Mary Clark - The Cradle Will Fall

He barely made the La Guardia flight. On the plane, he listlessly thumbed through Newsmaker magazine. His eye caught the headline WESTLAKE MATERNITY CONCEPT OFFERS NEW HOPE TO CHILDLESS COUPLES. Westlake. He read the first paragraph. "For the past eight years, a private clinic in New Jersey has been making it possible for childless women to become pregnant The program is carried on by Dr. Edgar Highley…"

Highley. Vangie's doctor. Funny she never talked very much about him. It was always the psychiatrist, Fukhito.

The plane landed at four thirty. Chris hurried through the terminal and hailed a cab. It was five when he reached the Essex House. He headed for a lobby telephone, asked the operator for Dr. Salem's room number and dialed it. The phone rang… again… again. After six rings he hung up. He dialed the operator and asked her to try it for him.

The operator hesitated. "Sir, when Dr. Salem checked in, he told me that he expected an important call. But apparently he's stepped out. Why don't you try again in a few minutes?"

"I'll do that." Chris hung up the phone, walked over to a lobby chair facing an elevator bank and sat down. The elevators opened, dislodged passengers, filled again, disappeared.

One elevator caught his attention. There was something vaguely familiar about someone on it; a middle-aged man with a turned-up coat collar. Dr. Salem? No. Not Salem.

At five thirty Chris tried again. And at quarter to six. At five past six he heard the whispers that ran through the lobby like a flash fire. "Someone jumped out a window." From outside came the wail of an ambulance and the yip-yip of police cars.

Chris went to the bell captain's desk. "Who was it?" he asked.

"Dr. Emmet Salem. A big shot in the AMA. Room 3219."

Walking like an automaton, Chris pushed through the revolving door to Fifty-eighth Street. He hailed a cab and got in. "La Guardia, please," he said. There was a seven-o'clock flight to Miami. He had to get to Joan, try to make her understand before he was arrested.

TWELVE-year-old Jennifer threw open the door for Katie. "Katie, hi." The two smiled at each other. With her intense blue eyes, dark hair and olive skin, Jennifer was a young Katie.

"Hi, Jennie. Anybody here yet?"

"Everybody. The Berkeleys brought their baby. Richard is here too. His first question was 'Is Katie here yet?' He's got a case on you, Katie."

"Jennifer!" Half laughing, half irritated, Katie walked inside.

In the den, Liz and Jim Berkeley were seated on the couch. Molly was passing hors d'oeuvres. Richard was standing by the window, talking to Bill. He turned and saw her. "Katie." He came hurrying over. "I've been listening for the doorbell."

So often since John's death she'd entered a room where she was the outsider, the loner, amid couples. Tonight, Richard had been waiting for her, listening for her. Before she had time to consider her feelings, everyone was saying hello.

On the way to the dining room she asked Richard if he'd reached Dr. Salem. He said, "I just missed him at five. I left this number with the hotel operator and with my answering service."

At dinner Liz Berkeley said, "I'm holding my breath hoping Maryanne won't wake up. Poor kid, her gums are swollen."

Jim Berkeley laughed. He was darkly handsome, with brown eyes and thick black eyebrows. "When Maryanne was born, Liz used to wake her up every fifteen minutes to make sure she was okay. Now it's always, 'Quiet, don't wake up the baby.' "

Liz, who was a slender woman with flashing brown eyes, made a face at her husband. "I'm calming down, but she is a miracle to us. I'd just about given up hope. Dr. Highley's a genius."

Richard s eyes narrowed. "You really think so?"

"Positively. He isn't the warmest person," Liz began.

"But he knows his business," her husband interrupted. "He put Liz to bed in the hospital almost two months before the delivery and personally checked on her three or four times a day."

"Listen, I pray for that man every night," Liz said. "The difference that baby has made in our lives! Don't let Jim fool you. He's up ten times a night to make sure that Maryanne is covered."

As the others chatted, Katie only half listened. She felt tired and light-headed, but she did not want to break up the party. Her chance came as they headed for the living room for a nightcap. "I'm going to say good night," Katie said. "I'm bushed."

Molly did not protest. Richard said, "I'll take you to your car."

The night air was cold, and she shivered as they started down the walk. "Katie, I'm worried about you," Richard said. "I know you're not feeling up to par. You don't seem to want to talk about it, but at least let's have dinner tomorrow night."

"Richard, I'm sorry. I can't. I'm going away this weekend."

"You're what? With all that's happening at the office?"

"I… I'm committed." What a lame thing to say, Katie thought. This is ridiculous. She would tell Richard that she'd be in the hospital… Suddenly the front door was thrown open. "Richard," Jennifer shouted. "Clovis Simmons is on the phone."

"Clovis Simmons!" Katie said. "The actress?"

"Yes. Oh, hell, I was supposed to call her."

"I'll see you in the morning." Katie got into the car and closed the door. Richard hesitated, then hurried into the house as Katie drove away. His "Hello, Clovis" was brusque. "Well, Doctor, it's a shame I have to track you down, but we did discuss dinner, didn't we?"

"I'm sorry. Clovis, let me call you tomorrow. I can't talk now."

There was a sharp click in his ear. Richard hung up the phone slowly. Tomorrow he must call and apologize and tell her that there was someone else. For now he'd make his excuses and go home. Maybe try Dr. Salem again.

He went into the living room. Molly, Bill and the Berkeleys were there. And swathed in blankets, sitting on Liz's lap, was a baby girl.

"Maryanne decided to join the party," Liz said. "What do you think of her?" Proudly she turned the baby to face him.

It might have been a magazine cover: the smiling parents, the beautiful offspring. The mother and father olive-skinned, brown-eyed, square-featured; the baby fair-complexioned, red blond, with a heart-shaped face and brilliant green eyes.

Richard stared at the family group. Who do they think they're kidding? he thought. That child has to be adopted.

PHIL Cunningham and Charley Nugent watched in disgust as the final stragglers came through Newark airport's gate 11. "That's it." Charley shrugged. "Lewis must have figured we'd be waiting for him. Let's go." From a nearby pay phone he dialed Scott. "You can go home, boss," he said. "The captain didn't feel like flying tonight."

"He wasn't on board? How about the coffin?"

"That came in. Richard's guys are picking it up. Want us to hang around? There are a couple of other flights he might be on."

"Forget it. If he doesn't contact us tomorrow, I'm issuing a pickup order for him as a material witness. And first thing in the morning you two go through Edna Burns's apartment again."

Charley hung up. He turned to Phil. "If I know the boss, I'd say that by tomorrow night at this time there'll be a warrant out for Lewis' arrest."

RICHARD phoned the Essex House as soon as he got home from the Kennedys'. Again there was no answer in Dr. Salem's room. The operator came back on the line. "Operator, did Dr. Salem receive the message to phone me? I'm Dr. Carroll."

The woman's voice was hesitant. "I'll check, sir."

While he waited, Richard flipped on the television to Eyewitness News. The camera was focusing on Central Park South. He watched as the marquee of the Essex House appeared on the screen. Even as the telephone operator said, "I'm connecting you with our supervisor," the television reporter was saying, "This evening in the prestigious Essex House Hotel, Dr. Emmet Salem of Minneapolis, Minnesota, fell or jumped to his death…"