Let Me Call You Sweetheart

  If you get the chance.

  Was that a warning? she wondered. “Frank, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. If you don’t mind, let’s move on to something else.” She took Robin’s picture from the pocket of her jacket and handed it to him. “This came in a plain white envelope in yesterday’s mail. Robin is wearing the outfit she had on Tuesday morning when she said she saw that unfamiliar car parked across the street and thought someone might be after her. She was right.”

  The anger vanished from Green’s face. “Let’s talk about protecting her.”

  He agreed with Kerry’s plan to notify the school, and to drop Robin off and have her picked up. “I’ll find out if we have any convicted sex offenders recently released or moved into the area. I still think that sleaze you convicted last week may have friends who want to get back at you. We’ll request that the Hohokus police keep an eye on your house. Do you have a fire extinguisher?”

  “A sprinkler system.”

  “Get a couple of extinguishers just in case.”

  “You mean in case of a firebomb?”

  “It’s been known to happen. I don’t want to frighten you, but precautions have to be taken.”

  It was only as she turned to leave that he mentioned the murder in Summit.

  “Jimmy Weeks worked fast, but your ex is still going to have a hell of a time getting him off, even without Haskell’s plea bargain.”

  “Frank, you talk as though it’s a foregone conclusion that this was a hit!”

  “Everybody knows it was, Kerry. The wonder is that Jimmy waited this long to get Haskell. Be glad you got rid of Weeks’ mouthpiece when you did.”

  63

  Bob Kinellen did not hear the news about Barney Haskell and Mark Young until he entered the courthouse at ten of nine and the media pounced on him. As soon as he heard what had happened, he realized that he had been expecting it.

  How could Haskell have been so stupid as to think Jimmy would let him live to testify against him?

  He managed to appear appropriately shocked, and to sound convincing when, in answer to a question, he said that Haskell’s death would in no way change Mr. Weeks’ defense strategy. “James Forrest Weeks is innocent of all charges,” he said. “Whatever deal Mr. Haskell was trying to make with the U.S. attorney would have been exposed in court as self-serving and dishonest. I deeply regret the death of Mr. Haskell and my fellow attorney and friend Mark Young.”

  He managed to escape into an elevator and brush past other media representatives on the second floor. Jimmy was already in the courtroom. “Heard about Haskell?”

  “Yes, I did, Jimmy.”

  “Nobody’s safe. These muggers are everywhere.”

  “I guess they are, Jimmy.”

  “It does kind of level the playing field though, doesn’t it, Bobby?”

  “Yes, I would say so.”

  “But I don’t like a level playing field.”

  “I know that, Jimmy.”

  “Just so you know.”

  Bob spoke carefully. “Jimmy, someone sent my ex-wife a picture of our little girl, Robin. It was taken as she was leaving for school on Tuesday by the same person who was in a car that made a last-minute U-turn right in front of her. Robin thought he was going to come up on the sidewalk and run her over.”

  “They always joke about New Jersey drivers, Bobby.”

  “Jimmy, nothing had better happen to my daughter.”

  “Bobby, I don’t know what you’re talking about. When are they going to make your ex-wife a judge and get her out of the prosecutor’s office? She shouldn’t be poking around in other people’s business.”

  Bob knew that his question had been asked and answered. One of Jimmy’s people had taken the picture of Robin. He, Bob, would have to get Kerry to back off investigating the Reardon case. And he had better see to it that Jimmy was acquitted in this one.

  “Good morning, Jimmy. Morning, Bob.”

  Bob looked up to see his father-in-law, Anthony Bartlett, slip into the chair next to Jimmy.

  “Very sad about Haskell and Young,” Bartlett murmured.

  “Tragic,” Jimmy said.

  At that moment the sheriff’s officer motioned to the prosecutor and Bob and Bartlett to step inside the judge’s chambers. A somber Judge Benton looked up from his desk. “I assume you have all been made aware of the tragedy involving Mr. Haskell and Mr. Young.” The attorneys nodded quietly.

  “As difficult as it will be. I believe that, given the two months already invested in this trial, it should continue. Fortunately, the jury is sequestered and won’t be exposed to this news, including the speculation that Mr. Weeks may be involved. I will simply tell them that the absence of Mr. Haskell and Mr. Young means that Mr. Haskell’s case is no longer before them.

  “I will instruct them not to speculate on what happened and not to let it affect their consideration of Mr. Weeks’ case in any way.

  “Okay—let’s continue.”

  The jury filed in and settled in their seats. Bob could see the quizzical looks on their faces as they looked over to Haskell’s and Young’s empty chairs. As the judge instructed them not to speculate on what had happened, Bob knew damn well that that was exactly what they were doing. They think he pled guilty, Bob thought. That’s not going to help us.

  As Bob pondered how badly this would hurt Weeks, his eyes rested on juror number 10, Lillian Wagner. He knew that Wagner, prominent in the community, so proud of her Ivy League husband and sons, so aware of her position and social status, was a problem. There had to be a reason Jimmy demanded he accept her.

  What Bob did not know was that an “associate” of Jimmy Weeks had quietly approached Alfred Wight, juror number 2, just before the jury had been sequestered. Weeks had learned that Wight had a terminally ill wife and was nearly bankrupt from the medical expenses. The desperate Mr. Wight had agreed to accept $100,000 in exchange for a guarantee that his vote would be Not Guilty.

  64

  Kerry looked with dismay at the stack of files on the worktable beside her desk. She knew she had to get to them soon; it was time to assign new cases. In addition, there were some plea bargains she had to discuss with Frank or Carmen, the first assistant. There was so much to be done there, and she should be focusing her attention.

  Instead she asked her secretary to try to reach Dr. Craig Riker, the psychiatrist she sometimes used as a prosecution witness in murder trials. Riker was an experienced, no-nonsense doctor whose philosophy she shared. He believed that, while life does deal some pretty tough blows, a person just has to lick his wounds and then get on with it. Most important, he had a way of defusing the obfuscating psychiatric jargon spouted by the shrinks the defense attorneys lined up.

  She especially loved him when, asked if he considered a defendant insane, he answered, “I think he’s nuts, but not insane. He knew exactly what he was doing when he went into his aunt’s home and killed her. He’d read the will.”

  “Dr. Riker is with a patient,” Kerry’s secretary reported. “He’ll call you back at ten of eleven.”

  And true to his word, at exactly ten of eleven Janet called in that Dr. Riker was on the phone. “What’s up, Kerry?”

  She told him about Dr. Smith giving other women his daughter’s face. “He denied in so many words that he did any work on Suzanne,” she explained, “which could be true. He may have referred her to a colleague. But is making other women look like Suzanne a form of grieving?”

  “It’s a pretty sick form of grieving,” Riker told her. “You say he hadn’t seen her from the time she was a baby?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And then she appeared in his office?”

  “Yes.”

  “What kind of guy is this Smith?”

  “Rather formidable.”

  “A loner?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Kerry, I need to know more and I’d certainly like to know whether or not he operated on his daughter, asked a colleague t
o do the job, or if she had the surgery before she went to him.”

  “I hadn’t thought about the last possibility.”

  “But if, and I stress the word, if, he met Suzanne after all those years, saw a plain or even a palpably homely young woman, operated on her, created a beauty and then was enchanted by what he’d done, I think we’ve got to look for erotomania.”

  “What is that?” Kerry asked.

  “It covers a lot of territory. But if a doctor who is a loner meets his daughter after all those years, transforms her into a beauty and then has the sense of having done something magnificent, we could argue that it falls into that category. He’s possessive of her, even in love with her. It’s a delusional disorder that often applies to stalkers, for example.”

  Kerry thought of Deidre Reardon telling her how Dr. Smith treated Suzanne as an object. She told Dr. Riker about Smith patting away a smudge on Suzanne’s cheek and then lecturing her on preserving beauty. She also told him of Kate Carpenter’s conversation with Barbara Tompkins, and of the latter’s fear that Smith was stalking her.

  There was a pause. “Kerry, I’ve got my next patient coming in. Keep me posted, won’t you? This is a case I’d love to follow.”

  65

  Kerry had intended to leave the office early so she could be at Dr. Smith’s office just after his last appointment. She had changed her mind, however, realizing that it would be better to wait until she had a better perspective on Dr. Smith’s relationship with his daughter. She also wanted to be home with Robin.

  Mrs. Reardon believed that Smith’s attitude toward Suzanne was “unhealthy,” she thought.

  And Frank Green had remarked on how Smith had been totally unemotional on the stand.

  Skip Reardon had said his father-in-law wasn’t around their house much, that when Suzanne saw him, they usually met alone.

  I need to talk to someone who knew these people and who has no axe to grind, Kerry thought. I’d also like to talk to Mrs. Reardon again, more calmly. But what can I say to her? That a mobster who happens to be on trial right now was known to call Suzanne Sweetheart when he played golf with her? That a golf caddie sensed that there might be something going on between them?

  Those disclosures might only nail Skip Reardon’s coffin a little more tightly shut, she reasoned. As a prosecutor I could argue that even if Skip wanted a divorce so he could get back together with Beth, it would have infuriated him if he had learned that Suzanne was running around with a multimillionaire while charging three-thousand-dollar Saint Laurent suits to him.

  She was just leaving the office at five o’clock when Bob phoned. She caught the tension in his voice. “Kerry, I need to stop by for a few minutes. Will you be home in an hour or so?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll see you then,” he said, and hung up.

  What was bringing Bob to the house? she wondered. Concern about the picture of Robin she’d received? Or had he had an unexpectedly tough day in court? That was certainly possible, she told herself, remembering how Frank Green had commented that even without Haskell’s testimony the government would be able to convict Jimmy Weeks. She reached for her coat and slung her shoulder bag over her arm, remembering wryly how for the year and a half of her marriage, she had joyfully rushed home from work to spend the evening with Bob Kinellen.

  When she arrived home, Robin looked at her accusingly. “Mom, why did Alison pick me up at school and drive me home? She wouldn’t give me a reason, and I felt like a jerk.”

  Kerry looked at the sitter. “I won’t hold you up, Alison. Thanks.”

  When they were alone, she looked into Robin’s indignant face. “That car that frightened you the other day . . . ,” she began.

  When she was finished, Robin sat very still. “It’s kind of scary, isn’t it, Mom?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “That’s why when you came home last night you looked all tired and beat up?”

  “I hadn’t realized I looked quite that bad, but yes, I was pretty heartsick.”

  “And that’s why Geoff came running up?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I wish you’d told me last night.”

  “I didn’t know how to tell you, Rob. I was too uptight myself.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Take a lot of precautions that may be a nuisance until we find out who was across the street last Tuesday and why he was there.”

  “Do you think if he comes back, he’ll run me over next time?”

  Kerry wanted to shout, “No, I don’t.” Instead she moved over to the couch where Robin was sitting and put an arm around her.

  Robin dropped her head on her mother’s shoulder. “In other words, if the car comes at me again, duck.”

  “That’s why the car isn’t going to get the chance, Rob.”

  “Does Daddy know about this?”

  “I called him last night. He’s coming up in a little while.”

  Robin sat upright. “Because he’s worried about me?”

  She’s pleased, Kerry thought, as though Bob has done her a favor. “Of course, he’s worried about you.”

  “Cool. Mom, can I tell Cassie about this?”

  “No, not now. You’ve got to promise, Robin. Until we know who’s pulling this—”

  “And have cuffed him,” Robin interjected.

  “Exactly. Once that’s done, then you can talk about it.”

  “Okay. What are we going to do tonight?”

  “Just crash. We’ll send out for pizza. I stopped on the way home and rented a couple of movies.”

  The mischievous look Kerry loved came into Robin’s face. “R-rated, I hope.”

  She’s trying to make me feel better, Kerry thought. She’s not going to let me know how scared she is.

  At ten of six, Bob arrived. Kerry watched as, with a whoop of joy, Robin ran into his arms. “What do you think about me being in danger?” she asked.

  “I’m going to let you two visit while I get changed,” Kerry announced.

  Bob released Robin. “Don’t be long, Kerry,” he said hurriedly. “I can only stay a few minutes.”

  Kerry saw the instant pain on Robin’s face and wanted to throttle Kinellen. Toss her a little TLC for a change, she thought angrily. Struggling to keep her tone of voice even, she responded, “Down in a minute.”

  She changed quickly into slacks and a sweater, but deliberately waited upstairs for ten minutes. Then, as she was about to come down, there was a knock at her door and Robin called, “Mom.”

  “Come in.” Kerry started to say, “I’m ready,” when she saw the look on Robin’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Dad asked me to wait up here while he talks to you.”

  “I see.”

  Bob was standing in the middle of the study, obviously uncomfortable, obviously anxious to be gone.

  He hasn’t bothered to take off his coat, Kerry thought. And what did he do to upset Robin? Probably spent the whole time telling her how rushed he was.

  He turned when he heard her footsteps. “Kerry, I’ve got to get back to the office. There’s a lot of work I have to do for tomorrow’s session. But there’s something very important I have to tell you.”

  He pulled a small sheet of paper out of his pocket. “You heard what happened to Barney Haskell and Mark Young?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Kerry, Jimmy Weeks has a way of getting information. I’m not sure how, but he does. For example, he knows that you went to see Reardon in prison Saturday.”

  “Does he?” Kerry stared at her ex-husband. “What difference would that make to him?”

  “Kerry, don’t play games. I’m worried. Jimmy is desperate. I just told you that he has a way of finding out things. Look at this.”

  Kinellen handed her what seemed to be a copy of a note written on a six-by-nine-inch sheet torn from a pad. On it were six musical notes in the key of C, and underneath were the words, “I’m in love with you.” It was sig
ned “J.”

  “What’s this supposed to be?” Kerry asked, even as she mentally hummed the notes she was reading. Then, before Bob had a chance to answer, she understood, and her blood ran cold. They were the opening notes to the song “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.”

  “Where did you get this and what does it mean?” she snapped.

  “They found the original in Mark Young’s breast pocket when they went through his clothes at the morgue. It was Haskell’s writing, and on a sheet of paper torn from the pad next to Young’s phone. The secretary remembers putting a fresh pad there last night, so Haskell had to have jotted it down sometime between seven and seven-thirty this morning.”

  “A few minutes before he died?”

  “Exactly. Kerry, I’m certain it’s connected to the plea bargain Haskell was trying to make.”

  “The plea bargain? You mean the homicide he was hinting he could connect to Jimmy Weeks was the Sweetheart Murder Case?” Kerry could not believe what she was hearing. “Jimmy was involved with Suzanne Reardon, wasn’t he? Bob, are you telling me that whoever took Robin’s picture and came within an inch of running her over works for Jimmy Weeks, and this is his way of scaring me off?”

  “Kerry, I’m not saying anything except leave it alone. For Robin’s sake, leave it alone.”

  “Does Weeks know you’re here?”

  “He knows that, for Robin’s sake, I’d warn you.”

  “Wait a minute.” Kerry looked at her former husband with disbelief. “Let me get this straight. You’re here to warn me off because your client, the thug and murderer you represent, has given you a threat, veiled or otherwise, to convey to me. My God, Bob, how low you have gone.”