When she was finished, Vince said, “The Harkness Agency knows where his apartment is?”
“Yes.” After she revealed everything she knew or suspected, Susan felt a vast weariness. Now all she had to do was live with herself for the rest of her life. “Mrs. Fox, this is one of the hardest things you’ll ever have to do. We need to check with the Harkness Agency. The fact that they were following your husband could be of great value. Can you act normally with him for the next day or two? Don’t forget, our investigation may clear him.”
“It isn’t hard to keep up appearances with my husband. Most of the time he doesn’t notice me except to complain.”
When she left, Vince called in Ernie. “We have our first big break and I don’t want to blow it. This is what we’ll do…”
On Tuesday afternoon, Jay Charles Stratton was booked for grand theft. The NYPD detectives, in conjunction with the Lloyd’s of London security staff, had found the jeweler who fenced some of his stolen diamonds. The rest of the gems that were listed as being in the missing pouch were traced to a private safe deposit box rented under the name Jay Charles.
It had been a long meeting and the tension in the office all day was brutal. How do you explain to your best clients that a company’s accountants pulled the wool over your eyes? That sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. Doug called home several times and was surprised to hear the babysitter pick up the phone. Something was definitely up. He’d make it his business to get home tonight. It wasn’t that hard to straighten Susan out. His confidence oozed away. She wasn’t beginning to suspect… Or was she?
On Tuesday evening, Darcy went straight home from work. All she wanted to do was heat a can of soup and go to bed early. The tension of the last two weeks was catching up with her. She knew it.
At eight o’clock Michael phoned. “I’ve heard tired voices, but yours just might win first prize.”
“I’m sure it would.”
“You’ve been driving yourself too hard, Darcy.”
“Don’t worry. I intend to come straight home from the office for the rest of the week.”
“That’s a good idea. Darcy, I’ll be out of town for a few days, but keep Saturday for me, won’t you? Or Sunday? Or better still, both days?” Darcy laughed. “Let’s plan on Saturday. Have fun.” “It isn’t fun. It’s a psychiatric convention. I’ve been asked to fill in for a friend who’s had to cancel. You want to know what it’s like to have four hundred shrinks in one room at the same time?”
“I can’t imagine.”
XXII WEDNESDAY March 13
D-day, Nona thought as she slipped off her cape and tossed it on the love seat. It was not quite eight A.M. She was grateful to see that Connie was already there and the coffee brewing.
Connie followed her in. “It’s going to be a great program, Nona.” She was carrying freshly washed mugs.
“I think Cecil B. DeMille did one of his epics faster than I handled this one,” Nona said wryly.
“You’ve been doing all your regular shows while putting this together,” Connie pointed out.
“I suppose. Let’s be sure to reconfirm all the guests by phone. You did send them a follow-up letter?”
“Of course.” Connie looked astonished that she’d ask. Nona grinned. “I’m sorry. It’s just that Hamilton has been such a pain about this program, and Liz is determined to take the credit for what’s good in it and leave me holding the bag if there are any snafus…” “I know.”
“Sometimes I wonder who runs this office, Connie, you or me. There’s only one area where I wish we weren’t alike.”
Connie waited.
“I wish you talked to plants. You’re like me. You never even see them.” She pointed to the plant on the windowsill. “That poor thing is gasping. Pour something liquid on it, will you?”
Len Parker was tired Wednesday morning. Yesterday he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Darcy Scott. When he left work he’d hung around her apartment building and seen her step out of a cab around six-thirty or seven. He’d waited until ten, but she hadn’t come out. He really wanted to talk to her. Other times he was mad at her for being so mean to him. There was something he had thought about the other day that had been important, but now it was gone. He wondered if he’d remember again.
He put on his maintenance uniform. Nice thing about wearing a uniform, it didn’t cost you anything for work clothes.
Vince’s secretary had taken a message from Darcy Scott before he got to the office on Wednesday morning. She’d be out all day on different jobs but wanted him to know that Erin had probably answered an ad that began “Loves Music, Loves to Dance.” That certainly sounded like the kind of ad those missing girls would have answered too, Vince thought.
Following up on the personal ads was a grueling job. Anyone who didn’t want his real identity known could fake a few ID’s, open a checking account, and rent a private box where magazines and newspapers could forward the responses to the nameless ads. No home address to trace. The people who ran those private box services were in the business of offering secrecy to their clients. It was going to be a long haul. But this ad had a ring to it. He got on the phone to the researchers. They were closing in on Doug Fox, also known as Doug Fields. The Harkness Agency’s file on him was an FBI investigator’s dream. Fields had been subletting the apartment for two years, starting just about the time Claire Barnes disappeared.
Joe Pabst, the Harkness man, had sat near Fox in the SoHo restaurant. It was clear he had met the woman through a personal ad. He’d made a date to take her dancing.
He had a station wagon.
Pabst was sure that Fox had some sort of hideout. He’d overheard him telling the real estate broker in SoHo that he had a retreat he’d love to have her visit. He was passing himself off as an illustrator. The super of the London Terrace building had been in and out of Fields’s apartment and said that there were sketches lying around that were really good.
And he had been questioned in Nan Sheridan’s death. But it was all circumstantial, Vince reminded himself. Did Fox place ads, or answer them, or both? Would it be better to tap his London Terrace phone for a while, see what that turned up?
Should they bring him in for questioning? It was a tough one to call. Well, at least Darcy Scott was already alerted to the possibility that Fox was the one. She wouldn’t let herself get painted into a corner by him. And wouldn’t it be a bonus if it turned out that Fox had placed the ad they knew Erin Kelley had been carrying around? “Loves Music, Loves to Dance.”
At noon, Vince got a VICAP alert from headquarters in Quantico. Calls had come in from police departments all over the country. Vermont. Washington, D.C. Ohio. Georgia. California. Five more packages of mismatched shoes had been returned. All of them contained a shoe or boot and a high-heeled slipper. All of them were sent to families of the young women who had turned up in the VICAP file, the young women who had lived in New York and been reported missing in the last two years.
At three-thirty, Vince was ready to leave his office for Hudson Cable Network.
His secretary stopped him as he passed her desk and handed him the phone. “Mr.
Charles North. He says it’s important.”
Vince felt his eyebrows go up. Don’t tell me that stuffy ambulance chaser is starting to cooperate, he thought. “D’Ambrosio,” he said crisply. “Mr. D’Ambrosio, I have been doing a great deal of thinking.”
Vince waited.
“There is only one possible explanation I can come up with to account for how my plans may have fallen on
