61
The offices of the prestigious corporate law firm where Susan Gannon worked were on the tenth floor of the former Pam Am Building, on Park Avenue. On the twelfth floor was the equally prestigious criminal defense firm that Harvey Roth headed. Casual friends, they sometimes joked that they still thought of the building by its original name rather than by its present one, the MetLife Building.
Before she hired Roth to defend Peter, Susan had carefully researched who would be the best possible lawyer for the job. Four of the five attorneys whose opinions she had sought recommended Harvey Roth. The other one had suggested himself.
On Monday, at noon, Susan and Harvey met in his office. After ordering sandwiches from a local delicatessen, they went into his conference room and sat down at the table. “Harvey, how did Peter appear to you when you saw him Saturday?” Susan began.
“Numb. In shock. Bewildered. I could go on, but you get the picture,” Harvey answered. “He claims he absolutely didn’t know there was a false bottom in his desk drawer. I called his brother’s secretary to ask her about it an hour ago.”
“Esther Chambers. What did she say?”
“She never knew about it, either. She had nothing to do with the decorating, except to okay the bills. She said that the prices were, and now I’m quoting, ‘ludicrously expensive.’ ”
“Did she give you the name of the decorator?”
“Chambers didn’t have it at her fingertips, but said she knows that the woman has retired and spends most of her time in France. She’s going to follow up and get in touch with her. She told me she’d do anything to help Peter.”
“I believe that,” Susan said. “Harvey, tell me the truth. If Peter’s trial were starting now, what would happen?”
“Susan, you know as well as I do that he’d be found guilty. But the trial isn’t starting now. Let’s take a look at whatever positive facts we can find. Peter was out on the street with Renee Carter. He says he left her and the bag of money. But even if he
Susan nodded. “If I were the cops, I’d want to see if there is a record of Peter getting into a cab.”
“I’m sure that the cops are doing that,” Harvey agreed. “Of course, there are plenty of those unlicensed limo drivers cruising around. He might have hailed one of them, with or without her, or Renee might have gotten into one of them alone. There’s another possibility that we’re looking into. The restaurant where Peter met Renee had at least eight or ten people hanging out at the bar. Last night we got the names of the regulars and we’re following up on them. If anyone suspected that there was money in that bag, he might have followed Renee out. Maybe some guy had a car parked nearby and offered her a ride. Peter’s car is clean, by the way. They have no physical evidence that Renee was ever in it, dead or alive.”
Harvey Roth looked across the conference table at the slender woman, whose hazel eyes suddenly blazed with hope. “Susan,” he said hurriedly. “Don’t forget. Someone may surface who remembers seeing Renee walking east, and Peter following her.”
“Why would she walk east?” Susan demanded. “She lived on the West Side. She certainly wasn’t going to stroll along the river alone carrying a bag full of money at that hour of the night.”
Harvey Roth shrugged. “Susan, we’re looking for answers,” he said flatly. “We won’t leave a stone unturned. As I told Peter when I saw him Saturday, our investigators will visit every bar in that area to see if he staggered into one of them, hopefully alone. Let’s keep our fingers crossed that he did. Now I’ve got to get back to work.”
He stood up and tucked the plastic plate that had held his sandwich into the paper bag that had contained it. “Gourmet dining,” he said, with a quick smile.
Susan put her sandwich, with only a few bites nibbled from it, into the paper bag in front of her. She dropped it and her empty coffee container into the wastebasket, then picked up her purse and a Barnes & Noble bookstore shopping bag.
Answering Harvey’s unspoken question, she smiled, wryly. “I’m going to the hospital to see Peter’s baby,” she said. “I’m not good at this sort of thing, but in the children’s section, the clerk assured me that the books she helped me select were perfect for a nineteen-month-old. I’ll let you know if she was right.”
62
When Ryan returned from visiting the O’Keefes on Saturday afternoon, he entered the apartment half afraid that Alice would have found some reason to stay over. But she was gone. A note from her on the coffee table in the living room urged him to give himself enough time to find the right place to rent or buy, that there was no reason for him to rush out and do it just because they’d be sharing this apartment for a little while longer.
Alice ended the note by writing, “I’ll miss you. It’s been fun.” She signed it, “Love, A.”
With an exasperated sigh, Ryan glanced around the room. During the week, Alice had moved some of the furniture so that two club chairs were now facing each other on either side of the couch. She had tied back the heavy draperies with knotted cords that picked up one of the colors in the fabric, giving the room a much brighter appearance. The bookshelves around the fireplace had been rearranged so that the books were in neat rows rather than stacked haphazardly. The room felt as if it had Alice’s imprint on it and it made him uncomfortable.
Then he went into his room, and found to his dismay that there were new reading lamps on the night tables, and a handsome comforter in a brown and beige pattern with coordinating pillows covering the bed. There was a note on the top of the dresser. “How did you ever manage to read with those lamps? My grandmother had one of those heavy old quilts. I took the liberty of packing them all away where I hope they’ll never be found.” The note was unsigned but a caricature of Alice was drawn on it.
So she’s an artist, too, Ryan thought. Get me out of here.
After the long morning, which he spent apartment hunting, and then the trip to Mamaroneck, he did not feel like going out again. I’ll settle for cheese and whatever else I find, he decided. He went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. A casserole of lasagna had instructions taped on it, “Heat at 350 degrees for about forty minutes.” Next to it, a smaller dish contained an endive salad. The note indicated there was a freshly made garlic dressing that went with it.
I wonder if Alice comes on with such a heavy hand to other guys she’s met? Ryan thought. Someone should warn her to tone it down a bit.
But I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth, he thought. I’m hungry and Alice is a good cook. He followed the instructions on heating the lasagna, then, when it was ready, he collected some newspapers and read them as he ate.
In the car on the way from Mamaroneck he had heard on the radio that the first frost of the season would occur during the night. When he carried his second cup of coffee into the living room, he could tell by the chill in the high- ceilinged room that the temperature was dropping outside.
One of the few modern touches in the old apartment was a gas fireplace. Ryan pressed the switch and watched as the flames leaped up behind the glass shield. His thoughts turned to his visit with the O’Keefes.
Monica did everything right, he decided. According to Emily O’Keefe, she diagnosed Michael immediately and didn’t give them any false hope. I can’t explain those MRIs. No one can. His first tests show how advanced the cancer was. Michael was so frightened by the MRIs that the O’Keefes decided to not have any more tests since he was terminal. At least, Michael’s father decided that. His mother says that he didn’t need MRIs because he was in the care of Sister Catherine.
A year later, when they took Michael to Monica to show her how well he was doing, Monica was astonished at how good he had looked. They allowed her to order another MRI and the tumor was gone. Michael’s brain was
