Then his beeper went off.
***
With lights flashing and sirens blaring, Coop arrived within minutes of Duncan's page. He came into the guest house like a racer heading toward the finish line. For the next hour he pried every bit of information about the phone call she could remember from Aurora.
"He said he wanted to kill me." Aurora sat quietly on the sofa dressed in jeans and a sweater, far more calm now than she'd been when Duncan found her on the bedroom floor.
"Are you sure there isn't anything else?" She shook her head. I've told you everything I can remember. He said he wasn't fooled by the episode on television, that he knew television and it couldn't fool him. I could use any name I wanted, but he knew who I was and that he was going to bury me wearing those pearls."
"He gave you no reason."
"No, only that it wasn't personal. That he was going to unravel me like a necklace."
Duncan put his arm around her and she leaned into him.
"How'd he know where I was?" she asked. "I thought the number was unlisted."
"It is," Duncan said over her head. "We'll have it changed tomorrow."
"No," Coop said. "I want permission to have the line tapped."
"All right," Duncan agreed.
Aurora spoke up. "Then you'll have to have someone else answer it." She remembered raving into the receiver, falling naked to the floor. No way would she go through that again.
"Aurora, did you recognize anything about the voice?" Coop was back to asking her questions.
"No," she said. "I'd never heard it before. I don't think it was anyone I know, and I'm not sure I'd know it again." She answered questions she was sure he was going to ask. "Coop, can we stop going over and over the same ground? I've told you everything I can remember—everything. If there was anything else, I'd tell you. Now I'm tired."
"All right." He stood up and squeezed her shoulder, then headed for the door. Duncan got up and followed him. Aurora was too tired to try to hear what they said. She wanted to sleep, but she didn't think she could. She didn't think she'd ever sleep again.
She wanted something to drink. Her throat was parched. Getting up, she went to the bar and found a bottle of orange juice in the refrigerator. Opening it, she poured two glasses. When Duncan joined her she handed him one.
"I thought it might help me sleep," she said.
Duncan accepted the glass and took her arm. He brought her around to the sofa and turned the lights down to a cozy glow. Then he sat on the sofa and pulled her next to him.
"Sleep if you want," he told her. "I'm going to be here all night."
Aurora settled against him. She sipped her juice and closed her eyes. "What did you and Coop talk about at the door?"
"Marsha. Coop said she was just about to tell him something when he got beeped."
"You know ..." Aurora wanted to giggle. She started to, then quickly stopped. She was exhausted and her head ached. If she started laughing she'd be hysterical, and she'd already gone through one hysterical episode that night.
"What is it?"
Duncan removed the glass from her hand as she tried to find a more comfortable position. Her eyes drooped and her head fell in his lap.
"You know what would be really funny?"
"What?"
"Suppose he isn't after either of us." Her words slurred. She was almost asleep.
"What do you mean?"
"Suppose he's not our enemy." She chuckled. "Suppose we're just pawns, and he's really not after me and not after Marsha, at all." She gave a short, little sleepy laugh. "Wouldn't that be funny?"
"Go to sleep," Duncan said.
"Wouldn't that be funny, Duncan? All this time we've been trying to find the wrong man."
"Aurora, what are you saying?"
"Not my coin, Darling." Her words were slurred and came out slowly. "Not my...."
It was the last thing she said before she fell asleep. Duncan drained his glass and stared at the dark fireplace. This was a twist he hadn't thought of. It read like a bad movie script. In this business everyone had enemies. He had his share. Suppose she'd caught onto something? Suppose it wasn't her coin, as she called it. Suppose the stalker wanted to destroy him? It made sense. What better way to get at him than by destroying the show? With Marsha out of the way the show would die. He wouldn't, however. He had other projects in the works. He already knew he'd be leaving for Hollywood and the movie he'd received backing for. Why would anyone want to destroy Marsha to get to him?
He doesn't know. Rumors about Duncan’s connections had flourished only here, and probably in a small circle on the west coast. So far nothing had been announced. They were saving the announcement until he arrived in California at the end of November.
On the surface it appeared that this show was his only endeavor. Without it he wouldn't have to work another day in his life, if he chose. He had investments, stock in major corporations, and interests in some Hollywood production companies. With The Marsha Chambers Show he drew a tremendous salary. Someone in the business would know that one show could not destroy a career.
Aurora was only rambling. He watched her as she slept. She was tired, stressed, and didn't know what she was saying. Still, her comments gnawed at him. Suppose it was his coin?
Three names immediately came to mind. He wondered where they were. Would they stoop to getting to him by trying to kill Aurora or Marsha? He wasn't sure, but he'd have Coop check it all out in the morning.
He set the empty glass on the table. Easing from under Aurora, he lifted her. She stirred in his arms as he carried her up the stairs and put her to bed. As he climbed in next to her she rolled into his arms. He cradled her close and let the worries of the world be shouldered by someone else for the night. For the time being he was only a man in love,
"I love you, Aurora," he whispered, and kissed her forehead. "Nobody is going to hurt you."
***
The offstage sound system poured music into the studio. Duncan knew Aurora had become used to it signaling the beginning of the show. The announcer introduced her as Rory. His voice was strong, and louder than Duncan's whispered caresses. The audience applauded at the flash of the sign that told them to do so.
Aurora entered from stage left and waited for the chaotic rise in applause to the down. Her usual smile was missing. In its place was an earnest expression.
"Good afternoon." She held no microphone. The tiny clip in her blouse propelled her voice to the back of the gallery. Her hands hung at her sides, fingers reaching the hem of the dark green suit jacket she'd chosen. "Today's show is a serious one. In a moment I'll introduce you to an extraordinary young mother and her son. I met them only a short while ago, but I've come to believe that this woman is stronger than anyone I've ever met.”
Duncan watched Aurora. She was the strongest woman he'd ever met. He stood in the darkness of the studio, out of sight but in communication with the control room through the headset that arced over his head.
Coop sat in the audience. Duncan was relieved he'd decided to patrol the audience. Duncan's duties were too close to the stage for him to take time to review suspicious characters. He knew it would be better to cancel today's filming. Aurora had refused. Even after the horrors of the past few days, she'd insisted on continuing as if nothing had happened. The child was out of the hospital, and Aurora knew it was important to them to broadcast their message. With his present rate of deterioration he might not get another chance.
Her face was straight. She turned slightly as one camera light went off and another came on. "In the United States we think we have the best of everything, and most often we do...the best schools, best hospitals, best scientists and engineers." She paused. "For one family the best is not good enough." She lowered her voice. "We'll be right back."
The lights came up and the camera panned back to encompass the entire room. The audience applauded. Then the stage was reset. A commercial would be inserted at this point, after which the show would
resume.
When the cameras came back Aurora was seated on the stage. Tightly the cameraman filled the screen with her image. Duncan checked it. He could see the strain around her eyes. The camera would undoubtedly see it. He couldn't speculate how the public would interpret it.
"Three days ago my guest was lying in a hospital fighting for his life." She turned to the two people sitting on her right. “Meet Noreen Moore and her son Adam."
Adam sat in a wheelchair between his mother and Aurora. The boy looked pale. He smiled into the camera. His face was covered with freckles, and the mop of "dirty blonde" hair that covered his head also hung into his eyes.
"Adam, why don't you tell the audience why you're here?"
"We want to find my sister," he answered clearly.
"Why?" Aurora asked.
"She can save my life."
Aurora looked from the boy to his mother. "Would you explain what happened?"
The woman sat dry-eyed but as tight as an overextended spring. Her purple suit seemed to almost disappear into the chair of the same color. She pressed her hands together over the balled up tissue she'd had before they started filming.
"My daughter...disappeared four years ago."
Her voice broke on the first sentence. She wasn't going to make it, Duncan thought. The audience was quiet. There was only the sound of breathing and the energy of hundreds of silent people in the cavernous studio.
He checked Aurora. She appeared calm, yet he wondered about her emotional state, too. There were too many time bombs in today's program. Mrs. Moore would never make it through the program without breaking down. When mothers cried, so did their children. So Adam was apt to begin crying, too. Aurora's emotional state was unpredictable. Duncan drew in a breath. There was nothing he could do but hope he could salvage part of the tape for at least a short segment.
"Her name is Gilda," Noreen Moore said. "We call her Gillie."
A photo of the girl appeared on the bottom of the screen.
"This is Gillie's picture," Aurora explained. "She was sixteen then. We've had a computer enhance the image of her to show what she might look like today."
Magically, the sixteen-year-old's photo was blown up to fill the entire screen. It sat there for three seconds before splitting into two exact photos side by side. While the image on the left remained unchanged the one on the right aged before the camera to show what the twenty-year-old should look like now. There wasn't much of a change, but with makeup and a different hairstyle she was an adult.
"Mrs. Moore, how can your daughter help Adam?"
"Adam ..." The woman put her hand to her mouth. Tears rolled over her face. Duncan sighed. A lump rose in his throat and he pushed it down. This woman was obviously in pain, and that pain was being transferred. He felt it. He knew the audience must feel it, too. She would be great on a news program, but Duncan hadn't done the news in years and he'd never put this woman before the cameras in her state. He was afraid Noreen Moore wouldn't be able to complete the program. She'd insisted she wanted to do it.
"Adam suffers from a rare form of kidney dysfunction." Aurora spoke to the camera, taking over for the mother. "He needs a transplant. His parents have been tested and neither of them are an exact enough match. They need Gillie to come forward and see if she can save her brother's life."
"We're running out of time," the mother got out before she was again swamped by tears. Duncan panned the audience. Open tears rolled down the faces of several women. Some of them held their hearts. The men in the audience looked stoically at the stage. He knew from his own elevated heartbeat they were effected but holding back any outward form of emotion.
"Gillie, if you're out there, please listen to me." The camera moved in tightly on Aurora.
"On the bottom of the screen are two phone numbers. Call either one of them and let some one know that you are all right. Your mother wants you to come home, and Adam needs you." She paused. "We'll be right back."
The audience took a collective breath, Duncan included, then applauded. For a moment Aurora consoled the mother, handing her a tissue from the box on the small table next to her and having the wadded up one in her hand taken away. Mrs. Moore took several deep breaths. Her tears dried and she indicated she could go on.
The camera light went on at his direction and Aurora began to speak, updating the television audience who might have just tuned in to what the subject of the day's program was. "Many people don't know how often kidney transplants are needed and done in this country. Our guest today, Adam Moore, is one child who needs a match in order to live. Most often matches come from someone with the same genetic makeup. Adam's only chance is his sister, who is missing."
She turned back to her guests. Duncan checked the monitor. The 800 numbers were still displayed. "Mrs. Moore, you've told us Gillie disappeared. You mean she ran away?"
"I don't know," her mother said. "You hear of children being abducted. It was the first thought that went through my mind when she didn't come home. We've had no word from her in the four years she's been missing. The police can't find her and ..." She broke off, but regrouped quickly. "We've hired private detectives and checked the national runaway bureaus."
"If she ran away, do you think she had a reason to leave?" Duncan knew by the quietness of Aurora's voice she didn't want to put the mother through this. Yet the audience would want the answer to that question. What had driven the sixteen-year-old away?
"I don't think any mother understands, or any teenager knows either. It’s such an unstable time in both people's lives. My ex-husband and I were going through a divorce. I can't say what deep effect it had on Gillie. I know she didn't want it. The day it became final, she dis—"
"Gillie left that day and no one has seen her since," Aurora said, immediately taking over when Noreen Moore's voice closed off. Her manner was quiet, unassuming. "If Gillie is out there, we need her." Duncan liked the way Aurora had made herself part of the story. Somehow she'd become the surrogate in this interview. "We're not asking you to come and stay if you don't want to. We're asking you to save your brother's life." The camera flashed on the child in the wheelchair. "We can get you here, Gillie. All we ask is that you call. Let your mother know you're well. The phone numbers are on the bottom of the screen."
At that moment Aurora looked toward Duncan. The stage lights would have him in shadow. He knew she couldn't see him but he connected with her, nonetheless. "When we come back we'll talk with the president of the National Kidney Foundation and Adam's doctor. Stay with us."
Duncan had seen Marsha enthrall an audience. He'd seen actors on telethons and charity auctioneers making appeals. Aurora outdistanced them all in her genuine and sincere approach to saving this child. Duncan returned his attention to the audience as the house lights came up. If he didn't already know it he'd believe it now. Any one of them would be willing to give this child a kidney after the softly spoken but fervent plea by the show's substitute hostess.
The audience whispered to each other. They couldn't resist Aurora's sincerity. She'd taken the pressure off the mother, filled the teary void with her own charismatic magnetism.
***
Coop knew the moment she entered the studio. Flags stood up and waved in his bloodstream. Marsha Chambers stood alone in the dark well where the bright stage lights faded to darkness. Her disguise, if it could be called that—hair parted on the left and flipped to one side, laying flat against her head, a long coat over jeans—did nothing to prevent recognition.
Of course, Coop would have recognized her if she were wearing protective armor or a level four space suit. Her stare was riveted to the stage and the nervous boy who sat between Aurora and his mother.
Coop again wondered what association she had with this child. He'd made discreet inquiries, doing them himself so as not to arouse undue attention. He could hide his investigation under the guise of official justification and department sanction in an ongoing investigation, but the truth was he simply needed to know
.
What he found wouldn't fill a shot glass. She had no prior criminal record. He thanked God for that. He could find no medical anomalies such as pregnancies, either full or aborted. No long, unexplained absences, no drunk and disorderlies, loud parties, family quarrels, nor parking tickets.
She took few vacations, was considered difficult to work with, yet Hollywood clamored to sign her to multi-movie contracts. In the last three years she'd refused every one of them. Why? Coop wondered. What was it about New Jersey that kept her here?
He scanned the crowd, looking for anyone who might be suspicious. Had someone else noticed her standing there alone? Coop's heart went out to her. She was hiding something, and had been for a long time. He knew it. His instinct told him. His interrogation told him. If that damn beeper hadn't gone off he'd have discovered what it was. She wanted to tell someone. She was dying to get the weight off her shoulders. He'd seen it, probably more than anyone else had ever noticed. She screamed, made people dance to her tune, all so they wouldn't see the lonely woman inside—the one hiding a secret she went out of her way to protect
Pulling his gaze away, Coop went back to checking faces. No one caught his eye. The audience's attention was as anchored to the stage as Marsha's was. His attention went back to Marsha. He stared at her rather than the action taking place before him, reviewing what he'd found out. Coop had discovered that her parents and a younger sister had died in an accident when she was nine. She'd been placed in foster care, where she was abused. She seemed to pull through the early part of her life, excelling in school. She was accepted at the college of her choice and went there on a full scholarship. She graduated in five years from the School of Fine Arts and went straight to Hollywood.
Only the foster care problem tainted her bio. Otherwise there was nothing shameful about it. Yet the story put out to the media about Marsha Chambers had little resemblance to this one. He wondered why. What was the anomaly there? And college, too, he thought. Fine Arts wasn't a five year program, at least not at Howard University, where she'd graduated. She was too good a student and too good an actress to have failed courses and not qualified for graduation. He made a mental note to order a transcript when he got back to the office. He made another note to find out more about Marsha Chambers. And that he'd do in person.
Mirror Image (Capitol Chronicles Book 4) Page 17
