Shattered Silence

by Marta Perry

  “I suppose, but you hear about all kinds of ways of spying on people. For all I know, someone like your security agent has some means of listening in on your calls.”

  “He’s not my security agent,” Rachel pointed out. “If anything, he’s James Attwood’s.”

  “Yes, and you’d better remember that,” Lyn warned. “From the way you talked about him, he must be an expert at getting people to trust him.”

  Lyn could read her pretty well. She supposed she had begun to feel as if she could...what? Confide in Clint? Those moments when he’d pressed her shoulder, seeming to reassure her... Was she reading too much into that?

  “Don’t look so grim,” Lyn said, apparently doing it again. “I wasn’t trying to scare you. But I wouldn’t tell him anything you don’t want Attwood to know. Mordan isn’t bound by the same regulations as the police. And I still think you should go to the police. Or come and stay with me for a few days.” She glanced at the clock and straightened. “And as for your position here, of course you can take as much time off as you need, but don’t start thinking you’re going to resign for the good of the school. We’ll ride it out together.”

  Absurdly, Rachel felt her eyes fill with tears. She turned away quickly to hide her emotion. “Thanks, Lyn. We can talk about it later.”

  She wasn’t going to be the iceberg that sank Fairfield School, not matter how loyal Lyn was. If she was in any legal jeopardy because of her involvement, the publicity could hurt the school. A private school like theirs could be successful only if its reputation was spotless. Parents had plenty of other choices. “I’d better get to my classroom before the kids drive the new aide under the nearest table.”

  Lyn grinned. “She’s not that bad. Just new. Everyone was new once.”

  As she headed for her classroom, Rachel realized she was thinking of Lyn’s words in a different context. She was certainly new to the situation in which she found herself, and there was no comfortable road map to help her through it. If she could trust anyone...but she couldn’t, and she had to remember that.

  Once Rachel became involved with the children, the familiar absorption took over. If she had to give this up... Pain cramped her heart for a moment. Lyn’s brave assurances were what she’d expect from her friend, but the fact remained that she would resign before she’d bring any harm to the school. Maybe she was being oversensitive on the subject, but she’d never take chances like that.

  The morning flew by, and when she opened the door to take her pupils to the lunchroom, the school secretary was waiting for her.

  “A call for you. Lyn sent me to supervise lunch so you could take it. Okay?”

  “Right, thanks, Maggie.” She tried to give the grandmotherly secretary the impression that this was just routine, but she suspected every staff member knew something about her troubles by this time. The school was a very small community.

  Lyn was waiting in her office. “Attwood’s assistant called to say he’d like to see you as soon as possible. I just said I’d give you the message.” She gave Rachel a worried smile. “In case you wanted to ignore it.”

  “Tempting,” she admitted. “But I guess it was inevitable. I’ll call her and set something up for after school.”

  Lyn shook her head. “If you’re going to do it, you may as well get it over with. We’ll cover your class for the afternoon.”

  Rachel didn’t argue the point as she punched in the phone number. Lyn was right. She’d never be able to focus on her class with that interview looming over her. It was the work of a moment to tell Claire Gibson she’d be there in an hour, and she clicked off.

  Since she was out of school at an unusual hour, she decided to get the pay-as-you-go cell phone. She had to pass the mall anyway, and it wouldn’t take long.

  Of course there wasn’t a nearby parking space, and even when she found the phones, the young salesman in the department seemed determined to tell her the advantages and disadvantages of each model, most of which she didn’t understand.

  Finally getting the phone paid for, Rachel stayed long enough to set it up. She sent the number to Paul, and then hurried to her car, afraid now of being late.

  If Paul wanted to make peace with his erstwhile friends and colleagues, now was the time. If only he’d talk to her, she might be able to convince him. He was digging himself deeper in trouble the longer he delayed.

  Fortunately she didn’t hit much traffic the rest of the way to Attwood Industrial. She raced inside to find Claire Gibson standing at the top of the steps leading to the office area.

  “James is waiting for you.” She started to lead the way and then hesitated, giving Rachel a quick, sidelong glance. “I’m sorry about all this. I don’t suppose it’s your fault.”

  “No. It’s not.” She got ahold of herself before she could say anything she might regret. “People seem to be forgetting that I’m not Paul’s wife any longer. What he does isn’t my business, and he doesn’t tell me anything.”

  Claire eyed her for a moment and then nodded. “I guess you’re right. If James comes on too strong...” She paused and then gave a rueful shrug. “I seem to spend most of my time preaching sensitivity to him. Without much success.”

  Rachel supposed that was an apology. Or maybe an explanation. Still, she could hardly expect a warm welcome here, and she’d never found Claire very congenial, anyway.

  “I guess we shouldn’t keep James waiting then, should we?” Rachel tried to stiffen her backbone. All she could tell them was the truth, and she knew little enough of that. If the reason behind what Paul had done was anywhere, it was here.

  Without another word, Claire led the way to Attwood’s office, tapped lightly and opened the door. “Rachel Hartline is here, James.”

  When Rachel stepped inside, the memory of the last time she’d been here flooded back. She had to force herself not to stare at the computer on Attwood’s desk, but it seemed to lurk at the edge of her vision.

  Attwood didn’t bother standing, but then, he’d never been one for the normal politeness that eased social interactions. For that matter, she wasn’t sure he understood the whole concept.

  “Please, sit down, Rachel.” Claire pulled forward a couple of chairs. When Rachel had taken one, Claire sat down next to her. Apparently she was going to be a part of this meeting.

  At least Clint wasn’t there. She’d more than half expected it, and it was a relief to think she wouldn’t have his eyes on her throughout this ordeal.

  “What is Paul up to?” Attwood snapped the question at her, not bothering to lead up to it.

  “I don’t know.” She’d have to force herself to be as blunt as he was. “As I was just reminding Claire, I’m not his wife any longer.”

  “You were here the night my computer was tampered with. You watched Paul copy my file.”

  Obviously Clint had told him everything she’d said. Well, what else could she expect? It was irrational to think he’d do otherwise when he was employed by Attwood.

  “I came here to talk to Paul about the sale of our house. I just happened to see him with a flash drive. I had no way of knowing what it was.”

  Attwood surveyed her coldly. “You must have known he shouldn’t copy something from my computer. Does he think he can get away with stealing from the company?”

  “I haven’t talked to him. Your investigator probably told you all that I know about it.” Her mind scrambled through alternatives, trying to come up with the best approach. She couldn’t let Attwood’s manner make her defensive. “If he took something of value away with him—”

  “Value?” Attwood interrupted her. “Did he tell you it was valuable?”

  Rachel tried to hang on to her dwindling supply of patience. “He didn’t tell me anything. But you’d hardly be so upset if it weren’t.”

  “Any new advancement in our business is potentially valuable,” Claire said
, giving him a warning glance.

  “Potentially,” Attwood echoed, taking his cue from her. “My new technology,” he said, stressing the possessive. “Our competitors would love to get their hands on it. If it pans out, of course.”

  “Naturally, we don’t want to believe Paul has any such intent of selling it,” Claire said quickly. “We’ve been friends for so long.”

  “Yes, you have.” That was what she didn’t get. She’d have said Paul valued that relationship more than anything else in his life.

  “That’s what makes it so hard to understand. Why would he do such a thing?” Claire seemed genuinely disturbed.

  Claire obviously thought she understood him, but Paul was an addict, and addicts lied. It was the first lesson any addict’s friends and family had to learn. Once that was accepted, it made life a little easier. Not better, but at least one knew not to rely on the addict.

  Rachel hesitated, thinking about the new cell phone lying in her handbag. Surely Paul wouldn’t have told her to get it if he didn’t intend to call her. She looked at Claire, finding that easier than confronting Attwood.

  “If Paul does contact me, do you want me to tell him anything?”

  “Tell him to come back. To explain.” Claire spoke before James could, maybe afraid he’d make things worse. “We don’t want to bring in the police. We can settle this among the four of us, like always.”

  “And if he doesn’t come back?”

  “We’ll prosecute,” Attwood snapped. “If you’re involved, you’re liable. So you’d better hope he does.”

  Rachel’s stomach clenched in a spasm of fear. Attwood meant it. Somehow she had to convince Paul. But she had a growing sense that anything she could do would be too late.

  * * *

  WHEN CLINT REACHED his office late that afternoon, Logan was talking on the phone and studying something on his computer at the same time. He glanced up, ended his conversation and looked at Clint with raised eyebrows.

  “You look like you need a drink.”

  “More like a decent meal. And maybe some sleep. What have you found out?”

  Logan shoved his chair away from the desk, stretching and wincing a little. The muscles of his upper body flexed, mirroring the time he’d spent rebuilding them after a roadside bomb in Afghanistan came close to ending his life.

  “Mostly I’ve learned how hard it is to get any substantial information from our client. You’d think we were spies, the way he guards every word.”

  Clint grunted, sinking into a chair. “He’s worse in person. No feedback at all. Did he give you any better indication of who might be interested in acquiring whatever information Paul Hartline might have walked out with?”

  “He won’t name any names, but I gathered his new project might be of interest to either the government or any of several kinds of corporations. Something to do with the way wireless devices store power, and that’s as specific as he’d be. Which tells us nothing that’s of any help.” Logan sounded as frustrated as he felt. “But he does seem confident that whatever it is, it hasn’t been passed on yet.”

  “I wish he’d let us in on why he thinks that.” He frowned, not sure why he felt so depressed about the whole investigation. “Any suggestion as to what it could be worth?”

  Logan shrugged. “Not committing himself. But plenty, the way he acts.” He reached out to click open a file on his computer. “I’ve been digging into the backgrounds of those four, since Attwood insists no one else knows anything about the project.”

  “Any red flags?” Clint straightened, interested.

  “Nothing on Claire, the assistant or whatever she is. Always well dressed, a casual social life, but no close female friends that I can find. No social media presence at all, which suggests she likes her privacy. According to one of the neighbors, she often goes away on weekends, but the neighbor has no idea where.”

  “It’s something to dig into, anyway. What about Ian Robinson? And Attwood himself? Any weaknesses that might have been exploited?”

  “Attwood’s not the type to show weaknesses. If he has any, they’re well hidden,” Logan said. “And even so, he’s the biggest loser if Hartline passes the information on. I just don’t see him being involved.”

  “Right. Still, if there was something in their past that would account for Hartline wanting to do in his friend, it might explain his motivation.”

  “That’s what you’re always telling me,” Logan said. “Don’t take anybody for granted. Okay, why would Attwood be involved in stealing his own project?”

  “I don’t know. But it wouldn’t be the first time a client tried to manipulate us.”

  “If so, he won’t succeed. Okay, we include him in our probing. What else?”

  “Robinson,” Clint reminded him. “What about him?”

  “Robinson should be doing well, given his salary and a nice little nest egg from his parents, but there’s nothing flashy about his lifestyle. Wife, baby girl, own their own home in a nice subdivision, but nothing conspicuous.”

  “Nothing turned up on anyone else employed there? Someone who might be a plant or might know more than anyone thinks?” Logan was the research point man. If he didn’t know where to find something, he’d find someone who did.

  “Not as far as I can tell. What about you? Anything turn up today?”

  “Not much. His apartment was searched. But I’m guessing the searchers didn’t find what they were looking for.”

  “What makes you think that? Whoever wants to buy the info on that flash drive might have decided Hartline was too greedy and decided to cut out the middleman after he’d picked up the information they wanted.”

  “Maybe, but it doesn’t have that feel to me. If so, I’d expect Hartline to give up and clear out. Instead, he’s apparently trying to get in touch with his ex-wife.”

  “How do you know?” That caught Logan’s interest.

  “Because Rachel Hartline made an unscheduled trip when she should have been at the school this afternoon.” He didn’t like the taste of the words. He’d actually begun to believe Rachel was the innocent she seemed to be. More, he’d begun to trust her, to want to protect her. But if she was lying to him, he’d come down hard. “She picked herself up a nice little burner phone. And if you can think of any reason for a respectable kindergarten teacher to be doing that other than to stay in touch with someone on the run, I’d like to hear it.”

  * * *

  RACHEL’S REPEATED TEXTS on the new phone hadn’t borne any fruit by the time Lyn called, insisting they go out for supper. It was easier to agree than to argue. Besides, she had no desire to sit at home alone waiting for a call that didn’t come.

  They met at a favorite Italian restaurant, where the candles cast a soft glow and the server recognized them. The murmur of voices formed a background to their talk, but no one sat close enough to overhear, so Rachel could unload.

  To her surprise, once she’d shared her frustrations and uncertainties with Lyn, she actually relaxed. A plate of lobster ravioli accompanied by the wine Lyn insisted on ordering finished the process.

  Seeming to know that what Rachel needed most was to forget for a time, Lyn steered the conversation to school matters—the tiresome parents, the challenge of teaching students used to instant gratification and the endless paperwork that ate up too much of a teacher’s time.

  She was laughing at Lyn’s description of her recent interview with a prospective student and her parents, when she heard a cell phone tone. Not her usual phone—it was the new one, and an actual call rather than a text.

  Rachel scrambled to her feet, yanking the phone out of her bag in a fever lest Paul should lose patience and hang up before she could respond. She managed to pick up while hurrying toward the restroom—the only place she might have the privacy this call demanded.

  “Paul, is that you?” She kept h
er voice low as she threaded her way between tables and reached the relative sanctuary of the women’s room. “Don’t hang up. Okay, now I can talk. Where are you?”

  “Never mind that. What did you say to Attwood?” Paul’s words came out in a rushed whisper.

  “What could I say? They already know you were there and that you copied something from his computer.”

  “Nothing more? Didn’t they ask you?”

  “They asked, but I didn’t know anything else. All I could say was that you’d said you could explain.”

  She heard the sharp intake of his breath. “You told them I’d texted you.”

  Rachel closed her eyes briefly, trying to press down that vague sense of guilt. She had nothing to feel guilty about. “I won’t lie for you, Paul. Don’t ask it.”

  “No, no, of course not,” he murmured hastily.

  “Besides, they just want you to come back. Claire said...or implied, at least, that they wouldn’t bring in the police if you did. And Ian said the same.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Exasperation mounted. How could he ignore the possible consequences?

  “There’s more to it than you think. Listen, I can’t talk here. I’ll stop by the house around nine. But not inside. Meet me out by the garage.”

  “Why outside? Don’t tell me you think someone bugged the house—that’s ridiculous.” Really, this was starting to sound like a bad spy film.

  “Just do it,” he snapped, then began again in a different tone. “Don’t let me down, Rachel. Please.” He ended the call.

  Rachel was tempted to call back, to demand answers, but that never worked with Paul. It would just put up all his defenses. It was only when he was assured that her feelings were positive that he’d been able to tell her the truth. What had happened to him as a child that had left him so desperate for approval? She’d never known.

  And now she hadn’t even had a chance to tell him about the house being searched. A chilling thought struck her. She had ridiculed the idea that the house was bugged, but how would she know? The disorder could have covered up a more devious act.