The Cradle Will Fall (11 page)
Read The Cradle Will Fall Online
Authors: Mary Higgins Clark
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Thrillers, #Suspense
TWELVE-year-old Jennifer threw open the door for Katie. "Katie,
hi." The two smiled at each other. With her intense blue eyes,
dark hair and olive skin, Jennifer was a young Katie.
"Hi, Jennie. Anybody here yet?"
"Everybody. The Berkeleys brought their baby. Richard is here
too. His first question was 'Is Katie here yet?' He's got a case on
you, Katie."
"Jennifer!" Half laughing, half irritated, Katie walked inside.
In the den, Liz and Jim Berkeley were seated on the couch.
Molly was passing hors d'oeuvres. Richard was standing by the
window, talking to Bill. He turned and saw her. "Katie." He came
hurrying over. "I've been listening for the doorbell."
So often since John's death she'd entered a room where she
was the outsider, the loner, amid couples. Tonight, Richard had
been waiting for her, listening for her. Before she had time to
consider her feelings, everyone was saying hello.
On the way to the dining room she asked Richard if he'd reached
Dr. Salem. He said, "I just missed him at five. I left this number
with the hotel operator and with my answering service."
At dinner Liz Berkeley said, "I'm holding my breath hoping
Maryanne won't wake up. Poor kid, her gums are swollen."
Jim Berkeley laughed. He was darkly handsome, with brown
eyes and thick black eyebrows. "When Maryanne was born, Liz
used to wake her up every fifteen minutes to make sure she was
okay. Now it's always, 'Quiet, don't wake up the baby.' "
Liz, who was a slender woman with flashing brown eyes, made
a face at her husband. "I'm calming down, but she is a miracle
to us. I'd just about given up hope. Dr. Highley's a genius."
Richard s eyes narrowed. "You really think so?"
"Positively. He isn't the warmest person," Liz began.
"But he knows his business," her husband interrupted. "He put
Liz to bed in the hospital almost two months before the delivery
and personally checked on her three or four times a day."
"Listen, I pray for that man every night," Liz said. "The difference
that baby has made in our lives! Don't let Jim fool you. He's
up ten times a night to make sure that Maryanne is covered."
As the others chatted, Katie only half listened. She felt tired and
light-headed, but she did not want to break up the party.
Her chance came as they headed for the living room for a
nightcap. "I'm going to say good night," Katie said. "I'm bushed."
Molly did not protest. Richard said, "I'll take you to your car."
The night air was cold, and she shivered as they started down
the walk. "Katie, I'm worried about you," Richard said. "I know
you're not feeling up to par. You don't seem to want to talk about
it, but at least let's have dinner tomorrow night."
"Richard, I'm sorry. I can't. I'm going away this weekend."
"You're what? With all that's happening at the office?"
"I.. . I'm committed." What a lame thing to say, Katie thought.
This is ridiculous. She would tell Richard that she'd be in the hospital.
. .
Suddenly the front door was thrown open. "Richard," Jennifer
shouted. "Clovis Simmons is on the phone."
"Clovis Simmons!" Katie said. "The actress?"
"Yes. Oh, hell, I was supposed to call her."
"I'll see you in the morning." Katie got into the car and closed
the door. Richard hesitated, then hurried into the house as Katie
drove away. His "Hello, Clovis" was brusque.
"Well, Doctor, it's a shame I have to track you down, but we did
discuss dinner, didn't we?"
"I'm sorry. Clovis, let me call you tomorrow. I can't talk now."
There was a sharp click in his ear. Richard hung up the phone
slowly. Tomorrow he must call and apologize and tell her that
there was someone else. For now he'd make his excuses and go
home. Maybe try Dr. Salem again.
He went into the living room. Molly, Bill and the Berkeleys
were there. And swathed in blankets, sitting on Liz's lap, was a
baby girl.
"Maryanne decided to join the party," Liz said. "What do you
think of her?" Proudly she turned the baby to face him.
It might have been a magazine cover: the smiling parents, the
beautiful offspring. The mother and father olive-skinned, brown-
eyed, square-featured; the baby fair-complexioned, red blond, with
a heart-shaped face and brilliant green eyes.
Richard stared at the family group. Who do they think they're
kidding? he thought. That child has to be adopted.
PHIL Cunningham and Charley Nugent watched in disgust as
the final stragglers came through Newark airport's gate 11.
"That's it." Charley shrugged. "Lewis must have figured we'd
be waiting for him. Let's go."
From a nearby pay phone he dialed Scott. "You can go home,
boss," he said. "The captain didn't feel like flying tonight."
"He wasn't on board? How about the coffin?"
"That came in. Richard's guys are picking it up. Want us to
hang around? There are a couple of other flights he might be on."
"Forget it. If he doesn't contact us tomorrow, I'm issuing a
pickup order for him as a material witness. And first thing in the
morning you two go through Edna Burns's apartment again."
Charley hung up. He turned to Phil. "If I know the boss, I'd
say that by tomorrow night at this time there'll be a warrant out
for Lewis' arrest."
RICHARD phoned the Essex House as soon as he got home from
the Kennedys'. Again there was no answer in Dr. Salem's room.
The operator came back on the line. "Operator, did Dr. Salem
receive the message to phone me? I'm Dr. Carroll."
The woman's voice was hesitant. "I'll check, sir."
While he waited, Richard flipped on the television to Eyewitness
News. The camera was focusing on Central Park South. He
watched as the marquee of the Essex House appeared on the
screen. Even as the telephone operator said, "I'm connecting you
with our supervisor," the television reporter was saying, "This
evening in the prestigious Essex House Hotel, Dr. Emmet Salem
of Minneapolis, Minnesota, fell or jumped to his death. . . ."
JOAN MOORE SAT DISTRACTEDLY BY THE phone in Miami. "Kay,
what time did he say he'd phone?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"I told you," said the other young woman. "He said he'd be in
touch with you tonight and that you should wait for his call. He
sounded upset."
The doorbell rang insistently, making them both jump from
their chairs. Joan ran to the door and yanked it open.
"Chris—oh, Chris!" She threw her arms around him. He was
ghastly white; he swayed as she held him. "Chris, what is it?"
His voice was nearly a sob. "I don't know what's happening.
There's something wrong about Vangie's death, and now the only
man who might have told us about it is dead too."
HE HAD planned to go directly home from the Essex House, but
after he drove out of the garage, he changed his mind. He was
very hungry. He needed to correct the terrible depletion of energy
now that the business with Salem was over. He'd go to the Carlyle
for dinner.
After tomorrow he'd be safe. Inevitably there'd be an investigation
when Kathleen DeMaio died. But her former gynecologist
had moved away. No old medical records would loom up from the
past. Right now, at the AMA convention, doctors were probably
discussing the Newsmaker article and the Westlake Maternity
Concept. He was on the path to fame, and Salem, who might
have stopped him, was out of the way. He was anxious to go
through Vangie's medical history in Salem's file. It would be invaluable
in his future research.
He parked on the street in front of the Carlyle. His bag was
locked in the trunk. Salem's file on Vangie, the paperweight and
the moccasin were in it. He could dispose of the shoe and the
paperweight in one of the city's trash baskets. They'd be lost among
the decaying food and discarded newspapers. He'd do it on the way
home, under cover of darkness.
He got out of the car and carefully locked it. He walked to the
entrance of the Carlyle, his dark blue suit covered by a blue
cashmere coat, his shoes shined to a soft luster.
The doorman held the door open for him. "Good evening, Dr.
Highley." In the dining room, the maitre d' led him to the corner
table he preferred.
Wine warmed and soothed him. The dinner restored him, as he
had anticipated. He was just signing his check when the maitre d'
came hurrying over. "Dr. Highley, I'm afraid there's a problem."
His fingers tightened on the pen. He looked up.
"It's just, sir, that a young man was observed prying the trunk
of your car. The doorman saw him just as he got it open. Before
he could be stopped, he had stolen a bag from the trunk. The
police are outside. They believe it was a drug addict who chose
your car because of the MD license plates."
When Highley spoke, his voice was surprisingly steady. "Do the
police believe that my bag will be recovered?"
"I'm afraid they don't know, sir. It might be discarded a few
blocks from here after he's taken what he wants from it, or it
might never show up again. Only time will tell."
BEFORE she went to bed, Katie packed an overnight bag for her
stay in the hospital. She realized how glad she'd be to get the
operation over with. The sense of being physically out of tune was
wearing her down. She felt depleted, exhausted, depressed. It
was all physical, wasn't it? Or was part of it the thought that
Richard might be involved with someone else?
By Monday she'd be feeling better. Wearily she showered,
brushed her teeth and got into bed. A minute later she pulled
herself up on one elbow, reached for her handbag and fished out
the small bottle Dr. Highley had given her. Almost forgot to take
this, she thought as she swallowed the pill with water from the
glass on her night table.
GERTRUDE Fitzgerald opened the prescription bottle. The migraine
was letting up. This last pill should do it.
Something was bothering her . . . something over and beyond
Edna's death. It had to do with Mrs. DeMaio's call. Prince Charming.
Edna had mentioned him in the last couple of weeks. If she
could only remember. It was eluding her, the exact circumstance.
When this headache was gone she'd be able to think. She
swallowed the pill, got into bed, closed her eyes. Edna's voice
sounded in her ears. "And I said that Prince Charming won't. . ."
She couldn't remember the rest.
AT FOUR a.m. Richard gave up trying to sleep. He had phoned
Scott Myerson about Emmet Salem's death, and Scott had in
formed the New York police of their interest. More than that had
been impossible to accomplish. Mrs. Salem was not at home in
Minneapolis. Nor could he reach the doctor's nurse.
Richard got up and began making notes. "1. Why did Salem
want to talk to him? 2. Why did Vangie want to see Salem? 3. The
Berkeley baby."
The baby was the key. Was the Westlake Maternity Concept
as successful as had been touted? Or was it a cover-up for secret
adoptions? Were the women being put to bed in the hospital two
months before the supposed delivery to hide the fact that they
were not pregnant?
But Vangie Lewis had been pregnant. So she didn't fit into the
adoptive pattern. She was desperate to have a child, but how did
she expect to pass off an Oriental baby on her husband?
The malpractice suits. He had to find out the reason those
people sued Highley. And Emmet Salem's office would have
Vangie's medical records. That would be a place to start.
Vangie's body was back in the lab now. First thing in the
morning he'd review the autopsy findings, go over the body again.
There was something. .. .
At five thirty Richard set the alarm for seven and turned out
the light. When sleep came at last, he dreamed of Katie. She was
standing looking in the rear window of Edna Burns's apartment,
and Dr. Edgar Highley was watching her.