I'll Be Seeing You (24 page)

“Because she wasn't sure.” George Manning's shoulders slumped. His complexion, usually a healthy pink, was ashen. Even the admirable head of silver hair seemed a faded, graying white. Since the Anderson baby's birth he had aged visibly.

“Dr. Manning, you've said repeatedly that founding and running the assisted reproduction clinic has been the great achievement of your lifetime. Were you aware that Helene Petrovic was planning to leave her rather considerable estate to research at your clinic?”

“We had talked about it. You see, the level of success
in our field is still not anything like what we would wish. It's very expensive for a woman to have in vitro fertilization, anywhere from ten to twenty thousand dollars. If a pregnancy is not achieved, the process starts all over. While some clinics claim a one out of five success ratio, the honest figure is closer to one out of ten.”

“Doctor, you are very anxious to see the ratio of successful pregnancies at your clinic improved?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Wasn't it quite a blow to you last Monday when Helene Petrovic not only quit but admitted she might have made a very serious mistake?”

“It was devastating.”

“Yet, even when she was found murdered, you withheld the very important reason for quitting that she had given you.” Dwyer leaned across his desk. “What else did Ms. Petrovic tell you at that meeting last Monday, Doctor?”

Manning folded his hands together. “She said that she was planning to sell her house in Lawrenceville and move away, that she might go to France to live.”

“And what did you think of that plan?”

“I was stunned,” he whispered. “I was sure she was running away.”

“Running away from what, Doctor?”

George Manning knew it was all over. He could not protect the clinic any longer. “I had the feeling that she was afraid that if the Anderson baby was not Jonathan's twin, it would start an investigation that might reveal many mistakes in the lab.”

“The will, Doctor. Did you also think that Helene Petrovic would change her will?”

“She told me she was sorry, but it was necessary. She planned to take a long time off from work and now she had family to consider.”

John Dwyer had found the answer he had guessed was there. “Dr. Manning, when was the last time you spoke to Edwin Collins?”

“He called me the day before he disappeared.” Dr.
George Manning did not like what he saw in Dwyer's eyes. “It was the first contact I had had with him either by phone or letter since he placed Helene Petrovic in my clinic,” he said, looking away, unable to cope with the disbelief and mistrust he was reading in the demeanor of the assistant state attorney.

M
eghan decided to skip going to the office and reached her apartment building at four o'clock. Her mailbox was overflowing. She fished out all the envelopes and ads and throwaways, then took the elevator up to her fourteenth-floor apartment.

She immediately opened the windows to blow away the smell of stale heat, then stood for a moment looking out over the water to the Statue of Liberty. Today the lady seemed remote and formidable in the shadows cast by the late afternoon sun.

Often when she looked at it she thought of her grandfather, Pat Kelly, who had come to this country as a teenager with nothing and worked so hard to make his fortune.

What would her grandfather think if he knew that his daughter Catherine might lose everything he had worked for because her husband had cheated on her for years?

Scottsdale, Arizona. Meg looked over the waters of New York Harbor and realized what had been bothering her. Arizona was in the Southwest. Palomino had the sound of the Southwest.

She went over to the phone, dialed the operator and asked for the area code for Scottsdale, Arizona.

Next she dialed Arizona information.

When she reached that operator, she asked, “Do you have a listing for an Edwin Collins or an E. R. Collins?”

There was none.

Meg asked another question. “Do you have a listing for Palomino Leather Goods?”

There was a pause, then the operator said, “Please hold for the number.”

O
n Monday evening when Mac got home from work, Kyle was his usual cheerful self. He informed his father that he had told all the kids at school about the guy in the woods.

“They all said how scared they'd be,” he explained with satisfaction. “I told them how I really ran fast and got away from him. Did you tell your friends about it?”

“No, I didn't.”

“It's okay if you want to,” Kyle said magnanimously.

As Kyle turned away, Mac held his arm. “Kyle, wait a minute.”

“What's the matter?”

“Let me take a look at something.”

Kyle was wearing an open-necked flannel shirt. Mac pushed it back, revealing yellowish and purple bruises at the base of his son's neck. “Did you get these last night?”

“I told you that guy grabbed me.”

“You said he pushed you.”

“First he grabbed me, but I got away.”

Mac swore under his breath. He had not thought to
examine Kyle the night before. He'd been wearing the ghost costume, and under that, a white turtleneck shirt. Mac had thought that Kyle had only been pushed by the intruder with the camera. Instead he had been grabbed around the neck. Strong fingers had caused those bruises.

Mac kept an arm around his son as he dialed the police. Last night he had reluctantly gone along with Meghan when she pleaded with him not to call them.

“Mac, it's bad enough now without giving the media a fresh angle on all this,” she had said. “Mark my words, somebody will write that Dad is hanging around the house. The assistant state attorney is sure he's going to contact us.”

I've let Meg keep me out of this long enough, Mac thought grimly. She's not going to any longer. That wasn't just some cameraman hanging around out there.

The phone was answered on the first ring. “State Trooper Thorne speaking.”

Fifteen minutes later a squad car was at the house. It was clear the two policemen were not pleased that they had not been called earlier. “Dr. MacIntyre, last night was Halloween. We're always worried that some nut might be hanging around, hoping to pick up a kid. That guy might have gone somewhere else in town.”

“I agree I should have called,” Mac said, “but I don't think that man was looking for children. He was directly in line with the dining room windows of the Collins' home, and Meghan Collins was in full view.”

He saw the looks the cops exchanged. “I think the state attorney's office should know about this,” one of them said.

All the way home from her apartment, the bitter truth had been sinking in. Meghan knew she now had virtual confirmation that her father had a second family in Arizona.

When she'd phoned the Palomino Leather Goods Shop she'd spoken to the owner. The woman was astonished when asked about the message on the answering machine. “That call didn't come from here,” she said flatly.

She did confirm that she had a customer named Mrs. E. R. Collins who had a daughter in her twenties. After that she refused to give further information over the phone.

It was seven-thirty when Meg reached Newtown. She turned into the driveway and was surprised to see Mac's red Chrysler and an unfamiliar sedan parked in front of the house. Now what? she thought, alarmed. She pulled up behind them, parked and hurried up the porch steps, realizing that any unexpected occurrence was enough to start her heart pounding with dread.

Special Investigator Arlene Weiss was in the living room with Catherine, Mac and Kyle. There was no apology in Mac's voice when he told Meg why he'd called the local police and then the assistant state attorney's office about the intruder. In fact, Meg was sure from the clipped way he spoke to her that he was angry. Kyle had been man-handled and terrified; he might have been strangled by some lunatic, and I wouldn't let Mac notify the police, she thought. She didn't blame him for being furious.

Kyle was sitting between Catherine and Mac on the couch. He slid down and came across the room to her. “Meg, don't look so sad. I'm okay.” He put his hands on her cheeks. “Really, I'm okay.”

She looked into his serious eyes, then hugged him fiercely. “You bet you are, pal.”

Weiss did not stay long. “Miss Collins, believe it or not, we want to help you,” she said as Meghan accompanied her to the door. “When you don't report, or allow other people to report, incidents like last night's, you are hindering this investigation. We could have had a police vehicle here in a few minutes if you'd called. According to Kyle, that man was carrying a large camera that would
have slowed him down. Please, is there anything else we should know?”

“Nothing,” Meg said.

“Mrs. Collins tells me that you were at your apartment. Did you find any more faxed messages?”

“No.” She bit her lip, thinking of her call to Palomino Leather Goods.

Weiss stared at her. “I see. Well, if you remember anything that you think will interest us, you know where to reach us.”

When Weiss left, Mac said to Kyle, “Go into the den. You can watch television for fifteen minutes. Then we have to go.”

“That's okay, Dad. There's nothing good on. I'll stay here.”

“It wasn't a suggestion.”

Kyle jumped up. “Fine. You don't have to get sore about it.”

“Right, Dad,” Meghan agreed. “You don't have to get sore about it.”

Kyle gave her a high five as he passed her chair.

Mac waited until he heard the click of the den door. “What did you find out while you were at your apartment, Meghan?”

Meg looked at her mother. “The location of the Palomino Leather Goods Shop and that they have a customer named Mrs. E. R. Collins.”

Ignoring her mother's gasp, she told them about her call to Scottsdale.

“I'm flying out there tomorrow,” she said. “We have to know if their Mrs. Collins is the woman Cyrus Graham saw with Dad. We can't be sure until I meet her.”

Catherine Collins hoped the hurt she saw in her daughter's face was not mirrored in her own expression when she said quietly, “Meggie, if you look so much like that dead young woman, and the woman in Scottsdale is that girl's mother, it could be terrible for her to see you.”

“Nothing is going to make it easy for whoever turns out to be the mother of that girl.”

She was grateful that they did not try to dissuade her. Instead Mac said, “Meg, don't tell anyone, and I mean
anyone,
where you're going. How long do you expect to stay?”

“Overnight at the most.”

“Then for all anyone will know, you're at your apartment. Leave it at that.”

When he collected Kyle, he said, “Catherine, if Kyle and I come to the inn tomorrow night, do you think you'd have time to join us for dinner?”

Catherine managed a smile. “I'd love to. What should I have on the menu, Kyle?”

“Chicken McNuggets?” he asked hopefully.

“Are you trying to run me out of business? Come on inside. I brought home some cookies. Take a couple with you.” She led him into the kitchen.

“Catherine is very tactful,” Mac said. “I think she knew I wanted a minute with you. Meg, I don't like you going out there alone, but I think I understand. Now I want the truth. Is there anything you're holding back?”

“No.”

“Meg, I won't let you shut me out anymore. Get used to that idea. How can I help?”

“Call Stephanie Petrovic in the morning, and if she's not there, call her lawyer. I have a funny feeling about Stephanie. I've tried to reach her three or four times, and she's been out all day. I even called her from the car half an hour ago. Her baby is due in ten days and she feels lousy. The other day she was exhausted after her aunt's funeral and couldn't wait to lie down. I can't imagine her being gone so long. Let me give you the numbers.”

When Mac and Kyle left a few minutes later, Mac's kiss was not the usual friendly peck on the cheek. Instead, as his son had done earlier, he held Meg's face in his hands.

“Take care of yourself,” he ordered, as his lips closed firmly over hers.

M
onday had been a bad day for Bernie. He got up at dawn, settled in the cracked Naugahyde recliner in the basement, and began to watch over and over the video he'd taken of Meghan from his hiding place in the woods. He'd wanted to see it when he got home last night, but his mother had demanded he keep her company.

“I'm alone too much, Bernard,” she'd complained. “You never used to go out so much on weekends. You haven't got a girl have you?”

“Of course not, Mama,” he'd said.

“You know all the trouble you've gotten into because of girls.”

“None of that was my fault, Mama.”

“I didn't say it was your fault. I said that girls are poison for you. Stay away from them.”

“Yes, Mama.”

When Mama got in one of those moods, the best thing Bernie could do was to listen to her. He was still afraid of her. He still shivered thinking of the times when he was growing up and she'd suddenly appear with the strap in her hands. “I saw you looking at that smut on television, Bernard. I can read those filthy thoughts in your head.”

Mama would never understand that what he felt for Meghan was pure and beautiful. It was just that he wanted to be around Meghan, wanted to see her, wanted to feel like he could always get her to look up and smile at him. Like last night. If he had tapped at the window and she'd recognized him, she wouldn't have been
scared. She'd have run to the door to let him in. She'd have said, “Bernie, what are you doing here?” Maybe she'd have made a cup of tea for him.

Bernie leaned forward. He was getting to the good part again, where Meghan looked so intent on what she was doing as she sat at the head of the dining room table with all those papers in front of her. With the zoom lens he'd managed to get close-ups of her face. There was something about the way she was beginning to moisten her lips that thrilled him. Her blouse was open at the neck. He wasn't sure if he could see the beat of her pulse there or if he only imagined that.

“Bernard! Bernard!”

His mother was at the head of the stairs, shouting down to him. How long had she been calling?

“Yes, Mama. I'm coming.”

“It took you long enough,” she snapped when he reached the kitchen. “You'll be late for work. What were you doing?”

“Straightening up a little. I know you want me to leave it neat.”

Fifteen minutes later he was in the car. He drove down the block, unsure of where to go. He knew he should try to pick up some fares at the airport. With all the equipment he was buying, he needed to make some money. He had to force himself to turn the wheel and head in the direction of La Guardia.

He spent the day driving back and forth to the airport. It went well enough until late afternoon when some guy kept complaining to him about the traffic. “For Pete's sake, get in the left lane. Can't you see this one is blocked?”

Bernie had begun thinking about Meghan again, about whether it would be safe to drive past her house once it got dark.

A minute later the passenger snapped, “Listen, I knew I should have taken a cab. Where'd you learn to drive? Keep up with the traffic, for God's sake.”

Bernie was at the last exit on the Grand Central Park
way before the Triborough Bridge. He took a sharp right onto the street parallel to the parkway and pulled the car to the curb.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” the passenger demanded.

The guy's big suitcase was next to Bernie in the front seat. He leaned over, opened the door and pushed it out. “Get lost,” he ordered. “Get yourself a taxi.”

He spun his head to look into the passenger's face. Their eyes locked.

The passenger's expression changed to one of panic. “All right, take it easy. Sorry if I got you upset.”