Do You Want to Know a Secret?

by Mary Jane Clark

  “Fine, Vittorio. Un po’ caldo, no?”

  “Si, Padre.”

  The priest traveled on, opened the confessional door and entered, closing the door behind him and settling himself on the hard seat. He placed a small purple stole around his neck. In the silence of the cathedral, he strained to hear footsteps over the noise of the floor polisher. The design of the confessional called for the small light in his box to change from green to red when someone knelt in the adjoining box. That was the design.

  The reality was that the light had long ago burned out and no one had bothered to replace it, especially since so many confessions were now done face to face in “reconciliation rooms” on the other side of the cathedral.

  The shoes clicked on the marble floor.

  Parting the heavy red velvet drape and going into the box, Dennis knelt on the small wooden kneeler in the darkness. The walls were lined with soundproofing tiles, a touch of modernity seemingly out of place in a Gothic cathedral. Through the pin-dots in the screen, the outline of Father Alec’s profile could be seen. There was an awkward silence.

  “Father, I’m the man with the funny red hair. I wanted to talk to you last night at the dinner, but you left right after the invocation.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, I’m afraid you know that Bill Kendall and I had a financial arrangement. I borrowed a good deal of money and Bill Kendall was making sure that I paid it back. But I think you know this already.”

  “I can’t say whether I know anything or not,” said the priest.

  “Okay, Father. I understand. But you can imagine that I wasn’t unhappy when Bill Kendall took his own life. I thought I was home free.”

  Silence.

  “But then, Bill’s psychiatrist decided to turn the screws. Now he’s dead, too.”

  Father Alec felt he needed to ask the question. “Did you have anything to do with his murder?”

  “No.”

  Did the answer come too quickly? Father Alec couldn’t tell. But if his penitent was not here to confess the sin of murder, then what was it? “Why are you here?” the priest asked pointedly.

  A pause.

  “As far as I know, there were only three men who could ever expose me. Two of them are dead. There’s only one left.”

  “Is this a threat? Are you threatening a priest in his own confessional?”

  The wooden kneeler was uncomfortable. Dennis shifted his weight.

  “I just want to feel safe. I haven’t felt safe for a long time.”

  “You can trust the seal of confession. I am bound to go to my grave with anything you tell me here.”

  Dennis realized that the priest was offering him the chance to unburden his heart. That wasn’t why he’d driven down the turnpike this morning. But maybe he shouldn’t miss the opportunity to bind the priest to the sacramental seal. After a few moments, the fallen-away Catholic found that the words came back so easily. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been twenty years since my last confession. These are my sins.”

  The priest listened.

  “What do you plan to do now?”

  “I’ll take care of things in my own way, Father.”

  Chapter 93

  Nate Heller was giving himself a birthday dinner. Admittedly, it was a Saturday, but it was his forty-sixth birthday and no one had called all day. He was surprised Win hadn’t said anything. His friend had always remembered.

  Win concentrated on the campaign. It seemed as though there was nothing else in the world.

  The waiter brought the covered dishes to the table. Beneath the lids rested Nate’s favorite orange-pressed duck, shrimp and lobster sauce, and fried rice. Nate took a sip of cold Chinese beer and licked his lips. Happy birthday to me.

  Today had been spent like the others before it, working toward the goal. Nate, Win and Joy met to discuss the last of the preconvention traveling schedule. Joy had been preoccupied and didn’t really seem to be focusing on the business at hand. It worried him. She had to be on top of things. None of them needed her slipping up.

  He had let her think that he’d bought her explanation of the meeting with the priest in that Newark hospital.

  Damn it! Another complication. The priest from Bill Kendall’s funeral. The priest in the will. For sure, Father Fisco had not wanted to talk about abortion.

  Just what he didn’t need. Things were going so well. The AIDS Parade for Dollars was succeeding beyond his best expectations. The publicity for the campaign had been wonderful and public approval ratings for the project were high. All from his idea.

  Nate felt his throat constrict and the crispy duck was hard to swallow. Joy’s damned affair wasn’t going to muck things up. No way. Did that damn priest know something? God, he hoped not.

  Nate stifled a burp as the waiter cleared away the empty dishes and brought a steamy hand towel along with a plate of sliced oranges and a fortune cookie. He tore the orange away from its rind with his teeth, intent on getting every last bit of the juicy goodness. Cracking open his cookie, he read the Confucian version of God helps them who help themselves. That was true in any society, in any language. Nate had spent most of his life helping himself, realizing that no one was going to do it for him. He reached for his wallet and checked his watch.

  He had to catch the late shuttle to Newark. He wanted to schmooze the judge, take him out to dinner tomorrow night maybe, let him get the idea that he’s a sure bet for a federal position. Pete needed a little stroking, too. Keeping it up for Yelena was getting more and more difficult for him, but she was too valuable a resource for the cause.

  Nate felt a burning feeling in his chest. He must have eaten too quickly. Or it was simply that his stomach always churned these days. Worrying about the loose cannon didn’t help.

  The loose cannon. Eliza Blake. As far as he was concerned, Eliza Blake couldn’t be trusted.

  “Happy birthday, dear Natey, Happy birthday to you.”

  Chapter 94

  New York’s Fifth Avenue was almost deserted on Sunday morning. Early as it was, it would be good to get inside the cool cathedral. The sun, barely poking through the skyscrapers, was already heating up the city’s macadam and concrete.

  Arriving half an hour early for the 8:00 A.M. Mass ensured that Jean’s entrance wouldn’t be missed.

  Sad that it should have to be this way. But there was really no choice. Jean knew, or would soon know, everything in Bill Kendall’s personal files. Everything.

  There she was! Clutching her little white summer pock-etbook in front of her, her face looking pinched and strained. Genuflecting at an empty pew, Jean stepped in and knelt to pray. Throughout the Mass, her bony fingers rubbed the glass beads of her rosary, her lips moving silently.

  At Communion time, Jean rose to take her place on line. Her head was bowed so reverently as she approached the priest. What a sanctimonious prig! Why couldn’t she have just kept her nose out of it?

  There was a special term for it, wasn’t there? Viaticum. The last Communion.

  As the priest placed the thin wafer on her tongue, Jean was unaware that she was receiving her viaticum, the spiritual food for her final journey.

  The cathedral pews were far from full at such an early Mass, so there was no problem keeping Jean in sight as she moved to her seat. Jean in her prim cotton dress and cardigan, God forbid she should have bare arms in church.

  Soon that pious busybody would be silenced forever.

  Funny, if you’ve killed once, it was easy to kill again.

  “The Mass is ended. Go in peace.”

  “Thanks be to God,” Jean replied.

  Chapter 95

  As she descended the steps of St. Patrick’s, Jean didn’t notice that she was being followed. Walking toward the subway station, her mind was on getting to KEY, making a copy of the files in Bill’s office and going to meet Eliza.

  Jean was thinking of her beloved Bill as the train roared into the station and she felt the violent push from beh
ind.

  July

  Chapter 96

  “It’s freezing in here.”

  Eliza rose from her desk, rubbing her arms. She was sure that it was a good ten degrees cooler in her den than the wall thermostat indicated. She hesitated to complain too loudly. Only early July, it was blistering outside. The weather forecasters were predicting a scorching summer.

  Janie and Mrs. Twomey were in the living room working on some Sesame Street puzzles. Eliza and Mack were going over convention research, or were trying to. Jean’s death had shaken everyone.

  The police thought it was an accident, or perhaps another suicide. There had been no witnesses on the subway platform so early on a Sunday morning.

  With the Evening Headlines story on Joy Wingard be hind her, Eliza was trying to immerse herself in convention research material. Houston’s Astrodome had been selected as the Convention Hall. Almost 5,000 delegates and alternates, as well as 15,000 members of the media, and another 40,000 guests and convention participants were expected to converge on the largest city in Texas. The greater Houston metropolitan area roughly measured that of the state of Rhode Island and Houstonian hospitality would earn a huge economic boost for the town.

  In addition to anchoring KEY to America from the KEY skybox atop the Astrodome, Eliza would report from the floor during the evening convention sessions. She had a preliminary copy of the KEY Convention Handbook, a guide that contained just about every imaginable piece of knowledge helpful in covering this major political event. Delegate seating charts, procedural rules, delegate counts broken down by state, convention staff and officials and their phone numbers, biographies and background information on the players, as well as a history of the campaign thus far—all of it was efficiently included in the handbook. Reading it carefully, Eliza couldn’t think of much the research staff had missed. Yet she knew there would be additions and corrections to the three-ring binder right up until the convention began.

  The convention planners wanted a “newsless” convention, one where there was little controversy and the focus would be on Haines Wingard, the shining candidate and leader of his country. With America watching at home, a national show of party unity was the goal. This convention promised to be a lovefest. Eliza knew it was especially important to have a mental cache of anecdotes and background material to use when there was air to fill while the delirious delegates demonstrated and minor speakers droned.

  She’d done some research of her own, reading books and articles on past presidential candidates and their wives. She wasn’t surprised to learn how many of the powerful men had been involved in extramarital activities. She wondered if anyone had ever thought of doing a book on the “activities” of the wives. Perhaps there weren’t enough first ladies who had dallied outside their marriages to do a book about it. Maybe down the line, when Eliza’s broadcasting days were over, she could do the research and see if there was a book there. She knew that the Joy Wingard story would make a great chapter. Eliza also knew that the knowledge she possessed could make this convention anything but newsless.

  Eliza absentmindedly rubbed the tiny gold charm that hung from her wrist.

  “Mack, I keep going over it in my mind. Jean coming over here with her allegations about Pete Carlson and mentioning something about other computer files.” Eliza tried to remember just what Jean had said. “There was a file about a judge, she mentioned, and a file about Joy. I was in such a rush, Mack, and she was going on and on, and asking for help. You were on your way over, and I’m afraid I didn’t realize how serious it all might have been to her.

  “And then we get to the New Visions dinner, I’m trying to keep my speech in my head and look after Bill’s son, and Louise introduces me to this Judge Quinn. You remember him. Just as he says hello, young William calls him ‘the man with the funny red hair.’

  “And now Jean is crushed by a subway train. I know it sounds crazy, but I feel that it’s all connected somehow. I just know it is.”

  Mack considered. “Look, we can’t get into Bill’s notes. We don’t know the password. Let’s sleuth around in Houston. Maybe we’ll find out more there.”

  Eliza crossed the room and perched herself on the arm of Mack’s chair. She circled her arms around his neck.

  “Mack?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m excited about the Houston trip.”

  “I know. I know there’s nothing you like better than politics and intrigue.”

  “That’s not what I was thinking about. Do you realize this is the first time we’ll be away together?”

  “If you can call it that. There will be thousands of people there. And we’ll both be working excruciatingly long hours. We won’t have much time together at all.”

  “Remember the old expression, ‘Where there’s a will . . .’ ”

  Chapter 97

  Louise kissed the brown wavy hair and gave the fluffy comforter covering her son one last tuck. Then she tiptoed out of the room. William was home for a few days while some repair work was being done on his group home.

  She listened outside the door a minute, as she had hundreds of times before. She could hear the muffled sounds of her son talking to himself as he so often did before he fell asleep. Memories of the two-sided conversations he had replayed as a little boy usually made her smile, as it was his special way of working out in his mind at night what had happened in his school classes each day. Louise had learned what was being taught, what his teachers had corrected him on, even whom William had fought with, just by listening as he talked himself to sleep.

  Tonight, she was reminded of the New Visions dinner and his replay at the table. Louise thought that getting embarrassed over William was a thing of the past, but everyone had felt so uncomfortable.

  Louise slowly climbed up the flight to the third-floor library and made her way to the mahogany partners desk. The glass bowl resting on the corner of the desk was filled with unopened bills and unanswered correspondence she wanted to go through before she hit the hay herself.

  She knew she had been neglecting things. Burning the candle at both ends, hey, old girl? In the days before Range, Louise’s weeks had been fairly routine, filled with work and reasonable bedtimes. When William came home for weekend visits, she had plenty of energy for him.

  Now, with Range a very important part of her life, she gladly traveled into Manhattan two or three nights a week. Range came out to New Jersey on weekends. Louise smiled, thinking of Range’s pronouncement that he would not want to spend the night anytime William was home. Louise was glad that Range had said it before she had.

  She’d also spent a good deal of time on the New Visions fund-raiser. It had been worth it, though. The dinner had been their most successful moneymaker yet. Eliza Blake had been a big hit as the dinner speaker. And, happily, when Louise asked her if she’d do it again next year, Eliza had agreed.

  Indeed, everything was better than it had been in a very long time, and Louise was grateful. Still, the pace of her very full life was tiring, and now she was looking forward to accompanying Range to Houston. Tonight, she was just glad to have a chance to get caught up on her paperwork, write some checks, and go through the printouts of the newest multiple listings. She had three clients who were aching to buy and she didn’t want to miss an opportunity to close them.

  For the next forty-five minutes she systematically wrote checks to pay the condominium maintenance fee, the Public Service Electric and Gas bill, the American Express and Visa bills, her monthly health insurance, and the car and life insurance premiums that always came due at this time of year. Then there were the envelopes asking for donations for charitable causes. She worked her way through the bowl until there were no more checks to be written for the month.

  Louise decided to plow away and try to make a dent in responding to the condolence letters that were still coming in about Bill. She had been answering the letters with a personal note of her own, rather than sending the standard engraved cards. The fir
st order of business tonight was a letter from the vice president himself, who recalled his dealings with Bill in interview situations over the years. Bill was, the vice president wrote, always straight-shooting in his questioning. The VP also went on to remark how impressed he had been with Bill’s funeral service and thought that it had been a fitting sendoff for such a fine man.

  Louise’s mind traveled back to the funeral. It had been impressive and she had Father Alec to thank for it. He had handled everything.

  Father Alec. Joy Wingard. Leo Karas. Bill’s will. There was some sort of connection there. It was bothering her. Seeing the priest talk to Joy in the videotape the other night was just too much of a coincidence. What was going on? She would ask Range what he thought.

  She answered the vice president and three other messages of sympathy and decided to call it a night. As she capped her pen and went to switch off the lamp, she noticed a small stack of diskettes piled carefully next to the computer. William must have been busy up here. She smiled with satisfaction, still thinking that it was quite remarkable that her son was so good with the machine. She knew so many “normal” people who were mystified by anything having to do with computers.

  Louise didn’t bother looking through the diskettes, didn’t notice the one at the bottom marked DAD in large, amateurish letters.

  Chapter 98

  “Never, ever take more than one of these. Too much of this medication can cause potentially fatal arrhythmias.”

  That’s what the doctor had said.

  Four of the pale green, half-milligram pills. All together, two milligrams. That should do it. The pills were pulverized and carefully placed into the Fiorinal casing. The green

  Fiorinal capsule covered the new green powder very well. The untampered capsules were discarded.

  Once the pills were in Eliza’s bag, it would only be a matter of time, given the frequency of her headaches.