Clark, Mary Higgins 03 - The Cradle Will Fall Read online

  "Excellent enough to have chemically induced a heart attack in

  his wife?"

  Dr. Levine looked directly at Richard. "Frankly, I've often

  wished I'd insisted on an autopsy."

  They parted at the entrance to the bar. Richard fished in his

  pocket for change, went over to the public telephone and dialed

  the Essex House in New York. "Dr. Emmet Salem, please."

  There was the repeated sound of a phone ringing. The operator

  broke in. "I'm sorry, but there's no answer."

  "Are you sure Dr. Salem has checked in?" Richard asked.

  "Yes, sir. He called specifically to say that he was expecting an

  important call and he wanted to be sure to get it. That was only

  twenty minutes ago. But I guess he changed his mind. Because

  we are definitely ringing his room and there's no answer."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE Newsmaker article was on the stands Thursday morning.

  The phone calls, had begun as soon as Highley went to his office

  after delivering the Aldrich baby. The response was beyond his

  expectations. The Dartmouth Medical School phoned. Would he

  consider a guest lecture? A writer for Ladies' Home Journal wanted

  an interview. Would Dr. Highley appear on Eyewitness News?

  Smiling, he signaled for his first patient to come in. She was an

  interesting case: her womb was so tipped that she'd never conceive

  without intervention. She would be his next Vangie.

  The phone call came at noon, just as he was leaving for lunch.

  The nurse covering the reception desk was apologetic. "It's long

  distance from a Dr. Emmet Salem in Minneapolis."

  Emmet Salem! He picked up the phone. "Edgar Highley here."

  "Dr. Highley. From Christ Hospital in Devon?"

  "Yes." He felt a chill, sickening fear.

  "Doctor, I learned last night that you treated my former patient

  Vangie Lewis. I'm leaving for New York immediately. In fact,

  I'm at the airport now. I am planning to consult with the medical

  examiner in New Jersey about Mrs. Lewis' death. I have her records

  with me. In fairness to you, I suggest we discuss her case first."

  "Doctor, I'm troubled by your tone and insinuations."

  "I'll be checking into room 3219 at the Essex House shortly

  before five. You can call me there." The connection was broken.

  Highley was waiting at the hotel when Emmet Salem emerged

  from the cab. Swiftly he took an elevator to the thirty-second floor,

  walked past room 3219 and around a corner. Another elevator

  stopped at the floor. He listened as a key clicked and a bellman

  said, "Here we are, Doctor." A minute later the bellman emerged

  from the room. "Thank you, sir." Highley waited until the corridors

  were silent. Quickly he opened his bag and took out the paperweight

  He slipped it into his coat pocket, put on his gloves,

  grasped the bag firmly in his left hand and knocked on the door.

  Emmet Salem pulled the door open. He had just removed his

  suit coat.

  "Dr. Salem!" Highley reached for Salem's hand, walking forward,

  backing the older man into the room, closing the door behind

  him. "I'm Edgar Highley. It's good to see you again. You

  got off the phone so abruptly that I couldn't tell you I was coming

  into town for dinner. I have only a few minutes, but I'm sure we

  can clear up any questions." He was still walking forward, forcing

  the other man to retreat. The window behind Salem was wide

  open. He'd probably had the bellman open it because the room

  was very hot. The sill was low. "I tried to phone you, but your extension

  is out of order."

  "Impossible. I just spoke to the operator." Salem stiffened.

  "Then I do apologize. But I'm so anxious to go over the Lewis

  file with you. I have it right here." He put his bag down and

  reached for the paperweight in his pocket, then cried, "Doctor,

  behind you, watch out!"

  The other man spun around. Highley crashed the paperweight

  on Salem's skull. Emmet Salem slumped against the windowsill.

  Jamming the paperweight back into his pocket, Edgar Highley

  cupped his palms around Salem's foot and shoved up and out.

  "No. No. Please!" The half-conscious man slid out the window

  and landed on the roof of the extension some fifteen floors below.

  The body made a muffled thud.

  From Salem's suit coat on the bed Highley pulled out a key

  ring. The smallest key fitted the attache case on the luggage rack.

  The Vangie Lewis file was on top. Grabbing it, he shoved it into

  his own bag, relocked Salem's bag, returned the keys to the suit-

  coat pocket. He placed the bloodstained paperweight in his bag,

  then glanced around. The room was in perfect order.

  He opened the door and looked along the corridor. It was empty.

  As he stepped out, the phone in Salem's room began to ring. An

  elevator was just stopping. He got on, his eyes scanning the passengers.

  No one he knew.

  At the lobby, he walked rapidly to the Fifty-eighth Street exit.

  Ten minutes later he reclaimed his car from a park-and-lock

  garage, tossed his bag into the trunk and drove away.

  WHEN she left Scott's office, Katie called in Rita Castile, one of

  the investigators, and together they went over the material Katie

  would need for upcoming trials. "That armed robbery on the

  twenty-eighth, where the defendant had his hair cut the morning

  after the crime. Well need the barber to testify. It's no wonder the

  witnesses couldn't make a positive identification. Even though we

  made him wear a wig in the lineup, he didn't look the same."

  Rita jotted down the barber's address.

  "That's about all I have for you now," Katie said, "but I won't

  be coming in over the weekend, so next week will really be a

  mess. Be prepared."

  "You won't be coming in?" Rita raised her eyebrows. "Well,

  it's about time. You haven't taken a full weekend in a couple of

  months. I hope you're planning to have some fun."

  Katie grinned. "I don't know how much fun it will be. Oh, Rita,

  I have a hunch that Maureen is upset about something. Is it the

  breakup with her fiance?"

  Rita shook her head. "No, that was just kid stuff, and she knew

  it. The problem is, just about the time they broke up she realized

  she was pregnant and had an abortion. She's weighted down with

  guilt about it. She told me that she keeps dreaming about the

  baby, that she'd do anything to have had it, even though she

  would have given it out for adoption."

  Katie remembered how much she had hoped to conceive John's

  child. "That does explain it. Thanks for telling me. I was afraid

  I'd said something to hurt her."

  After Rita left, Katie called Westlake Hospital. She wanted to

  talk again with the receptionist, Gertrude Fitzgerald. Then she

  would call Gana Krupshak.

  The hospital told her that Mrs. Fitzgerald was home ill, and

  gave Katie her home phone number. When the woman answered,

  her voice was weak and shaking. "I have one of my migraines,"

  she said, "and no wonder. Every time I think of poor Edna . . ."

  "I would like to ask you something,"
Katie said. "Did Edna ever

  call either of the doctors she worked for Prince Charming?"

  "Prince Charming? Dr. Highley or Dr. Fukhito? Why would

  she call either of them Prince Charming? My heavens, no."

  "All right. It was just a thought." Katie said good-by and dialed

  Mrs. Krupshak. The superintendent answered. His wife was out,

  he explained. She'd be back around five.

  Katie glanced at the clock. It was four thirty. "Do you think

  she'd mind if I stopped to talk to her for a few minutes?"

  "Suit yourself," the man answered shortly.

  MRS. Krupshak was home when Katie rang her bell. "Now, isn't

  that timing!" she exclaimed. For her, the shock of discovering

  Edna's body had worn off and she was enjoying the excitement.

  "This is my bingo afternoon," she explained. "When I told my

  friends what happened they could hardly keep their cards

  straight."

  She ushered Katie into an L-shaped living room, and they both

  sat down on an imitation-leather couch.

  "Mrs. Krupshak," Katie said, "I wonder if you would go over

  with me very carefully what happened Tuesday night: how long

  you were with Edna; what you talked about. When she spoke to

  Captain Lewis, did you get the impression that she made an appointment

  with him?"

  Gana Krupshak leaned back. "Now, let's see. I went over to

  Edna's right at eight o'clock, because Gus started to watch the

  basketball game and I thought I'd go have a beer with Edna.

  The thing is, Edna had made a pitcher of manhattans and they

  were about half gone and she was pretty rocky. She talked in

  a sort of rambly way about this patient who had died, how

  beautiful she'd been, how sick she'd been getting and how she-

  Edna, I mean—could tell the cops a lot about her."

  "Then what happened?" Katie asked.

  "Well, I had a manhattan, or two, with her and then figured I'd

  better get home. But I hated to see Edna drink much more, so

  I got out that nice canned ham for her."

  "And that was when she made the call to Captain Lewis and

  mentioned Prince Charming?"

  "As God is my witness."

  "All right, but one last thing, Mrs. Krupshak. Do you know if

  Edna kept any articles of clothing of her mother's as a sentimental

  keepsake? I noticed a shabby old moccasin in Edna's night-

  table drawer. Did she ever show it to you or mention it?"

  Gana Krupshak looked directly at Katie. "Absolutely not," she

  said flatly.

  CHRIS Lewis arrived at the Twin Cities airport at one thirty.

  He had an hour to wait before his plane left for Newark. Vangie's

  body would be on that plane. At Newark the medical examiner's

  office would be waiting for it.

  And the prosecutors office would be waiting for him. Of course.

  If they were suspicious in any way about Vangie's death, they

  were going to look to him for answers. If they'd investigated at

  all, they knew by now that he'd returned to the New Jersey area

  Monday night. He had to see Dr. Salem, find out why he had

  been so upset. If Chris were detained for questioning, he might not

  be able to talk to him.

  He also had to talk to Joan. He had the number of the stewardess,

  Kay Corrigan, with whom she was staying in Florida. Not

  knowing what he would say, he put through the call.

  Kay answered. "It's Chris, Kay. Is Joan there?"

  "Chris, the Valley County prosecutor's office has been calling

  here asking questions about you two. Joan is frantic!"

  "Is she there?"

  "No. She won't be here till about eight tonight."

  "Tell her to stay in till I call her. Tell her-" He broke the con

  nection, leaned against the phone and pushed back a sob. It was

  all too much. He didn't know what to do. In a few hours he'd be

  in custody, suspected of killing Vangie.

  No. There was another way. He'd get the flight into La Guardia.

  He could still make it. Then he'd be able to see Dr. Salem at almost

  the same time he reached the hotel. Maybe Dr. Salem could help

  him somehow.

  He barely made the La Guardia flight. On the plane, he listlessly

  thumbed through Newsmaker magazine. His eye caught

  the headline WESTLAKE MATERNITY CONCEPT OFFERS NEW HOPE

  TO CHILDLESS COUPLES. Westlake. He read the first paragraph.

  "For the past eight years, a private clinic in New Jersey has been

  making it possible for childless women to become pregnant The

  program is carried on by Dr. Edgar Highley...."

  Highley. Vangie's doctor. Funny she never talked very much

  about him. It was always the psychiatrist, Fukhito.

  The plane landed at four thirty. Chris hurried through the

  terminal and hailed a cab. It was five when he reached the Essex

  House. He headed for a lobby telephone, asked the operator for

  Dr. Salem's room number and dialed it. The phone rang . . .

  again . . . again. After six rings he hung up. He dialed the operator

  and asked her to try it for him.

  The operator hesitated. "Sir, when Dr. Salem checked in, he told

  me that he expected an important call. But apparently he's stepped

  out. Why don't you try again in a few minutes?"

  "I'll do that." Chris hung up the phone, walked over to a lobby

  chair facing an elevator bank and sat down. The elevators opened,

  dislodged passengers, filled again, disappeared.

  One elevator caught his attention. There was something

  vaguely familiar about someone on it; a middle-aged man with a

  turned-up coat collar. Dr. Salem? No. Not Salem.

  At five thirty Chris tried again. And at quarter to six. At five

  past six he heard the whispers that ran through the lobby like a

  flash fire. "Someone jumped out a window." From outside came

  the wail of an ambulance and the yip-yip of police cars.

  Chris went to the bell captain's desk. "Who was it?" he asked.

  "Dr. Emmet Salem. A big shot in the AMA. Room 3219."

  Walking like an automaton, Chris pushed through the revolving

  door to Fifty-eighth Street. He hailed a cab and got in. "La

  Guardia, please," he said.

  There was a seven-o'clock flight to Miami. He had to get to

  Joan, try to make her understand before he was arrested.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  TWELVE-year-old Jennifer threw open the door for Katie. "Katie,

  hi." The two smiled at each other. With her intense blue eyes,

  dark hair and olive skin, Jennifer was a young Katie.

  "Hi, Jennie. Anybody here yet?"

  "Everybody. The Berkeleys brought their baby. Richard is here

  too. His first question was 'Is Katie here yet?' He's got a case on

  you, Katie."

  "Jennifer!" Half laughing, half irritated, Katie walked inside.

  In the den, Liz and Jim Berkeley were seated on the couch.

  Molly was passing hors d'oeuvres. Richard was standing by the

  window, talking to Bill. He turned and saw her. "Katie." He came

  hurrying over. "I've been listening for the doorbell."

  So often since John's death she'd entered a room where she

  was the outsider, the loner, amid couples. Tonight, Richard had

  been waiting for her, listening for her. Before she had time to />
  consider her feelings, everyone was saying hello.

  On the way to the dining room she asked Richard if he'd reached

  Dr. Salem. He said, "I just missed him at five. I left this number

  with the hotel operator and with my answering service."

  At dinner Liz Berkeley said, "I'm holding my breath hoping

  Maryanne won't wake up. Poor kid, her gums are swollen."

  Jim Berkeley laughed. He was darkly handsome, with brown

  eyes and thick black eyebrows. "When Maryanne was born, Liz

  used to wake her up every fifteen minutes to make sure she was

  okay. Now it's always, 'Quiet, don't wake up the baby.' "

  Liz, who was a slender woman with flashing brown eyes, made

  a face at her husband. "I'm calming down, but she is a miracle

  to us. I'd just about given up hope. Dr. Highley's a genius."

  Richard s eyes narrowed. "You really think so?"

  "Positively. He isn't the warmest person," Liz began.

  "But he knows his business," her husband interrupted. "He put

  Liz to bed in the hospital almost two months before the delivery

  and personally checked on her three or four times a day."

  "Listen, I pray for that man every night," Liz said. "The difference

  that baby has made in our lives! Don't let Jim fool you. He's