All That Remains - Cornwell Patricia - Страница 58
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"Were you aware he was writing the story?"
"Of course not. I didn't know a damn thing about it until I opened the Sunday paper! He'd let himself into my apartment when he knew I wouldn't be there. He was going through my computer, anything he could find. Then he followed up by calling people, getting quotes and information, which was pretty easy, since he knew exactly where to look and what he was looking for."
"Easy because you had been relieved of your police beat. When you thought the Post had backed off from the story, what your editors had really backed away from was you."
Abby nodded angrily. "The story was passed into what they viewed as more reliable hands. Clifford Ring's hands," she said.
I realized why Clifford Ring had made no effort to contact me. He would know that Abby and I were friends. Had he asked me for details about the cases, I might have said something to Abby, and he had wanted to keep Abby in the dark about what he was doing for as long as possible. So Ring had avoided me, gone around me.
"I'm sure he…" Abby cleared her throat and reached for her drink. Her hand shook. "He can be very convincing. He'll probably win a prize. For the series."
"I'm sorry, Abby."
"It's nobody's fault but my own. I was stupid."
"We take risks when we allow ourselves to love - "
"I'll never take a risk like that again," she cut me off. "It was always a problem with him, one problem after another. I was always the one making concessions, giving him a second chance, then a third and a fourth."
"Did the people you work with know about you and Cliff?
"We were careful." She got evasive.
"Why?"
"The newsroom is a very incestuous, gossipy place."
"Certainly your colleagues must have seen the two of you together."
"We were very careful," she repeated.
"People must have sensed something between you. Tension, if nothing else."
"Competition. Guarding my turf. That's what he would say if asked."
And jealousy, I thought. Abby never had been good at hiding her emotions. I could imagine her jealous rages. I could imagine those observing her in the newsroom misconstruing, assuming she was ambitious and jealous of Clifford Ring, when that was not the case. She was jealous of his other commitments.
"He's married, isn't he, Abby?"
She could not stop the tears this time.
I got up to refresh our drinks. She would tell me he was unhappy with his wife, contemplating divorce, and Abby had believed he would leave it all for her. The story was as threadbare and predictable as something in Ann Landers. I had heard it a hundred times before. Abby had been used.
I set her drink on the table and gently squeezed her shoulder before I moved back to my chair.
She told me what I expected to hear, and I just looked at her sadly.
"I don't deserve your sympathy," she cried.
"You've been hurt much more than I have."
"Everybody has been hurt. You. Pat Harvey. The parents, friends of these kids. If the cases hadn't happened, I'd still be working cops. At least I'd be all right professionally. No one person should have the power to cause such destruction."
I realized she was no longer thinking about Clifford Ring. She was thinking of the killer.
"You're right. No one should have the power. And no one will if we don't allow it."
"Deborah and Fred didn't allow it. Jill, Elizabeth, Jimmy, Bonnie. All of them."
She looked defeated. "They didn't want to be murdered."
"What will Cliff do next?"
I asked.
"Whatever it is, it won't involve me. I've changed all my locks."
"And your fears that your phones are bugged, that you're being followed?"
"Cliff's not the only one who wants to know what I'm doing. I can't trust anyone anymore!"
Her eyes filled with angry tears. "You were the last person I wanted to hurt, Kay."
"Stop it, Abby. You can cry all year and it won't do me any good."
"I'm sorry…"
"No more apologies."
I was very firm but gentle.
She bit her bottom lip and stared at her drink.
"Are you ready to help me now?"
She looked up at me.
"First, what color was the Lincoln we saw in Williamsburg last week?"
"Dark gray, the interior leather dark, maybe black," she said, her eyes coming alive.
"Thank you. That's what I thought."
"What's going on?"
"I'm not sure. But there's more."
"More what?"
"I've got an assignment for you," I said, smiling. "But first, when are you returning to D.C.? Tonight?"
"I don't know, Kay."
She stared off. "I can't be there now."
Abby felt like a fugitive, and in a sense she was. Clifford Ring had run her out of Washington. It probably wasn't a bad idea for her to disappear for a while.
She explained, "There's a bed and breakfast in the Northern Neck, and - "
"And I have a guest room," I interrupted. "You can stay with me for a while."
She looked uncertain, then confessed, "Kay, do you have any idea how that would look?"
"Frankly, I don't care at the moment."
"Why not?"
She studied me closely.
"Your paper has already fried me in deep fat. I'm going for broke. Things will either get worse or better, but they won't stay the same."
"At least you haven't been fired."
"Neither have you, Abby. You had an affair and acted inappropriately in front of your colleagues when you dumped coffee in your lover's lap."
"He deserved it."
"I'm quite sure he did. But I wouldn't advise your doing battle with the Post. Your book is your chance to redeem yourself."
"What about you?"
"My concern is these cases. You can help because you can do things I can't do."
"Such as?"
"I can't lie, hoodwink, finagle, cheat, badger, sneak, snipe, snoop, and pretend to be something or somebody I'm not because I'm an officer of the Commonwealth. But you have great range of motion. You're a reporter."
"Thanks a lot," she protested as she walked out of the kitchen. "I'll get my things from the car."
It was not very often I had houseguests, and the bedroom downstairs was usually reserved for Lucy's visits. Covering the hardwood floor was an Iranian Dergezine rug with a brightly colored floral design that turned the entire room into a garden, in the midst of which my niece had been a rosebud or a stinkweed, depending on her behavior.
"I guess you like flowers," Abby said absently, laying the suit bag on top of the bed.
"The rug is a little overpowering in here," I apologized. "But when I saw it I had to buy it, and there was no place else to put it. Not to mention, it's virtually indestructible, and since this is where Lucy stays, that point is important. " "Or at least it used to be."
Abby went to the closet and opened the door. "Lucy's not ten years old anymore."
"There should be plenty of hangers in there."
I moved closer to inspect. "If you need more…"
"This is fine."
"There are towels, toothpaste, soap in the bath."
I started to show her.
She had begun unpacking and wasn't paying any attention.
I sat down on the edge of the bed.
Abby carried suits and blouses into the closet. Coat hangers screeched along the metal bar. I watched her in silence, experiencing a prick of impatience.
This went on for several minutes, drawers sliding, more coat hangers screeching, the medicine cabinet in the bathroom wheezing open and clicking shut. She pushed her suit bag inside the closet and glanced around, as if trying to figure out what to do next. Opening her briefcase, she pulled out a novel and a notebook, which she placed on the table by the bed. I watched uneasily as she then tucked a.38 and boxes of cartridges into the drawer.
It was midnight when I finally went upstairs. Before settling into bed, I dialed the number for the 7-Eleven again.
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