Weep No More, My Lady

chartered a plane and arrived at the hospital at seven A.M. local time. Early in the afternoon, Scott went there to talk to him.

The sight of Alvirah Meehan, ghostly pale, barely breathing, hooked to machines, was incredible to Scott. People like Mrs. Meehan weren't supposed to be sick. They were too hearty, too filled with life. The burly man whose back was to him didn't seem to notice his presence. He was bending over, whispering to Alvirah Meehan.

Scott touched his shoulder. 'Mr. Meehan, I'm Scott Alshorne, the sheriff of Monterey County. I'm sorry about your wife.'

Willy Meehan jerked his head toward the nurses' station. 'I know all about how they think she is. But I'm telling you, she's going to be just fine. I told her that if she up and died on me, I was going to take that money and spend it on a blond floozy. She won't let that happen-will you, honey?' Tears began to stream from his eyes.

'Mr. Meehan, I have to speak with you for just a few minutes.'

* * *

She could hear Willy talking to her, but she couldn't reach him. Alvirah had never felt so weak. She couldn't even move her hand, she was so tired.

And there was something she had to tell them. She knew what had happened now. It was so clear. She had to make herself talk. She tried moving her lips, but she couldn't. She tried to wiggle her finger.

Willy's hand was covering hers, and she couldn't get up the strength to make him understand that she was trying to reach him.

If she could just move her lips, just get his attention. He was talking about the trips they were going to take. A tiny stab of irritation flared through her mind. Keep quiet and listen to me, she wanted to shout at him… Oh, Willy, please listen…

* * *

The conversation in the corridor outside the intensive-care unit was unsatisfactory. Alvirah was 'healthy as a horse.' She was never sick. She was on no medication. Scott did not bother to ask if there was a possibility that she used drugs. There wasn't, and he wouldn't insult this heartbroken man with the question.

'She was looking forward so much to this trip,' Willy Meehan said as he put his hand on the door of the intensive-care unit. 'She was even writing articles about it for the Globe. You should have seen how excited she was when they were showing her how to record people's conversations…'

'She was writing articles!' Scott exclaimed. 'She was recording people?'

He was interrupted. A nurse rushed out. 'Mr. Meehan, will you come in? She's trying to talk again. We want you to speak to her.'

Scott rushed in behind him. Alvirah was straining to move her lips. 'Voi… voi…'

Willy grasped her hand. 'I'm here, honey, I'm here.'

The effort was so much. She was getting so tired. She was going to fall asleep. If she could just get even one word out to warn them. With a terrible effort, Alvirah managed that word. She said it loud enough that she could hear it herself.

She said, 'Voices.'

Seven

The afternoon shadows deepened as, unmindful of time, Elizabeth listened to Alvirah Meehan's tapes. Sometimes she stopped and rewound a segment of the tape and listened to it several times. Her lined pad was filled with notes.

Those questions that had seemed so tactless had actually been so clever. Elizabeth thought of how she had sat at the table with the Countess, wishing she could overhear the conversations at Min's table. Now she could. Some of the talk was muffled, but she could hear enough to detect stress, evasion, attempts to change the subject.

She began to systematize her notations, creating a separate page for everyone at the table. At the bottom of each page she scribbled questions as they came to mind. When she finished the third tape, it seemed to her that she merely had a jumble of confusing sentences.

Leila, how I wish you were here. You were too cynical, but so many times you were right about people. You could see through their facades. Something is wrong, and I'm missing it. What is it?

It seemed to her that she could hear Leila's answer, as if she were in the room. For heaven's sake, Sparrow, open your eyes! Stop seeing what people want you to see. Start listening. Think for yourself. Didn't I teach you that much?

She was just about to put the last cassette from Alvirah's sunburst pin into the recorder when the phone rang. It was Helmut. 'You left a note for me.'

'Yes, I did. Helmut, why did you go to Leila's apartment the night she died?'

She heard him gasp. ' Elizabeth, do not talk on the phone. May I come to you now?'

While she waited, she hid the recording equipment and her pad. She had no intention of letting Helmut become aware of the tapes.

For once, his rigid military carriage seemed to have deserted him. He sat opposite her, his shoulders slumped. His voice low and hurried, his German accent more pronounced as he spoke, he told her what he had told Min. He had written the play. He had gone to plead with Leila to reconsider.

'You took the money out of Min's Swiss account.'

He nodded. 'Minna has guessed. What is the use?'

'Is it possible that she always knew? That she sent those letters because she wanted to upset Leila enough to destroy her performance? No one knew Leila's emotional state better than Min.'

The Baron's eyes widened. 'But how magnificent. It is just the sort of thing Minna would do. Then she may have known all along that there was no money left. Could she have been simply punishing me?'

Elizabeth did not care if her face showed the disgust she felt. 'I don't share your admiration for that scheme, if it was Min's doing.' She went to the desk and got a fresh pad. 'You heard Ted struggling with Leila?'

'Yes, I did.'

'Where were you? How did you get in? How long were you there? Exactly what did you hear?'

It helped to be writing, to concentrate on taking down word for word what he said. He had heard Leila pleading for her life, and he had not tried to help her.

When he had finished, perspiration was glistening on his smooth cheeks. She wanted to get him out of her sight, but she could not resist saying, 'Suppose instead of running away, you had gone into that apartment? Leila might be alive right now. Ted might not be plea-bargaining for a lighter sentence if you hadn't been so worried about saving yourself.'

'I don't believe that, Elizabeth. It happened in seconds.' The Baron's eyes widened. 'But haven't you heard? There is no plea bargain. It's been on the news all afternoon. A second eyewitness saw Ted hold Leila over the terrace before he dropped her. The district attorney wants Ted to get life.'

Leila had not toppled over the railing in a struggle. He had held her, then deliberately dropped her. That Leila's death had taken a few seconds longer seemed to Elizabeth even more cruel than her worst fears. I should be glad they're going for the maximum penalty, she told herself. I should be glad to have the chance to testify against him.