Just Take My Heart (20 page)

Michael Gordon had intended to go to Vermont for the weekend and try to concentrate on his book, but he decided to stay in Manhattan for Katie's sake. Besides that, he knew it would be impossible to concentrate on famous crimes of the twentieth century when only one crime, Natalie's murder, was absorbing all of his attention.

The phone call to his office.

The question about a reward.

Was all that on the level? Was there someone out there who might be able to provide proof that Jimmy Easton had been in Gregg's apartment while he was working at some kind of job?

He knew it could be a crank call. But on the other hand, Gregg and the Moores had always believed that if Easton was ever in the apartment, he would have been making some kind of service call or delivery.

What about the reward? Mike asked himself as he went through the motions of exercising at the gym in the Athletic Club on Central Park South. The minute I mention the word "reward" on air, we'll get hundreds of phony tips. And if it is a crank call, talking about it would raise false hope for Gregg and Katie and Alice . . .

He jogged on the treadmill, thinking. He'd been astonished to read in the morning papers that Emily Wallace had had a heart transplant. His people had done a pretty thorough bio of her, with the thought that she might be a Courtside guest, and that fact had not come out. Of course they'd learned that her husband, an army captain, had been the victim of a roadside bomb in Iraq three years ago.

He knew that after the verdict Richard Moore drove to New York to talk further with Katie and Alice. He could have written the script of what he would say. Promising that there would be an appeal. Pointing out that almost half the people who responded to the Courtside voting poll voted for Gregg, not against him. The problem was that, as of now, Moore really didn't have any strong arguments for an appeal--the judge hadn't made any controversial rulings.

But if that call about the reward was on the level, if someone had evidence that Jimmy Easton had been in the apartment at any time before Natalie's death, Richard would certainly file a motion for a new trial. . .

How much of a reward should I offer? Five thousand? Ten thousand? Twentyfive thousand? These thoughts kept churning in his mind as he headed for the locker room.

After Mike left the gym, he had lunch in the club grill. He sat at a table by the window and looked out at Central Park. The leaves were at their peak, scarlet and golden and orange. The horse-drawn carriages were doing a brisk business, he observed. It was the kind of autumn day, sunny but with a cool breeze, that drew people to the park to walk or skate or jog.

If there's no new trial or successful appeal, Gregg will never again walk down this block and meet me at this club, Mike thought. As it is, he'll undoubtedly be expelled from it at the next board meeting. The least of his problems, of course.

As he ordered a hamburger and a glass of wine, the enormity of what had happened to his friend began to seep into his being. I knew the verdict could be guilty, but when I saw the handcuffs go on Gregg, it hit me like a ton of bricks, he mused. Now, watching these people enjoying Central Park, I'm beginning to have some concept of what it must be like to experience the total loss of freedom.

I'm going to put up the reward myself, he decided. I'll post it on the Web site. It will be big enough so that if the person who called feels badly about whoever employed Easton off the books getting in trouble, the money will overcome their qualms.

Twentyfive thousand dollars. That will get everybody's attention. With a gut feeling of having made a good decision, Mike started to eat the hamburger that the waiter had placed in front of him.

On Saturday evening, just before Mike went out to have dinner with friends, he called Gregg's apartment. Alice Mills answered. "After we got back here yesterday, Katie was so upset that Richard Moore called a doctor he knows who lives in the next building. He sent over a sedative for her. She slept until noon today, woke up, and started crying. But later on some of her girlfriends came over and that helped. They all went to a movie."

"I'll take both of you out to lunch tomorrow," Mike said. "Do you know what the visiting hours are at the jail?"

"Richard will let us know when we can see Gregg. Katie is adamant that she must see her father again before she goes back up to school in a couple of days. Getting back into some kind of routine is bound to be good for her."

"How are you doing, Alice?"

"Physically, not bad for someone pushing seventy-one. Emotionally, I don't have to tell you. I guess you saw the morning papers?"

"Yes." Mike thought he knew what was coming.

"Mike, I'm not proud of the scene I made in court. I absolutely couldn't help myself. And I certainly would never have referred to Emily Wallace's heart."

"I wasn't aware she had a transplant," Mike told her. "From what I'm hearing now, it wasn't generally known. She had had an aortic valve replaced, and the transplant came so fast after it that even most of her friends didn't realize she'd had a second operation. And apparently she's been very quiet about it."

"I just wish I hadn't mentioned her heart when I blasted her. But, Mike, it doesn't change the fact that I do believe Emily Wallace knows Gregg is innocent."

"You'd never guess that the way she went for his throat on the stand, Alice."

"She was trying to convince herself, not the jury, Mike."

"Alice, honestly, that's taking it pretty far."

"I can understand why it sounds like that. Mike, Richard did talk about filing an appeal. It helped Katie to hear that, but was it just talk?"

Michael Gordon decided that he would not tell her about the phone call from a possible new witness until they met for lunch tomorrow. "Alice, as it stands now, I don't think there are any decent grounds for an appeal. But we're going to establish a reward for any information that could lead to a new trial. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow. Let's leave it at that."

"I agree. Good night, Mike."

Mike snapped off his cell phone. There was something that he couldn't initially discern in Alice Mills's voice. But now he realized what it was: her abiding certainty that Emily Wallace believed that Gregg was innocent.

Shaking his head, he dropped the phone into his pocket, and headed for the door.

At that same moment, alone in the Park Avenue apartment, Alice Mills went into the guest room that was now hers, and where she had sometimes stayed overnight when Gregg and Natalie were married. She opened a drawer and looked at the picture of Emily Wallace that she had cut out of the paper this morning.

Her eyes brimming with fresh tears, with a trembling finger she traced the contour of the heart that had saved Emily's life.

The chance meeting with Marion Rhodes on Saturday afternoon had lifted Emily's spirits. For the most part she knew that she was a private person and not given to sharing her problems with others. But she had felt instantly comfortable with Marion, both last week and today, and looked forward to talking to her.

For that reason, when she got home just in time to catch the ringing phone, she was able to sound upbeat.

It was her father calling from Florida. He had e-mailed her yesterday, congratulating her on the verdict and asking her to call him when she got a chance. She had intended to call him last night, but she knew he would detect that she was upset and she didn't want to worry him.

Then this morning, after she had read the paper, she put off calling him again.

"Em, I was so happy for you about the verdict. That's one big feather in your cap. How come you didn't call your old man last night? I figured you must be out celebrating."

"Dad, I'm sorry. I meant to call you last night, but when I got home I didn't have the energy to pick up the phone. I went straight to bed. I would have called you when I was running around today, but I forgot my cell phone. I just walked in the door. How's Joan?"

"Great. But we're both upset about those newspaper articles. We saw them online. We know you have never wanted to talk about the transplant. And the mother of that lady who got killed really wasn't fair to you."

She tried to sound reassuring. "Oh sure, I was a little upset, Dad. But I'm okay about it now and I truly do feel sorry for that poor woman."

"I hope now that this trial is done that you'll relax and maybe even have some fun. And you know you can hop on a plane anytime and come down here. Joan would cook you some decent meals, not that crummy take-out stuff I know you live on."

"I'll definitely get down there for Thanksgiving, Dad, but you wouldn't want to look at my desk right now. It's a disaster. I've got a lot of catching up to do."

"I understand. Em . . ."

I know what's coming, she thought.

"Em, I'm always afraid to ask because I know you miss Mark. But it has been three years. Is there anybody you have any interest in?"

"It's okay to ask, Dad. The answer is no, but I'm not saying it can't happen. Since I was assigned to this trial seven months ago, I've barely even had time to take Bess for a walk."

Emily surprised herself by making an additional comment, but then realized that the sentiment she was expressing was honest. "I know it's been three years, Dad, and I know I have to get on with my own life. I'm beginning to understand that I not only miss Mark, but I very much miss sharing my life. And I want to have that back again."

"That's good to hear, Emily. I really do understand. After your mother died, I never thought I'd ever look at another woman. But after a while it does get very lonely, and when Joan came along, I was sure it was right."

"It was right, Dad. Joan is a doll. And it's a comfort for me that she takes such good care of you."

"That she does, honey. Okay, talk to you in a couple of days."

After Emily hung up, she played back the seven messages that had been left today on her answering machine. One was from her brother, Jack. The others were friends congratulating her on the outcome of the trial. Several were invitations for dinner very soon and one was actually for tonight. A couple of them, in a very caring way, expressed shock that what they had thought had only been valve surgery had ended up in a transplant.

She decided to call Jack and the friend who had invited her for tonight. The rest could wait until tomorrow. She got Jack's voice mail, left a message, then made the second call to Karen Logan, a law school classmate who was married and had two children.

"Karen, I really need to veg out tonight," she said. "But let's make a date for next Saturday if you're free."

"Emily, tonight would have been just a plate of pasta at our house. But 1 really wanted to ask about next Saturday anyway." There was hope and trepidation in her voice.

"We'd like to go out to a nice restaurant and bring along someone who very much wants to meet you. He's an orthopedic surgeon, thirty-seven, and, if you can believe it, has never been married. He's brilliant but he's so normal and he's such a nice-looking guy."

Emily knew that Karen was pleasantly surprised by her answer. "Sounds pretty good. I'm up for it."

It was almost six o'clock. Emily took Bess for a ten-minute walk, fed her, and decided to run out to the video store and rent a couple of movies. The last thing I want to watch tonight is Fugitive Hunt, she decided. I'd feel as though I were still at the office. And I think I'll get some of that "crummy take-out stuff" that Dad was accusing me of living on, she thought, smiling.

She never did get to watch the second movie. By ten o'clock she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer and went to bed. The movie she did watch had been okay, but not great. She'd kept dozing on and off as it played. She woke up on her own at eight thirty Sunday morning, surprised and grateful that Bess had let her sleep.

It was October 12th and an anniversary of sorts. It was on that day seven years ago that she had met Mark at a tailgate party at Giants Stadium. She had gone there with her date, who had invited some of his fellow alumni from Georgetown to join them. One of them had been Mark.

It was unseasonably cold that day, Emily remembered as she got out of bed and reached for her robe. I wasn't dressed nearly warm enough. My date was so into the game he never noticed that my lips were blue. Mark took off his jacket and told me to put it on. When I tried to refuse, he said, "You must understand, I'm from North Da-kota. To me this weather is mild."

It was only later that I found out he spent most of his growing-up years in California. His father, a West Point graduate, had been ca-reer army. Like him, Mark was an engineer and when he moved to Manhattan after graduate school had joined the Army Reserve. Mark's parents now lived in Arizona and kept in touch with her regularly.

We were married three years, and he's been gone three years, Emily thought, as she went downstairs for the familiar routine of letting Bess out and turning on the coffeepot. Is that part of the problem, that I've been wanting to have that wonderful feeling of looking forward to the end of the day and being with someone who loves me and whom I love? She answered herself: Yes, it is.

Sunday morning. I haven't gone to church much lately, Emily thought. They had moved to an apartment in Fort Lee after they were married. Mark had volunteered as the leader of song at their church. He had a wonderful voice. That's one of the reasons I've gone so seldom, she acknowledged. When we went together, he was always up there on the altar.

"I will go unto the altar of God, the God who gave joy to my youth."

She was on the verge of tears again.

No way, she thought, resolutely, no crying.

A little more than an hour later, she was at the ten thirty Mass at St. Catharine's. It made it easier that the leader of song was a young woman. The prayers and responses, familiar since she was a child, came back easily to Emily's lips.

It is right to give Him thanks and praise . . .

For Thine is the power and the glory . . .

During Mass she prayed not only for Mark but to him: I'm so glad we had that time together, we were both so blessed.

On the way home, she stopped and did some real shopping at the supermarket. Gladys, her weekly cleaning woman, had left a long list and added an impassioned plea: "Emily, I'm running out of everything."

There's another job I've been putting off that I'm going to do today, Emily decided, as she paid at the checkout counter and then begged some empty boxes from a clerk. I'm going to pack Mark's clothes and give them away. It's wrong to have them go unused when they'd be a godsend to someone else.

Unable to part with anything that had been Mark's when she moved from Fort Lee to the house in Glen Rock, she had put his dresser in the small guest room and hung his suits and coats in the closet there. She thought of all the times that first year when she had buried her face in one of his jackets, trying to find a trace of the scent of his shaving lotion lingering in the fabric.

At home, she changed into jeans and a sweater and took the boxes to the guest room. As she was folding the jackets and suits she tried not to dwell on the special occasions when Mark had worn them.

When the closet and dresser drawers were emptied, she thought of something else that should not be kept any longer. She went into her own room, opened the bottom drawer, and scooped up the frilly nightgowns that had been her shower presents. She added them to the last box, then, anxious to get away from the sight of the packed clothes, she closed the door of the guest bedroom and went downstairs.

An always-willing Bess jumped up and down when she saw Emily take the leash from the hook on the back porch. Before they went out, Emily took a quick side glance to make sure that Zach was not puttering in his backyard, but there was no sign of him. Even so she crossed the street immediately. A few steps later she was passing the house of Madeline Kirk, the reclusive old lady whom she had only glimpsed at her mailbox or sweeping her walk. She's so alone, Emily mused. I never see any sign of cars in her driveway as if she has company.

And for the two years I've lived here, you could just about say the same for me, she added, ruefully.

"It's clearly time for a change," she told Bess, as they continued down the block. "I don't want to end up like that poor soul."

They walked for almost an hour. Emily felt that her brain was beginning to clear. So what if people know I've had a heart transplant? she asked herself. I'm certainly not ashamed of it. And since it was two and a half years ago, I doubt that anyone will look at me now as if I'm about to keel over.

And as far as Alice Mills telling me that in my heart I know Gregg Aldrich is innocent, I think my problem is that he comes through as a very nice guy and I'm sorry for his daughter. I'll take one more look at his file and put it away. He has absolutely no grounds for an ap-peal.

That evening as she watched the second movie she had rented and ate lamb chops and a salad on a tray in the living room, she found herself trying to remember what it was that had bothered her when she was packing up the nightgowns she intended to give away.