Mary Clark - Where Are You Now?

I could only imagine Barrott’s reaction if he was able to get his hands on that note and tape after hearing Mother’s outburst. I had barely finished that thought when the concierge phoned to say that Detective Gaylor was on his way up. “I’m sorry, Miss Carolyn, he wouldn’t let me announce him. He showed me a subpoena he has to deliver to you.”

Before the bell rang, I frantically called Thurston Carver, our criminal defense lawyer, on his cell phone. He told me, as he had when we met at his office, that I could not refuse to turn over what was ordered in the subpoena.

When I opened the door for Detective Gaylor, he handed me the subpoena, his manner professional and impersonal. It was for the note Mack had left in the collection basket and the tape I had found in his suitcase. Shaking with fury, I almost threw them at him. I took some comfort in knowing that I had made a copy of each.

After he left, I slumped into the nearest chair and again heard myself repeating over and over in my head Mack’s taped quotation, “I all alone beweep my outcast state…” Finally, I got up, walked to my bedroom, and emptied the bag I had started to pack. It was obvious that any plans I had been making to drive up to Martha’s Vineyard would have to be postponed. I was so deep into concentrating on what my next logical move would be that I didn’t realize my cell phone was ringing. I rushed to pick it up. It was Nick, about to leave a message. “I’m here,” I said.

“Good. This would have been a convoluted message. Carolyn,” he said, tersely, “I think you should know that I’ve just been named a person of interest in the disappearance of Leesey Andrews. I see from the papers that the cops’ other theory is that Mack has been running around killing people. I might as well tell you that when I was down at the DA’s Office on Thursday, they even suggested you and I might be cooperating to protect Mack.”

He didn’t give me a chance to reply before he said, “I’m flying to Florida this morning for the second time this week. My father’s been in the hospital. He had a mild heart attack yesterday. I expect to be back tomorrow. Barring any reason I have to stay in Florida, can we have dinner tomorrow night?” Then he added, “It was so good to see you, Carolyn. I’m beginning to understand why I looked forward to being invited to dinner with your family and why it wasn’t the same when Mack’s kid sister wasn’t around.”

I told him that I hoped his father would recover quickly, and that yes, tomorrow night was fine. I held my cell phone to my ear for a few moments after Nick clicked off. My mind was a mess of conflicting emotions. The first one was that I acknowledged to myself I’d never gotten over my crush on him, that all week I’d been hearing his voice, remembering the warmth I’d felt sitting across the table from him the other night.

The second reaction was to wonder if Nick was playing some kind of cat and mouse game with me. The D.A.’s office had named him a “person of interest” in Leesey Andrews’s disappearance. I knew that was very, very serious, practically an accusation of guilt. But the police also believed he might be helping me to protect Mack. Nick had not contacted me all week, even though Mack’s name had been in the headlines. When we had dinner, he had not been even remotely sympathetic to my fear that Mack might need help.

Had Nick really been named a person of interest? Or was it just a device suggested to him by the police to disarm me? And was Nick, close friend of his former roommate-turned-criminal, now hoping to use his influence to persuade me to turn Mack in if he contacted me again?

I shook my head, as if to clear it of all these questions, but they didn’t go away.

Worse still, they didn’t lead me anywhere.

D r. David Andrews had not left his home in Greenwich since the phone call from Leesey came in. Sleepless, and now a gaunt shadow of the man he had been before his daughter’s disappearance, he kept a vigil by the phone, grabbing it at the first ring every time it rang. He always carried the portable receiver from room to room with him. When he went to bed at night, he placed it on the pillow next to his head.

When he did get a call, he immediately cut the conversation to a few words, explaining that he wanted to leave the line open in case Leesey called again.

His housekeeper of twenty years, who usually left after lunch, began staying into the evening, trying to get Dr. Andrews to eat something, even if it was only a cup of soup or coffee and a sandwich. He had made it clear to his friends that he did not want anyone to tie up the line, and refused to allow them to stop by and see him. “I’m better off if I don’t feel obliged to keep up a conversation,” he told them.

On Saturday morning, Gregg took Zach Winters down to Larry Ahearn’s office, but as he sat in while Ahearn interrogated Zach, he saw his story about seeing Leesey get into the black Mercedes SUV begin to unravel. Zach had said that he hung around on that block for about half an hour, but the employees of the Woodshed, who left only a few minutes after Leesey, all swore they hadn’t seen him on the street. He admitted that he was a chronic drunk who had once been thrown out of the Woodshed when he came in and tried to panhandle the customers. He admitted that he was angry at Nick DeMarco, the owner, for having him thrown out, and that he knew Nick owned a black Mercedes SUV.

After the lengthy interrogation, Gregg drove Zach back to where he had found him. Exhausted, Gregg went straight to his apartment and fell asleep until nine o’clock Sunday morning. Then, feeling clearheaded and focused again, he showered, dressed, and drove to Greenwich.

The change in his father in the one week since he had last seen him was shocking. His father’s housekeeper, Annie Potters, who never came in on Sunday, was there. “He won’t eat,” she whispered to Gregg. “It’s eleven o’clock and he hasn’t touched a morsel since yesterday.”

“Would you fix some breakfast for both of us, Annie?” Gregg asked. “I’ll see what I can do.”

After greeting him, his father had immediately returned to his recliner in the living room, the portable phone within reach. Gregg went back into the living room and sat on the chair nearest the recliner. “Dad, I’ve been walking the streets at night looking for Leesey. I can’t do it anymore, and you can’t do this anymore! We’re not helping Leesey, and we’re destroying ourselves. I’ve been down to the District Attorney’s office. There is absolutely nothing Larry Ahearn and his people aren’t already doing to find Leesey. I want you to come in and eat something, then we’re going out for a walk. It’s a beautiful day.” He got up, and bent down to hug his father. “You know I’m right.”

Dr. David Andrews nodded, then his face crumbled. Gregg embraced him. “Dad, I know. I know. Now, come on, and leave the phone here. If it rings, we’ll answer it.”

He was cheered to see his father eat half the serving of scrambled eggs and bacon Annie put before him. Gregg was nibbling on a slice of toast and drinking his second cup of coffee when the phone rang. His father bolted up and raced from the table, but he didn’t reach the phone before the message began.

It was Leesey, unmistakably. “Daddy, Daddy,” she wailed, “help me. Please, Daddy, he says he’s going to kill me.”

The message ended as Leesey began to sob.

Dr. David Andrews lunged for the phone and grabbed it, but by then he heard only a dial tone. His knees buckled, and Gregg was in time to ease him into his recliner before he collapsed.

Gregg was checking his father’s pulse when the phone rang again. It was Larry Ahearn.