You belong to me (25 page)

"I don't know. If only the picture she promised to give me was still here," Susan said. "I'll bet anything she kept it in this file." Her eyes swept the desk as though expecting the photograph to materialize. Then she noticed a sliver of bright blue cardboard next to a small pair of scissors.

"Does Carolyn have a housekeeper?" she asked.

"Yes, she comes in on Monday and Friday mornings from about eight until eleven. Why?"

"Because Carolyn phoned me shortly before twelve. Say a prayer that-" Susan did not finish the sentence as she reached under the desk for the wastebasket. Retrieving it, she dumped its contents on the rug. Bits of blue cardboard scattered, and a photograph with an uneven border fell out.

Susan picked it up and studied it. "This is Carolyn, with the ship's captain, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Pamela said, "but why did she cut it like that?"

"My guess is Carolyn wanted to send only the part of the photograph that pictured the man who gave her the turquoise ring. She didn't want to be involved or identified herself."

"And now it's gone," Pamela said.

"It may be gone," Susan told her as she put together the scraps of cardboard, "but look at this. The name of the outfit in London that takes those pictures is printed on the folder, and there are instructions for ordering additional copies."

She pushed back the chair and stood up. "I'm going to call that outfit, and if they still have the negative of this photograph I'm going to get it. Pamela," she said, her voice rising with excitement, "do you realize that if that's possible we may be on our way to learning the identity of a serial killer?"

71

Nat Small was a little surprised at how much he actually missed his friend and fellow shop owner Abdul Parki. Only three days ago, on Monday morning, when he had seen Parki outside, sweeping the sidewalk in front of his shop, he'd yelled across to him, jokingly suggesting that he bring his broom over and spruce up the Dark Delights sidewalk too.

Parki had smiled his mild, shy little grin, and called back, "Nat, you know I'd be glad to do what I could for you, but I think it might take more than me and my broom to clean up your place." They both had had a good laugh. Then Tuesday he had seen Parki outside his shop again, this time sweeping up after some dumb kid dropped popcorn all over the place. After that, there had been nothing; he had never seen Parki again. It bothered Nat that both the police and media had paid so little attention to Parki's death. Sure, there had been a mention of the murder on the local TV news, including a seconds-long glimpse of the store, but a big-time Mafia guy had been arrested the same day, so that got all the play. No, they didn't bother much about Parki: "a suspected drug-related crime," was how they phrased it, and everybody seemed to be content to let it go at that.

In the two days since then, the Khyem Specialty Shop had taken on a deserted look. You'd think it had been closed for years, Nat said to himself. There was even a FOR RENT sign on the door. I hope I don't get any competition moving in there, he thought. It's tough enough as it is.

On Thursday night Nat closed his shop at nine o'clock. Before leaving, however, he made a few changes in the window display. As he looked out through the window to the street, it reminded him of how on Tuesday, just around one o'clock, that sharp-looking guy had been looking in this same window, and then he had crossed the street and gone into Parki's shop. Maybe he should have mentioned him to the cops, after all, Nat thought. Then he immediately changed his mind. It would just be a bad waste of good time, he reasoned. The guy was probably in and out of Parki's shop like a yo-yo. His type was more likely to browse through the wares on sale at Dark Delights than to buy anything at Khyem Specialty. Parki's stuff was strictly for tourists, and the man he had seen didn't look like a tourist

Nat grinned when he thought about the dopey-looking gift Parki had given him last year-a fat little guy with the head of an elephant, sitting on a throne.

"You are a good friend, Nat," Parki had said in that singsong accent of his. "I made this for you. This is Ganesh, the elephant-headed god. There is a legend. By accident, Shiva, his father, cut off Ganesh's head when he was five years old, and when his mother demanded that the father put it back, by mistake he gave the child instead the head of an elephant. When the mother protested that her son was so ugly that he would be shunned, the father said, 'I will make him the god of wisdom, prosperity, and happiness. You will see, he will be loved.'"

Nat knew that Parki had put a lot of effort into making the little figure. And like most of the stuff Parki made by hand, it was inlaid with turquoise.

Nat Small rarely yielded to a sentimental impulse, but in honor of his murdered friend, he went back into the storage room, dug out the elephant god, and put it in the window, positioning it so that the elephant's trunk was pointed at Parki's store. I'll leave it there until somebody rents the place, he decided. It'll be a kind of memorial to a nice little guy.

Feeling both sad and somewhat virtuous, Nat Small locked up and went home, cheered by the thought that maybe a bagel shop would take over Parki's space. That would be not only handy for him, but real good for business.

72

Donald Richards had told Rena, his housekeeper, that he had dinner plans, then, not wanting to dine alone, had on impulse phoned Mark Greenberg, a good friend and fellow psychiatrist whom he had seen professionally for a while after his wife's death. By lucky chance, Greenberg was free for dinner. "Betsy is going with her mother to the opera," he said. "I begged off."

They met at Kennedy's, on West Fifty-seventh Street. Greenberg, a scholarly-looking man in his late forties, waited until their drinks arrived, then said, "Don, we haven't talked doctor to patient in a long time. How's it going?"

Richards smiled. "I'm restless. I guess that's a good sign."

"I read your book. I liked it. Tell me why you wrote it."

"That's the second time I've been asked that in as many nights," Richards said. "Obviously the subject interested me. I had a patient whose wife vanished. He was a basket case. Two years ago, when her car was found with her body in it, he was finally able to put his life back together again. She'd driven off the road and into a lake. That death happened to have been the result of an accident. Most of the women in the book met with foul play. My point in writing it was to make other women aware of the dangers out there, and to show them how to avoid the circumstances that ensnared those victims."

"Personal redemption? Still blame yourself for Kathy's death?" Greenberg asked quietly.

"I'd like to believe I'm starting to get over that, but sometimes it still hits me hard. Mark, you've heard it from me enough times. Kathy didn't want to do that shoot. She was feeling queasy. Then she told me, 'I know what you're going to say, Don. It isn't fair to the others to pull out at the last minute.' I was always on her case about her habit of canceling plans at the last minute, especially when it came to work commitments. Well, listening to me cost her her life."

Don Richards took a long sip of his drink.

"But Kathy didn't tell you that she suspected she was pregnant," Greenberg reminded him. "If anything, you'd have urged her to stay home when she told you she felt queasy."

"No, she didn't tell me. Afterwards I started thinking back and realized she hadn't had a period in six weeks." Don Richards shrugged. "There're still rough times, but it's getting better. Maybe turning forty soon is making me realize that it's time to let go of the past."

"Have you considered taking a cruise, even a short one? I think that's an important step for you to take."

"Actually I am hoping to take one soon. I wrap up the publicity for the book next week in Miami, and I'm looking to see if I can find a cruise that I can fit in."

"That's good news," Greenberg said. "Last question: Are you dating anyone?"

"I had a date last night. Susan Chandler, a psychologist. She has a daily radio program as well as a private practice. Very attractive and interesting lady."

"Then I gather you plan to see her again?"

Don Richards smiled. "I'd say I have big plans for her, Mark."

When Don Richards got home at ten o'clock, he debated calling Susan, then decided it wasn't too late to try.

She answered on the first ring.

"Susan, you sounded pretty down this afternoon. How do you feel now?"

"Oh, better, I guess," Susan said. "I'm glad you called, Don. I wanted to ask you something."

"Go ahead."

"You used to take a lot of cruises, right?"

Richards realized he was clenching the phone. "Both before I was married, and after. My wife and I both loved the sea."

"And you were on the Gabrielle a number of times?"

"Yes."

"I've never been on a cruise, so please bear with me. I gather that there's a photography service on ships, and that they take a lot of pictures."

"Oh, sure. It's a big moneymaking operation."

"Do you know if they keep the negatives from past cruises on file?"

"I have no idea."

"Well, by any chance do you have any pictures that might have been taken on the Gabrielle? What I'm hoping to learn is the name of the photography outfit that works-or worked-the Gabrielle."

"I'm sure I have some pictures from when Kathy and I were on cruises."

"Would you mind checking? I'd really appreciate it. I could ask Mrs. Clausen, but I don't like to disturb her about this."

"Hold on."

Donald Richards laid down the phone and went to the closet where he had stored pictures and mementos of his marriage. He pulled down a box from the top shelf that was marked "Vacations," and brought it back to the phone.

"Bear with me a minute," he told Susan. "If I have it, it'll be in the box I'm going through right now. I'm glad you're on the other end of the phone. Poring over old memories can be depressing."

"That's just what I've been doing in Justin Wells's apartment," Susan told him.

"You were with Justin Wells?" Don Richards did not attempt to conceal the surprise he felt.

"Yes. I thought I might be helpful to him."

That's all she's going to say about it, Richards realized. He had come across what he was looking for, a pile of bright blue cardboard folders.

He opened the one on top and looked at a picture of Kathy and himself at their table on the Gabrielle. Behind them he could see the large picture window that framed the sun setting over the ocean.

He removed the picture from the folder and turned it over. On the back was information about reorders. His voice was steady as he read it to Susan.

"That's a real break," Susan said. "The same company handled the pictures on both the Gabrielle and the ship Carolyn sailed on. I might be able to get a copy of the picture we think Carolyn Wells was going to mail to me."

"You mean of the man who gave her the turquoise ring?"

Susan didn't answer directly. "I suppose I shouldn't be optimistic. They probably don't even have the negative any longer."

"Look, I'm going out of town next week, on the final leg of the publicity tour for my book," Don Richards said. "I leave on Monday, but I'd really like to see you before I go. How's brunch, lunch, or dinner on Sunday?"

Susan laughed. "Let's make it dinner. I have plans for Sunday afternoon."

When he hung up the phone a few minutes later, Donald Richards sat there for a while, going through the pictures of the trips he and Kathy had taken together. It suddenly seemed a remote part of his life.

Clearly a change was due. He knew that in another week he might very well have put to rest all the torment of the past four years.

73

Susan looked at her watch. It was after ten. It had been a long day-unfortunately it wasn't going to be a long night. In less than six hours she had to be up and on the phone.

Four A.M. in New York would be 9 A.M. in London. That's when she intended to call Ocean Cruise Pictures Ltd. and inquire about ordering photographs taken on the Gabrille and the Seagodiva during those cruises when Regina Clausen and Carolyn Wells had been passengers.

Even though it was late, however, she wanted to take a shower, and maybe in the process slough off some of the day's wearying effects. For long minutes she stood enveloped in steam, glad for the comfort of the hot water pelting her body. Then she toweled vigorously, wrapped a terry-cloth band around her still-damp hair, put on a nightshirt and a robe, and feeling considerably less uptight, went into the kitchen to fix a cup of hot cocoa to be sipped in bed. This is positively the last thing on the agenda for the day, she decided fervently, as she set the alarm clock for four.

When the alarm went off, Susan gave a protesting groan, then struggled awake. As she was wont to do, before going to bed she had opened the windows and turned off the heat, so the room felt like what Gran Susie used to call an icebox.

She sat up in bed, keeping the covers wrapped tightly around her, then reached for the phone and the pad and pen beside it. With mounting anticipation, she pushed the long series of numbers that would connect her to the studio in London.

"Ocean Cruise Pictures Ltd. Good morning."

For an instant Susan waited for the onset of the inevitable instructions on which number to press if you wanted to talk to a live human being. Instead she heard, "How may I help you?"

A moment later she was talking to the reorder department. "We may indeed have the pictures from those cruises, madam. We tend to keep the round-the-world photos a bit longer than the others."

But when Susan realized how many pictures had been taken between Mumbai and Athens on the Seagodiva, and between Perth and Hong Kong on the Gabrielle, she was shocked.

"You see, both ships were obviously quite full," the clerk explained. "So if you have seven hundred people on board, the odds are that while perhaps five hundred of them are couples, there still are many single passengers, and we try to take a number of photos of each person. We have photographers there while passengers are embarking on the ship, and many want snaps taken at the various ports of call, and with the captain at the receptions, and at their tables and at all the major social events, such as the black-and-white costume ball. So you see there really are many opportunities for photographic keepsakes."