back. Now if she could just sort out the impressions she'd received
talking with Dr. Highley and Dr. Fukhito.
Taking out her notebook, she began to scan what she had jotted
down during the interviews. Dr. Highley. He'd explained that
Vangie Lewis was in serious trouble with her pregnancy. What
he told Katie was completely reasonable. What then? What more
did she want of Dr. Highley? He'd expressed regret over Vangie's
death, but certainly not sorrow. Of course, a doctor had to stay
objective, as she'd heard both Bill and Richard say.
Richard. Her eyes slid over to the table where they'd sat together.
Was it possible that it could happen twice in a lifetime,
that from the very beginning you know someone is right?
When she and Richard were leaving Molly's after lunch yesterday,
Molly had asked them both to dinner Thursday night-
tomorrow—to meet Liz and Jim Berkeley. "She's the one who
thinks Dr. Highley is God," Molly had said. Katie realized how
much she was looking forward to that dinner.
Again she looked down at her notes. Dr. Fukhito. Something
was wrong there, the way he'd weighed every word when he'd
discussed Vangie's Monday-night visit. It had been like watching
someone walk step by step through a minefield. What was he
afraid of? He had said Vangie left by his private entrance.
No one had seen her go.
Suppose she hadn't left? Suppose he'd gone with her or followed
her home. Suppose he'd realized that she was suicidal, that he
was responsible in some way.. . .
The waiter arrived to take her order. She made one final entry
in her notebook: "Investigate Fukhito's background."
EVEN before he crossed the George Washington Bridge, Richard
knew that he should have canceled the date with Clovis. He was
preoccupied with Vangie Lewis' death. He had missed something
in the autopsy. What was it?
And he was worried about Katie. She had looked so thin and
pale last night. She wasn't well. That accident. Was it possible that
she'd been hurt more than anyone realized? The thought haunted
Richard as he turned into East Fifty-fourth Street and headed for
Clovis' apartment.
Clovis had a pitcher of martinis waiting, and a plate of crab-meat
puffs fresh from the oven. With her flawless skin and Viking
coloring, she reminded Richard of a young Ingrid Bergman. Until
recently he'd thought they might end up together. But as he returned
her kiss, he was acutely aware that he'd never worry about
Clovis the way he was now worrying about Katie.
He realized Clovis was talking to him as she filled two glasses.
"... and I just got home. So I fixed the drinks and figured you could
relax while I get dressed. Hey, are you listening to me?"
Richard accepted the drink and smiled apologetically. "I'm
sorry. Do you mind if I make some calls while you get ready?"
"Go ahead and dial away," She picked up her glass and started
toward the hall that led into the bedroom and bath.
Richard took out his credit card and dialed the operator. He
gave his account number and the call went through. The phone
rang a dozen times before he gave up. Katie wasn't home.
Next he tried Molly's house. But Molly had not spoken to Katie
today. "She'll probably call me later. But I wish she was home by
now. She should take it easy."
It was the opening he needed. "Molly, what's the matter with
Katie? There is something wrong physically, isn't there? Besides
the accident, I mean?"
Molly hesitated. "You'd better talk to Katie about that."
Cold fear washed over him. "What's the matter with her?'
"Oh, not much. I promise you that. But it's nothing she wants
discussed. See you tomorrow night. Don't forget."
The connection broke. Richard frowned into the dead receiver.
Then he called the prosecutor. "Anything going on?"
Scott did not waste time on preliminaries. "The body of a woman
was found in an apartment in Edgeriver. She was the receptionist
Katie wanted to talk to at Westlake. Name's Edna Burns. We're
heading over there, and we need you."
"Give me the address," Bichard said.
He wrote it quickly and hung up the phone. Vangie Lewis and
now Edna Burns. He knocked on Clovis' bedroom door. Wrapped
in a terry-cloth robe, she opened it. "Hey, what's the hurry?"
"Clo, I'm sorry." Quickly he explained. He was frantic to get
away.
She was clearly disappointed. "Oh, of course I understand. Go,
but let's have dinner tomorrow night. Promise?"
Richard temporized. "Well, very soon."
ON THE way home from the restaurant, Katie thought about
the conversation she'd had with Edna Burns on her first visit to
Dr. Highley. Edna was a bom listener. How much had Vangie
told her? And how much did Edna know about Dr. Fukhito?
Katie pulled up in front of her house and decided not to put the
car away yet. Suppose she phoned Edna and suggested driving
over to see her? If Katie was any judge, Edna Burns would love a
chance to have a cup of tea and gossip about Vangie Lewis.
Inside, Katie looked up Edna's number in the telephone book
and quickly dialed it. The phone rang once and was picked up.
A man said, "Yes." The short word was delivered in a clipped,
familiar voice. It belonged to Charley Nugent from the prosecutor's
office.
"Charley? It's Katie. What are you doing in Edna's apartment?"
"She's dead. Fell—or was pushed—into the radiator. Split her
head open." His voice became a whisper. "Get this, Katie. She
was last seen alive around eight o'clock last night. A neighbor was
with her. The neighbor heard her on the phone with Chris Lewis.
Edna Burns told Lewis that she was going to talk to the police
about Vangie's death. You better come right down."
AFTER he finished a second Scotch, Highley went into the kitchen
and opened the refrigerator. He had told Hilda not to prepare
anything for him tonight, but had given her a shopping list: lamb
chops, fresh asparagus, and watercress for a salad.
Emotional exhaustion always compelled him to eat. After Winifred's
death, he'd left her relatives and friends at the grave site,
refusing invitations to join them for dinner. "No. No. I need to be
alone." Then he'd driven to the Carlyle Hotel in New York. There
he had requested a quiet table and ordered dinner. Halfway
through the meal he looked up and saw Winifred's cousin, Glenn
Nickerson, seated at a table across the room. He was dressed in the
dark blue suit and black tie he'd worn to the funeral. It was obvious
that he had followed Highley to the Carlyle. Nickerson had
lifted his glass in a toast, a mocking smile on his face. He might as
well have shouted, "To the grieving widower."
A week later Alan Levine, the doctor who'd treated Winifred,
indignantly told him that Glenn Nickerson had asked to see Winifred's
medical records. "I told him that Winifred had developed
classic angina symptoms. Even then, he had the gall to speak to
r /> the police. I had a call from a fellow in the prosecutor's office asking
if a heart ailment could be induced. I told him that being alive
today was enough to induce heart trouble. They backed off, said
it was obviously a disinherited relative trying to cause problems."
But you can induce heart trouble, Dr. Levine. You can prepare
intimate little dinners for your dear wife. You can use her sus
ceptibility to gastroenteritis to bring on attacks that register as
heart seizures on her cardiogram. After enough of these, the lady
has a fatal seizure. No one suggests an autopsy. And even if someone
had, there would have been little risk.
But if they had thought to delve into Claire's death . ..
The chops were nearly cooked. He expertly seasoned the watercress,
removed the asparagus from the steamer and took a half
bottle of Beaujolais from the wine rack in the pantry.
He had just begun to eat when the phone rang. He hurried to
the extension in the kitchen. "Dr. Highley," he said curtly.
A sob sounded over the phone. "Oh, Doctor, it's Gertrude Fitzgerald.
I decided to go see Edna on my way home."
He tightened his grip on the receiver.
"Doctor, Edna is dead. The police are here. She fell. Doctor,
could you come right away? They're talking about performing an
autopsy. She hated autopsies. She used to say how terrible it was to
cut up dead people. Doctor, oh, please come here and convince
them that she fell and that they don't have to cut her up."
KATIE made a cup of tea and took it with her in the car. She'd
planned to have tea with Edna. And now Edna was dead.
How could a person she'd met only once have made such an
impression on her? In that one conversation they'd had, Edna
had understood perfectly about John. She'd said, "I know what
it is to watch someone die. You want the misery to be over for
them, but you don't want to let them go. When Mom and Dad
died, all my friends said, 'Now you're free, Edna.' And I said, 'Free
for what?' I bet you felt that way too."
Edna had reassured her about Dr. Highley. "You couldn't find
a better doctor. That's why it makes me so mad when I hear him
criticized. And those people who file malpractice suits! I could
shoot them. I tell you, when a doctor loses a patient today, he has
to worry. I guess nobody's supposed to die anymore."
What had Charley meant by saying that Edna had phoned
Chris Lewis last night? Was Charley suggesting that Edna might
in some way have threatened him?
As she drove into the parking lot of Edna's apartment complex,
she slowed down; a black medium-size car was pulling in ahead
of her. The driver chose the first spot available on the right. Katie
found a space directly behind the building, parked and got out of
the car. Suddenly she heard footsteps and turned quickly. A figure
loomed near her, a silhouette accentuated by the dim light from
a solitary lamppost. "Excuse me. I hope I didn't startle you." The
cultured voice had a faint English accent.
"Dr. Highley! Did my office call you?"
"Mrs. DeMaio. We didn't expect to see each other so soon and
under such tragic circumstances, Here. Let's take this footpath
around the building." Lightly touching her elbow, he followed
her on the path. "Mrs. Fitzgerald called me. Evidently she was
the one who found Edna."
They were turning the corner to the front of the building when
Richard appeared. She was very glad to see him. He grasped both
her shoulders and pulled her to him. Then his hands dropped.
"Scott reached you?"
"No. I happened to call Edna myself. Oh, Richard, this is Dr.
Edgar Highley." The two men shook hands.
Charley let them into the apartment. He said to Richard, "We've
got pictures, but I'd like you to have a look too."
Katie was used to death. She often studied gory pictures of
crime victims. But it was a different matter to see Edna crumpled
against the radiator, to see the solid evidence of loneliness—the
slices of canned ham, the empty cocktail glass.
Gertrude Fitzgerald was sitting on a couch, sobbing softly.
Katie and Dr. Highley sat down beside her as Richard went into
the dinette to examine the dead woman.
Gertrude tried to talk to them. "Oh, Dr. Highley, Mrs. DeMaio,
isn't this just terrible?" The words brought a fresh burst of sobs.
"She was always such fun. She always made me laugh. Maybe
she had that little weakness, but she never bothered anyone with
it. Oh, Dr. Highley, you'll miss her too."
"I surely will, Mrs. Fitzgerald."
"Doctor," Gertrude blurted out, "I told them you've been here,
that you knew about Edna's little problem. It's just silly to say she
didn't fall. Why would anyone want to hurt her?"
Dr. Highley looked at Katie. "Edna suffered from sciatica, and
a few times when she was laid up I dropped off work for her to
do at home. On one occasion I came unexpectedly. It was then I
realized that she had a drinking problem."
Katie nodded, looking past him. Richard had completed examining
the body. Getting up, she walked over to him and asked what
he had found.
He shrugged. "I'll have to see how bad the fracture is. Certainly
it was a hell of a smash. But she might have stumbled when she
tried to get up."
"Any sign of forced entry?" Katie asked Charley.
"None. But you could spring these locks with a credit card. If
she was as drunk as we think, anyone could have walked in."
"What were you telling me on the phone about Chris Lewis?"
"The superintendent's wife—name's Gana Krupshak—was a
buddy of Edna Burns. She was with Mrs. Fitzgerald when the
body was found. We let her go to her own apartment just before
you came. She's shook up bad. Anyhow, last night she came over
here around eight o'clock. She said Edna already had a bag on.
She stayed till eight thirty, then put out the ham, hoping Edna
would eat something and sober up. Edna told her about Vangie's
suicide. Then, when Mrs. Krupshak went into the kitchen, she
heard Edna on the phone. She swears Edna called whoever she
was talking to 'Captain Lewis,' and told him she had to talk to
the police tomorrow. And get this. Krupshak swears she heard
Edna give Lewis directions for driving here. Then Edna said something
about Prince Charming."
"Prince Charming?"
Charley shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."
Richard said, "Obviously we'll treat this as a potential homicide.
I know Scott has a hunch about Lewis. I can see why."
Katie thought, I do not believe Chris Lewis could have done
this to Edna; I don't believe he killed his wife. She looked around.
"Are you sure there's nothing valuable missing?"
Charley shrugged. "Her wallet's in her pocketbook; eighteen
dollars there. Credit cards. The usual. No sign of anything being
disturbed, let alone ransacked."
"All right." Katie returned to Dr. Highley and Gertrude. "Mrs.
Fitzgerald, I think it would be best if we
have you driven home."
Dr. Highley reached into his pocket. "I brought these sedatives
along in case you needed them. Here, take one now."
"I'll get a glass of water," Katie said. She went down the hall to
the bathroom, then came back to Gertrude and sat beside her.
"Mrs. Fitzgerald, do you know whether Edna kept any valuables
here—any jewelry, perhaps?"
"She had a ring and a pin she wore on special occasions. I
wouldn't know where she kept them. Oh, wait a minute. Doctor,
I remember that Edna said she showed you her ring and pin when
you were here. Perhaps you can help Mrs. DeMaio."
Katie looked into the cold gray eyes. He hates this, she thought.
He's angry about being here.
"One time Edna did show me a pin and ring that were in a
box in her night-table drawer."
"Would you show me, Doctor?" Katie asked.
Together they walked down the hall into the bedroom.
"It was in there," Dr. Highley told her, pointing to the night
table on the right side of the bed.
Using only the tips of her fingers, Katie opened the drawer. She
knew that the fingerprint experts would be called in.
The drawer was deep. Reaching in, Katie pulled out a blue
plastic jewelry case. She raised the lid to find a small butterfly-
shaped brooch and a thin old diamond ring nestled against cotton
velvet.
"That eliminates the robbery theory, I guess," Katie said. She