I'll Be Seeing You (10 page)

Bernie knew he didn't need any help. He just needed to be around Meghan Collins.

T
he body of Helene Petrovic lay all Tuesday in the bedroom where she had died. Never friendly with her neighbors, she'd already said goodbye to the few with
whom she exchanged greetings, and her car was hidden from sight in the garage of her rented condo.

It was only when the owner of the condo stopped by late that afternoon that she found the dead woman at the foot of the bed.

The death of a quiet embryologist in New Milford, Connecticut, was briefly mentioned on New York television news programs. It wasn't much of a story. There was no evidence of a break-in, no apparent sexual attack. The victim's purse with two hundred dollars in it was in the room, so robbery was ruled out.

A neighbor across the street volunteered that Helene Petrovic had one visitor she'd observed, a man who always came late at night. She'd never really gotten a good look at him but knew he was tall. She figured he was a boyfriend, because he always pulled his car into the other side of Petrovic's garage. She knew he had to have left during the night, because she'd never seen him in the morning. How often had she seen him? Maybe a half-dozen times. The car? A late model dark sedan.

After the discovery of her grandmother's obituary notice, Meghan had phoned the hospital and was told that her mother was sleeping and that her condition was satisfactory. Tired to the bone, she'd rummaged through the medicine cabinet for a sleeping pill, then gone to bed and slept straight through until her alarm woke her at 6:30 A.M.

An immediate call to the hospital reassured her that her mother had had a restful night and her vital signs were normal.

Meghan read the
Times
over coffee, and in the Connecticut section was shocked to read of the death of Dr. Helene Petrovic. There was a picture of the woman. In it, the expression in her eyes was both sad and enigmatic. I talked with her at Manning, Meghan thought. She was in charge of the lab with the cryopreserved embryos. Who had murdered that quiet, intelligent woman? Meghan wondered. Another thought struck her. According to the paper, Dr.
Petrovic had quit her job and had planned on moving from Connecticut the next morning. Did her decision have anything to do with Dr. Manning's refusal to cooperate on the television special?

It was too early to call Tom Weicker, but it probably wasn't too late to catch Mac before he left for work. Meghan knew there was something else she had to face, and now was as good a time as any.

Mac's hello was hurried.

“Mac, I'm sorry. I know this is a bad time to call but I have to talk to you,” Meghan said.

“Hi, Meg. Sure. Just hang on a minute.”

He must have put his hand over the phone. She heard his muffled but exasperated call, “Kyle, you left your homework on the dining room table.”

When he got back on he explained, “We go through this every morning. I tell him to put his homework in his schoolbag at night. He doesn't. In the morning he's yelling that he lost it.”

“Why don't
you
put it in his schoolbag at night?”

“That doesn't build character.” His voice changed. “Meg, how's your mother?”

“Good. I really think she's okay. She's a strong lady.”

“Like you.”

“I'm not that strong.”

“Too strong for my taste, not telling me about that stabbing victim. But that's a conversation we'll have another time.”

“Mac, could you stop by for three minutes on your way out?”

“Sure. As soon as His Nibs gets on the bus.”

Meghan knew that she had no more than twenty minutes to shower and dress before Mac arrived. She was brushing her hair when the bell rang. “Have a quick cup of coffee,” she said. “What I'm about to ask isn't easy.”

Was it only twenty-four hours ago they had sat across
from each other at this table? she wondered. It seemed so much longer. But yesterday she'd been in near-shock. Today, knowing her mother was almost certainly all right, she was able to face and accept whatever stark truth came to light.

“Mac,” she began, “you're a DNA specialist.”

“Yes.”

“The woman who was stabbed Thursday night, the one who resembles me so much?”

“Yes.”

“If her DNA was compared to mine, could kinship be established?”

Mac raised his eyebrows and studied the cup in his hand. “Meg, this is the way it works. With DNA testing we can positively know if any two people had the same mother. It's complicated, and I can show you in the lab how we do it. Within the ninety-ninth percentile we can establish if two people had the same father. It's not as absolute as the mother-child scenario, but we can get a very strong indication of whether or not we're dealing with half siblings.”

“Can that test be done on me and the dead woman?”

“Yes.”

“You don't seem surprised that I'm asking about it, Mac.”

He put down the coffee cup and looked at her squarely. “Meg, I already had decided to go to the morgue and see that woman's body this afternoon. They have a DNA lab in the medical examiner's office. I was planning to make sure they were preserving a sample of her blood before she's removed to potter's field.”

Meg bit her lip. “Then you're thinking in the same direction I am.” She blinked her eyes to blot out the vivid memory of the dead woman's face. “I have to see Phillip this morning and stop in at the hospital,” she continued. “I'll meet you at the medical examiner's. What time is good for you?”

They agreed to meet around two o'clock. As Mac
drove away he reflected that there was no good time to look down at the dead face of a woman who resembled Meghan Collins.

P
hillip Carter heard the news report detailing Dr. Helene Petrovic's death on his way to the office. He made a mental note to have Victor Orsini follow up immediately on the vacancy her death had left at Manning Clinic. She had, after all, been hired at Manning through Collins and Carter. Those jobs paid well, and there would be another good fee if Collins and Carter was commissioned to find a replacement.

He arrived at the office at a quarter of nine and spotted Meghan's car parked in one of the stalls near the entrance of the building. She had obviously been waiting for him, because she got out of her car as he parked.

“Meg, what a nice surprise.” He put an arm around her. “But for goodness sake, you have a key. Why didn't you go inside?”

Meg smiled briefly. “I've just been here a minute.” Besides, she thought, I'd feel like an intruder walking in.

“Catherine's all right, isn't she?” he asked.

“Doing really well.”

“Thank God for that,” he said heartily.

The small reception room was pleasant with its brightly slipcovered couch and chair, circular coffee table and paneled walls. Meghan once again had a reaction of intense sadness as she hurried through it. This time they went into Phillip's office. He seemed to sense that she did not want to go into her father's office again.

He helped her off with her coat. “Coffee?”

“No thanks. I've had three cups already.”

He settled behind his desk. “And I'm trying to cut down, so I'll wait. Meg, you look pretty troubled.”

“I am.” Meghan moistened her lips. “Phillip, I'm beginning to think I didn't know my father at all.”

“In what way?”

She told him about the letters and the obituary notice she had found in the locked drawer, then watched as Phillip's expression changed from concern to disbelief.

“Meg, I don't know what to tell you,” he said when she finished. “I've known your father for years. Ever since I can remember, I've understood that his mother died when he was a kid, his father remarried and he had a lousy childhood, living with the father and stepmother. When my father was dying, your dad said something I never forgot. He said, ‘I envy you being able to mourn a parent.'”

“Then you never knew either?”

“No, of course not.”

“The point is, why did he have to lie about it?” Meg asked, her voice rising. She clasped her hands together and bit her lip. “I mean, why not tell my mother the truth? What did he have to gain by deceiving her?”

“Think about it, Meg. He met your mother, told her his family background as he'd told it to everyone else. When they started getting interested in each other it would have been pretty difficult to admit he'd lied to her. And can you imagine your grandfather's reaction if he'd learned that your father was ignoring his own mother for whatever reason?”

“Yes, I can see that. But Pop's been dead for so many years. Why couldn't he . . . ?” Her voice trailed off.

“Meg, when you start living a lie, it gets harder with every passing day to straighten it out.”

Meghan heard the sound of voices in the outside office. She stood up. “Can we keep this between us?”

“Of course.”

He got up with her. “What are you going to do?”

“As soon as I'm sure Mother is okay I'm going to the address in Chestnut Hill that was on the envelope with the obituary notice. Maybe I'll get some answers there.”

“How's the feature story on the Manning Clinic going?”

“It's not. They're stonewalling me. I've got to find a different in vitro facility to use. Wait a minute. You or Dad placed someone at Manning, didn't you?”

“Your dad handled it. As a matter of fact, it's that poor woman who was shot yesterday.”

“Dr. Petrovic? I met her last week.”

The intercom buzzed. Phillip Carter picked up the phone. “Who? All right, I'll take it.”

“A reporter from the
New York Post,”
he explained to Meghan. “God knows what they want of me.”

Meghan watched as Phillip Carter's face darkened. “That's absolutely impossible.” His voice was husky with outrage. “I . . . I will not comment until I have personally spoken with Dr. Iovino at New York Hospital.”

He replaced the receiver and turned to Meghan. “Meg, that reporter has been checking on Helene Petrovic. They never heard of her at New York Hospital. Her credentials were fraudulent, and we're responsible for her getting the job in the laboratory at Manning.”

“But didn't you check her references before you submitted her to the clinic?”

Even as she asked the question, Meghan knew the answer, she could see it in Phillip's face. Her father had handled Helene Petrovic's file. It would have been up to him to validate the information on her curriculum vitae.

D
espite the best efforts of the entire staff of the Manning Clinic there was no hiding the tension that permeated the atmosphere. Several new clients watched uneasily as a van with a CBS television logo on the sides pulled into the parking area and a reporter and cameraman hurried up the walkway.

Marge Walters was at her receptionist best, firm with the reporter. “Dr. Manning declines to be interviewed until he has investigated the allegations,” she said. She was unable to stop the cameraman, who began to videotape the room and its occupants.

Several clients stood up. Marge rushed over to them. “This is all a misunderstanding,” she pleaded, suddenly realizing she was being recorded.

One woman, her hands shielding her face, exploded in anger. “This is an outrage. It's tough enough to have to resort to this kind of procedure to have a baby without being on the eleven o'clock news.” She ran from the room.

Another said, “Mrs. Walters, I'm leaving too. You'd better cancel my appointment.”

“I understand.” Marge forced a sympathetic smile. “When would you like to reschedule?”

“I'll have to check my appointment book. I'll call.”

Marge watched the retreating women. No you won't, she thought. Alarmed, she noticed Mrs. Kaplan, a client on her second visit to the clinic, approach the reporter.

“What's this all about?” she demanded.

“What it's all about is that the person in charge of the
Manning Clinic lab for the last six years apparently was not a doctor. In fact her only training seems to have been as a cosmetologist.”

“My God. My sister had in vitro fertilization here two years ago. Is there any chance she didn't receive her own embryo?” Mrs. Kaplan clenched her hands together.

God help us, Marge thought. That's the end of this place. She'd been shocked and saddened when she heard on the morning news of Dr. Helene Petrovic's death. It was only when she arrived at work an hour ago that she'd heard the rumor of something being wrong with Petrovic's credentials. But hearing the reporter's stark statement and watching Mrs. Kaplan's response made her realize the enormity of the possible consequences.