Stillwatch (14 page)

Read Stillwatch Online

Authors: Mary Higgins Clark

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Anthologies (Multiple Authors)

 

Two police cars, their dome lights blazing, were in the driveway. Athird car had followed them. Don’t let it be the press, she prayed. Butit was.Photographs were taken of the broken pane; the grounds weresearched, the living room dusted for fingerprints.It was hard to explain the note. “It was pinned to something,” adetective pointed out. “Where did you find it?”“Right here by the fireplace.” That was true enough.The reporter was from the
Tribune.
He asked to see the note.“I’d prefer not to have it made public,” Pat urged. But he wasallowed to read it.“What does ‘last warning’ mean?” the detective asked. “Have youhad other threats?”Omitting the reference to “that house,” she told them about thetwo phone calls, about the letter she’d found the first night.“This one isn’t signed,” the detective pointed out. “Where’s theother one?”“I didn’t keep it. It wasn’t signed either.”“But on the phone he called himself an avenging angel?”“He said something like ‘I am an angel of mercy, of deliverance,an avenging angel.’”“Sounds like a real screwball,” the detective commented. Hestudied her keenly. “Funny he bothered to break in this time. Whynot just slip an envelope under the door again?”Dismayed, Pat watched the reporter scribbling in his notebook.Finally the police were ready to go. The surfaces of all the living-

 

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room tables were smudged with fingerprint powder. The patio doorshad been wired together so they couldn’t be opened until the panewas replaced.It was impossible to go to bed. Vacuuming the soot and grit fromthe living room, she decided, might help her unwind. As she worked,she couldn’t forget the mutilated Raggedy Ann doll.
The child hadrun into the room . . . and tripped . . . the child fell over somethingsoft, and its hand became wet and sticky . . . and the child looked upand saw . . .
What did I see? Pat asked herself fiercely. What did I see?Her hands worked unconsciously, vacuuming the worst of thegreasy powder, then polishing the lovely old wooden tables with anoil-dampened chamois cloth, moving bric-a-brac, lifting and pushingfurniture. The carpet had small clumps of slush and dirt from thepolicemen’s shoes.
What did I see?
She began pushing the furniture back into place.No, not here; that table belongs on the short wall, that lamp on thepiano, the slipper chair near the French doors.It was only when she had finished that she understood what shehad been doing.The slipper chair. The movers had placed it too near the piano.
She’d run down the hall into the room. She’d screamed
“
Daddy,Daddy
. . .”
She’d tripped over her mother ’s body. Her mother wasbleeding. She looked up, and then
. . .And then, only darkness . . .It was nearly three o’clock. She couldn’t think about it any moretonight. She was exhausted, and her leg ached. Her limp would havebeen obvious to anyone as she dragged the vacuum cleaner back tothe storage closet and made her way upstairs.

 

At eight o’clock the telephone rang. The caller was Luther Pelham.Even coming out of the stupor of heavy sleep, Pat realized he wasfurious.

 

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“Pat, I understand you had a break-in last night. Are you all right?”She blinked, trying to force the sleep from her eyes and brain. “Yes.”“You made the front page of the
Tribune.
It’s quite a caption.‘Anchorwoman’s life threatened.’ Let me read you the first paragraph:“‘A break-in at her Georgetown home was the most recent in aseries of bizarre threats received by television personality PatriciaTraymore. The threats are tied to the documentary program “A Profileof Senator Abigail Jennings,” which Miss Traymore will produceand narrate, to be aired next Wednesday night on Potomac CableTelevision.’“That’s just the kind of publicity Abigail needs!”“I’m sorry,” Pat stammered. “I tried to keep the reporter awayfrom the note.”“Did it ever occur to you to call
me,
instead of the police? Frankly,I gave you credit for more brains than you displayed last night. Wecould have had private detectives watch your place. This is probablysome harmless nut, but the burning question in Washington will be,Who hates Abigail so much?”He was right. “I’m sorry,” Pat repeated. Then she added, “However,when you realize your home has been broken into, and you’rewondering if some nut may be six feet away on the patio, I think it’sa fairly normal reaction to call the police.”“There’s no use discussing it further until we can assess the damage.Have you reviewed Abigail’s films?”“Yes. I have some excellent material to edit.”“You didn’t tell Abigail about being in Apple Junction?”“No, I didn’t.”“Well, if you’re smart, you
won’t!
That’s all she needs to hearnow!”Without saying goodbye, Luther hung up.

 

It was Arthur’s habit to go to the bakery promptly at eight for hotrolls and then pick up the morning paper. Today he reversed the

 

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procedure. He was so eager to see if the paper had anything about thebreak-in that he went to the newsstand first.There it was, right on the front page. He read the story through,relishing every word, then frowned. Nothing had been said about theRaggedy Ann doll. The doll had been his means of making themunderstand that violence had been committed in that house and mightbe again.He purchased two seeded rolls and walked the three blocks back tothe leaning frame house and up to the dreary apartment on the secondfloor. Only half a mile away King Street had expensive restaurants andshops, but the neighborhood here was run-down and shabby.The door of Glory’s bedroom was open, and he could see she wasalready dressed in a bright red sweater and jeans. Lately she’d gottenfriendly with a girl in her office, a brazen type who was teachingGlory about makeup and had persuaded her to cut her hair.She did not look up, even though she must have heard him comingin. He sighed. Glory’s attitude toward him was becoming distant,even impatient. Like last night when he’d tried to tell her what a hardtime old Mrs. Rodriguez had had swallowing her medicine and howhe’d had to break up the pill and give her a little bread with it to hidethe taste. Glory had interrupted him. “Father, can’t we ever talk aboutanything except the nursing home?” And then she’d gone to a moviewith some of the girls from work.He put the rolls on plates and poured the coffee. “Soup’s on,” he called.Glory hurried into the kitchen. She was wearing her coat and herpurse was under her arm, as though she couldn’t wait to leave.“Hello,” he said softly. “My little girl looks very pretty today.”Gloria didn’t smile.“How was the movie?” he asked.“It was okay. Look, don’t bother getting a roll or bun for meanymore. I’ll have mine in the office with the others.”He felt crushed. He liked sharing breakfast with Glory before theyleft for work.

 

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She must have sensed his disappointment, because she lookedright at him and the expression in her eyes softened. “You’re so goodto me,” she said, and her voice sounded a little sad.For long minutes after she left, he sat staring into space. Last nighthad been exhausting. After all these years, to have been back in
that
house, in
that
room—to have placed Glory’s doll on the exact spot wherethe child had lain . . . When he’d finished arranging it against the fireplace,the right leg crumpled under it, he had almost expected to turn aroundand see the bodies of the man and woman lying there again.

 

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After Luther ’s call, Pat got up, made coffee and began editing thestoryboards for the program. She had decided to plan two versions ofthe documentary, one including an opening segment about Abigail’searly life in Apple Junction, the other starting at the wedding reception.The more she thought about it, the more she felt Luther ’s anger wasjustified. Abigail was skittish enough about the program without thisupsetting publicity. At least I had the sense to hide the doll, she thought.By nine o’clock she was in the library running off the rest of thefilms. Luther had already sent over edited segments of the EleanorBrown case, showing Abigail leaving the courthouse after the Guiltyverdict. Her regretful statement: “This is a very sad day for me. I onlyhope that now Eleanor will have the decency to tell where she hashidden that money. It may have been for my campaign fund, but farmore important, it was the donations of people who believed in thegoals I embrace.”A reporter asked: “Then, Senator, there is absolutely no truth toEleanor’s insistence that your chauffeur phoned her asking her tolook for your diamond ring in the campaign-office safe?”“My chauffeur was driving me that morning to a meeting inRichmond. The ring was on my finger.”And then the clip showed a picture of Eleanor Brown, a close-upthat clearly revealed every feature of her small, colorless face, hertimid mouth and shy eyes.The reel ended with a scene of Abigail addressing college students.Her subject was Public Trust. Her theme was the absoluteresponsibility of a legislator to keep his or her own office and staffabove reproach.There was another segment Luther had already edited, a

 

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compilation of the Senator in airline-safety hearings, with excerptsfrom her speeches demanding more stringent regulations. Severaltimes she referred to the fact that she had been widowed because herhusband had entrusted his life to an inexperienced pilot in an ill-equipped plane.At the end of each of those segments Luther had marked “
2-minutediscussion between Senator J. and Pat T. on subject.
”Pat bit her lip.Both those segments were out of sync with what she was trying todo. What happened to my creative control of this project? she wondered.The whole thing is getting too rushed. No, the word is
botched
The phone rang as she began to go through Abigail’s letters fromconstituents. It was Sam. “Pat, I read what happened. I’ve checkedwith the rental office for my place.” Sam lived in the WatergateTowers. “There are several sublets available. I want you to take oneon a monthly basis until this character is caught.”“Sam, I can’t. You know the kind of pressure I’m under. I have alocksmith coming. The police are going to keep a watch on the place.I have all my equipment set up here.” She tried to change the subject.“My real problem is what to wear to the White House dinner.”“You always look lovely. Abigail is going to be there as well. Ibumped into her this morning.”A short time later, the Senator phoned to express her shock at thebreak-in. Then she got to the point. “Unfortunately, the suggestionthat you are being threatened because of this program is bound tolead to all sorts of speculation. I really want to get this thing wrappedup, Pat. Obviously, once it’s completed and aired, the threats willend even if they are simply from some sort of crank. Have youreviewed the films I gave you?”“Yes, I have,” Pat replied. “There’s wonderful material and I’vegot it marked off. But I’d like to borrow Toby. There are some placeswhere I need names and more specific background.”They agreed that Toby would come over within the hour. WhenPat hung up she had the feeling that in Abigail Jennings’ estimationshe had become an embarrassment.Toby arrived forty-five minutes later, his leathery face creased in

 

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a smile. “I wish I’d been here when that joker tried to get in, Pat,” hetold her. “I’d’ve made mincemeat of him.”“I’ll bet you would.”He sat at the library table while she ran the projector. “That’s oldCongressman Porter Jennings,” Toby answered at one point. “He wasthe one who said he wouldn’t retire if Willard didn’t take over hisseat. You know that Virginia aristocracy. Think they own the world.But I have to say that he bucked his sister-in-law when he supportedAbigail to succeed Willard. Willard’s mother, that old she-devil, pulledout all the stops to keep Abigail out of Congress. And between us,she was a lot better Congressman than Willard. He wasn’t aggressiveenough. You know what I mean?”While waiting for Toby, Pat had reviewed the newspaper clippingsabout the Eleanor Brown case. The case seemed almost too simple.Eleanor said that Toby had phoned and sent her to the campaign office.Five thousand dollars of the money had been recovered in her storagearea in the basement of her apartment building.“How do you think Eleanor Brown expected to get away withsuch a flimsy story?” Pat now asked Toby.Toby leaned back in the leather chair, crossing one thick leg overthe other, and shrugged. Pat noticed the cigar in his breast pocket.Wincing inwardly, she invited him to smoke.He beamed, sending his jowly face into a mass of creases. “Thanksa lot. The Senator can’t stand the smell of cigar smoke. I don’t darehave even a puff in the car no matter how long I’m waiting for her.”He lit the cigar and puffed appreciatively.“About Eleanor Brown,” Pat suggested. She rested her elbows onher knees, cupping her chin in her hands.“The way I figure it,” Toby confided, “Eleanor didn’t think the moneywould be missed for a while. They’ve kind of tightened up the lawsince then, but it really used to be that you could have big money sit inthe campaign-office safe for a couple of weeks-even longer.”“But seventy-five thousand dollars in cash?”“Miss Traymore . . . Pat, you gotta understand how manycompanies contribute to both sides in a campaign. They want to besure to be with the winner. Now, of course you can’t hand cash to a

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