pillowcase on it and hope it would never be noticed.
He had folded the stained pillowcase and tucked it in the pocket of his topcoat, then had begun to search the apartment for the Catherine file. Olivia had made him executor of her estate and given him the combination to her safe, so that when the time came the will would be probated without delay. It was a very simple document. There were a few small bequests to longtime service people in the building and her cleaning woman. The contents of her apartment, her car, and her jewelry were to be sold. The money from them together with her small portfolio of stocks and bonds were to be left to various Catholic charities. In the will she noted that she had already made and paid for arrangements with The Frank E. Campbell Funeral Chapel. She didn’t wish to have a viewing, but after a funeral Mass at St. Vincent Ferrer, to be cremated. Her ashes were to be buried in her mother’s grave in Calvary Cemetery.
The will was in the safe, as well as her few pieces of jewelry-pearls and a small diamond ring and earrings- certainly not worth more than a few thousand dollars.
But to his dismay, the Catherine file was not there. Acutely aware that the concierge might be noticing how long he was staying, Clay Hadley had searched every inch of Olivia’s apartment without success. The Catherine file was missing.
What had she done with it? Clay had asked himself, desperately. Was there any chance she had destroyed it then changed her mind about revealing the truth when she heard from Monica Farrell? It was the only reasonable explanation he could imagine. On the way out of the building, the clerk at the desk had stopped him. “How is Ms. Morrow, Doctor?” he asked solicitously.
Weighing his words carefully, Clay had said, “Ms. Morrow is a very, very sick woman.” Then in a husky voice added, “She’s not going to be with us for more than a few days or a week.”
The next evening, after he received the call that Olivia had been found dead, he had sat with Monica Farrell in Olivia’s living room. When the Emergency Medical Services group arrived Monica had not stayed long. She had nothing to tell them except that she had come because she had an appointment with Olivia Morrow. In retrospect, Clay prided himself on how well he had handled the medics, explaining that he was Olivia’s longtime doctor, that she was terminally ill, that only last night he had begged her to go to a hospice… Then, when the mortician from Campbell’s arrived, the medics toe-tagged her body, and he signed the death certificate.
After a sleepless night and frantic phone call to Doug, Clay had kept himself busy blotting out any trace of suspicion of his connection to Olivia’s death for the rest of Thursday. He called in the obituary notice to the
At nine o’clock on Friday morning, the first phone call he received when he reached his office was from a man he did not know, Scott Alterman. “He’s inquiring about Olivia Morrow,” his secretary informed him.
Who is this guy? Hadley wondered, his stomach in knots. “Put him on,” he said.
Scott introduced himself. “I am a friend of Dr. Monica Farrell. I believe you met her in Olivia Morrow’s apartment Wednesday evening.”
“Yes, I did.” Where is this going? Hadley wondered.
“Only the night before her death, Ms. Morrow had told Dr. Farrell that she knew her grandmother. By that it was clear that she meant her birth grandmother. From what you told Dr. Farrell at that time, you have been a longtime friend of Ms. Morrow’s, as well as her physician and the executor of her estate. As such, you must have some knowledge of Ms. Morrow’s family history?”
Hadley tried to keep his voice steady. “That’s entirely true. I became her mother’s cardiologist, then Olivia’s. Olivia was an only child. Her mother died many years ago. I never met anyone else at all who was a relation.”
“And Ms. Morrow never spoke about her background to you?”
Be close to the truth, but no specifics, Hadley warned himself. “I know that Olivia told me her father died before she was born and her mother remarried. By the time I met them, her mother had been widowed a second time.”
Then came the question that made Hadley’s mouth go dry. Scott Alterman asked, “Dr. Hadley, haven’t you been on the board of the Gannon Foundation for many years?”
“Yes, that’s true. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know yet,” Alterman said. “But I’m sure there’s an answer to be found and I warn you, I will find it. Good-bye, Dr. Hadley.”
42
Peter Gannon woke up on Friday morning with a hangover that put any previous hangover he had ever experienced to shame. His head was bursting, he was nauseous, and he had the crashing feeling that his world was about to disappear from under him.
He knew he would have to declare bankruptcy. There was no way he could pay off the backers of his play. Why was I so sure that this one was going to be a hit? he asked himself. Guaranteeing them half of what they invested was stupid, but it was the only way they’d put up any money. I’ll be a pariah to them now.
For long minutes he stood in a hot shower, then, wincing, turned on the cold water. As he shivered under the needlelike impact of the freezing spray against his skin, he forced himself to deal with the fact that he would have to admit to Greg that he had once told Renee Carter he was sure Greg was involved in an insider trading fraud. Not only that, but I told her that except for the charities we support because of Clay in cardiology research and Doug in psychiatric research, a lot of our donations from the foundation are small and strictly for show. If she hadn’t decided to blackmail me about the baby, no doubt she would’ve threatened to expose the fraud. God, if they were ever investigated! Peter did not finish the thought.
Greg will simply have to give me a million dollars to pay off Renee, and he’ll have to do it now. I saw her Tuesday night. For all I know she’s already thought about how much she’d collect for being a snitch. I gave her two million dollars when she left town almost two and a half years ago to keep her mouth shut, and that was supposed to be it. She said she would give up the baby for adoption.
Renee. Unsteadily, Peter got out of the shower and reached for a bath towel. I was drinking all Tuesday afternoon, he thought. I was afraid to tell her that all I could scrape up was one hundred thousand dollars, not a million. Then, when I was waiting for her in the bar, I had those two scotches. I should have told her that the hundred thousand was all I could give her for now. I should have strung her along…
What happened then? he asked himself. She got mad when I gave her the bag with the hundred thousand, and that was all she’d ever get. Final payment. No more money. I’d have her charged with extortion. Then, when she ran out and started down the street, I ran after her and grabbed her hand. She dropped the bag, slapped me, and her fingernail nicked my face.
What happened then?
I don’t remember, Peter thought miserably. I just don’t remember. Oh, God, he thought, as he slipped into a bathrobe,
Peter looked into the mirror over the bathroom sink. Some mess, he observed. Eyes bloodshot. I never did shave yesterday. Wonder what Sue thought when I met her?
Sue. Renee was the straw that broke the camel’s back in our marriage. I had sworn to Sue I’d quit womanizing, then she read in the gossip column that I’d been seen with Renee. The mistake of my life, four years ago. Sue wouldn’t believe I was sick of Renee and breaking up with her. Crazy, the way the ball bounces. Sue had three miscarriages in the twenty years we were married and Renee managed to get pregnant just when she knew I was about to break off with her. Of course she did it on purpose, he thought angrily, but at least Sue never knew about
