Read The Cradle Will Fall Online
Authors: Mary Higgins Clark
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Thrillers, #Suspense
IN HIGHLEY'S driveway, the two detectives who were in the front
seat of the squad car jumped out. As he and Scott followed, Richard
noticed the movement of a drapery in a window at the far
right of the house.
They had parked behind a black car with MD plates. Scott
touched the hood. "It's still warm. He hasn't been here long."
The younger detective rapped sharply on the front door. They
waited. The door opened. Edgar Highley was standing in the
foyer. Scott spoke first. "Dr. Highley?"
"Yes?" The tone was cold and questioning.
"Dr. Highley, I'm Scott Myerson, the Valley County prosecutor.
We have a search Warrant for these premises, and it is my duty to
inform you that you have become a suspect in the deaths of Vangie
Lewis, Edna Burns and Dr. Emmet Salem. You have the right to
consult a lawyer. You can refuse to answer questions. Anything
you say may be used against you."
Suspect. They weren't sure. They hadn't found Katie. With controlled
fury he said, "Come in, gentlemen. I will answer any
questions you have, and you are welcome to search my home.
However, when I consult a lawyer, it will be to bring suit against
Valley County and against each one of you personally."
He led them into the library. He knew he looked imposing
sitting behind the massive Jacobean desk. It was vital that he
unnerve them, make them afraid to question too closely. With a
gesture of contempt, he waved them to the leather couch and
chairs. Scott Myerson handed him the printed Miranda warning.
Scornfully he signed it Myerson and Dr. Carroll sat down; the
other two did not.
"We'll proceed with the search," the older detective said politely.
"Where do you keep your medical records, Dr. Highley?"
"At my office, of course," he snapped. "However, please satisfy
yourselves." He stood up, walked to the bar and poured Scotch
and water into a crystal tumbler. Then he sat down in the high-
backed striped velvet chair near the fireplace, sipped the Scotch
and eyed them coldly.
The questions began. "Did Mrs. Lewis enter your office after
leaving Dr. Fukhito last Monday night?"
"As I told Mrs. DeMaio . . ." They had absolutely no proof.
"Where were you that night, Doctor?"
"Home. I came home directly after my office hours."
"Were you in Edna Burns's apartment on Tuesday night?"
His smile, contemptuous. "Hardly."
"We'll want some hair samples from you."
Hair samples. Had some been found in Edna's apartment? But
he'd been there with the police on Wednesday night. And Vangie
always wore that black coat to the office. If strands of his hair
had been found near the dead women, they could be explained.
"Were you in the Essex House last night after five o'clock?"
"Absolutely not."
"We have a witness who is prepared to swear that he saw you
get off the elevator there at approximately five thirty."
Who had seen him? He had glanced around the lobby as he got
off the elevator. He was certain that no one he knew was there.
Maybe they were bluffing.
"I was not in the Essex House last night. I was at the Carlyle! I
dine there frequently; in fact, my medical bag was stolen while I
was dining there."
He'd make it seem that he was cooperating.
"What was in your bag?" The question seemed perfunctory.
"A basic emergency kit, a few drugs. Hardly worth a thief's
effort." Should he mention that it contained files? No.
The prosecutor beckoned to the younger investigator. "Get that
package out of the car."
What package? Highley gripped the glass.
They sat in silence, waiting. The detective returned and handed
Scott a small parcel. He pulled off the wrapping paper. "Do you
recognize this moccasin, Doctor?"
Careful. Careful. He leaned over, examined it. The left shoe, the
one from Edna's apartment. They had not found his bag.
"Certainly not. Should I recognize it?"
"Your patient Vangie Lewis wore this shoe for weeks. Didn't you
ever notice?"
"Mrs. Lewis wore a pair of rather shabby shoes. I certainly
would not recognize one particular shoe."
"Did you ever hear of a Dr. Emmet Salem?"
"The name seems familiar. I'd have to check my records."
"Wasn't he on staff with you at Christ Hospital in Devon?"
"Of course. Yes. He was visiting staff. Indeed, I do remember
him." How much did they know about Christ Hospital?
"Were you aware Mrs. Lewis was carrying an Oriental baby?"
So that was it. He said, "That explains why Mrs. Lewis was becoming
terrified of giving birth. She knew that she could never
make anyone believe her husband was the father."
Now they were asking about Anna Horan and Maureen Crowley.
They were coming close, too close.
"Those two young women are typical of many who demand
abortions and then blame the physician when they experience
emotional reactions."
Richard listened bleakly. Highley was so composed, so sure.
Unless they could prove wrongful death in the maternity cases, it
would be impossible to charge him with anything and make it
stick. He felt certain they'd never find anything incriminating in
Highley's records. He was far too clever for that.
Scott was asking about the Berkeley baby. "Doctor, you are
aware that Elizabeth Berkeley gave birth to a baby who has green
eyes. Isn't that a medical improbability when both parents and
all four grandparents have brown eyes?"
"Clearly Mr. Berkeley is not the baby's father," Highley said.
Neither Scott nor Richard had expected the admission. "I don't
know who the father is," Highley continued smoothly, "but it is
hardly the obstetrician's business to delve into such matters."
A shame, he thought. He would have to defer fame a little
longer. He'd never be able to admit the success of the Berkeley
baby now.
Scott looked at Richard, sighed and stood up. "Dr. Highley,
when you go to your office, you will learn that we have seized
your records. We are concerned at the number of maternity deaths
at Westlake, and that matter is under intensive investigation."
He was on safe ground. "I invite minute scrutiny of my patients'
records. I can assure you that the death ratio is remarkably low in
consideration of the kinds of cases we handle."
The smell of the fondue was filling the house. Unless it was
stirred, it would surely burn. Just a few minutes more.
The phone rang. Undoubtedly it would be the hospital saying
that Mrs. DeMaio had not yet returned home and her sister was
frantic. He picked up the phone. "Dr. Highley here."
"Doctor, this is Lieutenant Weingarden of the Seventeenth Precinct
in New York. We've just arrested a man who answers the description
of the person who stole a bag from the trunk of your car
last night."
The bag. "Has it been recovered?" Something in his voice was
giving him away. Scott Myerson stalked over to the desk and
reached for the extension.
"Yes. And several items in it may lead to far more serious charges
than theft Doctor, will you describe the contents of your bag?"
"Some medicine—a few basic drugs. An emergency kit."
"What about a patient's file from the office of a Dr. Emmet
Salem, a bloodstained paperweight and an old shoe?"
Highley closed his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was remarkably
controlled. "Are you joking?"
"I thought you'd say that, sir. We're cooperating with the Valley
County prosecutor's office concerning the suspicious death of
Dr. Salem. I'll call the prosecutor now. It looks as though the
suspect might have killed Dr. Salem during a theft. Thank you, sir."
He heard Scott Myerson say on the extension, "Don't hang up!"
Slowly Highley replaced the receiver. It was all over.
Dr. Carroll was looking at him curiously. Somehow Edgar High-
ley was sure that Richard Carroll was the man who had become
suspicious of him. But he had his revenge. Katie DeMaio's death
was his revenge on Richard Carroll. Highley smiled. "I have just
remembered that I do have some medical records that might interest
you," he said. He walked over to the bookcase, released the
spring. The panel swung out. Mechanically he opened the wall
safe. Let them know his genius. Let them mourn it.
He lifted out the files, stacked them on the desk. The prosecutor
had hung up the phone. They were all staring at him now.
"Oh, there is another case you'll want to have." He reached for
his drink and sipped it casually as he walked over to the safe. The
vial was there, right in the back. He'd put it away Monday night
for possible future use. The future was now.
At the safe, he quickly flipped the vial open and dumped the
cyanide crystals into his glass. As understanding swept over
Richard's face, Highley held up the glass in a mocking toast.
Richard leaped across the room as Highley raised the glass to
his lips and gulped down the contents. Richard knocked the glass
away as Highley fell, but it was too late. The four men watched
helplessly as Highley's screams and groans died into silence.
The younger detective bolted from the room, his face green.
Richard bent over the body. Highley's face was contorted; the
protruding gray eyes were open and staring.
"Why'd he do it?" the other detective asked.
"He knew he couldn't murder his way out anymore," Scott said.
Straightening up, Richard went over to the desk and scanned
the names on the files. Berkeley. Lewis. "These are the records
we're looking for." He opened the Berkeley file. The first page
began, "Elizabeth Berkeley, age 39, became my patient today. She
will never conceive her own child. I have decided that she will be
the next extraordinary patient."
"There's medical history here," Richard said quietly, and
thought, He could have done so much good.
Scott was standing over the body. "And when you think that
this nut was Katie's doctor," he muttered.
Richard looked up. "What? Highley was treating Katie?"
"She happened to mention it when—" The phone interrupted
him. Scott picked it up. "Yes," he said, then, Tm sorry, this is not
Dr. Highley. Who is calling?" His expression changed. "Molly!
This is Scott Myerson. What's the matter?" He listened, then covered
the mouthpiece with his hand. "Highley admitted Katie to
Westlake tonight and she's missing."
Richard yanked the phone from him. "Molly, what do you mean
she's missing?" He listened. "Come on, Molly. Katie would never
walk out of a hospital. You know that. Wait."
Dropping the phone, he frantically scattered the files on the
desk. Near the bottom of the pile he found the one he dreaded:
DeMaio, Kathleen. He raced through it, his face paling as he
read. He came to the last paragraph. He picked up the phone.
"Molly, put Bill on," he ordered. "Bill, Katie is hemorrhaging
somewhere in Westlake Hospital. Call the lab. We'll need to hang
a bottle of O negative the minute we find her. Have them ready
to analyze a blood sample and cross-match for four units of whole
blood. Tell them to have an operating room ready. I'll meet you
there." He broke the connection and turned to the detective at
the desk. "Call the hospital and have them start looking for Katie.
Tell them to look everywhere—every room, every closet. Get all
available hospital personnel to help. Every second counts."
"Come on, Richard," Scott snapped.
Richard grabbed Katie's file. "We have to know what he's done
to her." They'd been seconds too late preventing Edgar Highley's
death. Would they be too late for Katie?
With Scott, he hunched in the back of the squad car as it raced
through the night. Katie, he thought, why didn't you tell me? If
you'd only trusted me, told me you were seeing Highley. I'd
never have let you go near him. Katie, don't die. Let me find you.
Katie, hang on. . . .
They were at the hospital. Squad cars were roaring into the
parking lot. Scott and Richard dashed up the stairs into the lobby.
Phil, his face drawn, was commanding the search.
Bill and Molly came running in. Molly was sobbing. Bill was
deadly calm. "They've got a reasonable supply of whole blood on
hand here. Have you found her?"
"Not yet," Phil answered.
The door to the fire stairs, partly ajar, burst open. A young
policeman ran out. "She's on the floor in the morgue. I think she's
gone."
Seconds later Richard was cradling her in his arms. Her skin
and lips were ashen. He could not get a pulse. "Katie. Katie."
Bill gripped his shoulder. "Let's get her upstairs. We'll have to
work fast if there's any chance at all."
SHE was in a tunnel. At the end there was a light. It was warm
at the end of the tunnel. It would be so easy to drift there.
But someone was keeping her from going. Someone was holding
her. A voice. Richard's voice. "Hang on, Katie, hang on."
She wanted so not to turn back. It was so hard, so dark. It
would be so much easier to slip away.
"Hang on, Katie."
Sighing, she turned and began to make her way back.
ON MONDAY evening Richard tiptoed into Katie's room, a dozen
roses in his hand. She'd been out of danger since Sunday morning,
but hadn't stayed awake long enough to say anything. Her eyes
were closed. He decided to go out and ask the nurse for a vase.
"Just lay them across my chest."
He spun around. "Katie. How do you feel?"
She grimaced at the transfusion apparatus. "I hear the vampires
are picketing. I'm putting them out of business."
"You're better." He pulled up a chair. He hoped the sudden
moisture in his eyes wasn't noticeable.
She had noticed. She gently reached up and brushed a finger
across his eyelids. "Before I fall asleep again, please tell me what
happened. Why did Dr. Highley kill Vangie?"
"He was experimenting on his patients, taking fetuses from
women who had abortions and implanting them in the wombs of
sterile women. In these past eight years he learned how to immunize
a host mother to prevent her from rejecting an alien fetus,
at least for a few months. Most cases eventually ended in spontaneous
abortion, but he did have one complete success.
"After that one success, he wanted to break more new ground.
An Oriental woman named Anna Horan, who's married to a Caucasian,
claims he knocked her out and took her fetus when she
was unconscious. She was right. He had Vangie Lewis in the next
room waiting for the implant. Vangie thought she was simply
having some treatment to help her become pregnant. Highley
never expected Vangie to retain the Oriental fetus so long. When
her body did not reject the developing fetus, he decided to bring
it to term. Who would blame him if Vangie had a partly Oriental
child?"
"He was able to suppress the immune system?"
"Yes, and without harm to the developing fetus. But the danger
to the mother was great. He's killed sixteen women. Vangie was
getting terribly sick. Unfortunately for her, she ran into Highley
last Monday evening just as she left Fukhito. She told him she was
going to consult her former doctor in Minneapolis. That would
have been a risk because her gynecologist would know that a
natural pregnancy for Vangie was a million-to-one shot. And when
she mentioned Emmet Salem's name, she was finished. Highley
knew that Dr. Salem would guess what had happened. Salem was
in England when Highley's first wife died. He knew about the
scandal.
"And now," Richard said, "that's enough of that. All the rest
can wait. Your eyes are closing again."
"No ... You said Highley had one success."
"Yes. And if you had stayed five minutes longer at Molly's last
www.read.forumsplace.com
Thursday night and seen the Berkeley baby, you could guess who
it is. Liz Berkeley carried Maureen Crowley's baby to term."
"Maureen's baby." Katie tried to pull herself up.
"Easy, you'll pull that needle out." Gently he touched her
shoulder, holding her until she leaned back.
"Does Maureen know?" she asked.
"It was only right to tell her and the Berkeleys. Jim has been
living with the belief that his wife lied to him about artificial insemination.
You know how Maureen felt about that abortion. It's
been destroying her. She went to see her baby. She's one happy
girl, Katie. She would have given it out for adoption if she had
delivered it naturally. Now that she's seen Maryanne, sees how
crazy the
Berkeleys are about her, she's in seventh heaven."
"What about the mother of Vangie's baby?"
"Anna Horan is heartbroken enough about the abortion. We
saw no point in telling her what Highley did with her baby. She'll
have other children."
Katie bit her lip. "Richard, tell me the truth. When they found
me, how far did they have to go to stop the bleeding?"
"You're okay. You can still have a dozen kids if you want them."
His hand reached over to cover hers. That hand had been there,
had pulled her back when she was so near to death. That voice had
made her want to come back.
For a long, quiet moment she looked up at Richard. Oh, how
I love you, she thought. How very much I love you.
His troubled expression changed suddenly into a broad smile.
Obviously he was satisfied at what he saw in her face.
Katie grinned back at him. "Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you,
Doctor?" she asked him crisply.