The Cradle Will Fall (8 page)
Read The Cradle Will Fall Online
Authors: Mary Higgins Clark
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Thrillers, #Suspense
AFTER leaving Dr. Fukhito, Katie went to the east wing of the
hospital for the transfusion. She had a long wait, and didn't leave
the hospital until nearly six o'clock. She was hungry, and the idea
of going home did not appeal to her. She thought she had learned
to cope with loneliness. The feeling of emptiness that had been
coming over her lately was something new.
She passed the restaurant where she and Richard had eaten
the night before, and on impulse swung into the parking area.
Maybe in the warm, intimate atmosphere she'd be able to think.
The proprietor recognized her, beamed with pleasure and led
her to a table near the one she had shared with Richard.
Nodding at the suggestion of a glass of Burgundy, Katie leaned
back. Now if she could just sort out the impressions she'd received
talking with Dr. Highley and Dr. Fukhito.
Taking out her notebook, she began to scan what she had jotted
down during the interviews. Dr. Highley. He'd explained that
Vangie Lewis was in serious trouble with her pregnancy. What
he told Katie was completely reasonable. What then? What more
did she want of Dr. Highley? He'd expressed regret over Vangie's
death, but certainly not sorrow. Of course, a doctor had to stay
objective, as she'd heard both Bill and Richard say.
Richard. Her eyes slid over to the table where they'd sat together.
Was it possible that it could happen twice in a lifetime,
that from the very beginning you know someone is right?
When she and Richard were leaving Molly's after lunch yesterday,
Molly had asked them both to dinner Thursday night-
tomorrow—to meet Liz and Jim Berkeley. "She's the one who
thinks Dr. Highley is God," Molly had said. Katie realized how
much she was looking forward to that dinner.
Again she looked down at her notes. Dr. Fukhito. Something
was wrong there, the way he'd weighed every word when he'd
discussed Vangie's Monday-night visit. It had been like watching
someone walk step by step through a minefield. What was he
afraid of? He had said Vangie left by his private entrance.
No one had seen her go.
Suppose she hadn't left? Suppose he'd gone with her or followed
her home. Suppose he'd realized that she was suicidal, that he
was responsible in some way.. . .
The waiter arrived to take her order. She made one final entry
in her notebook: "Investigate Fukhito's background."
EVEN before he crossed the George Washington Bridge, Richard
knew that he should have canceled the date with Clovis. He was
preoccupied with Vangie Lewis' death. He had missed something
in the autopsy. What was it?
And he was worried about Katie. She had looked so thin and
pale last night. She wasn't well. That accident. Was it possible that
she'd been hurt more than anyone realized? The thought haunted
Richard as he turned into East Fifty-fourth Street and headed for
Clovis' apartment.
Clovis had a pitcher of martinis waiting, and a plate of crab-meat
puffs fresh from the oven. With her flawless skin and Viking
coloring, she reminded Richard of a young Ingrid Bergman. Until
recently he'd thought they might end up together. But as he returned
her kiss, he was acutely aware that he'd never worry about
Clovis the way he was now worrying about Katie.
He realized Clovis was talking to him as she filled two glasses.
"... and I just got home. So I fixed the drinks and figured you could
relax while I get dressed. Hey, are you listening to me?"
Richard accepted the drink and smiled apologetically. "I'm
sorry. Do you mind if I make some calls while you get ready?"
"Go ahead and dial away," She picked up her glass and started
toward the hall that led into the bedroom and bath.
Richard took out his credit card and dialed the operator. He
gave his account number and the call went through. The phone
rang a dozen times before he gave up. Katie wasn't home.
Next he tried Molly's house. But Molly had not spoken to Katie
today. "She'll probably call me later. But I wish she was home by
now. She should take it easy."
It was the opening he needed. "Molly, what's the matter with
Katie? There is something wrong physically, isn't there? Besides
the accident, I mean?"
Molly hesitated. "You'd better talk to Katie about that."
Cold fear washed over him. "What's the matter with her?'
"Oh, not much. I promise you that. But it's nothing she wants
discussed. See you tomorrow night. Don't forget."
The connection broke. Richard frowned into the dead receiver.
Then he called the prosecutor. "Anything going on?"
Scott did not waste time on preliminaries. "The body of a woman
was found in an apartment in Edgeriver. She was the receptionist
Katie wanted to talk to at Westlake. Name's Edna Burns. We're
heading over there, and we need you."
"Give me the address," Bichard said.
He wrote it quickly and hung up the phone. Vangie Lewis and
now Edna Burns. He knocked on Clovis' bedroom door. Wrapped
in a terry-cloth robe, she opened it. "Hey, what's the hurry?"
"Clo, I'm sorry." Quickly he explained. He was frantic to get
away.
She was clearly disappointed. "Oh, of course I understand. Go,
but let's have dinner tomorrow night. Promise?"
Richard temporized. "Well, very soon."
ON THE way home from the restaurant, Katie thought about
the conversation she'd had with Edna Burns on her first visit to
Dr. Highley. Edna was a bom listener. How much had Vangie
told her? And how much did Edna know about Dr. Fukhito?
Katie pulled up in front of her house and decided not to put the
car away yet. Suppose she phoned Edna and suggested driving
over to see her? If Katie was any judge, Edna Burns would love a
chance to have a cup of tea and gossip about Vangie Lewis.
Inside, Katie looked up Edna's number in the telephone book
and quickly dialed it. The phone rang once and was picked up.
A man said, "Yes." The short word was delivered in a clipped,
familiar voice. It belonged to Charley Nugent from the prosecutor's
office.
"Charley? It's Katie. What are you doing in Edna's apartment?"
"She's dead. Fell—or was pushed—into the radiator. Split her
head open." His voice became a whisper. "Get this, Katie. She
was last seen alive around eight o'clock last night. A neighbor was
with her. The neighbor heard her on the phone with Chris Lewis.
Edna Burns told Lewis that she was going to talk to the police
about Vangie's death. You better come right down."
AFTER he finished a second Scotch, Highley went into the kitchen
and opened the refrigerator. He had told Hilda not to prepare
anything for him tonight, but had given her a shopping list: lamb
chops, fresh asparagus, and watercress for a salad.
Emotional exhaustion always compelled him to eat. After Winifred's
death, he'd left her relatives and friends at the grave site,
refusing invitations to join them for dinner. "No. No. I need to be
alone." Then he'd driven to the Carlyle Hotel in New York. There
he had requested a quiet table and ordered dinner. Halfway
through the meal he looked up and saw Winifred's cousin, Glenn
Nickerson, seated at a table across the room. He was dressed in the
dark blue suit and black tie he'd worn to the funeral. It was obvious
that he had followed Highley to the Carlyle. Nickerson had
lifted his glass in a toast, a mocking smile on his face. He might as
well have shouted, "To the grieving widower."
A week later Alan Levine, the doctor who'd treated Winifred,
indignantly told him that Glenn Nickerson had asked to see Winifred's
medical records. "I told him that Winifred had developed
classic angina symptoms. Even then, he had the gall to speak to
the police. I had a call from a fellow in the prosecutor's office asking
if a heart ailment could be induced. I told him that being alive
today was enough to induce heart trouble. They backed off, said
it was obviously a disinherited relative trying to cause problems."
But you can induce heart trouble, Dr. Levine. You can prepare
intimate little dinners for your dear wife. You can use her sus
ceptibility to gastroenteritis to bring on attacks that register as
heart seizures on her cardiogram. After enough of these, the lady
has a fatal seizure. No one suggests an autopsy. And even if someone
had, there would have been little risk.
But if they had thought to delve into Claire's death . ..
The chops were nearly cooked. He expertly seasoned the watercress,
removed the asparagus from the steamer and took a half
bottle of Beaujolais from the wine rack in the pantry.
He had just begun to eat when the phone rang. He hurried to
the extension in the kitchen. "Dr. Highley," he said curtly.
A sob sounded over the phone. "Oh, Doctor, it's Gertrude Fitzgerald.
I decided to go see Edna on my way home."
He tightened his grip on the receiver.
"Doctor, Edna is dead. The police are here. She fell. Doctor,
could you come right away? They're talking about performing an
autopsy. She hated autopsies. She used to say how terrible it was to
cut up dead people. Doctor, oh, please come here and convince
them that she fell and that they don't have to cut her up."
KATIE made a cup of tea and took it with her in the car. She'd
planned to have tea with Edna. And now Edna was dead.
How could a person she'd met only once have made such an
impression on her? In that one conversation they'd had, Edna
had understood perfectly about John. She'd said, "I know what
it is to watch someone die. You want the misery to be over for
them, but you don't want to let them go. When Mom and Dad
died, all my friends said, 'Now you're free, Edna.' And I said, 'Free
for what?' I bet you felt that way too."
Edna had reassured her about Dr. Highley. "You couldn't find
a better doctor. That's why it makes me so mad when I hear him
criticized. And those people who file malpractice suits! I could
shoot them. I tell you, when a doctor loses a patient today, he has
to worry. I guess nobody's supposed to die anymore."
What had Charley meant by saying that Edna had phoned
Chris Lewis last night? Was Charley suggesting that Edna might
in some way have threatened him?
As she drove into the parking lot of Edna's apartment complex,
she slowed down; a black medium-size car was pulling in ahead
of her. The driver chose the first spot available on the right. Katie
found a space directly behind the building, parked and got out of
the car. Suddenly she heard footsteps and turned quickly. A figure
loomed near her, a silhouette accentuated by the dim light from
a solitary lamppost. "Excuse me. I hope I didn't startle you." The
cultured voice had a faint English accent.
"Dr. Highley! Did my office call you?"
"Mrs. DeMaio. We didn't expect to see each other so soon and
under such tragic circumstances, Here. Let's take this footpath
around the building." Lightly touching her elbow, he followed
her on the path. "Mrs. Fitzgerald called me. Evidently she was
the one who found Edna."
They were turning the corner to the front of the building when
Richard appeared. She was very glad to see him. He grasped both
her shoulders and pulled her to him. Then his hands dropped.
"Scott reached you?"
"No. I happened to call Edna myself. Oh, Richard, this is Dr.
Edgar Highley." The two men shook hands.
Charley let them into the apartment. He said to Richard, "We've
got pictures, but I'd like you to have a look too."
Katie was used to death. She often studied gory pictures of
crime victims. But it was a different matter to see Edna crumpled
against the radiator, to see the solid evidence of loneliness—the
slices of canned ham, the empty cocktail glass.
Gertrude Fitzgerald was sitting on a couch, sobbing softly.
Katie and Dr. Highley sat down beside her as Richard went into
the dinette to examine the dead woman.
Gertrude tried to talk to them. "Oh, Dr. Highley, Mrs. DeMaio,
isn't this just terrible?" The words brought a fresh burst of sobs.
"She was always such fun. She always made me laugh. Maybe
she had that little weakness, but she never bothered anyone with
it. Oh, Dr. Highley, you'll miss her too."
"I surely will, Mrs. Fitzgerald."
"Doctor," Gertrude blurted out, "I told them you've been here,
that you knew about Edna's little problem. It's just silly to say she
didn't fall. Why would anyone want to hurt her?"
Dr. Highley looked at Katie. "Edna suffered from sciatica, and
a few times when she was laid up I dropped off work for her to
do at home. On one occasion I came unexpectedly. It was then I
realized that she had a drinking problem."
Katie nodded, looking past him. Richard had completed examining
the body. Getting up, she walked over to him and asked what
he had found.
He shrugged. "I'll have to see how bad the fracture is. Certainly
it was a hell of a smash. But she might have stumbled when she
tried to get up."
"Any sign of forced entry?" Katie asked Charley.
"None. But you could spring these locks with a credit card. If
she was as drunk as we think, anyone could have walked in."
"What were you telling me on the phone about Chris Lewis?"
"The superintendent's wife—name's Gana Krupshak—was a
buddy of Edna Burns. She was with Mrs. Fitzgerald when the
body was found. We let her go to her own apartment just before
you came. She's shook up bad. Anyhow, last night she came over
here around eight o'clock. She said Edna already had a bag on.
She stayed till eight thirty, then put out the ham, hoping Edna
would eat something and sober up. Edna told her about Vangie's
suicide. Then, when Mrs. Krupshak went into the kitchen, she
heard Edna on the phone. She swears Edna called whoever she
was talking to 'Captain Lewis,' and told him she had to talk to
the police tomorrow. And get this. Krupshak swears she heard
Edna give Lewis directions for driving here. Then Edna said something
about Prince Charming."
"Prince Charming?"
Charley shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."
Richard said, "Obviously we'll treat this as a potential homicide.
I know Scott has a hunch about Lewis. I can see why."
Katie thought, I do not believe Chris Lewis could have done
this to Edna; I don't believe he killed his wife. She looked around.
"Are you sure there's nothing valuable missing?"
Charley shrugged. "Her wallet's in her pocketbook; eighteen
dollars there. Credit cards. The usual. No sign of anything being
disturbed, let alone ransacked."
"All right." Katie returned to Dr. Highley and Gertrude. "Mrs.
Fitzgerald, I think it would be best if we have you driven home."
Dr. Highley reached into his pocket. "I brought these sedatives
along in case you needed them. Here, take one now."
"I'll get a glass of water," Katie said. She went down the hall to
the bathroom, then came back to Gertrude and sat beside her.
"Mrs. Fitzgerald, do you know whether Edna kept any valuables
here—any jewelry, perhaps?"
"She had a ring and a pin she wore on special occasions. I
wouldn't know where she kept them. Oh, wait a minute. Doctor,
I remember that Edna said she showed you her ring and pin when
you were here. Perhaps you can help Mrs. DeMaio."
Katie looked into the cold gray eyes. He hates this, she thought.
He's angry about being here.
"One time Edna did show me a pin and ring that were in a
box in her night-table drawer."
"Would you show me, Doctor?" Katie asked.
Together they walked down the hall into the bedroom.
"It was in there," Dr. Highley told her, pointing to the night
table on the right side of the bed.
Using only the tips of her fingers, Katie opened the drawer. She
knew that the fingerprint experts would be called in.
The drawer was deep. Reaching in, Katie pulled out a blue
plastic jewelry case. She raised the lid to find a small butterfly-
shaped brooch and a thin old diamond ring nestled against cotton
velvet.
"That eliminates the robbery theory, I guess," Katie said. She
started to close the drawer, then stopped. "Oh, Doctor, look."
Setting the jewelry box on the bed, she reached back into the
drawer. "My mother kept her mother's old black hat for sentimental
reasons. Edna must have done the same thing."
She was holding up an object for him to see. It was a scuffed
brown moccasin, shaped for the left foot.
As Dr. Highley stared at the shoe, Katie said, "This was probably
her mother's and she considered it such a treasure she kept
it with that pathetic jewelry. Oh, Doctor, if memorabilia could
talk, we'd hear a lot of stories, wouldn't we?"
EDGAR HIGHLEY STARED AT KATIE DEMAIO as she stood there
holding that shoe in her hand. Was she mocking him? No. She
believed that the shoe had had some sentimental meaning for
Edna. Suppose she showed it to the detectives? Or to Gertrude?
She'd been at the desk many times when Vangie came in.
He had to have that shoe.
Katie put it back, closed the drawer and walked out of the bedroom,
the jewelry box tucked under her arm. He followed her,
desperate to hear what she would say. But she simply handed
the jewelry box to the detective. "The ring and pin are here,
Charley," she said. "I guess that shoots any possibility of burglary."
There was a rap at the door, and Katie opened it to admit two
men carrying a stretcher. Edgar Highley said to Gertrude, "I'll
get you more water, Mrs. Fitzgerald." The others were watching
the attendants as they lifted the body. It was his chance. He had to
risk taking the shoe.
He walked rapidly to the bathroom, turned on the tap, then
slipped across the hall to the bedroom. Using his handkerchief to
avoid fingerprints, he opened the night-table drawer. He was
reaching for the shoe when he heard footsteps coming down the
hall. Quickly he pushed the drawer shut, stuffed his handkerchief
into his pocket, and was standing at the door of the bedroom when
Richard Carroll appeared. "Dr. Highley," he said coldly, "I'd like
to ask you a few questions about Edna Burns."
"Certainly." Then, in what he hoped was a casual tone, Highley
said, "Excuse me. I'm letting the tap run. I want to get Mrs. Fitzgerald
a glass of cold water. The poor woman's terribly distressed."
Richard Carroll stood aside to let him pass. Highley filled the
glass and took it to Gertrude. The attendants had left with the
body, and Katie DeMaio was not in the room.
"Has Mrs. DeMaio left?" he asked the detective.
"She's talking to the super's wife. She'll be right back."
He could not leave until he was sure that Katie did not talk
about the shoe. When she came back a few minutes later, she did
not mention it.
They left the apartment together. Deliberately he stayed with
Katie as she walked to her car, but then Richard Carroll joined
them. "Let's get some coffee at the Golden Valley diner, Katie,"
he said, and Highley watched them drive off.
On his way home, Edgar Highley decided there must be a personal
relationship between Katie DeMaio and Richard Carroll.
When Katie bled to death, Carroll would be both professionally
and emotionally interested in the cause of death. He would have
to be very careful.
He drove into his garage, then entered the house. The cold lamb
chops were on the plate; the asparagus had wilted; the salad was
limp and warm. He would reheat the food in the microwave oven,
prepare a fresh salad.
As he set to work, he found himself becoming calm. He was
so near to being safe. And soon it would be possible to share his
genius with the world. He already had his success. He could prove
it beyond doubt. He had accurate records, pictures, X rays, the
step-by-step accounts of how he had dealt with all the problems
that had arisen. All in the files in his secret safe.
When the proper time came, he would burn the files on the
failures and claim the recognition that was due him. By then there
would surely be more triumphs. He sat down at the table and
slowly ate his dinner. As always, food restored his sense of wellbeing.
Tomorrow the Newsmaker article would appear. It would
enhance his social as well as his medical prestige.
"My patients are not allowed to drink or smoke during their
pregnancies," he had told the Newsmaker interviewer. "They are
required to follow a specific diet. I will not accept a patient who
will not cooperate with my methods. I can show you dozens of
women I have treated who have had a history of several miscarriages
but now have children. Many more could experience that
same joy, if they were willing to change their habits, particularly
their eating and drinking habits."
The Newsmaker reporter had been impressed. But her next
question was a loaded one. "Doctor, isn't it true that a large number
of women have miscarried, even after following your schedule
rigidly—and paying you ten thousand dollars?"
"It would be insane for me to claim that I bring every difficult
pregnancy to term. Yes. There have been occasions where a de
sired pregnancy was spontaneously aborted. After several of these
occurrences, I suggest that my patient adopt a child, and I help
to arrange a suitable adoption."
"For a fee."
"Young woman, I assume you are being paid to interview me.
Why don't you use your time for volunteer work?"
It had been foolish to antagonize her, foolish to give her any
reason to want to discredit him or to delve into his background.
The interviewer's next question had been meant to entrap him.
"Doctor, you also perform abortions. Isn't it incongruous to try
to save one fetus and to eliminate another?"
"I refer to the womb as a cradle. I despise abortion. But I also
deplore the grief I witness when women come to me who cannot
conceive because their wombs have been damaged during abortions.
It is my wish that all women carry their babies to term.
For those who do not want to, at least I can make sure that when
they do want a child, they will still be able to have one."
That point had been well received.
He finished eating, leaned back in the chair and poured himself
more wine. He was feeling expansive. Tomorrow morning he had
a cesarean section scheduled—another difficult case that would
add to his reputation. The mother was from the socially prominent
Payne family. The father, Delano Aldrich, was an officer of a prestigious
foundation. This was the sort of family whose championship
he needed.
Only one obstacle left. He had brought Katie DeMaio's file home
from the office. He would begin now to prepare the substitute file
that he would show to the police after her death.
Instead of the history she'd given him of prolonged periods of
bleeding, he would write, "Patient complains of frequent hemorrhaging,
unrelated to monthly cycles." Instead of sponginess of
uterine walls, a condition that could be remedied by a simple
operation, he would note signs of vascular breakdown. Instead of
a slightly low hemoglobin, he would indicate that the hemoglobin
was chronically in the danger zone.
He went into the library. Her official file was on top of his desk.
From the drawer he extracted a new folder, put Katie's name on
it and set down her previous medical history. This was the folder
he would take to the hospital. He added several paragraphs to the
file he would put in the wall safe when completed.
Patient was in minor automobile accident on Monday night,
February 15. At 2:00 a.m. sedated patient observed the transferal
of the remains of Vangie Lewis by this physician. Patient still does
not understand that what she observed was a true event rather than
a hallucination, but inevitably she will. She cannot be permitted
to remain as a threat to this physician. On pretense of preparation
for Saturday surgery, this physician prescribed anticoagulant medication
to be taken on regular basis until Friday night.
He laid down his pen. It was easy to imagine how he would
complete this report.
Patient entered the hospital at 6:00 p.m. Friday, February 19,
complaining of dizziness and general weakness. At 9:00 p.m. this
physician, accompanied by Nurse Renge, found the patient hemorrhaging.
Blood pressure was falling rapidly. Emergency surgery
was performed at 9:45 p.m. The patient expired at 10:00 p.m.
He smiled in anticipation. Every detail was perfectly planned,
even to assigning Nurse Renge to floor duty Friday night. She was
young, inexperienced and terrified of him. Putting the file in the
temporary hiding place in the top desk drawer, he went upstairs to
bed and slept soundly until six in the morning.
Three hours later he delivered a healthy baby boy by cesarean
section to Mrs. Delano Aldrich and accepted as his due the tearful
gratitude of the patient and her husband.