It was 7:30 P.M. by the time Zan, against all medical advice, was in a cab on her way to Alvirah and Willy’s apartment with Charley Shore. She had insisted Josh go home after flatly refusing his offer to sleep on the couch of her apartment. If there’s anything I need now, she thought, it’s to be alone later on and gather my wits about me.
“Shouldn’t you be on your way home, too?” she asked Shore as the cab inched its way along York Avenue.
Charley Shore decided not to tell Zan that he and his wife had theatre tickets for a play they both wanted to see and that he had phoned his wife to tell her to leave his ticket at the box office, that he’d be there when he could make it. Once again he thanked heaven for the fact that Lynn was always understanding when a situation like this came up. “I don’t think I’ll be terribly late,” he had told her. “Zan Moreland is in no condition to have a long discussion with me tonight.”
That opinion was more than reinforced by the deadly paleness of Zan’s complexion and the way she was shivering inside the fake-fur vest she was wearing. I’m glad she’s going to be with Alvirah and Willy, Charley thought. She trusts them. Maybe she’ll even tell them where her son is.
When Alvirah had called him earlier this afternoon about Alexandra Moreland, she had been direct with him. “Charley, this is someone you’ve got to help. I thought a tree had fallen on me when I saw those photographs. I don’t see how they can be fake. But there’s nothing fake about the way she’s been suffering and trying to find Matthew. If she took him, she doesn’t remember it. Don’t people go into zombielike states when they’ve had breakdowns?”
“Yes, it’s not frequent, but sometimes they do,” he told her.
Now in the cab, Charley wondered if Alvirah had not diagnosed Moreland’s condition with deadly accuracy. When he got to the hospital earlier, she had still been out of it, but was mumbling her son’s name over and over again. “I want Matthew . . . I want Matthew . . .”
The words had torn his heart. When he was ten years old, his two-year-old sister had died and he could still vividly remember that terrible day at the grave, and his mother’s plaintive wail. “I want my baby. I want my baby.”
He looked at Zan. The cab was dark, but from the headlights of other cars and the brightly lit signs on stores along the way, he could clearly see her face. I am going to help you, he vowed. I’ve been in the business forty years and I’m going to give you the best defense that I possibly can. You’re not faking this memory loss. I’ll bet my life on it.
He had expected to go up with her to the Meehans’ apartment and stay for a while, but as the cab approached Central Park South, he changed his mind. Alexandra Moreland obviously trusted Alvirah and Willy. She’d be better off alone with them this evening. Certainly it was no time to start to question her about details.
The cab stopped in the semicircular driveway, and he told the cabbie to wait for him. Despite Zan’s insistence that he didn’t need to get out, he escorted her up in the elevator. The doorman had announced them and Alvirah was waiting in the hall when they got off on the sixteenth floor. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around Zan and looked at Charley. “You go ahead, Charley,” she directed. “What Zan needs is to relax now.”
“I couldn’t agree more and I know you’ll take good care of her,” Charley said with a smile, as he stepped back into the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby. The cab got him to the theatre in time for the curtain, but even though the show was lighthearted and amusing, and he had been looking forward to it, he still could not settle down and enjoy it.
How do I defend a woman who may not be capable of contributing to her own defense? he asked himself. And how long will it be before they decide to slap handcuffs on her?
He had an ominous feeling that when that happened, it would push her over the edge.
A blanket wrapped around her, a pillow behind her head, sipping hot tea with honey and cloves, all had the effect of making Zan feel as though she was coming out of a kind of dark alley. At least those were the best words she could use to explain to Alvirah and Willy about why she had collapsed. “When I saw those photos, I thought I was dreaming. I mean, I can prove I was with Nina Aldrich when Matthew was in the park. But why would anyone go to the trouble of looking exactly like me? I mean, isn’t that crazy?”
Not waiting for a response, she said, “You know what I was running through my head . . . that song from A Little Night Music . . . ‘Send in the Clowns.’ I love that song and it seemed so appropriate. This is a farce. It’s a circus. It has to be. But I know it will be all right when I talk to Nina Aldrich. I was going to do that today and then I fainted.”
“Zan, it’s no wonder you fainted with all this going on. You may remember that Josh was on the phone with Charley Shore and Charley dropped everything to be with you. That’s the kind of lawyer and friend he is. Josh told me about last night at the Four Seasons with Ted. The way I figure it, you never did get to have dinner last night, and how much did you eat today?” Alvirah asked.
“Well, not much. Just coffee this morning, and I hadn’t had lunch by the time I got back to the office. And then I fainted.” Zan sipped the last of the tea. “Alvirah, Willy, you both believe that those photos show me taking Matthew. I heard it in your voice this afternoon, Alvirah. Then when Josh told me right away that I needed a lawyer, I could see that he believes they’re real, too.”
Willy looked at Alvirah. Of course she thinks they’re the real McCoy, he thought. I do, too. But that doesn’t mean this poor gal isn’t positive they’re not her. What’s Alvirah going to say now?
Alvirah’s response was hearty but evasive. “Zan, if you say those pictures are not of you, then I would guess Charley’s first job will be to get a copy of the negatives or whatever they do with those cell phone cameras if that’s what the man used, and get an expert to prove that they’re phony. Then my bet is that the time frame when you saw that woman about decorating her new town house would vindicate you. Didn’t you say Nina Aldrich was her name?”
“Yes.”
“Charley’s the kind of lawyer who will make sure that every second you spent with Nina Aldrich is accounted for.”
“Then why didn’t Josh or Charley respond when I told them that my meeting with Aldrich would prove I couldn’t have been in the park?” Zan asked.
Alvirah stood up. “Zan, from what I gather, you didn’t have any real conversation with Josh before you fainted. Buh-lieve me, we’re not going to leave a stone unturned until we get at the truth and find Matthew,” she promised. “But the first thing you’ve got to remember is that you are going to be bombarded from all sides and you can’t go through all this unless you’re strong. And I mean physically strong. Dinner’s simple. When you promised to come I put on my thinking cap and remembered that you love chili. So that’s what it is, chili, a salad, and hot Italian bread.”
Zan tried to smile. “Sounds good to me.”
And it was good, she decided, as the warmth of the comfort food and a glass of red wine made her feel that she was getting her balance back.
She had told Alvirah and Willy about the possibility of decorating the model apartments for the architect Kevin Wilson at his ultra chic building, 701 Carlton Place. “It’s between me and Bartley Longe,” she explained. “I realized that when Wilson read the morning papers, he’d probably believe that I had staged that kidnapping. I went straight to his office and asked him to give me a chance to prove that I couldn’t have taken Matthew that day.”
Alvirah knew she had only a small sense of how much Zan had worked on her designs for those apartments. “Did he give you that chance?”
Zan shrugged. “We’ll see. He let me leave my sketches and fabrics, so I guess I’m still in the running.”
They all passed on dessert, deciding to have just cappuccino. Knowing that Zan would be getting ready to leave, Willy got up from the table, went into the bedroom, and quietly picked up the phone and ordered a car to take her to Battery Park City then bring him back. Just in case they’re hanging around her building, there’s no way I’m letting that girl face a battery of reporters and photographers alone, he decided. I’m going to escort her home and get her upstairs.
“Fifteen minutes, Mr. Meehan,” the car dispatcher assured him.
Willy had just gotten back to the table when the phone rang. It was Fr. Aiden. “I’m crossing the street from the club,” he announced. “If it’s still all right, I’d like to pick up my scarf.”
“Oh, that’s perfect,” Alvirah assured him. “There is someone here I’ve been hoping you’d arrive in time to meet.”
Zan was finishing the last of her coffee. As Alvirah replaced the phone, Zan said, “Alvirah, I honestly don’t want to meet anyone. Please, let me get away before whoever that is arrives.”
“Zan, this isn’t just anyone,” Alvirah pleaded. “I didn’t say anything but I was really hoping that you’d still be here when Fr. Aiden dropped by. He’s an old friend and he left his scarf here last night, and because he had dinner practically across the street, he’s stopping by to pick it up. I don’t want to interfere with your plans, but I’d love it if you got to know him. He’s a wonderful priest at St. Francis, and I think he could be a real comfort to you.”
“Alvirah, I’m not feeling very religious these days,” Zan said, “so I’d like to just slip away fast.”
“Zan, I called a car. I’m riding home with you. That’s that,” Willy said.
The phone rang. It was the doorman to announce Fr. O’Brien. Alvirah rushed to open the door and a moment later the elevator stopped at their floor.
A smiling Fr. O’Brien was hugged by Alvirah, shook hands with Willy, and then turned to be introduced to the young woman who was their guest.
The smile vanished from his face.
Holy Mother of God, he thought, she’s the woman who’s involved in a crime.
She’s the one who claims she can’t prevent a murder.