ads, haven’t you?”
He smiled. “A couple of very nice ones. One of them, if you can believe it, just started to work for Holden’s in the Paramus, New Jersey, store. She’s a buyer. Same kind of job I had before I went into the management end.”
“Oh? What was that?”
“I was shoe buyer for our New England stores.”
Vince got back to his office at Federal Plaza at three o’clock Friday afternoon. There was an urgent message for him to call Police Chief Moore in Darien. From him, Vince learned about the package that had arrived at the Sheridan home. “You’re sure they’re the mates of the ones Nan Sheridan was wearing?”
“We’ve compared them. We have both sets now.”
“Has the press gotten hold of this?”
“Not so far. We’re trying to keep it quiet, but no guarantees. You’ve met Chris Sheridan. That was his first concern.”
“It’s mine, too,” Vince said quickly. “What we now know is that this killer started fifteen years ago, if not sooner. He has to have a reason for sending those shoes back at this time. I want to talk to one of our psychiatrists to get his opinion. But if anyone questioned about Nan Sheridan’s death also can be linked to Claire Barnes, we’ve got something positive to go on.” “How about Erin Kelley? Don’t you include her?”
“I’m still keeping an open mind. Her death may have been connected to the missing jewelry and made to look like a copycat murder.” Vince arranged to pick up the shoes the next day and hung up.
His assistant, Ernie Cizek, a new young agent from Colorado, briefed him on Darcy’s call about Len Parker.
“This guy’s a weirdo,” Cizek said. “Works in maintenance at NYU. An electrical whiz. Can fix anything. Loner. Paranoid about money. But get this! The family is loaded. Parker’s got a hefty income. A trustee banks an allowance for him. He only made one large withdrawal, some years ago. The trustee thinks he bought property. Seems to live on his maintenance salary in a cheap walkup on Ninth Avenue. Has an old station wagon. No garage. He parks it on the street.” “Police record?”
“Same sort of thing that the Scott girl complained about. Following girls home.
Shouting at them. Banging on doors. He’s a great one for placing personal ads. Everybody brushes him off. So far no physical attacks. Restraining orders but no convictions.”
“Bring him in now.”
“I’ve talked to his shrink. He says he’s harmless.”
“Sure he’s harmless. Just like Peeping Toms supposedly never act out their fantasies. We both know better, don’t we?”
Susan’s announcement that she was planning to take the children to visit her father in Guilford, Connecticut, for the weekend was received with eager agreement by her husband. Doug had made the date to go dancing with the divorced real estate broker and was wondering if he should break it. He had been late two nights this week and even though Susan had seemed to enjoy their New York dinner on Monday night, there was something about her attitude that he could not put his finger on.
Susan’s visiting her father with the kids till Sunday gave him two nights off. He did not offer to go with her. It would have been an empty gesture. Susan’s father had never liked him, always made cracks about how important Doug must be that he worked so many nights. “Funny, with all that hard work, you needed to borrow so much from me to buy the house, Doug. I’d be glad to go over your budget with you and see where the problem is.”
Sure you would.
“Have a good time, honey,” Doug told Susan when he was leaving on Friday morning. “And give my best to your Dad.”
That afternoon, while the baby slept, Susan phoned the investigative agency for a report. Calmly she took down the information they gave her. The meeting with the woman in the SoHo bar. The date they’d made to go dancing. The apartment in London Terrace under the name Douglas Fields. “Carter Fields is his old buddy,” she told the investigator. “They’re two of a kind. Don’t bother to follow him again. I don’t want to hear any more.”
Her father lived year-round in the pre-Revolutionary house that had been their summer home. Several heart attacks had left him with a permanent pallor that tore at Susan’s heart. But there was nothing fragile about his demeanor or voice. After dinner, Beth and Donny went next door to visit friends. Susan put Trish and the baby to bed, then fixed demitasse and brought it into the library. She knew her father was studying her as she prepared his cup with sweetener and a lemon peel.
“Exactly when do I hear the reason for this unexpected, although most welcome, visit?”
Susan smiled. “Now, I guess. I’m going to divorce Doug.”
Her father waited.
Promise not to say “I told you so,” Susan prayed silently, then went on, “I’ve had an investigative agency following him. He has a sublet in New York under the name Douglas Fields. Calls himself a freelance illustrator. Doug does sketch very well as you know. Has plenty of dates. In the meantime, he rants on to me about how hard he works, ‘all those night meetings.’ Donny can see through his lies and is angry and contemptuous. He’ll be better off to expect nothing from his father than to keep on hoping that it will change.” “Would you like to move in here, Susan? There’s plenty of room.” She flashed him a grateful smile. “You’d go crazy in a week. No. The Scarsdale house is too large. Doug insisted we buy it to impress the people at the club. We couldn’t afford it then, and I’m beginning to understand why we can’t afford it now. I’ll sell it, get a smaller place, put the baby in a day care center next year-there’s a terrific one in town. Then I’ll get a job.” “It won’t be easy.”
“It’ll be a lot better than it is now.”
“Susan, I’m trying not to say, ‘I told you so,’ but there it is. That fellow is a born womanizer and he’s got a vicious streak. Remember your eighteenth birthday? That night he was so drunk when he brought you home that I threw him out? The next morning every window in my car was broken.” “You still can’t be sure it was Doug.”
“Come on, Susan. If you’re going to start facing facts, face them all. And tell me this. Weren’t you covering for him when he was questioned in that girl’s death?”
“Nan Sheridan?”
“Of course, Nan Sheridan.”
“Doug simply isn’t capable-“
“Susan, what time did he pick you up the morning she died?”
“Seven o’clock. We wanted to get back to Brown for a hockey game.” “Susan, before she died I got the truth out of Grandma. You were in tears because you thought Doug had stood you up again. He got to our place after nine. At least grant me the satisfaction of telling the truth now.” The front door banged shut. Donny and Beth came in. Donny’s face looked relaxed and happy. It was becoming a carbon copy of Doug’s face at that age. She’d had a crush on Doug from their sophomore year in high school. Susan felt a stab of pain. I’ll never get over him completely, she acknowledged. Doug pleading with her, “Susan, my car broke down. They’re trying to accuse me. They want to blame somebody. Please say I was here at seven.” Donny came over to kiss her. She reached back and smoothed his hair, then turned to her father. “Dad, come on. You know how confused Grandma was. Even back then she didn’t know one day from another.”
XI SATURDAY March 2
It was 2:30A.M. Saturday morning when he got to the place. By then his need to be there was overwhelming. When he was in the place, Charley could be his own person. No more skulking behind the other one. Able to dance in synch with Astaire, smiling down at the phantom in his arms, crooning in her ear. The wonderful solitude of the place, the draperies drawn against the unseemly gaze of a casual interloper, the bolts securing him from the outside world, the limitless sense of self, unrestrained by listeners or observers, free to roam in the delicious memories.
