With a look of suddenly personal curiosity, he studied the instrument. How many times had he, with compassion in his face, given that injection, knowing that the trusting eyes gazing up at him would soon lose their focus and then would close forever?
According to Dr. Lowe, this drug not only left no trace in the blood, there was also no pain attached to its effect.
Pedro was knocking at the bedroom door, to announce the uninvited guests.
Dr. Peter Black stretched out on his bed. He took a final sip of scotch and then plunged the needle into his arm. He sighed as he briefly thought that at least Dr. Lowe had been right about there being no pain.
89
“I am all right,” Fran insisted. “I know there’s nothing broken.” She had refused to go to the hospital, and was taken instead in a squad car to the prosecutor’s office in Stamford as was Dr. Lowe. From there she’d called Gus Brandt at home, filling her boss in on the events of the evening. Using the phone hookup, he’d gotten Fran’s breaking story on the air, with file-tape footage providing the background.
When the police-both state and local-had arrived at the scene of the explosion, Dr. Lowe announced that he wanted to surrender to the authorities and make a full statement about the medical breakthroughs his research had achieved.
Standing in the field, the fire still burning fiercely behind him, his files clutched in his arms, he apologized to Fran. “I could have died tonight, Miss Simmons. Everything I have accomplished would have gone with me. I must go on record immediately.”
“Doctor,” Fran had said, “I can’t help observing that while you yourself are well into your seventies, you certainly were less than philosophical when somebody tried to end your life.”
The state troopers had transported them to the state attorney’s office in Stamford. Fran had made her statement to an assistant prosecutor, RudyJacobs. “I had Dr. Lowe on tape,” she told him. “If only I had thought to grab my recorder before the place blew up…”
“Ms. Simmons, we won’t need it,” Jacobs told her. “They tell me the good doctor is talking his head off. We’re getting him on camera and on tape.”
“Have you identified the man who tried to kill us?”
“We sure have. His name is Lou Knox. He’s from Greenwich, where he lives and works as Calvin Whitehall’s chauffeur, and apparently takes care of a whole variety of other jobs.”
“How badly was he hurt?”
“He took a few pellets in his shoulder and arm, and he’s got some burns, but he’ll be okay. I hear he also is spilling his guts. He knows we have him cold, and his only hope for some kind of break is full cooperation.”
“Has Calvin Whitehall been arrested?”
“They’ve just brought him in. He’s being processed as we speak.”
“Could I get a look at him?” Fran asked with a wry smile. “I went to school with his wife, but I’ve never met him. It would be interesting to see the guy who tried to have me blown to bits.”
“I don’t see why not. Follow me.”
The sight of the barrel-chested, balding, coarse-featured man in a wrinkled wool sports shirt surprised Fran. Just as Dr. Lowe had not looked anything like the pictures she had seen of him, there was nothing in this rumpled man to suggest “ Cal the Mighty,” as Jenna called her husband. In fact, it was hard to picture Jenna-beautiful, elegant, refined-married to someone so coarse in appearance.
Jenna’s husband would surely go to prison, Fran thought as she considered the immediate future. Molly may still be headed back to prison too. Unless, of course, some of what I’ve uncovered tonight about misdeeds at Lasch Hospital can help her somehow. My father killed himself rather than face prison. What a strange bond for us Cranden Academy girls to have-all three in some way impacted by the reality of prison.
She turned to the assistant prosecutor. “Mr. Jacobs, I’m starting to feel all my aches and pains. I guess I will take you up on that ride home now.”
“Sure, Ms. Simmons.”
“But first could I use the phone again for a minute? I’d like to check my messages.”
“Of course. Let’s go back to my office.”
There were two messages. Bobby Burke, the counterman at the Sea Lamp Diner, had phoned at four o’clock to tell her he had located the couple who’d been in the diner Sunday night at the same time that Molly was meeting with Annamarie Scalli.
Great news, Fran thought.
The second call was from Edna Barry and had come in at six o’clock: “Ms. Simmons, this is very hard for me, but I feel like I have to make a clean breast of everything. I lied about the spare key to Molly’s house because I was afraid my son might have… might have been
Fran pressed the receiver more firmly against her ear. Edna Barry was sobbing so much it was hard to understand her words.
“Ms. Simmons, sometimes Wally tells wild stories. He hears things in his head and thinks they’re true. That’s why I was so afraid for him.”
“Are you okay, Ms. Simmons?” Jacobs asked, noting her look of concerned concentration.
Fran raised her finger to her lips as she strained to hear Edna Barry’s faltering voice. “I wouldn’t let Wally talk. I’ve kept shushing him when he tried. But he said something just now that, if it’s true, might be very, very important.
“Wally claims he saw Molly come home the night Dr. Lasch died. He says he saw her go in the house and turn on the light in the study. By then he was standing at the study window, and when she turned on the light, he saw Dr. Lasch was covered with blood.
“This next part is what is so important, if it’s true, and Wally’s not just imagining things. He swears he saw the front door to the house open, and a woman start to come out. She spotted him, though, and jumped back inside. He didn’t see her face and doesn’t know who she is, and he ran as soon as he saw her.”
There was a pause and more sobbing before she began again: “Ms. Simmons, I should have let him be questioned, but he never told me about this woman before. I didn’t mean to hurt Molly-I was just so afraid for my son.” The sound of sobbing filled Fran’s head for several long moments. Then Mrs. Barry composed herself enough to continue; “That’s all I can tell you. I guess you or Molly’s lawyer will want to talk to us tomorrow. We’ll be here. Good-bye.”
Stunned, Fran replaced the receiver in its cradle. Wally says he saw Molly come home, she thought. Of course, he’s not well. He may not be a reliable witness.
Fran thought back to what Molly had told her of her memory of that night. Molly had said she was sure there was someone else in the house. She had talked about hearing a clicking sound…
But
A
Jenna.
Oh my God, was it possible?There was no forced entry, no struggle. Wally saw a woman leaving the house. Gary had to have been killed by a woman he knew. Not Molly. Not Annamarie. All those pictures. The way Jenna looked at him in them.
