home. Peeling off the raincoat, he hung it in the foyer closet. The
full-length mirror on the door reflected his image. Shocked, he
realized that his trouser knees were wet and dirty. His hair was
badly disheveled. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were
bulging and dilated. He looked like a caricature of himself. Rushing
upstairs, he undressed, bathed, got into pajamas and a robe.
He was too keyed up to sleep, and savagely hungry.
The housekeeper had left slices of lamb on a plate. Crisp, tart
apples were in the fruit bin of the refrigerator. Carefully he prepared
a tray and carried it into the library. From the bar he poured
a generous whiskey and sat at his desk. As he ate, he reviewed
the night's happenings. If he had not stopped to check his calendar,
he would have missed her, been unable to stop her.
Unlocking his desk, he opened the large center drawer and slid
back the false bottom, where he kept his current special file. He
took out a single manila folder. Then he reached for a fresh sheet
of paper and made a final entry:
February 15
At 8:40 p.m. this physician was locking the rear door of his
office. Subject patient had just left Fukhito. She approached this
physician and said she was going home to Minneapolis and would
have her former doctor, Emmet Salem, deliver her baby. Hysteri
cal patient was persuaded to come inside. Obviously patient could
not be allowed to leave. Getting her a glass of water, this physi
cian dissolved cyanide crystals into the glass and forced patient to
swallow the poison. Patient expired at 8:51 p.m. Fetus was 26
weeks old. Had it been born it might have been viable.
Laying down the pen, he slipped the final entry into the manila
folder, then walked over to a panel on the bookcase. Reaching behind
a book, he touched a button, and the panel swung open,
revealing a wall safe. Quickly he opened the safe and inserted the
file, subconsciously noting the growing number of folders. He
could have recited the names on them by heart. Elizabeth Berkeley,
Anna Horan, Maureen Crowley, Linda Evans—over six dozen
of them: the successes and failures of his medical genius.
He closed the safe, snapped the panel back into place, then
went upstairs and got into bed. Had he overlooked anything? He'd
put the vial of cyanide in the safe. He'd get rid of the moccasins
tomorrow night. The events of the last hours whirled furiously
through his mind.
He'd drop his suit at the cleaners on the way to the hospital.
He'd find out what patient was in the center room on the second
floor of the hospital's east wing, what that patient could have seen.
Now he must sleep.
"IF YOU don't mind, we'd like you to leave through the rear
entrance," the nurse told Katie. "The front driveway froze over
terribly, and the workmen are trying to clear it. The cab will be
waiting in back."
"I don't care if I climb out the window, just as long as I can
get home," Katie said fervently. "And the misery is that I have to
come back here Friday. I'm having minor surgery on Saturday."
"Oh." The nurse looked at her chart. "What's wrong?"
"I seem to have inherited a problem my mother used to have.
I practically hemorrhage every month during my period."
"That must be why your blood count was so low when you
came in. Who's your doctor?"
"Dr. Highley."
"Oh, he's the best. He's top man in this place, you know." She
helped Katie with her coat.
The morning was cloudy and bitterly cold. Katie shivered as
she stepped out into the parking lot. In her nightmare, this was
the area she had been looking at from her room. A cab pulled up.
Gratefully she got in, wincing at the pain in her knees. "Where to,
lady?" the driver asked, and pressed the accelerator.
From the window of the room that Katie had just left, a man
was observing her departure. Her chart was in his hand. It read:
"Kathleen N. DeMaio, 10 Woodfield Way, Abbington. Place of
Business: prosecutor's office, Valley County, New Jersey."
He felt a thrill of fear go through him. Katie DeMaio.
There was a note on the chart that the night nurse had found
her sitting on the edge of the bed at two eight a.m. in an agitated
state and complaining about nightmares. The chart also showed
she had been given a sleeping pill, so she would have been pretty
groggy. But how much had she seen? Even if she thought she'd
been dreaming, her professional training would nag at her. She
was a risk, an unacceptable one.
CHAPTER TWO
SHOULDERS touching, Chris Lewis and Joan Moore sat in the end
booth of the Eighty-seventh Street drugstore, sipping coffee. Her
left arm rested on the gold braid on his right sleeve. Their fingers
were entwined.
"I've missed you," he said carefully.
"I've missed you too, Chris. That's why I'm sorry you met me
this morning. It just makes it worse."
"Joan, give me a little time. I swear well work this out."
She shook her head. He saw how unhappy she looked. Her hazel
eyes were cloudy. Her light brown hair, pulled back in a chignon,
emphasized the paleness of her smooth, clear skin.
For the thousandth time he asked himself why he hadn't made
a clean break with Vangie when he was transferred to New York
last year. Why had he given in to her plea to try a little longer to
make a go of their marriage when ten years of trying hadn't done
it? And now a baby coming. He thought of the ugly quarrel he'd
had with Vangie before he left. Should he tell Joan about that?
No, it wouldn't do any good.
Joan was a flight attendant with Pan American. She was based
in New York and shared an apartment with two other Pan Am
attendants. Chris had met her six months ago at a party in Hawaii.
Incredible how right some people are together from the first
minute. He'd told her he was married, but was able to say honestly
that he had wanted to break with his wife when he transferred
from Minneapolis to New York. But he hadn't.
Joan was saying, "You got in last night?"
"Yes. We had engine trouble in Chicago, and the rest of the
flight was canceled. Got back around six and stayed in town."
"Why didn't you go home?"
"Because I wanted to see you. Vangie doesn't expect me till
later this morning. So don't worry."
"Chris, I told you I applied for a transfer to the Latin American
division. It's been approved. I'm moving to Miami next week."
"Joan, no!"
"I'm sorry, but it's not my nature to be an available lady for a
man who is not only married but whose wife is finally expecting
the baby she's prayed for for ten years. I'm not a home wrecker."
"Our relationship has been totally innocent."
"In today's world who would believe that?" She finished her
coffee. "No matter what you say, Chris, I still feel that if I'm not
around, there's a chance that you and your wife will grow closer.
A baby has a way of creating a bond
between people." Gently
she withdrew her fingers from his. "I'd better get home. It was a
long flight and I'm tired. You'd better go home too."
They looked at each other. Chris tried to smile. "I'm not giving
up, Joan. I'm coming to Miami for you, and when I get there, I'll
be free."
THE cab dropped Katie off. She hurried painfully up the porch
steps, thrust her key into the lock, opened the door and murmured,
"Thank God I'm home." She felt that she'd been away weeks
rather than overnight and with fresh eyes appreciated the soothing
earth tones of the foyer and living room, the hanging plants.
Katie hung up her coat and sank down on the living-room couch.
She looked at her husband's portrait over the mantel. John Anthony
DeMaio, the youngest judge in Essex County. She could remember
so clearly the first time she'd seen him. He'd come to lecture to her
class at Seton Hall Law School.
When the class ended, the students clustered around him.
Katie said, "Judge, I have to tell you I don't agree with your decision
in the Kipling case."
John had smiled. "That obviously is your privilege, Miss . .."
"Katie .. . Kathleen Callahan."
She never understood why at that moment she'd dragged up the
Kathleen, but he'd always called her that.
They'd gone out for coffee that day. The next night he'd taken
her to dinner in New York. Later, when he'd dropped her off, he
said, "You have the loveliest blue eyes I've ever had the pleasure
of looking into. I don't think a twelve-year age difference is too
much, do you, Kathleen?"
Three months later, when she was graduated, they were married
and came to live in the house John had inherited from his parents.
"I'm pretty attached to it, Kathleen, but maybe you want something
smaller."
"John, I was raised in a three-room apartment in Queens. I slept
on a daybed in the living room. I love this house."
Besides being so much in love, they were good friends. She'd
told him about her recurring nightmare. "It started when I was
eight years old. My father had been in the hospital recovering from
a heart attack and then he had a second attack. The old man in
the room with him kept buzzing for the nurse, but no one came.
By the time someone finally got there, it was too late. In my nightmare
I'm in a hospital going from bed to bed, looking for Daddy.
I keep seeing people I know asleep in the beds. Finally I see a
nurse and run up to her and ask her where Daddy is. She smiles
and says, 'Oh, he's dead. All these people are dead. You're going
to die in here too.'"
"You poor kid."
"Oh, John, I missed him so much. I was always such a daddy's
girl. All through school I kept thinking what fun it would be if he
were at the plays and the graduations."
"Kathleen, darling, I'm going to uproot that sadness in you."
"You already have, Judge."
They'd spent their honeymoon traveling through Italy. John's
pain had begun on that trip. He'd had a checkup a month after
they got home. The overnight stay at Mount Sinai Hospital
stretched into three days of additional tests. Then one evening he'd
been waiting for her at the elevator, a wan smile on his face. He
said, "We've got trouble, darling."
Back in his room, he'd told her. "It's a malignant tumor. Both
lungs, apparently."
It seemed incredible. Judge DeMaio, not thirty-eight years old,
had been condemned to an indeterminate sentence of six months
to life. For him there would be no parole, no appeal.
Knowing their time was slipping away, they made every minute
count. But the cancer spread, and the pain got steadily worse. He'd
go to the hospital for chemotherapy. Her nightmare began again;
it came regularly.
Toward the end, he said, "I'm glad Molly and Bill live nearby.
They'll look out for you. And you enjoy the children."
They'd both been silent then. Bill Kennedy was an orthopedic
surgeon. He and Molly lived two towns away in Chapin River and
had six kids. John had bragged that he and Katie would beat Bill
and Molly's record. "We'll have seven," he'd declared.
The last time he went in for chemotherapy, he was so weak they
had him stay overnight. He was talking to her when he slipped into
a coma. He died that night.
and was accepted. The office was chronically shorthanded, and
she always had more cases than she could reasonably handle. It
was good therapy. There was no time for introspection.
She'd kept the house, although it seemed silly for a young
woman to own a large home surrounded by five acres.
"You'll never put your life with John behind you until you sell
it," Bill had told her. He was probably right.
Now Katie shook herself and got up from the couch. She'd better
call Molly and tell her about the accident. Maybe Molly would
come over for lunch and cheer her up. Glancing into the mirror
over the couch, Katie saw that a bruise under her right eye was
turning a brilliant purple. Her olive complexion was a sickly yellow.
Her collar-length dark brown hair, which usually bounced
full and luxuriant in a natural wave, was matted against her face
and neck. After she talked to Molly, she'd bathe and change.
Before she could pick up the phone, it began to ring. It was
Richard Carroll, the medical examiner. "Katie, how are you? Just
heard that you were in some kind of accident last night."
"Nothing much. I took a little detour off the road. The trouble
is there was a tree in the way."
"Why the blazes didn't you call me?"
Richard's concern was both flattering and threatening. He and
Molly's husband were good friends. Several times Molly had
pointedly invited Katie and Richard to small dinner parties. But
Katie wasn't looking to get involved, especially with someone she
worked with. "Next time I run into a tree I'll remember," she said.
"You're going to take a couple of days off, aren't you?"
"Oh, no. I'm going to see if Molly's free for lunch; then I'll go
in to the office. I'm trying a case on Friday."
"There's no use telling you you're crazy. Okay. Gotta go. I'll
poke my head in your office around five thirty and catch you for
a drink. Then dinner." He hung up before she could reply.
Katie dialed Molly's number. When her sister answered, her
voice was shaken. "Katie, I guess you've heard about it. People
from your office are just getting there."
"Heard about what? Getting where?"
"Next door. The Lewises. That couple who moved in last summer.
That poor man; he came home and found his wife, Vangie.
She's killed herself. Katie, she was six months pregnant!"
The Lewises. Katie had met them at Molly and Bill's New Year's
Day open house. Vangie, a very pretty blonde. Chris, an airline
pilot. Numbly she heard Molly's shocked voice: "Katie, why would
a girl who wanted a baby so desperately kill herself?"
The
question hung in the air. Cold chills washed over Katie.
Last night's nightmare. The face she'd glimpsed through the
hospital window was Vangie Lewis'.
RICHARD Carroll parked his car within the police lines on Winding
Brook Lane. He was shocked to realize that the Lewises lived
next door to Bill and Molly Kennedy. Bill had been a resident
when Richard interned at St. Vincent's. Later he'd specialized in
forensic medicine, Bill in orthopedics. They had bumped into each
other in the Valley County courthouse when Bill was appearing
as a witness in a malpractice trial, and their friendship was revived.
Now they golfed together frequently, and Richard often
stopped at the Kennedy house for a drink.
He'd met Molly's sister, Katie DeMaio, in the prosecutor's office
and had been immediately attracted to the dedicated young attorney,
with her dark hair and intense blue eyes. Katie had subtly
discouraged him, and he'd tried to dismiss her from his thoughts.
But in the past few months he'd seen her at a couple of parties at
Bill and Molly's and had found that he was far more intrigued
by Katie DeMaio than he wanted to be.