I'll Be Seeing You Page 14

  “And now, what, Meg?”

  “Dad’s car was found in the city, illegally parked outside my apartment building.”

  “Mother of God!” Catherine’s face went ashen.

  “Mom, someone else put it there. I don’t know why, but there’s a reason behind all of this. The assistant state attorney wants to see us. He and his investigators are going to try to persuade us that Dad is alive. They didn’t know him. We did. Whatever else may have been wrong in his life, he wouldn’t send those flowers or leave his car where he’d be sure it would be found. He’d know how frantic we’d be. When we have this meeting, we’re going to stick to our guns and defend him.”

  Neither one of them cared about food. They brought steaming cups of coffee out to the car. As Meghan backed out of the garage, trying to sound matter-of-fact, she said, “It may be illegal to drive one-handed, but coffee does help.”

  “That’s because we’re both so cold, inside and out. Look, Meg. The first dusting of snow is on the lawn. It’s going to be a long winter. I’ve always loved winter. Your father hated it. That was one of the reasons he didn’t mind traveling so much. Arizona is warm all year, isn’t it?”

  When they passed the Drumdoe Inn, Meghan said, “Mom, look over there. When we get back I’m going to drop you at the inn. You’re going to work, and I’m going to start looking for answers. Promise me you won’t say anything about what Cyrus Graham told me yesterday. Remember, he only assumed the woman and girl Dad was with ten years ago were you and me. Dad never introduced them except by their names, Frances and Annie. But until we can do some checking on our own, let’s not give the state attorney any more reason to destroy Dad’s reputation.”

  Meghan and Catherine were escorted immediately to John Dwyer’s office. He was waiting there with investigators Bob Marron and Arlene Weiss. Meghan took the chair next to her mother, her hand protectively covering hers.

  It was quickly apparent what was wanted. All three, the attorney and the officers, were convinced that Edwin Collins was alive and about to directly contact his wife and daughter. “The phone call, the flowers, now his car,” Dwyer pointed out. “Mrs. Collins, you knew your husband had a gun permit?”

  “Yes, I did. He got it about ten years ago.”

  “Where did he keep the gun?”

  “Locked up in his office or at home.”

  “When did you last see it?”

  “I don’t remember having seen it in years.”

  Meghan broke in, “Why are you asking about my father’s gun? Was it found in the car?”

  “Yes, it was,” John Dwyer said quietly.

  “That wouldn’t be unusual,” Catherine said quickly. ‘He wanted it for the car. He had a terrible experience in Bridgeport ten years ago when he was stopped at a traffic light.”

  Dwyer turned to Meghan. “You were away all day in Philadelphia, Miss Collins. It’s possible your father is aware of your movements and knew you had left Connecticut. He might have assumed that you could be found in your apartment. What I must emphatically request is that if Mr. Collins does contact either one of you, you must insist that he come here and talk with us. It will be much better for him in the long run.”

  “My husband won’t be contacting us,” Catherine said firmly. “Mr. Dwyer, didn’t some people try to abandon their cars that night on the bridge?”

  “Yes. I believe so.”

  “Wasn’t a woman who left her car hit by one of the other vehicles, and didn’t she barely escape being dragged over the side of the bridge?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then consider this. My husband might have abandoned his car and gotten caught in that carnage. Someone else might have driven it away.”

  Meghan saw exasperation mingled with pity in the assistant state attorney’s face.

  Catherine Collins saw it too. She got up to go. “How long does it usually take Mrs. Black to reach a premise about a missing person?” she asked.

  Dwyer exchanged glances with his investigators. “She already has,” he said reluctantly. “She believes your husband has been dead a long time, that he is lying in water.”

  Catherine closed her eyes and swayed. Involuntarily, Meghan grasped her mother’s arms, afraid she was about to faint.

  Catherine’s entire body was trembling. But when she opened her eyes, her voice was firm as she said, “I never thought I would find comfort in a message like that, but in this place, and listening to you, I do find comfort in it.”

  The consensus of the media about Stephanie Petrovic’s impassioned interview was that she was a disappointed potential heir. Her accusation of a possible plot by the Manning Clinic to kill her aunt was dismissed as frivolous. The clinic was owned by a private group of investors and run by Dr. Manning, whose credentials were impeccable. He still refused to speak to the press, but it was clear that in no way did he stand to personally gain by Helene Petrovic’s bequest to embryo research at the clinic. After her outburst Stephanie had been taken to the office of a Manning Clinic senior staff member who would not comment on the conversation.

  Helene’s lawyer, Charles Potters, was appalled when he read about the episode. On Friday morning before the memorial mass, he came to the house and with ill-concealed outrage imparted his feelings to Stephanie. “No matter what her background turns out to be, your aunt was devoted to her work at the clinic. For you to create a scene like that would have been horrifying to her.”

  When he saw the misery in the young woman’s face, he relented. “I know you’ve been through a great deal,” he told her. “After the mass you’ll have a chance to rest. I thought some of Helene’s friends from St. Dominic’s were planning to stay with you.”

  “I sent them home,” Stephanie said. “I hardly know them, and I’m better off by myself.”

  After the lawyer left, she propped pillows on the couch and lay down. Her unwieldy body made it difficult to get comfortable. Her back hurt all the time now. She felt so alone. But she didn’t want those old women around, eyeing her, talking about her.

  She was grateful that Helene had left specific instructions that upon her death there was to be no wake, that her body was to be sent to Rumania and buried in her husband’s grave.

  She dozed off and was awakened by the peal of the telephone. Who now, she wondered wearily. It was a pleasant woman’s voice. “Miss Petrovic?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Meghan Collins from PCD Channel 3. I wasn’t at the Manning Clinic when you were there yesterday, but I saw your statement on the eleven o’clock news.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that. My aunt’s lawyer is very upset with me.”

  “I wish you would talk with me. I might be able to help you.”

  “How can you help me? How can anyone help me?”

  “There are ways. I’m calling from my car phone. I’m on my way to the mass. May I take you out to lunch afterwards?”

  She sounds so friendly, Stephanie thought, and I need a friend. “I don’t want to be on television again.”

  “I’m not asking you to be on television. I’m asking you to talk to me.”

  Stephanie hesitated. When the service is over, she thought, I don’t want to be with Mr. Potters and I don’t want to be with those old women from the Rumanian Society. They’re all gossiping about me. “I’ll go to lunch with you,” she said.

  Meghan dropped her mother at the inn, then drove to Trenton as fast as she dared.

  On the way she made a second phone call to Tom Weicker’s office to tell him that her father’s car had been located.

  “Does anyone else know about the car being found?” he asked quickly.

  “Not yet. They’re trying to keep it quiet. But we both know it’s going to leak out.” She tried to sound offhand. “At least Channel 3 can have the inside track.”

  “It’s turning into a big story, Meg.”

  “I know it is.”

  “We’ll run it immediately.”

  “That’s why I’m giving it t
o you.”

  “Meg, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. There’s a rational answer to all this.”

  “When is Mrs. Anderson’s baby due?”

  “They’re putting her in the hospital on Monday. She’s willing to have me go to her home Sunday afternoon and tape her and Jonathan getting the room ready for the baby. She has infant pictures of Jonathan that we can use. When the baby is born, we’ll compare the newborn shots.”

  “Stay with it, at least for the present.”

  “Thanks, Tom,” she said, “and thanks for the support.”

  Phillip Carter spent much of Friday afternoon being questioned about Edwin Collins. With less and less patience, Carter answered questions that grew more and more pointed. “No, we have never had another instance in which there was a question of fraudulent credentials. Our reputation has been impeccable.”

  Arlene Weiss asked about the car. “When it was found in New York it had twenty-seven thousand miles on the odometer, Mr. Carter. According to the service record booklet, it had been serviced the preceding October, just a little over a year ago. At that time it had twenty-one thousand miles on it. How many miles did Mr. Collins put on the car in an average month?”

  “I would say that depended entirely on his schedule. We have company cars and turn them in every three years. It’s up to us to have them serviced. I’m fairly meticulous. Edwin tended to be a bit lax.”

  “Let me put it this way,” Bob Marron said, “Mr. Collins vanished in January. Between October last year and January, was it likely that he put six thousand miles on the car?”

  “I don’t know. I can give you his appointments for those months and try to figure out through expense accounts to which of those he would have driven.”

  “We need to try to estimate how much the car has been used since January,” Marron said. “We’d also like to see the car phone bill for January.”

  “I assume you want to check on the time he made the call to Victor Orsini. The insurance company has already looked into that. The call was made less than a minute before the accident on the Tappan Zee Bridge.”

  They asked about Collins and Carter’s financial status. “Our books are in order. They have been thoroughly audited. The last few years, like many businesses, we experienced the cutbacks of the recession. The kind of companies we deal with were letting people go, not hiring them. However, I know of no reason why Edwin would have had to borrow several hundred thousand dollars on his life insurance.”

  “Your firm would have received a commission from the Manning Clinic for placing Petrovic?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did Collins pocket that commission?”

  “No, the auditors found it.”

  “No one questioned Helene Petrovic’s name on the $6,000 payment when it came in?”

  “The copy of the Manning client statement in our files had been doctored. It reads ‘Second installment due for placing Dr. Henry Williams.’ There was no second installment due.”

  “Then clearly Collins didn’t place her so he could swindle the firm out of $6,000.”

  “I would say that’s obvious.”

  When they finally left, Phillip Carter tried without success to concentrate on the work on his desk. He could hear the phone in the outer office ringing. Jackie buzzed him on the intercom. A reporter from a supermarket tabloid was on the phone. Phillip curtly refused the call, realizing that the only calls that day had come from the media. Collins and Carter had not heard from a single client.

  37

  Meghan slipped into St. Dominic’s church at twelve-thirty, at the midpoint of the sparsely attended mass for Helene Petrovic. In keeping with the wishes of the deceased, it was a simple ceremony without flowers or music.

  There was a scattering of neighbors from Lawrenceville in attendance as well as a few older women from the Rumanian Society. Stephanie was seated with her lawyer, and as they left the church, Meghan introduced herself. The young woman seemed glad to see her.

  “Let me say goodbye to these people,” she said, “and then I’ll join you.”

  Meghan watched as the polite murmurs of sympathy were expressed. She saw no great manifestation of grief from anyone. She walked over to two women who had just come out of church. “Did you know Helene Petrovic well?” she asked.

  “As well as anyone,” one of them replied pleasantly. “Some of us go to concerts together. Helene joined us occasionally. She was a member of the Rumanian Society and was notified of any of our activities. Sometimes she would show up.”

  “But not too often.”

  “No.”

  “Did she have any very close friends?”

  The other woman shook her head. “Helene kept to herself.”

  “How about men? I met Mrs. Petrovic. She was a very attractive woman.”

  They both shook their heads. “If she had any special men friends, she never breathed a word about it.”

  Meghan noted that Stephanie was saying goodbye to the last of the people from church. As she walked over to join her, she heard the lawyer caution, “I wish you would not speak to that reporter. I’d be glad to drive you home or take you to lunch.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Meghan took the young woman’s arm as they walked down the rest of the steps. “These are pretty steep.”

  “And I’m so clumsy now. I keep getting in my own way.”

  “This is your territory,” Meghan said when they were in the car. “Where would you like to eat?”

  “Would you mind if we went back to the house? People have left so much food there, and I’m feeling so tired.”

  “Of course.”

  When they reached the Petrovic home, Meghan insisted that Stephanie rest while she prepared lunch. “Kick your shoes off and put your feet up on the couch,” she said firmly. “We have a family inn, and I was raised in the kitchen there. I’m used to preparing meals.”

  As she heated soup and laid out a plate of cold chicken and salad, Meghan studied the surroundings. The kitchen had a French country house decor. The tiled walls and terra-cotta floor were clearly custom made. The appliances were top of the line. The round oak table and chairs were antiques. Obviously a lot of care—and money—had gone into the place.

  They ate in the dining room. Here too the upholstered armchairs around the trestle table were obviously expensive. The table shone with the patina of fine old furniture. Where did the money come from? Meghan wondered. Helene had worked as a cosmetician until she got a job as a secretary in the clinic in Trenton, and from there she went to Manning.

  Meghan did not have to ask questions. Stephanie was more than willing to discuss her problems. “They are going to sell this house. All the money from the sale and eight hundred thousand dollars is going to the clinic. But it’s so unfair. My aunt promised to change her will. I’m her only relative. That’s why she sent for me.”

  “What about the baby’s father?” Meghan asked. “He can be made to help you.”

  “He’s moved away.”

  “He can be traced. In this country there are laws to protect children. What is his name?”

  Stephanie hesitated. “I don’t want to have anything to do with him.”

  “You have a right to be taken care of.”

  “I’m going to give up the baby for adoption. It’s the only way.”

  “It may not be the only way. What is his name and where did you meet him?”

  “I . . . I met him at one of the Rumanian affairs in New York. His name is Jan. Helene had a headache that night and left early. He offered to drive me home.” She looked down. “I don’t like to talk about being so foolish.”

  “Did you go out with him often?”

  “A few times.”

  “You told him about the baby?”

  “He called to say he was going to California. That was when I told him. He said it was my problem.”

  “When was that?”

  “Last March.”

  “What kin
d of work does he do?”

  “He’s a . . . mechanic. Please, Miss Collins, I don’t want anything to do with him. Don’t lots of people want babies?”

  “Yes, they do. But that was what I meant when I said I could help you. If we find Jan, he’ll have to support the baby and help you at least until you can get a job.”

  “Please leave him alone. I’m afraid of him. He was so angry.”

  “Angry because you told him he was the father of your baby?”

  “Don’t keep asking me about him!” Stephanie pushed her chair away from the table. “You said you’d help. Then find me people who will take the baby and give me some money.”

  Meghan said contritely, “I’m sorry, Stephanie. The last thing I came here to do was to upset you. Let’s have a cup of tea. I’ll clean up later.”

  In the living room she propped an extra pillow behind Stephanie’s back and pulled an ottoman over for her feet.

  Stephanie smiled apologetically. “You’re very kind. I was rude. It is just that so much has happened so fast.”

  “Stephanie, what you’re going to need is to have someone sponsor you for a green card until you can get a job. Surely your aunt had one good friend who might help you out.”

  “You mean if one of her friends sponsored me, I might be able to stay.”

  “Yes. Isn’t there someone, maybe someone who owes your aunt a favor?”

  Stephanie’s expression brightened. “Oh, yes, there may indeed be someone. Thank you, Meghan.”

  “Who is the friend?” Meghan asked swiftly.

  “I may be wrong,” Stephanie said, suddenly nervous. “I must think about it.”

  She would not say anything more.

  It was two o’clock. Bernie had gotten a couple of trips out of La Guardia Airport in the morning, then took a fare from Kennedy Airport to Bronxville.

  He had had no intention of going to Connecticut that afternoon. But when he left the Cross County he found himself turning north. He had to go back to Newtown.