Nighttime Is My Time: A Novel (33 page)

Laura would hear the sound and begin to tremble with the agony of uncertainty that this might be the time he had come to kill her. But she also would be hungry by now and would be anticipating what he had brought her to eat. Then, when he didn't come up the stairs, both the fear and anticipation would build and build until she was broken, ready to do what he wanted, ready to obey.

In a way he wished he could reassure her that soon it would be over, because to reassure her was to reassure himself. He understood that the pain in his arm was distracting him. The dog bites had seemed to be healing, but now the worst one had become inflamed again.

He had left Robby's keys in the ignition of the car. Repelled at the thought of Robby's lifeless body, covered by blankets and sprawled in the trunk, he clicked the garage door open, got in Robby's car, and backed it out. In a few minutes, which seemed like an eternity, he had his second rental car safely hidden in the garage.

With the headlights off until he was halfway down the block, The Owl began driving Robby Brent's car the few miles to its final destination in the Hudson River.

Forty minutes later, his task accomplished and having walked from the spot where he had sunk the car, he was safely back in his room. His mission tomorrow would be treacherous, he reflected, but he would do his best to minimize the danger. Before daybreak he would walk back to Laura's house. Maybe he would have Laura call Meredith and say she was her birth mother. She would ask to meet her outside West Point for just a few minutes after breakfast. Meredith knows she's adopted, The Owl thought. She talked about it freely enough to me. There's no nineteen-year-old who wouldn't jump at the chance to meet her birth mother, he was confident of that.

And then when he had Meredith, Laura would phone Jean for him.

Sam Deegan wasn't stupid. Even now he might be delving into the deaths of the other girls from the lunch table, investigating the accidents that hadn't been accidents. It wasn't until Gloria that I began to leave my signature, The Owl thought, and the irony is that the first one had been a trinket the stupid woman bought herself.

"You've really made it big, and to think we used to call you 'The Owl,'" she'd said with a laugh, a little drunk, still totally insensitive. Then she showed him the pewter owl, still wrapped in plastic. "I happened to see it at one of those places in the mall that sell this kind of junk," she explained, "and when you phoned to say you were in town, I went back and bought one. I thought we'd have a good laugh about it."

He had a lot of reasons to be grateful to Gloria. After she died he'd bought a dozen of those five-dollar, inch-long pewter owls. Now there were three left. He could get more, of course, but when he had used the three he still had, it might be the end of his need for them. Laura and Jean and Meredith. One owl for each.

The Owl set his alarm for 5:00 a.m. and went to sleep.

77

To sleep, perchance to dream, Jean thought as she restlessly turned on her side and then onto her back. Finally she turned on the light and got out of bed. The room felt too warm. She walked across the room and opened the window wider. Maybe I'll get to sleep now, she thought.

The baby picture of Lily was on the night table. She sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the photograph. How could I have let her go? she agonized.
Why
did I let her go? She felt as if she was on an emotional roller coaster. Tonight I'm going to meet the man and woman who were given Lily right after she was born. What do I say to them? Jean wondered. That I am grateful to them? I am, but I'm ashamed to admit that I'm also jealous of them. I wanted to experience everything that they experienced with her. Suppose they change their minds and decide that I shouldn't meet her yet?

I need to meet her, and then I need to go home. I want to get away from all the Stonecroft people. Last night the atmosphere at President Downes' cocktail party was dreadful, she thought as she turned off the light and lay down again. Everyone seemed to be uptight, but each in a different way. Mark—what is going on inside him? she wondered. He was so quiet and went out of his way to avoid me. Carter Stewart was in a foul mood, growling that he'd lost an entire day's work chasing after Robby's scripts. Jack Emerson had an edge on him and was gulping double scotches. Gordon seemed okay until President Downes kept trying to show him blueprints of the proposed new building. Then he practically exploded. He pointed out that at the dinner he had presented a check for $100,000 for the building fund. I can't believe the way he raised his voice and asked if anyone had noticed that the more you give, the more people try to drag out of you.

Carter was just as rude. He said that since he never made donations to anything, he didn't have that problem. Then Jack Emerson followed those two by bragging that he was donating half a million dollars to Stonecroft for the new communications center.

Only Mark and I said nothing, Jean thought. I will make a donation, but it's going to be for scholarships, not buildings.

She didn't want to think anymore about Mark.

She looked at the clock. It was a quarter of five. What should I wear tonight? I didn't bring all that many changes. I don't know what kind of people Lily's adoptive parents are. Do they dress casually, or do they tend to be more formal? The brown tweed jacket and slacks I wore on the drive might be the best choice. It's a sort of in-between outfit.

I know those pictures the photographer took at President Downes' house are going to be awful. I don't think one of the men even attempted a smile, and I felt as if I were grinning like the Cheshire cat. Then, when that nervy kid Jake Perkins showed up and asked to take a picture of all of us for the
Gazette
, I thought President Downes would have a heart attack. But I felt sorry for the poor kid because of the way Downes practically threw him out.

I hope Jake doesn't have Georgetown on his list of colleges he wants to attend, although he certainly does make life interesting.

Thinking about Jake brought a smile to Jean's lips, relieving for the moment the tension that had been building up since she had heard she was going to meet Lily's adoptive parents.

The smile disappeared as quickly as it came. Where
was
Laura? she thought. This is the beginning of the fifth day since she disappeared. I can't stay here indefinitely. I have classes next week. Why do I persist in believing that I'll hear from her?

I am not going to be able to go back to sleep, she finally decided. It's much too early to get up, but at least I can read. I hardly opened yesterday's newspaper and don't know what's going on in the world.

She went back across the room to the desk, picked up the newspaper, and brought it back to the bed. She propped up the pillow and began to read, but then her eyes started to close. She did not feel the newspaper slip from her grasp, as she finally fell into a heavy sleep.

At a quarter of seven her phone rang. When Jean saw the time on the clock next to the phone, her throat closed. It has to be bad news, she thought. Something has happened to Laura—or to Lily! She grabbed the receiver. "Hello," she said anxiously.

"Jeannie… it's me."

"Laura!" Jean cried. "Where are you? How are you?"

Laura was sobbing so violently that it was hard to understand what she was saying. "Jean… help me. I'm so scared. I've done such a… crazy… thing… Sorry… Faxes… about… about Lily."

Jean stiffened. "You never met Lily. I know that."

"Robby… he… he… took… her… brush. It… was… his… idea."

"Where is Robby?"

"On… way… California. He's… blam-blaming… me. Jeannie, meet me… please. By yourself, just by yourself."

"Laura, where are you?"

"In… motel… Someone… recognized me. I have to… go."

"Laura, where can I meet you?"

"Jeannie… the Lookout."

"You mean Storm King Lookout?"

"Yes… yes."

Laura's sobs became louder. "Kill… myself…"

"Laura, listen to me," Jean said frantically. "I'll be there in twenty minutes. It's going to be all right. I promise you, it's going to be all right."

***

At the other end of the line, The Owl swiftly disconnected the phone. "My, my, Laura," he said approvingly. 'You are a good actress after all. That was an Academy Award-winning performance."

Laura had slumped back against the pillow, her head turned from him, her sobs subsiding into quivering sighs. "I only did it because you promised that now you wouldn't hurt Jean's daughter."

"So I did," The Owl said. "Laura, you must be hungry. You haven't had a thing since yesterday morning. I can't guarantee the coffee. The counterman in the delicatessen down the hill was getting too inquisitive about me, so I went to another place. But see what else I brought."

She did not respond.

"Turn
your head, Laura! Look at me
!"

Wearily she obeyed. Through swollen eyes she could see that he was holding up three plastic bags.

The Owl began to laugh. "They're presents," he explained. "One is for you, one is for Jean, and one is for Meredith. Laura, can you guess what I'm going to do with them?
Answer me, Laura! Can you guess what I'm going to do with them
?"

78

"Sorry, Rich. No one will ever tell me that it's only a bizarre coincidence that Gloria Martin, one of the Stonecroft lunch table girls, had a pewter owl in her hand when she died," Sam said flatly.

It had been another sleepless night. After the call from Joy Lacko, he had gone straight back to the office. The file on Gloria Martin's suicide had come in from the Bethlehem police department, and together they had analyzed every word of it, as well as the newspaper accounts of her death.

When Rich Stevens got to the office at 8:00 a.m., he called them in for a conference. After listening to Sam, he turned to Joy. "What do you think?"

"At first I thought it was a slam dunk, that The Owl nut case had been killing girls from Stonecroft for the past twenty years and is back in this area," Joy said. "Now I'm not so sure. I talked to Rudy Haverman, the cop who handled Gloria Martin's suicide eight years ago. He did a very credible investigation. He told me that Martin was into that kind of junk. She apparently was big for picking up cheap tchotchkes of animals and birds and such. The one she was holding when she died was still in its plastic wrap. Haverman found the vendor who sold it to her in the local mall; she distinctly remembered Martin telling her that she was buying it as a joke."

"You say the blood-alcohol level shows that she was smashed when she died?" Stevens asked.

"She was. It registered at .20. According to Haverman, she started drinking after she was divorced, and she went so far as to tell her friends that she didn't have anything to live for."

"Joy, have you found anything in the files of the other women from the lunch table indicating that one of those pewter owls was found in their hands or in their clothing when their bodies were examined?"

"Not so far, sir," Joy admitted.

"I don't care whether or not Gloria Martin bought that owl herself," Sam said stubbornly. "The fact she had it in her hand says to me that she was murdered. So what if she told her friends she was depressed? Most people feel depressed after a divorce even if they're the ones who wanted it. But Martin was very close to her family and knew how devastated they'd be if she killed herself. She didn't leave a suicide note, and from the amount of alcohol she'd imbibed, it's a miracle to me that she managed to get the bag over her head and still hang on to the owl." .

"Do you agree with that assessment, Joy?" Rich Stevens snapped.

"I do, sir. Rudy Haverman is convinced it's a suicide, but he hasn't dealt with two other bodies with pewter owls in their pockets."

Rich Stevens leaned back and folded his hands. "For the sake of argument, let's say that whoever killed Helen Whelan and Yvonne Tepper
may
—and I repeat
may
—be involved in the death of at least one of the deceased Stonecroft lunch table girls."

"The sixth, Laura Wilcox, is missing," Sam said. "Which leaves only Jean Sheridan. I warned her yesterday to trust no one, but I'm not sure if that's going far enough. She may need actual protection."

"Where is she now?" Stevens asked.

"At her hotel. She called me around nine o'clock last night from her hotel room to thank me for something I gave her yesterday. She'd been at a cocktail party given by the president of Stonecroft Academy, and was having dinner sent up to her room. She's meeting her daughter's adoptive parents tonight and said she hoped she'd be able to calm down and get a good night's sleep."

Sam hesitated, then continued. "Rich, sometimes you've got to trust your instincts. Joy is doing a great job digging through the files on the Stonecroft deaths. Jean Sheridan would turn me down flat if I suggested she get a bodyguard, and she'd feel the same way if you offered her protection. But she likes me, and if I tell her I want to hang around with her whenever she leaves the hotel, I think she'd go along with it."

"I think that's a good idea, Sam," Stevens agreed. "All we need is to have something happen to Dr. Sheridan."

"One more thing," Sam added. "I'd like to put surveillance on one of the reunion guys who's still in town. His name is Mark Fleischman, Dr. Mark Fleischman. He's a psychiatrist."