She stopped as Alice returned to the room with a tray of Bloody Marys. The maid served one to Ingrid, the other to her husband, and left.
“What was it you could tell me?” Ben asked.
“Never mind,” Ingrid said. “I don’t intend to talk about Clay any further. Not about him, or about what he thinks of me and my abilities. Except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s only one score that counts. And that’s the final one.”
Ben was about to ask more questions, but she made it clear the interview was over. He got to his feet and thanked them for their time. Kramer escorted him to the front entrance.
The blond man opened the door. “Have a nice trip back to New York, Lieutenant. And think about what I told you. You could save yourself a great deal of trouble.”
38
Peggy Demarest sat close to her sister, taking Jan’s hand in her own and squeezing it gently. She spoke in low tones, making an effort to sound relaxed and unhurried. If Jan could understand what was being said to her, the last thing she’d want to hear, Peggy sensed, was anything that sounded like pressure.
“Hi, Jan. I just wanted you to know I’m here for you. I didn’t come to ask questions or to make you think I expect a response. If you don’t feel like acknowledging, no problem. Don’t think I’ll be disappointed if you don’t. I’m only here because it’s nice to be with you, and I thought you’d like some company.”
“I have plenty of time today, too. That’s because it’s Wednesday and we closed at noon. In the summer, we close the whole day so Dr. Friedman can play golf, but that stops at the end of October. It wouldn’t matter today, anyway; it’s raining.”
“That nice young guy I told you about? The one who studied dentistry at Tufts and maybe was going to join us? Well, he did. Monday was his first day. He’s really cute, and I think he likes me. Not married, and he’s already hinted around that he’d like me to help him get acquainted with the area. Be great if it turned into something, wouldn’t it? Especially now that things aren’t going too well with Don and me. He’s kind of PO’d because I wouldn’t agree to moving in together. Or I should say, agree to him moving in with me. I got the feeling it was more a question of him getting a good deal than really caring about me. Anyhow, we’ll see where it goes with the new recruit.”
“Dr. Chenoweth has told me about working with you, and I can imagine that’s been hard for you. He said they were giving you all those tests. Just between us, I don’t blame you if you don’t want to go along when they’re poking at you. You mustn’t feel you have to, either.”
“Do you remember when we were kids and the principal, Mr. Floyd, sent a note home saying you were acting up in class and that if you didn’t improve you could get suspended? Mom got all upset, and when Dad came home, she showed him the note and he yelled at you. And you know what you said? You said Mr. Floyd could kiss your ass. You remember that? I never saw anybody so surprised as the old man when you came out with that. At first, he got red in the face and I thought he was going to brain you, but then he started laughing, and pretty soon we all were, until I thought we’d fall on the floor. Those were great days, weren’t they? When Dad still had his job and wasn’t drinking? At least not so much as he did later.”
“So that’s what you should say to the doctor. Just say, ‘Dr. Chenoweth, kiss my ass.’”
There was the tiniest tug at her hand, but Peggy was aware of it. Yet when she looked at her sister’s face, she saw no change in expression. The pale features were immobile, her eyes dull and vacant. Even the jagged scar on her cheek seemed not as bright as it usually did, as if all of her was even more subdued than usual, further away.
Peggy continued speaking in the same warm, intimate tone. “You thought that was funny, didn’t you? That’s why you squeezed back; I felt it. So I know you hear what I’m saying and you understand. And that’s plenty for me. Eventually, you’ll come out of this—whatever it is—and talk to me. But as far as I’m concerned, you ought to take your own sweet time. Whenever you feel like it, then that’ll be soon enough.”
“I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I have my own doubts sometimes about all these theories of the doctor’s. A lot of them sound like bullshit, frankly. I mean, like your reaction when somebody mentions the Cunninghams.”
There was no mistaking it this time. There was another tug at Peggy’s hand, and Jan didn’t relax the pressure; she kept on squeezing.
“Oh God,” Peggy said, “I didn’t mean to upset you, honest I didn’t. I just wanted to reassure you. Let you know I’m always on your side.”
A thought suddenly occurred to her. “Or are you telling me you agree with me? Are you, Jan? That you think a lot of it’s bullshit, too?”
Jan’s eyes moved. Ever so slightly, they turned toward Peggy. They weren’t dull and lifeless now, but focused.
Peggy felt a deep thrill.
She’s looking at me. She sees me.
“Jan, that’s right, isn’t it? When I told you the senator was dead and you cried, it was because the news made you sad, wasn’t it? Because the Cunninghams have been so good to you, so helpful. I don’t really know what’s troubling you, unless maybe it’s remembering what happened when you were hurt. Whatever it is, try not to think about it. Just shut it out of your mind. You’re safe now and this place will take very good care of you. There’s nothing to worry about and you can stay as long as you like to get well again. Okay?”
Jan’s lips trembled and parted slightly. A dry, scratchy sound issued from her mouth.
Peggy was suddenly so excited, she could hardly breathe. She brought her face closer, until she was only inches from her sister. “Jan, what are you trying to say? I know you’re trying to tell me something. If you want to say it, please try again.”
What was the expression now in the deep brown eyes? Peggy wasn’t sure, but instinct told her what to say next. “You can tell me, Jan; it’s okay. Whatever it is you want to tell me, go ahead and say it if you can. I promise to help you. I promise.”
The dry sound came out again and the grip on her hand tightened, her sister’s nails digging into Peggy’s flesh.
Peggy brought her ear close to Jan’s mouth.
Jan’s lips moved. “Afraid.”
“Afraid? You’re afraid? Of what, Jan? Tell me.”
“Afraid … he’ll hurt me.”
Peggy’s head snapped around. She stared at her sister. “Who, Jan? Who’ll hurt you? Who is it you’re afraid of?”
It was like watching a small flame flicker and then die. Jan’s eyes lost focus, lost all sign of recognition. The dullness returned and she stared blankly. The pressure on Peggy’s hand eased and then relaxed altogether.
To her surprise, Peggy suddenly realized her body was damp with sweat. She still didn’t know what Jan’s fears were, or even whether they were imaginary, as she suspected. The important thing was that Jan had spoken to her, actually talked for the first time since she’d been here at the hospital.
She could hardly wait to tell Dr. Chenoweth.
39
It was early evening and the crowd at Max’s Deli had thinned out. Tolliver and Mulloy both ordered coffee and hot pastrami on rye, taking their food to a small corner table. Ben couldn’t help but think of the difference between this meal and what he’d had for lunch. Or even better, the dinner he’d had the night before at Christ Cella. The company then had been more to his liking, too; he wished he could see Shelley again.
Mulloy lifted the top slice of rye from his sandwich and slathered mustard onto the meat. “How’d you make out with the family—and the woman at the foundation, what’s her name?”
“Ardis Merritt. She slammed the door in my face. But the others opened up a little. Not a lot, but enough to let me know they hate each other.”
“Lovely. You get anything worthwhile?”
“Hard to tell. I spoke to the widow after I saw Merritt. She seemed bitter—and not only becaus
e of all the rumors about the way her husband died.”
“She’s bitter? Jesus, I should have it so bad. Now he’s dead and she’s got all that money.”
“Not yet she hasn’t. I got the impression the rest of them are trying to screw her out of it.”
“Must be something they’re born with.”
“I did get one surprise, though.”
“What was that?”
“Clay Cunningham took me to lunch. And then he offered me a job.”
Mulloy had his sandwich halfway to his mouth. “No shit?”
“Said I could be the number-two man in their security operation. When the top guy died of old age, I’d get to be number one.”
“Holy Christ. He talk money?”
“Hundred-fifty grand a year, plus a bonus and a car, some other extras.”
Mulloy grinned. “So long, Ben. It’s been nice knowing you. I hope you’ll remember us poor folks.”
“Bullshit.”
“Hey, listen. You don’t want it, could you give him my resume? Tell him I’d even come down a little. You know, forget the Ferrari. A Porsche would be okay.”
Ben bit into his sandwich. He spoke around a mouthful. “Hard to figure, isn’t it? What the hell would make him want me out that bad? Be different if I knew for sure what had killed his old man.”
Mulloy chewed pastrami, his face growing serious. “Yeah, that’s weird.”
“All I’ve really done is spin wheels. I’m suspicious, but so what? He must know it’s like the thing you’re on. No hard evidence.”
“Uh-huh.”
“How about you? Did you find any kind of a pattern in those trades?”
“I think I might have, but I need to do more work on it. I can’t be sure yet. Some of the same names keep popping up.”
“What about the institutionals?”
“Oh, yeah. They were in almost all the deals. But there’s no way we’re gonna pin anything on them. With a lot of those accounts, Cunningham’s got discretionary agreements. You try charging conspiracy, their lawyers would laugh at you.”
“I suppose. What’s Shackley got you doing?”
“Same old crap, tabbing a bunch of last year’s figures. Just make-work, if you ask me.”
“Looks that way, doesn’t it?”
Mulloy chewed on for a moment. “You know, I can’t understand why Shackley didn’t ask the questions you did. Why he never tried to find out where the money went.”
“Neither can I. Unless …”
“I know what you’re about to say. Wouldn’t be the first time, right? You saw that yourself.”
“I sure did. And there’s a hell of a lot of dough involved.”
“With Shackley it might not be money. Or money alone. I told you he’s got political ambitions. That could be the biggest payoff of all.”
“Yeah, it could at that.” Tolliver was hungrier than he’d realized. The pastrami didn’t measure up to one of Cella’s steaks, but it was hot and greasy and delicious, the juices of the meat mingling with the pungent flavor of the rye bread.
“Something like that’d also be a lot harder to trace,” Mulloy said.
“I still might be able to get a line on it.”
“How?”
Ben smiled. “Friends in high places. If I make out, I’ll let you know.”
“Great. What about the other one—the sister?”
“I went up to Connecticut, to her farm. There’s deep animosity between her and her brother, but I think you can put that down to jealousy. And also behind-the-scenes battles over who gets what from the old man’s estate.”
“She clam up, too, about how the senator died?”
“Partly. But she did say she thought the old boy and Silk were getting it on.”
“Hey—an honest woman? Amazing. What else she tell you?”
“Not much. Except more slamming doors—from her husband first and then from her. I’m starting to get nosebleeds.”
Mulloy chuckled and swallowed the last of his sandwich.
Ben drained his cup. “You finished? I want to get back.”
“Yeah, I’m set.”
Tolliver reached for the check, but Mulloy beat him to it. “Allow me, Lieutenant.”
When they returned to the investigators’ offices, Ben got out his notes and messed around with them for a time, trying to work out a plausible scenario and not succeeding, mostly because he was finding it hard to concentrate.
He knew what the trouble was. Picking up the phone, he called her number at WPIC TV.
She answered on the first ring. “Shelley Drake.”
Just hearing her voice gave him a lift. It was crisp and businesslike, but he could detect a warmth, as well. And he could picture her face, framed by the honey blond hair.
“Hi,” he said. “It’s me.”
The tone grew warmer. “Hi, I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Good. I thought I’d bring something to your attention.”
“What is it?”
“A partnership requires cooperation. How about we get together and cooperate?”
“That sounds marvelous. I have to do an update at eleven, but after that?”
“I can’t wait.”
“You’ll have to. Come to my place tonight, okay?”
“Sure.”
She gave him the address and he hung up, feeling jubilant.
40
Hi, Shel,” Jeremy Sloane said. “How’s it going?”
Shelley looked up from her word processor as the editor drew over a chair and sat down beside her desk. She was putting together a piece on a shooting in Brownsville and didn’t have much time to get it ready for the upcoming newscast. A young mother had been out pushing her baby in a stroller when neighborhood crack dealers started a gun battle. A stray bullet had struck her in the head and killed her. It was a good story; one of the dealers was the baby’s father.
“Okay,” Shelley said. “But I’m in a hurry.”
The producer affected Armani suits and longish hair, a current vogue. He peered at her. “This won’t take long. Just wanted to know how you were doing with the senator and his girlfriend.”
Sloane could be a nuisance sometimes. She sat back and folded her arms. “Doing fine.”
“Fine? What’s fine? What have you got?”
“No further developments at the moment. But I hope to have something soon.”
He drummed his fingers on her desk. “Isn’t this cop giving you anything? What’s his name—Tolliver?”
“He’s agreed to trade information with me, yes. But that’s very sensitive. I told you, I can’t use anything unless he gives me the word.”
“Yeah, I know. But let’s be realistic, Shel. We could be missing an opportunity here. You got started on this before anybody else did, and I encouraged you.”
“You mean you grudgingly let me work on it after I convinced you it could be terrific. That what you mean, Jerry?”
“Whatever. The problem now is, the story’s already old news and we never got anything special out of it. We were just part of the pack, right?”
“So what are you saying?”
“What I’m saying is, I don’t want it just to be forgotten about. I want to keep the thing alive.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I suggest you do a piece on it. Spice it up with something that sounds like a new angle. You know, there’s a rumor that the writer was pregnant by the senator, whatever.”
“That’s already been done. ABC did it, in a man-in-the-street.”
“Something else, then. Maybe on what she was writing.”
“I don’t know what she was writing. Not for sure, anyway.”
“What happened to her material, by the way?”
“I don’t know that, either.”
“The cop know?”
“The police weren’t able to locate either a manuscript or her notes.”
“Hey, that’s an angle right there. You know—what were the secre
t contents of the article that insiders say would have shocked the nation, and where is the manuscript now?”
“Um. Maybe.”
“Look, Shel. I want you to do something on the case, okay? I almost don’t care what it is, just so long as it sounds hot and mysterious. The cop must have told you things, didn’t he?”
“A few things, yes.”
“Such as?”
“I’d have to go through my notes.”
“Go through them, then. Find something you can use and show it to me.”
“But I’d still need to clear anything with him first. We have an agreement.”
His voice took on a edge. “You also have a job, right? Anyhow, it’s not up to some fucking detective to decide what we can and cannot use. Freedom of the press, Shel, and the airways. First Amendment. The people have a right to know, and we have a duty to tell them. So put something together, okay? And then get it to me. I want to be on the air with it by tomorrow, or the next day at the latest. Before the story dies of old age.”
He got up from the chair and walked back across the newsroom toward his office, shaking his head.
Shelley watched him go. Someday, she promised herself, I am going to slug him right in the teeth.
She went back to writing the piece on the young mother, lying dead with a bullet in her head, her baby crying in the stroller. There wasn’t much to work with; all Shelley had on videotape was a shot of bloodstains on the sidewalk.
She was also tired; trying to make a lot out of a little was a grind. But at least she’d be seeing Ben later on. And that was something to look forward to.
41
The apartment was on East Seventy-ninth Street, on the fifteenth floor of a yellow brick high rise between Second and Third avenues. Ben got there just after midnight. When she let him in, she was wearing a terry-cloth robe and her hair was wrapped in a towel. She rebolted the door before slipping her arms around his neck and giving him a warm, wet kiss. It was the best thing that had happened to him all day.
“Just got out of the shower,” she said. “There’s a bottle of bourbon in the kitchen. You can make us a drink while I put something on.”
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