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“Gus told me that your family lived in Greenwich and that you grew up there,” she said. “Did you know the Lasches?”
In other words, Tim thought, she’s saying I know you know who I am and all about my father, so let’s skip that. “Dr. Lasch, I mean Gary ’s father, was our family doctor,” he said. “A nice man and a good physician.”
“How about Gary?” Fran asked swiftly.
Tim’s eyes hardened. “A dedicated doctor,” he said flatly. “He took wonderful care of my grandmother before she died at Lasch Hospital. That was only weeks before his own death.”
Tim did not add that when his grandmother had been ill, the special-duty nurse who frequently attended her was A
A
“I’ve got to see what’s going on at my desk,” he a
She’d been only a kid, Tim thought angrily, and in a way she was not unlike Fran Simmons, the victim of someone else’s selfishness. She’d been forced to give up her job and move out of town. The murder trial brought national attention, and for a time she was in every gossip column.
He wondered where A
15
A
She used her mother’s maiden name now, Sangelo. Her body had filled out and, like her mother and sister, she was now a size 14. The dark hair that used to bounce on her shoulders was a trim, curly cap around her heart-shaped face. At twenty-nine, she looked to be what she in fact was-competent, practical, kindhearted. Nothing in her appearance resembled the curvaceous “other woman” in the Dr. Gary Lasch murder case.
The night before last, A
It’s where I belong, she whispered fiercely to herself as she made her way up the cracked concrete steps to Mr. Olsen’s home. But driving past the prison that day, her courage had failed her, and she’d gone directly home to her little apartment in Yonkers. It was the only time she had come close to calling that fatherly lawyer who’d been her patient at Lasch Hospital to ask him to help her turn herself in to the state’s attorney.
As she rang Mr. Olsen’s bell, then let herself in with her key and called a cheery “Good morning,” A
She was afraid to have that happen.
16
Calvin Whitehall ignored Peter Black’s secretary as he walked past her desk and opened the door to Peter’s lavishly appointed corner office.
Black looked up from the reports he was reading. “You’re early.”
“No I’m not,” Whitehall snapped. “Je
“Molly had the nerve to phone and warn me I’d better be available to Fran Simmons, that reporter on NAF. Did Je
Calvin Whitehall nodded. The two men stared across the desk at each other. “There’s worse,” Whitehall said flatly. “Molly seems to be determined to locate A
Black paled. “Then I suggest you find a way to send her on a wild goose chase,” he said quietly. “The ball is in your court on this one. And you’d better handle it carefully. I don’t need to remind you of what this can mean to both of us.”
Angrily he tossed the reports he had been studying across the desk. “All these are new potential malpractice suits.”
“Squash them.”
“I intend to.”
Cal Whitehall studied his partner, observing the slight tremor in Peter Black’s hand, the broken capillaries on his cheeks and chin. Cold distaste evident in his tone, he said, “We’ve got to stop that reporter and keep Molly away from A
17
Fran knew the instant she met Tim Mason that he was aware of her background. I might as well get used to it, she thought. I’ll see that reaction again and again from people in Greenwich. All they have to do is put two and two together. Fran Simmons? Wait a minute. Simmons. The speculative look. Why does that name sound familiar? Oh, of course. Her father was the one who…
She did not sleep well that night and was feeling less than chipper when she reached the office the next morning. An immediate reminder of her troubled dreams was waiting on her desk-a message from Molly Lasch, giving the name of the psychiatrist who had treated her pending the trial: “I called Dr. Daniels. He’s semiretired now but would be happy to see you. His office is on Greenwich Avenue,” her message said.
Dr. Daniels; Molly’s lawyer, Philip Matthews; Dr. Peter Black; Calvin and Je
She picked up Molly’s message and studied it. I’ll start with Dr. Daniels, she decided.
John Daniels had been contacted by Molly Lasch and was expecting Fran’s call. He readily suggested that if she wanted to come up that afternoon, he would be able to see her. Although seventy-five on his last birthday, and semiretired, he had not been able to completely give up his practice, despite the coaxing of his wife. There were too many people who still depended on him and whom he could help.
One of the few he felt he had failed was Molly Carpenter Lasch. He had known her since she was a child and would sometimes come to di
His receptionist, Ruthie Roitenberg, had been with him twenty-five years and, with the privilege of longevity in a job, was not above stating her frank opinions and passing along gossip. It was she who, after being told Fran Simmons was expected at two o’clock, said, “Doctor, you do know whose daughter she is?”