Christopher Smith - Fifth Avenue

He stopped pacing in the rose-colored foyer and turned to watch her round the corner at the end of the long hallway. She was wearing a cream silk suit that was so delicate, it might have been transparent had it not been for the paleness of her own skin. As she came toward him, Jack saw nothing in her demeanor that suggested she was annoyed or surprised by his unexpected presence.

Yet he knew she wouldn’t be pleased to see him. She had made it well known that she held him personally responsible for Celina’s death.

Jack started walking toward her, thinking that if she didn’t cooperate with him, she might be facing the reality of another dead daughter. “I’m sorry for intruding,” he said. “But I have to speak to George. Do you know where he is?”

At the mention of her husband’s name, there was the slightest hesitation in Elizabeth Redman’s stride. Then she stopped in the center of the hallway and said coolly, “My husband isn’t here, Mr. Douglas.”

And without another word, she stepped into the sitting room.

Jack stood there a moment, weighing his options and then he went after her. He found her across the room, facing a window that looked uptown, toward the swirling lights of The Hotel Fifth. If she knew he was there, she didn’t let it show.

There was no time for games. “I know who murdered Celina,” he said. “I know who rigged those spotlights with explosives. If you want me to catch the man and put a stop to this, then I suggest you cut the bullshit, Mrs. Redman, and help me.”

Stunned by the tone of his voice and what he’d just said to her, Elizabeth turned.

“Where is George?” he said again. “You must know where he is.”

“You know who killed Celina?”

“I do,” he said. “But I need to speak to George.”

She stepped away from the window and sat in a white chintz chair. She seemed very tired when she said, “I don’t know where he is. He left an hour ago. He didn’t tell me where he was going.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Of course, it’s unusual.”

“And you have no idea where he could have gone?”

“None,” Elizabeth said. “He received that letter by messenger and then he left. He wouldn’t tell me where he was going.”

Jack’s mind was racing. “What letter?” he said. “Who sent it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you read it?”

“He wouldn’t let me.”

“And he left after receiving it?”

“Yes. Whatever was in that letter disturbed him very much.”

“Disturbed him how?”

“It was a look I haven’t seen in him before. George looked frightened. I could see it on his face when he put the letter in his jacket pocket. It was clear that he was scared, but there was something else, some other emotion I couldn’t define. At least not then.”

“But you can now?”

Elizabeth was silent a moment, but then she nodded. “Yes. I’ve seen that look before. I saw it quite a bit in Leana when she was growing up.” She took a breath. “George looked incredibly sad, as if he had been cheated out of something he always wanted. That’s what I saw in his face-beneath the fear.”

“What could it be?”

“I don’t know. But I might have a better idea if you tell me who murdered my daughter

“It was Louis Ryan.”

She had little reaction to this and while Jack was surprised by that, he supposed that perhaps a part of her always had known it was Ryan, but that she never assumed he would go this far after so many years.

For a moment, she was still, then she rose and stepped again to the windows that looked uptown. “And now he has Leana.”

Jack picked up the phone on the table beside him.

“Who are you calling?” Elizabeth said.

“The police.”

“That letter was from Louis Ryan,” she said. “You do know that, don’t you?”

“I know it now. I think your husband is with him.”

“He thinks George killed his wife, Anne. He’s always thought that. But I suppose you know that, too.”

A dispatcher came on the line. While he spoke to the man, briefly telling him what he knew, Elizabeth started talking. “But George didn’t kill her,” she said. “How could he? Anne Ryan was his first love.”

Jack looked sideways at her. The mood in the room was changing. “Forget it,” he said to the dispatcher. “A lot of people are involved in this-including my parents. Tell Lieutenant Greenfield that I will meet him at the hotel. And get a crew out at JFK. Diana Crane’s plane will be landing there at midnight. I want to make certain nothing happens to her or her mother.”

He hung up the phone. “I have to go,” he said.

But Elizabeth was in another place, another time. She looked at Jack and said, “What would you have done, Mr. Douglas, had you been in my shoes? He didn’t think I knew, but I did. I followed them one night to a hotel in Hartford. While I sat in my car, no more than a hundred yards away, I watched them go inside.’’

He was about to say this was none of his business, that he needed to go, when he realized what was unfolding here.

“You can’t imagine how much that hurt,” she said. “Seeing them like that, laughing, holding hands. But I loved George. We were engaged and I was willing to do anything to keep him. As far as I was concerned, Anne Ryan was poison. And so I killed her. I took one of George’s shotguns, drove out to her home and saw that her car was gone.”

She looked up at the ceiling. “It was late,” she said. “I knew she would be coming back sooner or later, and so I parked my car a mile down the road and hid in the woods near her house. The weather was awful that night. We were having a blizzard. I must have stayed in those woods for hours before I saw her car coming down the road and skidding in the snow as she approached the bridge. When I pulled the trigger, I remember being perfectly calm, like I am now. Even the sound of gunfire didn’t startle me. And when her car toppled over the bridge, I felt nothing but relief. She was out of our lives. Problem solved. I hurried back to my car and left before the police could arrive.”

Jack couldn’t believe she was confessing this to him. “You killed Anne Ryan?” he said.

Elizabeth smiled. “You’re a sharp man, Mr. Douglas. Brighter than I imagined. Yes, I killed her. I was desperate and so I killed her. It was the best and worst thing I’ve ever done in my life. While I may have gotten Anne Ryan out of our lives, my daughter is now dead because of what I did, and now my husband and my other daughter are at risk.”

Jack stood there, dumbstruck. “You could have stopped this.”

If she heard him, it wasn’t apparent.

“I’ve never told George,” Elizabeth said. “But I think he’s always known. He’s just never had the heart to ask.” She looked at Jack. “But you’ll change all that, won’t you, Mr. Douglas? You’ll tell George. And you’ll tell the police.”

“I have no choice.”

“Of course you don’t,” she said. “You’re an honest man.”

It was getting late. He had to meet Greenfield at the hotel before he and his men went inside. He was walking past Elizabeth when she said, “I love my family, Mr. Douglas. I’ve told you this for their benefit, not mine. I understand the repercussions-I’ll go to prison. But the trade-off is worth it if you get there in time and don’t let Louis Ryan hurt either of them.”

“Have I ever told you that you remind me of my wife?”

They were standing in one of the exterior glass elevators. Beyond the tinted windows that overlooked Manhattan’s Upper East Side, glittering Fifth Avenue skyscrapers rushed past them. Leana looked at Louis, who seemed to be leaning against the city, his hands resting along the chrome rail, a faintly nostalgic look on his face. While the subject had never been discussed between them, Leana knew that he once accused her father of murdering Anne Ryan.