Five O’Clock Shadow (10 page)

“Modest influence is an understatement,” Archer broke in good-naturedly. “I say this among friends, but Sosimo just about owns the cops around here.”

Was that said for her benefit?
If you're tempted to go to the police, we'll know.
She was being paranoid; they couldn't possibly know that she had the pictures; still, the thing about the cops in his pocket was probably true. She felt cold, very alone, and crossed a call to Tony off her list of what to do. Ramiriz, and Garcia. Even if the one didn't own the other, there would be a sense of kinship linking them. And hadn't she always heard that Sosimo Garcia was more powerful than the governor?

“Perhaps my friend overestimates. But I am at your service.” And still those eyes. Waiting to detect her duplicity? Her fright? Could human beings smell fright like animals?

“I appreciate your kindness. It's been such a—” It wasn't difficult to burst into tears. She turned back to her desk for a Kleenex. “I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have tried to come back so soon.” She wiped her eyes and blew her nose before pulling another tissue from the box.

“Pauly, please.” Archer stepped forward, hugged her quickly. “We didn't mean to upset you. First day and all.” He seemed to toss this last over his shoulder for the benefit of the Congressman. Emphasized
first day,
like a hint he believed that they were wasting their time, that she hadn't found a package. Her breathing evened out, sounded normal to her, and she picked up her purse.

“Could we walk you to your car?” Archer seemed just as eager to leave.

One more tissue for good measure and Pauly followed them out of the office, feeling she had escaped. Not been found out for now, at least. But the enormity of her discovery…Randy and the children…Congressman Garcia…she felt numb.

***

They wouldn't follow her. She needed to believe that. They had no reason to. Sosimo had been solicitous, actually kind. He'd insisted that she use his first name. And Archer had offered to buy her a drink, but she had declined. Never had she wanted to get away from two people so much. She felt like the photos in her purse gave off a fluorescent glow, screaming to be discovered. Crazy…over-imaginative…but it probably attested to her state of mind. She needed a plan. Something that got her out of the loop, so to speak.

Wouldn't the safest thing be just to follow through? Put the photos in a like envelope, address it the same way sans metered postage, then pretend to find it sometime tomorrow? It was obvious that Sosimo wasn't looking for the results of a water experiment. She could make a label on her laser printer at Grams', buy a duplicate envelope, and everything would be back to normal.

It was the next part of the plan that made her palms sweat. If she was so all-fired committed to finding Randy's murderer, to finding out why he was murdered, then she needed copies. Good, clear, unmistakable duplications of the very horror she wished she'd never discovered. She didn't know whether she could face it if Randy had been involved in something like child porn, but she had to treat this as evidence, a part of her investigation. And keep reminding herself that a person was innocent until proven guilty.

The pictures might give her leverage, though at the moment threatening someone like Sosimo Garcia seemed pretty farfetched. Holding the pictures until he told her the truth about Randy? She almost laughed. There was naiveté…and then there was stupidity. A car honked. Had she really turned in front of him? She had to be careful. But as the neon arches over Central Boulevard came into view, she knew exactly where she was going and why.

The twenty-four-hour copying shop across from the University of New Mexico had parking in back. She pulled into a spot directly behind the rear entrance. Then sat a moment to collect herself before reaching into her purse. She needed to put the pictures back into the envelope. She glanced at each picture again. They didn't look any less pornographic than they had half an hour ago. And she felt just as sick, as disgusted as she had then. But tomorrow morning the original envelope and a set of copies would be in her safe deposit box at the bank.

She saw the gloved hand come towards the driver's side window and screamed. Then collected herself as the man jumped back, making motions for her to roll down the window. She cracked it a tentative two inches.

“Hey, sorry to scare you, but this is a delivery zone. I'm expecting a load of paper from the other store tonight.” The man was young, earnest. “Could you park a couple spaces down?”

She nodded. Smiled her apology and started the car. If this was what it was like to be a fugitive, she didn't think her nerves could take it. She had to get over every shadow seeming sinister. After all, she chided herself, wasn't she the kid who had been practically raised in a haunted house?

But hadn't she squeezed her eyes shut every time Grams made her go through it? Some new skeleton that dropped from the ceiling, a wax figure that pulled a gun, goblins that suddenly screeched in her ear; she'd missed it all, only pretended for Grams' sake that the new addition had been particularly devastating. Suddenly she was making up for the sham of her childhood.

She nosed the car into an empty space, put the envelope in her purse, and didn't look behind her until she'd made it to the back entrance. Then she took a deep breath and pushed through the double glass doors. The large main room was glaringly bright. Along the north wall two young men were bent over a counter talking earnestly, their heads almost touching until one straightened to ring up a sale before continuing their conversation. The place wasn't busy, but Pauly checked out each patron, mostly students. No one seemed interested in her.

There was a row of self-help copiers along the back wall.

Pauly hesitated. They seemed so unprotected. But probably no one else needed a machine in a back-room booth. She told herself to act naturally and started in that direction.

“Can I help you?” one of the young men from behind the counter called out.

“No. Thanks.”

She hurried to the copier on the far end. It was more or less isolated, but she glanced around just in case. Then she placed her purse on its side, eased one of the photos out, opened the machine's cover just far enough to slide the picture over the glass and align it between the arrows before she dropped a quarter into the coin slot, pressed start, and collected her change. The whir and back and forth flash of light was reassuring. One down. Her hand was steadier. Another coin, whir and flash—two copies of the same photo. Why? Pauly didn't really know, but the second copy might come in handy. A safeguard. Her hands trembled.

What she was doing was wrong. And it wasn't just having the pictures in her possession, there was some law about copying obscene materials. Hadn't some woman gotten fired for sitting on the machine's glass plate and copying her bare behind? What Pauly was doing not only fit into that category but was really far worse. There probably wasn't a single way to explain the pictures that didn't carry a prison sentence. She copied the other two, two reproductions each, willing the machine to go faster and grabbing the paper as it plopped into the basket.

They weren't perfect. But black and white photos transferred to black and white Xerox fairly well. Maybe the genitalia detail was a little fuzzy, but anyone looking at them would certainly get the idea. She bought two manila envelopes before she left and sealed each as she sat in the parking lot before starting the car. The one with the copies and the original envelope went into the glove compartment.

***

She got in at ten the next morning, having called ahead with an excuse about some business that needed her attention. She had been vague and Noralee hadn't asked. There were no messages, no one who seemed to need her; no need to rush. Pauly just went to her bank and opened her safe deposit box and dropped in the envelope—nonchalantly left evidence that could rock the state's political system. Prove that her husband…but she tried not to think about that.

Everything seemed to be suspect. She'd spent the night wakeful, sorting through Randy's personality characteristics, searching for those traits that would make him a pedophile. She could hardly put the word into conscious thought. She could drive herself crazy with not knowing. But she had felt better in the morning. It was amazing how different things looked in the daylight. She felt calmer, braver—and had formulated a plan.

At a quarter to twelve, she “found” the envelope and told Noralee that she would be in Archer's office if anyone called. Fat chance of that. She had an office and all the trappings, but no credibility, no one clamoring for her opinion, hanging on her every word. If they only knew…she had become rather important to the future of this firm overnight.

She called ahead and Archer could barely conceal his relief. Offered to run right over. No, she mentioned some work in the firm's library, which was close to his office. It would be just as easy for her to deliver the envelope. Make him squirm. She could tell from his voice that he was trying not to sound eager.

“Is this what you were looking for?” She walked towards his desk holding out the envelope, but Archer was already standing and moving to intercept her. She wasn't invited but she dropped into a chair facing his desk. It was important to see the rest of this farce played out.

“I've looked for a duplicate, a copy of the findings on the Pajarito well. Sounds like it might be important to the project.” She had brought the envelope into view from the folds of her skirt and placed it on her lap.

Archer cleared his throat. His forehead looked moist. “What are you saying?” He seemed at a loss for words but didn't take his eyes off of her lap.

“I would think that we might need a copy. I certainly feel it would be helpful for me to know what Randy had found out.” Straight-faced. Just an idle statement that made perfect sense. She was beginning to enjoy this. Was Archer a sham, too? The same as Randy? A pedophile? He was divorced. Never dated that she knew of.

“Yes…uh, no, I don't think so. I'm sure we have a copy. Randy was never sloppy. You've just overlooked it.” Dots of sweat were caught in his hairline.

“It would be such an easy thing to make sure. In fact, I'll just make a copy right now.” Pauly leaned across the desk where an oversized coffee mug held an assortment of pencils and a letter opener.

Archer moved swiftly to stand in front of her. She drew her arm back and looked up expectantly. And innocently, she hoped. But her heart felt like it had leaped to her throat. What had made her play with him? What twisted overdose of curiosity made her bait him?

He calmly plucked the envelope from her hand but didn't move away. He leaned back against his desk.

“I don't know how to say this in any nice way. So, I'll just tell you. Until we get the results of the investigation—” he paused, “You're surprised? Tom said that you knew. I'm just sorry that he felt he had to lie about it. There was no need. You of all people should know that we can't take chances. Clients wouldn't stand for it. They'll demand to see your sterling character spelled out in black and white by a disinterested third party. Marriage to Randy didn't negate the necessity we feel to have you checked.”

“Archer, how can you do this?” It was difficult to control her anger.

“Use your head, Pauly.” Archer sounded exasperated, the “I'm really put out” voice one would use with a child. “For the most part this is a secured facility. Your present clearance limits you in what kind of material you can be involved with. We have to be careful. As a technical writer, you know that. We started the paperwork for a Q clearance for you six months ago, but it could take over a year. So, in the meantime, certain materials are off limits. For example, in this situation, in this room right now, I'm the only one who can open a sealed envelope that has been in the possession of a company principal.”

His smugness was unbearable. But she played dumb and nodded and fought the urge to yell “bullshit” and worked on an expression that she hoped would look contrite.

“Archer, I wasn't thinking. Frankly, I'm a little miffed about the investigation, even if there is a reason for it.”

“Look at it as a precaution. Do you know what kind of trouble we could get into? One suspect thing on your record and we're in for trouble.”

“Such as?”

“A little pot-smoking, running your credit cards over the limit. God forbid you've ever been bankrupt. Those are red flags to the FBI, and rightfully so.”

“May I assure you that the sum of my criminal life involves two unpaid parking tickets on campus?”

“I hope to God that's true. Nobody wants to see you be successful more than I. But I shouldn't need to remind you that the company is your investment, as well as ours. It wouldn't take much for us to lose a few government contracts. We simply can't be too careful.”

Pot-smoking, credit cards? Wouldn't that pale next to child porn? She almost laughed out loud then caught herself. No matter how mad she got, she couldn't give anything away. And he was good, in control now that he had the envelope.

“I'd like you to think next time.” The tone was condescending, still parental, a little slap on the wrist for the errant child. She wanted to scream. “If you run across anything else sealed, give me a call. Now if you'll excuse me.” He walked back around the desk still holding the envelope addressed to Sosimo.

She stood. Lacking any clever comeback, she felt the power of the situation lay securely on Archer's side. But what had she expected? That he'd give something away? Really let her open the envelope?

He quickly glanced up at her. “By the way, where did you find it?” he asked.

The question caught her off-guard. Curiosity on his part? Or something more?

“In the box filled with desk items.” Then gathering courage, she added, “Why do you ask?”