Let Me Whisper in Your Ear (27 page)

Leonard turned and left the apartment, slamming the door callously behind him, leaving Francheska curled up and weeping on the red sofa.

107

Monday, January 24

M
ATTHEW HAD OTHER
Hourglass
business to attend to and Laura was glad to be interviewing Felipe and Marta Cruz by herself. She wanted to do this on her own, not have Matthew thinking he had to babysit her all the time.

It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the care and attentiveness he was showing her at work. She did. But if their relationship was to be one of equals, she had to earn his respect by holding her own as a competent professional.

Another reason she was glad that Matthew was not coming along on the interview was that she wanted the opportunity to stop afterward and speak to her father in person.

She would have the camera crew drop her off and she could take public transportation back into the city later.

Felipe Cruz greeted them politely at his front door and invited them into his home. Marta Cruz was waiting solemnly in the modest but immaculate living room.

How hard this must be for them,
thought Laura as the crew unpacked and set up the gear. She admired their quiet courage as the couple waited patiently to begin.

“Thank you so much for talking with us, Mr. and Mrs. Cruz.”

“We hope this will do some good, Laura,” answered Felipe softly.

“First of all,” began Laura, “I've spoken with a police officer who worked on the case at the time of Tommy's disappearance. Edward Alford. Do you remember him?”

The couple nodded earnestly. “Of course we remember Officer Alford,” answered Marta. “He was very kind to us. I know he worked hard to find Tommy for a very long time. Even when, over the years, there was no word on our Tommy and it seemed everyone else had forgotten, Officer Alford would call us from time to time. He wanted to check and see how we were.”

God, what these people had been through!
Laura tried to show no emotion as she continued.

“Officer Alford told me that he never believed that Tommy was a runaway. That yours was such a loving family and that you were such devoted parents that he just didn't buy the theory that Tommy had run away from home.”

Felipe nodded gravely. “It hurt when everyone was saying that Tommy might have run away. We knew our son. He was a good boy. He would never run away from us.” Felipe looked over at his wife and, seeing the tears welling up in her brown eyes, took her hand.

“It was Officer Alford's theory that something happened to Tommy in the amusement park,” stated Laura.

“We know,” whispered Marta. “He told us that's what he thought.”

“What do you think?” pressed Laura.

“We don't know what to think,” answered Felipe, anguish in his voice. “And what does it really matter? Our boy is dead. This we know now for sure.”

Laura stared at her notebook and tried to compose herself. She wanted to wrap up the interview and not cause these poor people any more pain. But she knew, for the good of the piece, she had to ask a few more questions.

“Do you know how the investigation is going now? Have the police told you that they have any new leads?”

Felipe and Marta looked at one another.

“The police tell us not to talk about anything new while they continue their investigation,” answered Mr. Cruz.

Marta dropped her husband's hand. “Felipe, the police have not solved this case in thirty years. What makes you think that they are going to solve it now?”

She rose and walked to the well-polished maple hutch that hugged the wall. Pulling open a small drawer, she took something from it.

“Marta!” her husband warned.

“I am sorry, Felipe. In over forty years of marriage I have never disobeyed you,” she said resolutely. “But if I can help find the person who hurt our Tommy, I must do it. I owe it to the other parents.”

She handed Laura the glossy paper.

“It is a picture of a necklace they found with Tommy's body. The police say they think it might have fallen from the neck of someone as they buried him. I begged the police for this picture. I want to have anything that is part of what happened to my Tommy.”

Laura studied the picture of the cross and chain. It was quite unique. Her chest tightened as she realized that she had seen one like it before.

108

T
HOUGH
K
ITZI
M
ALCOLM'S
murder near her Fifth Avenue apartment was under the jurisdiction of another precinct, Alberto Ortiz had been sharing information with the East Side homicide squad, and they with him.

Delia Beehan's murder, committed just a few blocks from the Gilpatric apartment, was being handled by the Central Park precinct.

A crumpled credit card receipt bearing her signature was found in the pocket of Delia's frayed winter coat, along with a set of keys that Ortiz was certain would open Gwyneth Gilpatric's apartment.

Though Ortiz's recognition of Delia's body was certain enough, they were looking for her next of kin to make the positive ID. So far, they were coming up empty.

Ortiz flipped through his notepad until he found the information he was looking for. He picked up the phone and called
KEY News.

109

T
HE INTERVIEW CONCLUDED
, the crew loaded their gear into the trunk of the car parked in front of the Cruzes' house and Laura pulled out her cell phone.

There was no answer at Emmett's.

Next, she checked her voice mail.

“Miss Walsh? Detective Alberto Ortiz. Will you call me, please? It's urgent.” He left his number.

Dreading what she would hear, she stood in the cold wind and forced herself to call him back, her face darkening as she listened to the detective's matter-of-fact words.

“I'll be there in about an hour,” she answered, closing her cell phone and slipping it into her pocket.

“Where to next, Laura?” asked the cameraman as they got into the car.

“Back to the Broadcast Center,” said Laura grimly. “But I have someplace I want you to drop me off on the way.”

110

I
T WAS MIDAFTERNOON
before Laura, pale and exhausted, returned to the Broadcast Center. She headed straight to Matthew's office.

“Hey, stranger!” He smiled welcomingly. “Where have you been?” His pleasant expression turned to one of deep concern as he assessed her. “What's wrong? What happened?”

She sank into a chair and slowly unbuttoned her coat. “I was just at the morgue.”

“What?”

“I just identified Gwyneth's maid. Delia Beehan. She was found dead yesterday in Central Park.”

“God, Laura, that must have been awful for you.” Matthew took her cold hands in his and rubbed them gently. “I'm so sorry, sweetheart.” He lifted her trembling hands and held them to his lips.

She had been holding back the tears the whole cab ride back from the morgue, but now, with the tenderness of Matthew's touch, they began to flow. He took her in his arms and held her as she sobbed, whispering that everything was going to be all right.

“Look at it this way,” he said, trying to joke her out of her despair. “Now Joel has his lead for tomorrow night's show.”

111

Tuesday, January 25

“W
HY DON'T YOU
just quit that damned job?” Francheska demanded. “It's just too stressful and you don't need it with all that's been happening. God knows, Laura, you certainly don't need the paycheck.”

Francheska had arrived early, pulling a large wheeled suitcase containing more of her possessions. She found Laura in the kitchen, staring morosely into her morning coffee.

“Oh, Francheska, quitting my job isn't the answer. That wouldn't solve anything,” she said with resignation. “Three women, all connected in some way to me, have been murdered.”

“All connected to
Gwyneth Gilpatric,
” Francheska corrected. “I'm telling you, Laura, get out of that crazy TV world. It's not healthy.”

“I've got to get to work,” declared Laura firmly, wanting to end their conversation. She rose with her cup and dumped the rest of the lukewarm coffee into the sink. “And what are
you
going to do today?” she asked sarcastically.

That was cruel.
Laura regretted her words and her tone as soon as she asked the question. Francheska was struggling with leaving Leonard. There was nothing to be gained by reminding Francheska of her aimlessness.

But if Francheska was hurt, she didn't show it.

“I'm going to bring more of my stuff over. I should be sleeping here by next week, as soon as I get back from visiting my parents.”

“Good,” pronounced Laura, giving her friend a hug. “I can't wait. It's going to be great being together again.”

As she walked from the kitchen, she turned. “And don't forget. You promised that you'd come with me to the Palisades Park fund-raiser tomorrow night.”

Francheska groaned with exaggeration. “Do I
have
to? My flight to San Juan is the next morning.”

Laura smiled, the first since yesterday. “Yes. You
have
to. I told Emmett you were coming. He's so proud that his mini-park is the centerpiece of the fund-raiser. You can't disappoint him.”

112

W
HEN
R
ICKY
P
OTENZA
showed his mother the ad in the newspaper for the Palisades Park Museum fund-raiser, she had been flabbergasted when he said that he wanted to attend.

He had been very quiet since they had gone to
KEY News
for Ricky's interview, though that was not unusual. Rose admitted to herself that she had been hoping for some sort of breakthrough, but once again, it was not to be.

What surprised her now was Ricky's insistence that he wanted to go to the fund-raiser. Was that a good sign? Was Ricky, on some level, trying to come to terms with his childhood—a childhood made up of many hours spent at the amusement park?

It was worth a try. She could manage to pay for the tickets with the money she had been carefully putting aside each month. If it would help her son, who seldom showed enthusiasm for anything, she would gladly forgo the bus trip to the Poconos with her church group she had been saving for. Anything to help Ricky.

Please, God, let him get well.

But even as she prayed, Rose prepared herself for the cold reality that her prayers would most likely remain unanswered.

113

D
ELIA
B
EEHAN'S DEATH
would lead on
Hourglass
tonight and Laura wanted to have nothing to do with the production. With the Palisades Park story set to air in just one week, Laura had her excuse.

She headed for the library and the clipping files.

Pulling Gwyneth's folder from the shelf, Laura rummaged to the back of it until she found what she was searching for.

Gwyneth Gilpatric's high school yearbook picture.

Squinting, she studied the necklace that hung from Gwyneth's young neck. The distinctive marcasite cross was the same as the one that Marta Cruz had shown her.

What does it mean?
she asked herself. Gwyneth Gilpatric couldn't have buried Tommy Cruz. That was impossible to believe. She tried to push the thought from her reeling mind.

But she couldn't.

It would be impossible to believe, except for Emmett. Gwyneth's relationship with her father, signaled by the checks she wrote out to him, tied Gwyneth to her father and his beloved Palisades Park. And if Gwyneth was somehow connected to Tommy Cruz's disappearance, that could mean that Emmett was, as well.

Had Gwyneth been sending her father money to keep his mouth shut?

Laura turned the newspaper clippings carefully, not sure what she was looking for. She studied a picture of Gwyneth receiving a journalism award, showing a confident professional at the top of her chosen career.

This was not a woman who would be involved in a murder.

She was about to close the file when she came to a story about Gwyneth attending the funeral of the source for one of her
Hourglass
stories. Because she hadn't thought it important enough in the whole scheme of Gwyneth's biography, it was a story that Laura had just glanced at as she researched for her obit. Now she realized that this was the story that Mike Schultz had lost his job over.

Laura read with fascination, now, the description of the funeral for Jaime Cordero, the young Hispanic man who had bravely come forward to expose the drug dealing in his East Harlem neighborhood and who had been brutally and grossly murdered for his reward.

The picture showed Gwyneth Gilpatric with arms outstretched toward Jaime Cordero's weeping mother. Holding Mrs. Cordero's right arm was a younger woman, her head bowed and a black-leather-gloved hand held up to her face; though partially hidden, just enough of the young woman's face presented itself to the camera's unflinching gaze.

Laura's eyes focused on the figure at the side of the photo. She read the caption beneath the picture, again and again.

KEY News
correspondent Gwyneth Gilpatric comforts Juanita Cordero, the mother of slain East Harlem hero Jaime Cordero. Mrs. Cordero's daughter, Francita Cordero, at left, supports her mother.

Francita Cordero.

Cordero de Dios.

Lamb of God.

Francheska Lamb!

114

“I
KNEW
I had seen her somewhere before!” exclaimed Matthew as Laura showed him the newspaper article from the clippings file she had smuggled out of the library. “It was at the Cordero funeral!”

Laura shook her head in amazement as she stared at Francheska's grainy face. “I don't understand. Why didn't she ever tell me? I thought we were so close.…” Her voice trailed off in disappointment.