The Shadow of Your Smile (34 page)

Then, even in the semidarkness, Roth could see the expression on Peter’s face suddenly change. “Peter,” he asked sharply. “Can you think of anyone who had access to spare keys, and who might also have known about that one hundred thousand dollars?”

Peter did not answer. He looked out the window of the sedan as it moved slowly forward in the evening traffic. “Let me think about that,” he answered. He knew he could not yet bring himself to speak the name of the person who he was almost certain had been the one to put that money in his office.

I’m starting to remember, he thought. That car that was parked across the street when Renée slapped me. It looked familiar. She would have accepted a ride from him. If he suspected that she knew, he might have told her that he’d pay her off to keep quiet about his insider trading.

My brother, Greg.

66
 

Dr. Monica, one more thing,” Nan Rhodes said. “Sophie Rutkowski called this morning. She wouldn’t say what it was about, but she sounds upset. I promised that you’d call her back when your office hours were over.”

“I’ll do that. You run ahead. It’s been a busy day,” Monica replied. Nan had just relayed Ryan’s message to her: “The next time you lie for Dr. Farrell . . .” She felt stressed out and humiliated, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to confide to Nan why she was avoiding Ryan Jenner’s calls.

Nan wanted to protest but, seeing the expression on Monica’s face, decided it would be better to leave her alone. She probably needs some time to herself, Nan thought. In the morning, after the two detectives came to the office, she had immediately called John Hartman to see if he knew why they were there. She had not seen Hartman over the weekend because he’d been in Philadelphia, visiting an old friend who was also a retired detective.

Hartman told Nan that he had suggested to his former partner, Detective Carl Forrest, that they check the security cameras at the hospital and that had led to seeing Sammy Barber get out of his car and follow Monica. He had then tried to calm her by saying that they hoped they had scared him off from attacking her again.

“John, you’re telling me that thanks to you they traced this Barber guy?”

“Nan, they probably would have thought of it themselves,” Hartman answered. “But, be that as it may, you see Dr. Farrell at least eight hours a day, five days a week, and some Saturdays. You’re in the position to be on the watch for anyone who might be a danger to her.”

Hartman then suggested that they have dinner together, “if it isn’t one of your nights at Jimmy Neary’s with your sisters.”

It was an invitation that Nan had both been hoping for, and expected would come. Now, reluctant as she was to leave Monica, she was also eager to go home and freshen up before John came for her.

“Well then, I’ll see you in the morning, Dr. Monica,” she said. She was about to add, “Be sure to double-lock the door behind me,” but pressed her lips together. I’m sure she’s had enough advice from those detectives, she decided.

Alone in the suddenly quiet office, with the phones no longer ringing and no small patients scampering through the reception room, Monica went into her private office, put her elbows on the desk, and rested her chin on her hands.

The import of what the detectives had told her, that a hit man had tried to kill her, was beginning to sink in. Scott
has
to be behind this, she thought. Who else would have any interest in wanting to hurt me? He did call out of the blue only a few minutes after I got home Thursday night. I was so foolish to let him come over to the apartment. Maybe I was lucky that he didn’t try to hurt me then. God knows, he was obsessed with me after Dad died. He phoned twenty times a day, and even followed me around in the street . . .

He’s the reason I didn’t take the job at the hospital in Boston. I
had to get away from him. He obviously needs psychiatric help. But I do know one thing. He’s not going to drive me out of New York. I love the hospital. I have a good practice. I have plenty of friends.

Inevitably, that thought led to the situation with Ryan Jenner. Why would I be so stupidly unprofessional as to ask Nan to lie for me to Ryan? she asked herself. I’m acting like a spurned girlfriend, when in fact I’ve never even had a single date with him. I’m sure he understands that I didn’t want any gossip about us in the hospital. I’m certain that when he really thinks about it, he doesn’t want it, either.

I have both his home and cell numbers. I’ll call tomorrow and apologize. I’ll simply say that I was concerned about the gossip but that I had no right to be rude to him. I’m sure he’ll be more gracious than I’ve been, and that will be that . . .

Monica sighed as she fished into her pocket for the slip of paper Nan had handed her with Sophie Rutkowski’s number on it. Nan had said that Sophie sounded nervous and upset. Monica found the paper, laid it on her desk, and began to dial. Do I dare hope that she’s remembered something about Olivia Morrow that would help me to learn about my grandparents? But I know that’s not going to happen.

Sophie answered her phone on the first ring. The strain in her voice was obvious to Monica even when she only uttered the simple word “Hello.”

“Sophie, this is Dr. Farrell. Is anything wrong?”

“Doctor, I feel like a thief. I don’t know what to do.”

“Sophie, no matter what you tell me, I am certain that you are not a thief,” Monica said firmly. “What’s going on?”

“I have another job on Saturday afternoons at Schwab House. After I finished it, I decided to go into Ms. Morrow’s apartment and tidy it up. I have a key, of course. I know people will be going through it who will want to buy it, and people will also be there who
may want to buy her furniture and so on . . . I didn’t want them to see an unmade bed, or a pillowcase with blood on it.”

“Sophie, that was very nice of you,” Monica assured her. “If you took that pillowcase to wash, no one would ever believe that you wouldn’t return it.”

“Doctor, that’s not what I’m saying. That pillowcase was
missing
. This morning I called Dr. Hadley to see if he had taken it.”

Monica felt suddenly chilled. “What did Dr. Hadley say?”

“He got very mad. He said I had no right to be nosing around the apartment. He told me to leave my key at the desk and if I tried to go into Ms. Morrow’s apartment again, he’d have me arrested for trespassing.”

“Did he tell you that he had taken the pillowcase?” Monica asked, her thoughts filled with the image of Olivia Morrow’s face in death and the evidence that she had bitten her lower lip.

“No, that’s the problem. If he didn’t take it, someone else did, and if anything else is missing, they may blame me, Doctor. I’m so worried. I only went in because I wanted everything to be just so in Ms. Morrow’s home. But you see, I
did
take something and I’ve already turned in the key and I don’t know what to do now.”

“What did you take, Sophie?”

“I took a pillow that had blood on it, the one that had been covered with the pink pillowcase. I knew Ms. Morrow wouldn’t want anyone to see it. Blood always shows on pillow fabric.”

“Sophie,” Monica asked quickly, “did you throw that pillow out?”

“No, I brought it home, Doctor.”

“Sophie, this is very important. Put that pillow in a plastic bag and hide it. Don’t tell anyone, especially Dr. Hadley, that you have it. No, better still, give me your address. I’m going to take a cab up to your apartment right now and pick it up.”

“Doctor, why would you want a soiled pillow?” Sophie protested.

“Sophie, I honestly can’t answer that right now. It’s just something I have to work out myself. But please trust me.”

“Of course, Doctor. Have you got a pen? I’ll give you my address.”

An hour and a half later, all thoughts of dinner forgotten, Monica was holding the stained pillow with gloved hands over two pillows piled on her own bed, in the same position as she remembered the ones that had been under Olivia Morrow’s head.

Am I going crazy, she asked herself, or is it possible that there is only one way that stain could have gotten on that spot? But why would anyone want to hold a pillow over her face and suffocate a dying woman?

Monica slipped the pillow back into the loose plastic bag. I’ll talk to Nan’s friend John Hartman, she decided. He’s the one who would know what to do. Is it possible that someone in the building got into Olivia Morrow’s apartment, maybe to burglarize it, and she woke up? It was pretty generally known that she was dying. But then again, why would Dr. Hadley get so upset with Sophie? Of all people, he should be the one to want to follow up if there’s any suggestion of foul play . . .

I’ll bring the pillow to the office tomorrow and ask Nan to see if Hartman will come over after office hours and talk to me, she decided.

The decision made, Monica decided not to put off calling Ryan any longer. She dialed his home number and heard his voice. “Sorry to miss your call. Leave a number and I’ll get back to you.”

I’m not apologizing to an answering machine, she thought. He’s probably out to dinner with his girlfriend, so I won’t bother him on his cell phone. Oh, well. She went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and was disappointed to find that because she had not gotten around to shopping over the weekend, the most she could find was the makings of an omelet.

Then she had a frightening thought. The overhead light in the kitchen was on, which meant that anyone lurking in the back could see her through the panes of glass on the top section of the outside door. I have to get a dark shade for it, she thought, but in the meantime, I’ll tack something over it. Feeling under siege, she went into the living room and picked up the afghan from the couch.

As she carried it back to the kitchen, she remembered how tenderly Scott Alterman had tucked it around her after he had rushed to be with her and found her trembling and chilled by her brush with death.

67
 

On Tuesday morning Tony Garcia, filled with anticipation, was in the waiting room of Dr. Clayton Hadley’s office. When I called yesterday, he couldn’t have been nicer, Tony thought. I explained that I’d like to buy Ms. Morrow’s car and he asked if I realized it was ten years old. Then I offered to pay him the book value in cash and he said that would be fine.

“The doctor will be right with you, sir,” the receptionist said, with a friendly smile at the young man in a chauffeur’s uniform who was obviously uneasy sitting with a well-dressed couple who were also waiting to see the doctor.

“Thanks very much,” Tony said. I still can’t believe how lucky I am, he thought. Yesterday, when I asked the doctor if I could possibly get the car right away, even before the ownership transfer papers could be completed, I never thought he’d be so nice. I guess it was because I explained that we could have been killed in an accident when our old car stopped short in traffic. But he did say that it’s near the end of the month and there was no use wasting money from the estate paying the garage bill in Ms. Morrow’s apartment building.

“You can go in now, Mr. Garcia,” the receptionist told him. “The doctor will see you in the second room on the right.”

Tony jumped up. “Oh, thank you,” he said, as the receptionist assured
the couple in the waiting room that the doctor would be with them in a few minutes.

With quick steps, Tony, following instructions, entered the private office of Dr. Clay Hadley. He’s pretty fat for a cardiologist, was Tony’s first thought, but it passed quickly from his mind. “Dr. Hadley, thanks so much. This means so much to me and my family. I can’t tell you how scared I was when all of a sudden my car stopped in traffic. But I won’t take your time. I brought the money in cash. My brother-in-law lent it to me. He’s a prince.”

After the phone call from Sophie Rutkowski the day before, Clay Hadley had been terrified. I panicked, he thought. I should have told her I was having the pillowcase laundered. Did she notice the bloodstain on the pillow itself? I can’t ask her that. It will only bring her attention to it.

Take the damn car, he thought, impatiently, as, forcing a smile, he watched Tony offer him six rubber-banded packs of ten one-hundred-dollar bills. “Six thousand dollars in all,” Tony said. “Doctor, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your letting me take the car right away. My wife Rosalie’s grandmother lives in New Jersey, and she looks forward so much to Rosie visiting her. Without a car it would be impossible.”