One side of my brain was analyzing everything she had told me and looking for inconsistencies. The other side was chastising me for feeling anything but utter compassion for someone who had been through such a horrifying experience. I stood and walked around the end of the counter. Katharine rose from her stool and fell into my embrace. I said, “Oh my God, what a terrifying experience, Katharine. You poor thing.” I held her firmly in my arms, neither of us breaking the moment with a word.
Finally, Katharine looked up at me and asked, “Sure you wouldn’t like a drink? I think I could use a drink.” Her eyes were glistening as if about to overflow with tears. Tears were very uncharacteristic for Katharine.
I whispered, my voice was caught in my throat, “Sure. I’d love a drink.”
Pulling slowly from my embrace, Katharine said, “Let’s go into the living room. What would you like to drink?”
“Whatever you’re going to have will be fine.” I knew she wouldn’t be offering beer, and that was okay. Something stiffer seemed appropriate.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I followed Katharine down three steps into a sunken living room. On one side of the room, a flatscreen television was mounted above a fireplace. A seating arrangement of a couch, loveseat, and two wingback chairs was arranged in an arc facing the focal wall. In the far corner of the room stood an ornate antique bar with two matching stools. Katharine walked behind the bar and retrieved two glasses. Placing the glasses on the bar, she opened a cabinet on the wall and withdrew a bottle of Glenlivet XXV single malt scotch. I couldn’t precisely estimate the price point but knew it far exceeded anything we had stocked at Cap’s Place. Pouring two very healthy drinks, she pushed one glass toward me and held hers aloft. “Cheers.”
We clinked glasses and I replied, “Cheers, and thank God you’re safely back at home.”
We each took a sip of the whiskey. Not being a true aficionado of fine scotch, I couldn’t identify the myriad of flavors, but I could say without equivocation that it was damn good. Katharine gestured toward the loveseat and said, “Let’s sit over there. It’s much more comfortable than these bar stools.”
The furnishings were not matching but similar and well coordinated. My guess was that an interior decorator had been heavily involved with the inside of the house just as I was certain that a professional landscaping service built and maintained the beds outside. Katharine is very good at many things, but gardening is not one of her strong suits and her pride would not let her own a home that was anything but impeccably furnished and decorated. Even in our early days together, she was constantly lobbying to engage the services of a decorator for our apartment.
I settled into the plush seating of the loveseat and had a second sip of my scotch. Katharine set her drink on a nearby table and said, “Excuse me for just a minute, Jack. I’m going to go into the kitchen and get some snacks. I haven’t really eaten anything, and without something to nibble on, this scotch will knock me on my ass.” She chuckled at the end of her comment, but it seemed a little contrived.
I couldn’t help but notice her very attractive ass as it exited the room. Katharine was dressed in form-fitting electric pink wool slacks with flared legs that ended just above her trim ankles. She wore black patent leather flats and a white wrap top with a neckline that wasn’t plunging but was far from modest. My guess was that the casual outfit worn around the house today cost about the same as a good used car. Looking around the room, I couldn’t help but think that Katharine had done pretty well for herself since dumping me. Of course, I have done equally as well. Yeah, Jack, you keep telling yourself that.
Katharine’s absence gave me the opportunity to analyze the story she’d told me about her kidnapping. I started to identify points that I would like to focus on for clarity, but it also occurred to me that it would probably be better to spend my energy attempting to persuade her to make a police report. Let the professionals clarify her story. In my heart, I wanted to believe her and accept the inconsistencies that arose as explainable; it was that her description of events just didn’t seem to ring true. The Katharine I had known would have been outraged that someone had done the things to her that she said these guys did. The Katharine I knew would be demanding a full police investigation. Not considering. Not asking. Demanding! Her reaction just didn’t make sense. Nor did her miraculous recovery. Most women would kill to look like she does this afternoon under any circumstances. Looking like she does a few hours removed from a terrifying experience like Katharine had recounted just didn’t seem plausible. I started to take another sip of scotch but thought better of it and set the glass back down. I wanted to stay sharp.
Katharine returned carrying a wooden serving tray with a cheeseboard and an assortment of crackers on it. After setting the tray on the coffee table in front of us, she joined me on the loveseat. Taking a sip of her scotch, she said, “Now, Jack, tell me about your portion of this ordeal. You must have been nearly as terrified as I was? I heard them talking about how they were telling you in no uncertain terms that if you went to the authorities, they would kill me. I think they meant it, too.”
Settling back into the soft cushions I took a deep breath as if recalling difficult memories. What I was actually doing was stalling for time to organize my thoughts and decide how much I wanted to share with Katharine at this time. I didn’t want what I told Katharine to color the statements she might make in the future. I decided to call the question. “Before we get into that, let me ask you this: don’t you think that we should report this to the police so that they can take statements from both of us while our recollections are freshest?”
The faint smile Katharine wore faded completely, being replaced by a frown that wrinkled her forehead. That confirmed that she hadn’t yet resorted to botox to maintain that amazing face. She said, “I told you, Jack. Those guys threatened me. They said they’d kill me and anyone who happened to be around me at the time if I contacted the authorities. Maybe that doesn’t worry you, you’ll be back in Florida, but it worries me.” She paused, but before I could say anything, she added, “Besides, I don’t want to be the center of gossip for the whole Detroit area bar. I’ve been there and done that, and it’s not pretty.” Obviously, the gossip among the Detroit area lawyers about her fling with Judge Callaghan had left its sting.
I knew I was on a razor-thin edge with Katharine at this moment. Push too hard, and she would become entrenched in her position, and I would never budge her. Proceeding with caution, I said, “I certainly understand your fears, Katharine. The last thing I would want to do is place you in more danger.”
She shot back, “I told you when I called you that I didn’t want the authorities involved. I just want this behind me. You should respect that.”
“Of course I respect your desire to have it behind you.” I shifted into the type of argument I would have made with a reluctant witness when I was in the prosecutor’s office. “My concern is that if we don’t deal with these guys now, you won’t ever be able to truly put it behind you. You’ll always worry that they could reappear. They may come back to finish what they started. Why do you think they released you when they were so close to having the ransom they’d requested?”
“They seemed to think that maybe you were stalling in order to set a trap for them. Between your delay on getting the money and your renewed request for proof of life, they thought maybe you had gone to the cops.” A look came across her face that I couldn’t immediately read. “At least that’s what I pieced together listening to them talking when we were driving from the motel to the rest area where they released me.”
“You said these guys had been watching us because they knew I was at the lodge with you. Do you think they are from the Vanderbilt area, or do you think they followed you up there from down here?”
Katharine took a long sip of her scotch. “I guess I don’t have any idea, Jack. I can’t recall anything they said that would shed light on that question either way.”
“They
said they knew where you live, though?”
She paused, giving the appearance of deep thought. “They had my cell phone. Home is marked in my saved destinations in the mapping app. They could certainly have gotten my address that way.”
I interjected, “Or they could have followed you from here. On the other hand, saying they knew your home address may have just been a ruse to scare you.”
“Maybe. Even if it was just a ruse, it was effective.”
“The problem, Kat, is that we don’t know if they were bluffing or not.” I hoped that using the nickname I had called her in better times might help soften my words. “We need help to protect you. To make certain these guys don’t pose a threat to you in the future. You don’t want to live in fear, looking over your shoulder all of the time.”
“No, Jack. No cops. That’s final.” Her tone was firm and her words direct. Time to move on.
Holding my hands up in a surrender sign and recoiling, I said, “Okay, Katharine. I’m just trying to help. That’s all I’ve been trying to do since I got that first text. Just trying to protect you. Keep you safe.”
“I’m sorry, Jack. Of course you’re trying to help. I just don’t want the authorities involved. Not at this time, anyway.” Her tone was softer and somewhat conciliatory. My guess was that she felt that if she could placate me for another day, I’d go back to Florida and forget about the whole mess. Maybe that’s exactly what I should do.
Shifting tactics, I said, “You know, Kat, I was worried sick the whole time. I was moving heaven and earth to get the cash and would have had it in a few more hours. I didn’t involve the authorities because I was afraid it might somehow jeopardize your safety. That’s why I went it alone. It’s just that now I’m afraid that to continue to go it alone might be the wrong decision. Staying quiet, not involving the authorities, might well be putting you at more risk.”
Katharine had crossed her arms in front of her as I spoke. I knew her answer even before she opened her mouth. “No, Jack. We will not be involving the authorities. Not at this time. That’s final. Do I make myself clear? Do you understand?” She continued glaring at me.
Reluctantly, I replied, “I understand, Katharine. It’s . . .”
Interrupting me, she said, “No. That’s final. Maybe it’s better if you go now. We can talk tomorrow.” She started to rise from her seat.
Again exhibiting the hands raised in surrender sign, I quickly said, “Katharine, I’m sorry. I’ll certainly abide by your wishes. I just . . . I just care about you. It kills me to think of you in physical danger. I’m just trying to protect you. You’re right. Let’s table this discussion. Let’s talk about something more pleasant. Tell me about your home here.” Gesturing around the room, I added, “It’s beautiful. How long have you lived here?”
Settling back into her seat, Katharine took another long sip of her scotch. I remained quiet in hopes that the scotch would calm her. Finally, she said, “I bought this house about a year after you left. A couple of business deals I was working on came together, and I used my fees to make the down payment on this place. It’s been a work in progress ever since.”
“Well, you’ve done a beautiful job. It’s very warm and tasteful.” As if I’d know tasteful when I saw it.
Smiling faintly at the compliment, she said, “Thank you, Jack. I like it. Speaking of warm, it actually feels a bit chilly in here.” She picked up a remote from the table and turned on the gas fireplace. I thought that the chill she felt was probably the result of her feelings toward me but didn’t point that out.
I kept asking questions about the house and the neighborhood, and Katharine seemed to relax. We snacked on the cheese and crackers, and she refilled her scotch and topped mine off. I was intentionally drinking slowly. Katharine seemed to be taking the opposite approach. She was never much of a drinker, not in the years I knew her, but she was really putting it away today.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Katharine had refilled her glass a second time. After she slurred a couple of her words, I decided it was time to drop my little bombshell and see what the reaction would be. As a lead in, I said, “There is something else I need to tell you, Katharine.”
Her gaze toward me became a little more focused, although a bit watery. “Really, what’s that, Jack?”
“Remember how, while reviewing your dad’s files, I found references to Shifty?” In order to carefully focus on her reaction, I stopped there.
She gave what seemed to me like a weak performance of someone feigning deep concentration bringing on recognition. The alcohol had no doubt dulled her theatrical skills. “Ah, yes. I guess I remember you mentioning that name.” She took another sip of her drink, but I sensed it was as much to have an excuse to break eye contact with me as it was a desire for the scotch.
“Well, I have identified Shifty.”
She was still holding her drink, but her head snapped toward me. “Really. How did you identify him? When did you do that? After I left that morning? You hadn’t identified him when I last saw you.” The words were tumbling out of her in an uncharacteristic rush. Years of legal training and experience had taught her to measure her words carefully. The alcohol, and possibly stress, seemed to momentarily wipe all of that away. It was certainly noteworthy that she was initially focused on how and when I identified Shifty and not who I had identified. My read of that was that she had known all along who her dad had referred to as Shifty.
“Oh, I don’t think how and when is nearly as interesting as who.”
Katharine blinked several times, either attempting to better focus through her watery eyes or struggling to decide how to play my rapidly approaching revelation. I held my silence until she blurted out, “Well, who do you think it is?”
“There is no doubt about it, Katharine. Shifty is Robert Armstrong, the esteemed governor of this great state.”
The granite face, so often on display in a courtroom or boardroom negotiation, was betrayed by the twitch of her right eye. Again, I waited in silence. “Damn it, Jack, that’s not true. I don’t know how or where you came up with that theory, but it’s not true. I would caution you against saying that to anyone. False statements of that nature could have serious legal consequences.” Her growing state of inebriation had not eroded her nature to rely on bully tactics when cornered. She always said that the best defense is a good offense. Sitting back into the cushion of the loveseat, I picked up my scotch and swirled it in the glass before taking a measured sip. I was stalling to see if she would go further. My patience was rewarded as Katharine added, “Robert Armstrong is too popular and too important to the future of this country for some baseless rumor to be leveled at him.”
So, there it was. Katharine had drunk Robert Armstrong’s Kool-Aid. She was a blind follower, unwilling to even entertain anything negative about him regardless of the nature of it. Benjamin had been complicit in the ongoing positive image of the man, but in the end, he couldn’t take it to his grave. He had asked me to make amends. Now his daughter was sitting in front of me telling me I had to leave the secrets buried. Telling me that her father’s deathbed request was not as important as Robert Armstrong’s public image. Looking at her, I realized that I had never really known Katharine Whitt. Not the real Katharine Whitt. How can you believe you know someone so well, believe they are an extension of yourself, and be so wrong?
“Katharine, it’s not a baseless rumor. Your dad made detailed notes of his handling of each instance. We’re talking about a sexual predator here.”
Her face twisted in scorn. “Detailed notes. What notes? You can’t show me detailed notes.”
That was the answer to the question I hadn’t even asked. She knew about the break-in at the lodge. She knew I no longer had access to the notes. That they probably no longer existed. There was a nexus between her supposed abduction and the theft of the notes. Her abduction was merely a diversion to keep me away from the lodge long enough for someone to get there and remove the fifteen boxes of files.
I nodded slowly and regarded her intently. I wanted her to know, without speaking a word, that I understood exactly what had transpired. That everything that had gone on between us since she unexpectedly arrived at the lodge had been calculated for the singular motive of protecting Robert Armstrong. That her abduction had been a ruse. That everything I had done to protect her had just been another episode of her duping me. Her making a fool of me, again.
As I faced not only the realization that my suspicions had been true, but that her actions had been perpetrated in such a calculated fashion, my first inclination was to stand up and storm out. To run away, just as I had when I caught her with Judge Callaghan. Suddenly, I realized that I was no longer that guy. The thought to run away was merely a reflex. I was going to stay and fight this out. I was going to make her face what kind of person she had become, or maybe always was. I smirked as I pulled my phone from my pocket and held it up. “Actually, the notes do exist. I took pictures of them.”
Loyal Be Jack Page 20