When she did ask, the only thing he could tell her about the location was that the film they had seen was shown in a theater not far from Washington Square, that the sushi place was about four blocks away from the theater, and that they were not far from the subway stop at West Fourth and Sixth Avenue when they saw the souvenir shop.
Susan had one final question she hoped might be helpful. “Matt, Tiffany mentioned something about a porn shop across the street from where you bought the ring. Do you remember that?”
As he got up to go, he shook his head. “No, I don’t. Look, Dr. Chandler, I wish I could be more helpful.” He paused. “You know, underneath that tough exterior, Tiffany was a sweet kid. I know that whenever I think of her remark about how the customers at The Grotto look like the elephant god, I want to laugh. I hope they find who did this to her. Good-bye.”
Susan paid the check, picked up her shoulder bag, and took a cab downtown to West Fourth Street and Sixth Avenue. On the way she consulted her map of Greenwich Village. Even though she had lived there for several years, the area was still a little confusing to her. Her plan was to move out from the subway station along the haphazard streets of the Village until she found a souvenir store featuring Indian goods that was located across the street from a porn shop. It sounded simple enough; how many could there be?
I could ask Chris Ryan to help, she thought, but the Village isn’t that big, and I’d rather at least try to do it alone. She had decided that if she found the shop, she would go in and try to get friendly with the Indian clerk. Then, once she had the cruise picture of Carolyn Wells that showed the man who had given her the turquoise ring, she would ask the clerk if he recognized him.
She wasn’t there yet, but she was narrowing the circle around the killer. She could feel it.
82
Carolyn could feel the pain again, and she was very afraid. She didn’t know where she was, and when she tried to talk, her lips wouldn’t move. She tried to lift her hand, but something was holding it down.
She wanted to tell Justin how sorry she was. But where was he? Why didn’t he come to her?
She sensed something rushing at her in the darkness. It was going to hurt her! Where was Justin? He would help her. At last she could move her lips; finally she could hear the words rising from her throat: “No . . . please . . . no! Justin!” And then it was upon her, and she felt herself sinking again, her mind retreating from the terrible pain.
Had her conscious mind still been aware, she would have heard Justin’s anguished cry as the monitors emitted a frantic warning and Code 9 was activated, but she didn’t.
Nor did she see the condemnation in the face of the police officer who looked accusingly across the bed at Justin.
83
On Friday evening, Alex Wright did not get home until nearly seven o’clock. To clear the schedule for his trip next week, he had spent the entire day at the office, even to the point of having lunch at his desk, something he detested.
After such an intense day, he was looking forward to a quiet evening, and went straight to his dressing room, where he changed into chinos and a sweater. As he often did, he congratulated himself mentally on finally tackling the problem of inadequate closet space.
A few years ago, his dressing room had been carved from an adjoining bedroom and was spacious enough to comfortably house his considerable wardrobe. A convenience he particularly liked was the tabletop shelf that always held an open suitcase ready for packing. Framed on the wall above it was a reminder list of items he would need to take with him for various climates and events.
The suitcase was already half filled with articles of clothing that were laundered or cleaned and immediately replaced in it after a trip: underwear, socks, handkerchiefs, pajamas, a robe, dress shirts.
For longer trips, like the one he was about to undertake to Russia, Alex preferred to do the packing himself. If for any reason he was too busy, then Jim Curley would attend to it. It was a long-standing private joke between them that on the one occasion when alex trusted his housekeeper, marguerite, to do his packing, she had forgotten to include a formal shirt, a fact he had not discovered until he was in the process of dressing for a black-tie dinner in London.
As Alex pushed his bare feet into comfortable old moccasins, he smiled, remembering what Jim had said of that occurrence: “Your father, God rest him, would have booted her out of the house without a second thought.”
Before he left the dressing room, Alex glanced at the checklist, reminding himself that October was usually very cold in Russia, and that it probably would be wise to have his heavier coat with him.
He went downstairs, poured himself a scotch on the rocks, and as he began to rattle the ice as he sipped his drink, realized he was thoroughly out of sorts. It had been gnawing at him that Susan had been very cool on the phone yesterday when she had refused his invitation to join him and Dee for a drink.
What would it be like tomorrow night at the library event, with Dee on one side of him and Susan on the other? he wondered. Chances are, it was going to be uncomfortable.
Then he smiled. I’ve got an idea, he thought. I’ll invite Binky and Charles to join us as well. There are going to be four tables of ten. I’ll put Dee with Binky and Charles at another table, he decided. That should make a definite statement to Susan. “And to Dee,” he said aloud.
84
The names of the streets she had walked echoed like a litany in her mind: Christopher, Grove, Barrow, Commerce, Morton. Unlike the grid in which the streets of uptown Manhattan had been laid out, the streets of the Village followed an irregular pattern all their own. Finally Susan gave up, bought the Post, and dropped in to Tutta Pasta on Carmine for a late dinner.
She nibbled on warm bread dipped in olive oil and sipped a Chianti as she read the paper. On page three she saw a picture of Tiffany taken from her senior yearbook, with a follow-up story on the progress of the investigation into her murder. An indictment was expected shortly, it said.
Then on page six she was startled to see the photograph of Justin Wells and the report that he was being questioned about circumstances surrounding his wife’s accident.
I’m not going to be able to convince anyone there’s a connection between these two cases until I locate that souvenir shop and talk to the clerk, she thought. And, pray God, show him that cruise picture that’s supposed to arrive Monday. I didn’t find the place tonight, she told herself, but I’ll be back looking first thing in the morning.
She arrived home at ten o’clock and wearily dropped her shoulder bag onto the foyer table. Why do I carry so much stuff in that thing all the time? she wondered as she flexed her shoulders. It’s heavy enough to have a dead body in it.
“And isn’t that a happy thought,” she said to herself as Tiffany’s picture flashed through her mind. She looked exactly as I had pictured her, Susan thought sadly. Too much eyeliner, hair teased within an inch of its life, but still cute and saucy.
Reluctantly she went to the answering machine; the message light was blinking. Alex Wright had phoned at nine: “Just calling to say hello. Looking forward to tomorrow evening. In case we don’t touch base during the day, I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”
He’s letting me know that he’s home tonight, Susan thought. That’s good.
The next call was from her mother. “It’s nine-thirty. I’ll try you later, dear.”
Probably just as I get into the shower, Susan thought, deciding to return the call at once.
It was clear from the tone of her voice that her mother was not happy. “Susan, did you know that Dee is not only planning to move back to New York but has already leased an apartment?”
“No,” Susan said, adding after a pause, “Isn’t that a bit sudden?”
“Yes, it is. She’s always been restless, but I must tell you it really offends me that she took the Trophy with her today when she went to sign the lease.”
“She took Binky? How come?”
“ ‘To get
another woman’s take on it,’ she said. So I reminded her that I’m not blind, and that I’d have liked to see it, but Dee said someone else was interested in the place and she had to move quickly.”
“Maybe she did,” Susan suggested. “Mom, please don’t let that sort of thing get under your skin. It isn’t worth it. You know you’ll enjoy having Dee back in New York.”
“Yes, I will,” her mother admitted, her tone somewhat mollified. “But I worry about . . . Well, you know what we were discussing the other night.”
God give me strength, Susan thought. “Mom, if you mean Alex Wright, I’ve had exactly one date with him. I wouldn’t say that we’re in a committed relationship.”
“I know. Still, I think this precipitous rush to New York is a bit unusual, even for Dee. And something else, Susan: If you need money, you don’t have to go to your father. I know how much he’s hurt you. I have cash in the bank too, you know.”
“What’s that about?” Susan asked.
“Didn’t you ask Charley-Charles to wire money to London for you?”
“How did you find that out?”
“Not from your father, certainly. Dee told me.”
And she heard it from Binky, no doubt, Susan thought. Not that it matters, but what a pain! “Mom, I don’t need money. It’s just that there was something I wanted to order today for immediate delivery, and I didn’t have time to arrange for a transfer of funds to my checking account, so I asked Dad. I’m going to pay him back next week.”
“Why should you? He has plenty, and he’s sending Dee off on a cruise. Don’t be so proud, Susan. Take the money as due you.”
A minute ago you were telling me not to take money from him, Susan thought. “Mom, I just got in and I’m really kind of tired. I’ll call you tomorrow or Sunday. Any plans for the weekend?”
“A blind date, God help us. Helen Evans set it up. I never thought at my age I’d be looking forward to anything like that.”
Susan smiled, hearing the pleasure in her mother’s voice. “Good news,” she said heartily. “Have fun.”
It’s not going to be a shower tonight, she thought as she hung up. After this day, I need a long, hot soak in the tub. There isn’t a physical or mental piece of me that isn’t worried, sad, irritated, or aching.
Forty minutes later, she opened the bedroom windows, her final task before getting into bed. When she glanced down into the street, she noticed that it was deserted except for a solitary stroller, whose silhouette she could barely make out.
He could never make it in the marathon, she thought. If he were walking any slower, he’d be going backwards.
85
Despite—or perhaps because of—the exhaustion she had felt earlier, Susan was unable to sleep well. Three different times during the night she woke up and found herself listening intently for any sound that might suggest someone was in the apartment. The first time she woke, she thought she had heard the outer door opening. The sensation was so vivid that she got up and ran to the door, only to find that it was bolted. Then, despite feeling slightly foolish, she tested the locks on the windows in the living room, den, and kitchen.
She returned to her bedroom, still haunted by the sensation that something was amiss, but determined not to close the bedroom windows. I am two flights up, she told herself sternly. Unless Spiderman is in the neighborhood, it’s highly unlikely that anyone is going to scale the wall.
The temperature had dropped sharply since she went to bed, and the room was almost icy cold. She pulled the blankets around her neck, recalling the dream that had made her so uneasy and finally awakened her. In it she had seen Tiffany running out of a door and into a dimly lighted space. She had the turquoise ring and was tossing it in the air. Then a hand appeared out of the shadows and grabbed the ring, and Tiffany cried out, “No! Don’t take it! I want to keep it. Maybe Matt will call me.” Then her eyes widened in terror and she screamed.
Susan shivered. And now Tiffany is dead because she called me, she thought. Oh God, I’m so sorry.
Suddenly the window shade rattled, blown by a sharp breeze. That’s what startled me, she realized, and for a moment she considered getting up and locking that window as well. Instead she pulled the covers still tighter against her chin and was asleep in just a few minutes.
The second time Susan awoke, she bolted up in bed, sure there had been someone at the window. Get a grip on yourself, she thought, as she once again rearranged the bedding and pulled the blankets almost over her head.
She awoke for the third time at six o’clock. Although she had been sleeping, her mind had been active, and she realized that sometime in between the interruptions in her sleep her subconscious had been dwelling on the passenger list from the Seagodiva. She had found it in Carolyn Wells’s file, and Justin Wells had allowed her to take it.
When she awoke, her mind had focused on the fact that Carolyn had written the name “Win” on one of the daily shipboard news bulletins from the ship. Win was almost certainly the man she had been planning to go to Algiers with, Susan thought. I should have studied the passenger list right away. We know the guy she met was a passenger on the ship, so that means his name has to be on the list.
Awake now, with no hope of going back to sleep, she decided that coffee would help to clear her brain. After it was made, she brought a cup back to bed, propped herself up with pillows, and began to study the ship’s manifest. “Win” must be short for something else, she decided. Running down the list of passenger names, she looked for a Winston or Winthrop, but no one with either of those names was listed as being on board.
It could be a nickname, she thought. There were passengers with last names that were possibilities, including Winne and Winfrey. But Winne and Winfrey were both listed as being with wives.
The middle initials of very few passengers were listed on the manifest, so if the man Carolyn met was known as Win because of his middle name, the list would be of little help.
She noted that in the case of married couples, the names were listed in alphabetical order, so that Mrs. Alice Jones was followed by Mr. Robert Jones, and so on. Eliminating all those who were clearly married couples, Susan went down the manifest, checking off the names of men who were listed without a woman’s name preceding or following. The first name on the manifest that appeared to be that of a single man was Mr. Owen Adams.
Interesting, she thought when she had finished running down the entire list of passengers; of six hundred people on the ship, there were one hundred and twenty-five women listed singly, but only sixteen men who apparently were traveling alone. That narrowed it down a lot.
Then another thought struck her: Would the manifest of the Gabrielle be among Regina Clausen’s effects? she wondered. And if so, was it possible that one of those sixteen men from the Seagodiva had been a passenger on that ship too?
Susan tossed back the covers and headed to the shower. Even if Mrs. Clausen isn’t up to seeing me, I’m going to ask her about the Gabrielle passenger list, she decided, and if it was returned with Regina’s things, I’ll beg her to let her housekeeper give it to me.
86
Feathers in the wind. Feathers in the wind. He could feel them scattering, dancing, mocking him. But now he knew for sure he could never retrieve them all. Ask Dr. Susan if you don’t believe that, he thought angrily. He wished there were some way he could accelerate his plan, but it was too late. The steps had been laid out, and it couldn’t be changed now. He would leave on schedule, but then he would double back, and that’s when he would eliminate her.
Last night, when he had been walking past Susan’s brown-stone, she had happened to come to the window. He knew she couldn’t have been able to see him clearly, but it did make him realize that he must not take a risk like that again.
When he returned to New York, he would find a way to take care of her. He would not follow her and try to force her into traffic as he had with Carolyn Wells. That had proved to be less than successful, for while Carolyn remaine
d in a coma, with little apparent chance of recovery, she was still alive; and as long as she was alive, she was still a threat. No, he would have to corner Susan alone, as he had Tiffany—that would be best.
Although there might be another way, he thought suddenly.
This afternoon, in the guise of a messenger, he would check out her office building, studying the security in the lobby and the layout of the floor on which her office was located. It was Saturday, so it wouldn’t be crowded. There would be fewer curious eyes to observe him.
The thought of killing Susan in her office was eminently satisfying. He had decided that he would honor her with the same form of death that he had accorded Veronica, Regina, Constance, and Monica—the same death that was awaiting his final victim, someone on a voyage to see “the jungle wet with rain.”
He would overpower her, tie her up, and gag her, and then, as she watched, tortured with fear, he would slowly unwrap the long plastic bag and, inch by agonizing inch, he would cover her with it. Once she was covered head-to-toe, he would seal the bag. Inevitably there would be a little air still inside—just enough so that she would have a few minutes to struggle. Then as he saw the plastic begin to stick to her face and seal her mouth and nostrils, he would leave.
However, he would not be able to dispose of Susan’s body as he had the others. The others he had either buried in sand, or weighted down with stones and watched disappear into murky waters. So Susan Chandler he would have to leave, but he could take comfort in the fact that after she was out of the way, the next—and final—victim would share the burial arrangement of her sisters in death.
87
Susan left her apartment at nine o’clock and walked directly to Seventh Avenue. From there she explored the blocks that slanted west toward the Hudson River, starting with West Houston and St. Luke’s Place, then Clarkson and Morton Street. She made the decision to go only as far west as Greenwich Street, which ran parallel to the avenues, before turning north to the next block and then heading back east until she reached Sixth Avenue. Once there, she would reverse and head west on the next street.