by Sandra Brown
“Pleeeeeze,” Howie begged with a sustained sob. “For God’s sake, Barrie.”
“Sorry. It really is out of my control.” She pushed away from the counter. On her way out, she paused to press his shoulder in a final farewell.
Bondurant stretched his arm across the table and pressed the bore of the pistol against the center of Howie’s forehead.
“I did hear something but I don’t know if it’s true or not.” The words rolled out so fast, they tumbled over one another like circus acrobats.
Barrie stopped, turned. She was frowning skeptically. “You’d tell us anything now. You’d make something up just to keep Gray from shooting you.”
“No, no, I swear. I swear, Mr. Bondurant.” He drew an invisible X over his heart.
“What have you heard?”
“There’s a rumor that Mrs. Merritt has been checked into a hospital for substance abuse.”
“Old story,” Barrie said. “There was speculation on that before.”
“This time it’s serious,” Howie said nervously. Bondurant was still scowling.
“What hospital?”
“I don’t know. No one knows. And it could be just gossip.”
Bondurant looked across at Barrie. Barrie shook her head. Bondurant shrugged and bumped Howie’s forehead with the pistol again.
“D… Dr. Allan takes a helicopter from the White House lawn every day,” he rushed on. “He’s usually back in an hour, hour and a half. But nobody knows where he’s going or even if these quick trips have anything to do with the First Lady. And there’s talk that he has trouble at home.”
“The Allans’ marriage is solid,” Bondurant said. “I’ve been around them. They’re crazy about each other.”
“He and the missus aren’t getting along. That’s the gossip. So maybe he’s flying off to visit some skirt, who knows?”
Howie turned his head, looking hopefully at Barrie, then at Bondurant. “I swear to God that’s it. That’s all I’ve heard. Jenkins said he’d shove the Washington Monument up my ass if I even talked to you. So, if you do anything with this info, you can’t let him know I told you. Promise, Barrie, okay?”
“What do you think?” Bondurant asked her. “Is he lying?”
“I’m not!” Howie cried.
“I’m not sure,” she said, gnawing the inside of her cheek. “He could be, just to save himself. On the other hand, he knows that if he’s feeding us bullshit, you’ll only come back for him.”
“I’m not. You won’t,” Howie said hastily.
Bondurant fixed a blue-hot gaze on him. Howie’s entire life flashed before his eyes at least three times before Bondurant uncocked the hammer and withdrew the pistol. “Tell you what, Howie. I won’t kill you tonight if you give us a reason to come back tomorrow.”
“What for?”
“The name of the hospital. That’s not asking too much, is it? The name of a hospital in exchange for a nice take-out Chinese meal like you’ve got yourself there, and a chance to eat it.”
“I don’t… How am I gonna find out the name of the—”
“That’s your problem. But I bet you come through.”
“Don’t count on it,” Barrie said. “He’ll agree to anything to save his sorry butt. Then he’ll probably double-cross us.”
“No I won’t!” Howie squealed. “Swear to God I won’t, Mr. Bondurant.”
“Do what you want, Gray,” Barrie said. “But I don’t trust him. He’s a maggot.”
“Thanks for reminding me.” Bondurant’s voice sent chills up Howie’s clammy spine. “She tells me that you used to give her a hard time at work, Howie.”
“That’s not true.”
“He’s not only a sexist sleazoid, he’s a lying sexist sleazoid,” she said.
The dangerous blue eyes narrowed another fraction of an inch.
Howie squirmed in his seat. “Okay, maybe… maybe I did joke with her some, but I never meant anything by it.”
“You look like the kind of guy who would make lewd comments to a woman because you can’t get her attention any other way.”
“That’s exactly what he did,” Barrie said.
“That’s right, I did.” Howie’s enthusiastic nod of agreement made his head wobble on his neck. “Whatever Barrie says, I’m guilty as charged.”
“Did you make snide comments about her sex drive, her love life, her figure, her sex in general?”
“Sometimes.”
“You stared at her legs, ogled her breasts, said and did things that diminish a woman’s dignity.”
“Yeah, I did that. Sure did. I’m sorry as hell about it too.”
“Really?” Gray said dryly.
“Really. Yes, sir. If I don’t regret it, may I be struck blind for lying.”
Bondurant thoughtfully tapped the barrel of the pistol against the back of the chair. “If I ever hear of you insulting or mistreating her again, I’m going to be pissed, Howie. You’ll pray to be struck blind rather than have me after you.”
“I… I understand.”
“What about tomorrow?”
“I’ll try to find out what you want.”
“I hope you come through for us.”
Relaxing, Howie smiled. “ ’Cause you’d hate to kill me, right?”
“No. Because I’d hate to waste a perfectly good bullet making mush of your brain.”
Abruptly Bondurant rose, stuffing the pistol back into his waistband. He then disappeared into the bedroom. Without a word, Barrie followed.
“Where are you going?” Howie called after them. “Hey! What time tomorrow? Where?”
He was answered only by a malevolent silence. When he finally worked up enough courage to leave the kitchen and venture into his bedroom, it was empty. His guests seemed to have vaporized. If not for the wet stain on the front of his trousers, he might have imagined the whole terrifying episode.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“I felt sorry for him.”
“Don’t. When you compared him to a maggot, you insulted maggots everywhere.”
They had left Howie’s apartment via the fire escape and bedroom window through which they’d entered, and were on their way back to Daily’s house. Barrie was staring pensively through the windshield of the car that Gray had stolen without a qualm. “You’re a scary guy, Bondurant. You really frightened him.”
“Fear’s a good motivator.”
“I wonder if it’s the most effective one, though.”
“We’ll know tomorrow night.”
“He was trying to be helpful.” She fished the note Howie had given her from her pocket. “Good ol’ Charlene,” she said with a light laugh. “Apparently she hasn’t learned that I’m no longer employed at WVUE. I never actually spoke to her, but she was a faithful caller.” On impulse, Barrie asked Gray to pull over to the curb and park in front of a pharmacy.
He did as she asked and got out of the car with her. “Drugstore’s closed,” he remarked.
“I don’t need the drugstore. I want to use the pay phone.”
He glanced around. “Not a great neighborhood to be loitering on a street corner.”
“I feel reasonably safe, what with the security lights inside the store and you with that portable cannon inside your pants.” He gave her an arch look. “You flatter yourself, Bondurant. Got any change?”
The number Howie had written was in an area code unfamiliar to her. To avoid phone records, she didn’t use her calling card, but fed coins into the slots. After much pinging and panging, the call went through. It rang several times. She was about to hang up when someone finally answered.
“Yo!”
“Excuse me?” She raised her hand, indicating to Gray that her call had been answered.
“Who gave y’ all this numbah?”
“Uh, Charlene Walters,” Barrie replied. “May I speak with her please?”
The only response to her request was a phlegmy laugh punctuated by nasal snorts.
“Is Ms. Walters the
re?”
“Yeah, she’s here. But this phone is off limits after lockdown.”
“Lockdown?” Barrie looked up at Gray, who registered the same surprise as she. “Exactly where are you?” she asked.
“Central Corrections. Pearl, Miss’ippi.”
“Is Ms. Walters an inmate there?”
“She is that—for a helluva long time too. How come y’all’re calling her?”
“Who am I speaking with, please?”
The man identified himself as a guard who just happened to be passing by the pay phone when it rang. She asked if it was possible for her to speak with the warden. “This time o’ night? You a lawyer or what?”
She finessed her way around a direct answer and conveyed to him how vitally important it was for her to speak with a prison official, stressing that the matter could not wait until morning. “Okay,” the guard grumbled. “Gimme the numbah where you’re at. If he sees fit, he can call you back.”
Barrie would rather have had the warden’s number, but she settled on giving the guard the number of the pay phone. When she hung up, Gray asked how an inmate in a Mississippi prison would know about her.
“The SIDS series was fed to a satellite. It could have been aired on any TV station in the country. Apparently a station that goes into the prison ran it. Prisoners frequently get fixated on celebrities. Although I know it’s a stretch to think of me as a celebrity.”
“Why is it ‘vitally important’ that you speak to her tonight?”
“It isn’t,” she admitted. “Most of her messages consisted of calling me an idiot. I’m just curious to know why she thought so.” Gray’s eyes were narrowed in concentration. “What?” she asked.
“I was just thinking. Both David and Vanessa are from Mississippi.”
“You’re right, they are,” Barrie said, grabbing the telephone receiver on the first ring. “Hello, this is Barrie Travis.”
“Deputy Warden Foote Graham.”
“Thank you very much for calling me back, Warden.”
“No problem, ma’am. How can I he’p you?”
She identified herself as a broadcast journalist in Washington, D.C., and told him about the repeated calls from Charlene Walters.
“She pesterin’ y’all?”
“No, it’s not that. I just wondered why Ms. Walters would be calling me.”
“There’s no tellin’ what Crazy Charlene might do.”
Barrie looked up at Gray, who was intently gauging her facial expressions. She frowned, shook her head, and rolled her eyes. “Crazy Charlene?” she repeated for his benefit.
“Yes, ma’am. Seventy-seven years old, but Charlene’s still full of piss ’n’ vinegar.”
“Seventy-seven? Good Lord, how long has she been in prison?”
“She’s a lifer. No parole. Been here since I came, and that’s going on eighteen years. I think she’s outlasted everybody. Nobody remembers when ol’ Charlene wasn’t here. She’s sort of like a… what do you call it? A mascot. She’s a leader. Well liked by the other inmates. And quite a character, too. She’ll give you her opinion on any subject whether you ask for it or not.”
“Then it comes as no surprise to you that she saw my story on TV and decided to call.”
“Doesn’t surprise me a’tall. What was the story about?”
“Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.”
“Hmm. I thought you might’ve touched on a subject dearer to her heart. She’s pretty outspoken about corruption in the government, police brutality, legalizing dope, issues like that.”
“What was her crime?”
“She and her husband held up a liquor store. For less than fifty bucks, he shot a sixteen-year-old clerk and three customers in the head. The state executed him a while back. Because Charlene didn’t actually pull the trigger, and she swore her old man made her go along or else, she wasn’t given the death penalty.”
“None of that relates to SIDS, does it?”
“Not that I can figger.”
“Well, thank you very much for your time. I apologize again for calling you at this hour, Mr. Foote.”
“Graham, Foote Graham. No problem. Glad to’ve been of service.”
Barrie was about to say goodbye when Gray nudged her, triggering her memory. “Oh, Warden Graham, one last question. I don’t suppose Charlene has any ties, no matter how remote, to Senator Armbruster or President Merritt?”
“The President? Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
Her heart seemed to stop. Everything in the universe shrank small enough to be concentrated into the grimy telephone receiver she was gripping with fingers that had turned as white as chalk.
“What’d he say?” Gray asked, inching closer.
She motioned for him to be quiet. The warden was saying, “It’s entirely possible that Charlene has some connection to both our senator and President Merritt.”
“How so?” Barrie asked huskily.
“Any number of ways. You see, Charlene gets around.”
“I thought you said she was a lifer.”
“That’s true. But if you’re to believe Charlene, she led a colorful life before her incarceration. For starters, she was Robert Redford’s college sweetheart. That came on the heels of her fling with Richard Nixon. Somewhere in there she had Elvis’s love child, and engaged in one of those French threesomes with Marilyn Monroe and Joe DiMaggio while they were married. Charlene takes credit for inspiring him to invent the Mr. Coffee.”
Barrie slumped against the wall of the phone booth. “I get the picture. She’s a loony tune.”
“As loony as they come,” he said, filling her ear with laughter that was much more melodious than the guard’s. After a moment, he said, “I’m sorry to be laughing at your expense, Miz Travis. Was this real important to you?”
“Yes.”
“Awful sorry, ma’am. Guess you’ve wasted your time.”
“Not altogether,” she said with chagrin. “I’ve never met anyone named Foote before.”
Once she and Gray were in the car again, she ripped the slip of paper bearing Charlene’s name and number into tiny pieces and let them flutter from her hand to the floor. “Responding to a crank caller,” she said with self-derision. “That ought to be some indication of how desperate I am. I’d hate for Howie or Jenkins to know that I’d sunk that low.”
“It could’ve turned out different.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she said crossly. “It was a stupid impulse, and I’m ashamed I acted on it. Problem is, I’m fresh out of ideas. If Howie doesn’t produce, what then?”
“What about your sources?”
“You haven’t heard my pager beeping, have you?”
“Checked the batteries?”
She scowled at him. “The pager isn’t malfunctioning, Bondurant, I am. As far as journalism goes, I’m washed up in Washington.”
“You still have a way with words.”
The more he tried to boost her spirits, the more recalcitrant she became. “Nobody, not even the most secret unidentified source, wants to be associated with me. I couldn’t get a job cleaning toilets in any news facility in this city, maybe in the country.”
Leaning her head back, she sighed. “I meant about ninety percent of what I said tonight before we set out. I do wish I had my life back. I miss Cronkite. I miss my house. It was no palace, but it was my home. I miss my work, the deadlines, the rush I get when I’m on the scene of an event, the gratification I feel when I put together a good piece. God forbid, I think I even miss Howie, because it was almost good to see him tonight.”
Gray looked at her askance. “You must be suffering a severe case of self-pity.”
“Aren’t you, just a little? Don’t you miss your ranch and your horses, your precious solitude? Don’t you sometimes wish I’d never come calling?”
“But you did come calling. So what difference would wishes make now? For the past year I’ve been retired, but I knew I’d see action of some sort again
. Subconsciously I was waiting to see what form it would take. The catalyst turned out to be Robert Rushton Merritt’s death. Who could have predicted that? Nobody. Ultimately, we can never know what’s going to happen to us next.” He raised one shoulder in an indifferent shrug. “I take things as they come and try not to look back.”
“God, don’t you ever crack? Don’t you ever let one human emotion pierce that damn armor of yours? Can’t you ever just let go and feel?”
When her voice cracked, she shut up so he wouldn’t know that she was on the verge of tears. Yes, she felt like a fool for tracking down a crank caller. Yes, she was frustrated because they hadn’t penetrated the wall of secrecy surrounding Vanessa. For all they knew, she might already be dead. Barrie was more convinced than ever that making himself a widower was Merritt’s ultimate goal. Each day that Barrie failed to expose him, he moved closer to succeeding.
Yes, she was worried about Daily, because he looked and sounded increasingly bad. He put up a good front, but she knew he was declining. His specialist had said there was nothing more to be done. The disease had progressed to a stage where even the most aggressive and innovative treatments wouldn’t benefit him and would only diminish the quality of the life he had left.
Yes, yes, yes. All those concerns were troubling her tonight. But the number-one, champion tear maker was the man beside her. Gray Bondurant remained an enigma. They’d been intimate, but she didn’t know him. Despite all the time they’d spent together, he was as much a stranger as he’d been that first morning, maybe even more of one.
That’s why she felt like crying. She’d caressed his body, but she hadn’t touched him.
Throwing down her caution, she said, “How can you not care about anything or anyone? What made you such an unfeeling bastard?”
A full minute of hostile silence passed before he said, “My folks died on the same day. Zap. They were gone. I was a kid. It hurt. But I got over it and came to rely on my grandparents. Then, one by one, they died. My sister and I were close, but her husband didn’t take to me. He and her kids came first with her, so she more or less shut me out of their lives.
“I formed strong friendships with two men I trusted. I could read their thoughts before they thought them, and vice versa. We were as close as three heterosexual men can be. Then they betrayed me and have tried twice to kill me.” He shrugged. “I guess I don’t see any advantage to forming relationships.”