The Melody Lingers On (19 page)

“Lane, if you’re going to keep seeing this guy in any way, do yourself a favor. Don’t meet him at your apartment, because it’s obvious he would see Katie there. Whenever
possible don’t go to a restaurant in Manhattan. Now that you’ve been seen with him the paparazzi may not be interested, but there are plenty of people out there who feed gossip to the
columnists.”

She stopped. “There’s the doorbell. The rugs are probably here.”

As two burly deliverymen unrolled them, Glady picked up where she’d left off. “Lane, my final word on the subject is you should go to New Jersey and meet him at some restaurant
there. Have dinner with him, then drive yourself home. There’s a two-million-dollar reward for information leading to the arrest of his father that’s just become public. I
wouldn’t be surprised if somebody who knows something, like her Royal Nobody here, may start singing. And if they catch Parker Bennett and he decides to tell all, I’ll bet every nickel
I ever made in my life that it will come out that Eric and Parker’s fingers were in the same cookie jar.”

That evening, after Katie was in bed, Lane called Eric. He answered on the first ring. “Lane, how are you?”

“I’m good.” She hesitated. “You must know that your mother talked to me about us?”

“Yes. Is this a brush-off?”

“No, it isn’t, Eric. I enjoy being with you and I’d like to see you, but I’m not ready to go any further than to have dinner every week or so, at least for a
while.”

“It’s as much as I can hope for. Lane, I only wish they’d catch my father if he is still alive. That’s the only way my name will ever be cleared. When can we
meet?”

“I’m going to my mother’s in Washington with Katie for Thanksgiving. I’ll be back on Sunday.” She was not sure what Eric might say. He certainly was aware of what
her stepfather, Dwight Crowley, had been writing about him.

But there was no change in the tone of his voice as he said, “You’ll be back on Sunday. I’ll call you Sunday evening. Happy Thanksgiving to you and Katie, Lane.”

Before she could answer, Eric ended the call.

O
n the day before Thanksgiving, a distinctly nervous Eleanor Becker met Sean Cunningham at the office of Dr. Steven Papetti, who was both a
psychiatrist and a hypnotist in Manhattan.

Sean had asked Eleanor if she would permit Rudy Schell to be present during the session. “Eleanor, I know he is sympathetic to you and he very much hopes that the hypnosis causes you to
remember information that will help them find Bennett. This can only help you on your own case. Talk to your lawyer and see if it’s okay with him.”

“I will call him and just tell him I’m going to do it,” Eleanor replied firmly. “I don’t care what he says and I’m not paying him to sit there and watch. And
I agree with you, Sean. Deep down, I think that Rudy Schell believes that I am innocent.”

When he saw her, Rudy sprang from his chair and hurried over to Eleanor. Under his shock of gray-streaked black hair, the expression on his ruddy face was concerned, and he took her hand in both
of his.

“Mrs. Becker,” he said in a gentle voice. “I understand why you feel you have every reason to consider me hostile to you. But please let me reassure you. It is my job as an
agent in the Federal Bureau of Investigation to find evidence and build a case against criminals. It is also our sacred obligation to protect innocent people from wrongful punishment. You have
always maintained that you had no involvement in Parker Bennett’s theft.”

“None whatsoever,” Eleanor said, her voice breaking. “I feel so sorry for every one of those poor people who lost their money. I guess I’m stupid, terribly, terribly
stupid, but I thought he was not only a businessman but a philanthropist.”

Frank put a protective arm around his wife. “It’s okay, honey, it’s okay.” He looked at Rudy. “Are you on the level that you can keep an open mind about
Eleanor’s involvement in this mess?”

“Absolutely,” Rudy answered promptly.

Sean was standing back, ready to greet them. “Eleanor,” he said. “You’re doing a great job. You’ve started to remember the incident that seemed odd to you. Now with
Dr. Papetti’s help you may remember most of it or all of it. Do you remember that old commercial about Ivory Soap?”

“Ninety-nine and forty-four one hundredths pure,” Eleanor said smiling. “But I used Camay, ‘the soap for beautiful women.’ I thought if I used it, I’d be
beautiful too.”

“You are a Camay beauty, and with a little luck your memory will be as pure as Ivory Soap.”

As they both laughed, Rudy, watching them, observed how fragile both Eleanor and Frank Becker had become.

In the past two years, they had not only both lost weight, but their expressions were alike—despondent and wary, as if waiting for another blow. But that sudden touch of humor from Eleanor
reminded him once again of what happens to people who get caught up in the justice system. Anyone he had interviewed about Eleanor at the beginning of the investigation had described her as having
a good sense of humor. This was the first time he had ever seen a touch of it.

They had barely hung up their coats when the woman at the reception desk invited them to follow her into the doctor’s office.

Dr. Steven Papetti was a handsome man in his midfifties or so, with a thick head of graying hair. He stood up from his desk as they came in and greeted them with a friendly smile. Clutching
Frank’s hand, Eleanor nodded timidly to him.

The room was large. A La-Z-Boy leather chair was a few feet from the window that faced into the room. Across from it was a standard office chair, the kind that swiveled. There were also three
folding chairs set halfway between the La-Z-Boy and the desk.

Dr. Papetti invited Eleanor to sit down and lean back in the La-Z-Boy chair.

“I imagine you don’t quite know what to expect?” His voice was gentle.

“No, I guess I do, but no, I don’t really.”

“Well, let’s talk about why you’re here, Eleanor.”

“Well, I guess you know that I’m here because I’m trying to remember something that may help the police find Parker Bennett, the man who swindled so many people of their life
savings.”

“That’s exactly right, Eleanor. Dr. Cunningham has probably told you that going under hypnosis is absolutely painless. What we are trying to do is go down into your memory and try to
retrieve the information you may have. It’s not unlike looking for something you misplaced, like keys or a cell phone.”

Eleanor smiled. “Oh, I know all about that. It seems to me that never a day goes by without me looking for my glasses, and it feels pretty good when you find them.”

It was obvious to Sean that Eleanor was becoming relaxed under Dr. Papetti’s gentle approach.

“Eleanor, you know that Dr. Cunningham and Agent Rudy Schell will be here while you and I are working.”

“And Frank,” she quickly added. For a moment her voice was fearful. “Frank is going to stay, isn’t he?”

“Of course he is. Eleanor, why don’t you lean back in the chair until your feet are up? You don’t have to go all the way back. You can be quite comfortable in a slightly
reclined position. And now I want you to close your eyes and forget that any of us are here.”

“I’ll try.”

Sean, Rudy, and Frank listened intently as Dr. Papetti, his voice quiet and soothing, invited Eleanor to imagine getting into an elevator. The elevator would stop at every one of ten floors and
she would enjoy the ascent.

“Are you comfortable with that idea?” he asked Eleanor.

“I guess so. It’s fine.” She looked appealingly at Frank. When he gave her a thumbs-up, she leaned back.

“Eleanor,” Dr. Papetti began, “close your eyes and think about getting into the elevator.” Slowly, slowly, he took her up, stopping at every floor of a ten-story
building. Then he said, “Eleanor, we’re going to start going down in the elevator. You are sinking deeper and deeper as the elevator descends. Are you enjoying the trip?”

“Yes.” Eleanor’s voice had taken on a monotone quality.

“Ninth floor, eighth floor, seventh floor.” Dr. Papetti continued to ask her if she knew she was going down.

Finally, when the imaginary elevator reached the first floor, Dr. Papetti said, “Eleanor, I think it’s time for you to go back into Parker Bennett’s office. You have only
recently begun to work for him. Tell me about the office.”

In a halting voice, Eleanor began to speak. “It’s such a pretty office.”

“How big is it, Eleanor?”

“It has a reception area, and Mr. Bennett has a big private office.”

“How is it furnished?” Papetti asked.

“He fixed it up so it’s very comfortable. It has a little kitchen off of it. That’s where I make tea or coffee for people who come to see Mr. Bennett.”

“Do you have your own office, Eleanor?”

“Oh yes. It’s down the hall. It’s where I keep my paperwork, copies of letters I write inviting people to meet Mr. Bennett. Usually, I sit at the reception desk answering the
phone and greeting people when they come in.”

“Does anyone else work there, Eleanor?”

“No, not in the office. The paperwork for client accounts is handled by people at other locations.”

“Do you like Mr. Bennett, Eleanor?”

“Oh, you couldn’t meet a nicer man.” Her voice lost some of its lack of expression. “But then suddenly one day he wasn’t there, and then money was missing and
people thought it was my fault too.”

“Eleanor, do you remember the day you and Parker Bennett bumped heads?”

“Yes I do.”

“Can you remember what happened?”

“Well, it was just at the beginning of when I went to work for him. It was very cold out that day. When he came into the office he took off his gloves and told me that he had waited for a
cab outside the restaurant and his fingers were frozen. He took off his overcoat. His wallet was in the back pocket of his pants. I could see it sticking out from under his suit jacket.”
There was a long hesitation. Finally, she continued. “I said, ‘Mr. Bennett, your wallet is about to fall out of your pocket. I hope you didn’t lose anything.’ He
didn’t say anything. He just grabbed the wallet and saw that the flap that held the credit cards was open and a couple of them were sticking up.” Her voice hesitated.

“Eleanor, what did you see then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Eleanor, think of how nice it is to go down in the elevator, how warm it feels.”

As the three men sat tensely, hoping, there was a long pause, then Eleanor began to speak again.

“His fingers were cold. All his cards fell out and were on the floor. He was nervous. His hands were shaking. We both bent down to pick them up but he told me not to bother. But I was
already bending down and we bumped heads.”

“What kind of cards did you see, Eleanor?”

“His driver’s license, his credit cards . . . then I picked up a card.”

“What card, Eleanor?”

“A driver’s license. It was sort of pink and his picture was on it.”

“His picture was on it?” Dr. Papetti asked quietly.

“Oh yes. His cousin’s card . . . England.”

“You saw his cousin’s picture, Eleanor?”

“It looked like him. He said it was his cousin.”

“Eleanor, did you see the name on the license?”

There was a long pause.

“Can’t remember. Can’t remember.”

Another long pause.

“George. I know it’s George.”

It was not possible for Eleanor to remember any further details of that day. She was clearly waking up. The session was over.

When she was fully awake, she said again, “His first name was George.”

“That’s right, Eleanor,” Dr. Papetti replied.

“But I couldn’t remember his last name.”

“Do you think you saw it on the license?” Papetti asked.

“Yes.”

Eleanor started to get up. As Frank rushed to help her from the chair, Sean and Rudy looked at each other. Rudy spoke first.

“Well, we now know what we’ve suspected for some time. The fraud started the day he opened that office. He was establishing another identity for himself. Eleanor told us the picture
was of his English cousin. I believe it was a picture of Bennett in disguise. I bet that license is British, which narrows down the search to England, and maybe some other parts of the
Commonwealth.”

Eleanor came over and began apologizing to everyone. She was crying again.

“If they don’t find Mr. Bennett, I’ll probably go to prison,” she sobbed.

“Eleanor, your mind is working for you right now,” Dr. Papetti said soothingly. “I want you to come back again next week. You
are
sure you saw the last name on that
license?”

“Yes, I am. Very sure.”

“Then maybe the next time you come you will be able to retrieve it from your memory.” He patted her shoulder soothingly. “I can’t promise you that you will remember, but
I have seen it happen many, many times. Have faith.”