We'll Meet Again

62

As soon as Fran left Peter Black’s office, she placed a call to Philip Matthews. He was in his office, and from his tone of voice she could tell he was deeply concerned about something.

“Where are you, Fran?” he asked.

“In Greenwich. I’ll be starting back to New York soon.”

“Any chance you could come to my office this afternoon around three? I’m afraid that things are getting worse for Molly.”

“I’ll be there,” Fran said, then pushed the END button on her car phone. She was approaching an intersection and braked as the traffic light changed. Left or right? She asked herself. She wanted to stop at the Greenwich Time office and try to catch Joe Hutnik.

But now a powerful need was compelling her to drive past the house in which she and her parents had lived for those four years. Peter Black’s scornful reference to her father had hurt her deeply. The pain, however, was not for herself, she realized, but for her dad. She wanted to see the house again. It was the last place she had spent time with him.

Let’s do it, she decided. Three blocks later she turned her car onto a tree-lined street that immediately seemed so familiar to her. They had lived in the middle of the block, in a Tudor-style brick and stucco house. She had intended simply to drive by it slowly, but instead she parked at the curb across the street from the house and stared at it with tear-filled eyes.

It was a lovely house, with leaded windows that gleamed in the sunlight. It looks pretty much the same, she thought, as she visualized the long, high-ceilinged living room with the handsome Irish marble fireplace. The library was small, she remembered. Her dad had joked that it was built to house ten books, but she thought it a great place to retreat to.

She was surprised to realize how many good memories were rushing through her mind. If Dad had only seen it through, she thought. Even if he had gone to prison, he would have been released years ago and been able to start over someplace else.

It didn’t have to happen-that was what had haunted her and her mother. Should they have been aware of something about him that last day? Could they have prevented it?

If only he had talked to us, Fran thought. If he had only said something!

And where did the money go? she asked herself. Why wasn’t there a trace of it, or at least some hint of an investment that hadn’t worked? Someday I’ll find the answer, she vowed as she started up the car.

She looked at her watch. It was twenty minutes of one. The odds were good that Joe Hutnik would be having lunch, but on the off chance that he might be in, she decided to stop by the Time.

Joe was, in fact, at his desk and was insistent that she was not interrupting; besides, he wanted to talk to her. “A lot of water under the bridge since last week,” he said gruffly as he waved her to a chair and closed the door.

“I would say so,” Fran agreed.

“The raw material for your program is expanding.”

“Joe, Molly is innocent of both those crimes. I know it. I feel it.”

Joe’s eyebrows came together. “Level with me, Fran. You’re kidding, right? ‘Cause if you’re not, then you’re kidding yourself.”

“Neither, Joe. I’m convinced she didn’t kill either her husband or Scalli. Look, you have your finger on the pulse of the town. What do you hear?”

“Very simple. People are shocked, sad, but not surprised. They all think Molly is off her rocker.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“Then you’d better be afraid of something else. Tom Serrazzano, the prosecutor, is pressuring the parole board to revoke her parole. He knows he’s stuck with her having bail on the new charge, but he’s arguing that her statement when she got out of prison was inconsistent with her statement at her parole hearing that she had accepted responsibility for her husband’s death. Because she’s denying that now, he’s arguing that she perpetrated a fraud on the parole board and should be required to finish serving the whole sentence. And he just may get his way.”

“That means Molly could go right back to prison.”

“My guess is that it’s going to happen, Fran.”

“It can’t happen,” Fran murmured, as much to herself as to Hutnik. “Joe, I met with Dr. Peter Black this morning. I’ve been doing some digging into the hospital and the Remington HMO. Something is going on there; just what it is, I haven’t figured out yet. But I do know that Black was nervous when I got there. He almost broke out in hives when I asked why he thought Gary Lasch plucked him from a nondescript job to be his partner running Lasch Hospital and Remington Health Management, when his record was less than sterling and there were so many better-qualified candidates already in the area.”

“That’s odd,” Joe said. “As I remember it, the impression we were given around here was that it was a coup to persuade him to come work at the hospital.”

“Trust me, it wasn’t.” She stood up. “I’m on my way. Joe, I want to get copies of anything the Time wrote about the library fund drive my father was involved in, and anything written about Dad and the missing funds after he died.”

“I’ll see that you get it,” he promised.

Fran was grateful that Joe didn’t ask questions, but even so she felt she owed him an explanation. “This morning, when I was trying to pin Dr. Black down, he came up with a righteous-wrath defense. What right had I to question him? he asked. I was the daughter of a thief who stole the donations of half the people in town.”

“That was a lousy dig,” Hutnik said. “But I think it’s easy enough to figure out the reason for it. He’s got to be under a lot of pressure right now, and he doesn’t want anything new to come along that might threaten the Remington acquisition of the smaller HMOs. The truth is, at least according to my sources, the deal is in trouble, Fran, lots of trouble. American National is getting the inside track. And from what I hear, things at Remington are a little shaky at the moment. These new HMOs, small though they may be, would bring in some extra cash and allow Remington to buy some time.”

Joe opened the door for her. “As I told you the other day, the head of American National is one of the most respected physicians in the country, and he’s also one of the biggest critics of the way HMOs are run. He thinks a national system is the only right answer, but until that day arrives, American National, under his leadership, is getting the highest HMO marks in the health field.”

“So you think Remington may be losing out?”

“Looks that way. The smaller HMOs that were supposed to be a shoo-in to join Remington are huddling with American now. It seems incredible, but it could happen that Whitehall and Black, despite all the stock they own in Remington, may not be able to avoid a hostile takeover down the line.”

It may be petty of me, Fran thought as she drove back to New York, but after that crack about Dad, nothing would give me more pleasure than to see Peter Black fail.

She stopped at the office, checked her mail, and then took a taxi down to Philip Matthews’s office in the World Trade Center for their three o’clock meeting.

She found him seated at his desk, which was stacked high with papers; his expression was grim. “I just spoke to Molly,” he said. “She’s pretty shaken up. Edna Barry quit this morning, and you know what reason she gave? Get this: she’s afraid of Molly, afraid to be around a person who killed two people.”

“She didn’t dare say that!” Fran stared at him in disbelief. “Philip, I’m telling you right now, that woman is hiding something!”

“Fran, I’ve been going through the statement Edna made to the police after she discovered Gary Lasch’s body. It’s absolutely consistent with what she told you and Molly yesterday.”

“You mean the part where she says that Molly was the only one who had used the spare key, and that she didn’t return it to the hiding place in the garden? Molly absolutely denies that ever happened. Philip, after Mrs. Barry discovered the body, when the police were questioning people, didn’t they ask Molly about the key as well?”

“When Molly woke up covered with blood that Monday morning and learned what had happened, she became practically catatonic, and the condition lasted for days. I don’t see any record of her being questioned about it. Don’t forget, there was absolutely no sign of forced entry, and Molly’s fingerprints were all over the murder weapon.”

“Which means that Edna Barry’s story will be believed no matter how sure Molly is that she’s lying.” Fran paced the office in irritation. “My God, Philip, Molly can’t get a break anywhere.”

“Fran, I had a phone call this morning from the mighty Calvin Whitehall. He wants to bring on some big guns to help in Molly’s defense. He’s already checked and they’re available. They’ve been given details of the case, and according to Whitehall, they all agree that the plea should be ‘not guilty by reason of insanity.’ ”

“Philip, don’t let that happen.”

“I don’t want it to happen, but there’s another problem. The prosecutor is moving heaven and earth to get Molly’s parole revoked.”

“Joe Hutnik at the Greenwich Time tipped me off about that. So this is the way it stands: Molly’s housekeeper is saying that she’s afraid of her, and Molly’s friends are trying to have her committed. That’s what an insanity defense would amount to, wouldn’t it? She would have to spend time in an institution of some sort, right?”

“No jury would let her walk after a second murder, so yes, she’d be locked up no matter what. We’ll certainly never get another plea bargain, and I’m not at all sure the insanity defense would work.”

Fran saw the misery in Philip’s face. “This is getting personal for you, isn’t it?” she asked.

He nodded. “It’s been personal for a long time. I swear to you, though, that if I thought my feelings for Molly would interfere with my judgment in defending her, I’d turn her case over to the best criminal lawyer I could find for her.”

Fran looked at Philip Matthews compassionately, remembering that her first impression of him at the prison gate was of his fierce protectiveness toward Molly. “I believe that,” she said softly.

“Fran, it’s going to take a miracle to keep Molly from going back to prison.”

“I’m meeting with Annamarie’s sister tomorrow,” Fran said. “And as soon as I get back to the office today, I’m going to get the research department to find every scrap of background it can on Remington Health Management and everyone connected with it. The more I hear, the more I believe that those murders have less to do with Gary Lasch being a womanizer than with problems at Lasch Hospital and Remington Health Management.”

She picked up her shoulder bag, and on her way out, she stopped at the window. “You have a spectacular view of Lady Liberty,” she said. “Is that to encourage your clients?”

Philip Matthews smiled. “It’s funny,” he said. “That’s exactly what Molly asked the first time she was here six years ago.”

“Well, for Molly’s sake, let’s hope Lady Liberty proves to be Lady Luck as well. I’ve got a hunch about something, and if I’m right, it could be the break we’ve been hoping for. Wish me luck, Philip. See you later.”