We'll Meet Again

“What did you observe going on between Molly Lasch and Annamarie Scalli?”

“Well, the dark-haired woman, I mean the one named Annamarie Scalli, started looking more and more nervous. Honest to God, it was almost like she was afraid of Molly Lasch.”

“Afraid, Gladys?”

“Yeah, I mean it. She wouldn’t look her in the eye, and, actually, I don’t blame her. The blonde, I mean Mrs. Lasch-well, believe me, as Annamarie Scalli talked, you should have seen the look on Mrs. Lasch’s face. Cold, like an iceberg. She sure didn’t like what she was hearing.

“Then I saw Ms. Scalli start to get up. You could tell she wanted to be a million miles away from there. So I headed over to see if they wanted anything more-you know, refills.”

“Did she say anything?” Detective Green and Assistant State Attorney Victor Packwell asked in unison.

“Let me explain,” Gladys said. “Annamarie Scalli got up. Mrs. Lasch grabbed her wrist so she couldn’t leave. Then Ms. Scalli broke away from her and rushed to get out. Practically knocked me down, she was in such a hurry.”

“What did Mrs. Lasch do?” Packwell demanded.

“She couldn’t leave fast enough either,” Gladys said firmly. “I gave her the check. It was for a dollar thirty. She tossed five dollars down and went running after Ms. Scalli.”

“Did she seem upset?” Packwell asked.

Gladys narrowed her eyes in a dramatic effort to remember and to describe Molly Lasch as she had appeared at that moment. “I would say she had a funny look on her face, kinda like she’d been punched in the gut.”

“Did you see Mrs. Lasch get in her car?”

Gladys shook her head emphatically. “No, I did not. When she opened the door leading out to the parking lot, she seemed to be talking to herself, and then I heard her call out, ‘Annamarie,’ and I figured she still had something to say to the other woman.”

“Do you know if Annamarie Scalli heard her?”

Gladys sensed that the detectives would be terribly disappointed if she said she couldn’t be sure. She hesitated. “Well, I’m pretty sure that she must have gotten her attention, because Mrs. Lasch called her name again, and then called out ‘Wait.’ ”

“She called for Annamarie to wait!”

It was like that, wasn’t it? Gladys asked herself. I was half expecting Mrs. Lasch to come back looking for change, but then I could tell that all she cared about was to catch up with the other woman.

Wait.

Did Molly Lasch say that, or did that couple who had just taken a table call Waitress?

Gladys saw the excitement on the detectives’ faces. She did not want this moment to end. This was part of what she had waited for. All her life. Finally it was her turn. She looked again at the eager faces. “What I mean is, she called Annamarie’s name twice, then when she said ‘Wait,’ I got the feeling that she’d attracted her attention. I remember thinking that Annamarie Scalli had probably waited out in the parking lot to talk to Mrs. Lasch.”

That was kind of the way it was, Gladys told herself, as the two men smiled broadly.

“Gladys, you’re very important to us,” Victor Packwell said gratefully. “I have to tell you that down the line you’ll be needed for further testimony.”

“I’m glad to help,” Gladys assured him.

Within the hour, having read and signed her statement, Gladys was on her way back to Rowayton in Detective Green’s car. The only thing that marred her happiness was Green’s response to her probing about his father’s marital status.

His parents had just celebrated their fortieth wedding anniversary.

At the same time, at the courthouse in Stamford, assistant state attorney Tom Serrazzano, was appearing before a judge to request a search warrant authorizing them to search Molly Carpenter Lasch’s home and automobile.

“Judge,” Serrazzano said, “we have probable cause to believe that Molly Lasch murdered Annamarie Scalli. We believe that evidence relevant to this crime may be found in these two locations. If there are bloodstains or hairs or fibers on her clothes or on a weapon or in her car, we want to seize them before she cleans or otherwise disposes of them.”

40

On the drive back to New York from Greenwich, Fran systematically reviewed the events of the morning.

The media had arrived at Molly’s house in time to catch the detectives from the state attorney’s office as they were leaving. Gus Brandt had run file tape on Molly’s release from prison, as Fran did a live voice-over by phone from Molly’s house.

As the Merritt became the Hutchinson River Parkway, Fran replayed her report in her mind: “In a stunning development, it has been confirmed that the woman found stabbed to death last night in the parking lot of the Sea Lamp Diner in Rowayton, Connecticut, has been identified as Annamarie Scalli. Ms. Scalli was the so-called other woman in the Dr. Gary Lasch murder case, which was in the headlines six years ago and then again last week, when Molly Carpenter Lasch, the wife of Dr. Lasch, was released from prison where she had been serving time for killing her husband.

“Although details are sketchy at this time, the police have indicated that Mrs. Lasch was seen last evening at the Rowayton diner, apparently meeting with the murder victim.

“In a prepared statement, Lasch’s lawyer, Philip Matthews, explained that Molly Lasch had requested a meeting with Ms. Scalli to bring closure to a painful chapter in her life, and that she and Scalli had an honest and frank exchange. Annamarie Scalli left the diner first, and Molly Lasch never saw her again. She extends her sympathy to the Scalli family.”

After she’d completed the telecast, Fran had gotten in her car, planning to head immediately back to the city, but Mrs. Barry had come running out of the house to get her. Once she was inside, a grim-faced and disapproving Philip Matthews had asked her to come into the study. She had entered the room to find Molly sitting on the sofa, her hands clasped together, her shoulders drooping. The immediate impression Fran had gotten was that the jeans and blue cable-knit sweater Molly was wearing suddenly had jumped a size-she seemed so small inside them.

“Molly assures me that as soon as I leave she is going to tell you everything she told me,” Matthews had said. “As her attorney, I can only advise her. Unfortunately, I can’t compel her to take my advice. I realize Molly considers you a friend, Fran, and I believe you do care about her, but the fact is that if it came to a subpoena you might be forced to answer questions we may not want answered. It is for that reason I have advised her not to tell you the events of last night. But again, I can only advise her.”

Fran had cautioned Molly that what Philip said was absolutely true, but Molly had insisted that she wanted Fran to know what happened anyway.

“Last night I met Annamarie. We spoke for fifteen or twenty minutes,” Molly had said. “She left ahead of me, and I came home. I did not see her in the parking lot. A car was pulling out as I left the diner, and I called, thinking it might be her. Whoever was in the car, however, either didn’t hear me call or didn’t want to hear.”

Fran had asked if it was possible that it had been Annamarie in that car, and suggested that perhaps she might have come back to the parking lot later, but Philip pointed out that Annamarie was found in her Jeep; Molly was sure that the vehicle she saw leaving the lot was a sedan.

Having heard about their leave-taking, Fran asked Molly what she and Annamarie had talked about. On that aspect of the meeting, Fran felt that Molly had been less forthcoming. Is there something she doesn’t want me to know? she thought. If so, what was it, and why was Molly being secretive? Was Molly trying to use her somehow?

As Fran steered her car onto the Cross County Parkway, which would lead her to the West Side Highway in