about Sammy that can’t wait?”
It was the moment to tell Min that she was not coming. Elizabeth started to say, “Min, the district attorney . . .” Then she glanced dow
n at Sammy’s letter. The overwhelming need to see Sammy swept over her. It was the same kind of compulsion that had sent her rushing to Leila that last fateful night. She changed the sentence. “No hurry at all, Min. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Before she went to bed, she wrote a note to William Murphy with the address and phone number of the Spa. Then she tore it up. To hell with his warning. She wasn’t a Mafia witness; she was going to visit old friends—people she loved and trusted, people who loved and cared about her. Let him think she was in East Hampton.
He had known for months that it would be necessary to kill Elizabeth. He had lived with the ever-present knowledge of the danger that she represented, and had planned to eliminate her in New York.
With the trial coming, her mind must be constantly reliving every moment of those last days. Inevitably, she would realize what she already knew—the fact that would seal his fate.
There were ways to get rid of her at the Spa and make it seem to be an accident. Her death would cause less official suspicion in California than in New York. He thought about her and her habits, looking for a way.
He consulted his watch. It was midnight in New York Sweet dreams, Elizabeth, he thought.
Your time is running out.
Sunday,
August 30
QUOTE FOR THE DAY:
Where is the love, beauty and truth we seek?
—SHELLEY
GOOD MORNING, DEAR GUEST!
Welcome to another day of luxury at Cypress Point Spa.
Besides your personalized program, we are happy to tell you that there will be special makeup classes in the women’s spa between 10 A.M. and 4 P.M. Why not fill in one of your free hours learning the enchanting secrets of the world’s most beautiful women, as taught by Madame Renford of Beverly Hills?
Today’s guest expert in the men’s spa is famous bodybuilder Jack Richard, who will share his personal workout schedule at 4 P.M.
The musical program after dinner is a very special one. Cellist Fione Navaralla, one of the most acclaimed new artists in England, will play selections by Ludwig van Beethoven.
Weep No More, My Lady Page 2
