Weep No More, My Lady

struggling not to raise his voice. 'Miss Lange, I don't think you appreciate the seriousness of your position. Without you, the other witness would be annihilated by the defense. That means that your testimony is about to put one of the richest and most influential men in this country in prison for at least twenty years, and thirty if I can make Murder Two stick. If this were a Mafia case I'd have you hidden away in a hotel under an assumed name and with a police guard until this trial is over. Baron and Baroness von Schreiber may be friends of yours, but they're also friends of Ted Winters' and are coming to New York to testify for him. And you seriously propose to stay with them at this time? '

'I know that Min and the Baron are testifying as character witnesses for Ted,' Elizabeth said. 'They don't think he's capable of murder. If I hadn't heard him with my own ears I wouldn't have believed it either. They're following their conscience. I'm following mine. We all do what we have to do.'

She was not prepared for the tirade Murphy let loose at her. His urgent, sometimes sarcastic words pounded in her ears. 'There's something fishy about that invitation. You should see that for yourself. You claim the Von Schreibers loved your sister? Then ask yourself why the hell they're going to bat for her murderer. I insist you keep away from them, if not for my sake or your own neck then because you want justice for Leila.'

In the end, embarrassed at his obvious contempt for her naivete, Elizabeth agreed to call off the trip, promised that instead she'd go to East Hampton and there either visit friends or stay in a hotel.

'Whether you're alone or with someone, be careful' Murphy told her. Now that he had gotten his way, he attempted a smile; but it froze on his face, and the expression in his eyes was both grim and worried. 'Never forget that without you as a witness, Ted Winters walks.'

Even with the oppressive mugginess, Elizabeth decided to walk home. She felt like one of those punching bags that were weighted with sand and flopped from side to side, unable to avoid the blows rained on them. She knew the district attorney was right. She should have refused Min's invitation. She decided she wouldn't contact anyone in the Hamptons. She'd check into a hotel and just lie on the beach quietly for the next few days.

Leila had always joked, 'Sparrow, you'll never need a shrink. Put you in a bikini, dunk you in the briny and you're in heaven.' It was true. She remembered her delight in showing Leila her blue ribbons for swimming. Eight years ago, she'd been a runner-up for the Olympic team. For four summers she'd taught water aerobics at Cypress Point Spa.

Along the way she stopped to pick up groceries- just enough to have a salad for dinner and a quick breakfast. As she walked the last two blocks home she thought of how remote everything seemed-as if she were seeing her whole life before Leila's death through the far lens of a telescope.

Sammy's letter was on top of the mail on the dinette table. Elizabeth reached for the envelope and smiled at the exquisite handwriting. It so vividly brought Sammy to mind-the frail, birdlike figure; the wise eyes, owlish behind rimless glasses; the lace-edged blouses and sensible cardigans. Sammy had answered Leila's ad for a part-time secretary ten years ago and within a week had become indispensable. After Leila's death, Min had hired her as a receptionist-secretary at the Spa.

Elizabeth decided to read the letter over dinner. It took only a few minutes to change into a light caftan, fix a salad and pour a glass of chilled chablis. Okay, Sammy, time for our visit, she thought as she slit the envelope.

The first page of the letter was predictable:

Dear Elizabeth,

I hope this finds you well and as content as possible. Each day I seem to miss Leila more and can only imagine how you feel. I do think that after tne trial is behind you, it will get better.

Working for Min has been good for me, although I think I will be giving it up soon. I really have never recovered from that operation.

Elizabeth turned the page, read a few lines; then, as her throat closed, pushed aside the salad.

As you know, I've continued to answer the letters from Leila's fans. There are still three large bags to finish. The reason I am writing is I have just found a very troubling anonymous letter. It is vicious and apparently was one in a series. Leila had not opened this one, but she must have seen its predecessors. Perhaps they would explain why she was so distraught those last weeks.

What is so terrible is that the letter I found was clearly written by someone who knew her well.

I had thought to enclose it in this envelope, but am not sure who is collecting your mail while you are away and would not want this seen by a stranger's eyes. Will you call me as soon as you return to New York?

My love to you.

Sammy

With a growing sense of horror, Elizabeth read and reread Sammy's letter. Leila had been receiving unsigned very troubling, vicious letters from someone who knew her well. Sammy, who never exaggerated, thought they might explain Leila's emotional collapse. For all these months, Elizabeth had lain awake trying to understand what had driven Leila into hysteria. Poison-pen letters from someone who knew her well. Who? Why? Did Sammy have any inkling?

She grabbed the phone and dialed the office at the Spa. Let Sammy answer, she prayed. But it was Min who picked up the receiver. Sammy was away, she told Elizabeth. She was visiting her cousin somewhere near San Francisco and would be back Monday night. 'You'll see her then.' Min's tone became curious. 'You sound upset, Elizabeth. Is it something about Sammy that can't wait?'

It was the moment to tell Min that she was not coming. Elizabeth started to say, 'Min, the district attorney…' Then she glanced down at Sammy's letter. The overwhelming need to see Sammy swept over her. It was the same kind of compulsion that had sent her rushing to Leila that last fateful night. She changed the sentence. 'No hurry at all, Min. I'll see you tomorrow.'

Before she went to bed, she wrote a note to William Murphy with the address and phone number of the Spa. Then she tore it up. To hell with his warning. She wasn't a Mafia witness; she was going to visit old friends-people she loved and trusted, people who loved and cared about her. Let him think she was in East Hampton.

He had known for months that it would be necessary to kill Elizabeth. He had lived with the ever- present knowledge of the danger that she represented, and had planned to eliminate her in New York .

With the trial coming, her mind must be constantly reliving every moment of those last days. Inevitably, she, would realize what she already knew-the fact that would seal his fate.

There were ways to get rid of her at the Spa and make it seem to be an accident. Her death would cause less official suspicion in California than in New York. He thought about her and her habits, looking for a way.

He consulted his watch. It was midnight in New York. Sweet dreams, Elizabeth, he thought.

Your time is running out.

Sunday, August 30

QUOTE FOR THE DAY: