Sidney Sheldon's After the Darkness

  “And you paid for her defense.”

  Merrivale looked uncomfortable. “I did. Lenny was my b-best friend. It was what he would have wanted.”

  “But you never visited her in jail. Never contacted her again, in fact. Why was that?”

  “Try to understand, Detective. I believed in Grace for as long as I c-could. Just like I believed in L-Lenny. But there came a point when I had to face the truth. They both l-let me down. I lost everything when Quorum collapsed. My g-good name, my savings, my l-life’s work. I know there were others who suffered more than I did. And I’m d-devoting all my time now to trying to help those p-p-people.”

  “You’re talking about the FBI investigation?”

  “Yes.” John nodded earnestly. “I’m still trying to m-make sense of it all myself.”

  Mitch thought, Everything he says makes sense. So why don’t I believe him?

  The food arrived. Mitch devoured his steak hungrily. He watched John Merrivale pick at his quiche Lorraine, taking tiny bites, like a bird. When they’d finished eating, Mitch changed tack. “If you had to hazard a guess, where do you think Grace might be headed?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Perhaps Lenny talked to you about some of the places he used to take her?”

  “No. Never.”

  “Somewhere romantic, somewhere that might have had significance for them as a couple…”

  “I’ve told you,” said John tersely. “Lenny didn’t talk to me about things like that.”

  “Really?” Mitch feigned surprise. “I thought you said he was your best friend?”

  “He was.”

  “Your best friend never talked to you about his marriage? The most important thing in his life?”

  “Grace wasn’t the most important thing in Lenny’s life,” John snapped. “I was.” Catching the look on Mitch’s face, he blushed and began to backtrack. “Well, not me p-personally. Quorum. Our work t-together. That’s what Lenny lived for.”

  It was too late. The damage was done. Mitch thought, He sounds just like Connie Gray. Like a jealous lover. The hairs on Mitch’s forearms began to stand on end.

  “Remind me, Mr. Merrivale. Where were you the day of the storm on Nantucket? The day that Lenny Brookstein went missing.”

  John blinked twice. “I was in Boston on business. It was a pre-arranged trip. I flew out early and I was gone all day. All my statements are in the file, if you’d like to check them.”

  “Thank you,” said Mitch. “I’ll do that.”

  It was only later, after he’d paid the check and John Merrivale had returned to work, that it struck him.

  He didn’t stammer.

  When I asked him for his alibi that day, his speech was perfect.

  GRACE LAY BACK ON THE BED, the little bottle of oil in her hand. It smelled heady and comforting, like rosemary wafting on a warm summer breeze.

  The label said: WARNING: TOXIC. DO NOT INGEST.

  Grace thought about the bastard who had raped her.

  She thought about the innocent life inside her.

  She thought about Lenny. When she closed her eyes, she could hear his voice.

  What about children? I suppose you’ll want to be a mother?

  And her own. Not really. I’m happy as we are. There’s nothing missing.

  Lying on the bed, Grace realized that she had sacrificed motherhood for Lenny. She’d sacrificed everything for him, for their love, and she was still sacrificing. How could he have betrayed her with Connie? How? She felt angry and humiliated. She tried to hate him, to let go of his memory, but she couldn’t.

  It’s no use. I still love him. I’ll always love him.

  She opened the bottle and swallowed the bitter liquid.

  I wonder how long it will take.

  “YOU OKAY IN THERE, LADY?”

  The super was knocking on Grace’s door.

  “Do you need a doctor?”

  Grace couldn’t hear him. Pain tore through her body like a giant razor blade, slicing into her flesh, her nerves. She screamed. Blood poured out of her. Her limbs began to shake and dance as the seizure took hold of her body, contorting her arms and legs like a sadistic puppeteer.

  The super unlocked the door. “Jesus Christ. I’m calling an ambulance!”

  Grace didn’t hear him. She was deafened by the sound of her own screams.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  SHE HEARD VOICES.

  “Linda? Linda!”

  “Still no response. She’s flatlining.”

  “Shock her again.”

  Grace wondered, Who’s Linda? She felt the weight of the paddles pressing on her ribs, then an indescribable pain, like a kebab skewer being driven into her heart.

  She fainted.

  SHE WAS IN A PALE GREEN room with a gray, checkered ceiling. There were needles in her arms. Someone was talking to her. A nurse.

  “Linda?”

  Grace remembered. She’d had to abandon Lizzie Woolley and move on to another of her fake identities. I’m Linda Reynolds. I’m a thirty-two-year-old waitress from Chicago.

  “Welcome back.” The nurse smiled. “Do you know where you are, Linda?”

  “Hospital.” Grace’s throat was so dry and sore, the word was barely audible. “Water.”

  “Sure.” The nurse pressed a call button. “Just hold on a couple more minutes. The doctor will know whether it’s safe for you to drink right now. He’s on his way. Is there anyone else I can call for you, honey? A relative or a friend?”

  Grace shook her head. Nobody.

  She fell back to sleep.

  SHE WAS IN EAST HAMPTON AT a July Fourth party. She was six years old. Her father had scooped her up in his arms and placed her on his shoulders. Grace felt like a princess in her powder-blue, ruffled party dress, with red, white and blue ribbons in her blond hair.

  One of her dad’s friends called out to them. “Hey, Cooper. Who’s that gorgeous young lady you’re with?”

  “Only the prettiest girl in New York.” Cooper Knowles grinned. “When you get married, Gracie, it’ll be to a king. You’ll have the world at your feet, my angel. The world at your feet!” He tugged on her new blue party shoes. Grace laughed.

  The laugh turned into Lenny’s laugh. They were on the terrace at their home in Palm Beach. Lenny was reading the newspaper.

  “Look at this, Gracie.” He chuckled. “You see what they’re calling me. ‘Leonard Brookstein, King of Wall Street!’ How does it feel to be married to a king?”

  “It feels wonderful, my darling. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “Linda. LINDA.”

  The spell was broken.

  “This is Dr. Brewer. He’s on our psychiatric team. He’s just gonna have a little chat with you, okay?”

  DAYS PASSED. DOCTORS AND PSYCHIATRISTS CAME and went. DIY abortions were a dime a dozen, sadly, but Linda Reynolds’s case was unusual enough to attract attention.

  “Pennyroyal poisoning? What the fuck is that?”

  “Some crazy herb. Women used it for abortions in medieval times. But it’s gruesome. Ingesting the essential oil can cause renal failure, acute uterine hemorrhage. Seizures.”

  The doctors told Grace it was a miracle she had lived. The pennyroyal had done its job of killing her baby, but her liver would be permanently weakened. Grace didn’t care. She tried to cry for the baby, to feel sad for it, but she couldn’t even do that. She knew if she looked back, she would crumble. All that mattered was that she was alive, recovering, growing stronger. She could feel it in her body. Soon she would be able to get out of here. Her work was not yet done.

  IN THE HOSPITAL CORRIDOR, JUAN BENITEZ whispered to his friend José Gallo.

  “Es ella. Estoy seguro.”

  José poked his head around the door of Grace’s room. “No way.”

  Juan and José were both janitors. Not much exciting ever happened during their workdays, mopping the hospital halls. But that was no reason for Juan to go making things u
p.

  “Ella es horrible. Ugly,” said José. “Grace Brookstein era hermosa.”

  Juan was insistent. “Les digo que, es ella. Quieres que la recompesa o no?”

  José thought about it. He did want the reward. Badly. But he and his family were all in the States illegally. He didn’t want to be the guy who called the NYPD out on a wild-goose chase.

  He looked at the patient again. With her newly shorn, peroxide-blond hair, her pain-lined face and cold, listless eyes, she had none of the radiance of the beautiful young woman he’d seen on TV. And yet there was a resemblance…

  THE DOCTORS HAD TOLD GRACE SHE could walk around the room if she felt up to it. The electrolyte drip had been removed from her arm. Gingerly, Grace swung her feet to the floor. After a week in bed, her legs felt like Jell-O. The pennyroyal had given her seizures, one of which had torn a muscle in her calf. She hobbled to the window.

  In the parking lot below, a young couple was taking their newborn baby home. The father was wrestling with a car seat, a look of terrified anxiety on his face, while his wife calmly looked on, rocking the child in her arms. Grace smiled sadly.

  What a lovely, normal, happy family. I’ll never have that.

  There was no time to dwell on her wistfulness. A police car pulled into the lot, then another, then another. Suddenly there were cops everywhere, swarming into the building like termites. Grace felt her heart rate jump. Are they looking for me?

  A blond head emerged from one of the squad cars. Even before he looked up, Grace recognized his stocky, football player’s physique. Mitch Connors. So they are here for me.

  Adrenaline coursed through her body.

  Think! There must be a way out.

  MITCH CONNORS GOT INTO THE ELEVATOR. He was so tense he could hardly breathe. As if the prospect of finally catching Grace weren’t overwhelming enough, he’d spent the past three days looking into John Merrivale’s cover story for the day Lenny Brookstein disappeared. He had so much to tell her. So much still to do.

  “Seal off all exits and entrances. I want guys on the emergency stairs, in the kitchens, the laundry, everywhere.”

  “Excuse me!” A furious chief resident stuck her arm in the elevator just as the doors were closing. In her early fifties with short gray hair and a steely don’t-fuck-with-me expression, she gave Mitch a piece of her mind. “What the hell is going on here? This is a hospital. Who gave you permission to come storming in here like this?”

  Mitch flashed her his badge, simultaneously pressing the button for the sixth floor. He should have alerted the hospital authorities, but with a tip this good, there was no time for niceties. “Sorry, lady. We have good information that Grace Brookstein is in the building. If you’ll excuse me…”

  “I won’t excuse you! I don’t care if Elvis Presley’s in the building. My job is to save lives. You have no authority…hey! Get out of there!” Turning around, the chief resident saw four uniformed cops pushing open the swing doors to the OR. Seizing his chance, Mitch physically pushed her out of the elevator. The last thing he saw as the elevator doors closed was the furious doctor running toward him, shaking her fist like a cartoon villain.

  Grace had better be here. If she wasn’t, he was in big trouble.

  “LINDA REYNOLDS. WHICH ROOM IS SHE IN?”

  The staff nurse on the desk hesitated. “We’re not supposed to give out patients’ room numbers. Are you a family member?”

  Mitch flashed his badge. “Yeah. I’m her uncle Mitchell. Where is she?”

  “Six-oh-five,” said the nurse. “It’s at the end of the hallway on your right.”

  Mitch was already running. He burst into the room, gun drawn. “Police! You’re under arrest!”

  A terrified orderly put his hands in the air.

  “Jesus! What did I do?”

  “Where is she? Grace.” The man looked blank. Mitch corrected himself. “I mean Linda. The patient. Where did she go, damn it?”

  “Bathroom,” the orderly stammered. “Three doors down. She’ll be right back.”

  GRACE LOOKED AT THE GRATE COVERING the ventilation shaft. It was two feet square. The same size as the crate I escaped from jail in.

  As she climbed onto the toilet seat, then up onto the cistern, tears of pain filled her eyes. Her left calf was in agony. She bit down hard on her lip to stop herself from screaming and reached up with both hands. Dislodging the grate was easy. As she pushed it aside, a shower of dust fell into her eyes, temporarily blinding her, but there was no time to stop and recover. Digging her nails into the ceiling, Grace hauled herself up, squeezing her tiny frame into the ventilation shaft like dough into a pasta maker. Carefully, she replaced the grate behind her. Dust still stung her eyes like acid, but it didn’t matter. Ahead of her was nothing but darkness. Inch by inch, she pulled herself forward into the void.

  MITCH WALKED INTO THE LADIES’ ROOM. There were three cubicles, all of them empty.

  He turned to leave, then stopped. Walking into the middle cubicle, he ran his finger across the top of the toilet seat. The dust was as thick as sugar icing. Mitch traced a letter G and looked up. Could a human being fit in there?

  Back in the corridor, he yelled into his radio.

  “I need to see plans of the ventilation system. Blueprints. Where do those tunnels go?”

  The chief resident stepped out of the elevator and pointed at Mitch. “There! In the blue shirt.” Three burly security guards rushed toward him. Seconds later Mitch found himself being manhandled toward the emergency stairs while the resident looked on, arms folded, smiling with satisfaction. Talk about a ballbuster.

  “For God’s sake! I’m a police officer. Do you realize what I could do to you guys for this? Let me go.”

  The biggest of the guards murmured, “You kidding, right? Do you realize what she could do to us if we let go of your ass? Trust me, Officer. You ain’t got no idea.”

  GRACE’S VISION WAS CLEARING. SHE SAW light, faint rays at first, but they gradually got stronger. The tunnel forked left and right. The light was coming from the left.

  Grace moved toward it.

  “I SWEAR TO GOD, IF WE’VE lost her because of this bullshit, I will personally see to it they don’t let you loose on a patient again with so much as a Band-Aid.”

  It had taken fifteen minutes for Mitch’s boss, Lieutenant Dubray, to fax the necessary warrants and consents to the hospital. Only once she had them in her hands did the chief resident order her heavies to let Mitch out of her office.

  “Don’t try to scare me, Detective.” She laughed. “Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough for one day?”

  Mitch was about to hit back when one of his subordinates burst in.

  “Blueprints,” he panted, unrolling paper onto the desk.

  GRACE LOOKED DOWN THROUGH THE GRILLE. The room was empty. This time it was tougher to wrench the ventilation panel free. Squeezed into the shaft like raw meat in a sausage skin, she was having a tough time getting any traction. Finally, with sweat from her efforts pouring down her back and chest, Grace pulled out the grille and eased herself down into the room below. The light was so bright it took a few seconds to get her bearings. She looked around.

  I’m in an X-ray room.

  She wondered how long it would be before the technician showed up with the next patient. Do they always leave the lights on, or did someone just step out for a minute? Voices outside the door answered her question. Two men were talking. Grace watched their shadows grow larger. They’re coming in!

  MITCH STUDIED THE BLUEPRINTS. THE VENTILATION shaft had nine grilles on the sixth floor, each of them a potential exit. Mitch dispatched men to each one. The bad news was he’d lost fifteen minutes. The good news was there was no way out of the building, nor could somebody crawl between floors. It was a case of “what goes up must come down.”

  “What’s the closest exit to that ladies’ room?”

  The officer traced the tunnel with his finger.

  “That would be…right h
ere. X-ray and MRI room.”

  Mitch started running.

  THE GRILLE IN THE X-RAY-ROOM CEILING was still hanging open. Grace hadn’t bothered to try to cover her tracks. She knows she’s running out of time.

  “I don’t understand it,” said the technician. “I’ve been here the whole time. I stepped out for literally thirty seconds. But if she got in here while I was gone, she’d have had to come past our reception desk. Liza would have seen her for sure.”

  “Hmm. So would my men,” said Mitch. He scratched his head. “Is there any other way out of here?”

  “No.”

  “No service elevator? Fire stairs? No window?”

  “No. Look around you, Detective. This is it.”

  Mitch looked around. The technician was right. The room was a smooth box, empty apart from the humming X-ray machine and the circular MRI tube. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Then suddenly he saw it. In the corner. A laundry hamper, full of used scrubs.

  Heart pounding, Mitch dived in, pulling out used scrubs like a starving man hunting for food scraps in a Dumpster. In seconds, the floor was littered with blue hospital gowns and face masks. But no sign of Grace.

  He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

  “Okay. So she must have gone back into the shaft. Where’s the next exit?”

  GRACE WAITED TILL THEY’D GONE. THEN, releasing the locked muscles in her arms and legs where she’d pressed herself flat against the top of the MRI tube, she fell into the body of the machine, bruising her ribs painfully. She’d outwitted Mitch Connors for now. But how much time had that bought her? A minute? Three? Five? Despair washed over her.

  The whole hospital’s surrounded. I’m never going to get out.

  She contemplated giving up. Before she knew about Connie, and Lenny’s betrayal, she’d never questioned why she kept running, why she kept fighting. It was all for Lenny. She had to clear his name, to honor his memory. Now, for the first time, Grace realized that wasn’t enough anymore. She needed another, better reason. She needed to fight for herself. She needed to save her own life.