Death Wears a Beauty Mask and Other Stories Page 25

  “I understand she goes to Fordham Law School. But why waitressing?” Stein asked. “And why live in White Plains?”

  “Emily’s paying her own way through law school and doesn’t want a load of loans on her back. She plans to be a public defender—which isn’t the biggest paycheck a lawyer can get. She gets her main meals—and excellent tips—at the restaurant. Finally, the grandmother who raised her isn’t going to live much longer. She’s in a White Plains nursing home, so this way Emily can run in to see her almost daily.”

  Sara Stein did not miss the warmth in Jack Carroll’s eyes when he talked about Emily Winters. “You’re seeing her on a personal basis,” she suggested, “which may, of course, affect your response to William Koenig.”

  “Enough to want to be very sure that if he’s ever declared sane, he’ll stand trial for enough homicides to need all the lifetimes he can find to serve his sentence.”

  • • •

  That evening William made his carefully planned escape. The friendly and careless new guard was an easy target. William left him wrapped in blankets on the bed in his cell, his face turned to the wall. The elderly orderly in the locker room didn’t live long enough even to glimpse his attacker.

  He left the grounds in the orderly’s car, dressed in the orderly’s clothes and carrying his identification. On the way to Emily’s house he made a stop at a hardware store to purchase a rope. The slipknot was in place by the time he abandoned the car in the municipal parking lot and went on foot to the exclusive neighborhood where a guard stood at the gate. A few hundred yards down, he scaled the fence with the ease of long practice and, sliding behind bushes and trees, made his way to the Adamson residence, where Emily was still living.

  He had realized the elderly couple she worked for might have returned home, but a quick glance showed no car in the garage. It will be just Kate and me, he thought. She was due home anytime now. As soon as she opened the door, he’d push in behind her. If necessary, he’d kill her immediately. But he’d give her a chance to disarm the security system, so they could talk. She’d probably do that. Of course, there was always the possibility she’d disarm it in a way that would send a panic signal, yet he’d be listening for anyone trying to get into the house. This time, no matter how fast they were, they would not find her alive.

  • • •

  “The veal chop is wonderful,” Emily assured the indecisive customer who could not make up his mind between the veal and the swordfish.

  “Do you mean that it’s better than the swordfish?”

  Oh dear God, Emily thought. She didn’t know why she was so nervous today. She had the feeling of something hanging over her, of something terrible about to happen. She felt in her soul that it was inevitable that one night she would awaken from sleep and again see William Koenig, his eyes glazed, his hands outstretched, his fingers reaching for her throat.

  Or she’d hear footsteps behind her and turn and he’d be there. Once again he’d ask in that quiet, eerie voice, “Haven’t we met before?”

  “Maybe I will try the veal.”

  “I know you’ll enjoy it.” Emily turned, glad to get away from the window table, glad to retreat to the kitchen, where no one could see her from the street. She felt so vulnerable near the windows, ever since she’d learned that William Koenig had studied her from the dark.

  Maybe I should have changed jobs, she thought. “But if he ever gets out, he’ll find you anywhere you go,” a subconscious voice whispered. This job, this situation suited her. She’d be finished with law school in May and had already been promised a job in the public defender’s office. Jack teased her about that. “You’ll be trying to get people out of jail, and I’ll be trying to put them in. Should be pretty interesting.”

  They were right for each other. They both knew it, but it was unspoken. There was plenty of time, and he was smart enough to understand that what with school, the waitressing job, house-sitting, and Gran, she wasn’t ready for another level of involvement.

  She handed the order to the chef’s assistant, smiling to herself at what Jack had told her. “I feel as though we’re dating in my mother’s era. The movies, dinner, bye-bye.”

  They’d had only one serious misunderstanding. She’d been annoyed that Jack didn’t want to listen to the tape that had been made when she was hypnotized and regressed. Maybe it is the collective unconscious. Maybe it’s something I read somewhere, she said to herself. But it was compelling to listen to her own voice claiming she had lived in the South during the Civil War.

  Not that I put any stock in it, but you can see how people get caught up in the idea of reincarnation, she thought.

  The last table of four finally cleared at ten-thirty. Jack had phoned earlier. He’d been up to see William Koenig and suggested meeting her for a nightcap. She was sorely tempted, but she had an exam coming up in two days and a lot of reading still to do.

  Emily said good night to Pat Cleary, her boss, and smilingly agreed to stop by the restaurant tomorrow and pick up a hot lunch to take to the nursing home for her grandmother.

  “I know you see her on Thursdays in the late morning,” Pat said genially, “and we all know that nursing-home food isn’t the sort that comes from a good pub.”

  Her car, parked in the restaurant lot, started with its usual protesting screech. Maybe next year at this time, when I finally finish law school, I can actually get myself a car that travels on more than prayers, Emily promised herself.

  Jack drove a Toyota. He’d told her that when he graduated from law school three years ago, his father had presented him with a Jaguar. “Broke my heart, but I thought it would look a little peculiar for an assistant DA to arrive at court in a Jag,” he said.

  The guard waved her through the security gate. It was a joke between them that with all the pricey cars that rolled through here, hers was the only one that qualified as a possible candidate for Rent-a-Wreck.

  She always put it in the garage. The Adamsons had made it clear they did not want it in view of the neighborhood.

  Emily walked quickly along the path from the garage to the kitchen door. This was the most frustrating moment of her day. Once inside, and with the instant-security button pushed, she knew that no door or window could be disturbed without the alarm blasting. That would bring the security guards to the house within seconds.

  And besides, William Koenig was in a padded cell, or however they kept maniacs confined in that new facility.

  She put her key in the door and turned it. As the lock clicked and the handle turned, she felt a firm hand cover her mouth. The door opened, and she was propelled inside the house. “Haven’t we met before?” Koenig whispered.

  • • •

  Jack Carroll went back to his office, his mood angry and disgruntled. Snap out of it, he told himself. He had a case to prepare for trial, and the boss would hardly thank him if he messed it up because he’d been spending time on his hunch about Koenig.

  It would have been nice to be able to look forward to meeting Emily for a drink, but he did understand that she had to burn the midnight oil. When Jack reflected on his privileged upbringing in Rye and the struggle Emily had always known, he felt humbled. Her parents dead. Raised by a grandmother who’d been ailing for years and was now terminally ill. Partial scholarships to good schools and lots of hard work. And now, instead of going for the big bucks, Emily wanted to spend her life taking care of people who needed legal assistance and could not pay for it.

  And she’s the one who had to have that nut attack her, Jack fumed to himself. He admitted that after seeing Koenig today, what he really wanted to do was put his arms around Emily and make sure she was alive, close, safe, out of danger.

  The hours passed as he immersed himself in preparing his opening statement for the trial that would begin next week. In other small offices, other assistant DAs were doing the same thing. Brothers all are we, they joked to one another.

  And sisters, the women assistant DAs would remind them.


  At eleven-fifteen his phone rang. Dr. Stein sounded surprised when he answered. “Mr. Carroll,” she said, “I didn’t really expect to find you at the office.”

  The strain in her voice made Jack’s throat close. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s Koenig. The guard assigned to his unit has been found strangled in Koenig’s cell. The orderly who cleans around the locker room was found in the closet. We’re searching the grounds, but we think Koenig got away in the orderly’s car. He’s been gone at least two hours. Does he know where Emily Winters lives now?”

  “He might. I’ll call her and get protection around her.” Jack jiggled the disconnect and dialed Emily’s number. Emily, answer, please answer, he begged. As soon as he heard her voice, he’d tell her to bolt and lock the doors. Then he’d call the private security guards and have them rush over until he could get the squad cars there. Until he could get to Emily himself.

  The phone rang twice. With a vast sense of relief he heard it being picked up.

  “Emily?”

  “No, Mr. Carroll, it is I, Simon Guiness, Kate is with me. She has agreed with me that, yes indeed, we have met before.”

  • • •

  The panic button on the security panel was the star-shaped button. It would have been easy to hit it with the tip of her finger as she disarmed the system, but Emily had made an instant decision not to do it. He was watching her too closely. He’d have known, and the rope he had slipped around her neck would have been tightened.

  She had only one chance, and that was to get him to talk. It would have taken him at least half an hour to get from the hospital to here. By now they must know he had escaped. By now Jack would be on his way to her.

  “That was a wise decision. You have bought yourself a few minutes’ more existence in this lifetime.”

  They were both in the kitchen. It was a large room with a fireplace at the far end, faced by a couch and two comfortable chairs, with a television set to one side. When the Adamsons were home, Mr. Adamson would frequently tell Emily that with all the rooms in this great barn of a house, this spot was his favorite. They often ate dinner there, with Mrs. Adamson doing the cooking. He would sit content, reading the paper and watching the news.

  Emily realized that she was in shock. Why else would she be thinking of the Adamsons as William Koenig guided her to Mr. Adamson’s chair and stood behind her? She felt the rough rope scrape the skin of her throat.

  Please God, she thought, don’t let me show him how scared I am. He needs that. Let me try to keep him talking to me. Jack will be here. I know he will.

  She struggled to remember all that Jack had told her about Koenig. “I know you are going to kill me,” she said, “and I know I caused your death. But it was because I loved you so much, Simon, and you rejected me. A woman scorned can surely be forgiven because of such great love.”

  “I did scorn,” Koenig agreed. “But that was no reason to lie.”

  Emily’s mouth was so dry she didn’t know whether or not she could force the words from her throat. “But you see, Simon, you encouraged me. Don’t you remember? I know I flirted with you, but you said you desired me. You were the most handsome man in the village. All the girls wanted you.”

  “I didn’t realize that.” Koenig sounded pleased.

  Keep him talking, she warned herself. Keep him talking.

  “Am I the first person you have punished for offenses against you in your lifetimes?”

  “Oh no, Kate. You are the eleventh.”

  “Tell me about the others.”

  Jack is right, Emily thought. He is a serial killer. If I can just get him to boast.

  The phone rang. When Koenig answered and spoke to Jack, Emily knew that she had only seconds to live. Jack would call the security guards and they would break in.

  Koenig knew that too. He hung up and smiled at her. “If you’re wondering if I expect to get away, of course I don’t. They’ll take me back to Haviland. But that’s all right. It’s not a bad place, and you’re the last one I needed to find. My revenge is complete. Stand up.”

  He pulled at the noose as she stood. Emily began to gasp. Oh God, please, she prayed.

  “Stand on that chair.” He indicated the kitchen chair under the crossbeam.

  “No.”

  She felt a vicious yank. Do it! she screamed to herself. Buy another second or two. Maybe they’ll get here in time.

  With seemingly effortless movement he tossed the end of the rope over the crossbeam. “Scared, aren’t you? My sole regret, Kate, is that I believe I also knew you in another, different lifetime. Your name was Eliza Jackson. I’d like to have known what happened between us then.”

  Emily felt herself begin to black out. “I remember that lifetime,” she whispered. “I was Eliza Jackson. I went to a parapsychologist. He hypnotized me, and when I regressed, I told him I was Eliza Jackson.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “There’s a tape in that drawer. The recorder is next to it. Please, listen. We did know each other in 1861.”

  “I’m not letting go of the rope. Even if they try to break in, it will be too late for you.” He reached into the drawer and pulled out the tape recorder. With one hand he dropped in the cassette and pushed the “On” button.

  Emily saw faces at the window: the security guards. But Koenig had seen them too. With a lightning gesture he wrapped the end of the rope around his left hand, braced himself and began to pull it toward him.

  Emily couldn’t breathe. Her hands clawed at the rope around her neck as she felt herself being pulled up, her feet rising from the chair.

  “My name is Eliza Jackson.” The tape was rolling, the volume high.

  William Koenig froze, dropped the rope and rushed to the recorder as Emily’s voice, dreamy and reflective, filled the room.

  “We did meet in another lifetime!” Koenig shrieked.

  The second hesitation was all that was needed. The window shattered. The guards were in the room.

  One grabbed Koenig. The other gently lifted Emily from the floor, where she had tumbled when Koenig let go of the rope, and removed the noose from around her throat.

  Koenig was being clapped into restraints. “I want to hear the rest of the tape!” he screamed. “I need to know what you did to me as Eliza Jackson!”

  Emily looked straight into Koenig’s eyes. “I don’t know what Eliza Jackson may have done to you,” she told him, “but I do know this: She just saved my life.”

  The Funniest Thing Has Been Happening Lately

  Fred Rand did not need to read the list of the four people whom he was compelled to kill to know their names. They had been engraved on his soul for fifteen years. He had come back to Long Island from Florida hoping to learn that they had suffered in some way, that their comfortable, self-centered world had been altered, that life had treated them harshly.

  I would have accepted that, he thought. I could have made it do. I would have gone back to St. Augustine and lived out my life.

  But to his dismay, they were all functioning very well, very well indeed.

  Genevieve Baxter. Known to her friends as Gen. She was the first on the list who would be punished, because she would be the easiest. She had contributed to the chain of events that ended in the tragedy that had destroyed his life. Gen was now seventy-five years old and had been a widow for several years, a sadness but, under careful consideration, nothing he would deem as sufficient punishment. He had been following her on and off for the past few weeks and had a very fair idea of her present activities.

  From all appearances, Gen was leading a busy, contented life. Two of her children lived in nearby towns. She was active in the affairs at her church, Our Lady of Refuge.

  There is no refuge for me, he thought.

  Six grandchildren.

  Gen lived in the house she had shared with her husband. One of those pleasant imitation Tudors that had been a favorite middle-class design in Long Island suburbs in the 1950s.


  He knew. He had lived in one of them only a few towns away until fifteen years ago.

  This afternoon he had stood at the next checkout counter from Gen Baxter in the supermarket and heard her talking to the clerk. She was planning to go to her granddaughter’s ballet recital tonight.

  She would never see another one.

  • • •

  Vinnie D’Angelo. The second person on the list. Vinnie had been reprimanded for dereliction of duty after it happened. That hadn’t stopped him from being promoted a year later. He’d retired as head of security at the Long Island Mall, the very place where his goofing off had cost a life. He spent winters in North Carolina now. But in March he came back to Babylon and put his boat in the water. Vinnie was an avid fisherman.

  Babylon was only half an hour away. He’d watched Vinnie at the dock, his step jaunty as he cast off the lines and revved up the motor.

  He already had his plan in place. He’d take a boat out, get close to where Vinnie was fishing, and pretend to be stalled. Then when Vinnie, helpful Vinnie, offered to tow him in, he would have his chance to even the score.

  Lieutenant Stuart Kling of the Manhasset police force might be the hardest one to corner. He’d been a brash young cop anxious to fill his quota of speeding tickets when he could have prevented a murder. He would not get the chance to prevent his own death.

  And finally . . . regretfully . . . Lisa Monroe Scanlon. After following her for several weeks he had impulsively decided to speak to her. He’d pretended to be astonished when he passed her in the Island shopping center. Her three children were with her. Seven-year-old twin boys and a baby girl. He still wasn’t sure if it had been a good idea to make that contact, but he’d kept the conversation very casual, even to the point of saying he was only up from Florida on business and going back the next day.

  Lisa had become an interior decorator, married Tim Scanlon, and was now balancing work and children. “Busy, but lots of fun,” she’d said, smiling.