Let Me Call You Sweetheart

  He said that he enjoyed entertaining and that Suzanne often came to his cocktail parties and dinners, sometimes accompanied by Skip, but usually alone.

  The investigator’s note showed that he had checked with mutual friends of both Suzanne and Arnott, and that there was no suggestion of any romantic interest between them. In fact one friend commented that Suzanne was a natural flirt and joked about Arnott, calling him “Jason the neuter.”

  Nothing new here, Kerry decided when she had completed half the file. The investigation was thorough. Through the open window, the Public Service meter reader had heard Skip shouting at Suzanne at breakfast. “Boy, was that guy steaming,” was his comment.

  Sorry, Geoff, Kerry thought as she went to close the file. Her eyes were burning. She would skim through the rest of it tomorrow and return it. Then she glanced at the next report. It was the interview with a caddie at the Palisades Country Club, where Suzanne and Skip were members. A name caught her eye, and she picked up the next batch of papers, all thought of sleep suddenly gone.

  The caddie’s name was Michael Vitti, and he was a fountain of information about Suzanne Reardon. “Everybody loved to caddie for her. She was nice. She’d kid around with the caddies and gave big tips. She played with lots of the men. She was good, and I mean good. A lot of the wives got sore at her because the men all liked her.”

  Vitti had been asked if he thought Suzanne was involved with any of the men. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said. “I never saw her really alone with anyone. The foursomes always went back to the grill together, you know what I mean?”

  But when pressed he said that just maybe there was something going on between Suzanne and Jimmy Weeks.

  It was Jimmy Weeks’ name that had jumped out at Kerry. According to the investigator’s notes, Vitti’s remark wasn’t taken seriously because, although Weeks was known to be a ladies’ man, on being questioned about Suzanne, he absolutely denied that he had ever seen her outside the club and said that he had been having a serious relationship with another woman at that time, and besides, he had an ironclad alibi for the entire night of the murder.

  Then Kerry read the last of the caddie’s interview. He admitted that Mr. Weeks treated all the women pretty much alike and called most of them things like Honey, Darlin’ and Lovey.

  The caddie was asked if Weeks had a special name for Suzanne.

  The answer: “Well, a couple of times I heard him call her ‘Sweetheart.’ ”

  Kerry let the papers drop in her lap. Jimmy Weeks. Bob’s client. Was that why his attitude changed so suddenly when Robin told him that Geoff Dorso had come to see her on business?

  It was fairly widely known that Geoff Dorso represented Skip Reardon and had been trying doggedly, but unsuccessfully, for ten years to get a new trial for him.

  Was Bob, as Jimmy Weeks’ counsel, afraid of what a new trial might entail for his client?

  A couple of times I heard him call her Sweetheart. The words haunted Kerry.

  Deeply troubled, she closed the file and went up to bed. The caddie had not been called as a witness at the trial. Neither had Jimmy Weeks. Did the defense team ever interview the caddie? If not, they should have, she thought. Did they talk to Jason Arnott about any other men Suzanne might have seemed interested in at his parties?

  I’ll wait for the pictures to come in from Suzanne’s stepfather, Kerry told herself. It’s probably nothing, or at least nothing more than what I told Joe today. Maybe Suzanne just had a good makeover done when she came to New York. She did have money from her mother’s insurance policy. And Dr. Smith did, in effect, deny that he ever did any procedure whatsoever on Suzanne.

  Wait and see, she told herself. Good advice, since it was all she could do for the present anyway.

  Thursday November 2nd

  51

  On Thursday morning, Kate Carpenter arrived at the office at quarter of nine. There were no procedures scheduled, and the first patient wasn’t arriving until ten o’clock, so Dr. Smith had not come in yet.

  The receptionist was at her desk, a worried look on her face. “Kate, Barbara Tompkins wants you to phone her, and she specifically asked that Dr. Smith not be told about her call. She says it’s very important.”

  “She’s not having any problems because of the surgery?” Kate asked, alarmed. “It’s been over a year.”

  “She didn’t say anything about that. I told her you’d be along very soon. She’s waiting at home to hear from you.”

  Without stopping to take off her coat, Kate went into the closet-sized private office the accountant used, closed the door and dialed Tompkins’ number.

  With increasing dismay she listened as Barbara related her absolute conviction that Dr. Smith was obsessively following her. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I’m so grateful to him. You know that, Mrs. Carpenter. But I’m beginning to be frightened.”

  “He’s never approached you?”

  “No.”

  “Then let me think about it and talk to a few people. I beg you not to discuss this with anyone else. Dr. Smith has a wonderful reputation. It would be terrible to have it destroyed.”

  “I’ll never be able to repay Dr. Smith for what he did for me,” Barbara Tompkins said quietly. “But please get back to me quickly.”

  52

  At eleven o’clock, Grace Hoover phoned Kerry and invited her and Robin for Sunday dinner. “We haven’t seen nearly enough of you two lately,” Grace told her. “I do hope you can come. Celia will outdo herself, I promise.”

  Celia was the weekend housekeeper and a better cook than the Monday-to-Friday live-in. When she knew Robin was going to be coming, Celia made brownies and chocolate chip cookies to send home with her.

  “Of course we’ll come,” Kerry said warmly. Sunday is such a family day, she thought as she hung up the phone. Most Sunday afternoons she tried to do something special with Robin, like going to a museum or a movie or occasionally to a Broadway show.

  If only Dad had lived, she thought. He and Mother would be living nearby at least part of the time. And if only Bob Kinellen had been the man I thought he was.

  Mentally she shook herself to shrug off that line of reflection. Robin and I are darn lucky to have Jonathan and Grace, she reminded herself. They’ll always be there for us.

  Janet, her secretary, came in and closed the door. “Kerry, did you make an appointment with a Mrs. Deidre Reardon and forget to tell me?”

  “Deidre Reardon? No, I did not.”

  “She’s in the waiting room and she says she’s going to sit there until you see her. Shall I call security?”

  My God, Kerry thought. Skip Reardon’s mother! What does she want? “No. Tell her to come in, Janet.”

  Deidre Reardon got directly to the point. “I don’t usually force my way into people’s offices, Ms. McGrath, but this is too important. You went to the prison to see my son. You had to have had a reason for that. Something made you wonder if there had been a miscarriage of justice. I know there was. I know my son, and I know that he is innocent. But why after seeing Skip did you not want to help him? Especially in light of what’s been uncovered about Dr. Smith.”

  “It’s not that I didn’t want to help him, Mrs. Reardon. It’s that I can’t help him. There’s no new evidence. It’s peculiar that Dr. Smith has given other women his daughter’s face, but it’s not illegal, and it might be simply his way of coping with bereavement.”

  Deidre Reardon’s expression changed from anxiety to anger. “Ms. McGrath, Dr. Smith doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘bereavement.’ I didn’t see much of him in the four years Suzanne and Skip were married. I didn’t want to. There was something absolutely unhealthy about his attitude toward her. I remember one day, for example, there was a smudge on Suzanne’s cheek. Dr. Smith went over to her and wiped it off. You’d have thought he was dusting a statue the way he studied her face to make sure he’d gotten it all. He was proud of her. I’ll grant you that. But affection? No.”
/>
  Geoff had talked about how unemotional Smith was on the stand, Kerry thought. But that doesn’t prove anything.

  “Mrs. Reardon, I do understand how you must be feeling—” she began.

  “No, I’m sorry, you don’t,” Deidre Reardon interrupted. “My son is incapable of violence. He would no more have deliberately taken that cord from Suzanne’s waist and pulled it around her neck and strangled her than you or I would have done such a thing. Think about the kind of person who could commit a crime like that. What kind of monster is he? Because that monster who could so viciously kill another human being was in Skip’s house that night. Now think about Skip.”

  Tears welled in Deidre Reardon’s eyes as she burst out. “Didn’t some of his essence, his goodness, come through to you? Are you blind and deaf, Ms. McGrath? Does my son look or sound like a murderer to you?”

  “Mrs. Reardon, I looked into this case only because of my concern over Dr. Smith’s obsession with his daughter’s face, not because I thought your son was innocent. That was for the courts to decide, and they have. He has had a number of appeals. There is nothing I can do.”

  “Ms. McGrath, I think you have a daughter, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Then try to visualize her caged for ten years, facing twenty years more in that cage for a crime she didn’t commit. Do you think your daughter would be capable of murder someday?”

  “No, I do not.”

  “Neither is my son. Please, Ms. McGrath, you are in a position to help Skip. Don’t abandon him. I don’t know why Dr. Smith lied about Skip, but I think I’ve come to understand. He was jealous of him because Skip was married to Suzanne, with all that implies. Think about that.”

  “Mrs. Reardon, as a mother I understand how heartbroken you are,” Kerry said gently as she looked into the worn and anxious face.

  Deidre Reardon got up. “I can see that you’re dismissing everything I’m telling you, Ms. McGrath. Geoff said that you’re going to become a judge. God help the people who stand before you pleading for justice.”

  Then as Kerry watched, the woman’s complexion became ghastly gray.

  “Mrs. Reardon, what is it?” she cried.

  With shaking hands, the woman opened her purse, took out a small vial and shook a pill into her palm. She slipped it under her tongue, turned and silently left the office.

  For long minutes Kerry sat staring at the closed door. Then she reached for a sheet of paper. On it, she wrote:

  1. Did Doctor Smith lie about operating on Suzanne?

  2. Did little Michael see a black, four-door Mercedes sedan in front of the Reardons’ house when Dolly Bowles was baby-sitting him that night? What about the partial license-plate numbers Dolly claims she saw?

  3. Was Jimmy Weeks involved with Suzanne, and, if so, does Bob know anything about it, and is he afraid of having it come out?

  She studied the list as Deidre Reardon’s honest, distressed face loomed accusingly in her mind.

  53

  Geoff Dorso had been trying a case in the courthouse in Newark. At the last minute he had gotten a plea bargain for his client, an eighteen-year-old kid who had been joyriding with friends in his father’s car when he had crashed into a pickup truck whose driver had sustained a broken arm and leg.

  But there had been no alcohol involved, and the boy was a good kid and genuinely contrite. Under the plea bargain he got a two-year suspension of his driver’s license and was ordered to do one hundred hours of community service. Geoff was pleased—sending him to jail instead of college would have been a serious mistake.

  Now, on Thursday afternoon, Geoff had the unusual luxury of unscheduled time, and he decided to drop in on the Jimmy Weeks trial. He wanted to hear the opening arguments. Also, he admitted to himself, he was anxious to see Bob Kinellen in action.

  He took a seat in the back of the courtroom. There were plenty of media representatives present, he noticed. Jimmy Weeks had managed to avoid indictment so many times that they had taken to calling him “Teflon Jimmy,” a takeoff on the Mafia mobster who had been known as “The Teflon Don,” now in prison for life.

  Kinellen was just starting his opening statement. He’s smooth, Geoff thought. He knows how to play to the jury, knows when to sound indignant, then outraged, knows how to ridicule the charges. He is also picture-perfect in appearance and presentation, Geoff thought, trying to imagine Kerry married to this guy. Somehow he couldn’t see it. Or maybe he didn’t want to see it, he admitted to himself. At least, he thought, taking some comfort, she certainly didn’t seem to be hung up on Kinellen.

  But then, why should that matter? he asked himself, as the judge declared a recess.

  In the corridor he was approached by Nick Klein, a reporter for the Star-Ledger. They exchanged greetings, then Geoff commented, “A lot of you guys around, aren’t there?”

  “Fireworks expected,” Nick told him. “I have a source in the attorney general’s office. Barney Haskell is trying to make a deal. What they’re offering him isn’t good enough. Now he’s hinting he can tie Jimmy to a murder that someone else is serving time for.”

  “I sure wish I had a witness like that for one of my clients,” Geoff commented.

  54

  At four o’clock, Joe Palumbo received delivery of an Express Mail package with the return address of Wayne Stevens in Oakland, California. He immediately slit it open and eagerly reached inside for the two stacks of snapshots held together with rubber bands. A note was clipped to one of them.

  It read:

  Dear Mr. Palumbo,

  The full impact of Susie’s death hit me only after I began putting these photos together for you. I am so sorry. Susie was not an easy child to raise. I think these pictures tell the story. My daughters were very attractive from the time they were infants. Susie was not. As the girls grew up, that led to intense jealousy and unhappiness on Susie’s part.

  Susie’s mother, my wife, had great difficulty watching her stepdaughters enjoy their teen years while her own child was so desperately insecure and basically friendless. I’m afraid the situation caused a great deal of friction in our home. I think I always entertained the hope that a mature and well-adjusted Susie would show up at the door one day and have a wonderful reunion with us. She had many gifts that she did not appreciate.

  But for now, I hope these pictures will help.

  Sincerely,

  Wayne Stevens

  Twenty minutes later, Joe went into Kerry’s office. He dropped the snapshots on her desk. “Just in case you think Susie—sorry, I mean Suzanne—became a beauty because of a new hairdo,” he commented.

  * * *

  At five o’clock, Kerry phoned Dr. Smith’s office. He had already left for the day. Anticipating that, she next asked, “Is Mrs. Carpenter available?”

  When Kate Carpenter came to the phone, Kerry said, “Mrs. Carpenter, how long have you been with Dr. Smith?”

  “Four years, Ms. McGrath. Why are you asking?”

  “Well, from something you said, I had an idea that you had been with him longer than that.”

  “No.”

  “Because I wanted to know if you were there when Dr. Smith either operated on his daughter, Suzanne, or had a colleague operate on her. I can tell you what she looked like. In your office I saw two patients and asked their names. Barbara Tompkins and Pamela Worth are both dead ringers for Dr. Smith’s daughter, at least as she looked after extensive plastic surgery, not as she was born.”

  She heard the woman gasp. “I didn’t know Dr. Smith had a daughter,” Mrs. Carpenter said.

  “She died nearly eleven years ago, murdered, as the jury decided, by her husband. He is still in prison and continues to protest his innocence. Dr. Smith was the principal witness against him.”

  “Ms. McGrath,” Mrs. Carpenter said, “I feel terribly disloyal to the doctor, but I think it’s very important that you speak to Barbara Tompkins immediately. Let me give you her number.” Then the nurse explained
about the frightened woman’s call.

  “Dr. Smith is stalking Barbara Tompkins!” Kerry said, as her mind raced with the possibilities of what such an action might mean.

  “Well, following her, anyhow,” Mrs. Carpenter said defensively. “I have both her numbers, home and office.”

  Kerry took them. “Mrs. Carpenter, I must talk to Dr. Smith and I doubt very much that he will agree to see me. Is he going to be in tomorrow?”

  “Yes, but he has a very full schedule. He won’t be done until sometime after four o’clock.”

  “I’ll be there then, but don’t tell him I’m coming.” A question occurred to Kerry. “Does Dr. Smith own a car?”

  “Oh, yes. His home is in Washington Mews. He lives in a converted carriage house and it has a garage, so it’s easy for him to keep one.”

  “What kind of car does he drive?”

  “The same one he’s always driven. A four-door Mercedes sedan.”

  Kerry gripped the phone. “What color is it?”

  “Black.”

  “You say ‘always driven.’ You mean he always selects a black Mercedes sedan?”

  “I mean he drives the same one he’s driven for at least twelve years. I know, because I’ve heard him talking about it to one of his patients who happens to be a Mercedes executive.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Carpenter.” As Kerry returned the receiver to its cradle, Joe Palumbo reappeared. “Hey, Kerry, was Skip Reardon’s mother in here to see you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Our Leader saw and recognized her. He was rushing out to a meeting with the governor. He wants to know what the hell she was doing in here asking for you.”

  55