She was aware that the girl’s mother, a weary look on her pleasant face, was studying her anxiously. “Lisa’s been in a dreary room in the hospital for such a long time that I thought having her room done over might give her a lift. She’s in for so much therapy, but she’s spunky. She told the doctors she’ll be back in dancing class in another couple of years. Ever since she could toddle, the minute she heard music she’d start to dance.”
Lisa had been run over by a messenger on a bike who’d been cycling at top speed against the traffic on a one-way street. He’d smashed into her, breaking her legs, ankles, and foot bones. “She loves to dance,” her mother added wistfully. “Loves music, loves to dance.” Darcy smiled, thinking of the framed poster with that title that had been in Erin ’s bedroom. Erin always said that it was the first thing she saw in the morning and it brightened her day. She firmly squelched the instinctive desire to keep it as a memoir. “I have just the thing for that wall,” she said, and felt the constant pain ease a little. It was almost as though Erin was nodding in approval.
The Harkness Agency on East Forty-fifth Street was the discreet investigative firm Susan Fox retained to probe into the nocturnal wanderings of her husband, Douglas. The retainer of fifteen hundred dollars had seemed symbolic to her. That was just what she had squirreled away in a personal account, saving for Doug’s August birthday. She’d smiled sadly as she wrote the check. On Wednesday she had called Carol Harkness. “My husband has one of his famous nonmeetings tonight.”
“We’ll have Joe Pabst, one of our best people, following him,” she was assured. On Thursday, Pabst, jovial- featured, heavy-set, reported to his boss. “This guy’s a piece of work. He leaves his office, cabs up to London Terrace. He’s got an apartment there; been subletting from the owner, an engineer named Carter Fields, for two years. He’s registered as Douglas Fields. Pretty neat. That way, nobody questions an illegal sublet and he don’t run into anyone tracking him down at work or at home. Same initials, too. That’s lucky. Don’t have to worry about his monogrammed cuff links.”
Pabst shook his head in reluctant admiration. “The neighbors think he’s an illustrator. Super tells me he’s got a lot of signed pen-and-ink stuff framed in the apartment. I gave the super the garbage about him being up for a government assignment. Slipped the usual twenty bucks to keep the mouth shut.” At thirty-eight, Carol Harkness looked like one of the women executives in the AT amp;T commercials. Her well-cut black suit was brightened only by a gold lapel pin. Her ash-blond hair was shoulder length. Her hazel eyes had a cool, impersonal expression. The daughter of a New York City detective, the love of police work was in her blood.
“Did he stay there or go out?” she asked.
“Went out. About seven o’clock. You should have seen the difference in him. Hair combed so it looked real curly. Turtleneck sweater. Jeans. Leather jacket. Don’t get me wrong, not cheap-looking. Kind of the way the arty types with money dress. He met some gal in a bar in SoHo. Attractive. Thirty or so. Classy. I got the table behind them. They had a coupla drinks, then she said she had to leave.”
“Anxious to dump him?” Harkness asked quickly.
“No way. She had big eyes for him. He’s a good looking guy and can turn on the charm. They have a date Friday night. They’re going dancing at some nightclub downtown.”
His forehead creased in concentration, Vince D’Ambrosio studied the autopsy report on Erin Kelley. It stated that she had eaten approximately an hour before she died. Her body showed no sign of decomposition. Her clothing had been soaked through. These facts were initially attributed to the sleet and cold the day she was found. The autopsy revealed that her organs were partially thawed. The medical examiner concluded that her body had been frozen immediately after her death.
Frozen! Why? Because it was too dangerous for the killer to dispose of the body immediately? Where had she been kept? Had she died on Tuesday night? Or was it possible that she had been held captive somewhere and died as late as Thursday? Had she been planning to put the pouch of diamonds in the security vault? From all accounts, Erin Kelley was a levelheaded young woman. Certainly, she didn’t seem like the kind who would confide to a stranger that she was carrying a fortune in jewels in her purse.
Or would she?
They’d been running down the identity of the people who’d placed some of the ads they believed Erin answered. So far they’d all been like that lawyer, North. Absolute proof of where they’d been Tuesday night. Some of them picked up their own mail at the magazines or newspapers where they’d run the ads. Three of the forwarding addresses for the others turned out to be mail drops. Probably married guys who didn’t want to take any chance of their wives opening the mail. It was nearly five when Vince received a call from Darcy Scott. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you all day, but I’ve been out of the office on jobs,” she explained.
Best thing for her, Vince thought. He liked Darcy Scott. After Kelley’s body was found, he’d asked Nona Roberts about Scott’s family and had been astonished to learn that she was the offspring of two superstars. Nothing Hollywood about that girl. Genuine. It was amazing some guy hadn’t snapped her up yet. He asked her how it was going.
“It’s going okay,” Darcy said.
Vince tried to analyze what he was hearing in her voice. The first time he met her in Nona’s office her low, strained tone suggested acute worry. At the morgue, until she’d broken down, she’d spoken in the emotionless monotone of a person in shock. Now there was a certain briskness. Determination. Vince knew instantly that Darcy Scott was still convinced that Erin ’s death was the result of answering personal ads.
He was about to talk to her about that when she asked, “Vince, something has been bothering me. Did that high-heeled shoe Erin was wearing fit? I mean, was it her size?”
“It was the same size as her boot, seven and a half narrow.”
“Then how did whoever put it on her happen to have a shoe exactly her size?” Smart girl, Vince thought. Carefully, he weighed his words. “Miss Scott, that’s something we’re working on now. We’re trying to trace that shoe through the manufacturer to learn where it was purchased. It’s not cheap, in fact the pair probably cost several hundred dollars. That narrows considerably the number of outlets in the New York area that might carry it. I promise I’ll keep you posted on developments.” He hesitated, then added, “I hope you’ve given up the idea of following up any personal ads Erin Kelley answered for you.” “As a matter of fact,” Darcy told him, “I have my first date with one of them in an hour.”
Len Parker at six. They were meeting at McMullen’s on Seventy-sixth and Third. A trendy place, Darcy thought, and certainly safe. A favorite with the New York “in” crowd. She’d been there on dates a few times and liked the owner, Jim McMullen. She was only going to have a glass of wine with Parker. He’d told her he was meeting some friends at the Athletic Club to play basketball. She had told Michael Nash that she would be wearing a blue wool dress with a white collar. Now that she had it on, she felt overdressed. Erin always teased her about the clothes her mother showered on her. “When you get around to wearing them, you make the rest of us look as though we shop in John’s Bargain Store.”
Not true, Darcy thought as she applied another smidgen of midnight-gray eye shadow. Erin always looked great, even in college when she had so little money to buy clothes.
She decided to wear the silver and azurite pin Erin had given her for her birthday. “Funky but fun,” Erin had pronounced it. The pin was shaped like a bar of music. The notes were lined in azurite, exactly the sea-blue shade of the dress. Silver bracelets and earrings and narrow suede boots completed the outfit.
Carefully, Darcy appraised herself in the mirror. On the trip to California, her mother had bullied her into going to her personal hairdresser. He’d changed her part, cut off a few inches, then accentuated the natural blond highlights in her hair. She had to admit that she liked the results. She shrugged. Okay, I look good enough that Len Parker probably won’t walk out on me when I show up.
Parker was tall, bone-thin, but not unattractive. A college teacher, he told her he had recently moved to New York from Wichita, Kansas, and didn’t know many people. Over a glass of wine he confided that a friend had suggested he place a personal ad. “They’re really expensive. You’d be surprised. It makes a lot more sense to answer other people’s ads, but I’m sure glad you answered mine.” His eyes were light brown but large and expressive. He stared at Darcy. “I really have to say this. You’re very pretty.”
“Thank you.” Why was it that something about him made her uncomfortable? Was he really a teacher, or was he like the one date she’d had before she went to California? That guy had claimed to be an advertising executive
