answered. Here is her letter. I met her for a drink on January thirtieth at the Pierre. She was a lovely young woman. I expressed surprise that anyone so attractive would need to seek companionship. She quite frankly told me that she was answering ads at the behest of a friend who is doing a documentary. I don’t usually acknowledge that I’m doing research on these meetings, but I was up-front with her.”
“And that was the only time you saw her?”
“Yes. I’ve been terribly busy. I’m almost at the end of my book and wanted to get it finished. I’d planned to call Erin again when I turned it in. Last week I realized that it’s going to take another month to complete and rushing it simply didn’t work.”
“And so you called her.”
“Yes, early in the week. Then again last Thursday. No, it was Friday, just before I left for the weekend.”
Vince studied the letter Erin had written to Nash. His ad was clipped to it:
DWM, Physician, 37, 6? 1”, attractive, successful, good sense of humor. Enjoys skiing, riding, museums, and concerts. Seeking creative, attractive s/d/wf. Box 3295.
Erin ’s typewritten note had said,
Hi, Box 3295. Perhaps I’m all of the above. No, not quite. I do have a good sense of humor. I’m twenty-eight, 5? 7”, 120 pounds, and my best friend tells me I’m very attractive! I’m a jewelry designer on my way to being successful. I’m a good skier; can ride if the horse is slow and fat. Definitely a museum-goer. In fact, I get a lot of ideas for my jewelry by haunting them. And music is a must. See you? Erin Kelley, 212-555-1432.
“You can understand why I called,” Nash said.
“And you never saw her again.”
“I never got the chance.” Michael Nash stood up. “I’m sorry. I have to cut this short. My first patient is arriving earlier than usual. But I’m here if you want me. If there’s any way I can help, please allow me.” “How do you think you can help, Doctor?” Vince got to his feet as he asked the question.
Nash shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose it’s the instinctive desire to want a killer brought to justice. Erin Kelley obviously loved life and had much to offer. She was only twenty-eight years old.” He held out his hand. “You don’t think much of us shrinks, do you, Mr. D’Ambrosio? Your version is that neurotic, self-centered people pay good money to come in here and complain. Let me explain how I view my job. My professional life is devoted to trying to help people who for whatever reason are in danger of sinking. Some cases are easy. I’m like a lifeguard who swims out because he notices that someone is over his head and simply escorts him back in. Other cases are much tougher. It’s as though I’m trying to rescue a ship-wreck victim during a hurricane. It takes a long time to get close to him and tidal waves are forcing me back. It’s pretty satisfying when I’m able to complete the rescue.”
Vince put Erin ’s letter in his briefcase. “You may be able to help us, Doctor. We’re going to be tracking down the people Erin met through personal ads. Would you be willing to interview some of them and give your professional opinion of what makes them tick?”
“Absolutely.”
“By any chance, are you a member of AAPL?” Psychiatrists who belonged to the American Association of Psychiatry and the Law, Vince knew, were particularly skilled in dealing with psychopaths.
“No, I’m not. But, Mr. D’Ambrosio, my research has shown that the vast majority of people who place or answer these ads do so because of loneliness or boredom. Others may have more sinister motives.”
Vince turned and walked to the door. As he twisted the knob, he looked back.
“I’d say that was true in Erin Kelley’s case.”
On Tuesday night, Charley drove to the retreat and went directly to the basement. He took down the stack of shoe boxes and laid them on top of the freezer. Clipped onto each of them was the name of the girl who belonged with them. Not that he needed reminding, of course. He remembered every single one in perfect detail. Besides that, except for Nan, he had a videotape of each of them. And he had videotaped the True Crimes program about Nan ’s death. They’d done a good job of finding a girl who looked like her. He opened Nan ’s box. The scuffed Nike and the black sequined satin slipper. The slipper was garish. His taste had improved since then. Should he send Nan’s and Erin ’s things back at the same time? Carefully, he considered the idea. It was such an interesting decision. No. If he did that the police and the media would realize immediately that their theory about a copycat murder was wrong. They’d know that one set of hands had snuffed out both lives.
Maybe it would be more fun to toy with them for a while. Maybe start by returning Nan ’s shoe and the one from the first of the other girls. That had been Claire, two years ago. An ash-blond musical-comedy actress from Lancaster. She could dance so beautifully. Gifted. Really gifted. Her wallet was in the box with her white sandal and the gold slipper. Surely by now her family had given up her apartment. He’d send the package to the address in Lancaster.
Then every few days he’d send another package. Janine. Marie. Sheila. Leslie.
Annette. Tina. Erin.
He’d time it so they’d all be delivered by March thirteenth. Fifteen days from now.
On that night, no matter how he accomplished it, Darcy would be here dancing with him.
Charley stared at the freezer. Darcy was going to be the last one. Maybe he’d keep her with him always…
When Darcy got back to her apartment from the airport Tuesday evening, there were a dozen messages on the answering machine. Condolences from old friends. Seven calls had come in from personal ads Erin must have answered for her. The pleasant-voiced David Weld again. This time he left a number. So did Len Parker, Cal Griffin, and Albert Booth.
A call from Gus Boxer saying he had a tenant for Erin Kelley’s apartment. Could Miss Scott get the place cleared out by the weekend? If she did, she wouldn’t have to pay the March rent.
Darcy rewound the tape, wrote down the names and phone numbers of the personal ad callers, and changed cassettes. Vince D’Ambrosio might want to have a record of those voices.
She heated a can of soup, ate it on a tray in bed. When she was finished she reached for the phone and the list of men who had called for a date. She dialed the first number. As it began to ring she slammed the phone back in the cradle. Tears gushed down her cheeks as she sobbed, “ Erin, I want to call you.”
VIII WEDNESDAY February 27
At nine o’clock, Darcy went to the office. Bev was already there. She had coffee brewing and fresh juice and warm bagels. A new plant was on the windowsill. Bev hugged her briefly, her extravagantly mascaraed eyes filled with sympathy. “You can guess everything I want to say.”
“Yes, I can.” Darcy realized the coffee aroma was enticing. She reached for a bagel. “I didn’t know I was hungry.”
Bev assumed a businesslike attitude. “We had two calls in yesterday. People who saw the magic you did on the Ralston Arms apartment. Want you to redo for them. Also, would you take on that residential hotel on Thirtieth and Ninth? New owners. Claim they have more taste than money.”
“Before I do anything else, I have to clear out Erin ’s apartment.” Darcy took a gulp of coffee and pushed back her hair. “I dread it.” It was Bev who suggested she simply move all the furniture to the warehouse. “You told me it was a terrific setup. Could you use Erin ’s things piece by piece on jobs? One of the women who called wants to redo her daughter’s bedroom in a really special way. The kid’s sixteen and is coming home from the hospital after a long siege. She’ll be laid up for quite a while.”
It was good to think of Erin ’s pewter and brass bed being enjoyed by a girl like that. It made it easier. “I’d better check that it’s all right for me to move everything out.” She called Vince D’Ambrosio.
“I know the NYPD is finished going over the place,” he told her. Bev arranged for the van to go to Christopher Street the next day. “I’ll meet it. Just show me what you want.” At noon she went with Darcy to Erin ’s apartment. Boxer let them in.
“Sure appreciate you releasing the place,” he whined. “Nice person taking it.” I wonder how much you got under the table, Darcy thought. I never want to come here again.
