"Occasionally, though I've never seen them this close to shore," I said. "You've got to take a whale-watch boat out to get a good viewing."
She smiled. "If I had the time, that sounds like fun."
"And what kind of time do you have now?"
Laura shrugged. "Not much. It only took some threats on my part to get this evening off, considering all the hours I've been putting in. But there's reports to be filed, witnesses to be interviewed, evidence to be collected. Right now the uranium's being flown out to Los Alamos, and I still have a couple of people left to talk to. Including you."
"Lucky me," I said.
"Yes, lucky you," she said. "And what do you plan to do when this is all wrapped up?"
"Plans? I didn't know I was suppose to have plans."
"Sure you do," she said confidently. "Everyone's got plans.
You mean to tell me that when this is all over you intend to go back to your quiet little existence, doing whatever it is that you do?”
"Exactly," I said, cutting a fresh piece of roast pork "That's exactly what I plan to do. What do you think I want to do, come work with you?"
She eyed me as she chewed delicately on a piece of meat.
"To repeat a phrase, that's exactly what I'm thinking. Not fulltime. I wouldn't want to take you away from this coastal paradise. No, what I'm thinking is a contract force. Come in when we have particular problems to look at. I like the way you handle yourself, I like the way you poked around and answered questions."
"Did you also like the way I tried to kill your coworker?" I asked.
She raised an eyebrow, while the faint breeze off the ocean blew hair across her face. "I liked the way you handled yourself back there, when your back was against the wall, so let's leave it at that. All right?"
"All right," I said.
She toyed with her fork some and said, "I know you're going through a shakedown after all that happened. But be glad with what you helped to do, Lewis. You saved hundreds of lives, you saved the lives of American servicemen and women who were about to fly into harm's way, and you also helped keep some important Mideast negotiations on track. You should feel proud."
"Maybe I should," I said, still thinking of what it had been like looking at the still form of Felix Tinios floating in that flooded chamber. "But it's too soon. It really is."
She smiled. "Okay. I get it. But I also need a commitment from you on an official debrief Nothing too fancy. Just me and nobody else. Does tomorrow sound okay?"
I thought and said, "Tomorrow afternoon. I might be busy in the morning. Is that all right?"
"Sure. Two P.M.?" "Two is fine."
We ate some more and chatted about the weather and the foibles of working for the federal government, and what kinds of hotels have the best room service. Nothing too fancy. Then the wind picked up some and clouds began to roll in, and when I saw her shiver, I suggested it was time to go in.
It happened just as we were in the kitchen area, after the dishes had been piled up. She looked at me and said simply, "I'm cold," and then she was in my arms. We kissed for long seconds and then stumbled into the living room and onto the couch. I was on my back and she was on top of me, surprisingly strong, and I enjoyed the sensation, enjoyed the taste and feel of her, of the long hair gliding through my fingers, the strong muscles of her back as I held her close.
Her legs were entangled in mine and we kept on kissing, her hands now unbuttoning my shirt, and then it all just faded away. I thought about Paula Quinn, a few miles away, maybe coming home from a planning-board meeting or something, and finding my message on her answering machine. I imagined her smiling slightly as she picked up the phone and dialed me back, and then the smile slowly fading away as the phone fang and rang and rang without being picked up.
Paula. Wanting and needing to talk to me, by a silent phone.
Laura raised her head. “Well, permit me to introduce myself. The name is Laura Reeves.”
"I know," I said.
"Then why have you suddenly departed? Something wrong?"
I sighed and rubbed at the sides of her head. "Yes. Several things. All wrong. It's like this, I ---"
"Hush," she said, touching her fingers to my lips, sitting up on the couch. "I don't need to hear anything else. I know the drill. It's one of a few reasons, tried and true. There's somebody else. There's not somebody else, but you don't fit the bill. You're going to be leaving soon, what's the point. You're a hard, tough woman, and sorry, I can't get past that."
She tugged at her sweater, pulled it down back over her skirt. She kissed me quickly. "I've heard it all before and I don't want to get into a lengthy blah-blah-blah session over the ins and outs. All right?"
Laura got up and grabbed her jacket and said, "I'll see you tomorrow at two. And thanks for the company. I really enjoyed myself"
"I did, too," I said, but by then she was already out the door.
I was on my feet now, the scent of her still on my hands, the taste of her still on my lips. I went to the kitchen and started slowly washing the dishes, waiting for the phone to ring, and its silence mocked me during the rest of the evening.
I called Paula Quinn one more time, just before going to bed, and hung up without leaving a message on her machine.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next morning I felt better, and after a quick stand-up breakfast of tea and toast in my kitchen I took my Explorer out and drove the thirty seconds up to the Lafayette House, where I went into the small gift shop and purchased that day's Porter Herald. I folded the paper in half, and from a pay phone in the hotel's lobby, I called Paula. Still no answer. I rubbed the paper against my leg and thought for a bit. Knowing Paula, she also had the habit of letting messages pile up on her answering machine when she didn't want to be disturbed. I checked the time. A little before 8 A.M. Should be up by now, and I thought she'd want to see that day's Herald.
I got back into the Explorer and headed south and made a right-hand turn onto High Street and drove the short distance to her apartment house. Her Ford Escort was still in the parking lot, and by the time I was in the building and going upstairs to the second floor, I was smiling like a glad uncle, ready to present his favorite niece with a magnificent gift.
It took two knocks on the door before it opened up, and there was Paula, yawning, wearing a short yellow robe. Her face seemed surprised and she said, “Lewis, what is --- “
"Hold on," I said. "Before you say another word, another syllable, I want to show you this."
I handed over the Herald to her and she muttered, "This better be good, or --- Holy Christ, look at this."
I craned my head to look over her shoulder as she looked at the front-page headline and accompanying news story. The headline said, CHRONICLE EDITOR LINKED TO PORN SHOPS, and the lead of the story began, "Documents supplied to the Porter Herald yesterday show that Rupert Holman, the new executive editor al the Tyler Chronicle and a prime mover behind the county-wide decency program, has himself been renting adult videos from local video rental stores. Copies of receipts --- with Holman's name, address, phone number and what appears to be his signature --- show that Holman rented nearly a dozen videos in the last I week alone. The videos were of the most explicit possible, and even the names of the videos cannot be published in this newspaper."
She looked up at me, her face pale with shock "This can't be true. Can it?"
I proudly looked back at her. "If it's printed in the newspaper, it must be true, right?"
Now her expression changed. "You. You had something to do with this, didn't you?"
"Well, maybe a little ---"
"Lewis, do you know what this means? Do you?"
"Sure I do," I said. "Somebody who's been giving you and the rest of the newspaper grief these past few weeks has just been hoisted by his own petard. Someone who's been sitting in judgment is going to get a brief taste of ---"
"Spare me, will you?" she said sharply. "What this means is that my newspaper is going to
be the laughingstock of the Seacoast. What this means is that --- sure, Rupert might be heading out over this embarrassment, but we’ve gotten used to him. Which means that we now have to get used to some other jerk who ---“
“Hey, Paula,” came a voice from inside her place. “Where do you hide the coffee around here?”
Paula's face seemed to flush and I looked into the apartment as a young man wearing a towel wrapped around his waist came into view. He stopped quickly, his face now the color of Paula's, and I wished right then and there that I had overslept that morning.
"Lewis," she said, "I'd like you to meet ---"
"Yes, I know who it is," I said. "Mark Spencer, town counsel. Am I right?"
"Yeah, I'm, uh, I'll just leave you two be," he said, backing away, and I held up a hand. "No, that's fine, I was just leaving. Right now."
"Lewis," Paula said, holding the newspaper, clasping her robe close against her. "Look, I'll call you, we'll chat, okay?"
"Yes, of course," I said, and I turned around and the next thing I knew I was back in my Ford, driving away, not sure of where I was going or why, but just knowing I had to be away from there at any price.
The next person who saw the newspaper had a more cheerful response than Paula, and Diane Woods laughed over and over again as she read through the story. We were having an early lunch at the Whale's Fin, a small restaurant at the Tyler Beach Palace, right in the center of the Strip at Tyler Beach. Large windows looked out over the sidewalk, where the first trickles of tourists began their yearly trek to visit the shore.
Diane had on a tan business suit and white blouse, and she chuckled again as she read the ending of the story aloud to me. "'Reached at his apartment late last night, Holman refused to comment and hung up on the phone on this reporter.''' She looked over at me, still smiling. "Don't those yahoos in the media know any better? It's always the cover-up that gets you in trouble, not the crime."
I tried to get my hands around a sloppy steak-and-cheese sub that was oozing out over my plate. "You're enjoying this way too much, you know."
"I know, I know," she said, returning to her salad. There’s a German word about taking joy in the misfortune of others, and I wish I knew it right now, because I sure am feeling this. Self-appointed guardian of the town's morals, exposed for all to see. Except... "
I chewed, swallowed. "Except what?"
She eyed me. "Except that I don't think he even could have been that stupid, to rent videos from stores that he tried to send protesters to. Which tells me that he must have been set up. I'd first think that one or two of the stores might have done it on their own, but three different ones? Doesn't make sense."
I took another healthy bite of my sandwich. "Yeah, you're right. It doesn't make sense."
"Uh-huh," she said. "Which tells me that somebody with a grudge or ax to grind did it. Somebody who doesn't like bullies. Someone who doesn't like a person from out of town coming in and raising hell with the locals. Someone I'm looking at right now."
I made chewing noises and pointed to my mouth, and Diane smiled in return. "Oh, I'll wait until you swallow. Lewis, you had to know that this wasn't going to work that well. A day or so later, he'll be able to prove that he didn't rent the videos. So what was the point? A temporary embarrassment?"
I finally swallowed, wiped my chin with a paper napkin.
"There's an apocryphal story about Lyndon Johnson, back when he was first running for some statewide office in Texas. It was a close race and he asked somebody in his campaign to start spreading a rumor, that Johnson's opponent enjoyed... urn, a special relationship with his barnyard animals. Johnson's adviser was horrified. 'No one will believe that he said. And Johnson's supposed reply: 'That's all right. Let's make the son of a bitch deny it."
Diane seemed to nod in appreciation. "1 see. And after a day or two of denying that he was renting Leather Lesbians from Hell, Holman wouldn't be so quick to print stories about people's private lives. Lewis, quite noble, but I'm a big girl. I could have handled myself.”
“Having seen you knock around a robbery suspect or two, I have no doubt about it.”
“Still…” she reached over and touched my hand. “It was greatly appreciated. Greatly. The less stress in my life and Kara's life, the better. And how did your friend Paula handle this news? From what you told me, she's no fan of her new boss."
"Right now, I don't think she's a fan of Lewis Cole, either," I said.
"Oh?" she asked, and I spent a couple of minutes telling her about what had happened earlier that morning, and she said, "Ouch. You should have called again, before going over."
"I should have stayed home, that's what," I said.
"Poor you," she said. "Women problems, yet again."
"Yeah, you're right. Tell me, whenever you figure women out, you let me know."
Another smile. "Deal."
A few more minutes later, she said, "I heard there was quite a hoo-ha over in your neck of the woods last night, over at Samson Point. True?"
"Quite true."
She toyed with her salad. "You involved?"
"Quite involved."
"Anything you can talk about?" "Nope."
She put her fork down. "Maybe that's why Paula ended up with our new lawyer in town. No big secrets, except maybe a trust fund or two. Maybe you should think better about playing spook man. You're a long way away from your old job and old life, you know."
I wiped my hands on a bunch of napkins. "No, I didn't know."
At 2 P.M. on the dot, Laura Reeves knocked at my door and I led her upstairs to my office. Like Diane, she had on a business suit that covered up the charms she had been displaying yesterday, but unlike Diane, she was cool and to the point.
"You don't want to do this downstairs?" she asked.
"No, if you don't mind," I said. "I'm wrapping up a story for my magazine, and I’d rather hold court in my office."
So we stayed in my office, my new computer still humming away, and we sat across from each other, less than a yard separating us. From her large! bag she took out a fresh yellow legal pad and started from the beginning, asking me questions about why I had come out to the Samson Point Nature Preserve on that night almost a week ago, through my poking around with the local cops, up to the time when I went down to Boston and found out the truth about her and NEST, which made her raise her eyebrows some. Sometimes the questions were repeated, and sometimes they weren't, and as she talked, I couldn't help but admire that bulldog tenacity she took in asking me the questions.
When she was done, about an hour later, she flipped through the pad again, made a few checkmarks, and said, "Okay, I think we're done here, Lewis. Once again, I offer you the thanks of a grateful Department of Energy. You did an exceptional job."
"Gee, thanks."
"Again, my offer still stands. You can come work for us anytime. You still have my business card?"
"I do."
"Okay, please don't lose it."
"No chance of that," I said. "Permission to ask a question?"
"Sure, go ahead."
"I got a couple of hang-up phone calls over the past week. Nothing serious, nothing too threatening. But they started right after I signed up with you. Can I spare a guess?"
"Go ahead."
"The calls. They came from you, or someone who works for you. Right? What was the point? To keep me sharp?"
A quick nod. "Exactly. To keep you a bit off-balance, so that you'd be more energetic in doing what had to be done. We couldn't have you sitting home doing nothing, hoping to wait us out."
"Could have just trusted me."
"Sure," she said. "But we didn't have the luxury, not then. Fair or foul, we needed you to work with us. No hard feelings."
I didn't answer. Just looked at her. She sighed and said, "Look, one more thing."
Laura rummaged around in her large bag and pulled out a large folder. "I've got some items to show you. Here." She passed over some papers and I slowly went through them.
Two were the non-disclosure forms I had signed, once while in Nevada, the other just a while ago across the street. The other papers were copies of bank statements and IRA statements and the title for this house, and all reflected what had happened after I had first turned down Laura's request to work for her. The balances in all the accounts showed zero, and the title --- instead of displaying my name -- had the Department of Interior inked in.
I handed the papers back to her. "A threat?"
"No, a promise, and a reminder. You've agreed to keep your mouth shut about everything that went on, in return for our promise to leave you alone. Break your promise, and we can do what we did earlier, just as fast. You'll be broke and homeless. Got it?"
"Surely do," I said. "Tell me, if things had progressed last night beyond a little kissy-face on the couch, would you have done this little presentation just the same?"
Her face was expressionless. "Absolutely. And I make no apologies. Whatever I do isn't for spite or anger. It's to defend this country and its people. Killer waves. Remember?"
"Sure, I remember," I said. "Oh, one other thing. I've changed my mind."
"About what?"
"About compensation. I know I made a big show earlier about tearing up that check and all, but I've changed my mind. I've decided I want to be paid for my work"
"Oh. Well, that's a bit out of the ordinary, but I'm sure we can tap into some discretionary funds ---" "Hold on," I interrupted. "Who said anything about money?"
Now I had gotten her attention. "What do yon mean?"
"What I mean is this,” I said, taking her legal pad and pen from her hands. I scribbled something at the bottom of the first page and passed over. "There. I wrote it down so there's no confusion. That’s what I want, and it's non-negotiable."
She took the pad from me and looked down, and just as quickly looked up. "lmpossible."
Killer Waves Page 29
