Read Online I'll Walk Alone by Mary Higgins Clark - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mary Higgins Clark
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thirty-eight years old but he looked years younger than his actual age. With his thick hair, brown eyes, firm mouth, and lean frame, she always believed that he was better looking and had a lot more charisma than many of the clients he represented. But right now he looks as if someone attacked him with a machete.
And to think of all the pity I’ve wasted on Zan these two years, Rita thought. If she’d done something to that darling little boy, I honestly think I could shoot her myself!
17
Z an blinked, opened her eyes, and closed them again. What happened, she asked herself. She wondered why she was sitting in the chair, why even though she was wearing the bathrobe, she felt so chilled, why her whole body ached.
Her hands were numb. She rubbed them together, trying to get feeling back into her fingers. Her feet were asleep. She moved them in a circular motion, almost unaware of what she was doing.
She opened her eyes again. Matthew’s picture was directly in her vision. She could tell that the bulb in the lamp next to it was still on, even though dim, cloud-filled light was filtering through the partially drawn shade.
Why didn’t I go to bed last night? she asked herself as she tried to get past the dull throbbing in her head.
Then she remembered.
They think I took Matthew from the stroller. But that’s impossible. That’s crazy. Why would I do that? What would I have done with him?
“What would I have done with you?” she moaned, as she stared at Matthew’s picture. “Can anyone seriously believe I could harm you, my own child?”
Zan sprang to her feet, then in quick strides crossed the room to grab Matthew’s picture and hug it against her body. “Why do they think that?” The question was now a whisper. “How could those pictures be of me? I was with Nina Aldrich. I spent that afternoon in the new town house she bought. I can prove it. Of course I can prove it.
“I know I didn’t take Matthew out of his stroller,” she said aloud, trying to control the quavering tone of her voice. “I can prove it. But I can’t let what happened to me last night happen again. I can’t have those blanks in my memory, the way I did after Mom and Dad died. If there is a photo of a woman picking up Matthew from the stroller, it would be the first real break in trying to trace him. I’ve got to think like that. I can’t let myself retreat again. Please, God, don’t let me be overwhelmed again. Let me hang on to the hope that there may be something in those photos that will give some clue, some lead, to finding Matthew …
It was only six o’clock. Instead of showering, Zan turned on the taps in the Jacuzzi, knowing that the swirling hot water would help relieve the aching of her body. What should I do? she asked herself again. I’m sure that Detective Collins must have those photos by now. After all, he was the lead investigator on the case.
She thought of the way the media had been outside the Four Seasons waiting for her last night, how they had been here outside the apartment when Josh took her home. Would they try to follow her around today? Or would they be at the office waiting for her?
She turned off the taps of the Jacuzzi, tested the water, then realized it was too hot. The phone, she thought. She remembered that she had turned off the ringer when she got into the apartment last night. She walked into the bedroom and over to the night table. The message light was blinking. There had been nine phone calls.
The first eight were from reporters asking to interview her. Determined not to allow them to upset her, Zan carefully deleted the calls one by one. The final one was from Alvirah Meehan. Gratefully, Zan listened to it, savoring Alvirah’s reassurance that that guy who claimed he had a picture of Zan picking up Matthew in the park must be some con artist. “It’s a shame you have to go through nonsense like this, Zan,” Alvirah’s outraged voice boomed. “Of course it will be exposed as a
And to think of all the pity I’ve wasted on Zan these two years, Rita thought. If she’d done something to that darling little boy, I honestly think I could shoot her myself!
17
Z an blinked, opened her eyes, and closed them again. What happened, she asked herself. She wondered why she was sitting in the chair, why even though she was wearing the bathrobe, she felt so chilled, why her whole body ached.
Her hands were numb. She rubbed them together, trying to get feeling back into her fingers. Her feet were asleep. She moved them in a circular motion, almost unaware of what she was doing.
She opened her eyes again. Matthew’s picture was directly in her vision. She could tell that the bulb in the lamp next to it was still on, even though dim, cloud-filled light was filtering through the partially drawn shade.
Why didn’t I go to bed last night? she asked herself as she tried to get past the dull throbbing in her head.
Then she remembered.
They think I took Matthew from the stroller. But that’s impossible. That’s crazy. Why would I do that? What would I have done with him?
“What would I have done with you?” she moaned, as she stared at Matthew’s picture. “Can anyone seriously believe I could harm you, my own child?”
Zan sprang to her feet, then in quick strides crossed the room to grab Matthew’s picture and hug it against her body. “Why do they think that?” The question was now a whisper. “How could those pictures be of me? I was with Nina Aldrich. I spent that afternoon in the new town house she bought. I can prove it. Of course I can prove it.
“I know I didn’t take Matthew out of his stroller,” she said aloud, trying to control the quavering tone of her voice. “I can prove it. But I can’t let what happened to me last night happen again. I can’t have those blanks in my memory, the way I did after Mom and Dad died. If there is a photo of a woman picking up Matthew from the stroller, it would be the first real break in trying to trace him. I’ve got to think like that. I can’t let myself retreat again. Please, God, don’t let me be overwhelmed again. Let me hang on to the hope that there may be something in those photos that will give some clue, some lead, to finding Matthew …
It was only six o’clock. Instead of showering, Zan turned on the taps in the Jacuzzi, knowing that the swirling hot water would help relieve the aching of her body. What should I do? she asked herself again. I’m sure that Detective Collins must have those photos by now. After all, he was the lead investigator on the case.
She thought of the way the media had been outside the Four Seasons waiting for her last night, how they had been here outside the apartment when Josh took her home. Would they try to follow her around today? Or would they be at the office waiting for her?
She turned off the taps of the Jacuzzi, tested the water, then realized it was too hot. The phone, she thought. She remembered that she had turned off the ringer when she got into the apartment last night. She walked into the bedroom and over to the night table. The message light was blinking. There had been nine phone calls.
The first eight were from reporters asking to interview her. Determined not to allow them to upset her, Zan carefully deleted the calls one by one. The final one was from Alvirah Meehan. Gratefully, Zan listened to it, savoring Alvirah’s reassurance that that guy who claimed he had a picture of Zan picking up Matthew in the park must be some con artist. “It’s a shame you have to go through nonsense like this, Zan,” Alvirah’s outraged voice boomed. “Of course it will be exposed as a
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