The Cradle Will Fall

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EDNA Burns had kept meticulous records. When the search team headed by Phil Cunningham and Charley Nugent descended on her apartment on Friday morning, they found a statement in the old-fashioned breakfront.

I leave my worldly goods to my friends, Gertrude Fitzgerald and Gana Krupshak. Mrs. Fitzgerald is to receive my diamond ring and whatever household possessions she cares to have. Mrs. Krupshak is to receive my ruby pin, my imitation fur coat and whatever household possessions Mrs. Fitzgerald does not wish to have. My $10,000 insurance policy less funeral expenses is assigned to the nursing home which took such fine care of my parents.

Methodically the team dusted for fingerprints, vacuumed for hair and fibers, searched for signs of forced entry. As the final step, they asked the neighbors if anyone had noticed any strangers in the vicinity on Tuesday night. At the last apartment they had a break. An eleven-year-old boy had just come home from school for lunch. He heard the question asked of his mother.

'Oh, I told a man in a car which apartment Miss Burns lived in,' he reported. 'You remember, Ma, when you made me walk Porgy just before I went to bed.'

'That was about nine thirty,' the boy's mother said.

'What did the man look like?' Charley asked.

'He had sort of dark hair. His car was neat. It was a Corvette.'

Charley looked at Phil. 'Chris Lewis drives a Corvette,' he said flatly.

THROUGH the long, sleepless night, Edgar Highley rationalized the problem of the stolen bag. The odds were it would be abandoned after the thief went through it. Few people would take the trouble to return it.

Suppose the New York police recovered the bag intact? His name and address were inside it. If they phoned and asked him for a list of the contents, he'd simply mention some standard drugs and a few patients' files. They would assume that Vangie Lewis' file was his. If they asked about the shoe and the bloodstained paperweight, he'd say that the thief must have put them there.

It would be all right. And tonight the last risk would be removed. At five a.m. he gave up trying to sleep, showered and went downstairs. He was not going in to the office until noon. Meanwhile he'd go over his research notes. Yesterday's patient would be his new experiment. But he hadn't yet chosen the donor.

ON FRIDAY MORNING KATIE GOT IN TO the office by seven o'clock and began a review of the case she was trying. The defendants were teenage brothers accused of setting fires in two schools.

Maureen came in at eight thirty, and immediately made fresh coffee. Katie looked up. 'Boy, I'm going all out to nail those two,' she said. 'They did it for kicks. It's sickening.'

Maureen reached for Katie's coffee cup and filled it. 'Katie…'

Katie looked into troubled green eyes. 'Yes?'

'Rita told me that she told you about… about the baby.'

'Yes, she did. I'm terribly sorry, Maureen.'

'The thing is I can't seem to get over it. I've been trying to forget, and now this Vangie Lewis case brings it back.' Katie nodded. 'Maureen, I'd have given anything to have had a baby when John died. That year I prayed I'd get pregnant so I'd have something of him. When I think of all the friends I have who elect never to have children, I wonder about the way life works out. But we'll both have children someday, and we'll appreciate them because of not having the ones we wanted before.' Maureen's eyes were filled with tears. 'I know. But the thing about the Vangie Lewis case is-' The telephone rang. Katie reached for it. It was Scott Myerson. 'Glad you're in, Katie. Can you run over here for a minute?' 'Of course.' Katie got up. 'Scott wants me now. Well talk later, Maureen.' Impulsively she hugged the girl. Scott was standing by the window staring out. He turned when she came in. 'You're on trial today-the Odendall brothers?' 'Yes. We have a good case. We'll get them.' 'You usually do, Katie. Have you heard about Dr. Salem?' 'The doctor from Minneapolis? No, I haven't spoken to anyone this morning. I went straight to my office.' 'He fell-or was pushed-out a window in the Essex House a few minutes after he checked in. We're working with the New York police on it. Incidentally, Vangie Lewis' body arrived from Minneapolis yesterday. Lewis wasn't on the flight.' Katie stared at Scott. 'What are you saying?' 'I'm saying that he probably took the flight that went into La Guardia. It would have gotten him into New York about the time

Salem checked in. I'm saying that if we find he was anywhere in the vicinity of that hotel, we may be able to wrap this case up.' 'I don't believe Chris Lewis is a murderer,' Katie said flatly. 'Where do you think he is now?' Scott shrugged. 'I think his girl friend will lead us to him. She's due in from Florida tonight. Can you hang around?'

Katie hesitated. 'This is one weekend I have to be away. But I'll be honest, Scott. I feel so lousy that I'm not thinking straight. I'll get through this trial, but then I will leave.'

Scott studied her. 'You should have a checkup. You look paler than you did right after your accident. All right, get the trial over with and clear out of here. We'll go over everything Monday morning.'

Katie went back to her own office. It was nearly nine, and she was due in the courtroom. Mentally she reviewed the schedule of the pills Dr. Highley had given her. She'd taken one last night, one early this morning. She swallowed another, washing it down with the last sip of coffee from the cup on her desk, then gathered her file. The sharp edge of the top page of the brief slit her finger. She gasped at the quick thrust of pain and, wrapping a tissue around it, hurried from the room.

Half an hour later, as she rose with the rest of the people in the courtroom to acknowledge the entrance of the judge, the tissue was still wet with blood.

EDNA Burns was buried on Friday morning after a Mass at St. Francis Xavier Church. Gana Krupshak and Gertrude Fitzgerald followed the coffin to the nearby cemetery and watched Edna placed in the grave beside her parents. After the ceremony, the priest, Father Durkin, escorted them back to their cars.

'Will you ladies join me for a cup of coffee?' he asked.

Gertrude dabbed at her eyes and shook her head. 'I really have to get to work,' she said.

Mrs. Krupshak also declined. Then, turning to Gertrude, she said, 'Why don't you come by for dinner tonight?'

Gertrude quickly accepted. It would be good to talk about Edna, and about what a shame it was that neither of the doctors had come to the Mass, although at least Dr. Fukhito had sent flowers. Maybe talking with Gana would help her get a handle on the thought that kept buzzing around inside her head-about something that Edna had said to her.

She said good-by to Gana and the priest, got into her car, turned on the ignition. Dr. Highley's face loomed in her mind: those big, fishlike, cold eyes. There'd been something funny about him Wednesday night. Like when he went to get her a drink of water, she'd started to follow him. He'd turned on the tap, then gone into the bedroom. From the hall she'd seen him take out his handkerchief and start to open Edna's night-table drawer.

Then that nice Dr. Carroll had started to come down the hall and Dr. Highley had closed the drawer. Gertrude had let Dr. Carroll pass her, then slipped back into the living room. She didn't want them to think she was trying to eavesdrop. But if Dr. High-ley wanted something from that drawer, why didn't he just say so and get it? And why on earth would he open the drawer holding a handkerchief over his fingers? Why, Edna's apartment was immaculate!

THE lifeless body of Vangie Lewis was placed on the slab in the autopsy room of the Valley County medical examiner. Richard watched as his assistant removed the silk caftan that was to have been Vangie's burial robe. He had missed something on Tuesday afternoon-something to do with her legs or feet.

Minutes later he found what he was seeking: a fresh two-inch scratch on Vangie's left foot. That was what had bothered him. Vangie's foot had been scratched shortly after her death, and Charley had found a piece of the dress she was wearing when she died, dangling from a sharp implement in the garage.

Richard turned to his assistant. 'Dress Mrs. Lewis in the clothes she had on Monday night. Call me when she's ready.'

Back in his office, he scribbled on a pad: 'Shoes she was wearing were cut fairly high. Could not have been wearing them when foot was scratched.'