‘We’ll talk about it when you get back. It’ll be tomorrow, won’t it?’
‘First available flight. I’ll be back by mid-afternoon.’
‘That’s good.’
Slater wished she’d stop saying everything was good. ‘You sure you’re OK? You’re not upset about anything?’
‘I told you I’m fine.’ Too sharp again, she thought, hearing her own voice.
‘I’ll look in at the office on my way home. Mary Ellen says everything’s quiet, which is good.’ Now he was using the damned word!
‘Best of luck for tonight.’
‘I might even hear something.’
‘I look forward to your telling me all about it tomorrow.’
Ann had taken the call in Slater’s den and stayed there, feeling safe because there weren’t any outside windows, although she’d got over the fear during the day, hunched during most of it in her equally windowless gallery office after trying, unaccustomed to the system and how to operate it, to run back the CCTV loop. She was looking for excuses, saying she was unaccustomed to it, Ann forced herself to admit. She’d let the reel run too long by not checking it before taking the previous afternoon off, so a lot had been wiped off due to the automatic rewind and the first of the surviving images that had initially frozen her with fear had been partially lost, too indistinct for her to be positive.
But a lot of what she had seen reminded her of Jack.
At first sight – and during the several repeated playbacks – Ann had been totally convinced that it was her former husband and that he’d been there, directly outside the gallery. But then she’d imposed the control, that all too easily fluctuating control, and looked several times more and a lot closer and accepted that it couldn’t be. The picture was of the back of a man walking past the gallery, nothing of his face visible at all. He’d been wearing jeans and a windbreaker and his head was slightly hunched forward, as if he were in a hurry. The shape was definitely wrong for it to have been Jack. The image on the film was of someone far thinner, more obviously fitter, than Jack had ever been and the man’s shoulders were far broader. The hair was shorter, too, and lighter, although because the film was black and white she couldn’t determine whether it was grey or blonde. What she had determined, during the course of an unsettled day, was that it was a remarkable resemblance, but nothing more – nothing to cause her the initial terror – than that.
It certainly wasn’t anything to talk to Daniel about. She’d recovered her composure now – and the conviction that there was no way her former husband could ever find her – and she didn’t want Daniel to think she could collapse as easily as she’d collapsed before the moment he was away on a trip. And he might go away again. She also didn’t want him to know that after demanding all the security devices, she’d carelessly – stupidly – forgotten to check them.
She wouldn’t forget again, though, neither here nor at the gallery. A lot of her newly recovered confidence came from having followed the resolution that evening. There’d been nothing whatsoever suspicious anywhere around the house; she’d only counted a total of ten cars going up and down Hill Avenue the entire day.
Ann decided to have just one more drink before going to bed. It would only be her third and she was still in complete control. She’d better buy a replacement bottle of gin to prevent Daniel noticing that the level of the one in the house for guests had gone down.
Thirteen
Slater spent a long time with Mary Ellen – wearing yet another home-knit sweater and making side notes to herself to avoid mistakes – dictating the first draft of his memorandum to the San Jose kitchen furnishing chain confirming all that had been agreed during his visit, correcting and rephrasing it before he was finally satisfied that nothing had been overlooked. On his way in from the airport the previous afternoon he’d picked up the two enquiries that had come in while he had been away and went through them overnight. Sure he could fulfil both without any conflict with those he’d already accepted, Slater quoted for those as well but was still able to cross town to meet Ann for lunch before their scheduled meeting with the school principal. David had become subdued at dinner the previous night when he’d realized the Maryland sports coach wasn’t being included and after they had ordered their lunch Ann said, ‘He doesn’t think we’re going to go along with it.’
‘I told him that wasn’t so, that we were working through it properly.’ Slater had been very alert to Ann’s mood the previous night, deciding that he’d misjudged her tone on the telephone from New Mexico, but had been surprised five minutes earlier when she’d ordered gin and tonic with her club sandwich and that her glass was already half empty. She’d only ever drunk hard booze with a meal when she was in a mess with Jack.
‘I know,’ said Ann. ‘He wants to be a sports star. It’s the only thing he’s thinking about.’
‘What’s he going to do when he’s thirty-five and his legs have gone?’
‘He’s just fourteen and can’t imagine what it’s going to be like to be thirty-five.’ She sipped her drink.
‘I’ll talk him through it.’
‘I think he expected to be included in this afternoon’s meeting, too.’
‘He’s just fourteen,’ echoed Slater. ‘He’ll be included if and when it’s right for him to be, not before.’
‘We mustn’t forget what happened. How he misunderstood and was stupid and could have got himself stabbed … killed even.’
‘I’m not forgetting anything,’ insisted Slater. ‘Certainly nothing to do with the knife. Nor will I use it – will we use it – to provide excuses.’
‘I think we should be careful with him.’
Slater hadn’t expected the conversation to be as intense. ‘We’ll discuss it all,’ he promised. ‘I won’t do anything – make any decision – without talking it through with you first. We’ll bring up David as we’ve always done, together.’
‘I don’t want to tilt him off balance.’
When the waitress brought their sandwiches Ann ordered another drink. Slater stayed with his one glass of Chardonnay, which he’d scarcely touched. He said, ‘So there were no problems when I was away?’
‘None,’ said Ann, shortly. She’d considered telling him about the sighting of the man with the similarity to Mason the previous evening but decided against it. She wished that she hadn’t ordered the second drink but it was too late now.
Slater hesitated, undecided. Then he said, ‘You didn’t have any problems with the CCTV?’
‘Why do you ask that?’
‘It’s a system you’re not familiar with.’
‘I got on OK,’ said Ann, unable to remember the last time she’d consciously lied to him. The second gin tasted weaker than the first. It was an old bartender’s trick to make the first one strong for the taste and strength to become assimilated and then short-measure after that.
‘So you felt comfortable with my being away?’
‘No,’ denied Ann, positively. ‘I told you I was OK.’
Slater determinedly steered the conversation on to the forthcoming exhibition, listening to Ann’s plans to employ caterers and a publicist for the opening night. ‘And I thought you could help with some physical security. Not personally, I don’t mean. There must be a local firm that could supply guards.’
The remark reminded Slater that as soon as he got a response from San Jose he needed to set things up with the installers to whom he sub-contracted the actual fitting, to ensure they had people available when the work came on stream. One of the San Jose insistences had been stringent penalty clauses against delays. ‘You think that’s necessary?’
‘Andre Worlack is a minimalist who paints under some magnification system to achieve postage stamp detail. That’s what’s attracted all the attention in New York and why his work is fetching up to a thousand and more for each canvas … each or any of which could be fitted into a coat pocket.’
‘Sounds like you could do with some more internal camera security
as well?’
‘I think I could. I’m seeing an insurance assessor soon, to discuss temporarily increasing my cover. Extra cameras might be an insistence.’
Was that what she really meant? Or a need she’d felt while he’d been away that had hardened in her mind when he’d told her he’d have to make other trips? ‘I’ll have the assessor’s meeting with you, to sort it all out at the time,’ Slater suggested.
Ann had finished eating but was looking at her empty glass and Slater was sure she was debating whether to order a third.
‘I’d hoped you would,’ she replied.
Why hadn’t she simply asked him? ‘You want some coffee? We’ve got time.’
Ann looked away from her glass. ‘Sure.’
As Slater gestured for their waitress Ann said, ‘I think we might have a problem.’
At last, thought Slater. ‘What?’
‘I had a call from Worlack’s publicist, asking if I’d sent invites to New York, to internationally based critics and media there. When I said no, that I didn’t imagine any of them would come out into the boondocks, he said Worlack was going to try out a lot of new work, like an out of town run that would attract attention and that he’d already spread the word around, not just in Manhattan but in Washington, too. He thought The New York Times as well as the Washington Post might come. Television maybe.’
Slater thought at last he understood Ann’s need for the two gins. Tentatively he said, ‘So what’s the problem?’
She snorted a disbelieving laugh at the question, her coffee cup between both hands. ‘You don’t think there’s still a Russian intelligence set-up in the Washington embassy that wouldn’t recognize your photograph! That Jack wouldn’t, now that he’s out?’
‘I think the chance is remote,’ said Slater, which was an exaggeration. Why hadn’t she told him last night; while he was still in San Jose even?
‘Do you want to take that chance?’
‘I’ll stay away from the opening. The whole exhibition, if that would make you feel more comfortable.’
‘I can’t,’ reminded Ann. ‘I’m hosting the whole thing.’
It all came back to her former husband and the damned release letter, Slater decided. ‘You think Jack reads art columns and magazines?’
‘I don’t know what the fuck Jack reads … what he does. I never did, remember?’
Slater was undecided what to say. He didn’t want to frighten her any more than she already was; as he was and always had been of Jack Mason, a secret he’d never admitted to anyone, scarcely even to himself. ‘They’re going to want to photograph and talk to Worlack. You’re going to have to stay out of the pictures.’
‘Mine is the first provincial gallery for his first out-of-town exhibition and I’m supposed to refuse to be photographed with the most exciting, up-and-coming artist who’s chosen me for that honour!’ Ann realized she was talking too loudly and looked around the restaurant, embarrassed.
‘I won’t be there, not at all. You weren’t photographed a lot during the trial; nothing will remain on any embassy intelligence file after all this time, believe me. I was the guy who ran it, knows the system. And I know there’s no cross-referencing system. Why should there be? And I handled Jack, don’t forget. The pictures he likes looking at don’t qualify as modern art, more like gynaecological textbook illustrations.’ Slater regretted the sneer as soon as he uttered it. He’d never ever taken cheap shots at her former husband’s sexual abandonment of Ann.
‘If that’s meant to reassure me, it doesn’t.’
‘It’s the reality of the situation.’
‘It’s a danger – a risk – I don’t want.’
Slater decided he didn’t want Ann’s up-and-down uncertainties taking her back into a gin bottle, either.
They drove unspeaking to the school and this time weren’t kept waiting. Victor Spalding greeted them effusively and didn’t sit formally behind his desk, as he had before, but perched himself on its edge fronting them. He said, ‘I think this is very exciting, don’t you?’
‘David does,’ said Slater. ‘There’s a lot more we need to know.’
‘I thought I explained it in my letter,’ said the principal, frowning. ‘As had Jeb Stout in his that I sent with mine.’
‘What affect would it have on David’s schooling?’ demanded Ann.
The man’s frown remained. ‘By which you obviously mean bad affect. I don’t see why it should have any: he’s virtually being offered a place at the university.’
‘To play basketball and then most likely go on to become a professional,’ said Ann. ‘What proper academic teaching is going to be fitted in with all the training and travelling there’s going to be? We don’t want a son washed up at age forty mumbling that he could have been a contender.’
Slater wished Ann hadn’t been so vehement, knowing the remark was an unconnected overhang from their lunchtime confrontation, and was relieved when Spalding smiled, unoffended. ‘We’re talking about basketball, not boxing, Mrs Slater. And I don’t think David’s going to end up punch-drunk. You’ll need to talk in much more detail with Jeb Stout about the academic structure, but I know there is one and that it’s strictly adhered to. As well as I know – as you do because I’ve told you every time we’ve met to talk about David’s schooling – that academically he’s very bright. He could very easily – will very easily, if you agree to the Maryland approach – be able to handle a full academic schedule in conjunction with whatever additional sports training and competition play there might be.’
‘Is the approach known about here in the school?’ asked Slater.
‘There’s been no official announcement,’ said Spalding. ‘You haven’t told me yet that you want to go ahead with it. But it’s not a secret. I guess David’s talked about it to his friends.’
‘What about the previous situation that brought us together last time?’ persisted Slater. ‘He’s got a long way to go educationally before he’ll even get to the university, if we do agree. What sort of jealousy pressure is he likely to come under?’
‘None,’ insisted the other man, adamantly. ‘When we were last together I set out everything we’d put in place to prevent any reoccurrence of gangs or bullying or pressure. Unless David’s told you something he hasn’t told any of the counsellors or his teachers, I believe it’s working. Has he complained to you about anything he hasn’t told anyone here?’
‘Not as far as I am aware,’ admitted Slater, feeling inadequate.
Spalding smiled again. ‘I think you’re right to be as careful as you are being: wanting to know everything. And that it’s important to get everything right from the beginning.’
‘That’s what we’re going to do,’ insisted Ann. ‘Get everything right from the start.’
‘To ensure which I think you should speak to the Maryland coach,’ said Spalding. ‘He’s called me already. Wanted to know if I’d got any reaction from you yet. Told me he’s very willing to come here again.’
‘I think we should meet him, too,’ said Slater. ‘But without any commitment.’
On their way back to the gallery Ann said, ‘There’s too much happening. Everything’s too busy. Too uncertain. I want it to be quiet again.’
Mason accessed the websites periodically every day – always from his memorized codes and passwords, never his back-up copies – and remained alert to everything and everyone around him during his daily fitness schedule, switching routes and directions more than usual to defeat any vehicle surveillance. He consequently became increasingly sure no alert had been raised from his being picked up on the CCTV cameras outside Ann’s art gallery. He still decided against returning to Frederick, though, until after doing all that he planned in California.
With an intervening day before his appointment with the lawyer, Mason arranged his bill settlement at Guest Quarters, which had been extremely convenient but to which he didn’t think he could return, made his travel arrangements and indulged himself by buying ano
ther Brooks Brothers suit, which he wore for his meeting with Patrick Bell.
‘So you’ve decided?’ greeted the lawyer.
‘If you think it’s a good idea,’ countered Mason. Nowhere on any of his email interception had there been a single approach to the lawyer from Glynis Needham – which would probably have constituted illegal interference, he supposed – so he didn’t think there was a possible risk but it still might be a sensible precaution to put up a ghost server barrier on Bell’s system. It was something to think about.
‘What is it?’
‘I’ve got a case, right?’
Bell made a rocking motion with his hand. ‘Fifty-fifty.’
‘I think it’s better than that, in my favour,’ insisted Mason. ‘So do you.’
‘With all the caveats,’ warned the other man.
‘Which is what I’ve taken into consideration,’ came back Mason. ‘OK, I’ve got a lot to lose by a full court hearing: too much, maybe. So why don’t you approach the appropriate authority? Invite a compensation offer with the clear and obvious implication that if it’s not made we’ll go on with a full claim?’
‘They’ll never go for it; recognize it as a bluff,’ dismissed the attorney.
‘Then we’ll call it if they turn us down,’ said Mason. ‘We’ll issue a writ and see what balls they’ve got. Throw in a little pressure by talking about prison overcrowding that makes it necessary to share cells, which I believe to be against the penitentiary code.’ Mason thought it could delay things almost until Chambers’ release.
‘You got this much money?’
‘You settled my mother’s estate,’ reminded Mason. He offered the already prepared card. ‘I’m going to open a PO box in California for mail.’ He spoke as the idea came to him, recognizing both the alibi and potential disappearing advantage.
‘You really going to go ahead?’
‘Let’s see what their reaction is.’
‘You’re determined to make this guy sweat, aren’t you?’
‘You bet your ass,’ said Mason. Other guys, too, he thought. What the hell had happened about that CCTV? Could it be that there wasn’t a protective back-up, no one to whom Slater and Ann could go for help, and just be huddled there in Frederick, too shit-scared to move, to do anything? The balloon of satisfaction popped before it inflated; he’d never imagined Sobell – Slater, he corrected himself – sitting around frightened, waiting for the inevitable. That’s why he had always to be so careful until he decided that they should know he’d found them. And then even more careful afterwards.
Time to Kill Page 13
