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Smith remembered how he had stood over her, his only thought an incongruous one-that this is how Michelangelo would have felt had he seen his Piet… lunatic who attacked it years ago in St. Peter’s.
He remembered how he had cursed Suza
He had endured the way they looked at each other, the way their hands clasped across the table, the way they sat together, side by side on the couch, or with Suza
To have to endure all that had been bad enough, but it was too much when Suza
Or she would say, “Doctor, why are you so upset? You told me I should have all the good times I’ve missed. Well, I’m having them. Skip works too hard. He isn’t fun. You take risks when you operate. I’m just like you. I take risks too. Now remember, Doctor Charles, you’re a generous daddy.” Her impudent kiss, flirting with him, sure of her power, of his tolerance.
Murderer? No, Skip was the murderer. As he stood over Suza
And then, standing there over her, a whole scenario had played itself out in his mind. Skip, the jealous husband-a jury might be lenient with a man who killed his wife in a moment of passion. He might get off with a light sentence. Or maybe even no sentence at all.
I won’t let that happen, he had vowed. Smith remembered how he had closed his eyes, blotting out the ugly, distorted face in front of him and, instead, seeing Suza
It had not been hard to keep the promise. All he had to do was take the card that had come with the flowers, then go home and wait for the inevitable call that would tell him that Suza
When the police had questioned him, he had told them that Skip was insanely jealous, that Suza
No, let Ms. McGrath say all she might want. The murderer was in jail. And he would stay there.
It was almost ten o’clock when Charles Smith got up. It was all over. He couldn’t operate anymore. He no longer wanted to see Barbara Tompkins. She disgusted him. He went into the bedroom, opened the small safe in the closet and took out a gun.
It would be so easy. Where would he go? he wondered. He did believe that the spirit moves on. Reincarnation? Maybe. Maybe this time he would be born Suza
But then, as he was about to close the safe, he looked at Suza
Suppose McGrath was right. Suppose it hadn’t been Skip but another person who had taken Suza
There was a way to rectify that. If Reardon was not the killer, then McGrath would have all that she needed to find the man who had murdered Suza
Smith reached for the jewelry case, laid the gun on top of and carried both to his desk in the study. Then with movements he took out a sheet of stationery and unscrewed the top from his pen.
When he was finished writing, he wrapped the jewelry case and the note together and managed to force them into one the several Federal Express mailers that he kept at home for convenience. He addressed the package to Assistant Prosecutor Kerry McGrath at the Bergen County Prosecutor’s Office, Hackensack, New Jersey. It was an address he remembered well.
He put on his coat and muffler and walked eight blocks to the Federal Express drop that he had used on occasion.
It was just eleven o’clock when he returned home. He took off his coat, picked up the gun, went back into the bedroom and stretched out on the bed, still fully dressed. He turned off all the lights except the one that illuminated Suza
He would end this day with her and begin the new life at the stroke of midnight. The decision made, he felt calm, even happy.
At eleven-thirty the doorbell began to ring. Who? he wondered. Angrily he tried to ignore it, but a persistent finger was pressed against it. He was sure he knew what it was. Once there had been an accident on the corner, and a neighbor had run to him for help. After all, he was a doctor. If there had been an accident, just this one more time his skill might be put to use.
Dr. Charles Smith unlocked and opened his door, then slumped against it as a bullet found its mark between his eyes.
85 Tuesday, November 7th
On Tuesday morning, Deidre Reardon and Beth Taylor were already in the reception room of Geoff Dorso’s law office when he arrived at nine o’clock.
Beth apologized for both of them. “Geoff, I’m so sorry to come without calling first,” she said, “but Deidre has to go into the hospital for the angioplasty tomorrow morning. I know it will rest her mind if she has a chance to talk to you for a few minutes and give you that picture of Suza
Deidre Reardon was looking at him anxiously. “Oh, come on, Deidre,” Geoff said heartily, “you know you don’t have to make excuses for seeing me. Aren’t you the mother of my star client?”
“Sure. It’s all those billing hours you’re logging,” Deidre Reardon murmured with a relieved smile, as Geoff took her hands in his. “It’s just that I’m so embarrassed at the way I barged into that lovely Kerry McGrath’s office last week and treated her like dirt. And then to realize her own child has been threatened because Kerry’s trying to help my son.”
“Kerry absolutely understood how you felt that day. Come back to my office. I’m sure the coffeepot’s on.”
“We will only stay five minutes,” Beth promised as Geoff placed a coffee mug in front of her. “And we won’t waste your time saying it’s been a glimpse of heaven to think that finally there’s real, genuine hope for Skip. You know how we feel, and you know how grateful we are for everything you are doing.”
“Kerry saw Dr. Smith late yesterday afternoon,” Geoff said. “She thinks she got to him. But there are other developments as well.” He told them about Barney Haskell’s records. “We may at last have a chance to track the source of the jewelry we think Weeks gave Suza
“That’s one of the reasons we’re here,” Deidre Reardon told him. “Remember I said I had a picture that showed Suza
She handed him a legal-size manila envelope. From it, he extracted a folded page from Palisades Community Life, a tabloid-sized weekly paper. As he opened it Geoff noticed the date, April 24th, nearly eleven years ago and barely a month before Suza