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He was reheating the coffee when his bell rang. In quick strides he reached the door, flung it open to face Ted Winters.
His clothes were rumpled, his face smudged with dirt, his hair matted; vivid, fresh scratches covered his arms and legs. He stumbled forward and would have fallen if Scott had not reached out to grasp him.
"Scott, you've got to help me. Somebody's got to help me. It's a trap, I swear it is. Scott, I tried for hours and I couldn't do it. I couldn't make myself do it."
"Easy… easy." Scott put his arm around Ted and guided him to the couch. "You're ready to pass out." He poured a generous amount of brandy into a tumbler. "Come on, drink this."
After a few sips, Ted ran his hand over his face, as if trying to erase the naked panic he had shown. His attempt at a smile was a wan failure, and he slumped with weariness. He looked young, vulnerable, totally unlike the sophisticated head of a multimillion-dollar corporation. Twenty-five years vanished, and Scott felt that he was looking at the nine-year-old boy who used to go fishing with him.
"Have you eaten today?" he asked.
"Not that I remember."
"Then sip that brandy slowly, and I'll get you a sandwich and coffee."
He waited until Ted had finished the sandwich before he said, "All right, you'd better tell me all about it."
"Scott, I don't know what's happening, but I do know this: I could not have killed Leila the way they're trying to say I did. I don't care how many witnesses come out of the woodwork-something is wrong."
He leaned forward. Now his eyes were pleading. "Scott, you remember how terrified Mother was of heights?"
"She had good cause to be. That bastard of a father of yours-"
Ted interrupted him. "He was disgusted because he could see that I was developing that same phobia. One day when I was about eight, he made her stand out on the terrace of the penthouse and look down. She began to cry. She said, 'Come on, Teddy,' and we started to go inside. He grabbed her and picked her up, and that son of a bitch held her over the railing. It was thirty-eight floors up. She was screaming, begging. I was clawing at him. He didn't pull her in until she'd fainted. Then he just dropped her on the terrace floor and said to me, 'If I ever see you look frightened out here, I'll do the same thing to you.'"
Ted swallowed. His voice broke. "This new eyewitness says I did that to Leila. Today I tried to make myself walk down the cliffs at Point Sur. I couldn't do it! I couldn't make my legs go to the edge."
"People under stress can do some pretty fu
"No. No. If I'd killed Leila, I'd have done it some other way. I know that. To say that drunk or sober, I could hold her over the railing… Syd swears I told him that my father pushed Leila off the terrace; he may have known that story about my father. Maybe everybody's lying to me. Scott, I've got to remember what happened that night."
With compassionate eyes, Scott studied Ted, taking in the exhausted droop of his shoulders, the fatigue that emanated from his body. He'd been walking all afternoon, trying to make himself stand at the edge of a cliff, battling his own personal demon in search of the truth. "Did you tell them this when they began questioning you about Leila's death?"
"It would have sounded ridiculous. I build hotels where we make people want terraces. I've always been able to avoid going out on them without making an issue of it."
Darkness was setting in. Beads of perspiration like unchecked tears were ru
"Either… both… it doesn't matter."
Scott went to the phone and called John Whitley at the hospital again. "Don't you ever go home?" he asked.
"I do get there, now and again. In fact, I'm on my way now."
"I'm afraid not, John. We have another emergency…"
Ten
Craig and Bartlett walked together toward the main house. They had deliberately skipped the "cocktail" hour and could see the last of the guests leaving the veranda as the muted gong a
"I don't like it," Bartlett told Craig. "Elizabeth Lange is up to something pretty strange when she asks to have di
"Former star witness," Craig reminded him.
"Still star witness. That Ross woman is a total nut. The other one is a petty thief. I won't mind being the one to cross-examine those two on the stand."
Craig stopped and grabbed his arm. "You mean you think Ted may still have a chance?"
"Hell, of course not. He's guilty. And he's not a good enough liar to help himself."
There was a placard in the foyer. Tonight there would be a flute-and-harp recital. Bartlett read the names of the artists. "They're first-rate. I heard them in Carnegie Hall last year. You ever go there?"
"Sometimes."
"What kind of music do you like?"
"Bach fugues. And I suppose that surprises you."
"Frankly, I never thought about it one way or another," Bartlett said shortly. Christ, he thought, I'll be glad when this case is over. A guilty client who doesn't know how to lie and a second-in-command with a chip on his shoulder who would never get over his inferiority complex.
Min, the Baron, Syd, Cheryl and Elizabeth were already at the table. Only Elizabeth seemed perfectly relaxed. She, rather than Min, had somehow assumed the role of hostess. The place on either side of her was vacant. When she saw them approaching, she reached out her hands to them in a welcoming gesture. "I saved these seats specially for you."
And what the hell is that supposed to mean? Bartlett wondered sourly.
Elizabeth watched as the waiter filled their glasses with nonalcoholic wine. She said, "Min, I don't mind telling you that when I get home I'll enjoy a good, stiff drink."
"You should be like everyone else," Syd told her. "Where's your padlocked suitcase?"
"Its contents are much more interesting than liquor," she told him. Throughout di
Once dessert was served, it was Bartlett who challenged her. "Miss Lange, I've had the distinct impression that you're playing some sort of game, and I for one don't believe in participating in games unless I know the rules."
Elizabeth was raising a spoonful of raspberries to her lips. She swallowed them, then put down the spoon. "You're quite right," she told him. "I wanted to be with all of you tonight for a very specific reason. You should all know that I no longer believe Ted is responsible for my sister's death."
They stared at her, their faces shocked.
"Let's talk about it," Elizabeth said. "Someone deliberately destroyed Leila by sending those poison-pen letters to her. I think it was you or you." She pointed at Cheryl, then at Min.