Nighttime Is My Time: A Novel (17 page)

"As you can see, the latest communication suggests that Dr. Jean Sheridan's daughter is in grave danger. We intend to try to trace her original birth certificate, but we are not even sure if it was registered here or in Chicago where the baby was born," Sam continued.

Even as he spoke, he felt the hopelessness of trying to make a quick breakthrough. Monsignor Dillon couldn't be more than in his early forties. Clearly he had not been around twenty years ago when Lily might have been baptized in this church, and, of course, her adoptive parents would have registered her under their surname and her new first name.

"I do understand the urgency, and I'm sure you understand that I must be cautious," Monsignor Dillon said slowly. "But, Sam, the biggest problem is that people don't necessarily baptize babies within a few weeks or even months anymore. It used to be that an infant was baptized within six weeks of its birth. Now we see them toddling in to receive the sacrament. We don't approve of that trend, but it does exist and
did
exist even twenty years ago. This is a fairly large and busy parish, and not only our own parishioners but frequently the grandchildren of parishioners are baptized here."

"I understand, but perhaps if you could start with the three months after Lily's birth, we could at least try to track those baby girls. Most people aren't secretive about adoptions, are they?"

"No, as a rule, they're proud of the fact they're adoptive parents."

"Then unless the adoptive parents themselves are behind these faxes to Dr. Sheridan, I think they would want to know of a possible threat to their daughter."

"Yes, they would. I'll have my secretary compile the list, but you do understand that before I give it to you, I will have to contact all the people listed personally and explain only that a girl adopted at that time may be in danger."

"Monsignor, that could take time, and that's just what we may not have," Sam protested.

"Father Arella can work with me. I'll have my secretary make the calls, and while I'm speaking with one party, she'll alert the next to stand by to hear from me. It shouldn't take that long."

"And what about the ones you don't reach? Monsignor, this nineteen-year-old girl may be in grave danger."

Monsignor Dillon picked up the fax, his expression deepening with concern as he studied it. "Sam, as you say, this last communication is frightening, but you can understand why we have to be careful. To protect us from possible legal problems, get a subpoena. That way we can release the names to you immediately. But I would suggest that you allow me to talk
to as
many of these families as possible."

"Thank you, sir. I won't take any more of your time right now."

They both stood up. "It occurred to me that your correspondent is something of a Shakespearean scholar/' Monsignor Dillon observed. "Not too many people would have used a fairly obscure quote like this one about the lilies."

"That occurred to me as well, Monsignor." Sam paused. "I should have thought to ask this immediately: Are any of the priests who were assigned here at the time Jean's baby might have been baptized still with the diocese?"

"Father Doyle was the assistant pastor, and he died years ago. Monsignor Sullivan was the pastor at that time. He moved to Florida with his sister and brother-in-law. I can give you the latest address we have for him."

"I'd like to have that."

"It's right here in my file drawer. I'll give it to you now." He opened the drawer, pulled out a folder, glanced in it, and wrote a name, address, and phone number on a slip of paper. He handed it to Sam, saying, "Dr. Connors' widow is a parishioner. If you wish, I can call and ask her to see you. She might remember something about that adoption."

"Thanks, but that won't be necessary. I spoke to Jean Sheridan just before coming here. She found Mrs. Connors' address in the phone book and is probably on her way to see her right now."

As they walked to the door, Monsignor Dillon said, "Sam, I just remembered something. Alice Sommers is our parishioner also. Are you the investigator who has continued to work on her daughter's case?"

"Yes, I am."

"She has told me about you. I hope you know how much comfort it has given her to know that you haven't stopped trying to find Karen's murderer."

"I'm glad that it's helped her. Alice Sommers is a very brave woman."

They stood at the door. "I was shocked to hear on the radio this morning that the body of the woman who was walking her dog has been found," Monsignor Dillon commented. "Is your office involved with that case?" Yes, we are.

"I understand that, like Karen Sommers, it appears to be a random killing and that she was also stabbed to death. I know it seems implausible, but do you think there is any chance that there is a connection between those murders?"

"Monsignor, Karen Sommers died twenty years ago," Sam said carefully. He did not want to share the fact that the same possibility had been preying on his mind, particularly since the stab wounds had been in exactly the same area of the chest.

The Monsignor shook his head. "I guess I'd better leave the detecting to you. It was just a thought that occurred to me, and because you're so close to the Sommers case, I felt I should mention it." He opened the front door and shook Sam's hand. "God bless you, Sam. I'll pray for Lily, and I'll get back to you with the names as fast as we can put them together."

"Thank you, sir. Do pray for Lily, and while you're at it, remember Laura Wilcox."

"The actress?"

"Yes. We're afraid she's in trouble, too. No one has seen her since Saturday night."

Monsignor Dillon stared at Sam's retreating back. Laura Wilcox was at the Stonecroft reunion, he thought incredulously. Has something happened to her as well? Dear God, what's going on here?

With a fervent silent prayer for the safety of both Lily and Laura, he returned to his office and dialed his secretary. "Janet, please drop everything else you're doing and get out the baptismal records of nineteen years ago, from March through June. As soon as Father

Arella returns, tell him I have a job for him and to cancel any other plans he may have made for the day."

"Of course, Monsignor." Janet hung up the phone and looked longingly at the grilled cheese and bacon sandwich and container of coffee that had just been delivered to her desk. As she pushed back her chair and begrudgingly got to her feet, she mumbled to herself, "My God, from the tone of his voice you'd think it was a matter of life and death."

45

Dorothy Connors was a frail septuagenarian who Jean could see at first glance suffered from rheumatoid arthritis. She moved slowly, and the joints of her fingers were swollen. Her face showed lines of pain, and she wore her white hair very short, probably, Jean thought, because raising her arms was a distinct effort.

Her home was one of the desirable high-up properties that overlooked the Hudson. She invited Jean to the sunroom off the living room where, as she explained, she spent most of her waking time.

Her vivid brown eyes brightened when she talked about her husband. "Edward was the most wonderful man and husband and doctor who ever walked the face of the earth," she said. "It was that dreadful fire that killed him, the loss of his office and all his records. It brought on his heart attack."

"Mrs. Connors, I explained to you on the phone that I've been getting threats about my daughter. She would be nineteen and a half now. I am frantic to find her adoptive parents and warn them about the possible danger to her. I was a girl from this town. Please help me. Did Dr. Connors talk to you about me? I could see where he would. My mother and father were the town joke, with their public quarrels, and they only stayed together long enough to shove me into college. That was why your husband understood I could never go to them for help. He arranged the cover-up story, establishing my reason for going to Chicago. He even came out and delivered the baby himself in the emergency section of the nursing home."

"Yes, he did that for a number of girls. He wanted to help them maintain their privacy. Jean, fifty years ago it wasn't easy for a girl to have a baby out of wedlock. Do you know that the actress Ingrid Bergman was denounced in Congress when she gave birth to an illegitimate child? Standards of behavior change—for better or worse, you decide. Today most of the world doesn't think a thing about an unmarried woman bearing and raising a child, but my husband was old-fashioned. Twenty years ago he was deeply concerned about protecting his young pregnant mothers' privacy, even with me. Until you told me, I never even knew that you had been his patient."

"But you
did
know about my parents."

Dorothy Conners looked at Jean for a long moment. "I knew they had problems. I also saw them at church and chatted with them a number of times. My guess, my dear, is that you only remember the bad times. They were also attractive, intelligent people who unfortunately were ill-suited to each other."

Jean felt the sting of a rebuke and in an odd way sensed that she had been put on the defensive. "I can guarantee you that they were ill-suited to each other," she said, hoping that the anger she felt was not reflected in her voice. "Mrs. Connors, I
do
appreciate that you let me visit you on such short notice, but now I'll be brief. My daughter may be in very real danger. I know that you fiercely guard Dr. Connors' memory, but if you know anything about where he might have placed her, you owe it to me and to her to be honest with me."

"Before God, Edward never discussed patients in your situation with me, and I never heard your name mentioned by him."

"And he kept no records at home, and all his office records are gone?"

"Yes, they are. The entire building was so totally destroyed that arson has always been suspected but never proved. Certainly no records survived."

Clearly Dorothy Connors could give her no help. Jean rose to go. "I remember that Peggy Kimball was the office nurse when I saw Dr. Connors. I've left a message for her and hope she'll call me. Maybe she'll know something. Thank you, Mrs. Connors. Please don't get up. I'll find my way out."

She offered her hand to Dorothy Connors and then was shocked to see that the expression on the other woman's face could only be construed as extreme alarm.

46

Mark Fleischman checked into the Glen-Ridge House at one o'clock, dropped off his bag, phoned Jean's room but got no answer, and then went down to the dining room. He was surprised and pleased to see Jean sitting alone at a corner table, and with quick strides, he hurried over to her.

"Are you waiting for anyone, or would you like company?" he asked, then watched as the somber expression on her face was replaced by a warm smile.

"Mark, I didn't expect to see you! Of course, sit down. I was just about to order lunch, and nobody's planning to join me."

"Then consider yourself joined." He settled on the chair opposite her. "I put my briefcase with my cell phone in the trunk of the car by mistake," he said, "so I didn't get your message till I unpacked last night. I called the hotel early this morning, and the operator told me that Laura wasn't back and that the police were checking phone records. That's when I decided to rearrange my schedule and come back. I flew down and rented a car."

"That was very nice of you," Jean said sincerely. "We're all terribly worried about Laura." Quickly she gave him a rundown of what had transpired since he had left after the brunch the day before.

"You say you came back to the hotel with Sam Deegan, that man you were having a drink with the other night, and when you knew Laura was missing, he began an investigation?" Mark queried.

"Yes," Jean said, realizing she had awakened Mark's curiosity as to why Sam Deegan had been with her in the first place. "Sam followed me to the hotel because I was giving him something that our friend Alice Sommers is interested in seeing."

Alice is interested in seeing the faxes, she told herself, so it's not a complete fabrication. Looking across the table at Mark and seeing the concern in his eyes made her want to tell him about Lily, to ask him as a psychiatrist if he thought the threats were genuine, or whether someone was only setting her up for blackmail.

"Ready for menus?" the waitress chirped.

"Yes, thank you."

They both decided on a club sandwich and tea. "Coffee for breakfast, tea for lunch, and a glass of wine to start dinner," Mark said. "I've noticed that seems to be your routine, too, Jeannie." I guess it is.

"I've noticed a lot of things about you this weekend, and they reminded me of the years we were at Stonecroft."

"Such as?"

"Well, you always were very smart in school. You were also very quiet. And I remember that you were very sweet—that hasn't changed. Then I thought about one time during the freshman year when I was really down and you were very kind to me."

"I don't remember that."

"I won't go into it, but you were, and I also admired the way you held your head high when you were upset about your parents."

"Not always." Jean cringed inwardly, remembering the times she had started crying in class from the stress of the arguments at home.

It was as though he could read her mind, Jean realized, as Mark Fleischman continued. "I tried to hand you my handkerchief one day when you were upset, but you just shook your head and dabbed furiously at your eyes with a soggy Kleenex. I wanted to help you then, and I want to help you now. Coming from the airport I heard on the radio that the reporter kid who hounded us at the reunion is talking to the media about what he calls 'The Lunch Table Serial Killer.' Even if you're not worried about that possibility, I am. And with Laura missing, you're the only one of those girls left."