All Night Long

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Ready and waiting.” Duncan gazed longingly at the buffet table. “Do I have time to refill my plate?”

  Irene saw commotion in a doorway at the back of the room. Webb appeared. Alexa Douglass was at his side. A short, anxious-looking man hovered in the background. Hoyt Egan’s replacement, no doubt.

  “Forget the food, Duncan,” she said. “Webb just arrived.”

  A keen expression lit Adeline’s face. “Here we go, boys and girls.”

  Irene stepped out from behind the palm, notebook in hand. “Follow me.”

  “The two scariest words in the English language,” Luke said dryly.

  She paid no attention. She concentrated on forging a path through the crowd. Ryland Webb was surrounded by a group of well-wishers and potential contributors, but his height made it possible to keep him in view.

  Alexa Douglass spotted Irene first. Surprise and then a frown of alarm flashed across her face. She suppressed both reactions quickly beneath a polite smile and then whispered something to Ryland.

  His head swiveled as he searched the crowd. When he saw Irene and her companions, he spoke urgently to his new aide.

  The short man hurried forward, obviously intent on intercepting her.

  “Miss Stenson?” The aide planted himself directly in front of her. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” He glanced at Luke, Adeline and Duncan. “You and your friends.”

  “I have some questions for the senator,” Irene said.

  “He’s not giving interviews tonight. He’s entertaining his guests.”

  “Tell Senator Webb that I am in possession of a video that was recently shot on location in Europe,” Irene said. “Make it clear that the story about that particular junket and several others to the same destination is set to appear in tomorrow’s edition of the Glaston Cove Beacon. Ask him if he would care to comment.”

  The aide’s face creased with bewilderment. He glanced back over his shoulder at Webb, who had turned his back on the small group.

  “Better not make this decision on your own, son,” Adeline advised the aide. “This is big.”

  The short man dithered briefly.

  “Wait here,” he said.

  He spun around and worked his way back through the throng to where Ryland stood surrounded by people. Irene watched him deliver the message in low-voiced tones.

  Ryland jerked as though he had been tapped by a cattle prod. He turned slowly to look at Irene. She had to hand it to him, she thought, his expression was well schooled, giving nothing away. But she could see raw fury burning in his eyes.

  “If looks could kill,” Adeline murmured, “I think we’d all be smoking cinders about now.”

  “Oh, man, he looks pissed, all right.” Duncan sounded remarkably cheerful. He took aim with a video camera. “This’ll be great for the online site.”

  Ryland said something to the aide and to Alexa. Then he started toward Irene.

  “Showtime,” Irene said softly. She stepped forward to meet him, raising her voice. “Senator Webb, what can you tell us about your last trip to Europe?”

  “Not here.” Ryland glared at Luke, Adeline and Duncan. He angled his head toward a hallway. “I’ll speak to you all in private.”

  He moved off through the crowd, not waiting for an answer. Irene followed quickly, aware that the others were close behind her. She checked the recorder clipped to her shoulder bag one last time. Duncan selected another camera.

  Ryland strode swiftly down a hall and turned into a small conference room. Irene, Luke, Adeline and Duncan trooped in behind him. He slammed the door shut and whirled to confront Irene.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded in a voice that vibrated with rage.

  “Senator Webb, the Glaston Cove Beacon is in possession of some computer files containing evidence and videos that appear to show you in the act of raping an underage girl in a European brothel,” Irene said. “Do you have a comment?”

  “You stupid bitch, how dare you suggest anything of the kind? I’ve never raped anyone in my life.” Ryland turned a dark shade of red. “If you’ve got film, I guarantee you, it’s fake. If you go public with it, I will see that you and your damned newspaper are ruined. Do you hear me? I’ll destroy you.” He looked at the others. “All of you.”

  Irene nodded at Luke. “Show him what we’ve got.”

  Luke set the computer on a table, raised the lid and powered up the machine. Ryland watched with an expression of gathering horror.

  “You can’t do this,” he said. “Do you realize who you’re dealing with? I can make your lives a living hell.”

  Adeline gave him a sunny smile. “I love threats. They make great quotes. Is that recorder working, Irene?”

  “Yes, boss.”

  Ryland stared, face working, at the little device clipped to Irene’s shoulder bag. “Stop it. Stop it right now.”

  “My paper is also in possession of a video recording made by your daughter, Pamela,” Irene continued, scribbling rapidly in her notebook. “On it, she states that you are a pedophile and that you abused her when she was a girl.”

  “That’s a lie.” Ryland fisted his hands and took a step toward her. “I’ve told you, my daughter was mentally disturbed. If you print that garbage, I swear I’ll—”

  Luke moved up close behind Irene. “No threatening the reporter.”

  Ryland rounded on him. “You’re a fool to get involved in this, Danner.”

  “Not like I had anything more interesting to do,” Luke said.

  Irene heard one of Duncan’s cameras whir. She made some more quick notes and then looked up.

  “Pamela knew that you would attempt to portray the videos as frauds, so she also supplied copies of travel records and credit card statements that verify that you made several trips to the city in which that particular brothel is located. My paper is prepared to fly me to Europe to investigate.”

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Adeline blink at that outrageous statement.

  “I’ll sue your paper right into the ground,” Ryland said. “Those trips were made for legitimate reasons. Trade issues.” On-screen, Pamela started to talk. Ryland went still, as though hypnotized. “Shut it down. Do you hear me? Shut it down.”

  Adeline followed his gaze to the screen. “FYI, we made several copies of those computer files, Senator. Didn’t want to take any chances.”

  Ryland turned on her. “My lawyers are going to tear all of you limb from limb.”

  Duncan’s video camera whirred some more, catching what Irene knew would be a compelling scene of Ryland leaning over the much shorter Adeline in an extremely intimidating fashion while he made his threat.

  Ryland realized what was happening and jumped back.

  “Pamela also implicates you in the death of Hugh and Elizabeth Stenson seventeen years ago,” Irene continued. “Care to comment?”

  “I had nothing to do with their deaths. Everyone knows your father was a nutcase. He killed your mother and then committed suicide.” Ryland seemed to regain some of his composure. “Obviously you are just as crazy as he was, Miss Stenson.”

  “What about the recent murder of your aide, Hoyt Egan?” Irene said. “Pamela claims that he’s the one who filmed you having sex in that European brothel and that he was using the videos to blackmail you. Any comment?”

  “I’ve got a comment, all right,” Ryland said tightly. “This whole thing is nothing but a setup. You’re trying to take me down because you think I killed your parents. You’re a delusional woman who has concocted a load of bullshit with the help of a digital camera and a computer. Well, I won’t let you do it. Do you hear me? I won’t let you ruin me and everything I’ve achieved. This country needs me.”

  The door opened behind him. Alexa Douglass walked into the room and stopped short. “What is going on here?”

  “These people are out to destroy me any way they can,” Ryland said fiercely. “You won’t believe the lies they’
re threatening to print. I have to call my lawyers immediately. They’ll put a stop to this.”

  But Alexa was gazing at the computer screen, mystified.

  “That’s you, Ryland,” she said. “What on earth?”

  “It’s a digitized fake,” he told her. “Don’t believe anything you see.”

  On the screen Ryland had accepted the drink. The little bride entered. Ryland rose and took her hand.

  The scene shifted to the bedroom. Ryland appeared, naked.

  “Dear God,” Alexa whispered, clearly stunned. “I didn’t believe her. She tried to tell me, but I didn’t believe her.”

  Ryland took her hand. “Pamela lied, dear. Whatever she told you about me was false. She was very, very disturbed. You know that.”

  “Not Pamela.” Alexa yanked her hand out of his. “My daughter, Emily. She told me a few weeks ago that you tried to touch her in what she called a bad way. I thought she was making up a story because she doesn’t want a new daddy. But she was telling the truth, wasn’t she?”

  “I’m going to be Emily’s father,” Ryland said, gravely authoritative now. “It’s only natural that I would want to be affectionate. I’m trying to bond with her.”

  “Obviously Emily has a better understanding of what you were trying to do than I did,” Alexa said, dazed and shaken. She put her hand to her stomach. “I’m going to be ill. I’ve got to get out of here. I must find Emily. I’ve got to talk to her, tell her I understand and that I won’t let you touch her again. How could I have been so blind?”

  She flew to the door, wrenched it open and fled the room.

  Ryland swung back to face Irene. His rage had turned ice cold.

  “I’ll see that you pay for this,” he said. “You have absolutely no solid evidence. No one is going to pay attention to doctored videos.”

  “I think they will, but just in case, I’ve got something else you might want to see.” Irene reached into her purse and took out the packet of photos that Duncan had made earlier in the day. She scattered the pictures on the table. “Pamela wanted to be very certain that I had enough evidence to make her accusations stick. In addition to the computer files, she also left me this miniature wedding dress costume preserved in a plastic wrapper. Care to comment?”

  Ryland glanced at the photos. At first he appeared baffled. Then recognition struck. His jaw sagged. He went pale.

  “Where did you get that dress?” he demanded, hoarse with fear and fury.

  “Pamela saved it,” Irene said. “She states that you forced her to wear that gown on several occasions when she was a girl. She says you got a kick out of raping her when she was dressed like that.”

  “You can’t prove anything, do you hear me?” Ryland snarled. “Not one damned thing.”

  “Pamela also states on the video that any reasonably good lab will find DNA evidence all over the skirts of that dress.”

  Ryland uttered an inarticulate roar and leaped toward her, both hands outstretched.

  Instinctively she fell back, vaguely aware of the sound of Duncan’s video camera in action. All she could see was the rage on Ryland’s face as he came toward her.

  And then Luke was suddenly between her and Ryland, moving so quickly she wasn’t sure what had happened until she saw Webb stretched out flat on his back on the floor.

  Luke stood over him. “I told you, no threatening the reporter.”

  “I want my lawyer,” Ryland said, strangely composed now. “I’m going to ruin each and every one of you.”

  Forty-five

  Two days later Irene sat in a booth next to Luke in the Ventana View Café. Tess and Phil faced them from the opposite side. The remains of four platters of pancakes littered the table.

  Irene was aware of the curious eyes that surrounded them. The café had filled up with remarkable speed shortly after she and the others had been seen entering the establishment.

  “You did it, Irene.” Tess picked up the copy of the previous day’s edition of the Glaston Cove Beacon that Adeline had sent via overnight delivery. She waved it like a banner. “You brought down Senator Ryland Webb. I heard on the news this morning that there are rumors that he’ll officially call off his campaign by the end of the week. Not only did you crush his chances of getting into the Oval Office, it’s safe to say that his odds of being reelected to the Senate again in this state are less than zero.”

  Irene looked at the headlines splashed across the Beacon. She had already viewed them on the online edition of the paper, but there was something very satisfying about seeing them in print.

  WEBB CAMPAIGN HIT BY ALLEGATIONS OF SEX WITH MINORS

  The scandal was in full sail. All of the major dailies in the state, including those from San Francisco, Los Angeles and San Diego, were rushing to jump on the story, but they were still playing catch-up. Two had announced that they were launching independent investigations of their own. The radio and television talk shows were in a frenzy. New evidence of Ryland Webb’s murky sexual past was pouring in hourly. Adeline had phoned three times to gloat over the number of hits at the Beacon’s online Web site.

  “At least this time the politician’s loyal little woman isn’t going to stand by her man.” Tess indicated the photo that Duncan Penn had shot of Alexa Douglass. It showed her getting out of a limo with her daughter in front of an elegant San Francisco town house. The caption read Douglass ends engagement to Webb.

  “Webb is definitely dead meat,” Phil said. “And Irene is the one who brought him down.”

  Irene looked at the three of them, gratitude and affection so thick in her throat she was afraid she might burst into tears. “I couldn’t have done it without the help of all of you. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  Luke grinned. “Guess that makes us all junior cub reporters. Who knew we had the talent? Here I thought I’d be stuck on the innkeeping career track for the rest of my natural life.”

  Irene picked up her coffee mug. “I just wish I could have found a way to force Ryland Webb to confess to the murders. He killed four people that we know of—my parents, Pamela and Hoyt Egan. And he’s going to walk.”

  “Maybe not,” Luke said. “It’s true that the cops probably won’t be able to prove that he killed your folks and Pamela, but they may be able to link him to the death of Hoyt Egan. They’ve got a strong motive, after all.”

  “Blackmail,” Phil said. “Yeah, that definitely works as a motive. Now that they know what to look for, the cops may get lucky and turn up some solid evidence in that case.”

  Tess leaned back in the booth, a worried frown shadowing her face. “There’s one thing that I’m not sure I understand here.”

  Luke speared a wedge of the uneaten portion of the stack of pancakes on Irene’s plate. “What’s that?”

  “Why did Pamela decide to expose her father after all these years?” Tess asked. “She kept the secret for so long. Why go public now?”

  “She had been in therapy,” Phil reminded her. “Maybe something happened in those sessions that pushed her into going public.”

  Irene looked at the newspaper on the table. A sense of absolute certainty welled up inside her.

  “It wasn’t the therapy,” she said quietly. She pointed to the photo of Alexa Douglass and her daughter. “There’s the reason. Little Emily Douglass. Pamela realized that her father was about to acquire another child bride. She could keep her own family secret, but in the end she could not stand by and allow history to repeat itself.”

  Forty-six

  Irene tossed the pen onto the table and studied the latest version of the time line. Frustration churned in her stomach. No matter how she tried to connect the dots, she could not come up with a reasonable way to put Ryland Webb anywhere near Dunsley on the day of Pamela’s death.

  She had been so certain that when she sat down with all the facts she would find something in addition to a motive that she could give to the police to tie Webb to the murder. But thus far she had come up empty-handed.


  There had to be a connection, she thought. It was inconceivable that Pamela had died because of an accidental overdose.

  She got up and went into Luke’s small, orderly kitchenette to pour herself more tea. It was the fourth time she had gotten out of the chair in the past forty minutes. She had already wandered into the kitchen area three times, twice to refill her mug, once to check the refrigerator to see what she needed to buy for dinner.

  Mug in hand, she went out the back door of the cabin, propped one hip against the porch railing and contemplated the placid surface of the lake. The view from this cabin was slightly different from the one she’d had while residing in Cabin Number Five. From here she could see more of the lake.

  She had promised Adeline another local-color piece to feed to the maw of the wire services and to keep the hits coming at the Web site. The new deadline was looming, but she had been unable to concentrate on the story. Instead, her brain insisted on returning to the problem of Pamela’s death. Maybe this intense fixation was the true definition of a conspiracy theorist, she thought.

  A chill went through her. Maybe all the therapists over the years had been right when they tried to convince her that she was obsessing on her own fictional version of events because she could not deal with reality.

  No, don’t go there, she ordered herself. You’re a reporter. Try sticking with the dots. Better yet, try coming up with some new ones.

  She watched a battered pickup pull into the drive and park near the lobby. Tucker Mills got out and removed a rake and a large broom from the back of the vehicle. Maxine emerged to greet him, radiating animation and enthusiasm.

  The Sunrise on the Lake Lodge was enjoying a rush of out-of-season business due to an influx of members of the media who had arrived in Dunsley to get background on the big story. Appalled at the prospect of so many unanticipated paying guests, Luke had abandoned the front desk altogether, leaving everything in Maxine’s hands.

  Once in command, Maxine had risen to the challenge immediately. Her first act had been to quadruple the rack rates. After renting up all of the available space, she had politely but firmly suggested that Irene move into Luke’s cabin, thereby freeing up another room. An hour ago Maxine had dispatched Luke into Dunsley to pick up fresh supplies of toilet paper, coffee and doughnuts. Irene knew that he had been grateful for the excuse to escape.