“The competition’s going to be fierce. New York’s a tough state.”
“It doesn’t matter. No one can stop you.” And Jennifer knew it was true. Adam was intelligent and courageous, willing to fight the battles he believed in. As he had once fought her battle.
Jennifer took his hand and said warmly, “I’m so proud of you, darling.”
“Easy, I haven’t been elected yet. You’ve heard about cups, lips and slips.”
“That has nothing to do with my being proud of you. I love you so much, Adam.”
“I love you, too.”
Adam thought about telling Jennifer of the discussion he had almost had with Stewart Needham, but he decided not to. It could wait until he had straightened things out.
“When will you start campaigning?”
“They want me to announce that I’m running right away. I’ll have unanimous party backing.”
“That’s wonderful!”
There was something that was not wonderful tugging at the back of Jennifer’s mind. It was something she did not want to put into words, but she knew that sooner or later she was going to have to face it. She wanted Adam to win, but the Senate race would be a sword of Damocles hanging over her head. If Adam won, Jennifer would lose him. He would be running on a reform ticket and there would be no margin in his life for any scandal. He was a married man and if it was learned he had a mistress, it would be political suicide.
That night, for the first time since she had fallen in love with Adam, Jennifer had insomnia. She was awake until dawn battling the demons of the night.
Cynthia said, “There’s a call waiting for you. It’s the Martian again.”
Jennifer looked at her blankly.
“You know, the one with the story about the insane asylum.”
Jennifer had put the man completely out of her mind. He obviously was someone in need of psychiatric help.
“Tell him to—” She sighed. “Never mind. I’ll tell him myself.”
She picked up the telephone. “Jennifer Parker.”
The familiar voice said, “Did you check the information I gave you?”
“I haven’t had a chance.” She remembered she had thrown away the notes she had made. “I’d like to help you. Will you give me your name?”
“I can’t,” he whispered. “They’ll come after me, too. You just check it out. Helen Cooper. Long Island.”
“I can recommend a doctor who—” The line went dead.
Jennifer sat there a moment, thinking, and then asked Ken Bailey to come into the office.
“What’s up, Chief?”
“Nothing—I think. I’ve had a couple of crank calls from someone who won’t leave his name. Would you please see if you can find out anything about a woman named Helen Cooper. She’s supposed to have had a large estate on Long Island.”
“Where is she now?”
“Either in some insane asylum or on Mars.”
Two hours later, Ken Bailey walked in and surprised Jennifer by saying, “Your Martian has landed. There’s a Helen Cooper committed at The Heathers Asylum in Westchester.”
“Are you sure?” Ken Bailey looked hurt. “I didn’t mean that,” Jennifer said. Ken was the best investigator she had ever known. He never said anything unless he was positive of it, and he never got his facts wrong.
“What’s our interest in the lady?” Ken asked.
“Someone thinks she’s been framed into the asylum. I’d like you to check out her background. I want to know about her family.”
The information was on Jennifer’s desk the following morning. Helen Cooper was a dowager who had been left a fortune of four million dollars by her late husband. Her daughter had married the superintendent of the building where they lived and, six months after the marriage, the bride and groom had gone to court to ask that the mother be declared incompetent, and that the estate be put under their control. They had found three psychiatrists who had testified to Helen Cooper’s incompetency and the court had committed her to the asylum.
Jennifer finished reading the report and looked up at Ken Bailey. “The whole thing sounds a little fishy, doesn’t it?”
“Fishy? You could wrap it up in a newspaper and serve it with chips. What are you going to do about it?”
It was a difficult question. Jennifer had no client. If Mrs. Cooper’s family had had her locked away, they certainly would not welcome Jennifer’s interference, and since the woman herself had been declared insane, she was not competent to hire Jennifer. It was an interesting problem. One thing Jennifer knew: Client or not, she was not going to stand by and see someone railroaded into an insane asylum. “I’m going to pay a visit to Mrs. Cooper,” Jennifer decided.
The Heathers Asylum was located in Westchester in a large, wooded area. The grounds were fenced in and the only access was through a guarded gate. Jennifer was not yet ready to let the family know what she was doing, so she had telephoned around until she had found an acquaintance with a connection to the sanatorium. He had made arrangements for her to pay a visit to Mrs. Cooper.
The head of the asylum, Mrs. Franklin, was a dour, hard-faced woman who reminded Jennifer of Mrs. Danvers in Rebecca.
“Strictly speaking,” Mrs. Franklin sniffed, “I should not be letting you talk to Mrs. Cooper. However, we’ll call this an unofficial visit. It won’t go in the records.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll have her brought in.”
Helen Cooper was a slim, attractive-looking woman in her late sixties. She had vivid blue eyes that blazed with intelligence, and she was as gracious as though she were receiving Jennifer in her own home.