CHAPTER 9
Connie awoke to a babble of women's voices. At first, they were all mixed together in some great cacophony, one indistinguishable from the other. She listened for a while. The voices were like the white-noise machine Alan had in the bedroom to block out the sounds of the city so he could sleep. One setting sounded like the ocean, with rhythmic waves crashing against the shore. Another made her think of a breeze sighing through the tall grasses of a field. The third setting was her favorite. It sounded like rain falling gently from the sky, a warm summer rain that made sidewalks fresh and clean and caused flowers to give off their scent.
She might have fallen asleep again, but she woke up when the voices got louder. Had Alan forgotten to turn off the television? It was a very noisy program, but by concentrating on tones and inflections, she found she could focus on an individual speaker.
“Should'a killed him when I got the chance, him and that woman in Mama's bed, both of them naked as jaybirds. All's I done was cut him up a little, and they drug me down here. 'S not fair.”
Connie frowned. Was this the television, or was she dreaming? And then there was another voice, high pitched like a little girl's.
“I wasn't even working, you know? I was just sitting at the bus stop when this guy in a shiny white Lincoln pulls up. He says he wants to party, and he waves a hundred at me. How am I supposed to know he was setting me up?”
Connie opened her eyes, and she saw the bars. At first she thought they were some sort of gate, but then someone else spoke.
“Just ask if he's a cop. They gotta tell you. If they don't, it's entrapment.”
“Oh, yeah?” It was the girlish voice again. “If you're so smart, what are you doing in here?”
“I asked and he didn't tell me. That's why the judge is gonna let me walk. I know my rights. You just watch and see.”
Connie shuddered. Those bars weren't part of a gate. She was in jail! But what had she done? Everything was a blank. She sat up on the narrow bench that had served as her bed and looked down at her clothes. Her skirt was filthy, as if she'd been rolling around on the floor, and the sleeve of her green silk blouse was torn.
“So I asks him, why me? He's the one you should take. And he says maybe that's true, but there's a witness that seen me with the knife. It's gotta be that woman. I'm gonna get her just as soon as I get out.”
It was difficult to stand, but Connie managed to push herself upright. She was in a small cell, no bigger than her closet at the condo, with a toilet and a sink. There was a piece of polished metal over the sink, and she walked toward it, steadying herself against the wall.
When she caught sight of her reflection, she almost fainted. Her hair was matted with something that smelled horrible. There was a scratch on the side of her face, and her eyes looked puffy, as if she'd been crying. On the inside of her left arm was a small purple bruise.
There was a clang and then heavy footsteps approached her cell. Connie turned around to see a tough-looking woman, dressed in a uniform, unlock her door. “Well, Sleeping Beauty. You don't look so good this morning. What do you say we get you cleaned up?”
Connie didn't know what to say. This woman must be a prison guard, and she didn't want to alienate her. She just nodded and tried to smile.
“They told me you were a wildcat last night. You're not going to try anything, are you, honey?”
Connie swallowed hard and found her voice. “No. I won't. I promise.”
“Good.” The guard smiled. “You cooperate with me and everything'll be just fine. Turn around and back up toward me. Take it nice and slow.”
Connie turned and started to step back, but she lost her balance and had to catch herself against the wall. “I . . . I'm sorry. I'm dizzy.”
“That's okay. Just stand right there and I'll come to you.”
Connie leaned against the wall while the guard snapped handcuffs around her wrists. She felt sick and very woozy. “What's wrong with me?”
“They gave you a shot in the hospital. I'll get you in the shower and that should help. Just lean on me and walk.”
Connie did her best to proceed, but she had to lean heavily on the guard. She was embarrassed when she stumbled, and she tried to apologize. “I'm sorry. My legs don't work right.”
“Don't worry about it. I could carry a little thing like you if I had to. Do you remember your name this morning?”
Connie nodded, but that was a big mistake. When she moved her head, it hurt. “Connie Wilson. I've got my driver's license in my purse.”
“Sorry, Connie. You didn't have any personal effects when they brought you in.”
Connie frowned. “My purse is gone?”
“That's right. Come with me now. We're going to walk down this hall to the door at the end.”
The tiled hallway seemed endless, but somehow they made it. The guard steadied her against the wall and unlocked the door with a key. She helped Connie through and motioned for her to sit down on a bench.
“This isn't the Hilton, but it'll have to do.” The guard opened a locker and took out a blue cotton dress. “I'm going to put you under the water so you can wash some of that gunk out of your hair. Then I'll help you dress in these clean clothes. You don't have a problem with that, do you?”
Connie shook her head, and this time it didn't hurt quite as much. “No. Thank you very much.”
“That's got to be a first!” The guard actually grinned. “Nobody's ever thanked me before.”
Connie tried not to blush as the guard helped her out of her clothes and led her to the shower stall. The woman unlocked Connie's handcuffs, turned on the water, and handed her a bar of soap. “Can you handle it, or do you need help?”
“I think I can do it.” Connie nodded.
“Okay. I'll leave the door open. If you need help, just holler for me.”
Connie gasped as she stepped under the stream of water. It was cold, but it seemed to clear her head. As memories came rushing back, tears rolled down her cheeks, along with the streams of water. Alan was dead, and she'd lost their baby. But why was she here, in jail?
It hurt to wash her hair, and her arms ached, as if she'd lifted a heavy weight. But Connie managed to get it done. There was no shampoo, so she used the bar of soap. She noticed other bruises on her body, some on her legs that looked like finger marks and several more on her arms.
When she was through, the guard handed her a towel. Connie shivered as she wrapped it around her body. She was cold and she felt sick, but her mind seemed to be working again.
“Feeling better?” The prison guard led her over to the bench again.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good.” The guard smiled again. “Hold out your arms and I'll help you dress.”
Connie felt like a child as the woman dressed her in a white cotton bra and panties. The blue prison dress was shapeless and had no belt, but it was clean, which was an improvement over her own dirty clothes. She even got a pair of slippers with rubber solesâa size too large, but Connie could walk in them.
“You're all set. And I got to say, you look a hundred percent better.” The prison guard put down the comb she'd used on Connie's hair, then snapped the handcuffs back on. “You're not up for another thirty minutes, but you can wait in the holding area.”
“Do you know what I'm waiting for?” Connie was puzzled.
“Your arraignment, honey. You're up before Judge Swensen at ten. You've never been in jail before?”
“No.” Connie shook her head. “Do you . . . uh . . . do you know what I did?”
The prison guard nodded and took Connie's arm to lead her back down the hallway again. “Drunk and disorderly, and destruction of property. You don't remember?”
“I don't remember anything. What did I destroy?”
“You smashed a window at the hospital.” The prison guard used her key and the elevator doors opened. “Step in here, honey, and I'll take you up. There's a phone in the holding area. You're entitled to make one call, so start thinking about who it's going to be.”
As they rode in the elevator, Connie's mind was whirling. Who could she call? Alan was dead, she'd promised not to contact the Stanfords, and she hadn't kept in touch with any of the people she used to know.
The elevator doors opened and they stepped out into a room with only three pieces of furniture, a desk and two chairs. The desk had a metal bar bolted to the top and the guard took the handcuff from Connie's right hand and fastened it to the bar.
“Here's the phone.” The guard opened a locked drawer and pulled out a phone. She set it on top of the desk and nodded to Connie. “Go ahead. You can make your call now.”
Connie stared at the phone for a moment, then shook her head. “There's nobody I can call.”
“Are you sure? Most people call their lawyers.”
Connie's fingers touched the phone. The only lawyer she knew was Mr. Avery. It would be a waste of time to call him. He was the Stanfords' attorney; he wouldn't help her. She pushed the phone back across the desk and shook her head, again. “Thank you, but there's no one I can call.”
“Okay.” The guard put the phone back in the drawer. “If you can't afford to hire a lawyer, Judge Swensen will appoint one for you. Your arraignment will be postponed until you have time to meet with him.”
Connie nodded and blinked back tears. If Alan were still alive, she'd have plenty of money for a lawyer. But if Alan were alive, she'd have no need for one. She wouldn't have broken that window, and she wouldn't be here in jail.
“Hey. Buck up.” The guard patted Connie on the shoulder. “Judge Swensen's okay. Since this is your first offense, he'll probably make you pay a fine and let you go.”
Connie forced a smile. The guard was trying to be nice, but she didn't know that Connie had no money to pay a fine. Even if someone had found her purse, they'd take out the money before they returned it.
The phone rang once, startling Connie, and the guard unlocked the drawer to answer it. “Okay. I'll bring her in.”
Connie started to shake as the guard snapped on her handcuffs and led her through a side door to the courtroom. There she found another bench to sit on, and she kept her head down, too ashamed to face anyone.
The guard leaned close to talk to Connie. “There's two ahead of you. Just sit here and listen; then it'll be your turn.”
The other two women had lawyers, which made Connie feel very alone as she sat on the bench and waited. When it was her turn, the bailiff read her name and the list of charges.
“Are you represented by council, Miss Wilson?” The judge looked bored, even though the courtroom clock showed that it was only ten-thirty in the morning.
“No, Your Honor.” Connie swallowed hard. “I don't haveâ”
“Excuse me, Your Honor.” A short, balding man in an expensive suit rushed up the aisle. “Harvey Green. I'm representing Miss Wilson in this matter.”
The judge nodded. “Good morning, Mr. Green. I was under the impression you handled only corporate matters.”
“That's true, Your Honor, but this is an unusual case with extenuating circumstances. May I have a few minutes of Your Honor's time in chambers?”
Judge Swensen looked surprised, but he nodded and banged his gavel. “Court is in recess for ten minutes. I'll see counsel in my chambers.”
“I thought you didn't have a lawyer.” The guard leaned close to talk to Connie again.
“I don't.” Connie's face mirrored her shock. “I've never seen Mr. Green before in my life!”
It seemed to take forever for the hands on the courtroom clock to move, but at last the ten minutes were up. Mr. Green and the prosecutor came back into the courtroom, followed by Judge Swensen. They took their places. The bailiff announced that court was again in session, and Mr. Green stood up. “Your Honor, I move that the charges against my client be dismissed. Since this is her first offense, and it was prompted by extreme emotional stress, I ask that the record of her arrest be expunged.”
“The people have no objection, Your Honor.” The prosecutor nodded and got to the feet.
“The defendant is remanded into the custody of Mr. Green.” Judge Swensen banged his gavel. “All records will be expunged, and this case is dismissed.”
The next few minutes were a confusing blur. Connie was taken to another room, where she changed into the street clothes Mr. Green had brought for her. After she'd signed the release papers, she was taken out to the lobby to find Mr. Green waiting for her.
“Thank you,” she said to him. She felt dazed. “But . . . I don't understand.”
Mr. Green smiled at her and opened the door of a car that was parked at the curb. “Come along, Connie. We'll talk about this on the way to my office. I'm Alan's lawyer, and he left something for you.”
Connie was silent as Mr. Green drove away from the jail. Her mind was spinning with unanswered questions. If Mr. Avery was right and Alan hadn't drawn up a will, how was it possible that he'd left her something? The whole thing was so confusing, Connie closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest to think about it.
“That's a good idea. Get some sleep. You've had a rough couple of days.”
Connie nodded. Mr. Green was being very nice. And even though she didn't think it was possible, she promptly fell asleep.
CHAPTER 10
Jill was just pouring herself a cup of coffee in the small office kitchen when the newest member of the staff came in. His name was Dave Kramer, and he made Jill feel old. Even though he'd passed the bar last year, he looked much too young to be a lawyer.
“Hi, Mrs. Bradley.” Dave gave her a boyish grin and opened the refrigerator to pour himself a glass of milk.
“Hello, Dave.” Jill smiled back. Dave was a nice guy. It wasn't his fault he made her feel ancient. “I thought you were scheduled for court this morning.”
“I was, but the case was dismissed.”
Dave took a sip of milk, and white foam clung to his upper lip. Jill tried not to laugh. He looked like a child with a milk mustache. “Tell me about it,” she said.
“A woman broke a window at the morgue last night, trying to get to her boyfriend's body.”
“Good heavens!” Jill was shocked. “Was she drunk?”
Dave shook his head. “Grief stricken is more like it. Once her lawyer told me the story, I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. When the police told her her boyfriend was dead, she went into shock and lost their baby. She was in the hospital for a couple of days, and when she got back to their condo, she found out that his parents had changed the locks.”
“That's horrible!” Jill began to frown.
“I know, but there wasn't anything she could do. Her boyfriend didn't leave a will so all of his property went to his parents.”
Jill's frown deepened. “The poor thing was left out in the cold?”
“Completely.” Dave nodded. “His parents wouldn't even speak to her. She went a little crazy. When they arrested her, she was screaming about how she had to see her boyfriend one more time.”
“Her lawyer pleaded extenuating circumstances?”
Dave nodded and took another drink. His milk mustache grew whiter, and Jill resisted the urge to hand him a napkin. “Her lawyer put up the money to replace the window, and the judge remanded her into his custody. I'm just glad I didn't have to prosecute her. She'd never been in any trouble before, and she looked like a nice woman.”
Jill was thoughtful as she carried her coffee back to her office. Hard-luck stories were a part of their job, but this one sounded genuine. The woman had obviously loved her boyfriend so much she'd gone off the deep end when he'd died. It made her wonder what she'd be like if Neil died. Would they have to carry her off, screaming hysterically in grief? Or would the fact that she didn't love him, that she stayed with him out of a sense of obligation, help her to cope with the loss?
* * *
Connie's hands were shaking, and she clutched her purse tightly as she got out of the taxi and walked toward the bank. Someone had found her purse at the hospital, but just as Connie had feared, the envelope with her money was missing. They'd even taken the twenty dollars she'd tucked in the back of her wallet, but she had her driver's license to show to the people at the bank.
As she opened the door and entered the lobby, Connie felt like an impostor, even though Mr. Green had assured her that everything was perfectly legal. Two months ago, when Alan had learned she was pregnant, he'd set up a bank account for the baby with a balance of a hundred thousand dollars. It didn't matter that she'd lost the child. Her name was the only one on the account, so the money was hers.
Of course she'd asked the obvious question. Was it right for her to use the money when Alan had put it in an account for his baby? Mr. Green had nodded. Then he'd said it was not only right, it was exactly what Alan would have wanted her to do.
“Can I help you, ma'am?”
Connie moved forward and approached the teller, an older woman with dark hair and wire-framed glasses. “Yes. I'm Connie Wilson. Mr. Green sent me here. I'm supposed to ask for Mrs. Talbot. He said he'd call, and she'd be expecting me.”
“Just a moment, Miss Wilson.” The teller picked up a phone and dialed a number. She spoke briefly and then closed her window and opened a locked door, motioning Connie inside. “I'll take you to Mrs. Talbot's office.”
They went upstairs in a small elevator, and the teller led Connie down a carpeted hallway. She knocked at a door, then opened it, standing aside so Connie could enter.
“Good afternoon, Miss Wilson.” A tall blonde, her hair caught back in a gold barrette, stood up and shook Connie's hand. “Mr. Green called to say you'd be making a withdrawal. My deepest condolences for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Connie's voice was little more than a whisper.
“I have your checkbook ready.” Mrs. Talbot pushed a folder and a checkbook across the desk. “There's also a bank credit card with an initial limit of twenty thousand dollars, and a copy of your latest bank statement. All you have to do is sign the green signature card and fill out the withdrawal slip.”
Connie opened the folder. Everything was there and she nodded.
“I've marked the signature block.” Mrs. Talbot pointed to the signature card. Connie signed it. “If you'll just tell me the amount you wish to withdraw, I'll send for one of our runners.”
Connie felt dazed. This morning she'd been broke. Now she had a hundred thousand dollars at her disposal. This whole day had been mind-boggling. “I'm not really sure how much I'll need.”
“Let's discuss it then.” Mrs. Talbot opened the center drawer of her desk and pulled out a leather-covered note pad. “Mr. Green said you'd want to rent a furnished apartment, but I'd advise you to draft a check for that. It's not wise to carry too much cashâyour landlord can call me to verify your assets. You can use the credit card for any big-ticket items, but you'll need some cash for immediate purchases. Does a thousand in twenties sound about right?”
Connie nodded. “Yes. That's fine.”
“All right.” Mrs. Talbot filled out the withdrawal slip and handed it to Connie to sign. Then she picked up the phone and punched out a number. “Allison? Please have Mr. Cox put a thousand in twenties in an envelope and bring it up to my office. I have the signed withdrawal slip and my client is waiting.”
Connie frowned slightly. She'd never received this kind of service in a bank before. Of course, she'd never had an account with a balance of a hundred thousand dollars, either.
Mrs. Talbot smiled at Connie again. “Have you given some thought about where you'd like to relocate?”
“Uh . . . no, not really.” Connie's mind was spinning. Everything was going so fast, she hadn't had a chance to catch her breath.
“I'd suggest a hotel then, until you have time to contact a rental agent. The Radisson is nice. We use it occasionally for conferences. And there's always the Marriott. They're both centrally located.”
Connie nodded. A hotel made sense, but she wasn't about to blow her money on an expensive room. “That's a good idea. Thank you very much.”
“You'll need transportation. There's a Hertz office two blocks from here, and Avis is right across the street.”
Connie nodded again. Mrs. Talbot was right. She'd need a car, but renting wasn't smart. It was money thrown away, with nothing to show for it. She'd buy a used car tomorrow.
Before Mrs. Talbot could make any more suggestions, a young woman in a ponytail stepped into the office. She handed Mrs. Talbot an envelope and then just stood there while Mrs. Talbot counted the money.
“Thank you, Allison.” Mrs. Talbot handed her the withdrawal slip. “This goes straight down to Mr. Cox.”
“Yes, Mrs. Talbot. I'll make sure he gets it.” The girl nodded, gave Connie a shy grin, and hurried out of the office.
“Thank you for your help, Mrs. Talbot.” Connie took the envelope and stood up. She wanted to leave before Mrs. Talbot gave her any more advice.
“Thank
you
, Miss Wilson.” Mrs. Talbot came around the desk to show Connie to the door. “If you have any problems, please feel free to call. My card is stapled to the inside of your folder.”
* * *
An hour later, Connie was in her hotel room. It was in a little place on a side street called the Lexington Arms. Her room wasn't large, but it had a separate bathroom, a color television, and a view of the park below.
After she'd showered and washed her hair with the shampoo the hotel provided, Connie sat down on the bed and went through her purse again. She'd been so excited when Mr. Green had told her that Alan had left her something. She'd desperately wanted some personal item, a photograph of Alan or his college ring. But he hadn't known that he was going to die. Even if he had, he would never have suspected that his parents would take his things and leave her with nothing.
There was nothing of Alan's in her purse, and Connie wiped away a tear. She still felt guilty about using Alan's money to pay her court costs and to rent this hotel room. Mr. Green was right; Alan would have wanted her to have it. But the money had really been intended for their child. Now Alan was dead, and so was his baby. She'd lost the only part of him that had been left alive.
But was that true? Connie took a sip of coffee she'd ordered from room service, and thought about it. Alan had been an organ donor. There must be some stranger out there who had a part of Alan in his body. More than one, she'd bet. If she could just find them, she might not feel this horrible sense of loss. But how could she do that? Hospital records were confidential. She would have to get access to those records and locate the people who'd received Alan's organs.
* * *
Connie had chosen the bar deliberately. It was filled with lowlifes, its red plastic booths, cracked and faded. Tabletops scarred with cigarette burns and scratches. Blinking beer signs over the bar, and a bartender who could not have cared less about his customers' approval. It had been close to midnight when Connie had slid onto a stool. She'd smiled at the bartender, ordered a ginger ale, and tipped outrageously when he'd brought it. Then she'd asked him for advice.
The bartender hadn't even bothered to play it coy. He'd just pocketed the second twenty-dollar bill and pointed to a guy in a striped polo shirt. Now she was sitting across the booth from him, watching him guzzle the beer she'd bought.
The beer disappeared without a word. He set down the bottle, then shrugged. “Sure, lady. I can do it, but it'll cost you.”
“How much?” Connie stared at him as he thought about it. He was tall and thin, with stringy black hair, and his clothes hadn't seen the inside of a Laundromat in recent history. He didn't look trustworthy, but this was the third bar she'd tried that night.
“Five hundred. In cash.”
Connie's eyes narrowed. She had to be careful. “I'll give you a hundred, the rest when you hand me the list.”
“Hey . . .” The man looked hurt. “You think I'm gonna rip you off?”
Connie met his eyes and gave him the tough look she'd used when guys had groped her at the club. “I wouldn't try it if I were you.”
“Okay, okay.” The man held up his hands. “You want it tonight?”
“The sooner the better. I'll give you a bonus if you produce.”
“Come with me.” The man stood up. “If you're that spooked, I'll even let you watch. Ralph's got a modem in the back room.”
Connie followed the man through a door and into a tiny office. Against one wall was a table that held a computer and a printer.
“Pull up that chair and be quiet.” The man pointed to a folding chair that looked as if it might collapse. “This could be a little tricky. Just let me get online, and I'll take a whack at it.”
Connie pulled up the chair and watched as he typed several commands on the keyboard. A moment later the screen lit up and there was the sound of a dial tone. He typed in a number and it rang twice. There was a high-pitched beep.
He nodded. “Okay. I got 'em. Now all I have to do is crack their password.”
It took several minutes of trial and error, but at last the computer screen started to scroll. He stopped it on the date she'd given him and began to go through the entries.
“There he is!” Connie pointed as Alan's name flashed on the screen. It was followed by a series of numbers. The man stopped the scroll to print them out. “Do you know what those numbers mean?”
“Sure. They're identification codes from the National Organ Bank. Each one represents an organ recipient.”
Connie's eyes widened. When she'd met the hacker, he hadn't seemed very bright, but she was rapidly changing her mind. “Numbers won't do me any good. How do we get their names?”
“I have to tap into the national files. They're protected so it's gonna be a little harder.” The screen went blank and he punched in another number. “I'm accessing the eight hundred directory.”
Connie nodded and watched the screen. It was scrolling through a list of eight hundred numbers. The words
NATIONAL ORGAN BANK
flashed on the screen, and he scribbled the number on a pad.
“Okay. This one's gonna take a while. If you want to help, get me another beer.”
Connie jumped up from her chair and hurried back into the bar. She was back in less than a minute, setting the beer on the table, where he could reach it. “Any luck?”
“I'm getting it. There're only a couple of permutations left.”
Connie held her breath as he typed in a code and the words
LIMITED ACCESS
flashed across the screen. A loud beep sounded, and the line disconnected.
“Shit!” He took a sip of beer. “I really thought I had it that time. Let me try again.”
Connie shut her eyes and prayed that he'd be successful. She just had to have those names!