As Time Goes By

by Mary Higgins Clark

  He was asked to go to Georgia to do a prestigious and lucrative photo shoot for Happening magazine. The original photographer had been delayed on another job in Buenos Aires.

  Alan knew that even though this job would pay very well, and he certainly needed the money, he had to turn it down. As a witness who could be potentially recalled, he had been instructed not to attend the trial. But when the jury completed its deliberations, he could be in court to hear the verdict. She’ll be found guilty, he promised himself. There’s no way she’ll be let off. Then the nightmares will be over.

  It had gotten to the point where every night he dreamt of his father’s skull being crushed by that pestle. And often other events filtered into his consciousness. Sobbing with his father at his mother’s grave. His father buying him the condominium. And the best photography equipment. His father rejoicing as he started to get good reviews for his work.

  When Alan woke up, he would be shivering. The trouble was that even though I’m good at photography, I hate it, he thought. When he got his money from the estate, he would figure out what else he could do. He realized that he never again wanted to be owing money, having creditors dunning him. He hadn’t filed a tax return for years. And he had just received a notice from the IRS demanding that he contact them immediately.

  This pressure is too much, he thought. When Betsy is convicted, I’ll go to the chancery court right away and request enough money to pay everybody.

  But when he fell asleep, the nightmares began again.

  • • •

  At 4:00 in the morning he had taken two Ambien, or was it three? He slept until almost 2:00 in the afternoon. After turning on the small TV in the kitchen, he put two pieces of bread in the toaster. When the newscaster said, “new development in the Betsy Grant case,” he moved closer and turned up the volume. He stared ahead in shock as he heard that a man just arrested for burglary claims to have seen a car leaving the Grant property at 2:00 in the morning on the night his father was murdered.

  56

  Her tone was flirtatious as she said, “Mr. Cruise, I hope you remember me. I met you at Dr. Scott Clifton’s office yesterday. On your way in, you gave me your card.”

  “Yes, of course. How can I help you?”

  “I don’t want to talk over the phone, but I’d like to meet you. I have some very interesting information that you should know.”

  “Of course, I’ll meet you,” Jon said. “Do you want to pick a place near your office in Fort Lee?”

  “I no longer work in Fort Lee. I was fired right after you left.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Now Jon was even more intrigued about what the former receptionist wanted to tell him. People who have been fired are usually willing to share a lot more than those who are worried about keeping their jobs.

  He continued, “Where would you like to meet?”

  “I live with my parents in Tenafly. The Clinton Inn is in the middle of town. Will that be all right?”

  “Yes. Would six o’clock tonight be okay?”

  “Okay, and after what I tell you, you’re going to want to buy me dinner.”

  After he finished his conversation with Groner, Jon called Delaney. “We’ll have to meet later this evening, Delaney,” he began. “A few minutes ago I received a phone call from Heidi Groner, a receptionist who was just fired by Dr. Scott Clifton. She claims she has important information and wants to share it. I have no idea what it’s about. This may be a case of a disgruntled employee who wants to vent after getting fired, and I’ll be honest, I think she’s a bit of an airhead—”

  “Jon, you have to see her,” Delaney said immediately.

  She had been planning to tell Jon at dinner that Betsy Grant and Peter Benson were her parents. But that could wait.

  “Jon, I am still stunned about that guy who was arrested in Saddle River and claims he was in Dr. Grant’s home the night he was murdered.”

  “It’s an astonishing development,” Jon said.

  “I know the prosecutor doesn’t believe him, but the defense attorney is going to call him as a witness. Jon, do you realize what this could mean for Betsy Grant?”

  “Yes, I do. And I know how strongly you feel about her. But Delaney, so many nuts love the limelight, and Tony Sharkey may be one of them. They’ll say or do anything to get attention.”

  “I know you’re right,” Delaney said, “but I think there’s something to this.”

  57

  On Tuesday afternoon Lisa Clifton met with the real estate agent in Morristown and found a four-room condo in a luxurious new building with an available rental. It was exactly what she had in mind, a large two-bedroom unit with plenty of windows.

  As she signed the lease, she felt a sensation of relief wash over her. Why did I stay in the marriage this long? she asked herself. I’ve been miserable for at least two years. Now I just want to get away from him.

  She got back in her car, pleased to have been successful in apartment hunting. A few days more, she thought, I can’t wait. Can’t wait to get out of that house with its dreary modern furniture. And the fact that Scott was being so affectionate was making it worse. Last night, after she left Betsy’s home, they had met friends for dinner. He had called her “Dear” so often he had sounded silly. Was he worried that if they broke up, she would go after more than was in the prenup? She had, after all, given up her well-paid job at his specific request. I wish I could tell him not to worry about that, she thought. I’m not looking for any of his money. I just want out!

  While driving home, she heard about the thief who claimed to have been in Betsy’s house the night of Ted’s murder and who had seen a black Mercedes leaving the grounds. Lisa gripped the wheel. She distinctly remembered that night. After she and Scott got home from the dinner party, he had told her that he was too upset after the scene in the dining room to go to bed. When she came down the next morning, he was asleep on the couch in the den. She had not questioned his story for a minute. He claimed that he had had a few drinks to help him calm down and that’s why he fell asleep there.

  He had been upset that night.

  And they did have a black Mercedes.

  But why would Scott have any reason to hurt Ted? The partnership had broken up years ago.

  That question led to another one. Ted had lunged across the table, Lisa thought. I was sitting next to Scott. Was Ted lunging at Scott and not me? In that poor failing brain of his, was he aware of something Scott had done that infuriated him?

  Lisa did not notice how quickly the trip had gone until she pulled into the driveway.

  Home!

  To her surprise Scott was in the living room. He greeted her with one of his affectionate kisses. “Hey, I tried to get you, but you didn’t answer your phone.”

  Lisa felt a chill go through her body as his arms tightened around her. “I forgot my phone,” she said, “and I went shopping. Nordstrom and Neiman Marcus are both having big sales.”

  Scott relaxed his grip. “Hope you treated yourself.”

  “I did. I ordered two suits that are being altered. They’ll be ready in a week.”

  And I’ll be out of here by then, she thought.

  58

  Delaney had gone home after her meeting with Kathleen Gerard yesterday. She had spent much of yesterday and today rereading her notes from the courtroom, reports she had filed, and reviewing news accounts of the trial on websites to see if she had missed anything that might be helpful. Just before Jon had called, she had been trying to decide whether or not to call Lisa Clifton. Lisa was obviously so supportive of Betsy, and Scott Clifton obviously so hostile. Was this taking a toll on their marriage?

  How could there not be some strain between them? she asked herself. Maybe if I told Lisa that Betsy is my mother, she would be more open to me. There’s no harm in trying, she thought. There is no harm in trying anything that might help Betsy, she decided.

  As she tried looking up the phone number, she was surprised to see that there wa
s a listing for a Lisa Clifton in Ridgewood, New Jersey, but nothing for a Scott Clifton. Is it odd that the family phone number is in the wife’s name or is that how doctors do it? she asked herself.

  Lisa answered the phone on the first ring. What Delaney could not know was that Lisa had been waiting for the clerk from the moving and storage company to verify exactly the time they would pick up furniture on Friday morning.

  Delaney, after identifying herself, came straight to the point. “Mrs. Clifton, from what I observed in court, you are very sympathetic to Betsy Grant.”

  “I am and always have been. There has to be a better explanation for what happened that night, and I think I may know it.”

  “Mrs. Clifton, may I come out and talk to you?”

  “It’s Lisa. Yes, you can. I’ve been watching your coverage of the trial and you’ve been very fair. But I can’t do it today. I have an appointment I can’t break this afternoon, and my husband and I are going to dinner with friends.”

  “Mrs. Clifton, Lisa, this trial is coming to an end so quickly. If you have information that may help exonerate Betsy Grant, I beg you to share it now.”

  “It’s not proof. It’s only a feeling. But I’ll be happy to see you tomorrow.”

  “What time can we—?”

  “I’m sorry. I have to go. Please call me tomorrow morning.”

  After she hung up the phone, Delaney felt helpless and aimless. Lisa had just said that she had a different idea about what really happened to Ted Grant but had no proof. I’ll bet she means Alan Grant, she thought. Of course, he is the logical choice. But there is absolutely no proof that he was the killer and he has an airtight alibi.

  Airtight alibi! He had it because he had gone to the home of a former girlfriend, Josie Mason, and spent the night with her. The security cameras verified that he had not left her apartment that night. Delaney wondered if Alan had seen that woman again. Or could it be that he had paid her to let him stay at her apartment?

  Rather than ignore any possible avenue, Delaney reviewed her trial notes. Mason was a hairdresser at Louis & David, a salon on East 50th Street. She looked up the phone number and dialed it. A voice that turned cross at the mention of Alan’s name reluctantly agreed to meet her for a drink at 5 P.M. Mason suggested the Peacock Alley bar in the Waldorf Astoria.

  • • •

  The popular cocktail lounge was almost full. It always has a festive air, Delaney thought. I wish to God I could feel festive!

  Josie was already waiting at a small table to the left of the bar. Delaney recognized her because she had testified in court. Josie was a shapely blonde, about thirty years old, with hair barely touching the top of her shoulders. She wore a low-cut white blouse and black slacks.

  Delaney took a seat beside her. Now that they were only a few feet apart she could tell that Mason’s unlined face had probably benefited from some Botox treatments. The tiny creases around her mouth suggested that she was a heavy smoker.

  “Hi, Josie, thanks for meeting me,” Delaney said as a waitress arrived to take her order. Mason was already drinking an apple martini and Delaney decided to join her in one.

  After she ordered, Josie began to reach into her pocketbook, then stopped and shrugged. “I don’t get this stupid rule that you can’t have a cigarette with a drink. It drives me crazy.”

  “I never smoked, but I have friends who feel the same way,” Delaney said agreeably.

  “I like the way you’ve been covering the trial,” Josie remarked. “I mean you’re fair, not like some of those nuts on the radio shows who think they’re smarter than God and keep screaming that Betsy Grant smashed her husband’s head.”

  Sound and fury signifying nothing, Delaney thought, but she answered, “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “Those guys are sure nailing Betsy Grant,” Josie said. “I mean they all keep whining about how she killed her sick, helpless husband because she wanted to be with her boyfriend. I saw his picture in the newspapers. He’s gorgeous. And he’s a widower!”

  We’re talking about my father, Delaney thought, but then trying to get to what she was probing for, she said, “Alan testified on the stand that you two had planned to meet for a drink around ten o’clock, after he got back from the party at his father’s house.”

  “That’s about what happened,” Josie said with a shrug.

  “What to you mean by about?”

  “Me and Alan would go out for a while. We’d break up. He’d call me out of the blue and we’d start going out again. About six months before his father died we had a big fight. I mean he’s good-looking and he’s classy. But he was always whining about how broke he was. I even started picking up the checks. My girlfriends told me I was stupid, and I eventually figured out that they were right. So I said to him go make some money and then call me back. But then a few months later we started going out again for dinners and stuff. About a week before the dinner at his father’s house, he told me how hard it would be for him to see his father so sick. He asked if we could meet for a drink around ten o’clock, after he got back from New Jersey.”

  “So you made a date to see him that night?”

  “Yeah. We agreed to meet for a drink. I was already there. He was okay in the beginning, but then he got to be a real downer. He was depressed and almost started crying. He told me he felt so alone, he might be having a nervous breakdown, he’s so worried about his father and stepmother, his father’s so sick and he’s slipping. . . . He said he didn’t want to be alone that night, could he stay with me?”

  Josie shrugged. “I’m always a sucker for a sob story, so I said, ‘Sure. Okay.’ ”

  Delaney chose her words carefully. “Josie, I know the security cameras saw him come in with you around midnight and leave around eight o’clock the following morning. Does that mean you’re absolutely certain he was in your apartment all night?”

  “Oh, he sure was with me all night. He spent half the night crying. I thought I’d go nuts.”

  “Did you see much of him in the year and a half since his father died?”

  “Some. Listen. I know he’s going to inherit big money. When he gets it and he stops talking about his troubles, who knows if I’ll be interested? But wouldn’t you think that after I miss time from work, get on the witness stand and give him a rock-solid alibi for the night his father died, he’d at least call and thank me? I mean if he’d gone back to his place alone, who would have believed him?”

  Josie tilted her head back and downed the last sip of her martini. “That calls for one more,” she said as she raised her hand to signal the waitress.

  Delaney was frantic to leave. I think it’s a good bet that Alan deliberately set up his sometimes girlfriend to give himself an alibi because he knew somebody was going to murder Dr. Grant that night.

  As Delaney was paying the check, Josie started to laugh. “One really funny thing happened that night. I had just two days before adopted a shelter cat.”

  Please get to your point. I don’t have time for pet stories, Delaney thought.

  “I didn’t know it, but Alan’s really allergic to cats.”

  “And he still stayed over?”

  “Yeah, he took several Contacs and sneezed his way through.”

  “Did you tell this to the police?”

  “No. We didn’t talk about it. Why would the police care about somebody’s allergies?”

  59

  Trying not to look impatient, Jonathan Cruise waited at the Clinton Inn in Tenafly for Heidi Groner. She was already fifteen minutes late and he was beginning to wonder if she would show up. Five minutes later, she appeared.

  “Sorry to be late,” she said. There was nothing apologetic in her tone of voice or her broad smile. In the office her hair had been pinned up. Now it was loose and fell at least three inches below her shoulders. She was carefully made up and her hazel eyes were accentuated by mascara and liner.

  Jon recognized that she was a very pretty girl, something he had not noticed at
the brief meeting in Dr. Clifton’s office. Expecting they would be having dinner, he had intended to keep the initial conversation general. But Heidi got right to the point. “I told you I got fired yesterday.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I was about to quit. That place was like a morgue. The night before you were in talking to Dr. Clifton, State Senator McElroy called and left a message to cancel his appointment. Dr. Clifton operated on his friend a few weeks ago, a knee replacement. He got it wrong and the guy has to have it redone.”

  “Did that sort of thing happen often?”

  “I wasn’t there long enough to know. But I’ll tell you this, he could rent out his waiting room.”

  A waiter was hovering at the table. “What would you like to drink?”

  “Oh, just a glass of Chardonnay. I’m not a big fan of the strong stuff.”

  “Make that two Chardonnays, please,” Jon told the waiter, then looked back at Heidi. “My understanding is there’s a big overhead in most medical practices.”

  “Oh, sure there is. I was full-time. There were also part-timers, a nurse and an X-ray technician. He wasn’t seeing enough patients or doing enough surgeries to pay our salaries. I’m sure he’s peddling drugs.”

  Jon felt himself tense up. “What makes you think that?”

  “He has a disposable phone. You know the kind where it has just so many minutes on it.”

  “I know what that is.”

  “Well, I could hear that one ringing two or three times a day. And one time, last week when his office door was open, I heard him make an appointment to meet in a parking lot near the office.”

  “And you think he was meeting people to sell them drugs?”

  “Sure, I do. Or at least prescriptions for drugs. Why else would he meet someone in a parking lot?”

  Jon thought of how Scott Clifton’s office had seemed so desolate.

  “I’m saving the best for last,” Heidi said, her tone conspiratorial. “Did you read about that Hollywood director’s son who overdosed last week?”