Just Take My Heart (28 page)

Zach decided to wait until midafternoon to take a bus to New York. He knew that the Port Authority was filled with undercover cops scanning the crowds for known criminals whose faces they had locked into their brains. Better to get there during rush hour, he decided.

He had lunch at the motel in the dreary little dump they called a grill. As he was finishing, six people came in. From their loud and excited conversation he gathered that they were going to a five o'clock wedding nearby. They've all checked in here, he thought. It's a good thing I'm getting out. He was sure that a couple of them were looking at him when he was paying the check and then leaving the grill.

Then outside he saw that their cars were parked on either side of his van. Another worry. One of them might remember having seen it, when the son-in-law calls the police and they start looking for it.

He was wearing a leather jacket, brown slacks, and a cap. That's the way they would describe him to the police.

When he left, Zach was carrying his money, his phony identifica-tions, his paid-up cell phones, jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, sneakers, and a gray wig tightly wrapped in a small duffle bag.

He arrived at the Port Authority at six fifteen. As he'd expected, it was packed with commuters. He went into the men's room and changed clothes in a stall, then made his way to the platform for the bus to Glen Rock. He noticed that rain was now pelting the windows of the terminal. There won't be anyone strolling the streets, he thought. The people who don't get picked up at the bus station will be hurrying to get home. So will I.

At seven thirty, he got off the bus in Glen Rock. He tightened the hood around his neck. The hair of the gray wig was plastered against his forehead by the rain. It felt good.

Emily. Emily. Ready or not, here I come.

I have got to get some sleep, Emily thought. I feel absolutely worn out. I can barely function anymore. I've tipped my hand to Billy. I have proof of nothing. And even Jake believes that I have a vendetta against Billy.

Now that Jimmy Easton has been murdered, Ted is going to have to answer a lot of questions to the media about how we responded to Jimmy's threats in the courtroom. He needs a united front when he's facing the cameras. He certainly doesn't want me around.

And now it's Jake's reputation on the line, too. He may have missed more of that first meeting with Easton than he admitted to and is afraid to say so now. I understand him being afraid. Billy is his immediate boss and the prosecutor is his employer.

She arrived home in time to find the locksmith about to pack up. "Between those new locks and that pit bull of yours, you'll be fine," he said. "Just remember that no lock will do you any good unless you remember to make sure it's turned. And the same goes for that fancy security system those guys are installing. Okay, nice meeting you and good luck."

"Thanks. And thanks for coming so quickly." And thanks for leaving, Emily thought, then feeling momentarily guilty because the guy really was trying to be helpful.

It was quarter past five. As the locksmith was leaving, the alarm system technicians came up from the basement. "We're all set for now," the older one said. "Tomorrow we'll install your cameras. If you'll come to the kitchen I'll show you how to arm and disarm the system. You can also block off zones if you want to open any windows."

Her eyes almost closing, Emily walked with him into the kitchen, then listened and tried to absorb the differences between this system and her old one. After he left with the promise to return tomorrow, she let Bess run outside for a minute. The back door again rebolted, she checked her answering machine. She was disappointed to see that Alice Mills had not returned her call.

She tried again to reach Alice at her home and then at the Aldrich apartment. She left another message at the Aldrich number. "Alice, I would really appreciate it if you would call me back. You may not want to talk to me and I can understand why. I want you to know that the prosecutor has taken me off the case and I expect to be fired."

She knew that her voice was cracking but continued. "I honestly feel that if we knew why Natalie was frightened, we could find the person who murdered her."

Emily went into the living room, sat in her usual chair, and wrapped an afghan around her. I know that I probably won't stay awake, she thought, but I do want to watch Courtside when it comes on. She set the alarm on her watch for nine o'clock, closed her eyes, and was instantly asleep.

The alarm did not wake her. It was the persistent ringing of her cell phone that finally dragged her from sleep. When she answered her voice was groggy. "Hello," she whispered.

"Emily, are you all right? I've tried you three times in the last half hour. I was getting so worried. You sounded so upset when you left that last message."

It was Alice Mills. The genuine concern in her voice brought instant tears to Emily's eyes. "No, I'm all right. Alice, I may be crazy, and I know that the prosecutor thinks I am, but I believe that I know who killed Jamie Evans and almost certainly killed Natalie, too."

Hearing Alice gasp, Emily continued. "There must be some peo-ple who were close to Natalie, maybe another actor or a makeup person or a wardrobe lady who heard or saw something. Alice, did you think it was unusual for her to rush off to the Cape the way she did?"

"Natalie was stressed because of the divorce and getting a new agent but I never thought of her as being frightened," Alice Mills said. "Emily, it's not just for Natalie that it's so necessary to find the person who did this. It's also for Gregg and Katie's sake. Did you watch Courtside tonight?"

"I intended to but I fell asleep."

"Gregg and Katie and I were guests on it. Gregg talked about how horrible it is to live under this cloud, to be the 'person of interest.' But of course he is ecstatic to be out of jail. Katie is going back to school tomorrow and I'll be moving home."

"To your wonderful little apartment just a few blocks from Lincoln Center," Emily said.

"Did I tell you that?" Alice asked, surprised.

"You must have."

"Emily, there is one person I can call right now who will surely be awake. Jeanette Steele is the wardrobe mistress at the new play that opened at the Barrymore. She of all people might know something. She was with Natalie that last night."

"I'd be so grateful. Thank you, Alice."

Now somewhat awake, Emily got up and went back to the kitchen. It's too late to eat anything much, she thought. Maybe just some toast and a glass of wine. That should do me in pretty fast.

Emily looked at the kitchen window that faced the rental house. The shade was only halfway closed. She walked over to it and for a moment looked out. It was raining hard. What a miserable night, she thought as she pulled the shade down. And that place still gives me the creeps.

Before she put the bread in the toaster, she walked into the living room and looked outside to be reassured by the sight of the police car at the curb.

In his familiar perch at the kitchen window of the rental house, Zach was treated to the sight of Emily pulling down the shade. Just as he'd expected, it had been so easy to get in here. He knew that no one had seen him run down the driveway of the house behind the rental. He had vaulted over the low fence and then, key in hand, had been inside in the space of seconds.

He had the treats ready for Bess. Now that Emily was pulling down the shades, he was pretty certain that she was getting ready to go to bed. She'll let Bess out that one last time. Her alarm will be off. Bess will start barking when she senses me coming, he thought. That shouldn't scare Emily for the first few seconds. Bess barks at squirrels.

And then I'll be inside. Even if the barking makes the cop check inside the house, it will only take seconds to kill her. If I get away, fine. If I don't, maybe that's okay, too.

I'm tired of running.

Alice Mills called back at quarter of eleven. "Emily, I reached my friend Jeanette Steele, the wardrobe mistress. She was with Natalie that night. She said that Natalie was radiantly happy about the final show. She received a standing ovation that lasted for several minutes."

"Was she with Natalie until she left the theatre?" Emily asked.

"Almost till the end. Jeanette said Natalie changed and was ready to leave. Of course she was exhausted and drained by then. She didn't want any visitors in her dressing room and had said so. But then the producer knocked on her door. A very well-known actor, Tim Moynihan, was there with friends and was terribly anxious to meet her. Jeanette said Natalie wasn't happy about it but she let Moynihan and his friends in. That was when Jeanette left."

Moynihan, Emily thought. Tim Moynihan. He's a good friend of Ted's. I wonder how well he knows Billy. "Alice, I met Tim Moynihan only last week. I swear I think this is the link we need. You don't have his phone number, do you?"

"No, but I wouldn't be surprised if Gregg has it, or could get it fast. I don't know if he knows Moynihan but I bet he knows some of his friends or the people on his television show. Hold on."

A moment later, Alice came back on. "Emily, Gregg is calling someone who can give him Tim Moynihan's number. While we wait for it, I want to tell you that I am worried about you. Please be careful. Please."

"You won't believe how many locks and whistles I have protecting me. To say nothing of having a patrol car sitting outside my door."

"I read about your neighbor being murdered by that serial killer. It's awful to think that he lived on your street."

"Well, he's gone now." Trying not to alarm Alice any more, Emily did her best to sound matter-of-fact.

"Even so, I worry. Oh, wait a minute, Gregg would like to talk to you."

Emily swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

"Ms Wallace, this is Gregg Aldrich."

"Mr. Aldrich, I really had no intention of trying to talk to you. I would only do so with your lawyer present or otherwise with his permission. I called to talk to Alice."

"I know that," Gregg replied. "But, at the risk of breaking any of the rules, I just wanted to tell you that I hold no animosity toward you. Jimmy Easton was a very convincing witness and it was your job to go after me when I testified. You were just doing your job. And, if I may say so, very well."

"Thank you. That's very generous of you."

"Do you honestly think that you may have some lead on Natalie's killer?"

"Yes, I do."

"Will you share that information or hunch or whatever it is with me?"

"Mr. Aldrich, it's not right for me to say more now but I promise you, if what I hope to learn works out, I will talk to Richard Moore immediately."

"Okay. You can't blame me for asking. Here's Tim Moynihan's phone number. It's 212555-3295."

Emily wrote the number down and repeated it. "I promise that you will know soon."

"All right. Good night, Ms. Wallace."

For a long minute Emily held her hand on the phone before she replaced it in the cradle. It was so odd to feel so close to these two people when she spoke to them. So familiar with them. But of course she had liked Alice from the first time that she had met her.

And Gregg Aldrich? How many times did I battle myself because I just didn't face the truth? Maybe it's just as Alice said--that in my heart I knew he was innocent from the start.

Even this borrowed heart knew it, she thought.

She looked at Tim's number. He may very well be in bed and angry if I wake him up. But I can't wait. Taking a deep breath she pushed the numbers.

Tim Moynihan answered on the first ring. Emily could hear voices in the background and assumed that the television was on. At least he hadn't been asleep. When she identified herself, he was obviously surprised to hear her voice.

She got right to the point. "Tim, I know it is terribly late to call but it is very important. I just learned that you had gone to Natalie's dressing room the final night she was in Streetcar. How come you didn't mention it at dinner that night? We did talk about the trial."

"Emily, to tell you the truth, Ted had specifically asked us not to talk about the trial and particularly not to talk about having gone to her show or stopping at her dressing room to say hello. He knew you were tired and under a lot of stress. He wanted you to have a night off from all the work you've been doing. If you remember, Natalie's name came up but in a very general way."

Emily could hardly believe what she was hearing. "Are you telling me that Ted Wesley was at that last performance and stopped in at Natalie's dressing room?"

"Yes. He and Nancy came with Barbara and me and a couple of other friends." Tim Moynihan's voice changed. "Emily, is something wrong?"

Something is very wrong, she thought. "Tim, do you know Ted's cousin Billy Tryon?"

"Sure I do. Everyone knows Billy."

"Was he with you that night in Natalie's dressing room?"

"No. He's never been one of Nancy's favorites. You know how high-and-mighty she can be."

"Tim, maybe you know this. Was Billy ever known by the nickname 'Jess'?"

Tim's voice had a smile in it when he answered. "Not Billy. That was Ted's nickname. He's Edward Scott Jessup Wesley. He never uses 'Jessup' professionally but way back about twenty years ago he'd occasionally have a small part on the series I was doing at that time. He used the stage name 'Jess Wilson.' "

Emily took a guess. "That was about the time that he was having trouble with Nancy, wasn't it?"

"Yes, they actually separated for a few months. He was pretty upset about it."

Sure he was, Emily thought. He was running around with Jamie. He had promised her he would get a divorce and then when he dragged his feet, she probably threatened to go to his wife.

I bet he didn't kill her himself. I bet that Billy did the dirty work for him. And I bet that Natalie had recognized him that last night and he knew it. And she realized that he knew it. That's why she was so scared.

And of course he looks a lot like the guy in the sketch, too, Emily thought. The original sketch, not the substitute. He and Billy have a family resemblance. Their mothers are sisters. It just never occurred to me to think about him when I saw it.

She put the phone down and stood, not moving, trying to com-prehend the awful reality of what she now knew. The man about to become the attorney general of the United States, the chief law enforcement officer in this country, was responsible for the brutal murders of two women, nearly two decades apart.

Emily heard a nearby house alarm go off. Then someone pounded on her door. It must be the police officer, she thought. He's going to tell me that he will quickly check that alarm and then come right back. She rushed to open it. Billy Tryon burst in, pushed her down, and slammed the door shut.

"Emily," he said as she cowered in terror on the floor, "you're re-ally not as smart as you think."