Everything To Gain

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

New York, December 1988

"Have a wonderful baby shower, and we'll see you tomorrow," Andrew said, moving across the hall to the front door of the apartment.

"It won't be the same without you, but I do understand your reasons for fleeing," I said, laughing.

He laughed with me. "Sixteen women in this apartment is a bit too much even for me to cope with." He picked up Trixy's lead and his canvas bag and opened the front door. "Come on, kids, let's get this show on the road. It'll be teatime before we get to Indian Meadows, if we don't leave soon."

"Coming, Dad," Jamie said, buttoning his quilted, down-filled jacket but getting the buttons in the wrong holes.

I bent down to help him do it correctly, then kissed him on the cheek. He looked at me through solemn eyes and asked, "Is it our baby shower, Mom?"

I shook my head. "No, Alicia Munroe's. She's the one having the baby, honey."

"Oh," he said, and his little face fell. "Any news of our baby. Mom? Have you made it yet?" he asked, fixing me with his bright blue eyes, a hopeful look flashing across his face.

"Not yet," I answered, standing up. I glanced at Andrew and we exchanged amused looks, and he winked at me.

Lissa said, "Don't forget to feed Swellen, Mom, will you?"

"No, I won't, darling, I promise." I hunkered down on my haunches and kissed her. She put her little arms around my neck and showered me with fluttery kisses on my cheek. "Butterfly kisses for you, Mommy, like Daddy gives me," she said, then holding her head on one side in that old-fashioned way she had, she continued, "Did you tell Santa to bring me the big baby doll?"

"Yes. Well, at least Daddy told him."

"Will Santa know where to come?" she asked, suddenly sounding anxious. Her expression grew worried when she added, "Will he find Nanna's house in Yorkshire?"

"Of course. Daddy gave Santa her address."

She beamed at me, and I buttoned her coat and pulled on her blue woolen cap that exactly matched her eyes. "There! You look beautiful! You're my beautiful little girl, the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world. Now, put your gloves on. Both of you," I said, glancing at Jamie. "And I don't want either of you running outside to play without your coats when you're in the country. It's far too cold. And don't give Trixy any tidbits from the table."

"No, Mom," they said in unison.

"Hear that, Trixy?" I said, glancing down at the puppy. Our little Bichon Frise looked up at me through her soulful black eyes and wagged her tail. I picked her up and cuddled her, kissed the top of her head, then put her back down on the floor.

I walked with them to the front door and stood in the outside foyer waiting for the elevator to come. Andrew hugged me and kissed me on the cheek, then asked, "Did you put the list in the canvas bag? The list of the things you want me to bring back tomorrow?"

"Yes, I did. And there's not much, really, just a few items for the twins and our shearling coats, yours and mine, to take with us to Yorkshire."

"Okay, no problem, Puss." He kissed me again and ushered the kids and the puppy into the elevator. "See you."

"Drive carefully," I said just as the elevator doors started to close.

"I will," he called back. "And I'll ring you when we get there, Mal."

It was quiet in the apartment now that they had left. I went to my desk in the bedroom, sat down, and carefully wrote the card to go with Alicia's gift.

Alicia Munroe was a good friend of Sarah's and mine and had been at Radcliffe with us. A fellow New Yorker, she had married Jonathan Munroe two years ago and moved to Boston with him. She had come to Manhattan for the weekend to see her parents and to attend the baby shower Sarah and I were giving in her honor at the apartment.

When he heard, three weeks ago, what we were planning, Andrew had exclaimed, "It's the country for me, Mal! In any case, I want to give Indian Meadows the once-over before we take off for Yorkshire for Christmas. I'll take the twins and Trixy with me, get them all out of your hair, and you can have a real girls' weekend with Sarah."

When I had worried out loud how he would manage without Jenny, our former au pair, who had finally returned to live in London, he had grinned at me and said one word: "Nora." And, of course, hearing her name had set my mind at ease at once. Nora loved the twins and enjoyed cooking for them, fussing over them. She would be in her element without me hovering around, as would Eric, who was devoted to Jamie and Lissa.

I glanced at the small calendar on my desk. Today was Saturday the tenth. In exactly eleven days we were flying to London and then taking the train to Yorkshire the following morning. ''

Diana had invited Sarah to join us for Christmas, and she had been thrilled to accept, and we were all going to stay at Kilgram Chase until early January. Gwenny Reece-Jones and my father were going to be with us too; in fact my father had called me yesterday from London. He had wanted to tell me how much he was looking forward to spending the holidays with me, Andrew, and his grandchildren. He had also told me how glad he was I liked Gwendolyn.

There were still quite a lot of preparations to make for the trip, and tomorrow Sarah and I were going shopping for last-minute gifts. Now I began to make a list on a yellow pad and was stumped when I came to Gwenny's name. Last night, tongue in cheek, Andrew had suggested we buy her a scarf. And although he had been joking, it wasn't a bad idea after all, since she did seem to like them. Perhaps I would find something special and unusual at Bloomingdale's.

Once I had finished the list, I put the card in the shopping bag with the gift for Alicia, an antique silver christening cup. Then, carrying the bag, I went into the living room.

Josie, our housekeeper, a lovely, motherly woman from Chile; was already plumping up cushions on the two big traditional sofas and armchairs.

She glanced up as I came in and said, "I've dusted the dining room, and I'll get to the kitchen next, Mrs. Keswick."

"Thanks, Josie, but perhaps you'd better make the beds and tidy the bedrooms first. Miss Thomas should be here any minute, and then we'll start preparing some of the food. I guess you ought to leave the kitchen until last."

"You're right, and I can help with the sandwiches as soon as I've finished cleaning."

"Thanks," I said, and went into the adjoining dining room, where I put the shopping bag in a corner. I added, "I'm going to start setting the table for the tea."

By the time Sarah arrived half an hour later, I had already put out cups, saucers, and plates, as well as crystal flutes, since we had called the shower a champagne tea, and we were going to serve Veuve Clicquot.

"You haven't left me very much to do," Sarah said, as she surveyed my handiwork in the dining room.

"Don't kid yourself," I shot back. "There's a lot to do yet. Roll your sleeves up, and let's go to the kitchen."

But the first thing we did was to have a cup of coffee together. This we drank at the table in front of the window, chatting about the shower and Sarah's hectic week and gossiping in general.

Finally, fifteen minutes later we started to work on the food, cutting the slices of smoked salmon into small pieces, boiling eggs for the egg salad, slicing cucumbers and tomatoes, and mashing sardines. All of these things we would use for the tea sandwiches later in the afternoon, just before the guests were due. They had been invited for three o'clock and it was still far too soon to make the sandwiches.

At one moment Sarah said, "I'm glad we made it early, Mal. Everyone'll be gone by six, no later than six-thirty, and maybe we can go to a movie, have supper out somewhere."

"Great idea. And how about a snack now? I don't know about you, but I'm starving." I looked at the clock on the wall. "It's nearly one thirty-five."

"I'm on a diet. In readiness for Christmas."

I laughed. "But Sarah, you look fantastic. You are svelte."

"I could still lose a few pounds. But okay, why not? I'll have a taste of the smoked salmon."

"Coming up," I said, reaching for a slice of bread. The phone rang, and I picked it up.

"Hello, Puss, it's me, and we're here," Andrew said. "And guess what, it's snowing! Mal, it's gorgeous, just like a fairyland. All white. And the snow is glistening in the sun. I promised the kids a snowball fight later."

"That's great, but make sure they wear their Wellies and are wrapped up well, honey, won't you?"

"I will, don't worry so, Puss."

"Is Nora there, Andrew?"

"She certainly is, and so is Eric. He's got the fires going throughout the house, and Nora made a wonderful vegetable soup and baked a loaf. We're going to have lunch in a few minutes. And this soup! It smells delicious! So don't worry your little head about us, everything is fine at Indian Meadows."

"Just goes to show how well you can manage without me," I muttered.

"Oh, no I can't," he asserted, his voice dropping. "There's no way I can manage without you, Mal."

"Nor me you," I responded. "I love you."

"And I love you. Big kiss, darling. And a big kiss to Sarah. I'll see you both for supper tomorrow night. Tell her I'm looking forward to her spaghetti primavera."

"I will, and have a nice time with the kids."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

It was snowing again, as it had yesterday. But tonight the snowflakes were light, and as I glanced out the window, I noticed that they were melting the moment they hit the pavement. So it couldn't be the weather which was making Andrew late getting home.

Putting my glass of white wine down on the coffee table, I left the den, crossed the entrance hall, and went into the kitchen.

Sarah swung around when she heard me come in. "I've turned off the water for the spaghetti. No point boiling it yet. I'll make everything at the last minute, once Andrew and the twins arrive." nodded, and automatically my eyes went to the kitchen clock. It was ten past eight. "I can't imagine where he is, why he's not home yet, Sash," I said.

"Anything could be holding him up," Sarah answered, putting the lid on the pot of hot water. "Traffic. Snow."

"It can't be the snow. I just looked out the den window, and it's not even settling on the ground."

"Not on East Seventy-second Street, maybe, but if it's snowing in Connecticut, it could be slowing Andrew down, and everyone else who's coming back to the city on Sunday night. There's probably a backup of cars."

"That's true, yes," I said, seizing on this possibility, wanting to ease my worry. But the fact was, Andrew was rarely, if ever, late, and that was what troubled me now. Sarah knew it as well as I did, but neither of us was voicing this thought at the moment.

I said, "I'm going to try Anna again, maybe she's home by now."

"Okay, call her," Sarah agreed.

Lifting the receiver off the wall phone in front of me, I dialed the gardener's number at Indian Meadows. It rang and rang as it had earlier this evening. I was about to hang up when the phone was finally answered.

"Hello," Anna said.

"It's me. Mal," I said. "You must have been out, Anna, I've been trying your number for ages."

"I was in Sharon. I went to visit my sister, and I-"

"Did you see Andrew before he left today?" I interrupted, wanting to get to the point.

"Yes, I did. Why?"'

"What time was that?"

"About two, somewhere around there."

"Two. But that's over six hours ago!" I cried, and looking across at Sarah, I couldn't help transmitting my anxiety to her. She came and stood next to me, her face suddenly as full of concern as mine was.

"You mean he's not arrived home yet?" Anna asked.

"No, he hasn't, and I'm starting to worry. It never takes more than three hours at the most, and Andrew does it in less time than that."

"There's snow up here, Mal, and he may have hit more of it on the way down to the city. Oh, and there's another thing, he did say something about needing to do some Christmas shopping. That could've delayed him."

"That's true, yes, and maybe he did stop off at a couple of shops on the way in. Everything's open at this time of year, and stays open late. I guess that's what happened, and thanks, Anna, you've made me feel less anxious."

"Try not to worry, Mal, I'm sure he'll be there any second. And you'll call me before you leave for England, won't you?"

"Yes, during the week. Bye, Anna."

"Bye, Mal."

We hung up, and turning to Sarah, I said, "Andrew told Anna he needed to do some Christmas shopping. I'm sure that's the explanation. Don't you think?"

Sarah nodded, giving me a reassuring smile. "He loves all those little antique shops in the area. Also, the twins might have wanted to go to the bathroom, or wanted something to eat, and so he could've stopped several times. We often stop, if you think about it, for those very reasons."

"But why hasn't he called me? It's not like him not to be in touch, you know that," I muttered, biting my lip.

The doorbell rang several times.

Sarah and I looked at each other knowingly, and we both broke into happy smiles.

"There he is! And wouldn't you know he doesn't have his key!" I exclaimed, laughing with relief as I hurried into the entrance hall.

As I unlocked the front door and pulled it open, I cried, "And where have all of you be-" The rest of my sentence remained unsaid. It was not my husband and children who stood there, but two men in damp overcoats.

"Yes?" I stood staring at them blankly, and even before they told me who they were, I knew they were cops. As a New Yorker, I recognized them immediately, recognized that unmistakable look. They were plainclothes police officers from the N.Y.P.D. My chest tightened.

"Are you Mrs. Andrew Keswick?" the older of the two cops asked.

"Yes, I am. Is there-"

"I'm Detective Johnson, and this is Detective DeMarco," he said. "We're from the Twenty-fifth Precinct. We need to talk to you, Mrs. Keswick."

They both showed me their shields.

I swallowed several times. "Is there something wrong?" I managed to say, my eyes flying nervously from him to his partner. I dreaded the answer; my heart began to clatter.

"Can we come in?" Detective Johnson said. "I think it would be better if we spoke inside."

I nodded, opened the door wider, and stepped back to let them enter the apartment. DeMarco closed the door.

Sarah, who had been hovering in the background, said, "I'm Sarah Thomas, an old friend of Mrs. Keswick's, a friend of the family, actually."

Detective Johnson nodded, and Detective DeMarco murmured, "Ms. Thomas," and inclined his head, scrupulously polite.

I led them into the living room and said, "Is there some sort of problem? My husband's late getting home. I, we, that is, Sarah and I, have been a bit worried. He's not been in an accident, has he?"

"Let's sit down, Mrs. Keswick," DeMarco said.

I shook my head. "Just tell me what's wrong, please."

DeMarco cleared his throat and began, "Something tragic has happened. I think we should sit down."

"Tell me." My voice quavered as I spoke, and a dreadful trembling took hold of me. Sudden fear surged through my body, and reaching out, I gripped the top of the wing chair to steady myself.

"We found your husband's Mercedes on Park Avenue at One Hundred Nineteenth Street. Your husband was hurt-"

"Oh, my God! Is he badly injured? Where is he? Oh, God, my children! Are they all right? Where are they? Where's my husband?"

My heart was racing. Filled with a mixture of panic and dread, I moved forward and grasped DeMarco's arm. Urgently, I said, "Why didn't you bring my children home? Which hospital is my husband in? The twins must be frightened. Take me to them, please."

Gasping, fighting my tears, I swung to Sarah and cried, "Come on, Sash, let's go! We must go to the twins and Andrew. Come on! They need me."

"Mrs. Keswick, Ms. Thomas, just a minute," DeMarco said.

I stopped, looked at him. There was something odd in his voice. My stomach lurched. He was going to say something awful, something I didn't want to hear. I knew it instinctively.

He said, "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs. Keswick, but your husband has been shot. He's-"

My eyes opened wide. "Shot! Who shot him? Why?" The blood was draining out of me; my legs had gone weak.

My eyes flew to Sarah. Her face had turned the color of bleached bone. In an unusually high voice, she exclaimed, "I thought the car was in some sort of accident."

I stood staring at her; somehow I had thought the same thing.

"No, Ms. Thomas," DeMarco said.

"He's not badly hurt, is he?" Sarah asked, endeavoring to speak in a more controlled voice.

"Where are my children?" I demanded before either of the detectives could answer her. "I want to go to my children and my husband."

"They're all at Bellevue," Detective DeMarco said. "And so is your dog. I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but your-"

"My children… are… all right… aren't they?" I interrupted, speaking very slowly, fearfully.

Detective Johnson shook his head. He looked dour.

DeMarco said, "No, Mrs. Keswick. Your husband, your children, and your dog were all fatally shot this afternoon. We're very sorry."

"No! No! Not Andrew! Not the twins! Not Jamie and Lissa! It's not possible! It can't be true," I cried, gaping at DeMarco, uncomprehending. I began to shake.

I heard Sarah saying over and over again, "Oh, my God, my God!"

I stepped away from DeMarco, stepped away from the chair, and went lurching across the room to the entrance hall, shaking my head from side to side, denying, denying. Blindly I reached out, grabbing at air, at emptiness.

I had to get out of here.

Get to Bellevue.

Bellevue.

That's where they were.

My husband.

Get to Andrew.

To Lissa and Jamie.

Get to my children.

My children needed me.

My husband needed me.

My little Trixy needed me.

He'd said they were dead.

All dead.

The four of them.

NO!

The room became very bright, and it began to sway and move.

I heard it then. The noise.

It was a terrible, piercing scream that went ripping right through me. A bone-chilling scream rising higher and higher. It sounded like the scream of an animal being tortured, of an animal in torment.

It grew louder and louder until it filled my mind absolutely. And it deafened me.

As the floor came up to hit me in the face, I knew that it was I who was screaming.

CHAPTER TWENTY

When I regained consciousness, I was lying on one of the sofas in the living room.

As I opened my eyes, it was Sarah's face I saw. She sat in a chair next to me.

"Mal," she whispered, reaching out, taking hold of my hand. "Oh, Mal, darling." Her voice broke, and tears welled in her dark, compassionate eyes. I saw the pain on her face.

I grasped her hand tightly, pinning her with an intense gaze. "Tell me it's not true, Sash," I pleaded tearfully. "Tell me it's not. They're all right, aren't they? It's been a horrible mistake, hasn't it?"

"Oh, Mal," was all she could say, in a muffled voice. She was unable to continue speaking, and tears trickled down her strained white face.

I saw him then.

Detective DeMarco.

He was standing near the living room window, looking across at me. Fleetingly, a look of pity washed over his face and was instantly gone; but I knew without a doubt that it was true.

It had happened.

It was not a bad dream from which I had just awakened.

It was real, this nightmare.

My eyes shifted. Through my tears I could see his partner, Johnson. The older detective was standing by the small antique desk in front of the window overlooking Seventy-second Street. He was speaking on the phone. I heard him say, "Yes, that's correct."

I shouted in a shrill, angry voice, "I want to go to my husband and my children. I want my family. I want my dog. I want to be with them." I tried to struggle off the sofa, but Sarah put her arms around me, held me still, endeavored to soothe me.

"I want my babies," I shouted through my wracking sobs. "I want my family. I'm going to them now." I continued to struggle against Sarah, but she held me tightly.

"Yes, we are going, Mal, in a few minutes." Sarah's voice was low, drained. She went on. "The detectives are going to take us to the mor-to Bellevue. I just gave Detective Johnson your mother's number. He's been talking to her and David. They're coming now; they'll be here in a couple of minutes."

I clung to Sarah, sobbing against her shoulder. I wanted Andrew, I wanted the twins. What had happened this afternoon? I didn't understand. Who had shot my family? And why? Why had this happened to us? Why would anybody shoot a decent man like Andrew? Shoot innocent little children and a dog? Why?

Suddenly I heard the front door and my mother's voice exclaiming, "Where's my daughter? Where's Mrs. Keswick? I'm Mrs. Nelson, her mother."

I pulled away from Sarah. My mother was rushing toward me across the living room. Her face was stricken, ashen, her eyes full of horror and disbelief.

"Oh, Mom!" I cried out. "Oh, Momma! Andrew and the twins have been shot. And Trixy. Why, Mom? I don't understand."

My mother sank down heavily on the sofa, wrapped her arms around me, and held me close to her. "It doesn't make sense," she whispered, and she kept repeating this like a litany. She began to weep, and we held on to each other desperately, struggling with our pain and heartbreak.

Between sobs, my mother said, "I don't know how to help you, Mal, but I'm here for you, darling. Oh, God, how can anybody help you? This is too much for anyone to bear." She rocked me in her arms, weeping, and whispered in a cracking voice, "I can't believe it. Lissa and Jamie gone, Andrew gone. It doesn't make any sense. What has this world come to? It's godless. Godless."

After a few minutes, David left the detectives and came over to the sofa, knelt down on the floor in front of us, and put his arms around my mother and me.

His voice was gentle, caring. "I'm so very, very sorry, Mal. I'm here for you and your mother. I'll do anything to help you both. All you have to do is ask me. Anything at all, Mal."

Eventually I managed to sit up. Gently, I extricated myself from my mother's arms. She lay back against the sofa; her face was haggard.

David rose, came and sat in a chair near me. "Take your time, Mal, we're in no hurry."

I looked at him, tried to speak, but I couldn't say anything. I began to weep once more. Wrapping my arms around my body, hugging myself, I moved backward and forward on the sofa, making low, keening noises. I was distraught, I was in an agony of mind, soul, and body. Every part of me felt as if it had been bludgeoned.

Finally I stopped moving and leaned back, closing my eyes. But the tears kept coming, seeping out from underneath my lids.

Opening my eyes at last, I gazed at David helplessly. He gave me his handkerchief.

After I wiped my eyes, I said in a shaky voice, "I want to see my family."

"Of course, and you shall," David said. "The detectives are ready to take you to Bellevue, Mal. We'll all come. Your mother and Sarah and I. We'll be with you."

I could only nod my understanding.

David said, "Can I get you anything? Anything to drink? Brandy, maybe?"

I shook my head. "Just water, please."

My mother stood up shakily. "I'll get it, I need a glass myself."

Sarah said, "I'll come with you, Auntie Jess."

David took hold of my hand, held it tightly in his, wanting to comfort me. His light gray eyes were full of sympathy, and his tactfulness and concern were palpable. I was thankful he was here. I had grown to know him quite well since he'd married my mother, and he was kind and considerate. He was also quick, efficient, and smart, and as a criminal lawyer he knew how to properly and effectively deal with the police.

After a second, he said, "I need to talk to the detectives, Mal. I didn't learn much from them on the phone. My fault, I didn't give them a chance to fill me in. Your mother and I just raced around here within minutes of receiving their call."

He started to get up, but I wouldn't let go of his hand.

Puzzled, he looked at me closely. "What is it, Mal?" he asked.

"Can you bring them over here? I want to hear what they have to say."

Nodding, he rose and strode across the floor. He stood talking to Johnson and DeMarco for a few minutes, and then the three of them came back and sat down near me.

Detective Johnson said, "We don't know what happened, Mrs. Keswick." He threw David a quick glance, and went on in a low voice. "It could have been a crime of opportunity, such as robbery, we're just not sure. And we won't be able to give you any real answers until we've done a proper investigation."

David said, "You told me you found the car on Park Avenue at One Hundred Nineteenth Street. At the traffic light there."

"Yes," Johnson said.

"Was the family in the car?"

Johnson said, "Yes. Mr. Keswick was in the front seat, the driver's seat, and he'd fallen across the passenger seat. His door was open, and his legs were out of the car, as if he'd been trying to get out. One back door was also open, and the children were on the backseat together, with the dog."

I pushed myself to my feet. On shaking legs I half walked, half staggered out of the living room. I managed to get to my bathroom. Closing and locking the door, I knelt on the floor and vomited into the toilet, retching until there was nothing left inside me. Then I fell over on my side and curled into a ball, sobbing my heart out. I was in shock, disbelieving. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't. This morning I had been talking and laughing with Andrew on the phone, and now…

"Mal, Mal, are you all right?" Sarah called, knocking on the bathroom door. "We're concerned about you."

"Give me a minute." I dragged myself to my feet, splashed cold water on my face, and looked at myself in the mirror. The face staring back did not look like mine. It was stark, the cheekbones sticking out like blades, and it was as white as chalk under all the freckles. I felt stunned, dazed, and my glazed eyes reflected this.

Not me, that's not me. But then, I would never be me again.

There were two medical examiners waiting for us at Bellevue Hospital, where the New York City Morgue was located. I followed them into the morgue, accompanied by Detectives Johnson and DeMarco as well as David Nelson.

I had protested to Detective DeMarco, begging him to let me go in alone except for the two doctors. It was Johnson who had explained the law; the police officers who were the first to arrive on the scene of a crime must be present at the identification of the body or bodies. It was mandatory.

David had insisted on coming in with me, and I hadn't had the strength to argue. In any case, the medical examiners seemed to think his presence was essential.

When they pulled out Andrew's body and showed it to me, I gasped and cried out in anguish, then pressed my hands to my mouth. I felt my legs buckle, but David was there, standing right behind me, and he put his arm around my waist, held me upright.

Oh, Andrew, my darling, my heart cried out.

My eyes were streaming as they led me to the next two compartments, pulled out the slabs, and showed me Lissa and then Jamie. My children, my darling babies. I could barely see their faces for my blinding tears. They were so still, so quiet, so cold. All I wanted was to keep them warm, to keep them safe. Oh, my poor babies.

Looking at one of the medical examiners, I gasped through my tears, "They didn't suffer, did they?"

He shook his head. "No, Mrs. Keswick. None of them suffered. Death was instantaneous."

Detective Johnson was edging me away, edging David and me away from my children.

"I want to stay with them," I whispered. "Please let me stay."

"We can't, Mrs. Keswick," Johnson said. "You can be with them tomorrow at the funeral parlor, after we've released them." Then he added, very quietly, "Your dog's here. Normally it would have gone to an animal hospital, but it was required for evidence."

"She," I said. "She's a she, not an it."

"You must have a vet, don't you?" Johnson said. "We'll need the name and address. The dog can go there tomorrow."

All I could do was nod. I was sobbing uncontrollably.

One of the doctors took me to Trixy, showed her to me. I bent over her and touched the top of her furry head, and my tears fell down on my hands.

Trixy. My little Trixola.

I was still weeping when David guided me out into the corridor. He led me down to the waiting room, but I could barely walk; waves of shock and heartbreak were washing over me.

As we went into the waiting room, my mother stood up and so did Sarah. They both hurried over.

"Oh, Mom, oh, Momma," I wept. "It is them. They're dead. Whatever am I going to do without them?"

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

" Park and One Hundred Nineteenth Street is a very bad area, Mrs. Keswick; there's drug dealing on the street, prostitution. So, what do you think your husband was doing up there on Sunday afternoon?" Detective Johnson asked.

I stared at him, clenching my hands in my lap, endeavoring to control their constant trembling. "I know what he was doing up there," I said quietly. "He was on his way home with our children. He was coming from Connecticut."

"Where in Connecticut?" DeMarco inquired, shifting slightly in his chair, leaning back in it. There was a sympathetic look in his eyes.

" Sharon," I said. "We have a house there."

Detective Johnson frowned. "And did he usually drive through the heart of Harlem?"

I nodded. "Yes. Andrew always takes-" I stopped, steadied myself, and went on, "Andrew always took Route 684, which leads into the Saw Mill River Parkway and then the Henry Hudson Parkway. That's an absolutely straight line from Sharon to Manhattan. And by going through Harlem he came out at the top of Park Avenue."

"Where did he get off the Henry Hudson?" Johnson asked.

"At the One Hundred Twenty-fifth Street exit, in order to zip right over to the East Side. He never varied this route, and we would go all the way across One Hundred Twenty-fifth, past Twelfth Avenue and Amsterdam, until we came to Park."

DeMarco said, "Did he go under the elevated section of the Metro North railway tracks at One Hundred Twenty-fourth, passing North General Hospital and the Edward M. Horan School around One Hundred Twentieth?"

"That's right. Then my husband would drive all the way down Park Avenue, turning right on Seventy-second Street. He believed it was the quickest way to get home. And it is."

"It's a well-traveled route. A lot of New Yorkers use it to hit the East Side quickly, but that area around One Hundred Nineteenth Street has become very dangerous lately," DeMarco said. "Huge quantities of crack cocaine are sold up there, underneath those stone arches of Metro North, just near the traffic light where your husband's… car was found."

"He wasn't on drugs," I exclaimed angrily. "Furthermore, he had our children with him. He wasn't doing anything wrong. He was simply driving home." My mouth began to tremble, and I covered it with my hand. I felt the tears sting the back of my eyes.

"We know he wasn't doing anything wrong, Mrs. Keswick," Detective Johnson said in a kindly voice, and I glanced at him in surprise. His partner had seemed to be the nicer of the two.

"Why were my husband and children shot?" I asked again, repeating the question I had been asking nonstop for two days.

DeMarco cleared his throat. "Your husband either stopped for the red light there, or he was forcibly stopped by one or more perpetrators. He was either getting out of the car, to see what was going on, or the door of the car was wrenched open. Then the shootings occurred, around four-thirty, five o'clock, according to the medical examiners. And we're not sure why he and the children were shot, Mrs. Keswick."

I stared at him. I could not speak.

Johnson said, "We think it might have been a carjacking gone wrong, in other words, an attempted carjacking."

"Carjacking?" I repeated. "What's that?"

"It's a crime that's occurring more and more frequently these days," Johnson explained. "It usually happens when a car is waiting at a red light or is parked in a rest area. The car is attacked, usually by several perpetrators. The occupants are made to get out, and the car is driven away. What might have happened, in your husband's case, is that the perpetrators were startled by something or someone, or taken by surprise, and so they fled without the car. It's possible they left the scene of the crime in panic or fear, or both, because one of them or more got trigger-happy. There might have been witnesses, and we're hoping someone will come forward."

DeMarco said, "We know from Mr. Nelson that your husband always wore a gold Rolex and carried a wallet. These items were missing, as we informed Mr. Nelson yesterday. But was there anything else in the car? Luggage?"

"Our shearling coats, Andrew's and mine. A few small items, clothing and a pair of riding boots, things like that, which he packed in a suitcase. Nothing very valuable, as far as I know," I said.

"Those things were not found in the car. It was empty," DeMarco reminded me, and continued, "The car will be released tomorrow, so you should have it back in another day. It was dusted for fingerprints on Sunday, and these have been sent to the FBI to be checked."

I did not respond. I did not want the car. I never wanted to see it again.

Johnson rose. "I'll be back in a minute," he said to DeMarco and went to the door. As he opened it and walked out, the din of the Twenty-fifth Precinct penetrated the quiet office.

Detective DeMarco said, "I've got to ask you a few other questions, Mrs. Keswick."

"Yes."

"Ruling out a possible carjacking, an attempted carjacking, that is, can you think of any reason why someone might want to shoot your husband? Why someone might wish to do him harm?"

I shook my head.

"Did he have any enemies?"

"No, of course he didn't," I said.

"Did he have any bad business dealings with anyone?"

"No."

DeMarco cleared his throat. "Any girlfriends, Mrs. Keswick?"

"What?"

"Could your husband have had a relationship with another woman? I realize that you might not have known about it, but was it a possibility?"

"No, it wasn't, Detective DeMarco. No, he didn't have any girlfriends. We were very happily married," I said in a cold little voice, and once again it was all I could do not to burst into tears. I resented the fact that I'd had to come to the precinct to be questioned rather than making a statement to them at home. But last night David had told me that I must go, that it was simply police procedure.

A moment or two later Detective DeMarco escorted me out into the corridor, where Sarah was sitting on a bench waiting for me. After I'd said good-bye to DeMarco, who told me he'd be in touch if there were any developments, Sarah took my arm and hurried me out of the precinct.

Once inside the car waiting for us outside, she told the driver to take us back to Park Avenue and Seventy-fourth Street, where my mother lived. I had been staying with her and David since Sunday night; my mother had not wanted me to be alone. In any case, her apartment, which David had moved into after their marriage, had been my home until I married Andrew. I had grown up there.

I leaned back against the car seat, feeling weak and drained. Since the shooting I had been trying to hold myself together as best I could, but most of the time I felt as though I was flying apart. I could not let that happen-not until after the funeral, anyway.

Sarah held my hand and glanced at me worriedly from time to time, but we were silent as the car sped down Park.

Finally, I looked at her and said, "The police think it might have been an attempted carjacking."

"What?" She stared at me in puzzlement. "What's that?"

"Apparently a carjacking is a relatively new crime that's been recurring constantly lately. The thieves attack a car that's either parked or at a red light, usually at gunpoint, and after they've made the occupants get out, they steal the car."

"Good God!" Sarah looked at me aghast.

"Johnson and DeMarco think Andrew's car was attacked in this manner, but that the thieves got scared off." I went on to repeat everything the two detectives had told me.

"Nobody's safe anymore," she said quietly, when I had finished, and I felt a shiver run through her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

My father was the first person I saw when I entered my mother's apartment with Sarah. He must have heard my key in the door, for he came out of the small library. Anxiousness and concern ringed his mouth, and his thin, patrician face was taut with strain.

Sarah said, "Hello, Uncle Edward," and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen before he could answer, discreetly leaving us alone.

"Mal!" my father exclaimed, hurrying across the entrance hall. But there was no joy in his voice at the sight of me, only anguish.

"Oh, Dad," I cried and ran to him. I threw myself into his arms and held on to him tightly. "Oh, Daddy, I can't bear it. I can't. I can't live without Andrew and Lissa and Jamie. I should have been with them. Then I would have been killed too, and we would be together." I broke down, sobbed against his chest.

He stroked my hair, trying to console me. But I was inconsolable. He held me for a few moments. At last he said, "When Diana reached me I couldn't believe it. It's not believable… that such a thing could happen to Andrew and the twins-" He stopped, unable to continue, his voice broken; tears shook him, and we stood there in the middle of the entrance hall, weeping and clinging to each other.

After a short while we both managed to gain control of ourselves, and we drew apart.

My father took out his handkerchief and wiped away my tears, tenderly, as he had when I was a child. Then he wiped his own eyes and blew his nose.

After helping me off with my black wool coat, which he hung in the closet, he put his arm around my shoulders and walked with me into the library.

Looking up at him, I said, "Where's Diana? I thought you traveled together from London."

"We did. She's in your mother's bedroom, freshening up. The minute she walked in and saw your mother, she began to cry. So did your mother, of course. It's difficult to comprehend that we don't have Andrew and our grandchildren anymore-" My father's strong, resonant voice faltered, and I saw the tears glistening at the back of his eyes.

Silently, we sat down next to each other on the sofa. My father said, "I wanted to comfort you, to help you, but I'm afraid I'm not doing a very good job of it, am I, darling?"

"How can you?" I replied in a strangled voice. "You're grieving too. We're all grieving, Dad, and we're not going to stop, not ever."

He nodded, took my hand and held it tightly in his. "When David picked us up at Kennedy this morning, he explained that you'd gone to the precinct to make a statement, that this was just normal procedure. But did they tell you anything? Pass on any new information?"

"No, they didn't, except that they thought the shooting was a carjacking."

My father looked as puzzled as Sarah had. I explained and repeated everything the detectives had told me.

He shook his head in wonder, his tanned, freckled face registering a mixture of pain and anger. "It's so horrific one can hardly bear to think of it, never mind comprehend it." A deep sigh escaped him, and he shook his head again.

"And all for a watch, a wallet, and possibly a car, until something, or someone, made them run." My voice wavered, and fresh tears surfaced. "And they may never be caught."

My father's voice was gentle and loving as he said, "I'm here for you, darling. I'll do whatever I can to help you bear this… this… this unbearable sorrow and pain."

"I don't want to live without them, Dad. I don't have anything to live for. Life without Andrew and the twins is no life for me. I want to die."

"Ssssh, darling," he said, gentling me. "Don't say that, and don't let your mother and Diana hear you. It will destroy them afresh if they hear you speaking in this way. Promise me you'll put such thoughts out of your head."

I remained silent. How could I make a promise I knew I couldn't keep?

When I did not answer him, my father said, "I know that you-"

"Mal!" Diana said from the doorway, and it sounded like a cry of pain.

I leapt up and went to her as she came toward me.

All of her emotions were on her face; I could see her raw grief, her immense suffering. I tried to be strong for her as I put my arms around her and embraced her.

"You're all I have left now, Mal," she said in a low, shaking voice, and the tears came and she wept in my arms, just as I had wept in my father's a few minutes ago.

He rose and came to us and led us both back to the sofa, where she and I sat down.

Daddy took a chair opposite us and said, after a few moments, "Shall I go and get you a cup of tea, Diana? And one for you, Mal?"

Diana said, "I don't know… I don't care, Edward."

I murmured, "Yes, why not. Go and get it, Dad, please."

"All right." He got up and strode across the carpet but paused in the doorway. "Your mother's in the kitchen, helping the maid make sandwiches. Not that I think anyone is going to eat them."

"I can't, and I'm sure Diana feels the same way."

Diana said nothing. She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and blew her nose several times. "I simply can't absorb it, Mal," she began, shaking her head. "I can't believe they're… gone. Andrew and Lissa and Jamie. My son, my grandchildren, cut down like that-so senselessly, so cruelly."

"They didn't suffer," I managed to say in a tight voice. I was so choked up it took a moment for me to continue. "I asked the medical examiners if they had, and one of them assured me they hadn't, that death had been instantaneous."

Diana bit her lip, and her eyes filled, and at that precise moment I realized how much Andrew had resembled his mother. I covered my mouth with my hand, pressing back the tears.

"I don't know what I'm going to do without him," I whispered. "I loved him so much. He was my life, the twins were my life."

Reaching out, Diana clasped my hand. "I know, I know. I want to see them. I want to see my son and my grandchildren. Can we go and see them, Mal?"

"Yes. They're at the funeral home. It's nearby."

"And the service is tomorrow, your mother said. In the morning. At Saint Bartholomew's."

"Yes."

Diana said nothing more. She simply sat there staring at me, stupefied. I knew she was in shock, as was I. As we all were, for that matter.

Swallowing a few times and trying to get a grip on myself, I said, "I need you to do something for me, Diana."

"Oh, Mal, anything, anything."

"Will you come to our apartment? I have to choose… choose… their… clothes… the clothes they'll wear… in their coffins," I managed to say brokenly, the horror of it all sweeping over me yet again, as it had constantly in the past forty-eight hours.

"Of course I'll come," Diana said in a choked voice that sounded suddenly exhausted and old.

Without warning and without another word, she jumped up and rushed out, and I knew she was barely managing to hold herself together.

I knew exactly how she felt.

I leaned back on the sofa, and my gaze turned inward as I sat and reflected about my life and how it had been destroyed beyond redemption.