Lawrence Sanders - McNally's chance

“Zack Ward, a tabloid reporter, was a dividend sent from heaven.

Gillian and Zack came to Palm Beach in search of daddy and up went the curtain.”

They needed an investigator to snoop around and spread the word and Silvester remembered me. He comes after Gillian, breaks contact with Sabrina, and she comes looking for the both of them. Silvester has already told Sabrina he will elicit my help in finding Gillian, therefore Sabrina contacts me upon arrival.

“It was you who tipped Lolly Spindrift, wasn’t it? You told him Sabrina was here looking for a man and that was the match that lit the fuse. How did you know when and where Sabrina arrived? Now it’s perfectly clear. Like a dutiful husband you called her travel agent in New York.

“Then Gillian, with the unsuspecting Zack, starts her search with all the fanfare of a marching band. Were you surprised when Sabrina got that first call and went off to meet the man you believed to be Gillian’s father?”

Forgetting himself, Silvester said, “I was shocked. I didn’t believe Sabrina’s story. She was a genius when it came to creating plots.”

But not even Sabrina Wright could have created the plot she had lived.

Now, thanks to her assassins, and a loyal Archy McNally, her story would never be told and three very lavish floral wreaths, unsigned, would see her to her rest.

If Silvester didn’t believe Sabrina’s story of Gillian’s birth, neither did Gillian. But when the calls came they didn’t stop to wonder that Sabrina was telling the truth. They thought it convenient that their fictional patsy was real, but Gillian had no intention of waiting around to claim her birthright. She and Silvester wanted only to get away as soon as possible and leave it to the police to solve the thirty-year-old mystery.

The first call must have taken them by surprise. They were not ready to make their move. They needed time for the gossip mill to build momentum. The second call was also a surprise, but when Sabrina went out that night they must have lacked opportunity, perhaps because they couldn’t get rid of Ward. Time was running out and just as they were beginning to put what must have been their original plan into operation, the third call came. This time luck was with them. Zack wanted to see the ball game. Lucky for him. If he hadn’t they would have gotten him out of the way if they had to drug him.

“Sabrina left, you and Gillian got in Gillian’s rented car and followed her. It was conceivable that the meeting would not take place in a public place and you were right.”

But where was Schuyler? If he had kept his date, Silvester and Gillian would have seen him. Did he arrive late to find Sabrina dead?

“It was Gillian’s turn to make the anonymous call,” I finished. “And because you thought any murderer would try to make it look like a robbery, you took the jewelry and cash. That was stupid, Rob. Very stupid.”

Breaking his silence for the second and last time, he said, “The only stupid thing I did was remember your name.” Then he turned his back on me.

Outside I spotted Al Rogoff, but we did not communicate. Due to the delicate nature of our business we find it advantageous to keep our friendship under wraps when in public and especially on Al’s home turf.

It was absolutely necessary for Al to tell his superior of our last conversation and Lieutenant Eberhart’s reaction, grateful though he was, exemplifies the prudence of this artifice.

I could not see Gillian Wright as she was making a statement. I could imagine her trashing mommy, putting the gun in Silvester’s hand, and pleading guilty of being abused by the one and manipulated by the other. If she gave a jury of her peers as good a performance as she had given me this morning, and if she only aided and abetted in the act of matricide, she just might get off with a slap on the wrist. Would she write a book? I must remember to tell her to refrain from mentioning me as I don’t like to be wrote about.

I did see Zack Ward.

“I’m sitting on the biggest story of the century and I can’t get to a phone,” he griped.

My, wasn’t he concerned for the fate of his sweetheart. When he held Gillian’s hand, all he was doing was hanging on to a story. Poor, poor Gillian. Tell me,” I asked him, ‘did you believe Sabrina’s story about a former rich lover in Palm Beach?”

He shrugged. “Yes and no. I was along for the ride. If we struck pay dirt I had the scoop. If we didn’t I could get an exclusive with Sabrina.”

“What did you think when Sabrina got a call from Gillian’s father?”

Ward grinned. “Was it Jill’s father? Only Rob was so certain. Truth is, I thought Sabrina was getting it on with some young dude. That was her thing, you know, young hunks.”

“Silvester didn’t mind?”

“Why should he? He had a few bimbos on the side.” Tabloid reporters sure do tell it like it is.

Fearing the worst, I said, “Not Gillian, I hope.”

“No way. Jill is in love with me,” came the modest retort.

“And you never found Daddy Warbucks,” I said by way of an exit line.

“But I came up with something interesting,” he divulged. “Just about thirty years ago this rich kid named Harry Schuyler gave some wild parties in his hotel suite in Fort Lauderdale during the spring-break craze. The police raided one of them for dope.

It was all pot then, remember? All the kids were hauled in and this Schuyler’s father posted bail for the lot.

“I’d like to check the Fort Lauderdale police blotter for an account of the raid and see if Sabrina Wright was one of the guests. Good angle for my piece and who knows where it might lead?”

I knew exactly where it would lead because this is where I came in so I left.

“The husband did it,” herb called as I passed him on my way to the elevator. “The daughter made a statement. She was in on it. It’s on CNN,” herb keeps a television, the size of a postage stamp, in his kiosk.

Mrs. Trelawney was about to tell me much the same thing, but I stopped her with, “I was at the police station when the girl talked.”

She was most impressed but for the wrong reason. “You went to the police station in a yellow raw-silk jacket? I’m surprised they didn’t arrest you.”

“Watch your tongue, Mrs. Trelawney; the mater and pater purchased this handsome coat on their travels. Is the master in his lair?”

“He is and he told me to let him know the moment you arrived.”

“The moment has come,” I said, and tapped gently on father’s office door.

When I heard, “Come,” I entered a time warp.

Father’s office could double as a set for a nineteenth-century film and I have long suspected that a framed photo of Queen Victoria is hastily removed whenever the door opens. For this reason, one must always knock.

“Well,” father said, ‘you are saved from having to make your momentous decision. I’ve heard the news.”

Taking a chair, I answered, “I am very relieved, sir, but not overjoyed at the outcome.”

Father, in a blue suit with vest and regimental tie I do not believe he is authorized to wear, nodded solemnly. “Yes, a terrible business, but I’m glad it’s over and you are still with us.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Were you instrumental in breaking the case, Archy?”

“Let’s say I helped.”

“Fine. With the Sabrina Wright murder taking up all the news these past two days, something that should be of interest to you slipped through the cracks.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“Harry Schuyler has been hospitalized with a stroke.”

Astonished, I asked, “When?”

“Saturday night as he was getting dressed to go out. I understand the situation is not life-threatening and that he is expected to make as much of a recovery as possible for a man in his condition.”