“Exactly. Once that’s done, then you can talk about it.”
“Okay. What are we going to do tonight?”
“Just crash. We’ll send out for pizza. I stopped on the way home and rented a couple of movies.”
The mischievous look Kerry loved came into Robin’s face. “R-rated, I hope.”
She’s trying to make me feel better, Kerry thought. She’s not going to let me know how scared she is.
At ten of six, Bob arrived. Kerry watched as, with a whoop of joy, Robin ran into his arms. “What do you think about me being in danger?” she asked.
“I’m going to let you two visit while I get changed,” Kerry announced.
Bob released Robin. “Don’t be long, Kerry,” he said hurriedly.
“I can only stay a few minutes.”
Kerry saw the instant pain on Robin’s face and wanted to throttle Kinellen. Toss her a little TLC for a change, she thought angrily. Struggling to keep her tone of voice even, she responded, “Down in a minute.”
She changed quickly into slacks and a sweater, but deliberately waited upstairs for ten minutes. Then, as she was about to come down, there was a knock at her door and Robin called, “Mom.”
“Come in.” Kerry started to say, “I’m ready,” when she saw the look on Robin’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Dad asked me to wait up here while he talks to you.”
“I see.”
Bob was standing in the middle of the study, obviously uncomfortable, obviously anxious to be gone.
He hasn’t bothered to take off his coat, Kerry thought. And what did he do to upset Robin? Probably spent the whole time telling her how rushed he was.
He turned when he heard her footsteps. “Kerry, I’ve got to get back to the office. There’s a lot of work I have to do for tomorrow’s session. But there’s something very important I have to tell you.”
He pulled a small sheet of paper out of his pocket. “You heard what happened to Barney Haskell and Mark Young?”
“Obviously.”
“Kerry, Jimmy Weeks has a way of getting information. I’m not sure how, but he does. For example, he knows that you went to see Reardon in prison Saturday.”
“Does he?” Kerry stared at her ex-husband. “What difference would that make to him?”
“Kerry, don’t play games. I’m worried. Jimmy is desperate. I just told you that he has a way of finding out things. Look at this.”
Kinellen handed her what seemed to be a copy of a note written on a six-by-nine-inch sheet torn from a pad. On it were six musical notes in the key of C, and underneath were the words, “I’m in love with you.” It was signed “J.”
“What’s this supposed to be?” Kerry asked, even as she mentally hummed the notes she was reading. Then, before Bob had a chance to answer, she understood, and her blood ran cold. They were the opening notes to the song “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.”
“Where did you get this and what does it mean?” she snapped.
“They found the original in Mark Young’s breast pocket when they went through his clothes at the morgue. It was Haskell’s writing, and on a sheet of paper torn from the pad next to Young’s phone. The secretary remembers putting a fresh pad there last night, so Haskell had to have jotted it down sometime between seven and seven- thirty this morning.”
“A few minutes before he died?”
“Exactly. Kerry, I’m certain it’s connected to the plea bargain Haskell was trying to make.”
“The plea bargain? You mean the homicide he was hinting he could connect to Jimmy Weeks was the Sweetheart Murder Case?” Kerry could not believe what she was hearing. “Jimmy was involved with Suzanne Reardon, wasn’t he? Bob, are you telling me that whoever took Robin’s picture and came within an inch of running her over works for Jimmy Weeks, and this is his way of scaring me off?”
“Kerry, I’m not saying anything except leave it alone. For Robin’s sake, leave it alone.”
“Does Weeks know you’re here?”
“He knows that, for Robin’s sake, I’d warn you.”
“Wait a minute.” Kerry looked at her former husband with disbelief. “Let me get this straight. You’re here to warn me off because your client, the thug and murderer you represent, has given you a threat, veiled or otherwise, to convey to me. My God, Bob, how low you have gone.”
“Kerry, I’m trying to save my child’s life.”
“Your child? All of a sudden she’s so important to you? Do you know how many times you’ve devastated her when you didn’t show up to see her? It’s insulting. Now get out.”
As he turned, she snatched the paper from his hand. “But I’ll take this.”
“Give that to me.” Kinellen grabbed her hand, forcing her fingers open and pulling the paper from her.
“Dad, let go of Mom!”
They both whirled to see Robin standing in the doorway, the fading scars bright once more against the ashen pallor of her face.
66
Dr. Smith had left the office at 4:20, only a minute or so after his last patient-a post-tummy-tuck checkup, had departed. Kate Carpenter was glad to see him go. She found it disturbing just to be around him lately. She had noticed the tremor in his hand again today when he removed the skull stitches from Mrs. Pryce, who had had an eyebrow lift procedure. The nurse’s concern went beyond the physical, however; she was sure that mentally there was something radically wrong with the doctor as well.
The most frustrating thing for Kate, though, was that she didn’t know where to turn. Charles Smith was-or at least had been-a brilliant surgeon. She didn’t want to see him discredited, or drummed out of the profession. If circumstances were different, she would have talked to his wife or best friend. But in Dr. Smith’s case, she couldn’t do that-his wife was long gone, and he seemed to have no friends at all.
Kate’s sister Jean was a social worker. Jean probably would understand the problem and be able to advise her on where to turn to get Dr. Smith the help he obviously needed. But Jean was on vacation in Arizona, and Kate didn’t know how to reach her even if she wanted to.
At four-thirty Barbara Tompkins phoned. “Mrs. Carpenter, I’ve had it. Last night, Dr. Smith called and practically demanded that I have dinner with him. But then he kept calling me Suzanne. And he wants me to call him Charles. He asked if I had a serious boyfriend. I’m sorry, I know I owe him a lot, but I think he is really creepy, and this is getting to me. I find that even at work I’m looking over my shoulder, expecting to see him lurking somewhere. I can’t stand it. This can’t go on.”
Kate Carpenter knew she couldn’t stall any longer. The one possible person who came to her mind in whom she might confide was Robin Kinellen’s mother, Kerry McGrath.
Kate knew she was a lawyer, an assistant prosecutor in New Jersey, but she was also a mother who was very grateful that Dr. Smith had treated her daughter in an emergency. She also realized that Kerry McGrath knew more about Dr. Smith’s personal background than did she or anyone else on his staff. She wasn’t sure why Kerry had been checking on the doctor, but Kate didn’t feel that it was for any harmful purpose. Kerry had shared with her the information that Smith had been not only divorced but also was the father of a woman who was murdered.
Feeling like Judas Iscariot, Mrs. Kate Carpenter gave Barbara Tompkins the home phone number of Bergen County Assistant Prosecutor Kerry McGrath.
67
For a long time after Bob Kinellen left, Kerry and Robin sat on the sofa, not talking, shoulders touching, legs up
