by David Archer
“Prichard,” mused one of the ladies. “Oh my gosh, Sam Prichard from Denver? You’re the one who stopped the terrorists from nuking Lake Mead, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but I don’t talk about that one either,” Sam said. The reporters tried to ask more questions, but he brushed them off. They had to settle for passing him their own business cards and begging him to call when he was ready to give the press information.
That got most of them to back off so Harry and Kathleen could get out of the car, although their pictures were taken a few more times before they got inside the hotel. From the way the desk clerk avoided looking at them, it wasn’t hard to figure out who had tipped the press about their car, but Sam let it go. They hurried to the elevator and up to their rooms, then gathered in Harry’s room to eat quickly.
They were hungry, so the burgers and fries disappeared rapidly. As soon as they were done eating, Kathleen took out her phone and dialed her son first.
“Hello?” Harold answered.
“Harold, it’s mom,” she said unnecessarily. “I need your help.”
“My help? Are you hurt?”
“Oh, no, no, nothing like that,” she said. “The police have just released us, but Mr. Prichard, the private investigator, he’d like to talk to you and Beth. The police detective is so sure Harry did this that they’re not even bothering to look at anybody else or any other possibilities, so Mr. Prichard is doing everything he can to find the real killer. He’s hoping maybe one of you kids can give him some kind of insight into what might have led up to this.”
“Wait, what? I thought Prichard was working for Dad? Isn’t he the one that found out you were having an affair and told Dad about it?”
“Son, I’m afraid that’s only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the lies your father told you, and forced me to tell you today. I’ll explain it all when you get here, I promise, but we desperately need your help to prove Harry didn’t kill him.”
Harold was quiet for a few seconds. “Let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “You want me to try to help the man who the police think is the number one suspect in the murder of my dad?”
“No,” Kathleen said. “I want you to help Mr. Prichard.” She took a deep breath. “And when you come, there are a lot of other things I need to tell you, as well, things I need to say to you and your sister at the same time. Do you think you could round her up and bring her along?”
“Shouldn’t be too hard,” he said. “She’s sitting across the room from me now, crying her eyes out. Where are you? I’ll bring her along, the kids can stay with Janine for a bit.”
Kathleen gave him the name and address of the hotel, along with the number of Sam’s room, and he promised to bring Beth and be there within half an hour. Kathleen hung up the phone with a deep sigh.
“I’m about to turn their entire world upside down,” she said. “Do I really have the right to do that?”
“You’re not the one who’s doing it,” Sam said. “The truth is that Michael did it, years and years ago. It’s just that the repercussions haven’t managed to catch up with anyone until now.”
“Sam is right, Kathy,” Harry said. “None of this is your fault, you must remember that. You, the kids, me—we are all Michael’s victims. What we have suffered all these years, what these kids are going through now, all of that is his doing.”
She tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace of pain. “I know,” she said. “I know you’re right, but that doesn’t make it any easier at this moment. My God, Harry, Beth didn’t even really know you when it all happened, and Harold was only three; it didn’t take long before his memories of you merged with the new memories he was making with Michael. As far as these kids know, he was the only father they ever had, and it just never seemed like a good idea to tell them he wasn’t. I was always afraid it would confuse them, cause them trauma they couldn’t handle. It’s not going to be easy to get them to accept the truth, now.”
“They’ll accept it,” Harry said. “Beth already noticed the resemblance between me and her brother, and he said I seemed familiar. All that will make sense to them once you tell them the truth.”
Harry gave Kathleen the envelope with the letter and photos in it, and she and Sam went over to his room to wait. Sam busied himself with the little in-room coffee maker for a moment, and then they waited at the little table with the sounds of percolation in the background.
The coffee was ready just a minute before there was a knock on the door, and Sam opened it. Harold and his sister stood there, and Sam motioned for them to come on in. Since there were only two chairs at the table, Kathleen had moved to sit on the bed and she patted the surface beside her, inviting Beth to join her. The younger woman sat down beside her mother, and Harold sank into one of the chairs.
“I just made coffee,” Sam said. “Any takers?”
“I’ll have a cup,” Harold said. “Just black, nothing in it.”
“Nothing for me,” Beth said. The look in her eyes told him that she was in no mood to accept any kind of hospitality. She wasn’t there to answer questions as much as to get answers. Sam was sure he could understand. He poured a cup for himself and Harold and then sat down at the table.
“I do need to talk to you both about what’s happening right now,” he began, “but before we get into that, your mother has some things she needs to tell you.” He raised his eyebrows at Kathleen, and she let out a sigh as she lowered her eyes to the floor for a moment. When she raised them again, it was with a look of determination in her face that would have done credit to a soldier on the battlefield.
“What I’m about to tell the two of you,” she began, “is going to sound very far-fetched, but I swear to you that it’s the absolute truth. This is all going to come as a shock, and I wish—oh, how I wish I could make this easier for you, but I can’t.”
Harold cocked his head to the right and lowered his eyebrows as he looked at her. “Mom? Whatever it is, just spit it out.”
“Oh, God,” Beth mumbled under her breath. “Mom, don’t tell us you were involved in Dad’s death. Please, tell me that’s not what you’re about to say.”
“No, of course not,” Kathleen said. “Good Lord, I almost wish it was that simple.” She took a deep breath. “Harry, Beth, no matter what you think of what I’m about to tell you, I need you to just sit there and listen. Don’t interrupt me right now, don’t ask questions just yet, just listen. Can you do that?”
Both of them nodded, so Kathleen steeled herself to go on.
“Michael Reed was not your father,” she said slowly. “Harold, you were three and Beth, you were just two, when Michael came to me one day and said that your father, your real father, had been killed on a secret mission for the government and that the KGB—those were Russian bad guys, back in the days of the Soviet Union—he said the KGB was out to kill all of us, because that’s how they punished foreign agents. If they caught or killed an American agent, then they would send a death squad to wipe out his family, as well. In order to protect you kids, he said it was necessary for us to disappear that very day, and he had made arrangements to take us to Brazil and get whole new identities.”
“Wait a minute, just wait a damned minute,” Beth interrupted. “Are you going to tell us that old man you’re running off with is our father?”
“Of course he is,” Harold said. “Same name as me, and you noticed how much I look like him. I can even see his eyes and his chin on you, Sis. You even hinted at it this morning.”
“Yeah, but I was just being a smartass,” Beth said. “I thought Mom was gonna say she cheated on Dad back then, too, and that’s where you came from.” She turned it to look at her mother again. “But this…”
“Yes,” Kathleen said. “Harry Winslow is your father. He was also…No, he is also my husband, and the only man I ever truly loved. When I thought he was dead, when I thought he’d been killed and left us at the mercy of the KGB, when Michael was standing there yelling at me that the only thing I co
uld possibly do to protect you was to disappear with him at that moment, I—I panicked, I was overwhelmed. I didn’t know what to do, and there was no one else I could turn to. We packed up a few things and got into Michael’s car, and two hours later we were in the air on a diplomatic flight to Brazil. We started our new lives that day, with Michael there every single minute, watching over us, taking care of us, playing with you kids. He stayed with us for two weeks while I got settled in, then he had to leave for a few days. He was gone almost a week, and I’ll tell you in a minute what that was about.”
Tears began to run down her cheeks. “After a while, when the shock and pain and grief started to wear off, I buried myself in you kids. You were all that mattered to me, then, and I was so very grateful to Michael that he had kept us safe, that he was almost always there for us. When it hurt the worst, those first few weeks when I just couldn’t function very well, he even brought in a nanny to take care of you whenever he had to be away. All I saw was how wonderful he was being, so when I finally started to feel like I could survive and live through it all, it seemed natural for us to sort of gravitate into being a family. It wasn’t long before Michael and I were lovers, but I didn’t want to present that kind of example to you kids, so I suggested we get married.”
“I know you said to hold our questions,” Harold said, “but I have to ask one. If this is true, then where has old Harry been all this time? I mean, didn’t he even bother to come looking for us?”
Kathleen smiled sadly. “Michael was thorough,” she said. “I only found out the truth year before last, when Harry turned up in the news. I was in shock, I couldn’t believe he was still alive, and I asked Michael how it could be…That’s when he told me the truth. Not only did he convince me that Harry was dead, but that week he was gone, he also made Harry believe that we were. Our house had burned down a couple of days after he left, and the fire department found three bodies inside. A woman, a little boy and a baby girl. Michael said they were bodies he got from the morgue, and that the CIA had manipulated medical and dental records so they would be identified as us, so when Harry got back from his mission, Michael was there to attend our funerals with him. Of course, now we know that the CIA didn’t have any idea what Michael was doing, but that’s what he told me at the time. Still, for more than thirty years, Harry has thought we were dead.”
“Then how the hell is this happening?” Beth demanded. “Why has he suddenly shown up in our lives again, now?”
18
Kathleen reached under the pillow on the bed and withdrew the envelope Harry had given her. “For the first few years, I always had it in mind that someday I would tell you about Harry. I used to write him letters, and I’d put pictures of you kids in them and talk about what was going on in your lives, and I thought that maybe someday I’d give you all those letters and let you see just how much he meant to me. This is one of them, from when we were still in Brazil.” She swallowed hard, then went on. “When I found out Harry was alive, that’s when Michael showed me who he really was. He told me that if I contacted Harry in any way, he would kill Harry and then he would kill me. He even threatened you kids, and I can tell you that he was cold-blooded enough to hurt anyone if he thought it would benefit him.”
“Dad? Come on, Mom,” Beth said, “Dad wouldn’t ever really hurt anybody.”
Kathleen smiled, but scoffed. “Sweetheart, let me tell you how little you actually knew about him. Michael Reed wasn’t his real name; it was Michael Watkins. Just like Harry, he was an American secret agent; that’s how he was able to forge all the paperwork and pull off all the necessary magic to do all this. He’s been working for the CIA or some other agency since before you kids were even born, and one of his main jobs is to force people to go along with what our government wants, even if that means he has to kill them or someone close to them. Trust me, he was a killer. Before you kids came to the house this morning, he had a gun pointed at me, Harry and Mr. Prichard. He shoved it down into the chair he was sitting in just before you arrived, but he made sure we knew he could get it out in a hurry if he needed it. Yes, if he thought it was necessary, he could have killed any of us.”
She shook her head to get back on track. “Anyway, I started sneaking off on little trips to DC. I wasn’t going to contact Harry, but I just wanted to see him, I just wanted to see with my own eyes that he really was alive and well. Well, Michael found out, and somewhere along the line he decided that he wanted to bring all this to a head.” She waved at the envelope in her hand. “He took this out of the box I kept it in up in the attic and went to DC, broke into Harry’s apartment and left this for him to find.” She handed the envelope to Beth.
Beth opened it, and Harold rose and stood so that he could look over her shoulder. They read through the letter together, and then looked at the photos of themselves and their parents. Harold sat back down without a word, while Beth simply looked up at her mother with wide eyes.
“Anyway,” Kathleen went on, “when Harry found that, he went to Mr. Prichard. Mr. Prichard is a private investigator, like we told you, and he managed to track us down. They showed up at our door this morning, because Harry just wanted to know what had happened. Michael was supposed to be on his way to Japan, so I let them come in and sit down so we could talk, but then Michael showed up with a gun. At first, he said he was going to have to kill Harry and Mr. Prichard, and maybe even me; he said he’d kill all of us before he would give up everything he built with the yacht business. It was Mr. Prichard who talked him into the whole divorce idea, but once we assured him we’d keep our mouths shut—we weren’t even going to be allowed to tell you kids the truth—and with the threat that something would happen to you or Mr. Prichard’s family if we ever did talk, he finally agreed to let us go. That’s when he made me call you both to come over.”
Beth and Harold looked at each other for a moment, then Harold looked at Sam. “Not that I don’t believe my mother,” he said, “but I’m sure you can corroborate all of this? You’ve got evidence to back it all up?”
“I do,” Sam said.
Harold nodded. “All right, then,” he said, “but you don’t believe Mr. Winslow killed my—killed Mr. Reed?”
Sam sighed. “I’ve known Harry for a couple of years now,” he said, “and we’ve fought side-by-side on more than one occasion. He can be as cold-blooded as anyone in his line of work when he has to, but I’ve never met a more honorable man. I’m convinced of two things: first, all he wanted was to be able to see your mother and get to know you two, and second, and this is from what I know of him personally, if he had killed Michael he would have made absolutely certain that he had an airtight alibi. He certainly wouldn’t do it at the moment when he would be the only viable suspect.”
Harold shrugged. “Or maybe he’s counting on you believing that.”
Sam shook his head. “That wouldn’t make any sense. Just my opinion isn’t going to be enough to keep him from being arrested for this murder. And as it stands right now, unless I find evidence that can clear his name, I have no doubt he’s about to be arrested and charged.”
“Maybe I don’t understand how this sort of thing works,” Beth said suddenly, “but isn’t it that police detective’s job to figure out who did this?”
“It should be,” Sam said. “Unfortunately, Detective Lawton is more interested in solidifying his case against Harry than looking for any evidence that might clear him. Look, you guys, I’m not going to deny that Harry had motive. If somebody had done to me what Michael did to him, I’m not 100 percent certain I wouldn’t track the bastard down and kill him, but even I would be smart enough not to do it the very day everybody finds out I’m around. Harry and Michael both had what they wanted, without bloodshed. Now, I’ll admit it’s possible that the two of them might have eventually come to the point where one of them had to go, but it wasn’t going to be today.”
“Unless old Harry thought maybe he wouldn’t be a match for my dad, so he ambushed him,” Beth said,
her eyes glaring at Sam. “Maybe he was afraid Dad would come after him later, and decided to get rid of him now.”
“Once again, I’ll fall back on how illogical that is. Harry would be smart enough to know that if Michael turned up dead today, he’s the only suspect that the police are even going to look at. What I have to do is find out who else might have wanted Michael dead, and I’m hoping maybe you can help me with that.”
The two of them looked at one another, and then back at Sam. “Why in the world would we have any ideas?” Harold asked. “Look, Mr. Prichard, as far as I knew my dad sold boats. Now, if Mom says he was some kind of secret agent, then I guess I believe her, but you’ve got to remember that we never saw any sign of that side of him.”
“I’m sure you didn’t, and that isn’t what I’m asking. I want to know if you can think of any other situation that might have left someone angry at Michael, maybe angry enough to be violent.”
Harold looked at his sister. “Beth? What about Daniel?”
Beth rolled her eyes. “Daniel couldn’t be violent with anyone who might be able to fight back,” she said. “The one time he and Dad got into it, he just covered his face with his arms and started crying.”
“That may be,” Sam said, “but Michael was killed by a gunshot. Having a gun in your hand can make even the biggest coward feel brave and tough.”
“I can’t see Daniel ever even touching a gun,” Beth said. “He was always scared to death of them, even when his father tried to take him hunting when he was a kid. He wouldn’t even buy toy guns for our son, Reggie; he said playing with toy guns would lead to violence when he grew up.”
Harold looked at her for a moment, then turned back to Sam. “I can only think of one person who might’ve hated my—Michael,” he said. “About ten years ago, back when he first started dealing in yachts, he had a partner. Guy’s name was Alan Ellison, and he wanted to keep the business small, but Michael was getting chances to list and sell some of the big, multimillion=dollar boats. He didn’t want to pass up the chance at million-dollar commissions, so he found some way to force Alan to sell out to him. I was around a couple of times when they argued about it, and I remember Alan saying something about getting back at him someday.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I never really thought the guy was violent, but I guess you never know for sure about people, right?”