by Jack Adler
"Perhaps, but you acted without our consent, and the outcome could have been fatal for you. Now, it seems, our Los Angeles office is under a cloud of suspicion."
Unfortunately, some media had portrayed Stacy's one-night stand as something sinister and conspiratorial. I had come across with more credibility, but the photo of me in the papers lying prone with a comatose look on my face was unflattering. With a flat, puzzled expression, I looked like a cross between a zombie and someone caught in a time warp. I wondered if Wolcott had seen this photo, but I wasn’t about to ask.
"Derry, we'll discuss this further when you get back. I understand the Baxters are having a press conference later."
"Yes. I'll be there."
"Call me immediately afterwards."
The string I was on had gotten even shorter.
Holly sat with a sealed expression behind the long wooden table next to the lectern at the hotel conference room. Her face was pale, drawn and solemn, as if she were about to be sentenced by a judge. Her father, just as grave, sat to her right. Chief of Police Dexter Calpin and his deputy, Hal Johnson, were also at the table and just as somber. If it weren’t for the television cameras and the glaring hot lights, it could have been mistaken for a wake.
But then Chief Calpin began speaking to the packed room of journalists. Conspicuously absent from the head table was Mayor James Waldon and a representative of Tramerica, which presumably would have been me. Instead, Val and I stood against the back wall. Standing at nodding distance, Conrad leaned nonchalantly against the wall. I had already thanked him again for saving my life. He just nodded and looked with mild lust at Val's figure. I couldn't blame him. She looked terrific in a black power outfit, which showed her alluring figure in tasteful fashion. There was a distinguished-looking, middle-aged man in an expensive suit looking on, and I figured he was Baxter’s lawyer or one of his legal team. I know he had hired a Los Angeles firm that specialized in criminal cases.
"We said we would apprehend the HAP, and we did," Calpin said. " Detective John Ruiz’s death has been a great loss for the department."
There was a brief moment of respectful silence, and then Calpin went on. "We're still looking for a third accomplice, a man known as Luke, and he will be caught, too. We have an excellent description of him now. Meanwhile, federal authorities are still investigating the HAP to see how much of a national network there is or if there is any foreign involvement. There’s still a lot we don’t know for sure.”
If Val hadn't called Ruiz and gotten a hold of him, I wondered if this press conference would be taking place. And would she and I have made love? These were literally questions of life and love, with me by far the lesser value.
I, as a representative of Tramerica, was slated to meet with the Baxters right after the press conference. I had decided without asking Wolcott to have Val with me. I felt very bad about Ruiz. Diligence in his pursuit and surveillance of me had cost him his life, and if he hadn't accompanied me, I'd be dead instead of him.
"We also want to acknowledge two other gentlemen who played a role, private detective Frank Conrad and Derry Greene from Tramerica. Thank you, gentlemen."
I nodded. Conrad raised a hand in humble gratitude. I hadn't expected any such recognition. I felt then like publicly thanking Val, but she had gotten her end of the bargain. Her long and well-documented article, bought by the Associated Press and duly sent out on its wire, was running in virtually every major newspaper in the country and probably quite a few abroad. The saga of Holly Baxter was big news. Television news shows had referred to her story in their coverage, and I wouldn’t be surprised by an eventual flow of invitations for personal appearances. No doubt screenwriters, the real ones, were already working on their treatments of the story, and publishers were angling for story rights.
Calpin went on with more background on how they had traced Prescott. Then he said, "And we're delighted that Miss Baxter has been found alive and well."
Holly, it turned out, still wasn't off the hook, but it looked like she would be exonerated of killing anyone, including Fern Borkmeister, alias Rona Feswick. Besides her new legal representation, her father had retained a prominent psychiatrist to examine and counsel Holly. Post-traumatic stress disorder was already being bruited about as her main defense. The district attorney's office was still evaluating the case. But everything Holly said about her captivity made sense, and her descriptions of the deceased HAPs, Burkmeister and Prescott, matched mine.
"We're ready for your questions," Calpin said.
The first reporter recognized asked Holly, "What was your first reaction on being free?"
Holly’s expression took on life. She seemed thin and frail, but there was a hardness to her eyes. I wondered if it had been there before her ordeal. Her father looked at her with concern on his lined face.
"I wanted to get even."
Before Deputy Police Chief Johnson could leave the room, Val and I stopped him.
“There’s one other thing that’s been bothering us,” I said as Val nodded in agreement.
“What?” Johnson asked as if he didn’t have much time to listen to us.
“Someone tipped off the HAP about who was at the meeting where the reward was discussed,” Val said. “The one Shuster talked about.”
“And it wasn’t Corinne,” I insisted.
By process of elimination, it had to be Professor Cabral, we deduced. Two of the five committee members were dead. It seemed doubtful that Margo Wexler would compromise her political standing or career, and we both doubted the other academics. Still, it was hard to imagine Professor Cabral as a member of this terrorist group. But then who would have thought Ashley Wells to be a member, too? Vaguely, we both suspected there had to be some true believer slant to go with the mercenaries. We didn’t know much about Corinne; there was little information on her employment application, and probably only a minimal check had been made of her background and former employers. Val and I both wondered now if there was something to this group and their financial backer, a link still to be determined, that especially appealed to those with some academic background? Or was this some sort of perverted research by Professor Cabral that had gone badly awry? Perhaps research for a follow-up to his first book?
“Who do you think, then?” Johnson asked.
We seemed to have his full attention now, and I hesitated a moment before answering. “We think Professor Cabral is involved somehow.” I knew my voice sounded too tentative, but I couldn’t help myself. We had no proof, just our joint misgivings.
Val was quick to support this contention. “It had to be him.”
Johnson searched our faces, and then his own expression tautened as if he were confronted by an unanticipated wrinkle in a case that had been considered solved, at least locally. “Do you guys have any proof?”
Proof! Much needed, and much missing. Val and I stared at each other as if one of us would suddenly come up with a clutch piece of incontrovertible evidence. She was the first to react.
“No. Just logic.”
Johnson shook his head. “You know we need more than that.”
Val and I nodded. We wanted to plant a seed in his mind, and it seemed we had when Johnson said, “OK, we’ll keep an eye on Cabral. And I’ll let the feds know.” Johnson turned to leave but then added, “Thanks again for your help.”
I wondered if they would conduct as much surveillance on him as they had on me. But Val and I had achieved our limited objective, and Val would be around to check up on any developments on this very loose vein.
"Mr. Greene, I want to thank you for everything," Holly said with sincerity breaking through the stiffness in her sad eyes like the sun piercing a cloud cover.
We were in her father's suite at the hotel, and Val was sitting by my side on a long silver couch. Some light peeked through the open curtains and the semi-closed window blinds. Champagne and hors d’oeuvres sat on a table. Holly was going to regain weight quickly, though she hadn’t yet nibbled o
n anything.
"Valerie was invaluable," I said, more than willing to admit I might have failed if it hadn’t been for her.
"Well, thanks to both of you," Baxter said. "I've also expressed my appreciation to Tramerica," he added, giving me a meaningful look. I wondered what he really thought of me and Stacy, presuming he had read about her odd and embarrassing involvement. I suddenly remembered the movie Sleeping With the Enemy. It was time for a remake.
“I’ve created a scholarship in Tramerica’s name at Skidmore, Holly’s alma mater, for a student to study the travel industry.”
I recalled his mini-tirade back in New York and decided he wasn’t being sarcastic. I was glad there was no mention of money or a bonus, which I didn’t want and couldn’t accept even if I wanted it. Tramerica prohibited its employees from accepting bonuses or any emoluments, though the company itself could decide to give employees a bonus. But that wasn't what I wanted, expected or deserved. The two things I most wanted I had already gotten, though not quite in the manner I desired: Holly's safe release and Val’s freedom to feel and act upon the attraction we had toward one another.
"I'm just glad your ordeal is over," I said to Holly.
"It must have been awful," Val said, giving her a sympathetic look.
Holly was silent. I wondered if she was always this withdrawn or if she was still recovering from her harrowing experience.
"My lawyers assured me that Holly will be completely exonerated," Baxter said, sipping his champagne. To Val, he added, "And as I said, feel free to call me for additional quotes. You have my personal line."
"Thank you, Mr. Baxter," Val said. I was sure she would be able to generate a good follow-up piece. In fact, a running story might work out to be a book deal. We hadn't discussed that possibility. Making love consumed us with such an overcoming passion, as if we had to celebrate my survival without any other thought to our relationship. I still had to go back to New York. Baxter seemed to hone in on my thoughts as he said, "Now we have to deal with the horde of literary agents and book publishers, always eager to make a buck out of other people's misfortunes."
From an oligarch like him, the words sounded a bit hollow. If Holly weren't likely to inherit a good deal of money, she might be quite interested in describing her "misfortunes."
“I want to tell my story,” Holly said, resolve and tenacity emerging like an eruption from her sealed face. “I want the full story told, just as it happened.”
Her father looked unhappy at this assertion but said nothing. He was showing a kind of deference to her condition, one that would probably be short-lived, given his propensity to be in control.
Val, however, wasn't timid in asking, "Holly, may I ask, if you do write about your horrible experiences, what will you call your book?” She managed to ignore Baxter’s displeased look, risking losing him as a valuable source.
Holly thought a moment, and then her features hardened; with a harsh patina to her dark eyes, she said, "Victim!"
She stared with purpose at Val and me, as if she were trying to understand our true relationship. I wondered how obvious Val and I were.
"I need a ghostwriter," Holly said to Val without a smile or any sign of emotion.
"Interested?"
“Very much so,” Val was quick to say, her eyes alight with ambition.
“Derry, I want you to coauthor this book with me. Will you?” Val asked while we had coffee downstairs at the hotel’s café afterwards.
“Of course, but I’ll have to get permission from Tramerica first.” I wasn’t sure how I would broach this topic with Wolcott; it certainly had to wait until I was back in New York. It might seem like I was one of the locusts, albeit one with an insider position trying to cash in on the saga. I’d have to present the idea in the best possible light, which meant I would add some spin to make Tramerica look good. This sort of treatment might not go over well with Val. She was the journalist these days, and I was still the semi-public relations person.
“Will that be a problem?”
“I don’t think so.” My response wasn’t strong enough, so I added, “I won’t let it be.”
She took my resolve with a questioning glance, but then my reward was a crinkly smile that still didn’t mar her pretty features.
"Wolcott, the press conference went well,” I told him from a phone in the hotel lobby. Val had gone back to her apartment, where we were meeting later.
“Good.”
“The press is sure to pick up on the scholarship. Baxter made a gracious mention about our helping the police rescue Holly, though it didn’t exactly happen that way.”
“Don’t criticize the police, Derry. It’s over. As far as the scholarship goes, DeCosta decided after some hesitation to accept it, though as you know, he prefers to make his own endowments.”
If I had DeCosta’s money, I might feel the same way.
"Look, Derry, I was bit harsh on you before. You did a good job, and we're all proud of you. DeCosta is very pleased. We’re both looking forward to reading your full report."
"Glad to hear it." I was greatly relieved. I almost blurted out the book idea, but I managed to hold back. It wasn’t a propitious moment, regardless of Wolcott’s somewhat unexpected praise. Suddenly I remembered Stacy. Poor hormone-ravaged Stacy. “What’s happening with Stacy?”
“As soon as the police allow it, she’s going to take a couple of weeks of vacation. Hawaii, I believe. Then she’s going to be reassigned.”
Someplace with lots of eligible men, I hoped. But all I said was, “Good. She felt very bad over everything.”
"Presumably, she learned her lesson. She’s on full salary, and she won’t suffer any loss of title.”
“Good.”
“Now, tell me again, Derry, who is Valerie Hudson? What is your relationship with her? I'm reading her stories, which are quite good and generally favorable to us—and to you."
"They're accurate, aren't they?" Val had just recounted my belief in Holly’s innocence, challenging the police’s theory, and included a solitary quote from me in her major article.
"As far as I know," Wolcott said as if the jury were still out on this score. "Well, we'll discuss it further when you get back."
I still didn't know how I would handle the book project with Wolcott when I got back to New York, but now I was at least more in his good graces than I had realized, and I had some time to ponder my approach. Being straightforward, I thought, would probably be the best tactic. Now if Val asked, I could report that Tramerica was pleased with both of us.
****
Val nuzzled my hair with her hand as we lay in her bed. "I never thought a book would bring us together," Val mused.
"Or handcuffs" I said, kissing her ear.
She smiled with a touching sadness. "I was really afraid for you. But there are no handcuffs between us now."
I kissed her as a response. "I'm where I want to be now and onward."
"Derry, be realistic; you know I'm attracted to you. We can write the book three thousand miles apart. But without the book, how often would you fly out here? How often would I go to New York? Don't kid yourself."
As usual, Val had a point. With our agreement on who would write the first draft and the use of e-mail and attachments, there might not be much of a reason to visit each other. Now we had more of a reason. A great reason!
We held a long kiss.
"Would you have come back to see me?" Val pursued as our kiss ended. She was a determined lady!
I'm not a liar, I insisted to myself. I was very attracted to Val, more, I thought, than to any woman in my life, but distance could be a problem.
"As often as I could have," I said, feeling this was a safe if weasel-like response.
"Liar!" she said, and she poured herself on top of me. "And I wouldn't, either. We deserve each other."
Fourteen
FRIDAY
Other than discovering that we both had more feelings for each other than we had been willing t
o admit, Val and I both continued to have the same troubling curiosity about how to handle out unanswered questions in our budding opus. Who told the HAP about the committee, leading to the deaths of Shuster and Haley? Who told them about Val and me? That wasn’t all due to Corinne’s treachery. Somehow we couldn’t bring ourselves to believe the police would make much headway with Professor Cabral even if they looked into his activities. But this didn’t mean we should ignore our hunch.
Meanwhile, Val had a tight deadline on a still breaking major news story, and I had a major report of my own to turn in to Wolcott and a little more time at my disposal. We both planned to prepare a rough outline for our future literary effort and then merge the two. I didn’t anticipate any problem with Tramerica over the book, but I’d cross that bridge when I got to it. We also had a glorious weekend before us, as I wasn’t going to fly back to New York until the last flight I could get on Sunday night. Wolcott had graciously given me the weekend in Los Angeles to recover. If only he knew about the method of my recovery! I figured he probably had his suspicions by this time.
Independently, Val and I were following the same trail of reason. I might have had a public relations function at this point in my life, but I still thought like a journalist, not that journalists were infallible. They were far from it. But I wasn’t trying to wring favorable publicity from the situation for Tramerica; I wanted to co-write an honest book. And if Val didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t be semi-clothed in her apartment.
“I’m still wondering about the leak, and if it’s worth a chapter or even a mention,” I said, biting into my bagel. Val was spoiling me, and I loved it. She sat at her computer in her peignoir while I worked at her kitchen table in my shorts. There was no formality here. Had we become domesticated that quickly?
“So am I, but why don’t we go see the man? We have a perfect pretext, with your going away.”