Five O’Clock Shadow

by Susan Slater

  If this were the movies, she could have a dialogue with the deceased. Yell a few obscenities, stomp around, get her anger out. She missed that. She was beginning to wonder if “just plain pissed” was one of the longest stages that she’d have to work through. And was there a short cut? If one party was missing, did the dissolution of a relationship go faster or slower? Lots slower was her guess.

  “Will you be here for awhile? Should I leave the coffee pot on?” Noralee leaned in the door.

  Pauly looked up from her barricade of papers on the floor. Was it five already?

  “Yeah. I’ll empty it later after I dig into all this. I’m going to make up a little time for having had a long lunch.”

  “Would you mind switching off the copier when you go?”

  “No problem. Noralee, just out of curiosity, why do you think Randy kept tracing paper in his desk?”

  “Beats me. Something to do with the project probably, reproducing a part of a map. Don’t work too late.” And she was gone. Pauly could hear the staccato click of her heels on the tile, then nothing as the carpeted area around the reception desk muffled her steps.

  She got up to adjust the long green glass shade of the desk lamp so that its light was cast directly onto the floor and the stacks of papers in front of her. It was almost dark; going off daylight savings time did that—turned a nice sunny afternoon into dusk far too early. She wanted to go through five more boxes, at least five, before she quit. The more she did now the less she’d have to face in the morning.

  It wasn’t going as quickly as she’d hoped, but she had to be thorough, check every file, every folder. It would save her time later. And she was getting acquainted with the project. So when she came to the five by seven envelope addressed to a South Valley congressman, she set it aside. The correct postage had already been metered on. The machine-date on the envelope was the day before the wedding—Randy’s last full day in the office. It was odd that Randy hadn’t just left it in the mail room to go out with that day’s business correspondence. Why would he run it through the meter and then not mail it? Could he have been a little muddled by the excitement and rush of those last couple days before he got married? It would have been easy to forget something.

  And she could just drop the envelope in the mail now. But wasn’t that stupid? She had no idea whether the envelope contained finished or unfinished business. Whether a month later it was still pertinent. She carried the envelope to the desk and picked up a letter opener. She was the partner acting on Randy’s behalf, it wasn’t like she was snooping. It would be a simple matter to check the contents and make a new envelope, if necessary. The letter opener made a clean cut across the flap. She pulled out the contents and stared. Then she let the photos drop onto the desk and reminded herself to breathe.

  There were three photos. No note. No markings of any kind. She checked the envelope. The address label had been produced on a laser printer. Here at the office? There was no way of knowing. There was no return, nothing to link it to the corporation.

  But the photos. Her mind was refusing to acknowledge what was in front of her. Two children. Males about eight or ten. Dark skin, dark eyes. Lithe frames. Frontal view. Both nude. The second photo, same children, both engaged in…what would she call it? Not sexual acts exactly. But highly suggestive, provocative posturing…and an older man in the background lying on a chaise, his face obscured in the shadows of an oriental screen. But older? Yes. There was no mistaking the thin ankles, mound of a pot belly, slack skin across the hairless chest, his full nakedness blocked by his companions.

  Her hands shook. She gingerly aligned the pictures side by side and picked up the third photo, the photo of a dark, curly-haired child, nude, looking into the camera, coy, lips parted, tongue resting on small white bottom teeth. He was playing up to the photographer, giving the camera a come-on look, sultry far beyond his years. A worldly look. Certainly the sex of the apparition in the balloon was no longer in doubt because here he was, fondling his genitals and hugging his teddy bear. The teddy bear that now sat on her dresser at home.

  What was it Steve had asked her? “Had you ever seen Randy with this child before?” And she’d dismissed it. Couldn’t even think of a connection. Now this. It was pretty obvious that Randy had known this child. Maybe he’d known him in a little more complete sense of the word.

  No. She stopped herself from thinking that. She couldn’t have been so stupid, so blindly in love that she didn’t see the signs. Randy simply could not have been a pedophile. But weren’t there hints? His low-key sex drive, almost a lack of libido sometimes…not wanting children of his own unless he could adopt, not marrying until later….

  But why had he married at all? She’d teased him about saying he’d “had to get married.” Had she been the cover-up, something to divert attention from his real sexual preference? It was all here in front of her. What other signs had she missed—or ignored—in the name of love?

  For a moment she was paralyzed. Then in a frenzy, she pushed the pictures together in a pile with the envelope and stuffed everything into her purse. Only after she had let the black shoulder bag drop to the floor did she take a breath, trying to slow her heartbeat. Relax. Breathe in. Breathe out.

  She worked at keeping the questions, the whats and whys, from pushing to the forefront. Then finally gave up as they tumbled over one another for her attention. What if Randy was involved in child porn? Could he have been selling these pictures? What if he had a string of victims? The children in the other pictures, were they part of some porn ring?

  The money. The million sitting in the bank. Her knees buckled and she clutched the edge of the desk. Could it have come from this? This perversion? Was this man involved?

  The one who was supposed to receive this envelope, Congressman Sosimo Garcia, one of the state’s political leaders?

  Suddenly, a tiny, darting, pricking point of fear became insistent, pushing other thoughts aside. What were the consequences of her discovery? Would she be safe as long as people thought she didn’t know? She rubbed her temples. Couldn’t Randy have been killed because of this? Maybe because of what he was?

  She’d have to be careful. There was little doubt that her life depended upon that. This was the stuff that ruined careers. And she could quickly become expendable. Of that, she was certain. She switched off the desk lamp and grabbed her bag. She needed to leave…the office suddenly seemed to be closing in on her.

  “You’re still here. I thought we’d missed you. I didn’t see any lights.”

  Pauly wished she hadn’t cried out when Archer opened the door.

  “We didn’t mean to startle you. I expected to find an empty office.”

  The light from the secretary’s area pushed into the room and made the stacks of boxes and litter of papers cast elongated shadows up the walls. Didn’t Grams use this same principle of lighting objects from behind in her haunted houses? The effect made everything loom up and appear ominous.

  “Just leaving. I need a break. Wouldn’t want you to think I’ll work till six every day.” She hoped she sounded light and chatty. She moved from behind the desk and didn’t offer to turn a light on.

  “Well, glad we caught you. Pauly, this is Congressman Sosimo Garcia.”

  Her heart seemed to stop. A small Hispanic man stepped into the room and bowed slightly. A bow—how provincial—but it didn’t erase the feeling of panic. This was the man. The man who was supposed to receive pictures of nude boys. But more than that. This was the man in the photo, the man on the chaise. She’d swear to it. She smiled. Without thinking her hand moved to zip the top of her bag, her sweaty palm slipping across the leather. She had to protect the pictures, but for the moment she fought to keep the terror from making her nauseous. She set her purse behind her on the desk and stepped forward.

  “Congressman Garcia. How nice to meet you.” Was her hand moist? Shaking? Did her voice really sound tinny and forced?

  “My pleasure.” He was studying her. Wi
th small dark eyes that raked over her features. What did he expect to find? Somewhat boldly, she stared back. Intuition told her that this was a test of survival.

  Archer seemed flustered. Nervous. He walked to the switch on the wall and squinted as a shock of fluorescent light glared down from the ceiling.

  “Congressman Garcia was expecting a package. Results of a test on the community well south of Parjarito. Randy had promised that it would be in the mail. I don’t suppose you’ve found anything addressed to the congressman?”

  There it was. Out in the open. The congressman’s eyes didn’t waver, just continued to bore into her looking for one slip-up, one cause for suspicion. Pauly forced a laugh. “I apologize for the mess, but I’ve just gotten started looking through all this. It’s my first day back.” She paused to smile apologetically and prayed that she sounded sincere. “I haven’t come across an envelope so far. When I find it, should I drop it in the mail or call?”

  “Just leave it with me,” Archer said quickly. “Sosimo and I have lunch every once in awhile.”

  “I can see why Randall was so bewitched. His widow is a very beautiful woman.” Sosimo’s voice was soft, caressing. Just the tiny hint of a lilt to go with his very Spanish features, the probably dyed, too-black hair and matching pencil-thin mustache. “I regarded your husband very highly. Truly a man cut down in his prime. You have my promise that I will do everything in my power to see his murderer brought to justice.”

  A lie. A lie from unblinking eyes and mask of kindness. Pauly wanted to scream, lash out, but she simply swallowed, looked down and murmured her thank you. She feigned collecting herself before glancing up and added sweetly, “It’s important to me that justice is done.”

  “Have the police been helpful?” Suddenly all business, the congressman’s voice had a clipped no-nonsense edge. “If not, I have some modest amount of influence. I could help, have my office look into the matter.” He was watching her intently again.

  “Modest influence is an understatement,” Archer broke in good-naturedly. “I say this among friends, but Sosimo just about owns the cops around here.”

  Was that said for her benefit? If you’re tempted to go to the police, we’ll know. She was being paranoid; they couldn’t possibly know that she had the pictures; still, the thing about the cops in his pocket was probably true. She felt cold, very alone, and crossed a call to Tony off her list of what to do. Ramiriz, and Garcia. Even if the one didn’t own the other, there would be a sense of kinship linking them. And hadn’t she always heard that Sosimo Garcia was more powerful than the governor?

  “Perhaps my friend overestimates. But I am at your service.” And still those eyes. Waiting to detect her duplicity? Her fright? Could human beings smell fright like animals?

  “I appreciate your kindness. It’s been such a—” It wasn’t difficult to burst into tears. She turned back to her desk for a Kleenex. “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to come back so soon.” She wiped her eyes and blew her nose before pulling another tissue from the box.

  “Pauly, please.” Archer stepped forward, hugged her quickly. “We didn’t mean to upset you. First day and all.” He seemed to toss this last over his shoulder for the benefit of the Congressman. Emphasized first day, like a hint he believed that they were wasting their time, that she hadn’t found a package. Her breathing evened out, sounded normal to her, and she picked up her purse.

  “Could we walk you to your car?” Archer seemed just as eager to leave.

  One more tissue for good measure and Pauly followed them out of the office, feeling she had escaped. Not been found out for now, at least. But the enormity of her discovery…Randy and the children…Congressman Garcia…she felt numb.

  ***

  They wouldn’t follow her. She needed to believe that. They had no reason to. Sosimo had been solicitous, actually kind. He’d insisted that she use his first name. And Archer had offered to buy her a drink, but she had declined. Never had she wanted to get away from two people so much. She felt like the photos in her purse gave off a fluorescent glow, screaming to be discovered. Crazy…over-imaginative…but it probably attested to her state of mind. She needed a plan. Something that got her out of the loop, so to speak.

  Wouldn’t the safest thing be just to follow through? Put the photos in a like envelope, address it the same way sans metered postage, then pretend to find it sometime tomorrow? It was obvious that Sosimo wasn’t looking for the results of a water experiment. She could make a label on her laser printer at Grams’, buy a duplicate envelope, and everything would be back to normal.

  It was the next part of the plan that made her palms sweat. If she was so all-fired committed to finding Randy’s murderer, to finding out why he was murdered, then she needed copies. Good, clear, unmistakable duplications of the very horror she wished she’d never discovered. She didn’t know whether she could face it if Randy had been involved in something like child porn, but she had to treat this as evidence, a part of her investigation. And keep reminding herself that a person was innocent until proven guilty.

  The pictures might give her leverage, though at the moment threatening someone like Sosimo Garcia seemed pretty farfetched. Holding the pictures until he told her the truth about Randy? She almost laughed. There was naiveté…and then there was stupidity. A car honked. Had she really turned in front of him? She had to be careful. But as the neon arches over Central Boulevard came into view, she knew exactly where she was going and why.

  The twenty-four-hour copying shop across from the University of New Mexico had parking in back. She pulled into a spot directly behind the rear entrance. Then sat a moment to collect herself before reaching into her purse. She needed to put the pictures back into the envelope. She glanced at each picture again. They didn’t look any less pornographic than they had half an hour ago. And she felt just as sick, as disgusted as she had then. But tomorrow morning the original envelope and a set of copies would be in her safe deposit box at the bank.

  She saw the gloved hand come towards the driver’s side window and screamed. Then collected herself as the man jumped back, making motions for her to roll down the window. She cracked it a tentative two inches.

  “Hey, sorry to scare you, but this is a delivery zone. I’m expecting a load of paper from the other store tonight.” The man was young, earnest. “Could you park a couple spaces down?”

  She nodded. Smiled her apology and started the car. If this was what it was like to be a fugitive, she didn’t think her nerves could take it. She had to get over every shadow seeming sinister. After all, she chided herself, wasn’t she the kid who had been practically raised in a haunted house?

  But hadn’t she squeezed her eyes shut every time Grams made her go through it? Some new skeleton that dropped from the ceiling, a wax figure that pulled a gun, goblins that suddenly screeched in her ear; she’d missed it all, only pretended for Grams’ sake that the new addition had been particularly devastating. Suddenly she was making up for the sham of her childhood.

  She nosed the car into an empty space, put the envelope in her purse, and didn’t look behind her until she’d made it to the back entrance. Then she took a deep breath and pushed through the double glass doors. The large main room was glaringly bright. Along the north wall two young men were bent over a counter talking earnestly, their heads almost touching until one straightened to ring up a sale before continuing their conversation. The place wasn’t busy, but Pauly checked out each patron, mostly students. No one seemed interested in her.

  There was a row of self-help copiers along the back wall.

  Pauly hesitated. They seemed so unprotected. But probably no one else needed a machine in a back-room booth. She told herself to act naturally and started in that direction.

  “Can I help you?” one of the young men from behind the counter called out.

  “No. Thanks.”

  She hurried to the copier on the far end. It was more or less isolated, but she glanced around just in case
. Then she placed her purse on its side, eased one of the photos out, opened the machine’s cover just far enough to slide the picture over the glass and align it between the arrows before she dropped a quarter into the coin slot, pressed start, and collected her change. The whir and back and forth flash of light was reassuring. One down. Her hand was steadier. Another coin, whir and flash—two copies of the same photo. Why? Pauly didn’t really know, but the second copy might come in handy. A safeguard. Her hands trembled.

  What she was doing was wrong. And it wasn’t just having the pictures in her possession, there was some law about copying obscene materials. Hadn’t some woman gotten fired for sitting on the machine’s glass plate and copying her bare behind? What Pauly was doing not only fit into that category but was really far worse. There probably wasn’t a single way to explain the pictures that didn’t carry a prison sentence. She copied the other two, two reproductions each, willing the machine to go faster and grabbing the paper as it plopped into the basket.

  They weren’t perfect. But black and white photos transferred to black and white Xerox fairly well. Maybe the genitalia detail was a little fuzzy, but anyone looking at them would certainly get the idea. She bought two manila envelopes before she left and sealed each as she sat in the parking lot before starting the car. The one with the copies and the original envelope went into the glove compartment.

  ***

  She got in at ten the next morning, having called ahead with an excuse about some business that needed her attention. She had been vague and Noralee hadn’t asked. There were no messages, no one who seemed to need her; no need to rush. Pauly just went to her bank and opened her safe deposit box and dropped in the envelope—nonchalantly left evidence that could rock the state’s political system. Prove that her husband…but she tried not to think about that.