Mary Higgins Clark.

Let Me Call You Sweetheart.

Synopsis:

A plastic surgeon, two young women who look like another young woman who was murdered ten years ago, a burgler, a mobster on trial, and a man who has been in prison ten years for murder-- Put them all together, and prosecutor Kerry McGrath and her daughter Robin are in danger.

1995.

Heap not on this mound Roses that she loved so well; Why bewilder her with roses, That she cannot see or smell?

--Edna St. Vincent Millay, "Epitaph"

As often as humanly possible he tried to put Suzanne out of his mind. Sometimes he achieved peace for a few hours or even managed to sleep through the night. It was the only way he could function, go about the daily business of living.

Did he still love her or only hate her? He could never be sure. She had been so beautiful, with those luminous mocking eyes, that cloud of dark hair, those lips that could smile so invitingly or pout so easily, like a child being refused a sweet.

In his mind she was always there, as she had looked in that last moment of her life, taunting him then turning her back on him.

And now, nearly eleven years later, Kerry McGrath would not let Suzanne rest. Questions and more questions. It could not be tolerated. She had to be stopped.

Let the dead bury the dead. That's the old saying, he thought, and it's still true. She would be stopped, no matter what.

Wednesday, October 11th

1.

Kerry smoothed down the skirt of her dark green suit, straightened the narrow gold chain on her neck and ran her fingers through her collar-length, dusky blond hair. Her entire afternoon had been a mad rush, leaving the courthouse at two- thirty, picking up Robin at school, driving from Hohokus through the heavy traffic of Routes 17 and 4, then over the George Washington Bridge to Manhattan, finally parking the car and arriving at the doctor's office just in time for Robin's four o'clock appointment.

Now, after all the rush, Kerry could only sit and wait to be summoned into the examining room, wishing that she'd been allowed to be with Robin while the st.i.tches were removed. But the nurse had been adamant. "During a procedure, Dr. Smith will not permit anyone except the nurse in the room with a patient."

"But she's only ten!" Kerry had protested, then had closed her lips and reminded herself that she should be grateful that Dr. Smith was the one who had been called in after the accident. The nurses at St. Luke's-Roosevelt had a.s.sured her that he was a wonderful plastic surgeon. The emergency room doctor had even called him a miracle worker.

Reflecting back on that day, a week ago, Kerry realized she still hadn't recovered from the shock of that phone call. She'd been working late in her office at the courthouse in Hackensack, preparing for the murder case she would be prosecuting, taking advantage of the fact that Robin's father, her ex-husband, Bob Kinellen, had unexpectedly invited Robin to see New York City's Big Apple Circus, followed by dinner.

At six-thirty her phone had rung. It was Bob. There had been an accident. A van had rammed into his Jaguar while he was pulling out of the parking garage. Robin's face had been cut by flying gla.s.s. She'd been rushed to St. Luke's-Roosevelt, and a plastic surgeon had been called. Otherwise she seemed fine, although she was being examined for internal injuries.

Remembering that terrible evening, Kerry shook her head. She tried to push out of her mind the agony of the hurried drive into New York, dry sobs shaking her body, her lips forming only one word, "please," her mind racing with the rest of the prayer, Please G.o.d, don't let her die, she's all I have. Please, she's just a baby. Don't take her from me...

Robin was already in surgery when Kerry had arrived at the hospital, so she had sat in the waiting room, Bob next to her-- with him but not with him. He had a wife and two other children now. Kerry could still feel the overwhelming sensation of relief she had experienced when Dr. Smith had finally appeared, and in a formal and oddly condescending manner had said, "Fortunately the lacerations did not deeply penetrate the dermis. Robin will not be scarred. I want to see her in my office in one week."

The cuts proved to be her only injuries, and Robin had bounced back from the accident, missing only two days of school. She had seemed to be somewhat proud of her bandages. It was only today, on their way into New York for the appointment, that she'd sounded frightened when she asked, "I will be okay, won't I, Mom? I mean my face won't be all messed up?" With her wide blue eyes, oval face, high forehead and sculpted features, Robin was a beautiful child and the image of her father. Kerry had rea.s.sured her with a heartiness she hoped was truthful. Now, to distract herself, Kerry looked around the waiting room. It was tastefully furnished with several couches and chairs covered in a small floral print design. The lights were soft, the carpeting luxurious.

A woman who appeared to be in her early forties, wearing a bandage across her nose, was among those waiting to be called inside. Another, who looked somewhat anxious, was confiding to her attractive companion: "Now that I'm here, I'm glad you made me come. You look fabulous."

She does, Kerry thought as she self-consciously reached into her bag for her compact. Snapping it open, she examined herself in the mirror, deciding that today she looked every minute of her thirty-six years. She was aware that many people found her attractive, but still she remained self-conscious about her looks. She brushed the powder puff over the bridge of her nose, trying to cover the spray of detested freckles, studied her eyes and decided that whenever she was tired, as she was today, their hazel color changed from green to muddy brown. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, then with a sigh closed the compact and smoothed back the half bang that needed tr.i.m.m.i.n.g.

Anxiously she fastened her gaze on the door that led to the examining rooms. Why was it taking so long to remove Robin's st.i.tches? she wondered. Could there be complications?

A moment later the door opened. Kerry looked up expectantly. Instead of Robin, however, there emerged a young woman who seemed to be in her mid-twenties, a cloud of dark hair framing the petulant beauty of her face.

I wonder if she always looked like that, Kerry mused, as she studied the high cheekbones, straight nose, exquisitely shaped pouty lips, luminous eyes, arched brows.

Perhaps sensing her gaze, the young woman looked quizzically at Kerry as she pa.s.sed her.

Kerry's throat tightened. I know you, she thought. But from where? She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. That face--I've seen her before.

Once the woman had left, Kerry went over to the receptionist and explained that she thought she might know the lady who just came out of the doctor's office. Who was she?

The name Barbara Tompkins, however, meant nothing to her. She must have been mistaken. Still, when she sat down again, an overwhelming sense of dj... vu filled her mind. The effect was so chilling, she actually shivered.

Kate Carpenter regarded the patients in the doctor's waiting room with something of a jaundiced eye. She had been with Dr. Charles Smith as a surgical nurse for four years, working with him on the operations he performed in the office. Quite simply, she considered him a genius.

She herself had never been tempted to have him work on her. Fiftyish, st.u.r.dily built with a pleasant face and graying hair, she described herself to her friends as a plastic surgery counterrevolutionary: "What you see is what you get."

Totally in sympathy with clients who had genuine problems, she felt mild contempt for the men and women who came in for procedure after procedure in their relentless pursuit of physical perfection. "On the other hand," as she told her husband, "they're paying my salary."

Sometimes Kate Carpenter wondered why she stayed with Dr. Smith. He was so brusque with everyone, patients as well as staff, that he often seemed rude. He seldom praised but never missed an opportunity to sarcastically point out the smallest error. But then again, she decided, the pay and benefits were excellent, and it was a genuine thrill to watch Dr. Smith at work.

Except that lately she had noticed he was getting increasingly bad tempered. Potential new clients, directed to him because of his excellent reputation, were offended by his manner and more and more frequently were canceling scheduled procedures. The only ones he seemed to treat with flattering care were the recipients of the special "look," and that was another thing that bothered Carpenter.

And in addition to his being irascible, in these last months she had noticed that the doctor seemed to be detached, even remote. Sometimes, when she spoke to him, he looked at her blankly, as though his mind were far away.

She glanced at her watch. As she had expected, after Dr. Smith finished examining Barbara Tompkins, the latest recipient of the "look," he had gone into his private office and closed the door.

What did he do in there? she wondered. He had to realize that he was running late. That little girl, Robin, had been sitting alone in examining room 3 for half an hour, and there were other patients in the waiting room. But she had noticed that after the doctor saw one of the special patients, he always seemed to need time to himself.

"Mrs. Carpenter..."

Startled, the nurse looked up from her desk. Dr. Smith was staring down at her. "I think we've kept Robin Kinellen waiting long enough," he said accusingly. Behind rimless gla.s.ses, his eyes were frosty.

"l don't like Dr. Smith," Robin said matter-of-factly as Kerry maneuvered the car out of the parking garage on Ninth Street off Fifth Avenue.

Kerry looked at her quickly. "Why not?"

"He's scary. At home when I go to Dr. Wilson, he always makes jokes. But Dr. Smith didn't even smile. He acted like he was mad at me. He said something about how some people are given beauty while others attain it, but in neither case must it ever be wasted."

Robin had inherited her father's stunning good looks and was indeed quite beautiful. It was true that this could someday be a burden, but why would the doctor say such an odd thing to a child? Kerry wondered.

"I'm sorry I told him I hadn't finished fastening my seat belt when the van hit Daddy's car," Robin added. "That's when Dr. Smith started lecturing me."

Kerry glanced at her daughter. Robin always fastened her seat belt. That she hadn't this time meant that Bob had started the car before she had had a chance. Kerry tried to keep anger out of her voice as she said, "Daddy probably took off out of the garage in a hurry."

"He just didn't notice I hadn't had time to buckle it," Robin said defensively, picking up on the edge in her mother's voice.

Kerry felt heartsick for her daughter. Bob Kinellen had walked out on them both when Robin was a baby. Now he was married to his senior partner's daughter and was the father of a five-year- old girl and a three-year-old boy. Robin was crazy about her father, and when he was with her he made a big fuss over her. But he disappointed her so often, calling at the last minute to break a scheduled date. Because his second wife did not like to be reminded that he had another child, Robin was never invited to his home. As a result she hardly even knew her half brother and sister.

On the rare occasion when he does come through, and finally takes her out, look what happens, Kerry thought. She struggled to hide her anger, however, deciding not to pursue the subject. Instead she said, "Why don't you try to snooze till we get to Uncle Jonathan and Aunt Grace's?"

"Okay." Robin closed her eyes. "I bet they have a present for me."

While they waited for Kerry and Robin to arrive for inner, Jonathan and Grace Hoover were sharing their customary late- afternoon martini in the living room of their home in Old Tappan overlooking Lake Tappan. The setting sun was sending long shadows across the tranquil water. The trees, carefully trimmed to avoid obstructing the lake view, were glowing with the brilliant leaves they would soon relinquish.

Jonathan had built the first fire of the season, and Grace had just commented that the first frost of the season was predicted for that evening.

A handsome couple in their early sixties, they had been married nearly forty years, tied by bonds and needs that went beyond affection and habit. Over that time, they seemed almost to have grown to resemble each other: both had patrician features, framed by luxuriant heads of hair, his pure white with natural waves, hers short and curly, still peppered with traces of brown.

There was, however, a distinctive difference in their bodies. Jonathan sat tall and erect in a high-backed wing chair, while Grace reclined on a sofa opposite him, an afghan over her useless legs, her bent fingers inert in her lap, a wheelchair nearby. For years a victim of rheumatoid arthritis, she had become increasingly more disabled.

Jonathan had remained devoted to her during the whole ordeal. The senior partner of a major New Jersey law firm specializing in high-profile civil suits, he had also held the position of state senator for some twenty years but had several times turned down the opportunity to run for governor. "I can do enough good or harm in the senate," was his often-quoted remark, "and anyhow, I don't think I'd win."

Anyone who knew him well didn't believe his protests. They knew Grace was the reason he had chosen to avoid the demands of gubernatorial life, and secretly they wondered if he didn't harbor some vague resentment that her condition had held him back. If he did, however, he certainly never showed it.

Now as Grace sipped her martini, she sighed. "I honestly believe this is my favorite time of year," she said, "it's so beautiful, isn't it? This kind of day makes me remember taking the train to Princeton from Bryn Mawr for the football games, watching them with you, going to the Na.s.sau Inn for dinner..."

"And staying at your aunt's house and her waiting up to be sure you were safely in before she went to bed," Jonathan chuckled. "I used to pray that just once the old bat would fall asleep early, but she kept a perfect record."

Grace smiled. "The minute we would pull up in front of the house, the porch light started blinking." Then she glanced anxiously at the clock on the mantel. "Aren't they running late? I hate to think of Kerry and Robin in the thick of the commuter traffic. Especially after what happened last week."

"Kerry's a good driver," Jonathan rea.s.sured her. "Don't worry. They'll be here any minute."

"I know. It's just..." The sentence did not have to be completed; Jonathan understood fully. Ever since twenty-one- year-old Kerry, about to start law school, had answered their ad for a house-sitter, they'd come to think of her as a surrogate daughter. That had been fifteen years ago, and during that time Jonathan had been of frequent help to Kerry in guiding and shaping her career, most recently using his influence to have her name included on the governor's shortlist of candidates for a judgeship.

Ten minutes later the welcome sound of door chimes heralded Kerry and Robin's arrival. As Robin had predicted, there was a gift waiting for her, a book and a quiz game for her computer. After dinner she took the book into the library and curled up in a chair while the adults lingered over coffee.

With Robin out of earshot, Grace quietly asked, "Kerry, those marks on Robin's face will fade, won't they?"

"I asked Dr. Smith the same thing when I saw them. He not only practically guaranteed their disappearance, he made me feel as though I'd insulted him by expressing any concern about them. I have to tell you I have a hunch the good doctor has one big ego. Still, last week at the hospital, the emergency room doctor absolutely a.s.sured me that Smith is a fine plastic surgeon. In fact, he called him a miracle worker."

As she sipped the last of her coffee, Kerry thought about the woman she had seen earlier in Dr. Smith's office. She looked across the table at Jonathan and Grace. "An odd thing happened while I was waiting for Robin. There was someone in Dr. Smith's office who looked so familiar," she said. "I even asked the receptionist what her name was. I'm sure I don't know her, but I just couldn't shake the sensation that we had met before. She gave me a creepy feeling. Isn't that odd?"

"What did she look like?" Grace asked.

"A knockout in a kind of come-hither, sensually provocative way," Kerry reflected. "I think the lips gave her that look. They were kind of full and pouty. I know: Maybe she was one of Bob's old girlfriends, and I had just repressed that memory." She shrugged. "Oh well, it's going to bug me till I figure it out."

You've changed my life, Dr. Smith... That was what Barbara Tompkins had said to him as she left his office earlier today. And he knew it was true. He had changed her and, in the process, her life. From a plain, almost mousy woman who looked older than her twenty-six years, he'd transformed her into a young beauty. More than a beauty, actually. Now she had spirit. She wasn't the same insecure woman who had come to him a year ago.

At the time she had been working in a small public relations firm in Albany. "I saw what you did for one of our clients," she had said when she came into his office that first day. "I just inherited some money from my aunt. Can you make me pretty?"

He had done more than that--he had transformed her. He had made her beautiful. Now Barbara was working in Manhattan at a large, prestigious P.R. firm. She had always had brains, but combining those brains with that special kind of beauty had truly changed her life.

Dr. Smith saw his last patient for the day at six-thirty. Then he walked the three blocks down Fifth Avenue to his converted carriage house in Washington Mews.

It was his habit each day to go home, relax over a bourbon and soda while watching the evening news and then decide where he wanted to dine. He lived alone and almost never ate in.

Tonight an unaccustomed restlessness overcame him. Of all the women, Barbara Tompkins was the one most like her. Just seeing her was an emotional, almost cathartic experience. He had overheard Barbara chatting with Mrs. Carpenter, telling her that she was taking a client to dinner that night in the Oak Room at the Plaza Hotel.

Almost reluctantly he got up. What would happen next was inevitable. He would go to the Oak Bar, look into the Oak Room restaurant, see if there was a small table from which he could observe Barbara while he dined. With any luck she wouldn't be aware of him. But even if she was, even if she saw him, he would merely wave. She had no reason to think that he was following her.

After they got home from dinner with Jonathan and Grace, and long after Robin was asleep, Kerry continued to work. Her office was in the study of the house she had moved to after Bob had left them and she sold the house they had bought together. She had been able to get the new place at a good price, when the real estate market was low, and she was grateful she had--she loved it. Fifty years old, it was a roomy Cape Cod with double dormers, set on a heavily treed two-acre lot. The only time she didn't love it was when the leaves began to fall, tons and tons of them. That would begin soon, she thought with a sigh. Tomorrow she would be cross-examining the defendant in a murder case she was prosecuting. He was a good actor. On the stand, his version of the events that led up to the death of his supervisor had seemed entirely plausible. He claimed his superior had constantly belittled him, so much so that one day he had snapped and killed her. His attorney was going for a manslaughter verdict.

It was Kerry's job to take the defendant's story apart, to show that this was a carefully planned and executed vendetta against a boss who for good reasons had pa.s.sed him over for promotion. It had cost her her life. Now he has to pay, Kerry thought.

It was one o'clock before she was satisfied that she had laid out all the questions she wanted to ask, all the points she wanted to make.

Wearily she climbed the stairs to the second floor. She glanced in on a peacefully sleeping Robin, pulled the covers tighter around her, then went across the hallway to her own room.

Five minutes later, her face washed, teeth brushed, clad in her favorite nightshirt, she snuggled down into the queen-sized bra.s.s bed that she had bought in a tag sale after Bob left. She had changed all the furniture in the master bedroom. It had been impossible to live with the old things, to look at his dresser, his night table, to see the empty pillow on his side of the bed.

The shade was only partially drawn, and by the faint light from the lamp on the post by the driveway, she could see that a steady rain had begun to fall.

Well, the great weather couldn't last forever, she thought, grateful that at least it was not as cold as predicted, that the rain would not change to sleet. She closed her eyes willing her mind to stop churning, wondering why she felt so uneasy.

She woke at five, then managed to doze off until six. It was in that hour the dream came to her for the first time.

She saw herself in the waiting room of a doctor's office. There was a woman lying on the floor, her large, unfocused eyes staring into nothingness. A cloud of dark hair framed the petulant beauty of her face. A knotted cord was twisted around her neck.

Then as Kerry watched, the woman got up, removed the cord from her neck and went over to the receptionist to make an appointment.

During the evening it crossed Robert Kinellen's mind to call and see how Robin had made out at the doctor's, but the thought had come and gone without being acted on. His father-in-law and the law firm's senior partner, Anthony Bartlett, had taken the unusual step of appearing at the Kinellens' house after dinner to discuss strategy in the upcoming income tax evasion trial of James Forest Weeks, the firm's most important--and controversial- - client.

Weeks, a multimillion-dollar real estate developer and entrepreneur, had become something of a public figure in New York and New Jersey during the past three decades. A heavy contributor to political campaigns, a prominent donor to numerous charities, he was also the subject of constant rumors about inside deals and influence peddling, and was rumored to have connections with known mobsters.

The U.S. attorney general's office had been trying to pin something on Weeks for years, and it had been the financially rewarding job of Bartlett and Kinellen to represent him during those past investigations. Until now, the Feds had always fallen short of enough evidence for a solid indictment.

"This time Jimmy is in serious trouble," Anthony Bartlett reminded his son-in-law as they sat across from each other in the study of the Kinellen home in Englewood Cliffs. He sipped a brandy. "Which of course means we're in serious trouble with him."

In the ten years since Bob had joined the firm, he had seen it become almost an extension of Weeks Enterprises, so closely were they entwined. In fact, without Jimmy's vast business empire, they would be left with only a handful of minor clients, and with billings inadequate to maintain the firm's operations. They both knew that if Jimmy were to be found guilty, Bartlett and Kinellen as a viable law firm would be finished.

"Barney's the one I worry about," Bob said quietly. Barney Haskell was Jimmy Weeks' chief accountant and codefendant in the current case. They both knew intense pressure was being put on him to turn government witness in exchange for a plea bargain.

Anthony Bartlett nodded. "Agreed."

"And for more than one reason," Bob continued. I told you about the accident in New York? And that Robin was treated by a plastic surgeon?"

"Yes. How is she doing?"