Before I Say Good-Bye (19 page)

“Which of course means that she
is
going to see me.”

“Maybe she would have anyhow,” Gert said, “although I don’t think even she is sure of that. But now she absolutely wants to consult you, and she wants to do it as soon as possible.”

“Fine, Gert. Ask her to be here tomorrow at three.”

Monday, June 19

forty-two

T
HE SALON WAS CLOSED TODAY;
it was always closed on Mondays. In a way, Lisa Ryan was grateful for the extra day; it gave her a little more time to get herself emotionally prepared to go back and face the world. In another way, she wished she were already back at work. She dreaded getting through that first week, when all her steady clients would express their sympathy and then want to hear the inside details of the explosion that had taken Jimmy’s life.

Many of them had come to the funeral parlor. Others had sent flowers and notes of sympathy.

Lisa knew, though, that the novelty of the event was already over, at least for everyone but her. By now, all of her clients were going about their own lives, only fleetingly conscious of Lisa’s loss. Maybe for a while each of them would remain grateful that she could anticipate the sound of her own husband’s car pulling into the driveway at night. Soon, though, that too would become routine. Oh, they were all sorry for her, genuinely sorry, but each of them was also happy not to be the one receiving the sympathy.

Lisa had felt that way herself, last year, when the husband of one of her clients had been killed in a traffic accident.

She had talked about that to Jimmy at the time. I’ll never forget what he said, Lisa thought: “Lissy, we’re all a little superstitious. We all have a feeling that if something terrible happens to someone else, it may satisfy the gods for a time and they’ll leave us alone.”

B
Y NINE O’CLOCK
she had straightened up the house. There were still plenty of notes from friends and well-wishers to answer, but Lisa simply could not make herself get into them now.

So many old friends who had moved away from the area had written to express shock and sorrow. One of her favorite notes was from a guy she and Jimmy had grown up with who was now a big shot at a movie studio in Hollywood.

“I remember Jimmy when we were in the seventh grade,” he wrote. “We once had one of those science-project assignments that, as a parent, I now know teachers give just to cause trouble in the family. The night before the projects were due, I still hadn’t done mine, but as usual Jimmy had his own all worked out and was willing to lend me a hand as well. He came over and helped me put together a Lego bridge and then to write a composition on why it had a degree of sway built into it. He was one terrific guy.”

And I almost handed his good reputation to a cop, Lisa thought, remembering the Friday visit from Detective Sclafani. But not telling about the money didn’t solve the problem—she still had to return it. She
knew with absolute certainty that Jimmy hadn’t taken the money willingly; she knew without a doubt that he had been forced to accept it. There simply was no other explanation. Jimmy had been given a choice of losing his job or closing his eyes to something wrong on the job site. Then he’d been forced to accept money he didn’t want—that way they would have a hold over him.

Even though she didn’t really know her, Lisa sensed that Nell MacDermott was someone she could trust. She also thought that Nell might know something about whatever it was Jimmy was working on. After all, it was someone from Nell’s husband’s firm who had called Jimmy in for an interview in the first place, then had passed his application along to Sam Krause Construction. What began as an apparent act of kindness, had ended up with Jimmy dead.

Somehow the money in that box was tied to it all. And even though she needed it—needed it to pay the bills and to keep food on the table—she knew she could never spend a penny of it. It was tainted, soiled now with Jimmy’s blood.

A
T TEN O’CLOCK,
Lisa tried to phone Nell MacDermott. She knew that Nell lived in Manhattan, somewhere on the East Side, in the Seventies. Her phone, however, proved to be unlisted.

Then Lisa remembered reading in the newspaper that Nell’s grandfather, former congressman Cornelius MacDermott, now had a consulting firm. Getting that number from information, she decided to call there; maybe someone would be able, and willing, to put her in touch with Nell.

Almost immediately, she was put through to a pleasant-voiced lady who said she was Liz Hanley, former congressman MacDermott’s assistant.

Lisa made it simple: “My name is Lisa Ryan. I’m Jimmy Ryan’s widow. I must speak to Nell MacDermott.”

Liz Hanley asked her if she could put her on hold. Two minutes later Liz was back on the line. “If you call right away, you can reach Nell at 212-555-6784. She’s expecting your call.”

Lisa thanked her, broke the connection and immediately dialed the number. The call was answered on the first ring. Five minutes later, at twenty past ten, Lisa Ryan was on her way to meet Nell MacDermott, the other woman made a widow by the boat explosion.

forty-three

D
URING HIS THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS OF LIFE,
Jed Kaplan had been in trouble with the law enough to know when he was under surveillance. He had developed a kind of sixth sense about having somebody on his tail.

I can smell a cop two miles away, he thought bitterly that Monday morning, as he slammed out of the apartment house and began walking downtown. Hope you got comfortable shoes on. We’re going to take one of our nice long walks.

Jed wanted to get out of New York. He couldn’t stand living with his mother another minute. When he woke up an hour ago, his back felt almost paralyzed
from sleeping on the crummy mattress of that lousy sofa bed. Then he had gone into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee and found his mother sitting at the table, crying her eyes out.

“Your father would have been eighty years old today,” she told him, her voice breaking. “If he were still alive, I’d be having a party for him. Instead, I’m in here, alone, hiding, ashamed to look any of my neighbors in the face.”

Jed had tried to dismiss her concerns, asserting his innocence once more. There’d been no shutting her up, however, and she had continued on in the same vein.

“You remember seeing old movies with Edward G. Robinson in them, don’t you?” she said. “When his wife died, the only thing she left their son was his highchair. She said the only time he’d ever given her happiness was when he sat in it.”

Then she shook her fist at him. “I could say the same about you, Jed. Your behavior is a disgrace to me. You disgrace your father’s memory.”

He had taken all he could stand and quickly left the apartment and its feeling of hopeless claustrophobia. He had to get away, but to do that he needed his passport. The cops knew that the trumped-up charge on the grass they found in his duffle bag would be thrown out of court, so they had confiscated his passport, just to make sure he didn’t go anywhere.

I never admitted that grass was mine, Jed thought, congratulating himself. I told them truthfully that I hadn’t touched that bag in five years.

But even after that charge was dropped, he wouldn’t be out of trouble with the cops. They’d cook up something else to force him to hang around.

The trouble is, Jed thought, as he stopped for coffee at a deli on Broadway, the one tip I
could
give the cops also could be used to help them nail me for the explosion.

forty-four

“I’
M SORRY
I’
M LATE,”
Lisa Ryan apologized to Nell as she was shown into the apartment. “I should have known I wouldn’t be able to find a parking spot. I finally ended up going into a garage.”

She hoped she didn’t sound as nervous and flustered as she felt. Manhattan traffic always unnerved her, and then having to put the car in a garage—at so much expense; the minimum charge was twenty-five dollars—had left her both irritated and disoriented.

Twenty-five dollars was an awful lot of money to Lisa, an amount equal to the tips she would receive for doing between five and eight manicures. All that money wasted just to keep a ten-year-old car off the streets—if it hadn’t been so important that she see Nell MacDermott, she might have just driven right back to Queens.

When she left the garage and was walking toward the apartment building, she had felt tears of frustration welling behind her eyes, forcing her to stop and fish for a handkerchief to wipe them away. She refused to make a spectacle of herself on the streets of Manhattan.

Always before, Lisa had felt well dressed when she wore her navy-blue pants suit, but looking at the woman in front of her, she knew her outfit must look
bargain basement compared with the beautifully tailored tan slacks and cream-colored blouse Nell MacDermott was wearing.

Her pictures don’t do her justice, Lisa thought. She’s so pretty. And not surprisingly, she looks much better today than when I saw her right after the memorial Mass for her husband.

Nell MacDermott’s greeting to her had been kind and warm. She told Lisa right away to call her Nell, and instinctively Lisa felt that she could be trusted, a quality that was very important under the present circumstances.

There was something else reassuring about her as well—Nell MacDermott had an air of quiet confidence about her. As Lisa watched her, she could tell Nell had grown up accustomed to living in a nice place like this.

As she followed Nell into the living room, she thought once more of Jimmy, and of how he used to kid her about the way she would pore over interior-design magazines. Lisa thought of the many hours she had spent mentally furnishing their dream house. Sometimes she envisioned it with a formal décor, including antique furniture and Persian carpets. At other times she saw it as decorated in English country style, and occasionally even in art deco or modern, although she knew those styles were out because Jimmy didn’t like them. Sadly she remembered how she used to tell him that when the kids were grown up, she wanted to go back to school and learn interior design. That would never be an option now.

“You have a beautiful home,” she said quietly, looking about the room at the eclectic yet perfectly matched furnishings.

“Thank you. I love it,” Nell said almost wistfully. “My mother and father traveled a great deal. They were anthropologists. They brought home some unusual pieces from all over the world. Add to them a couple of really comfortable couches and chairs, and the whole thing works. I can tell you, it certainly has been a haven for me this last week.”

As she spoke, Nell MacDermott studied her visitor. Base makeup could not conceal the fact that Lisa Ryan’s eyes were puffy, and her complexion still showed the blotches that came from crying. Nell had the feeling that it would not take much to open a floodgate of tears.

“I made a fresh pot of coffee,” she said. “Would you join me?”

A few minutes later, they were sitting across the kitchen table from each other. Lisa knew it was up to her to break the silence. I’m the one who asked to come here, she thought, so I should begin. But where? she wondered.

Taking a deep breath, she started: “Nell, my husband was out of work for nearly two years. He applied for a job at your husband’s firm, and then, out of the blue, got hired by your husband’s business partner, Sam Krause.”

“I think Sam Krause was more of a business associate than a partner,” Nell said. “Adam was working on projects with several people, but he didn’t really consider any of them to be partners. When Adam was with Walters and Arsdale, he was the architect in charge of some building renovations, and Sam Krause was the building contractor. Then Adam opened his own firm and was planning to work with Krause on the Vandermeer project.”

“I know. Jimmy had been reconstructing old apartment houses, but recently he told me they expected to start a big job, a tower apartment building, he said, and that he would be head foreman.”

Lisa paused. When she spoke again, she said only “Nell,” and then her voice faltered. After another moment, she burst out, “Nell, Jimmy lost his job a couple of years ago because he was an honest man and spoke up about substandard materials being used by the outfit he was working with. He got blackballed for it and was out of work for a long time. So when he got the call about the job with Sam Krause, he was so happy to go to work. Looking back, though, I realize that the minute he started to work for him, something must have happened. I loved Jimmy so much and was so close to him, I couldn’t help but notice—he changed, almost overnight.”

“What do you mean by ‘changed’?” Nell asked quietly.

“He couldn’t sleep. He lost his appetite. He seemed almost to be in another world.”

“What do you think was the reason for that?”

Lisa Ryan put down her coffee and looked directly at the woman across the table from her. “I think Jimmy was forced to look the other way when he saw something at work that was terribly wrong. He would never have done anything bad himself, but at that point in his life, he was so beaten down that if he had to make a choice between being out of work again, or of simply looking the other way, I think he would have chosen the latter. But of course it was the wrong decision, especially for him. Jimmy was too good a man to be able to live with himself after doing something like that. I
know that’s what must have happened, and it was driving him crazy.”