Still Life (5 page)

Was Patsy preparing to whisper more poisonous confidences in her ear? Casey wondered, counting down the seconds. She stopped at eighty-five.

“Okay. All through,” Patsy said as someone knocked on the door. “You can come in,” she called out. “We’re done.”

Casey wondered if it was the man with the nice dimples, and what he wanted with her husband, why he’d come to the hospital. What did Patsy mean when she said he looked like trouble?

“Oh, hi, Mr. Marshall,” Patsy said, her voice suddenly soft and low. “How’re you doing today?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Warren replied, approaching the bed. “How’s my wife?”

“About the same.”

“She seems more comfortable,” Donna said, “since they put that tube in her throat.”

“Yeah. Hopefully, she’ll start breathing on her own soon, and they can take it out.”

“We’re rooting for her,” Patsy said.

Yeah, sure.

“Thank you.”

Casey felt the women gathering up their things and heading for the door.

“Oh, there was a man here looking for you a few minutes ago,” Donna said. “We sent him to the visitors’ lounge.”

“I can tell him you’re here, if you’d like,” Patsy offered.

“I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all. Oh, and Mr. Marshall,” she continued, and then paused. “If there’s anything you need, anything at all …”

“Thank you. You’re very kind.”

“I’d be happy to volunteer my services if you require any help once your wife leaves the hospital.”

Oh, you’re good. You’re good.

“What about your job here?”

“It’s just temporary.”

“Then thank you. I’ll certainly consider your offer …”

“Patsy,” she told him.

“Patsy,” he repeated.

You’re the only patsy here
, Casey all but screamed.

“Well,” Patsy demurred, as Casey pictured her lowering her chin and lifting her eyes coquettishly. “I can only imagine what you’re going through….”

“Thank you. I know how much Casey would appreciate the kindness you’ve shown her.”

I wouldn’t be too sure about that.

“I’ll see if I can locate that gentleman.”

Warren thanked her again as Patsy left the room.

Don’t even think about hiring that woman
, Casey warned.
I don’t want her anywhere near me. Can’t you see the only thing she wants to do is you? Even I can see that much, and
I’m
in a coma, for God’s sake!

What was it with men? Were they really so blind when it came to women? “Men are basically very simple creatures,” Janine had once remarked, and Casey had dismissed it as the cynicism of someone who’d had her hopes dashed one too many times. Was it possible she was right?

“We marry our fathers,” Janine had also pronounced, a remark that had given Casey pause when she felt herself falling in love with Warren. Casey knew that women had been coming on to Warren ever since they’d met. They made no secret of their attraction to him, brushing up against him on the street, or smiling at him from the bar of a crowded restaurant. She’d actually seen one particularly brazen young woman slip a piece of paper into the palm of his hand as he walked past her on his way to the washroom, and she’d held her breath, thinking of her father and all the scented scraps of paper with unidentified phone numbers she’d regularly found hidden about the house. But seconds later, Casey had watched as Warren tossed that piece of paper into a nearby wastepaper basket without even bothering to glance at it. So Warren Marshall was nothing like Ronald Lerner. Nothing like her father at all.

Which meant women like Patsy were of no consequence; they posed no threat to her whatsoever.

“Let’s put the TV on, shall we?” Warren said, clicking it on.

Immediately, other voices filled the room.

“You never loved me,” a woman was saying. “You’ve been lying to me from the very beginning.”

“Maybe not from the
very
beginning,” a man answered, a cruel laugh in his voice.

“How’re you doing, sweetheart?” Warren asked, back at her side. She wondered if he was patting her hand, or maybe caressing her hair. She recalled the gentleness of his touch and wondered if she’d ever be able to feel it again. “The nurse said you seem more comfortable since they put the tube in.”

They’re not nurses. They’re nurses’ aides. And that one named Patsy. Watch out for her.

“She seems very nice,” he said with a sigh.

He sounds exhausted, Casey thought, as if someone had reached inside his chest and pulled out his heart. How different from the first time he’d walked into the small downtown offices of Lerner, Pegabo, wearing a dark gray suit with a pale pink shirt and a silk burgundy tie, looking tan and lean, and exuding confidence and energy. “I have an appointment with Janine Pegabo at eleven o’clock,” he’d announced, peeking his head into her room.

“You’re Warren Marshall?” Casey asked, trying to ignore the quickening of her pulse, and swallowing the catch in her throat. “I’m sorry, but Janine had to leave rather suddenly. She broke a tooth on a bagel, of all things, and the only time the dentist could squeeze her in was …” Why was she rambling on this way? “I’m Casey Lerner, her partner. She asked me to fill in for her. I hope that’s all right.”

“More than all right,” Warren said, making himself comfortable in the red velvet chair across from her desk. “Interesting room,” he said, penetrating brown eyes casually absorbing the leopard-print carpeting, the dark walnut desk, and the taupe-colored walls lined with black-and-white photographs of fruit and floral arrangements. “It’s … quirky.”

“Quirky?”

“That’s a compliment. I’ve always liked quirky. Who did you use?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The decorator,” he explained with a smile.

“Oh. No decorator. Just me. I did the whole office, actually. Janine’s room, too. She’s not really interested in that sort of thing, and it’s always been kind of a hobby of mine….” She was rambling again, Casey realized, and stopped. “How can I help you, Mr. Marshall?”

“Well, as I explained to Ms. Pegabo on the phone the other day, I’ve been with Miller, Sheridan for the last five years and I’m looking to make a move. I faxed over a copy of my résumé….”

“Yes, it’s very impressive. Bachelor in finance from Princeton, law degree from Columbia. I don’t imagine we’ll have much trouble finding you a new position. Do you mind my asking you why you want to leave Miller, Sheridan?”

“I’m looking for a firm with more vision, more guts,” he said easily. “Miller, Sheridan is a good, capable firm, but they’re also a little old-fashioned, and I prefer …”

“Quirkier?”

He smiled. “I don’t want to wait the requisite ten years before being made a full partner.”

“A man in a hurry,” Casey observed.

“I prefer to think of myself as a man who knows his own worth.”

Casey glanced back at his résumé, although she’d already committed all the relevant facts to memory: Warren Marshall had attended Princeton on a full scholarship and graduated Columbia in the top third of his class; his area of expertise was corporate and commercial law; he was already pulling in a salary of several hundred thousand dollars a year. “I’m not sure I can get you more money than you’re getting now, at least to start out.”

“Sure you can,” he said with a smile.

He was a little arrogant, Casey decided. But that was all right. In the right hands, arrogant could be very attractive. Providing there was something to be arrogant about. Her father had been arrogant. She found herself checking out the ring finger of Warren Marshall’s left hand and was happy to see it was empty, although that didn’t necessarily mean anything. What was she doing? This wasn’t like her.

“Look. Nobody becomes a lawyer to get rich,” Warren was saying. “You make a decent living, yes. Okay, more than a decent living. But factor in expenses and taxes and overhead, you’re certainly not retiring at forty.”

“Is that what you want to do? Retire at forty?”

“No, that’s not me. But sixty doesn’t sound so unreasonable. Old,” he continued with a laugh. “But not unreasonable.”

Casey laughed as well. They spent the next half hour talking about his preferences and his politics, his likes and dislikes, his goals and his dreams, all of which were compatible with hers. More than once, they finished each other’s sentences. Casey was surprised at their easy camaraderie, as if they’d known each other for years.
He gets me
, she thought, wishing she could think of a way to prolong the interview further.

“So, you think you can do something for me?” he asked, pushing back his chair and standing up.

“I can’t imagine I’ll have too much trouble,” Casey answered honestly. Warren Marshall was a gift, she was thinking, the easiest commission she’d ever earn.

“By the way, will you marry me?” he asked in the next breath.

“What?”

“Sorry. That’s the man in a hurry talking. We can start with dinner, if you’d prefer.”

“What?” Casey said again.

“I don’t believe it,” Janine had wailed when she returned to the office half an hour later. “I get a broken tooth;
you
get a date.”

She got more than that, Casey was thinking now. She got her knight in shining armor, her Prince Charming, the man of her dreams. Ten months later, she and Warren were married.

The door to her hospital room suddenly swung open.

“I found him,” Patsy announced, an irritating chirp to her voice.

“Mr. Marshall,” a male voice said. “I’m Detective Spinetti, with the Philadelphia police department.”

“Have you found the person responsible for my wife’s accident?” Warren asked immediately.

“No,” the detective answered quickly. “But there
is
something we need to discuss.”

“Thank you, Patsy,” Warren said, dismissing the nurse’s aide.

“Just ring if you need anything.”

The door closed behind her.

Casey didn’t know why, but she was certain that had she not been connected to a respirator, she would be holding her breath.

FIVE

“H
ow is your wife doing?” the detective asked.

“About the same,” Warren answered. “You have some news regarding her accident?”

“I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“What sort of questions?”

“Do you know what your wife was doing in South Philly the day of the accident, Mr. Marshall?” Detective Spinetti asked immediately.

“What was she doing in South Philly?” Warren repeated, as if trying to make sense of the question. “She was meeting friends for lunch. Why?”

“Do you recall the name of the restaurant?”

Why do you want to know that?

“I think it was Southwark, over on South Street. How is this relevant?”

“If you’d just bear with me for a few minutes.”

There was a slight pause. Casey pictured Warren giving the officer his silent assent.

“You said she was meeting friends for lunch,” the detective continued. “Do you know who those friends were?”

“Of course I do.”

“Can I have their names?”

“Janine Pegabo and Gail MacDonald.”

“That’s P-e-g …”

“… a-b-o,” Warren finished quickly, as Casey listened to the scribbling of a pen. “MacDonald, spelled M-a-c,” he added, without further prompting. “They’re her best friends. Again, I have to ask, how is this relevant to my wife’s accident?”

A longer pause. Then, “Actually, we’re no longer convinced it
was
an accident.”

What?

“What?”

What do you mean?

“What are you saying?”

“We have reason to believe that your wife might have been deliberately targeted.”

I don’t understand.

“What reason?”

“In reviewing the garage’s surveillance tapes again—”

Surveillance tapes? There were surveillance tapes?

“Were you able to get a better look at the driver’s face?” Warren interrupted. “Was it someone you recognize?”

“No, I’m afraid not. The driver wore a hoodie and dark glasses, and kept his head down. Combined with the poor quality of the tape, there was no way to make any kind of positive identification.”

“Then I don’t understand. What makes you think someone would have deliberately targeted my wife?” Warren’s voice cracked, and he coughed to mask the sound.

Someone deliberately ran me down?

“Maybe you should sit down, Mr. Marshall,” Detective Spinetti said. “You’re looking a little pale.”

“I don’t want to sit down. I want to know why you no longer think this was an accident.”

“Please, Mr. Marshall. I understand this is upsetting …”

“You’re telling me somebody tried to murder my wife, for God’s sake. Of course I’m upset.”

Hold on a minute. You’re saying someone tried to murder me? Is that what you’re saying?

“If you’ll let me explain,” the detective began.

There must be some mistake. Who would possibly want to kill me?

“I’m sorry. Of course. Go ahead. I’m sorry,” Warren apologized again.

Casey heard the sound of chairs being adjusted and occupied, Warren in one, the police officer right beside him. She pictured the detective as tall and swarthy, with thinning, wavy dark hair and a deeply lined face. His voice, strong and matter-of-fact, indicated he was used to being in charge. She decided he was probably around forty, although she could easily have been off by a decade in either direction. Voices were so deceiving, she thought.

“As I was saying, we reviewed the surveillance tapes.” Detective Spinetti paused, as if he expected to be interrupted again, then continued when no such interruption was forthcoming. “Unfortunately, the parking garage has been around forever, and the security cameras are on their last legs. So all we knew for certain was that the vehicle that hit your wife was a late-model Ford SUV, probably silver in color. We enhanced the images and were able to get a partial plate. But you already know this.”

“Clearly there’s something I don’t know.”

“After we ran the plates, we discovered they were phony. That, plus the fact your wife is Ronald Lerner’s daughter, and Ronald Lerner was a man who’d ruffled more than a few feathers in his day….”

“That day is long past. The man’s been dead for years,” Warren scoffed. “Why would someone go after his daughter now?”

“I’m not saying that’s what happened. I’m simply saying it got us thinking that this might not have been the simple case of hit-and—run we first assumed it was. So we went back and looked at the tapes again, both at the exit
and
the entrance to the garage, starting first thing that morning, to see if we could spot the SUV when it arrived. Unfortunately, the cameras on the individual levels of the garage contained no film, so they weren’t of any help.”

“And what did you find out?”

“We saw your wife drive in at just before noon …”

Another pause. Was he straining for dramatic effect? Casey wondered impatiently.
Just spit it out.

“Go on,” Warren said.

“… and the car that hit her drive in soon after.”

“How soon?”

“Within seconds.”

Within seconds. What does that mean?

“You’re saying you think she was being followed?”

“It’s an awfully big coincidence if she wasn’t. Think about it, Mr. Marshall. Your wife enters the parking garage at just before noon, followed immediately by the same SUV that runs her down several hours later.”

“But it
could
be a coincidence,” Warren said, clearly struggling to understand what was becoming obvious even to Casey.

Someone had followed her into the garage, waited there until she returned, then tried to kill her.

“It could be,” the detective agreed unconvincingly.

“Good God,” Warren whispered, as Casey pictured him burying his face in his hands.

“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt your wife, Mr. Marshall?”

“No one,” Warren answered without pause. “Casey is a wonderful woman. Everybody loves her.”

“Perhaps a jealous former boyfriend….”

Casey felt Warren shaking his head, imagined several strands of soft brown hair falling across his forehead.

“Does your wife have a job, Mr. Marshall?”

“She’s an interior decorator. Why?”

“Any unhappy customers?”

“You fire your decorator if you’re unhappy, Detective. You don’t run them down.”

“Still, I’d appreciate a list of all her clients.”

“I’ll have it for you first thing in the morning.”

“What about the people who work for her? Any disgruntled employees, someone she had to let go recently …?”

“Casey worked alone. The business was relatively new. She used to …” He broke off.

“She used to …?” Detective Spinetti repeated.

“She used to run a lawyer placement service with her friend Janine.”

“That would be Janine Pegabo?”

Casey pictured him consulting his notes.

“Yes.”

“They were partners?”

“Yes.”

“But they no longer work together.” The observation was part statement, part question.

“No. They went their separate ways about a year ago.”

“Why was that?”

“Casey just wanted to try other things. She’d always been interested in design….”

“And how did Ms. Pegabo feel about that?”

“She was understandably upset, at least initially. But she came around. She’d made peace with it. She certainly wouldn’t have tried to kill Casey because of it.”

“Do you know what kind of car she drives, Mr. Marshall?”

“Uh, a Toyota, I think.”

It’s a Nissan. And it’s red, not silver.

“And it’s red,” Warren said. “Janine always drives a red car.”

“What about Gail MacDonald?”

“I have no idea what kind of car she drives.”

It’s a Ford Malibu, and it’s white.

“Gail is the gentlest person on earth,” Warren said. “I’ve actually seen her scoop up an ant in a tissue and carry it outside rather than kill it. There’s no way she’d hurt Casey.”

This is ridiculous. Neither Gail nor Janine had anything to do with what happened to me.

“You can’t think either of these women had anything to do with this,” Warren said, echoing her thoughts.

“I’m just covering all the bases,” the detective replied obliquely. “You said that up until about a year ago, your wife ran a lawyer placement service.”

“Yes.”

“Any lawyers she might have angered?”

“Lawyers are, by nature, always angry about something,” Warren answered. “But Casey had a way about her….”

Wait a minute. There
was
this one lawyer…. The little twerp, Janine had called him at lunch.

“I honestly can’t think of anyone who’d have been angry enough to try to kill her.”

Dammit, what was his name? Moody? Money? No. Mooney. That’s it. Richard Mooney.

“Maybe you should talk to Janine about that.”

But would Richard Mooney really try to kill me because his job placement hadn’t worked out?

“Tell me,” Detective Spinetti said, “is there anyone who would profit by your wife’s death?”

What do you mean?

“Profit?”

“It’s no secret that your wife is a very wealthy woman, Mr. Marshall. In the event of her death, who inherits her estate?”

“Probably her sister,” Warren answered after a moment’s thought. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure? You’re a lawyer….”

“I’m not Casey’s lawyer, Detective.”

“You mentioned a sister….”

“Casey’s younger sister, Drew.”

“Were they close?”

“Not especially.”

“Mind my asking why?”

Another moment’s thought, then, “Even though she was extremely well-provided-for,” Warren said carefully, “Drew always resented the fact her father named Casey as executor of his estate.”

“Effectively giving Casey control over her finances?”

“Drew isn’t the most responsible person on the planet,” Warren explained. “She’s had her share of problems with drugs and alcohol.”

“Do you know what kind of car she drives?”

“I have no idea. She trades them in almost as often as she changes boyfriends.”

Casey could almost see Detective Spinetti’s eyebrows arch. “I see,” he noted.

“You don’t see anything,” Warren said adamantly. “Drew may be a flake. And she definitely has issues. But there’s no way she’d hurt Casey.”

“Any idea who she’s seeing now?” the detective asked, ignoring Warren’s protestation.

“I think his name is Sean. Sorry, his last name escapes me.”

“So you wouldn’t know what kind of car this Sean drives.”

“Sorry, no. You’d have to ask Drew. But again, you can’t think …”

“I’m just gathering information, Mr. Marshall.”

Warren took an audible breath and released it slowly. “In that case, I imagine you’ll want to know
my
whereabouts on the afternoon my wife was run down,” he said.

What? No!

“You understand I have to ask.”

I understand no such thing.

“I know the drill, Detective. I also understand the husband is always the prime suspect in cases like this. But
you
have to understand that I’m on the verge of being made a full partner with one of the city’s premier law firms, and that I make a very substantial living of my own. I’ve never been interested in my wife’s fortune. And I was in my office, conferring with a client, at the time she was being run down. I’ll be happy to provide you with a list of at least a dozen people you can talk to who will verify that I didn’t leave my desk all day, not even for lunch. I was there when the hospital called….” Again his voice cracked. Again he coughed in an effort to disguise it.

“Do you hold any life insurance policies on your wife, Mr. Marshall?”

“No.”

“That doesn’t sound very lawyerly,” Detective Spinetti observed.

“Lawyers are notoriously lax when it comes to their own personal affairs. Besides, Casey is young, she was in excellent health, and we don’t have any children. I guess we both assumed there was lots of time to talk about those things.” His voice drifted into the air, where it hung suspended for several seconds before evaporating. “I didn’t marry my wife for her money, Detective. I married her because I love her. I love her so much.”

Oh, Warren. I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know.

“If I could change places with her, I would.” His voice cracked a third time. This time he made no effort to hide the sound.

The door suddenly swung open.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” someone said. “I guess I should have knocked.”

“Dr. Ein,” Warren acknowledged, pushing back his chair. It scraped against the floor, knocked against the side of the bed. “This is Detective Spinetti with the Philadelphia police.”

“Did they catch the person who …?”

“Not yet,” Detective Spinetti answered. “But we will.”

“Awful business,” the doctor said.

“Yes,” the detective agreed. “Look, why don’t I get out of here, let you have some privacy.”

No. You can’t just walk in here, announce someone tried to kill me, point the finger of suspicion at virtually everyone I know, and then leave.

The sound of another chair being pushed back.

“You’ll keep me informed?” Warren said.

“Count on it.”

“Everything all right?” the doctor asked as soon as the detective was gone.

“You tell me,” Warren countered.

Casey felt the doctor approach the bed, imagined him staring down at her.

“Well, all things considered, your wife’s doing very well. She came through the tracheostomy with flying colors. The trach tube looks good. It shouldn’t leave too much of a scar. And her breathing is stable at fourteen breaths a minute.”

“Which means what exactly?”

“Which means that we can hopefully start weaning her off the ventilator pretty soon.”

“Is that wise?”

“I assure you we won’t do anything until the time is right.”