Gary was involved with another woman?”
“Never. I trusted him absolutely. The day I found out, I was upstairs and picked up the phone to make a call. Gary was talking, and I would have hung up, but then I heard him say, ‘Annamarie, you’re being hysterical. I’ll take care of you, and if you decide to keep the baby, I’ll support it.’ ”
“How did he sound?”
“Angry and nervous. Almost panicky.”
“How did Annamarie respond?”
“She said something like, ‘How could I have been such a fool?’ and hung up.”
“What did you do, Molly?”
“I was shocked, stunned. I came racing downstairs. Gary was here at his desk, just about to leave for work. I’d met Annamarie at the hospital. I confronted him with what I had overheard. He readily admitted that he’d gotten involved with her, but he said it was a crazy, foolhardy thing to do and he regretted it bitterly. He was almost in tears and begged me to forgive him. I was furious. Then he had to leave for the hospital. The last time I saw him alive was when I slammed the door after him. Terrific memory to keep for the rest of my life, isn’t it?”
“You loved him, didn’t you?” Fran asked.
“I loved him and trusted him and believed in him, or at least I told myself I did. Now I’m not so sure; sometimes I wonder.” She sighed and shook her head. “Anyway, I
am
sure that the night I came back from the Cape, I was much more hurt and sad than angry.” As Fran watched, an expression of utter, profound sadness filled Molly’s eyes. She hugged her arms across her chest and sobbed, “Don’t you see why I have to prove I didn’t kill him?”
Fran left a few minutes later. Every instinct told her that Molly’s outburst was the key to her search for exoneration. This is slam-dunk, she thought. She loved her husband, and she’ll do anything to get someone to tell her that there’s a possibility she didn’t kill him. I think she probably genuinely doesn’t remember, but I still think she did it. It’s a waste of time and money for NAF-TV to try to raise even a serious doubt about her guilt.
I’ll tell Gus that, she thought, but before I do, I’m going to find out everything I can about Gary Lasch.
On impulse she detoured on the way to the Merritt Parkway to drive past Lasch Hospital, which had replaced the private clinic founded by Jonathan Lasch, Gary ’s father. This was where her father had been taken after he shot himself and where he died seven hours later.
She was astonished to see that the hospital was now twice the size that she remembered. There was a traffic light outside the main entrance, and she slowed the car enough to miss the green light. As she waited at the red signal, she studied the facility, noting the wings that had been added to the main structure, the new building on the righthand side of the property, the elevated parking garage.
With a stab of pain she searched out the window of the waiting room on the third floor where she remembered standing while she waited for news about her father, knowing instinctively that he was beyond help.
This will be a good place to come and talk to people, Fran thought. The light changed, and five minutes later she was on the approach to the Merritt Parkway. As she drove south through the swiftly flowing traffic, she mulled over the fact that Gary Lasch had met and become involved with Annamarie Scalli, a young nurse at the hospital, and that reckless indiscretion had cost him his life.
But was that his only indiscretion? she wondered suddenly.
Chances were, it would probably turn out that he’d made one colossal mistake, like her father, but otherwise was the upstanding citizen, fine doctor, and devoted health-care provider that people knew and remembered.
But maybe not, Fran reminded herself as she passed the state line between Connecticut and New York. I’ve been in this business long enough to expect the unexpected.
11
After she saw Fran Simmons to the door, Molly
“Never. I trusted him absolutely. The day I found out, I was upstairs and picked up the phone to make a call. Gary was talking, and I would have hung up, but then I heard him say, ‘Annamarie, you’re being hysterical. I’ll take care of you, and if you decide to keep the baby, I’ll support it.’ ”
“How did he sound?”
“Angry and nervous. Almost panicky.”
“How did Annamarie respond?”
“She said something like, ‘How could I have been such a fool?’ and hung up.”
“What did you do, Molly?”
“I was shocked, stunned. I came racing downstairs. Gary was here at his desk, just about to leave for work. I’d met Annamarie at the hospital. I confronted him with what I had overheard. He readily admitted that he’d gotten involved with her, but he said it was a crazy, foolhardy thing to do and he regretted it bitterly. He was almost in tears and begged me to forgive him. I was furious. Then he had to leave for the hospital. The last time I saw him alive was when I slammed the door after him. Terrific memory to keep for the rest of my life, isn’t it?”
“You loved him, didn’t you?” Fran asked.
“I loved him and trusted him and believed in him, or at least I told myself I did. Now I’m not so sure; sometimes I wonder.” She sighed and shook her head. “Anyway, I
am
sure that the night I came back from the Cape, I was much more hurt and sad than angry.” As Fran watched, an expression of utter, profound sadness filled Molly’s eyes. She hugged her arms across her chest and sobbed, “Don’t you see why I have to prove I didn’t kill him?”
Fran left a few minutes later. Every instinct told her that Molly’s outburst was the key to her search for exoneration. This is slam-dunk, she thought. She loved her husband, and she’ll do anything to get someone to tell her that there’s a possibility she didn’t kill him. I think she probably genuinely doesn’t remember, but I still think she did it. It’s a waste of time and money for NAF-TV to try to raise even a serious doubt about her guilt.
I’ll tell Gus that, she thought, but before I do, I’m going to find out everything I can about Gary Lasch.
On impulse she detoured on the way to the Merritt Parkway to drive past Lasch Hospital, which had replaced the private clinic founded by Jonathan Lasch, Gary ’s father. This was where her father had been taken after he shot himself and where he died seven hours later.
She was astonished to see that the hospital was now twice the size that she remembered. There was a traffic light outside the main entrance, and she slowed the car enough to miss the green light. As she waited at the red signal, she studied the facility, noting the wings that had been added to the main structure, the new building on the righthand side of the property, the elevated parking garage.
With a stab of pain she searched out the window of the waiting room on the third floor where she remembered standing while she waited for news about her father, knowing instinctively that he was beyond help.
This will be a good place to come and talk to people, Fran thought. The light changed, and five minutes later she was on the approach to the Merritt Parkway. As she drove south through the swiftly flowing traffic, she mulled over the fact that Gary Lasch had met and become involved with Annamarie Scalli, a young nurse at the hospital, and that reckless indiscretion had cost him his life.
But was that his only indiscretion? she wondered suddenly.
Chances were, it would probably turn out that he’d made one colossal mistake, like her father, but otherwise was the upstanding citizen, fine doctor, and devoted health-care provider that people knew and remembered.
But maybe not, Fran reminded herself as she passed the state line between Connecticut and New York. I’ve been in this business long enough to expect the unexpected.
11
After she saw Fran Simmons to the door, Molly
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