Mary Clark - The Shadow of Your Smile

“Where to?” Garrigan asked, cheerfully.

“Back to the house where we just were. Let’s see if the owner of that fancy sports car lives there, and if so, would be willing to chat with an unexpected visitor.”

On Friday afternoon, after he was forced by the police to leave his apartment, Peter Gannon found himself on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Seventieth Street, at the door of the apartment building where he had lived with Susan for twenty years. He had given her the co-op in the divorce settlement four years ago, and he couldn’t miss the uncomfortable expression on the face of the doorman, even though his greeting was cordial.

“Mr. Gannon, how nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you as well, Ramon.” Peter understood the reason for the man’s unease. He could not allow him to enter the building without Susan’s permission. “Will you call and see if my wife is in?” he asked, then wanted to bite his tongue. “I mean will you see if Ms. Gannon is in?”

“Of course, sir.” As he dialed the number of Susan’s apartment, Peter waited nervously. She’s probably at work, he thought. She wouldn’t be home at this time on a Friday. What’s the matter with me? Or better yet, what else is the matter with me? I can’t think straight. What was Ramon saying?

“Ms. Gannon said to go right up, sir.”

Peter could see the curiosity in the man’s eyes. I know I look like hell, he thought. He went into the lobby and walked across the familiar carpet to the elevator. The door was open. The operator, another longtime employee, welcomed him warmly and, without being asked, pressed the button for the sixteenth floor.

As he rode up, Peter realized he didn’t know what to expect from Susan. When he had passed a newsstand he had seen Renée’s picture and the headlines about her death on the front page of both the Post and the News . Susan must have seen the morning newspapers, too. She would immediately remember Renée and guess that she was the reason why he had begged her to lend him a million dollars.

The elevator stopped. Peter saw the operator’s questioning glance as he hesitated before getting out. Then, when the door closed behind him, he stood for a full minute. Their apartment was the corner duplex. Feeling icy cold, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, he turned to walk toward it.

The door was ajar and before he could knock, Susan was standing in the doorway. For a long minute they looked at each other without speaking. Peter could see that she was shocked at his appearance. I guess showering and shaving didn’t hide the effects of a drunk blackout, he thought.

She was wearing a belted gray wool dress that accentuated her small waist. A colorful scarf was knotted around her throat. Her only jewelry was silver earrings that complemented the salt-and-pepper hair that had been artfully contoured to frame her face. She looks just like what she is, Peter thought, a wonderfully attractive, classy, intelligent woman, and in twenty years I was never smart enough to realize how lucky I was to have her.

“Come in, Peter,” Susan told him. She stood aside as he passed. He was certain that she wanted to avoid any attempt on his part to kiss her. Don’t worry, Susan, he thought. I wouldn’t have the nerve to try.

Without speaking, he walked from the foyer to the living room. The windows looked down on Central Park. He walked over to them. “The view doesn’t change,” he commented, then turned to her. “Sue, I’m in a lot of trouble. I have no right to be bothering you, but I don’t know who else to turn to for advice.”

“Sit down, Peter. You look as if you’re going to cave in. I read the papers this morning. Renée Carter, the woman you were, or are, involved with, is the same Renée Carter who was murdered, isn’t she?”

Peter sat down heavily on the couch, feeling as if his legs no longer had the strength to hold him. “Yes, she is, Sue. I swear to God, I hadn’t seen nor heard from her for two years. That was when she moved back to Vegas. I was sick of her. I knew what a horrible mistake I had made. I’ve regretted it and will regret it every day of my life.”

“Peter, according to the papers, Renée Carter has a nineteen-month-old child. Is she yours?”

It was the question Peter Gannon had hoped never to have to answer. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes. I never wanted you to know about the baby. I knew how much the miscarriages tore you apart.”

“How considerate of you. Can you be sure it’s yours?”

Bleakly, Peter looked into the scornful eyes of his former wife. “Yes, I’m sure it’s mine. Renée cleverly produced the DNA reports as proof for me. I’ve never seen the child. I never want to see her.”

“Then shame on you.” Susan spat out the words. “She is your flesh and blood. According to the papers she’s been in critical condition in the hospital with pneumonia, and you’re not the least concerned about her? What kind of monster are you?”

“Sue, I’m not a monster,” Peter pleaded. “Renée told me she had friends who were desperate for a baby, that they were substantial and fine people. I thought that was the best way to go. Two years ago, I gave Renée two million dollars so that she could have the baby and then get out of my life. But she called me three months ago, and demanded a million more. That’s why I asked you for a loan. I couldn’t get it anyplace else.”

He saw the expression on Susan’s face change from scorn to alarm. “Peter, when did you last see Renée Carter?”

“Tuesday night.” Get it out, he thought. Don’t try to make it sound like anything except what it is. “Sue, I didn’t have a million dollars. I couldn’t raise it. I brought a bag with one hundred thousand in cash to give her. I met Renée in a bar and told her that. She took the bag and rushed out of the bar. I followed her. I grabbed her arm and said something like, ‘I can’t get any more.’ She slapped me and dropped the bag. As she picked it up I knew I was going to be sick. I’d been drinking scotches all day. I left her on the street.”

“What did you do then?”

“I blacked out. I don’t know another thing until I woke up on the couch in my office the next afternoon.”

“Your office ? Didn’t someone wake you up in the morning?”

“No one else came in. I let everyone go. I couldn’t pay anyone’s salary. Sue, the cops came to my apartment today. I let them take a DNA swab. They’re getting a search warrant for the apartment and the office. They made me leave my apartment.”

“Peter, are you telling me that you left Renée Carter on York Avenue after you had quarreled and she slapped you and was picking up the bag with one hundred thousand dollars in cash that she said wasn’t enough money? And now you say that you don’t remember anything until you woke up in your office and that her body was found not far from where you left her? My God, do you realize how much trouble you’re in? You’re not only a person of interest. You’re the prime suspect.”

“Susan, I swear to you I don’t know what happened to her.”

“Peter, what you’re saying is that you don’t know what happened. Period. Did you tell the police that Renée Carter was blackmailing you because of the foundation money and what you think Greg is up to in the market?”

“No. No. Of course not. I’ve got to keep Greg out of this. I told them that she was after me for more money after what I gave her two years ago.” Peter knew he was close to tears. Not wanting to break down in front of Susan, he got to his feet. “Sorry to inflict you with all of this, Sue,” he said, struggling to steady his voice. “I just needed someone to talk to. You came up first on the list.” He attempted to smile. “In fact, you are the list.”