The Girl in the Face of the Clock (18 page)

Jane stood for a second, dazed, considering the real possibility that her intruder was dead. You could easily break your neck colliding with a refrigerator, even if your neck happened to be as thick as this woman's was. Then, on the other hand, she might just be stunned, ready to get up any second,
really
angry this time.

Jane bent down and got close enough to ascertain that her attacker was still breathing. Then, very quietly—was it possible to wake someone who had collided with a refrigerator?—she walked over to the couch and opened the woman's little Coach leather purse. Inside was the usual girl equipment. Jane riffled past a lipstick, some keys, and a comb until she found the woman's wallet and unsnapped it. The name on the platinum American Express card inside was Melissa Rosengolts.

“Oh, my God,” gasped Jane, suddenly understanding. In the London china shop, Jane had told Isidore Rosengolts that the clock was in her possession and that she was going back to New York on Monday. He had told her that he had a grandchild in America.

The unconscious whale on the floor had said that she hadn't found the clock “before.” It had been Melissa Rosengolts who had broken into Jane's apartment during Aaron Sailor's funeral, not Willie Bogen and Valentine Treves. Melissa Rosengolts must have seen the article with Perry's painting in the
Sunday Times
and gotten Jane's address from the phonebook. Or perhaps it had been Isidore Rosengolts who had first read the newspaper in London and who had then called his granddaughter with instructions.

In either case, Jane had been no stranger to Isidore Rosengolts when she had walked into his shop last week. He must have been astounded, but he played a frighteningly good hand of poker—Jane certainly gave him that. Here, the owner of the very clock he had just conspired unsuccessfully to steal had crossed an ocean to let him know that she still had it in her possession and to present him with a nice little gift for all his trouble.

Melissa Rosengolts moaned softly.

It was time to call the police. The telephone on the table seemed no worse for having its answering machine forcibly amputated, but Jane wasn't going to hang around and wait for Isidore Rosengolts's granddaughter to wake up. Instead, she dashed out the door and down the stairs, not slowing down until she had reached the east side of Broadway, several blocks away. There she found a pay phone and dialed 911.

After calmly relating the details of what had happened—including the fact that her attacker might need an ambulance—she asked to be connected to Lieutenant Octavio Folly.

“You'll have to dial that number yourself directly,” said the emergency operator.

“I don't have his number with me,” said Jane.

“Try information,” said the operator.

“I can't start calling all over town. Please, can't you patch me through to him?”

“I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm an emergency operator. I can't make personal calls for you.”

“This isn't a personal call. It's a call to the police.”

“I'll be sending the police, ma'am, just as soon as we get off the phone.”

“You get me Lieutenant Folly!” Jane suddenly found herself screaming. “Octavio Folly! Nineteenth precinct! Get me Folly or I swear to God I'll have your picture on page one of the
Daily News
tomorrow!”

“All right, all right,” said the voice. “Calm down, ma'am. You're not really hysterical or you wouldn't be able to make such a good threat. Give me the number of the phone where you're at.”

Jane read it off the battered face of the brushed steel telephone. The 911 operator instructed her to wait by the phone. Jane hung up. She couldn't believe she had lost control like that. She had been remarkably calm in her confrontation with Melissa Rosengolts. Why was she going to pieces now that the crisis was over?

She looked down and found that her hands were shaking. Her knuckles were scraped raw and there were several places on her body that were probably turning black and blue, judging from the way they were throbbing. Jane stood there for what seemed like an hour, shooing away old ladies and bicycle messengers who wanted to use the phone. In reality, probably no more than five minutes passed. Finally, the pay phone rang. It was Folly.

“Where have you been, Miss Sailor?” demanded the detective. “I've been trying to reach you for a week.”

“I had to go out of town, to England,” said Jane, afraid to laugh with relief at the sound of his voice, afraid she wouldn't be able to stop.

“Funny time to up and go on vacation,” said Folly, oblivious. “It would have been nice to let me know that you were leaving the country.”

“It wasn't just a vacation. I wanted to talk to the woman who modeled for a painting of my father's that Perry Mannerback owns. She was living in the loft downstairs from Dad's when he had his accident eight years ago. Her name was Leila Peach.”

“Leila … did you say Leila Peach?”

“Yes.”

“Leila Peach was the model in a painting that Mannerback owns? Was that the painting that was reproduced in the
Times?
The nude?”

“Yes,” said Jane. “I know that Leila's dead. Mr. Danko told me.”

“Marvelous,” muttered Folly. “Just marvelous. It would have been nice to have been aware of this little tidbit when I spoke to Mr. Mannerback this morning. And what the hell is going on with you now? Why are you threatening emergency operators?”

“When I came back to my apartment, there was a woman there. We had a fight.”

“So I hear. Who was she? What did she want?”

“I don't know,” Jane found herself saying. Suddenly it seemed important not to talk about the clock until she understood why everyone seemed to want it so badly.

“Second break-in in a month, and you don't have any idea?”

“Why don't you ask her?”

“We will,” said Folly. “Units should be there by now. You're okay?”

“I'm fine,” said Jane, somehow doubting that Melissa Rosengolts would say anything either.

“Maybe the paramedics should look you over. You actually knocked this woman out?”

“Just a lucky punch with a refrigerator. I'd rather not think about it. I'm worried about Perry.”

“You should be,” growled Folly. “Mr. Mannerback is in deep, deep shit.”

The traffic on Broadway had thickened and come to a standstill. A taxicab blared its horn. Jane put a finger in her ear and huddled against the steel shell of the pay phone, trying to hear what Folly was saying.

“What did Perry say this morning when you spoke with him?” she asked urgently.

“Let's not get into that.”

“Please, Lieutenant,” said Jane. “Perry ran out right after you talked. Nobody knows where he is.”

“We'll find him soon enough. He's got to come in for formal questioning. I told him so this morning. No more of this hiding-behind-attorneys runaround. If he doesn't come in voluntarily, we'll have him arrested.”

“Won't there be some pretty gruesome publicity if you do that?” asked Jane. “Perry Mannerback is a very well known individual. The newspapers love him.”

Folly didn't answer.

“If you tell me what happened this morning on the phone,” said Jane, “maybe I can find him, convince him to come in.”

“I'd rather you didn't do that.”

“Why not?”

“You think this is some sort of game, Miss Sailor? You think going around playing detective is fun?”

“My father was murdered,” said Jane. “I just want him to have some justice.”

“I do this for a living, Miss Sailor,” said Folly wearily. “Some men build houses or prepare tax returns or go off to work in offices. I collect statements, facts, and evidence. The D.A. takes it all to trial and sometimes people are convicted and go to jail, sometimes the case can't be proved and killers go free. In either event it's not about justice, it's about the legal system, and the process is just beginning, believe me. It can go on for years. Maybe there will be justice one day, maybe there won't, but you're not God, and neither am I. All you're going to accomplish by interfering is to get your heart broken as well as your head. So just let me do my job, okay?”

“I still have a lot better chance of finding Perry and convincing him to come in than you do,” said Jane.

There was a long silence, as if Folly were debating with himself whether to tell her anything more. Finally, he spoke.

“Mr. Mannerback went to see your father in the hospital.”

“Yes, I know.”

“He was your father's last visitor the night he died.”

This time it was Jane who didn't say anything.

“I asked Mr. Mannerback why he went to see Aaron Sailor that night,” Folly went on, “why he flew back to New York when he was halfway to Seattle with you. It seems that Dr. King's wife was on the same plane. She told Mannerback that your father had been calling out his name in his coma.”

“Yes,” said Jane. “I know it upset Perry.”

“It upset him a lot, Miss Sailor. Contrary to your theory that it might have been some other Perry that Aaron Sailor was talking about, it seems that Perry Mannerback knew exactly why your father would be calling out his name like that, saying, ‘No, Perry, no.' Mannerback told me he had done something terrible to your father eight years ago. He said that's why he had paid to bring your father into Manhattan for tests—because he felt guilty. He said that's also why he rushed back to see him at the hospital that night—to beg forgiveness, to make his peace.”

Jane swallowed hard.

“What had Perry done that was so terrible?” she asked. “Did he tell you?”

“No,” answered Folly. “He said that he preferred not to say. So I suggested that maybe Mr. Mannerback was feeling so guilty because he pushed your father down the stairs. And maybe, I also suggested, maybe it wasn't just guilt that was motivating all this generosity of his. Maybe he paid for Aaron Sailor to be moved to Manhattan to give himself a better opportunity to inject your father with insulin because he was afraid that Aaron Sailor was waking up and would incriminate him. Did you know that Mr. Mannerback is a diabetic?”

“No,” said Jane, stunned.

“That's right. He knows all about injecting insulin. He does it to himself every day. Perry Mannerback had a motive, knew the method, and gave himself the opportunity to murder your father.”

“If that's what you think,” stammered Jane, “why haven't you arrested him?”

“The District Attorney's office doesn't like circumstantial cases,” said Folly. “Right now, we have no physical evidence that Mannerback killed your father. If we have to go to court with circumstances, I need to understand why Perry might have pushed your father down the stairs in the first place. Now that you've told me that Leila Peach was the model in the painting that Perry owned, maybe I can figure it out. Were your father and Perry Mannerback both involved with Leila Peach eight years ago?”

“No,” said Jane.

“If you're so interested in justice, Miss Sailor, then why do you want to protect a man who may have killed your father?”

“I'm telling you the truth,” said Jane. “It was Danko who was involved with her. Ted Danko.”

“Then how come Mr. Mannerback got so upset this morning when I told him a woman named Leila Peach had been found dead with his name in her address book? Why did he hang up on me when I told him he'd have to give us a formal statement detailing exactly what his relationship was with her? When I called back, he'd already skipped. Now I'm going to ask you again. Do you know where he is?”

“No,” said Jane. A group of teenagers passed by, yelling happily. She had to put a finger in her ear again to hear.

“It will be much better for him if he turns himself in,” said Folly, “but I don't want you to go looking for him. Mannerback may very well have killed your father, Miss Sailor. It's looking increasingly likely that he killed Leila Peach, too. Since no weapon was recovered at the scene, we'll have to assume he's armed.”

“No, Perry couldn't …” said Jane. “I can't believe …”

“Stay away from him, Miss Sailor. If you hear from Mannerback, tell him to turn himself in, but don't get near him. He's not your friend. He's dangerous. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” whispered Jane.

“Now go home. The officers will need to get a statement from you.”

“Thanks, but I'd rather not be there when she wakes up.”

“The lady's not going to give you any more trouble, I promise. I'll call you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

Jane hung up the phone and stood in a daze, watching the endless throngs walk by on Broadway. The world had gone mad. Her life had gone mad. Even as she stood there the police were swearing out a warrant for Perry Mannerback, and the granddaughter of a man with a china shop in London was being revived and/ or arrested in Jane's apartment. Jane had no desire to go back to the brownstone on Ninetieth Street now or ever for that matter. All she wanted was to find someone who could make sense of all this to her. Where could Perry have gone? she wondered. Who were the only true honest people in New York?

At that moment a professional dog walker rounded the corner on Eighty-ninth Street with a pack of at least twenty smiling, dopey, happy canines of all sizes and breeds.

Suddenly, Jane knew where to find Perry Mannerback. The question was, did she still want to?

Jane still remembered the Central Park Zoo of her childhood— a cramped and dingy place of steel bars and pacing, anxious animals. The Zoo had undergone a renovation in the late 1980s, however. Bronze creatures still danced in the captivity of the clocktower on an hourly basis, but the depressing cages were now nowhere to be found. Instead, there were habitats—a moated island for the monkeys, an indoor promenade for the penguins, an icy outdoor pool where polar bears swam.

The children's petting zoo had recently been expanded in the enlightened design, and environments for birds and for butterflies had been added. A million people passed through each year and emerged back out into the city streets calmer and happier for the experience.

Jane found Perry Mannerback sitting on a bench at the backmost part of the Zoo, amidst the artificial boulders that had been created to make homes for red pandas, ruddy shelducks, and otters. It was a secluded and quiet spot. The lunch-hour crowds were mostly over by the front entrance, convening around the seals' circular run, waiting for the feeding-time show.

“May I join you?” she asked, but Perry didn't look up. His chin rested on his hands, his elbows rested on his knees. He apparently hadn't noticed her approaching.

“May I sit down, Perry?” Jane asked again.

This time, her former employer did look up. There were dark circles under his reddened eyes. He wore a wrinkled white shirt, but no jacket or tie. He looked rumpled and miserable.

“Jane,” he said, smiling slightly and rising automatically. “What are you doing here?”

“Sometimes I get tired of people, too,” said Jane, taking a seat beside him. “At least people of the human persuasion.”

“They're very decent chaps, the monkeys,” Perry said with a nod, sitting back down and offering her a potato chip from a bag in his pocket. “They remind me of our board of directors, only better-looking. And the polar bears are quite something, aren't they?”

“Olinda is worried about you, the way you ran out of the apartment this morning. So is Miss Fripp.”

Perry shrugged, but didn't say anything.

“I understand that you spoke with the police,” said Jane.

For the first time, raw emotion flashed across Perry's eyes.

“They accused me of … I can't even say it, it's so preposterous.”

“I know you wouldn't have harmed my father.”

“No, of course not. I've felt terrible about this whole thing, simply terrible.”

“And now Leila Peach is dead, too.”

“Yes,” said Perry, “though I shouldn't wonder that she would come to no good end. Horrible woman.”

Jane stared at him. Perry must have noticed her eyes widening, for he was quick to respond.

“You can't think I had anything to do with that, can you, Jane? I haven't seen Leila Peach for years and years. I only spoke to her a few times in my entire life.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“No, no, no. I couldn't possibly.”

“Why not?”

“I feel so terrible. I'm so ashamed.”

“You're in a lot of trouble, Perry. The police want to talk with you again.”

“What should I do, Jane?” asked Perry, his eyes wide. “I don't know what to do.”

“Why don't you tell me what happened eight years ago? I promise I won't be mad at you. I just need to know what happened. Maybe I can help you figure out what to do.”

Perry stared at her for another moment, then nodded. The wind seemed to go out of him. He slumped down in his seat and began speaking in a very quiet voice without inflection.

“After I bought my painting, I became friendly with your father. I had him over to my place on several occasions for dinner parties—nothing fancy, just a few dozen people. He was very amusing, very nice chap. Ted Danko was at one of these gatherings, along with his wife. Your dad had brought Leila Peach. After growing accustomed to her presence in my painting, it was really quite interesting for me to meet Miss Peach in the flesh—or not in the flesh, as the case may be. She seemed nice enough. I didn't talk with her much that first time, just marveled at the transitory nature of existence and all.”

He paused. Jane didn't say anything. Eventually, Perry continued.

“Ted Danko was Leila's dinner partner that night and they really hit it off together. They began to see one another secretly. Ted and his wife Jill were having some personal problems then, and—I don't know, these things happen. Of course, I didn't find out about any of this until months later, when Ted came to talk with me. He was terribly distraught. It seems that Leila had told him she was pregnant with his child. She wanted money so she could get an abortion and start a new life somewhere where nobody knew her. Unless Ted paid her, she had threatened to tell his wife about their liaison.”

“It sounds to me like they deserved one another,” said Jane. “Why did Danko come to you? Why didn't he just pay her off?”

“He couldn't, or most certainly he would have,” said Mannerback with a sigh. “As it happened, Ted had made some disastrous personal investments right before this and was dangerously overextended, financially speaking. He had no liquidity at all. He'd gone through everything to raise money to cover his losses, even invaded a trust fund for one of their children. Ted was sure he'd be able to replace the money in a matter of weeks, but if his wife found out about Leila now, he'd be ruined. Jill would divorce him for certain, he said. Her lawyers would have had enough evidence to crucify him—she'd already caught him having other affairs. He could even go to jail. Jill would take back the kids with her to her family in California, and Ted probably would never be allowed to see them again. He couldn't bear it. He was practically suicidal.”

“Big tough Mr. Danko?” said Jane sarcastically.

“Oh, you don't know Ted. He's really a very emotional fellow. He may be ambivalent about Jill, but he absolutely adores his kids and was at the end of his rope. He was literally in tears when he told me about this and asked my help. Ted's an immensely proud fellow. For him to have come to me for help like this was remarkable—even now, years later, he's still embarrassed about it and compensates by treating me in a very brusque manner. But I understand. At the time, I was very touched that he would turn to me. I'm ashamed to admit, however, that all I could think of was myself, my own interests.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jane, as a young mother pushed a sleeping infant by and seals barked in the distance.

“Ted has been running the company for me since Dad died,” said Perry. “He's a wonderful manager. He understands what's called for and takes care of everything. When he came to me so upset, I was terrified of what might happen if his affair and financial manipulations were exposed. The stockholders would certainly demand his termination. Who would run the company then? I certainly couldn't. The day-to-day business is a terrible bore, and you have to really know what you're doing. Someone new might come in who'd wreck things, or make me spend lots of time doing all kinds of stuff I didn't want. I was frightened. I didn't want anything to change.”

“So you helped him.”

“Yes,” said Perry, nodding, looking miserable. “I helped Ted. I told him not to worry, that I would take care of everything. I met with Leila Peach. I arranged to give her some money—a few hundred thousand was all she wanted. She promised to get an abortion and leave New York.”

“And you believed her?” asked Jane. “Why couldn't she have just come back for more blackmail when she ran out of money?”

“Yes, precisely,” said Perry. “Which was why I took the precaution of hiring a private investigator who procured affidavits detailing purchases of various controlled substances by Miss Peach. She had a drug problem and was involved with some rather unsavory people. At our meeting, I produced these affidavits, and I told her in no uncertain terms that if she attempted to make trouble for me or Mr. Danko in the future, I could and would have her sent to prison.”

Jane stared at Perry with surprise. Apparently, he was more cunning than he let on.

“I thought that I was being so smart,” he continued in a quiet voice. “I thought that I had handled everything so perfectly, but the next thing I knew your father appeared at my apartment, furious. It seems that he had just run into Leila at a restaurant and she had told him about her pregnancy, told him that the child was his and that she planned to have an abortion, which I was going to help her pay for.”

“An abortion, of course,” said Jane, finally understanding. Those were Leila's plans that Aaron Sailor had wanted to interfere with. It wasn't surprising that Leila hadn't told Suzy McCorkle that part of the story.

“Aaron had tried to talk her out of it,” said Perry, “but she was furious at him for having ended their relationship shortly before this. That was just like Leila, apparently. She had had no problem cheating on Aaron with Ted Danko, but she absolutely couldn't tolerate that he had broken it off with her and was seeing other women. This was how she was going to get back at him, by aborting this child—and doing it with my money.”

“What a horrible woman,” said Jane.

“‘Don't do it, Perry,' your father demanded. ‘Please don't do it.' He had been raised a Catholic, I gather, and the prospect of being party to an abortion absolutely horrified him. It was a mortal sin.”

“But Dad wasn't religious at all,” said Jane.

“Maybe not, but certain beliefs have deep roots. So deep they defy what's rational sometimes.”

Perry shook his head and wrung his hands.

“I tried to deny my involvement,” he went on in a cracking voice, “but Aaron wouldn't listen, wouldn't believe me. ‘I know the truth,' he yelled, and called me a liar when I tried to contradict him. I told him that child was probably Danko's, but he didn't believe this, either. Of course, it didn't matter to me who had been the father. Leila probably didn't know herself. The bottom line was that the pregnancy was the lever she could use to destroy Ted unless I stopped her. ‘Don't do it,' your father pleaded.

“But I did it. I made certain that Leila had her abortion, and I made certain that she left the country. I did it for myself, not Danko, not Leila Peach, and despite the very strong feelings that Aaron had on the subject. I wasn't interested in anyone else's problems, only my own. I didn't even know that your father had had an accident. I just wanted to put the whole thing out of my mind. And I succeeded. I succeeded perfectly until you arrived to see me that day. Then it all came back.”

“You felt guilty,” said Jane.

“Yes.”

“That's why you hired me. That's why you moved Dad to Manhattan for tests.”

“Yes,” said Perry. “I was just trying to do something decent after all this time, but somehow I've made a mess of it again. What am I going to do, Jane?”

“Why did you go to Dad's hospital room that night?” she asked. “Why did you fly back to New York?”

Tears suddenly filled Perry Mannerback's eyes and overflowed down his cheeks.

“To apologize,” he whispered. “When that art dealer woman told me what Aaron had been saying, I was overwhelmed. Before that, it had all been at arm's length somehow, theoretical. But to hear how he was still repeating our last argument, that this was what had frozen in his poor broken mind … I just couldn't bear it. I felt so terrible. I knew I couldn't make things right, but it wasn't enough just to pay some doctors now. How was this any better than how I had behaved eight years ago? I had to tell your father I was sorry, personally, to his face.”

“So you flew back.”

“I sat by his bedside and talked for an hour. I know he was in a coma, but perhaps he heard me at some level. I don't know. I hope he did. I pray he did.”

“You didn't talk to Leila when she came back to New York last week?”

Perry shook his head vigorously.

“No, I swear. Leila Peach wouldn't dare call me. If she had, I would have had her put in jail, she knew that. But Leila must have needed money and might have thought she could get it from Ted. Perhaps she calculated that Ted would be too proud to show weakness to me again, which is certainly right. Ted would have killed her in a minute before coming to me for help twice, and I'm afraid that's exactly what happened. You see what a rat I am, Jane? All I can think about is myself. I'm still frightened that there will be nobody to run the company if the police arrest Ted.”

“What if the police arrest you?”

“It will almost be a relief,” said Perry. “I know that what I did somehow led to everything. If I hadn't helped Leila procure an abortion without a care for who the father of her child was or what he might think about the matter, Aaron Sailor might be alive today.”

“Did you push my father down the stairs, Perry?” Jane asked.

“No.”

“Did you inject him with insulin in his hospital room?”

“Is that what they think?”

“Yes. They know you're a diabetic. Did you kill my father?”

“No. I swear, Jane. I didn't.”

“Did you kill Leila Peach?”

“I'm a terrible person, Jane,” said Perry. “I inherited all my wealth and never really did anything to help people but give them money. But I didn't kill anyone. You believe me, don't you?”

He stared up at her with all the earnestness of a child.

“Yes, Perry,” said Jane. “I do.”

“What should I do?”

“Tell the police everything.”

“Oh no, I couldn't.”

“It's the only way, Perry.”

“They won't believe me. The man who spoke with me …”

“Lieutenant Folly.”

“… he said terrible things, treated me like some kind of common criminal.”

“Go to them, Perry.”