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“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 A
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 fu
“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.”
63
The dramatic change in Tasha began around five o’clock. Barbara Colbert could see it actually happening.
For the past two days the nurses had not used the light makeup that gave a hint of color to her ashen complexion, but now a pinkish glow was becoming evident.
The rigidity of her limbs, which had been held at bay by constant massage, seemed to be relaxing spontaneously. Barbara did not need to see the nurse tiptoe away from the bedside or hear her murmur on the phone in the sitting room to know that she was summoning the doctor.
It’s better for Tasha this way, she tried to tell herself. Please, God, give me strength. And please let her live until her brothers are here. They want to be with her at the end.
Barbara got up from the chair and sat on the bed, taking care not to disturb the tangle of intravenous lines and oxygen equipment. She took both Tasha’s hands in hers. “Tasha, Tasha,” she murmured. “My only consolation is that you’re going to be with Dad, and he loved you as much as I do.”
The nurse was at the door. Barbara looked up. “I want to be alone with my daughter,” she said.
The nurse’s eyes were filled with tears. “I understand. I’m so sorry.”
Barbara nodded and turned back. For an instant she thought she saw Tasha move, thought she felt a pressure on her hands.
Tasha’s breathing quickened. Barbara felt her heart ripping as she waited for the final breath. “Tasha, Tasha.”
She was vaguely aware of a presence at the door. The doctor. Go away, she thought, but she didn’t dare turn away from this last moment of her daughter’s life.
Suddenly Tasha opened her eyes. Her lips curved into a familiar smile. “Dr. Lasch, it was so stupid,” she murmured, “I tripped on my shoelace and went flying.”
Barbara stared. “Tasha!”
Tasha turned her head. “Hi, Mom…”
Her eyes closed, slowly opened again. “Mom, help me…please.” Her last breath was a quiet sigh.
“Tasha!” Barbara shrieked. “Tasha!” She whirled around. Peter Black was standing motionless in the doorway. “Doctor, you heard her! She spoke to me. Don’t let her die! Do something!”
“Oh, my dear,” Dr. Black said soothingly, as the nurse rushed in. “Let our dear girl go. It is over.”
“She spoke to me!” Barbara Colbert screamed. “You heard her!”
Frantically she pulled Tasha’s body into her arms. “Tasha, don’t go. You’re getting better!”
Strong arms were embracing her, gently compelling her to release her daughter. “Mother, we’re here.”
Barbara looked up at her sons. “She talked to me,” she sobbed. “As God is my witness, before she died, she talked to me!”