who met these girls, somehow managed to learn their shoe size without any of them getting bad vibes, and then was able to get them in a situation where they disappeared without a trace.” “You’ve got it.” Over linguine with clam sauce, he told her about his plan to analyze personal ads that had been placed in the New York area in the three months before each of the women disappeared, to see if the same one showed up. “And of course that could be another dead end,” he acknowledged. “For all we know, the same guy is placing a dozen different ads.” They both ordered decaf cappuccino. Nona began talking about the documentary. “I still haven’t settled on a psychiatrist,” she said. “I certainly don’t want to get one of those professional showbiz experts who pop up whenever you turn the dial.”
Vince told her about Michael Nash. “Very articulate guy. Writing a book about personal ads. He’d met Erin.”
“Darcy told me about him. A very good idea, Agent D’Ambrosio.”
Vince took Nona home in a cab, and had it wait while he saw her inside her building. “I have a hunch we’re both pretty beat,” he said in answer to her suggestion of a nightcap. “But please give me a raincheck.” “You’ve got it.” Nona grinned. “I am tired, and anyhow, my cleaning woman hasn’t been around since last Friday. I don’t think you’re ready for the real me.” It was all Vince could do to remember that he was technically on the job. That did not stop him from wondering how it would feel to hold Nona Roberts in his arms.
Back at his apartment, there was a message on his answering machine. Ernie, his assistant. “No emergency, but I thought you’d be interested in hearing this, Vince. We have the roster of students from Brown for the time Nan Sheridan was there. Guess who was a returning student and in some of her classes? None other than our friend the jeweler, Jay Stratton.”
Darcy’s five-thirty date was to meet Box 4307, Cal Griffin, in the bar at Tavern on the Green. He’s not in his early thirties, was her first impression. Griffin was closer to fifty. A beefy man who combed his hair across the top of his head to conceal his bald spot, he was expensively and conservatively dressed. He was from Milwaukee, but, as he explained, got into New York regularly. A suggestive wink followed. Don’t get him wrong, he was a happily married man, but when he came in on business it would sure be good to have a friend. Another wink. Believe you me, he knew how to treat a woman. What show haven’t you seen? He knew how to get house seats. What’s your favorite restaurant? Lutece?
Expensive, but worth every penny.
Darcy managed to ask him the last time he’d been in New York. Too long. Last month he’d taken the wife and kids-great teenagers but you know teenagers-skiing in Vail. They had a house there. They were building a bigger place. Money’s no object. Anyhow, the kids brought their friends and it was bedlam. That rock and roll stuff. Drive you crazy, wouldn’t it? They had a great stereo system in the house.
Darcy had ordered a Perrier. Halfway through it, she made a business of glancing at her watch. “My boss was real mad at me for leaving,” she said. “I’m going to have to cut this short.”
“Forget him,” Griffin ordered. “You and I are going to have a nice night.” They were sitting at a banquette. A beefy arm went around her. A moist kiss was planted on her ear.
Darcy did not want to make a scene. “Oh, my God,” she said, pointing to a nearby table where a man was sitting alone, his back to them. “That’s my husband. I’ve got to get out of here.”
The arm disappeared from around her waist. Griffin looked shaken. “I don’t want trouble.”
“I’ll just slip away,” Darcy whispered.
On the way home in the cab, she tried not to laugh out loud. Well, one thing’s for sure-it’s not that one.
The phone was ringing as she turned her key in the lock. It was Doug Fields. “Hi, Darcy. Why are you so unforgettable? I know you said you were busy tonight, but my plans changed and I decided to take a chance. How about a hamburger at P.J. Clarke’s or something?”
Darcy realized that she had forgotten to tell Vince D’Ambrosio about Doug Fields. A nice guy. Attractive. An illustrator. The kind Erin might easily have been interested in. “That sounds great,” she answered. “What time?”
How stupid does Doug think I am? Susan wondered as she sat at the kitchen table with Donny and went over his geometry homework. The guidance counselor had phoned her this afternoon. Was there a problem at home? Donny, always a good student, was slipping in all his subjects. He seemed distracted and depressed. “Well, that’s it,” she said cheerfully. “As my geometry teacher used to say, ‘It shows what you can do, Miss Frawley, when you put your mind to it.’” Donny smiled and gathered up his books. “Mom…” He hesitated.
“Donny, you’ve always been able to talk to me. What is it?”
He looked around.
“The little kids are in bed. Beth is taking one of her thirty-minute showers. We can talk,” Susan assured him.
“And Dad is in one of his meetings,” Donny said bitterly. He suspects, Susan thought. There was no use trying to protect him. This was as good a time as any to be straight with him. “Donny, Dad isn’t in a meeting.” “You know?” Relief flooded the troubled face.
“Yes, I do. But how did you find out?”
He looked down. “Patrick Driscoll, one of the guys on the team, was in New York Friday night when we were visiting Grandpa. Dad was in a restaurant with some woman. They were holding hands and kissing. Patrick said it was gross. His mother wants to tell you. His dad won’t let her.”
“Donny, I’m planning to divorce your father. It’s not something I want, but living like this isn’t great for any of us. This way we won’t always be waiting for him to come home, always putting up with his lies. I hope he makes it his business to see you kids, but I can’t guarantee it. I’m sorry. I’m terribly, terribly sorry.” She realized she was crying.
Donny patted her shoulder. “Mom, he doesn’t deserve you. I promise I’ll help with the other kids. I swear I’ll do a better job than he did with us.” Donny may look like Doug, but thank God, Susan thought, he’s got enough of my genes in him that he’ll never act like his father. She kissed Donny’s cheek. “Let’s keep this between us for now. Okay.”
Susan went to bed at eleven o’clock. Doug was still not home. She turned on the late news and watched horrified as the anchorman updated the story of the missing young women and the packages of mismatched shoes that were being returned to their families.
The announcer was saying, “Although the FBI refuses to comment, inside sources tell us that the latest shoes to be returned are the mates of the ones Erin Kelley was wearing when her body was found. If true, she is probably linked to the disappearance of two young women originally from Lancaster and White Plains, who had been living in Manhattan, and the long-unsolved murder of Nan Sheridan.” Nan Sheridan. Erin Kelley.
“Oh my God,” Susan moaned. Her hands clenched in fists, she stared at the screen.
Pictures of Claire Barnes, Erin Kelley, Janine Wetzl and Nan Sheridan were flashed on the screen.
The announcer was saying, “The trail of death seems to have begun on that cold March morning, fifteen years ago next week, when Nan Sheridan was strangled on the jogging path near her home.”
Susan felt her own throat close. Fifteen years ago she had lied for Doug when he was questioned about Nan ’s death. If she hadn’t, would these other young women not have disappeared? That night almost two weeks ago when the announcement came about Erin Kelley’s death, Doug had had a nightmare. Called out Erin in his sleep.
“… The FBI is cooperating with the New York Police Department in an attempt to trace the evening shoes back to the purchaser. The file on Nan Sheridan’s death has been reopened…”
Suppose they questioned Doug again? Suppose they question me, Susan thought. Did she have a duty to tell the police she had lied fifteen years ago? Donny. Beth. Trish. Conner. What would their lives be like if they grew up as the children of a serial killer?
The police commissioner of New York was being interviewed. “We believe we’re dealing with a vicious serial
