Mary Clark - The Shadow of Your Smile

If it really is true, Pamela won’t be making any more trips to Cartier.

She’ll be doing her jewelry shopping in a bargain store basement.

After he had lunch with Doug Langdon at the St. Regis, Dr. Clayton Hadley spent the rest of the weekend in a state of near panic. The memory of holding the pillow over Olivia Morrow’s face haunted his every waking moment. How did I let myself get into this? he wondered, frantically. I had a good practice. I was being paid well for my job at the foundation. I actually did steer money from the foundation into cardiac research. That, at least, would stand up, if anyone ever investigates where the foundation money really has gone…

When the money from Alex Gannon’s patents was still flowing in, it was easy for me to set up phony research centers that were little more than rented rooms with a so-called lab technician, Clay thought. Doug got me started on that. Now I have a fortune in my Swiss bank account.

A lot of good that will do me if I’m indicted for murder.

How about Doug? For the last ten years, since we’ve been on the foundation board, he’s been funneling small grants into worthwhile mental health projects, as well as pots of money into storefront clinics with one part-time attendant. The money flowed out the back door of those places, and straight into Doug’s pockets.

The Gannons were oblivious, Clay thought. They gave the okay to anything Doug or I proposed. They were too busy scooping out the foundation money themselves to maintain their own extravagances. They rubber-stamped us, and we rubber-stamped them.

Then, when Doug introduced Pamela to Greg eight years ago, Greg fell for her like a ton of bricks, divorced his wife, married her, and made her a member of the foundation board. For eight years, Pamela’s been playing Lady Bountiful all over Manhattan. If Greg wasn’t available to take the bows at any of those dreary dinners honoring the foundation for its legitimate grants, she was there doing it for him.

Greg’s spending has been out of control ever since he married Pamela, Clay thought nervously. And these past four years, Peter’s been boasting about his grants for his off-Broadway projects, while he’s been pouring foundation money into his own musical fiascos.

All these thoughts were torturing Clay as he sat trying to read the papers in his comfortable Gramercy Park apartment. Like Doug, he had been divorced for years, but as a welcome guest in the social world, he never lacked for female company. His solicitous manner, as well as his ability to make small talk, made him an excellent extra man, the kind hostesses were always trying to find. Unlike Doug, who escorted any number of different and very attractive women, Clay found his current status absolutely satisfactory. It’s taken me more than fifty years to realize that I’m a loner, he thought.

Olivia Morrow. I actually have the nerve to miss her. Olivia and I were friends. She trusted me. How many times over the years did we go out for dinner or to the theatre together? I knew her for such a long time. Her mother, Regina, was my patient. I’m sorry that her mother told us about Alex’s granddaughter, and gave Olivia that file. If only Olivia had buried it with her mother… If only! But what good does that do?

But did Olivia destroy it at the end? I’m almost sure she did. It wasn’t anywhere in the apartment, and her safety deposit box hasn’t been opened for years. If she hadn’t received that call from Monica Farrell Tuesday night, she’d have died and it would all be over. But instead Olivia saw that phone call from Catherine’s granddaughter as a sign from Catherine, of all things.

Now with Peter all over the newspapers, will it put the foundation in the spotlight? If they ever start digging into the finances, it’s all over. Doug seems to think that Greg can doctor up the paperwork to show that because of the present economic climate and some unwise investments, it’s necessary to close the foundation. Doug doesn’t believe that too many questions will be asked. But I’m not so sure it would be like that at all. I think I’m going to self-diagnose a heart condition, close down my practice, and get out of the country.

That decision made, Clayton Hadley felt somewhat better. At seven o’clock, he sent down for dinner from the in-house restaurant in his upscale condominium. As usual, he ate heartily, then managed to abolish Olivia Morrow’s face from his consciousness and fall into a deep sleep.

On Monday morning, he arrived at his office at nine thirty, as usual. His secretary reported that a Ms. Sophie Rutkowski had phoned and would call back in fifteen minutes.

Sophie Rutkowski, Clay thought. Who’s she? Oh, I know who she is-Olivia’s cleaning woman. Olivia left her five thousand dollars in her will. She probably knows about it and is waiting to get her hands on it.

But when Sophie phoned back, it was not about the money. “Dr. Hadley,” she began, her voice respectful. “Did you take the pillowcase with the blood on it from Ms. Morrow’s apartment? You see, if you did, I’d like to get it from you and wash it so that the complete set is in the linen closet just the way Ms. Morrow would like it to be. “Would that be all right with you, Doctor?”

The offices of the prestigious corporate law firm where Susan Gannon worked were on the tenth floor of the former Pam Am Building, on Park Avenue. On the twelfth floor was the equally prestigious criminal defense firm that Harvey Roth headed. Casual friends, they sometimes joked that they still thought of the building by its original name rather than by its present one, the MetLife Building.

Before she hired Roth to defend Peter, Susan had carefully researched who would be the best possible lawyer for the job. Four of the five attorneys whose opinions she had sought recommended Harvey Roth. The other one had suggested himself.

On Monday, at noon, Susan and Harvey met in his office. After ordering sandwiches from a local delicatessen, they went into his conference room and sat down at the table. “Harvey, how did Peter appear to you when you saw him Saturday?” Susan began.

“Numb. In shock. Bewildered. I could go on, but you get the picture,” Harvey answered. “He claims he absolutely didn’t know there was a false bottom in his desk drawer. I called his brother’s secretary to ask her about it an hour ago.”

“Esther Chambers. What did she say?”

“She never knew about it, either. She had nothing to do with the decorating, except to okay the bills. She said that the prices were, and now I’m quoting, ‘ludicrously expensive.’ ”

“Did she give you the name of the decorator?”

“Chambers didn’t have it at her fingertips, but said she knows that the woman has retired and spends most of her time in France. She’s going to follow up and get in touch with her. She told me she’d do anything to help Peter.”

“I believe that,” Susan said. “Harvey, tell me the truth. If Peter’s trial were starting now, what would happen?”

“Susan, you know as well as I do that he’d be found guilty. But the trial isn’t starting now. Let’s take a look at whatever positive facts we can find. Peter was out on the street with Renée Carter. He says he left her and the bag of money. But even if he didn’t leave her, what happened next? That bag must have been fairly heavy. He certainly didn’t carry it and drag Renée Carter down York Avenue at the same time. Even if the street wasn’t crowded, he would almost certainly have been noticed.”