The Shadow of Your Smile
“What do you mean you phoned Thursday night?”
“I phoned your apartment. Your significant other, or whoever she is, said you were there but you were changing. I assumed she would give you the message.”
“Oh, my God, I might have known. Monica, listen to me.”
As Monica heard Ryan’s angry but welcome explanation, she had felt as if a weight were lifting off her heart. Ryan was going to meet her at her office tonight. I’ll show him the pillow, too, and see what he thinks of it. The last words of their conversation puzzled her but he was laughing when he said them: “Okay, Monica, we both have to get moving, and I have one more job to do before I leave this apartment.”
I asked him what he meant, Monica thought, and he told me he had to throw out the rest of the lasagna. He said, “I’ll explain what I mean when I see you.”
She had taken the time to change into a suit because they were going out for dinner.
“Monica,” Justin Banks said, “I’m not much for personal compliments but you look absolutely lovely this morning. You should always wear blue.”
“Thanks. This outfit represents my fall shopping to date.”
Robert Goodwin was looking at his watch. “Ten after eleven. Let’s hope these people show up soon and have a check for us. They must have some money left. These are pretty fancy offices for a foundation. I happen to know the cost of the rents in this building.”
They heard footsteps coming toward them. A moment later three men entered the room. Monica was stunned to see that one of them was Dr. Clay Hadley. She could tell that he was equally shocked to see her. She had been at the dinner announcing the grant and had met Greg Gannon there. The other man now being introduced to them was Dr. Douglas Langdon.
“Dr. Hadley and Dr. Langdon are our board members,” Gannon explained. “My wife is not able to be with us today, and I’m sure you’re quite aware why my brother is not here. Let’s leave it at that.”
Gannon then sat at the head of the table, his demeanor solemn and unsmiling. “Let’s not waste each other’s time,” he said. “The fact is that the grant we so willingly pledged last year simply cannot be filled at this time. I don’t have to tell you how serious the economic climate has been, and like many other foundations, we were among the victims of a major scam, the Ponzi scheme that has been in the newspapers for months.”
“I’ve followed very carefully the Ponzi scheme I believe you are talking about,” Goodwin said, sharply. “The Gannon Foundation has not been listed as being involved.”
“Nor do we want it to be,” Greg Gannon replied, his tone equally sharp. “The other arm of our business is my investment firm. I don’t intend to have my clients worried that their money was lost, because it was not. The Gannon Foundation has given away millions over the years. Our record of generosity is extraordinary, but now it has come to an end. The foundation will be closing. We cannot honor our pledge to you.”
“Mr. Gannon,” Justin Banks said, speaking slowly for emphasis. “You are a very wealthy man. Would you consider putting some of your own money into the hospital’s pediatric wing? I assure you the need for it is great.”
Greg Gannon sighed. “Mr. Banks, if half the people who are reputed to be very wealthy had to list their assets honestly, you would find that the ten-million-dollar house has a nine-million-dollar mortgage, that the yacht is rented and the cars are leased. I am not saying that is necessarily my case, but I will say that I have already undertaken to personally fund some of our ongoing projects. You have not even put a spade in the ground for your pediatric center. On the other hand, several cardiac research centers and mental health facilities need to be funded until they can be merged with other similar units. I will take care of them, but I cannot do more.”
The entire time Greg Gannon was speaking, Monica had been studying Clay Hadley’s face. It was glistening with perspiration. There was a nervous tic on the side of his lip that she had not noticed when she met him in Olivia Morrow’s apartment. The suspicion that he might have caused Morrow’s death was growing into a near certainty. But why?
Douglas Langdon. She wondered what kind of doctor he was. Very, very good-looking. Smooth. The expression on his face was an obviously feigned regret over the situation. He doesn’t give a damn, she thought. The guy is a phony through and through.
Where are we going to get the money for the pediatric center now? she asked herself as Greg Gannon got to his feet, signaling that the meeting was over. “Doug, Clay, wait here,” he said. His stern tone indicated that it was an order.
Both men had started to leave, but they sat down immediately. Monica, Banks, and Goodwin followed Greg Gannon to the reception room. It was then that she saw it: the portrait of Dr. Alexander Gannon. Frozen on the spot, she stared at it. It’s Daddy, just the way he looked before he got sick, she thought incredulously. He could have posed for it. The silver hair, the handsome, distinguished features, the blue eyes, were mirror images of the picture she carried in her wallet. Even the expression in Alex Gannon’s eyes, wise and kind, was so like the expression she remembered in her father’s eyes.
“That was my uncle,” Greg Gannon was saying. “As you may know, the orthopedic replacement parts he invented are used internationally. This is the last portrait that was painted of him. We used to keep it in our home in Southampton, but I decided last year that it was more appropriate to hang it here. It’s a very fine representation of him.”
“It’s magnificent,” Monica agreed, her lips stiff. She reached into her pocket and stepped away. “Excuse me,” she murmured and pulled out her cell phone, as if she had felt it vibrating. As she opened it, she pretended to say a few words into it and took a picture of the portrait.
No wonder Scott kept insisting that Dad had a startling resemblance to Alexander Gannon. I can’t wait to compare their pictures.
“It’s a great pity that Dr. Gannon’s foundation is closing,” Justin Banks said. “I am sure that he would never have wanted a pledge such as the one you made to Greenwich Village Hospital to be canceled so abruptly. Good-bye, Mr. Gannon. Please don’t bother to see us out.”
72
On Tuesday morning Esther Chambers, totally unused to lingering over breakfast, glanced at the clock in her dining area and realized it was time to get herself ready. It was quarter of ten and Thomas Desmond from the Securities and Exchange Commission was coming to her apartment at eleven.
She had phoned him yesterday evening and when he did not answer, too emotionally stressed to go into details, she simply left a message that she had been fired and that she needed to speak to him. Desmond called back an hour later and simply said, “If eleven o’clock tomorrow morning works for you, I will be there.”
Nervous at the prospect of having to tell Desmond that she had tried to warn Arthur Saling about investing his money, and that was the reason Greg had fired her, Esther showered and dressed. She chose to wear a cardigan and slacks, not one of her usual subdued business suits. Today is the first day of the rest of my life, whatever that means, she thought.
Desmond was announced from the desk promptly at eleven o’clock. After they exchanged greetings and he refused her offer of coffee, he said, “Ms. Chambers, did anything precipitate Gannon’s firing you? Does he suspect that he’s under investigation?”
Esther drew a long breath. “You’re not going to like this, Mr. Desmond, but here’s what happened.” In precise detail, she explained why she had decided to warn off Arthur Saling. “It was like watching a lamb being led to the slaughter,” she said. “It’s no wonder everything had been placed in trust for him. Now, the minute he can get his hands on all that family money, he can’t wait to invest it with someone like Greg, who promises he can double or triple it. Mr. Saling has five grown children and eleven grandchildren. I’m sorry, but to know that once his money is in Greg’s hands it would just be used to pay other investors whose money Greg has lost in that last hedge fund of his was just too much.”
“I unders
tand,” Desmond said. “I really do.”
“Then to answer your question, when Greg told me he was sure I was the one who had sent that warning to Arthur Saling, he also asked me, as a final test of loyalty, if the SEC was investigating him.”
“What did you tell him?” Desmond asked, quickly.
“My answer was to ask him why he would ever think to ask a question like that.”
Desmond nodded, approvingly. “Good answer, and please don’t be upset about trying to warn Arthur Saling. Who knows? The transfer of his portfolio probably hasn’t gone through yet, so he may be lucky. We’re arresting Greg Gannon this afternoon. Now that he suspects we’re onto him, he’ll never communicate with any more insider traders.”
“You’re arresting Greg today?” Esther asked sadly.
“Yes. Frankly, I should not have told you that, but I wanted you to know that Arthur Saling’s money is probably still safe.”
“There is no one I would think of telling,” Esther said. “It’s just that it all seems so impossible. Peter Gannon is accused of murdering his former girlfriend. His baby is in a hospital, unwanted by anyone. His ex-wife, Susan, was and is a gem. Greg Gannon had the most wonderful wife and two fine sons, and he left them for a gold digger like Pamela. Now, from what went on yesterday afternoon at the office, he’s caught on to the fact that she’s involved with someone else. Do you think Pamela will stay by his side when he’s arrested? Not on your life!”
Desmond got up to go. “Unfortunately, we see this kind of thing all the time in our business. We’ll be in touch with you again, Ms. Chambers. But, a friendly word of caution: don’t be too sorry for the Gannons. They’re the architects of their own misery. And they have caused a lot of misery to others.”
It was only after Desmond left that Esther realized Diana Blauvelt, the decorator whom she had left a message for in Paris, might very well have returned her call. She dialed her phone at her desk in the office, hoping that no one else had picked up her voice mail. But if Blauvelt had left the message, it had been erased.
I have to know, Esther thought. Peter’s lawyer said it was so important. She had written Diana Blauvelt’s Paris phone number in her daily reminder book. It’s five thirty in the afternoon in Paris, she thought. I hope I get her in.
A sleepy “Allo” told her that she had reached Blauvelt. Oh, for God’s sake, Esther thought, don’t practice your French on me. “Diana,” she said, apologetically, “you sound as though you might have been napping, but it’s important that I talk to you. Did you get my message and do you remember anything about that desk with the false bottom in it?”
“Oh, it’s you, Esther. Don’t worry about waking me up. I’m going out to dinner later and I just thought I’d rest for half an hour. Of course I remember about the desk. As I told Greg Gannon, when I called back after you’d left your office yesterday, I bought two of those desks.”
“Two of them?” Esther exclaimed.
“Yes, one for Peter, and one for Dr. Langdon. I never did see Peter to show him the false bottom in the big drawer, but I did show Dr. Langdon. He had his desk sent to his office where he sees his psychiatric patients, not to his office at the foundation.”
“You’re sure of this, Diana?”
“Absolutely. And I told Greg Gannon that his wife can back me up. Pamela was there when I showed Dr. Langdon the hiding place in the desk.”
Stunned, Esther realized the possible ramifications of what she had just heard. Then Diana, after a moment’s hesitation, added, “Esther, I understand from Greg that you’re retired now. I’ve got to ask you. Don’t you think that Pamela Gannon and Dr. Langdon have been pulling the wool over Greg Gannon’s eyes for years?”
73
Susan had never been in Peter’s apartment. Now she looked around intently as she walked into the living room. Then, with a fleeting smile, she said, “I like what you’ve done here. You always had good taste.”
“Whatever good taste I have as far as home furnishings go, or anything else, for that matter, came from the women in my life, my mother and you.” He took a deep breath, and told her what had been weighing on his mind since the moment he saw Sally’s picture. “Susan, I know what you think of me as a father, but now I beg you to help me as my attorney. I want my daughter. Granted, I have never seen her, but when her mother and I broke up, I gave Renée two million dollars so that she would be able to have the best possible medical care while she was pregnant, and then never contact me again. I was told that Sally was going to be adopted by responsible people, and at the time it seemed like a good idea.”
Why did I have the nerve to think that Susan would help me with this situation? Peter asked himself as he tried to justify his neglect of his child. Nevertheless, he persisted. “I would have continued to support my daughter. You know my quarrel with Renée wasn’t about that. It was about Renée’s ability to hurt Greg with what she knew.”
Susan looked at her ex-husband, her expression calm. “What are you trying to say, Peter?”
“I want Sally. I did not kill her mother. I cannot bear the thought of her being placed in a foster home. I have been accused of a crime, but not convicted of it. What right has anyone to say that I cannot visit her?”
“Peter, are you being serious? Are you telling me that you not only want to see Sally, but you want custody of her?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Peter, you are going on trial for murder. No judge will grant you custody now. And I very much doubt that you would be allowed even supervised visitation, since you have never even seen the child.”
“I do not want my daughter in a foster home. Susan, there’s got to be a way to stop that. Look at her picture. My God, she looks so forlorn.” Peter realized there were tears in his eyes. “I’ll find a good nanny and beg the judge to let me have her. I may not go on trial for a year or more. You know how slow the court system is. I have never, ever been in trouble, not even any kid stuff while I was growing up. Susan . . .”
“Hold on, hold on,” she said, softly. “Peter, there is another solution, and one that I’m pretty sure the judge will accept. I want to request custody of Sally.”
Peter stared at Susan. “You want Sally!”
“Yes, I do. She is the sweetest little girl and it is pathetic to see how starved she is for affection. And, Peter, she is so smart. I guess her babysitters at least must have read to her, because she was picking out words in some of the books I brought.”
“How many times have you seen her, Susan?”
“Twice. The nurses let me take her out of the crib and hold her. The newspaper picture doesn’t do her justice. She’s a beautiful baby. She’s the image of you.”
“You would want my child?”
“Peter, you seem to forget that for the twenty years we were married I wanted a child more than anything else. I still do. Kristina Johnson, the young nanny who probably saved Sally’s life by rushing her to the hospital, came in to visit her while I was there. It’s obvious that Sally is attached to Kristina. She had such a big smile for her. Kristina would be glad to take care of Sally again while I’m at work. And there’s no problem about room. As you’re well aware, there are three bedrooms in the apartment.”
We bought that apartment when we’d only been married a couple of years, Peter thought. Susan was pregnant, and we felt that we needed a bigger place. Then she miscarried three times. It broke her heart, but she said we still had each other. So we stayed in that apartment.
And then I left her.
“You think you can get custody immediately, that she won’t have to go to a foster home?” he asked, his voice shaking.
“I will file for an emergent hearing before Sally is released from the hospital. Why would a judge turn me down? Forty-six isn’t too old. My reputation is spotless. I have the room. As your ex-wife, I classify as a concerned relative. And I want her. The minute I saw her, I knew she would make up for all the heartbreak of losing the others.”
Her eyes s
uddenly moist, Susan looked at Peter. “You are her father, of course. The judge will probably give you some input in this. Will you let me have Sally?”
“Are you talking adoption or custody while my case is pending?”
“Both. If I take her, I can’t lose her.”
“Susan, you can keep Sally, but only if I can visit her and can really have a part in my daughter’s life. I can’t lose her, either.”
They were clasping each other’s hands. Without letting go of Susan’s entwined fingers, Peter said, “I have started to get flashes of memory of that night. I wasn’t going to tell anyone, because I didn’t want to give Greg up, but I’m not sure I’m strong enough to spend the rest of my life in prison, even for my brother.”
“Peter, what are you talking about?”
“Greg’s car was parked across the street from that bar. Renée knew him when we were seeing each other. If he offered her a ride, she’d take it.”
“Greg knew that she was extorting money from you, didn’t he?”
“Sure. He was at the foundation meeting when I asked for the million-dollar loan, but he thought it was because she was going to reveal to the gossip columnists that I was Sally’s father. That didn’t upset him at all. His attitude was, ‘So what?’ I didn’t tell him at the time that there was a lot more to it.”
“Then why would he have been waiting outside the bar?” Susan asked.
“I was desperate to get that money. After he turned me down, I called Pamela and told her that Renée was going to blow the whistle on Greg’s insider trading. I knew Pamela could give me the money. Greg has put plenty in her name. She must have told him, and maybe it drove him over the edge.” He paused. “Susan, I think my brother killed Renée.”
Peter shook his head. “How can I give him up?” he asked, his voice anguished. “How can I?”
“How can you not?” Susan demanded. “But it’s your decision to make and live with, Peter. I have to get back to the office. I’ll see you later.”