When Day Breaks (22 page)

A
call ahead of time to the Dropped Stitch Needlecraft Shop ascertained that Ursula Bales’s knitting class met from 7:30 to 8:30 P.M. Just after eight a car pulled in to a parking space down the block from the shop. The killer got out and walked past the store, deliberately staying on the other side of the street.

Through the plate-glass window, ten women could be seen sitting in a circle, some with their heads down, concentrating on their needles. Others seemed to be doing more talking, laughing, and socializing than knitting. Shelves containing skeins of multicolored yarn lined the rear wall, providing a vivid backdrop for the scene. All was right with the world at the Dropped Stitch Needlecraft Shop.

Just then another woman came walking into the room from the back of the store. It was Ursula Bales, carrying a tray that she deposited on a table at the side of the room. It appeared the women were all too happy to put down their knitting projects and head for the refreshments.

The killer went back to the car and waited. At 8:35 the first woman came walking out, followed by another nine walking alone or in pairs. Getting out of the car again, the killer proceeded, hands in pockets, feeling for the syringe.

The lights still blazed through the shop’s window, but there was no one in the front room. Trying not to make a sound, the killer opened the entrance door but was met with a tinkling bell meant to announce a customer’s arrival.

“Did you forget something?” Ursula called from the back room. “I’m just cleaning up in here. I’ll be right out.”

When no one responded, Ursula came to the front. The room was empty, but she shivered, sensing she wasn’t alone. Wiping her hands on her smock, her heart beating faster, she went to the front door and locked it from the inside. She looked out the window but saw nothing amiss, nobody walking away.

“Everything’s all right,” she said aloud to reassure herself. “It’s all right.” She snapped off the lights and started to return to the rear of the store. Her car was parked behind the shop, and she was eager now to let herself out the back door.

As she parted the curtain that separated the two rooms, Ursula heard a noise. She looked in the direction of the sound as two arms reached out and pushed her through to the back room.

“Oh, my God!” Ursula cried as she stumbled. Regaining her footing, she turned to face her attacker. Her eyes widened with fear as she saw the syringe approaching her.

“Please, please, don’t hurt me! I beg you! Leave me alone!” she pleaded. Ursula backed away, feeling for the door behind her, knowing that it was the only possible path to safety.

“This will be easier for you if you stay calm and stay still.”

As Ursula looked into the killer’s face, she realized what Constance must have felt in the instant before the toaster hit the water, knowing what would happen, unable to do anything to stop it, terrified. But Constance had been in the pool, defenseless, while Ursula was close enough to see the beads of perspiration on her attacker’s brow. She had to fight back. If she did nothing, she would die.

Ursula cast about, looking for something that could help her, something she could use to fight off her attacker.

Suddenly she realized that a deadly weapon was close at hand. She pulled the large knitting needle from the deep pocket of her smock and, using all her strength, thrust it outward. But the needle missed its mark as Ursula lunged forward. Losing her balance, she plunged through the open door at the top of the stairs leading to the basement. The awful thudding sound of her body tumbling down the wooden steps signaled a potentially deadly fall.

The killer went down the stairs and found Ursula, her body twisted, her bloodied face pressed against the cement floor. Turning the body over revealed the knitting needle impaled in the left side of the woman’s chest. A check of the carotid artery indicated that Ursula still had a weak pulse.

The killer looked around the basement and grabbed an old towel from a pile of rags in the corner. By holding the towel over Ursula’s face, the job was finished as, finally, the woman’s breathing stopped.

There was no need to use the sodium pentobarbital. That could be saved for another time.

A
fter a nearly sleepless night, Faith got out of bed, being careful not to wake Todd. They’d fought bitterly after the funeral service yesterday, had gone to bed angry with each other, and Faith didn’t want to have anything to do with him. She would have insisted he sleep on the couch in the den, but he was already asleep when she got home from the car ride she took to see to some errands and clear her head. She thought of sleeping on the couch herself, but she didn’t want the boys to worry that there was something really wrong between their parents.

In a way Faith didn’t blame Todd for the horrible things he’d said after they read Constance’s will. She was beyond furious with Constance herself, but even though
she
had a right to bad-mouth Constance, Faith didn’t like it when anyone else did.

After going downstairs and checking on her mother, Faith filled a kettle with water and put it on the stove to boil. The will was on the dining room table, right where she’d thrown it after reading it. She picked it up and went into the living room, sat down in the comfortable wing chair, and studied the document again. The provisions were very clear. A trust established for the care of their mother, an amount for Ben and Brendan stipulated to go into an account set up as a college fund and expressly forbidden to be invaded for any other reason, a similar fund to be put in place for the children of Annabelle Murphy, and a nice monetary gift to her housekeeper, Ursula Bales, for her devotion and loyalty. The bulk of Constance’s estate, $30 million, to create a school of journalism, plus an endowed chair in journalistic ethics, at Dominion State College outside Yorktown, Virginia.

“A major regret of mine was that I did not finish college. After winning the Miss Virginia title, I was offered and accepted my first job in television. I was eager to get started in the real world and did not understand then that I would never find the time to finish my formal education. I left Dominion State before graduating, but I would still like to leave a lasting contribution to the school.”

Faith read her sister’s words and remembered that she’d thrown the fact that Constance hadn’t graduated at her during their angry encounter at the farewell luncheon. Just a few days ago, but a world away. The ugly fact was that Faith, having so little else with which to hurt her sister, had used that weapon against Constance before. Low blows.

Faith pulled the front of her bathrobe closed and continued reading.

“To my sister, Faith, I leave my pearls. Every time she saw them on me, she never failed to tell me how beautiful they were. They’re yours now, Faith. Remember me when you wear them.”

That was it. The pearl necklace. Nothing else.

Constance’s message was clear. She had provided for Mother, provided for the boys, provided even for her housekeeper and the children of her friend. While it was certainly a financial relief knowing that Ben and Brendan would be able to attend college without the burden of student loans, Constance had set herself up as a philanthropist and snubbed Faith, deliberately and finally.

The kettle’s whistle screeched. As she got up from the chair to go to the kitchen, Faith looked with rage at the brass box sitting on the fireplace mantel. She fought the urge to pick it up and hurl Constance’s remains out into the street.

S
tuart felt for his glasses on the nightstand and put them on. He lay in bed staring at the ceiling and thinking about what had happened yesterday. The thought of Constance’s ashes kept pushing to the front of his mind. He had to get Faith to part with them. But he also had to make sure that the ashes would find themselves in a resting place befitting a queen.

He got out of bed with more energy than he’d felt in the past several days. Stuart was eager to get to his computer and concentrate on the early stages of planning for the Constance Young Memorial Garden.

He already imagined a garden walk, a reflecting pool, and meditation benches for visitors to sit and relax under shade trees, surrounded by flowers. Of course there would be a columbarium to contain the urn of Constance’s ashes, and perhaps even an eternal flame like the one that marked John F. Kennedy’s grave at Arlington National Cemetery. But the pièce de résistance Stuart dreamed of would be six newly created stained-glass panels set in stone frames, based on the Lady and the Unicorn tapestries housed in the Musée de Cluny in Paris and using Constance’s face as the model for the maiden. Those tapestries imaginatively represented the six senses—hearing, sight, touch, smell, taste, and, Stuart’s favorite, love.

After paying architects to design and contractors to construct the garden—as well as paying for the Cloisters’ own experts to design and make the stained-glass panels—Stuart figured there should be some of the $5 million left over to be used as an endowment for the garden’s upkeep.

Now if he could just get Faith to part with Constance’s ashes. If Faith didn’t decide on her own that it would be absolutely the best thing to preserve her sister’s remains in such a glorious spot, Stuart hoped he might be able to persuade her with a financial inducement, but one had to be very careful about broaching something like that.

Even in death Constance was his exalted queen and he was her loyal liege. He would always and forever be in her service.

I
n her dream Eliza felt the warmth of another body press against her. She sensed that it was Mack. Eliza turned over in bed, smiling as she opened her lids. She was met by two round blue eyes staring into her own.

“Hi, Mommy.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Eliza whispered, closing her eyes again and realizing that Mack was back in London, probably eating lunch now. “Did you have a good sleep?”

“Uh-huh. But I missed you last night, Mommy.”

“I missed you, too,” said Eliza.

“Did you come in and kiss me when you got home?”

“Yep. Just as I said I would.”

Janie snuggled in closer to Eliza. “You’re coming home tonight, right?”

Eliza’s eyes snapped open. The event at the Cloisters. It had completely slipped her mind.

“Oh, Janie, I forgot all about something I have to do tonight.” Eliza reached out to hug the child. But Janie pulled away.

“You promised you were coming home tonight, Mommy,” Janie protested. “That’s not fair.”

“I know I promised, and you’re right. It’s not fair. I’m sorry, Janie. But it’s work, and there isn’t really anything I can do about it.”

“I hate your work.” Janie pulled the blanket over her head.

Eliza gently rolled the cover back. “Janie, you have to try to understand, honey. Work is what people do to earn money to pay for their food and their house and their car.”

“And toys?”

“Yes, and sometimes to pay for toys for their children. Work is very important, because without it people couldn’t pay for the things they need in their lives.” Eliza gathered the little girl in her arms. “But you know, Janie, if you’re lucky, you don’t work just for money. You work because you love what you do. I’m a very lucky person, sweetheart, because I’m fortunate enough to really love what I do.”

“Do you love it more than me?” Janie looked as if she were going to break out in tears.

“No. Absolutely not, Janie. I couldn’t ever love anything more than I love you. You are the most important thing in my life.”

“Then why are you going to be working tonight when I want you to be with me?”

Eliza kissed the top of her daughter’s head, glad that Janie’s logic was so strong but also trying to think of an appropriate explanation to answer her question.

“Because I have a responsibility to do what I’ve been hired to do. If you tell someone you’re going to do something, then you should do it.”

“But you told
me
you were going to come home tonight,” said Janie. “That means you should do it.”

Eliza realized that Janie was not going to allow herself to be talked out of her position. She decided to try another tack.

“Here’s the deal, Janie. I fouled up. I made a mistake. I hope you’ll forgive me and let me make it up to you.”

Janie was quiet for a few moments while she considered what her mother had said. Finally she delivered her absolution.

“Everyone makes mistakes sometimes,” Janie answered with generosity. “It’s all right, Mommy. I love you.”

P
ainfully early in the morning, Boyd found himself waiting in the chair on the
KTA
“living room” set, trying to wrap his mind around how fast everything was happening.

Lauren Adams herself had been on Boyd’s answering machine when he got home the night before. It was fair to say she’d begged him to come and be interviewed on
KTA
Wednesday. “You’ve got to do this for us, Boyd,” Lauren had said. “You’d be exclusive to us, and it would really help the show, not to mention the fact that you’d be able to tell the country your side of the story. You could explain that you’re the victim here.”

At the commercial break, Lauren walked across the studio from the anchor desk to take a seat in the upholstered chair facing Boyd’s.

“All set?” she asked softly.

Boyd nodded.

“Are you doing okay?” she asked.

“I guess so,” said Boyd. “And I want to thank you for everything you did to help me.”

Lauren waved him away. “I didn’t do anything except call our attorney. I couldn’t very well leave my own assistant hanging, could I?”

Before Boyd could answer, the deep voice of the stage manager boomed through the studio. “Five seconds.”

Lauren smoothed out her skirt, looked directly into the camera with the red light shining on top, and smiled.

“We’re back. And with us is KEY News employee Boyd Irons, who—in the interest of fairness, I must tell you—is my administrative assistant, and until a few days ago he was also Constance Young’s assistant. Boyd was arrested yesterday after the funeral service for Constance because he was in possession of the ivory unicorn stolen from the Cloisters museum collection. The same unicorn Constance Young wore right here on this broadcast last Friday.” Lauren turned from the camera and looked at Boyd. “Good morning, Boyd. Thanks for coming in.”

“Good morning, Lauren.”

“I know that your attorney has told you to limit what you talk about here today, but can you tell us what happened?”

“Basically, I came out of the funeral home after the service for Constance Young yesterday morning and went into my raincoat pocket to get a handkerchief to blow my nose. But when I pulled it out, the unicorn came out with it.”

“How did it get there?” asked Lauren.

“I have no idea,” said Boyd. “My theory is that someone put it in my trench coat, which was hung in the vestibule, when I was inside the main room at the service.”

“So you maintain that the unicorn was planted on you?”

“Yes, ma’am. I do.” Boyd looked earnestly at Lauren.

“Do you have any idea who would do that?”

Boyd shrugged. “I guess it could have been anyone at the service.”

At that point, videotape taken outside the funeral home began to run on the television screen. Lauren talked over it, describing what viewers were seeing.

“There I am with
KTA
executive producer Linus Nazareth. There’s Eliza Blake with Mack McBride, our London correspondent. Can you identify some of the other people for us, Boyd?”

“A lot of the people who attended the funeral work behind the scenes here at KEY News,” said Boyd as the pictures continued to roll. “And there’s Faith Hansen with her family. Faith is Constance’s only sister. And there’s the video-game king Stuart Whitaker, and that’s the author Jason Vaughan coming out.”

“Jason Vaughan being the man who has just published a book about the recklessness of the news media in general and Constance Young in particular?” Lauren tried to clarify.

“Yes.”

The camera came back to the pair on the set.

“If Jason Vaughan was so critical of Constance Young, why do you think he came to her funeral service?” asked Lauren.

“I’d only be guessing,” said Boyd. “I have no idea.”

“Well, Jason Vaughan is waiting in the green room now, and we’ll see if we can get him to answer that question, right after this break.” Lauren looked at the camera until the red light went out.

“Thanks so much, Boyd,” she said. “That went well. And I’m so glad we had you on and nobody else did.”

“You’re welcome,” he answered. Boyd unclipped the microphone, eager to get out of the studio. But as he reached the double doors to exit, Boyd came face-to-face with Jason Vaughan entering.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Vaughan.”

“Thank you for having me.”

“How are sales?”

Jason smiled and held his thumb up. “Strong. In fact, we find out later today whether or not
Never Look Back
will be on the
New York Times Book Review
Best Sellers list. My agent feels confident we will be.”

“Congratulations,” said Lauren as she tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I’m going to be honest with you, though. There was quite a debate around here as to whether we should have you on today. Not because your book,
Never Look Back,
attacks the media but because it portrays Constance Young in a very unflattering light.”

“Well, I’m glad you all came to the decision to invite me,” said Jason.

Lauren continued. “Before the break we looked at footage shot yesterday in which we saw you attending the funeral service for Constance Young.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I’m wondering why you would attend the funeral service for someone you so clearly detest.”

“Maybe I needed to see things come full circle,” said Jason.

“You mean going to the funeral of the person you say ruined your life gave you some sort of satisfaction?”

“It sounds horrible to hear you put it that way,” said Jason.

“But accurate?” Lauren pressed.

“Somewhat, I guess,” Jason answered. “Look, let’s get it out there. I couldn’t stand Constance Young for what I maintain was her cavalier treatment of my reputation. But if you read the book, you’ll see that Constance Young treated many people badly.”

“Well, let’s get to the book, Mr. Vaughan, shall we?” Lauren flipped through the pages of the volume on her lap. “Here, on page forty-three, you describe a tantrum you say Constance threw over a ratings spike last year for her competition over at
Daybreak,
the broadcast she was about to join when she died. Yet you also say she was alone in her office at the time. If there was nobody in the office, how do you know that Constance threw this alleged tantrum?”

“A confidential source told me,” said Jason.

“It would have to be someone who works here at KEY News, wouldn’t it? Someone who had extremely close access to Constance Young?”

“As I said, I promised my source anonymity.”

“All right,” said Lauren. “Let’s look at another passage. On page one hundred fourteen, you say that Constance made a deliberate show of being an animal lover when she was on the air but that she frequently mistreated her own cat, forgetting about it and leaving it alone for long stretches.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Again, how would you know this?” asked Lauren. “Did the same confidential source tell you?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. He did.”

“I’m skeptical, Mr. Vaughan,” said Lauren. “You describe a tantrum when no one was present to see it and an abandoned cat who obviously can’t corroborate the story of its alleged mistreatment. You could be making all this up.”

Jason could feel his face redden. “Oh, no you don’t,” he said. “Not again. I’m not going to have you people discredit me and ruin my reputation again. People close to Constance Young showed no compunction about sharing details with me. A man who used to come in and make sure the cat was all right told me that story. I won’t give you his name, but the story is absolutely true.”