by Bill Eidson
“I’m listening.”
“I know Kurt. Even though I’m shocked with what he’s done, I believe what he’s told us now is the whole truth. It’s just that he’s so insecure … his parents were a disaster. His dad was disappointed with everything Kurt did from day one. Dismissive, bitter mother who left them early on. And then Kurt’s first wife left him because he couldn’t give her children. He has a low sperm count. She filed for divorce the week they found out. Told him kids were important to her and she wanted her own from her own husband—and she left… . Well, the fact is children were pretty damn important to him too.’’
“Andi, how many rough life stories have you heard in your career? Somebody defending some heinous thing they did because their mommy wasn’t nice to them? And what would we do? Take the picture, write up the story.”
“That’s what you’d do,” she flashed. “Not me. Not my whole career, you know that.”
Which was true enough. PollyAndi.
She said, “Kurt’s love for me and the kids is genuine. I know it is. I’ve seen his face. I’ve seen his delight in the kids even when he didn’t know that I was watching. He’s felt like an outsider all his life.”
“You certainly have become forgiving,” Ben said. He immediately regretted the sarcasm.
“I’m working at it,” she said, steadily. “I know I didn’t stand behind you the way I should’ve and look where we are now.” She gestured to the woods around them, their house down the hillside. “I didn’t ask you up here to discuss whether or not I made a mistake marrying Kurt. He and I have to work that out.”
“So what do you want from me?”
She leaned forward, and spoke softly. “Ben, at this moment, most of the damage is repairable. We can tell the senator it’s over and give him the negative, erase the files. Kurt can rehire you.”
“Do you think everything that’s happened—Peter, Dawson, Sands—are all unrelated to this?”
“It sounds like Peter stirred up something with this McGuire guy and you with Johansen. And from what Kurt said earlier, the police are confident Peter was killed by Sands, right?”
Ben nodded.
“Besides,” she said. “The timing’s all wrong for what Kurt did to have caused anything else.”
Ben rubbed his forehead. He agreed with her on the last point. “Are you asking me to just sweep this all under the rug? Me go back to my investigative reporting with Kurt leading the charge— while we both know he’s a blackmailer? Doesn’t that sound just a tad hypocritical to you?”
“I don’t give a damn about hypocrisy at this moment, Ben! This is our family, and whether you like it or not, Kurt is a part of it now. And at this point, all he’s done is send a photo and a letter. At this point, the senator can walk away relieved. At this point, we can get an accountant in and see what it’ll take to straighten this mess out. Maybe we’ll be living in a low rent apartment next month. Maybe we’ll be bankrupt. That’s better than having the kids watching you put Kurt in jail. And exposing him will mean exposing the senator. I can tell you without even meeting the man what his choice would be.”
She held Ben’s arm tight. “Please. For me, for the kids, for everyone—let it end right here.”
CHAPTER 33
IT WAS ANOTHER LONG NIGHT. LITTLE SLEEP. FEELING AS IF HE HAD bit into something sickening and the result lay in his belly. And the healing cuts from the flying glass were still itching like crazy.
Ben circled the problem as the damn digital clock did its thing, spinning through the numbers.
At five-thirty, he got up and made some coffee. Took his binoculars and went up onto the roof and watched the sun come up.
Fantastic sunrise. One sailboat tacking out of the harbor against a fresh morning breeze. Not far past it, a huge cargo ship made its way out of the harbor with the help of three tugs. From that distance, it was beautiful in a form-follows-function sort of way. High bow pointing proudly at the horizon. Under the tighter focus of the binoculars, Ben could see rust at the waterline; the black soot on the stacks. He knew from a photo essay he had once done on the Merchant Marines that if he had been standing on deck, the juxtaposition of order and disorder would have been even more dramatic. Of rust eating away at the edges of painted deck equipment. Of the constant, daily business of repair and replacement.
And he thought of the constant squabbles among the men. The big and small dishonesties of the day. The pilfered food, the smuggled contraband, the brutality under the decks.
Still the ship would sail.
Most of the time.
Most of the time, the ship would get to its destination with all crew alive and well; the cargo delivered; the ship itself safe.
The tugs turned away and returned to harbor. He watched the ship steam away under its own power, until it was far enough away so that its imperfections were no longer recognizable even under the magnification of Ben’s binoculars. And then Ben went down to his studio, grabbed his bag, and headed off to the senator’s town house.
He made a call from a phone booth down the street. It was just past seven-thirty.
“Senator Cheever’s office,” a woman said, crisply.
“Please tell him that Ben Harris is calling.”
“The senator doesn’t take calls until nine. Would you like to leave a message?”
“But he’s in?”
The woman paused. “Would you like to leave a message, sir?” Her tone was still polite, but ice was forming.
“Tell him I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Sir—”
Ben hung up.
The senator met him at the door.
This time, the senator was sober, freshly shaved, and with the whiff of morning coffee about him. He called out Ben’s name with a hearty boom, put his hand out. “Glad to see you.”
All this presumably for whomever else was in the house.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” Ben gestured to the Boston Common across the street.
The senator looked out, clearly torn. Glancing up the stairs and then out at the golden light of the Common. He stepped outside onto the steps. His eyes narrowed. “You got somebody waiting out there for me? Another camera, maybe one of those long distance microphones?” He said this as if he were joking, but Ben could see that underneath his bonhomie he was still frightened.
Ben felt choked with sudden frustration. These scared, guilty men. And now he was out behaving like one himself. “Here,” he said, abruptly. He shoved the packet containing the negative and Kurt’s copy of the five by seven print into the senator’s hands. Ben had destroyed the disk himself before leaving Kurt and Andi’s house.
The senator quickly put the packet into his inside jacket pocket.
“It’s over,” Ben said to Cheever. “That’s the negative and the last picture. I suggest you burn them and consider yourself lucky. You won’t hear from the person who sent you the letter again, I guarantee it.”
“Who was it?”
“You don’t get that.” Ben started to leave.
Cheever put his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “You can’t just leave it at that. I’ve got to know.”
“No, you don’t, Senator.” Ben knocked Cheever’s hand off his arm. The man flinched.
“Was it you?”
Ben just looked at him.
The senator’s gaze faltered. “I apologize.”
“Look, consider this a one-time ‘Get out of Jail Free Card.’ If I run across you with your pants down next time, I’ll take the shot. And you’ll wind up in the news.”
“No risk of that,” Cheever said, quietly. Looking back up the stairs again. “I told Teri it was over.” He shook his head. “She took it harder than I expected.”
Ben nodded, his patience at an end. “Good-bye, Senator.”
Kurt’s secretary, Lisa, was waiting for Ben when he reached Insider.
“Welcome back,” she said, sunnily. “He’d like to see you now.”
Kurt smiled with his mos
t statesmanlike smile as Ben came into his office. “Lisa, hold my calls, please.”
Kurt closed the door behind her as she left. The blinds were already drawn.
“How’d it go?” He said it like Ben had been out at any other interview, but his face still had that gray pallor from the night before. Dark bags under his eyes.
Good, thought Ben. He should be losing sleep, too.
Ben said, “He was relieved.”
“Did he ask who sent it?”
“Sure.”
“But?”
Ben sighed. “You’re just going to have to trust me on this.”
“I do. I appreciate it, I really do.”
“I didn’t do this for your appreciation.”
“I understand. Nevertheless, I do. And I want you to know I called Reed this morning and said the two of us have come to an agreement. He said it was up to me if I wanted to hire you back, so that’s a done deal. I’ve already notified personnel. And at the staff meeting this morning, I’ll welcome you back in a more informal manner. I’ll just say that we’ve settled our differences.”
“Fine. There’s a couple of things you’ve got to watch out for yourself around here.” He told Kurt about Lucien and Huey. Ben kept Sarah’s knowledge to himself.
Kurt’s face flushed. “He’s been listening in on my messages? And you asked Huey about the Cheever negatives? Jesus.” Kurt stood up, nervously.
Ben shrugged. “Hey, I was chasing a lead. I didn’t know it was going to come down to you.”
“But do they have enough to put it together?”
“I don’t think so. I never suggested to either of them that Cheever was being blackmailed. That would have violated my confidence with him. Most likely Lucien and Huey will be more concerned with what you have on them, small as it is.”
“That’s right,” Kurt said, slowly. “Besides, there’s no evidence. They can guess all they want, but there’s no evidence.”
“Volunteer nothing,” Ben said. “And we’ll go back about our business. For me, I want to get back onto McGuire. I’ll see if Sarah can join me. Have you got a problem with that?”
“No. No, of course not.” Ben supposed it would be that way from now on with his assignments. Probably the same with Lucien and Huey. Whatever you want.
Useless as an editor.
Ben sighed. “You remember how I was in here before the explosion? The two of us offering our hands in friendship for the sake of the family and all that?”
Kurt nodded. Looking wary now.
“I realize you’re in no position to be without a job right now,” Ben said. “But I think it’s time you found yourself another one— away from me. Somewhere in Boston, at the same or better salary. You won’t be able to find a job like that overnight, but I think it’s time you started looking.”
Kurt sat back. “Or?”
“Or nothing. I won’t expose you. But it’s the right thing for all of us.”
Kurt nodded slowly.
Ben saw him look out the window. Most likely saying good-bye to the corner office, the prestigious career path, the national view that he commanded at the helm of the Insider. Kurt might find the same money editing a trade publication, but there were only a handful of news publications in Boston with the clout of the Insider, and the editor-in-chief positions were well defended.
“God,” Kurt said, quietly. “I wish I could take it all back.”
Ben said, “This is as close as you’re going to get.”
“The staff meeting from hell,” Sarah said as they got into the van. “All those wary looks and false smiles.”
“Insider is just one happy family.’’ Ben pulled out of the parking garage and took a left onto Boylston Street. It was a brilliant day and they both rolled down the windows.
“So …” She took off her sunglasses. “Kurt did it, didn’t he? He was doing the blackmail.”
Ben was silent.
She continued. “After two aspirins and about a half dozen glasses of ice water this morning, I thought about everything we’d learned and everything you’d told me. About him needing money. And here you are this morning back at your job.” She stared at him. “Tell me why I shouldn’t go to the police right now.”
Ben laid out what Kurt had told him, including the timing of his constructing and sending the photo. “Kurt didn’t even conceive of the idea until weeks after Peter was killed.”
“And you believe him?”
“It corresponds with what the senator told me. And Dawson had already attacked me.”
She was silent, then nodded. “All right. So this comes under the heading of ‘incidental’ as far as Peter is concerned.”
“That’s the way I see it. So I’m asking you to let it go. Bury it. Just what I told you might happen.”
She stared at him. “Why’d he do it?”
He hesitated. “This has turned into a … a family situation, Sarah.”
Hating it. Hating the words, the situation.
She said, “You don’t trust me.”
“It’s not a matter of trust. These aren’t my confidences to give away.”
“Since when does a reporter worry about that?”
“Since his own kids will get screwed because their new stepfather is an idiot,” Ben flared. “That’s when.”
“Ah,” she said, looking out the window. “Extenuating circumstances.”
“That’s right. Extenuating circumstances.”
“Sure you’re not just covering up for him so you could get your job back?”
Ben looked at her. “What do you think?”
She continued to watch him. He felt the weight of her intelligence and kept himself from saying anything else.
“No,” she said, finally. “That’s not what I think. But I do think this sucks. How can I work for this guy? I don’t have the slightest respect for him.”
Ben told her of his and Kurt’s agreement.
“So he’ll be gone.” She looked straight at him. “This is the end of it. Right?”
“I’ve quit making promises.”
That brought a smile. Faint, but there.
She said, “Good for you.”
CHAPTER 34
LAINNIE ROLLED OVER INTO SOMETHING AS ANDI WALKED INTO THE room. Andi looked more closely. A file folder was visible just past her daughter’s hip.
“What’s that?” Andi made a point to smile. Her nerves were jagged from the night before and she was trying not to take it out on the kids.
“Just some pictures.” Lainnie said it with such elaborate indifference that Andi went into high alert.
How could she know?
In two strides, Andi was across the room. She tugged the folder away.
“Mom!”
Lainnie grabbed at it, and the black-and-white glossies fell over the bed and floor.
In a glance, Andi saw it wasn’t the picture of the senator and Teri Wheeler.
There were dozens of prints of women wearing some kind of uniform …
Then Andi recognized the shots. The women in prison at Framingham. Photos that Ben had shot for the upcoming issue. Kurt had asked Andi to read the piece Ed Liston had written. Something Kurt frequently did, asked her opinion.
Except about blackmail, she thought. Keeps that to himself.
“What’re you doing with these?” Andi said.
Lainnie stuck out her lower lip. “I just saw Daddy’s handwriting, and I wanted to see what he was doing. Was he here last night?”
“What makes you think that?” Andi looked at her carefully.
Lainnie shrugged. “I guess I dreamed I heard his voice.”
Andi glanced on the outside of the manila folder. Indeed there was a brief note from Ben to Ed Liston:
Ed—the selections we discussed.
Ben
Andi said, “Where did you get these?”
“On the desk downstairs. It was just lying there. Did Daddy bring these over?”
“No. Kurt brought them home
earlier this week. You took them off of Kurt’s desk?”
Lainnie nodded. In a small voice, she said, “Sorry.”
“You know better. Come on now, I’ll help you pick them up.” Together they began putting the pictures back in the folder. Andi looked at the photos as they went.
“You can tell Daddy is sorry for these women, can’t you,” Lainnie said. “I don’t know how he does that.”
“Yes, you can.” Andi stopped to look at a group shot of the women crossed by the shadows of prison bars. Before long, Andi and Lainnie had spread out the prints on the bed.
“I miss Daddy,” Lainnie said. “Don’t you?”
“Sometimes, sweetie.” Andi thought about Kurt sitting up after she had left him, looking at these shots. That’s what he must have done. Gone up to the office and sat there at his desk, poring over these shots. She wondered what he was thinking. The possibility of prison? Or maybe he was looking at these women and thinking about his manipulation? His failure to his family?
If she knew him like she thought she did, it would be all those things.
But then again, what do I know?
After Ben had left, she and Kurt had gone down to the family room. “What have you done to us?” she had said.
A tear had slipped down his face abruptly, which he wiped away. “I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry.”
She had sat there on the couch, just about choking on everything she was feeling. She was furious. Hot, bursting anger that forced tears into her eyes and made her dig her fingernails into her palm.
She felt some pity for him, but not a hell of a lot.
And, as always, there was that observer in her. The one who wrote the column. The one who was always aware of her audience. She hated that they had a place in this room, but they did.
Even so, the observer in her couldn’t keep the hysteria away. In fact, Andi had found herself giggling abruptly. She said, “I’ve got the headline for this week’s column. What to Do When Your Husband Admits to Blackmail.”
