Authors: Libby Fischer Hellmann

Tags: #Mystery & Detective, #Fiction, #Women Sleuths, #Historical, #General, #Mystery & Detective / Women Sleuths

A Picture of Guilt (36 page)

BOOK: A Picture of Guilt

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“She didn’t have to e-mail me. She could have just disappeared.”

“You sound like you’re defending her.”

I shook my head. “Just trying to understand.”

“Don’t waste your time.” He ran a hand over his face. “You want more coffee?”

“Sure.” I handed him my cup.

“Black, right?”

How many times had we drunk coffee together? I pointed to the blue packet of sweetener on the table. He looked embarrassed.

I waited until he sat down again. “What else did Reedy say?”

LeJeune leaned back in the chair. “Well, for one thing, she said it was payback for the Gulf War.”

“Huh?”

“When we bombed Iraq the first time, we took out their water treatment plants. With no running water, people hauled buckets in from the Tigris, but it was filled with sewage. Thousands of people died. Typhoid, dysentery, cholera. Even polio. And because of the sanctions, they couldn’t import any chlorine.”

“Do you believe that?”

He made a noise that was almost a snort. “It makes a convenient excuse. But enough.” He raised my hands to his lips. “We’ll talk more later. Right now, you and I have some unfinished business.” He smiled.

I pulled my hand away.

His smile faded.

“You know,” I said slowly, “it’s strange what happens when you think you’re going to die. A certain clarity emerges.” I tucked my hand under my leg. “Tell me something, Nick. The speech about your father losing his leg. And the bit about Huey Long. Was that part of the script?”

He tipped his head to the side. “What are—”

“Don’t.” I got up and went to the stove. “Don’t.”

He stood up and straddled a chair. “It wasn’t just the job, Ellie. It—it never was. I realized it when I got back from London. I want you. We could mean something to each other.”

“But…” I hesitated. “…I don’t want you.”

He just looked at me.

“As long as we were working toward the same goal, it was easy to act
as if
. To pretend. But that changed when you agreed to use me as bait.”

“You made that decision.”

“You gave me no choice.”

“I never wanted that to happen. I fought it. I nearly lost my job over it.”

I bent my head, unsure if it was the truth but not wanting to find out. “It wasn’t that it didn’t have to be done. It did. But you were the one who talked me into it.” I laced my fingers together. “Did you ever read
All the King’s Men
?”

He didn’t answer.

“I’ll bet you have. Remember how Willy Stark started out as a reformer? Burning with the desire to do good? Along the way, though, he learned how to manipulate people. String them along.”

He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Eventually, of course, it corrupted him.” I paused. “The thing is, even so, even with his lust for power, Willy Stark accomplished great things.”

He looked up.

“You did, too, Nick. Most people would have given up. But you didn’t. And if I ever get in trouble again, there’s no one I’d want on my side more than you.” I stood up. “But now, I think you’d better leave. And…don’t come back.”

He ducked his head as if I’d lobbed him a stinging criticism. I turned away and pretended to fuss with the stove. After a moment his steps clicked across the floor and retreated down the hall. The front door opened and closed.

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY-SEVEN

“I was wrong.”

Dad and I were in the family room, watching flames from the fireplace dance, pop, and float up the chimney. One or two sparks landed on the floor and winked out. Strains of rock music drifted down the stairs from Rachel’s room.

“What do you mean?” I picked up my glass of wine, which lay next to a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

“I thought you were on another one of your crusades,” he said, balancing a cup of tea in his hand. “You know, trying to fit round pegs into square holes. I was wrong.”

“I don’t blame you.” I twirled my wine, watching the firelight flicker and glint through the glass. “Who would have believed it?”

“I should have trusted you. You’re my daughter.”

“You know something?” I leaned over and squeezed the hand not holding the teacup. “It takes a
mensch
to admit he was wrong—especially to his child.”

He squeezed back. “So tell me. These—these…” He couldn’t seem to bring himself to say the word
bombs
. “They were planted before September eleventh?”

“One was. The other one was added afterward.”

My father’s brow furrowed. “Are there any more, you think? That haven’t been discovered?”

“God forbid.”

“Yeah, well, I guess praying is about all we can do.” He gazed at me with worried eyes. “So why haven’t I seen anything about it on the news?”

“LeJeune said they’re keeping a lid on until the government decides how to respond.”

“Good luck.”

“They could have a shot. The action out at the crib was miles away from anything, and the weather last night was terrible. There weren’t a lot of people around.”

He sniffed. “That woman—the British one they picked up—she’s talking?”

“That’s what I hear.”

“How did they identify her?”

“Abdul told them about her.”

He set down his teacup. “Abdul?”

“The man we met at the Greenbrier.”

“The one who’s working with David?”

“The same.” In fact, he’d dropped by the house that afternoon to apologize and ask my forgiveness. We’d had a long talk. “He’s a member of the Saudi intelligence force, Dad. He’s been tracking terrorists for years. The oil sheik role was his cover.”

“Does David know?”

“Abdul says he explained it to him the other day. He said David wasn’t happy about it. But he understands.”

Dad bit into a cookie. I flashed back to Abdul’s table manners. The match on the silk tablecloth. The caviar on the toast point. Not very royal. It should have been a tip-off.

“Reedy did make a huge blunder, though.”

Dad stopped chewing.

“The antenna. Granted, I didn’t notice until it was almost too late, but if I hadn’t been so unobservant, I might have figured it out sooner. I don’t know why she didn’t try to disguise it.”

“Probably the Empire mentality. You know how arrogant they get.”

I remembered the photo of her two boys. “I don’t know. I wonder whether, maybe in some subconscious way, she wanted me to figure it out.”

Dad cocked his head. “What?”

“She has two boys. The Bureau thinks her husband was holding them over her head. Maybe this was her only way to get them out of his clutches.”

“Have they caught him?”

“Aziz? Not yet. But he’s not in a position to make many demands.”

Dad frowned. “I’m an old man. What do I know?”

That was his way of telling me I was making assumptions again. Maybe I was, but I couldn’t help thinking that men just don’t get it. The extent to which a mother will go to protect her young. It’s hardwired into our psyches. I started to reach for a cookie but stopped. Did that mean there was some unanimity between Dale Reedy and me? A subtle but mutually understood accord? I shifted uneasily.

“How’s Sylvia?”

“You’ll see for yourself, tomorrow.”

“Dad, are you sure you’re ready to handle this?”

He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Listen, Ellie. She’s great company, she plays a mean hand of gin, and I like holding her hand almost as much as yours. What more do I need?”

“If you’re happy…”

“I’m happy.” He covered my hand with his. “What about you?”

“I’m tired. I could sleep for days. But I keep thinking how much I have to be thankful for.”

He patted my hand. I curled a leg underneath myself. “There’s just one thing. I think Rachel’s been calling David with updates about me all fall. The little
dybbuk
’s been spying on me.”

Dad withdrew his hand.

“She and I are going to have one of those boundary discussions after Thanksgiving.”

He toyed with his spoon. “ I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re blaming the wrong person.”

“You?”

“Ellie, we’re his only family. You may not want to be in touch, but I do. It’s the right thing to do.”

I scowled, but I wasn’t totally surprised. As a young man, my father had fallen in love with David’s mother. It hadn’t worked out, but it had forged a connection between our families. Indeed, when David and I got together, in part because of the discovery about our parents, my father was convinced it was
bashert
.

“Love is never perfect,” he said. “You young people still have a hard time accepting that. You’d rather head for divorce court than work it out.”

I started to cut in, but he overrode me. “I’m not saying it wasn’t warranted in Barry’s case. But if you’re lucky enough to have it come your way again, to find someone who loves you more than he loves himself, well…” He threw up his hand. “But what am I telling you this for? You’re the hero. You do what you want.”

“Labor under correct knowledge,” I muttered.

“What is?”

“Luck.”

“Exactly what I’m saying.”

“You know what I want? I want to get away from here for a while. Go to some hot, dry desert where there’s not a drop of water.”

“Got any travel companions in mind?”

“I was thinking of you.”

“My dance card is all filled up.” He motioned toward my bag. “But I bet if you pull out that phone of yours, you might find someone who’d be thrilled to come with you. Especially if you feed him a home-cooked Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Dad, I’m sure he’s made other plans. He probably won’t even take my call. I’ve—I’ve been pretty awful to him.”

“Why don’t you let him decide that?”

“If I were him I wouldn’t take the call.”

“Then it’s good you’re not.”

“Even if he did talk to me how could he get here in time? It’s Wednesday night.”

“They have these things called airplanes, Ellie,” he said. “Last I heard, they still fly on Thursday morning.”

I considered it. Then I stood up. I thought I saw a twinkle in Dad’s eye when I pulled out my cell, but with him you can never be sure.

“Maybe you should try him at his office. Maybe he’s working late.”

I felt my eyes widen and punched in the number.

A female voice answered. “Good evening, Mr. Linden’s office.”

My eyebrows shot up. I took a breath. “Is—Is he there? It’s Ellie Foreman calling.”

M
ORE FROM THIS
A
UTHOR