You belong to me (9 page)

He had already seen one client this morning, fifteen-year-old Greg Crane, who had been caught breaking into a neighbor's home. When the police interrogated Crane, he had admitted trashing three other houses in the swank Westchester community of Scarsdale where he lived.

He's a kid who has everything, but steals and wrecks other people's belongings apparently just for the thrill of it, Richards mused, as he walked at a brisk pace down the sidewalk adjacent to the park. He frowned at the thought that Crane was starting to fit the profile of one of those felons born without a conscience.

The fault certainly didn't appear to lie with the parents, he thought, as he nodded absently at a neighbor who was jogging in his direction. At least everything he had observed and learned about them indicated that they had been good and attentive parents.

He thought again of his session this morning. Some kids who start to display antisocial behavior in their teens can be straightened out, he thought. Others can't. I just hope we've gotten to him in time.

Then his thoughts shifted to Susan Chandler. She had been a prosecutor in juvenile court; it would be interesting to get her reading on a kid like Crane. Actually it would be interesting to get her reading on a lot of things, Richards decided, as he circumnavigated Columbus Circle.

He was twenty minutes early for the program and was told by the receptionist that Dr. Chandler was on her way and that he could wait in the green room. In the corridor he ran into the producer, Jed Geany.

Geany gave him a quick greeting and was ready to rush past when Richards stopped him. "I didn't think to ask for a tape of yesterday's program for my files," he said. "I'll be glad to pay for it, of course. Oh, and could you run one today as well?"

Geany shrugged. "Sure. Actually, I'm just about to make a tape of yesterday's program for some guy who phoned in. Says he wants it for his mother. Come on, and I'll run one for you as well."

Richards followed him into the engineer's booth.

"You could tell this guy felt like a jerk for asking," Geany continued, "but he claims his mother never misses listening to Susan," He held up the envelope he already had addressed. "Why does that name sound familiar? I've been wracking my brain trying to remember where I've heard it."

Donald Richards opted not to reply, but had to force himself not to show how startled he was. "You can run off both tapes at once?"

"Sure."

As he watched the reels spin, Donald Richards thought back to the one visit he had had from Justin Wells. It had been the usual exploratory session, and Wells never came back.

Richards remembered that he had phoned Wells, urging him to get into treatment-with someone else-saying that he needed help, a lot of help.

Then having made the appropriate gestures, he had been vastly relieved. The truth was that for a very personal reason he was better off avoiding contact with Justin Wells.

24

When she rushed into the studio at ten of ten, Susan saw the disapproving look on her producer's face. "I know, Jed," she said hurriedly, "but I had kind of a crisis. Someone phoned who seemed to have a genuine problem. I couldn't just hang up on her."

She did not add that the "someone" was in fact her sister, Dee, who was back in California and sounded seriously depressed. I feel so alone here, she had said. I'm going to take a cruise next week. Daddy is treating me to it. Don't you think that's a good idea? Who knows? I might even meet someone interesting.

Then finally Dee had asked, By the way, have you beard from Alex Wright?

That was when Susan had realized the real reason for the call and had ended the conversation as quickly as possible.

"You're the one who's going to have the problem if you're not on time, Susan," Geany said matter-of-factly. "Don't blame me. I only work here."

Susan noticed the sympathetic glance Don Richards gave her. "You could have started the show with Dr. Richards," she said. "I told him yesterday he was a natural."

For the first part of the program they discussed how women could protect themselves and avoid getting into potentially dangerous situations.

"Look," Richards said. "Most women realize that if they park their cars in a dark, unattended lot, six blocks from nowhere, they're risking big trouble. On the other hand, those same women can be careless when at home. The way life is today, if you leave your doors unlocked, no matter how seemingly safe the neighborhood is, you're increasing your chances that you'll be the victim of a burglary, or perhaps worse.

"Times have changed," he continued. "I remember how my grandmother never used to lock her door. And if she did, she'd tape up a big sign, 'key in window box.' Those days, unfortunately, are over."

He has a nice manner, Susan thought as she listened to his friendly tone. He's not preachy.

At the next commercial she told him, "I wasn't kidding. I think I'd better look over my shoulder if I want to keep my job. You're darn good on air."

"Well, I'm finding I enjoy it," he acknowledged. "It's the ham in me, I guess. Although I have to admit that when I finish the publicity tour for this book, I'll be glad to go back to my mundane world."

"Not too mundane, I bet. Don't you do a lot of traveling?"

"A fair amount. I testify as an expert witness internationally.''

"Ten seconds, Susan," the producer warned from the booth.

It was time to take calls from the listeners.

The first one was an inquiry about yesterday's show: "Did Karen keep her appointment at your office, Dr. Susan?"

"No, she did not," Susan said, "but if she's listening, I'm going to ask her please to get in touch with me, even if only by phone."

Several calls were directed to Donald Richards. One man had heard him testify in court and was impressed: "Doctor, you sounded like you really knew what you were talking about."

Richards raised his eyebrows to Susan. "I certainly hope I did." The next call shocked Susan.

"Dr. Richards, is the reason you wrote the book about vanishing women because your own wife disappeared?"

"Doctor, you don't have to answer..." Susan looked at Richards, waiting for a sign that she should cut off the call.

Instead, Richards shook his head. "My wife didn't actually disappear,' at least not in the sense we've been discussing. She died in an accident in front of witnesses. We have never been able to retrieve her body, but there is no connection between her death and my book."

His tone was controlled, but Susan could see raw emotion in the expression on his face. She could sense that he did not want her to comment on either the question or his answer, but her instant reaction was that whether he admitted it to himself or not, there had to be a connection between his wife's death and the subject of his book.

She looked at the monitor. "Our next call is from Tiffany in Yonkers. You're on, Tiffany."

"Dr. Susan, I love your program," the caller began. She had a young, animated voice.

"Thank you, Tiffany," Susan said briskly. "How can we help you?"

"Well, I was listening to your program yesterday, and you remember how that woman, Karen, talked about getting a souvenir turquoise ring from some guy, and said that the inside of the band was inscribed 'You belong to me'?"

"Yes, I do," Susan said quickly. "Do you know something about that man?"

Tiffany began to giggle. "Dr. Susan, if Karen is listening, I just want her to know that she was lucky not to bother with that guy. He must have been some cheapskate. My boyfriend bought a ring just like that for me as a joke one day last year when we were in Greenwich Village. It looked good, but it cost all of ten dollars."

"Where in the Village did you buy it?" Susan asked.

"Gee, I don't remember exactly. One of those dumpy little souvenir stores, the kind that sell plastic Statue of Libertys and brass elephants. You know the kind of place."

"Tiffany, if you do remember where it was, or if any of our other listeners know about that shop, please call me," Susan urged. "Or let me know about any other places that might carry that ring," she added.

"The little guy who runs the shop told us he made the rings himself," Tiffany said. "Listen, I broke up with my boyfriend, so you can have the ring. I'll mail it to you."

"Commercial," Jed warned into Susan's earphone.

"Many thanks, Tiffany," Susan said hurriedly, "and now for a message from our sponsors."

The moment the program was over, Donald Richards stood up. "Again, thanks, Susan, and forgive me if I rush off. I have a client waiting." Then he hesitated. "I'd really like to have dinner with you sometime," he said quietly. "You don't have to answer now. I'll call you at your office."

He was gone. Susan sat for a moment, gathering her notes and thinking about the last call. Was it possible that the souvenir ring Jane Clausen had found among Regina's possessions had been purchased in the city? If so, did that mean that the man responsible for her disappearance was from New York?

Still deep in concentration, she got up and went into the control room. Geany was putting a cassette into an envelope. "Richards got out fast," he said. "I guess he forgot he had asked me to make tapes of the programs." He shrugged. "So I'll mail them with this one." He pointed to the envelope addressed to Justin Wells. "That guy phoned yesterday to get a tape of the program. Said his mother missed it."

"Flattering," Susan observed. "See you tomorrow."

In the cab on the way back to the office, she opened the newspaper. On page three of the Post there was a picture of Carolyn Wells, an interior designer who had been injured in the accident yesterday afternoon, on Park Avenue. Susan read the story with keen interest. This was the case she had heard about on the news this morning-the one where the elderly woman claimed she had seen someone push Carolyn Wells.

Further down the column, she read, "husband, well-known architect Justin Wells-"

A moment later she was on the cell phone to the station. She caught Jed Geany just as he was leaving for lunch.

By the time the cab reached her office, Susan knew that Jed was sending the package addressed to Justin Wells to her by messenger.

Susan mentally reviewed her day. She had back-to-back appointments all afternoon. But after that she would take the tape to Lenox Hill Hospital, where, according to the chatty receptionist, Justin Wells was keeping vigil at his wife's bedside.

He may not want to talk to me, Susan thought as she paid the cabbie, but there's no question-whatever reason he has for wanting a tape of yesterday's program, it isn't because his mother missed it.

25

Jane Clausen had not been sure if she would be well enough to attend the meeting of the Clausen Family Trust. It had been a difficult, pain-filled night, and she longed to spend the day resting quietly at home.

Only the haunting knowledge that her time was running out gave her the drive necessary to get up at precisely the usual time, 7 A.M., to bathe, dress, and eat the light breakfast that Vera, her housekeeper of many years, had prepared for her.

As she sipped coffee, she picked up The New York Times and began to read the front page, then set the paper down. She simply could not concentrate on the events that apparently commanded the attention of the rest of the world. Her own world was narrowing to the point of vanishing, and she knew it.

She thought back to the previous afternoon. Her disappointment that "Karen" had not kept the appointment at Dr. Chandler's office continued to grow. Jane realized she had many questions for the woman: What did the man you met look like? Did you have a sense of danger?

The thought had come to her in the middle of the night. Regina had a keen intuition. Clearly if she had met a man and been attracted by him enough to change her itinerary, he must have appeared to be aboveboard.

"Aboveboard." And now that word was bothering her because it raised questions about Douglas.

Douglas Layton, a member of the Layton family, bore a name of distinction, one that guaranteed his background. He had spoken with affection of his cousins in Philadelphia, the children of her now-deceased contemporaries. Jane Clausen had known those Philadelphia Laytons when they were quite young, but had lost touch over the years. Still, she remembered them well, and several times lately when he mentioned them Doug had mixed up their names. She had to wonder how close he really was to them.

Doug's scholastic background was excellent. There was no question he was very intelligent. Hubert March, who was grooming Doug to be his successor, had suggested electing him to the board of trustees of the foundation.

So what is bothering me? Jane Clausen asked herself as she nodded her acceptance of the coffee refill that Vera was offering.

It was what happened yesterday, she decided. It was the fact that Douglas Layton was too busy with someone else to wait with her at Dr. Chandler's office.

When he called last evening, I let him know I wasn't pleased, Jane Clausen thought. She knew that should be the end of it, but it wasn't.

She considered what was beneath the surface. Douglas Layton knew he had a lot to lose by walking out of Dr. Chandler's office with that trumped-up excuse.

And clearly it was trumped up. She was sure he had been lying about his so-called appointment. But why?

This morning at the trustees' meeting they were going to decide on a number of substantial grants. It's very hard to accept the recommendations of someone you are beginning to have doubts about, Jane Clausen thought. If Regina were here, we'd talk this over together. Two heads are better than one, Mother. We prove that, don't we? Regina used to say. We were good problem solvers together.

Susan Chandler. Jane thought of how strong a liking she had taken to the young psychologist. She's both wise and kind, she thought, remembering the compassion in Susan's eyes. She knew how disappointed I was yesterday, and she could see that I was in pain. Having that cup of tea with her was so comforting. I've never had much use for the business of rushing to therapists, but she came across immediately as a friend.