61
H
olly sat with Lauren in the back of the ambulance, mop-ping Jimmy’s blood from her breasts with a wad of cotton soaked in alcohol. At first, she was hysterical, but soon she calmed down.
“I don’t want to go to the hospital,” she said.
“You need to be checked out, Lauren,” Holly said.
“I’m not hurt, I’m not raped, and I want to go back to the office, where my clothes are.” She was naked now, since Jimmy had ripped off her pants and panties, and the EMT had cut off her tank top.
“Are you sure, Lauren?”
“Damn it, I’m sure!”
Holly got on the radio. “Hurd, Holly isn’t hurt, and she insists on going back to the office for her clothes instead of to the hospital.”
Lauren took the radio from Holly’s hand. “Hurd, I am perfectly all right; all I need is my clothes.”
“Roger, Lauren,” Hurd said. “We’ll see you at the office for debriefing.”
L
auren, dressed now, sat at the conference table, holding an ice pack to her face where Jimmy had slugged her, and gave a vivid account into a tape recorder of everything that had happened.
“You’ll have to testify at the inquest,” somebody said.
“There doesn’t need to be an inquest,” Lauren replied. “I shot a man who was attacking me. Didn’t you hear everything?”
“We lost audio transmission,” Mike Green said, “but I had a tape recorder planted in the dash that kept running.”
“Is there any inconsistency in my story?” she asked.
“No,” Hurd said, then he switched off the tape recorder. “This is off the record, everybody. Lauren, there are two things I don’t understand.”
“What?”
“One, the flash of white light.”
“I think it must have been the muzzle flash in the darkness,” she said.
“All right. I buy that,” Hurd replied. “But there’s one other thing: the driver’s side window was smashed, but I understand that one of your shots must have gone through him and hit the window. What I don’t understand is that the passenger’s side window was smashed, too.”
“Maybe one round went through the passenger window,” Lauren said, “or richocheted.”
“From what I could see, the window was broken from the outside; nearly all of the glass was in the car. It was all over you when we got there.”
“Okay, Hurd, you’ve got me there; I have no explanation for that. All I’ve got is what I’ve told you. I think I was unconscious for a moment after Jimmy hit me, and I was semiconscious for another moment. Maybe something happened then that I don’t understand.”
“It’s just a loose end,” Hurd said, “and I don’t like loose ends.”
“Well, Hurd,” Lauren said with some heat, “I was pretty busy in that car, and I’m sorry I didn’t have time to tie up your loose end.”
Hurd held up a hand. “It’s all right, Lauren, I’m not going to make an issue of it. Anybody here have any problem with neglecting to notice the passenger window?”
Everybody shook his head.
Holly thought she knew how the window was broken, but she kept her mouth shut.
A
n hour later, Holly drove Lauren back to her car at the police station parking lot. She was remembering how she had mentioned the operation to Jack Smithson at the pack-and-ship store.
L
auren,” she said, “did you tell Jack what you were going to be doing tonight?”
“God, no!” Lauren said. “He would have gone nuts! He wouldn’t have let me do it.”
“That’s what I thought,” Holly said. She dropped Lauren at her car but took another close look at her. “Are you sure you’re all right to drive?”
“Holly, I’m just fine. Really I am. When you think about it, this operation turned out better than we could have hoped for. There’ll be no trial for Jimmy, so the families won’t be put through that, and so the whole thing is just over. I’m feeling really good about that.”
“Okay, Lauren, just drive carefully on your way home.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
But Holly followed Lauren at a distance, until she saw her turn into Jack’s driveway.
Back home, Josh was waiting.
“When are we taking off north?” he asked.
“I’m going to stay one more day, just to be available to Hurd if he has any more questions for me. I also want to have dinner tomorrow night with Ham and Ginny; you can join us. I’ll fly home the day after. I’ve been checking the weather every day, and Wednesday should be a perfect flying day.”
“And when do you go back to work?” he asked.
“Monday morning, bright and early.”
“I’ll be at your house Thursday night, I think,” Josh said.
“I’ll just take a cab home from Manassas airport,” Holly said. “I’ve already arranged for hangar space there.”
“You want me to take Daisy with me in the car?” he asked.
“No, she’s flown before with Ginny and me, and she’s fine with it.”
They fell asleep in each other’s arms.
T
he following morning Holly called Hurd Wallace. “Thanks for your help last night,” he said. “I think it was a good idea having a woman with Lauren.”
“She was perfectly fine after she calmed down,” Holly said. “How is she this morning?”
“She didn’t come in,” Hurd said. “She left a letter in my in-box, and I found it this morning. She’s resigned.”
“I’m surprised,” Holly said. “Did you see that coming?”
“No, but I think it had more to do with her new boyfriend than it did with anything that happened last night,” he said.
“Do you know what her plans are?” Holly asked.
“No, but she said she’d be in touch. We don’t really need her to wrap up the case.”
“Well, I’m off to Virginia tomorrow morning,” Holly said. “It was good seeing you and even better working with you again, Hurd.”
“Thank you, Holly. Same here. You keep in touch, hear?”
“Will do.” Holly hung up. She was surprised at Lauren’s resignation; it didn’t seem like a spur-of-the-moment thing. She wanted to say goodbye, and she wanted one more conversation with Jack Smithson, too, so she got into her car with Daisy and drove over to his beach house.
When she pulled into the driveway, there were no cars parked at the house. She got out and went to the door. No one came when she knocked, but there was an unsealed envelope stuck in the door, addressed to a real estate company. Holly was too nosy not to look inside.
There were some keys, a check and a note from Jack saying that he was vacating the premises and paying the remainder of the short-term lease.
Holly used one of the keys to unlock the front door. She walked inside and looked around, but it had been cleaned out. The big safe was still in the closet, its door open and a note left on top of it, again addressed to the real estate company. She read it. “The safe is yours,” it said. “The combination is TEDDY.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I am happy to hear from readers, but you should know that if you write to me in care of my publisher, three to six months will pass before I receive your letter, and when it finally arrives it will be one among many, and I will not be able to reply.
However, if you have access to the Internet, you may visit my website at
www.stuartwoods.com
, where there is a button for sending me e-mail. So far, I have been able to reply to all my e-mail, and I will continue to try to do so.
If you send me an e-mail and do not receive a reply, it is probably because you are among an alarming number of people who have entered their e-mail address incorrectly in their mail software. I have many of my replies returned as undeliverable.
Remember: e-mail, reply; snail mail, no reply.
When you e-mail, please do not send attachments, as I
never
open these. They can take twenty minutes to download, and they often contain viruses.
Please do not place me on your mailing lists for funny stories, prayers, political causes, charitable fund-raising, petitions or sentimental claptrap. I get enough of that from people I already know. Generally speaking, when I get e-mail addressed to a large number of people, I immediately delete it without reading it.
Please do not send me your ideas for a book, as I have a policy of writing only what I myself invent. If you send me story ideas, I will immediately delete them without reading them. If you have a good idea for a book, write it yourself, but I will not be able to advise you on how to get it published. Buy a copy of
Writer’s Market
at any bookstore; that will tell you how.
Anyone with a request concerning events or appearances may e-mail it to me or send it to: Publicity Department, Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014.
Those ambitious folk who wish to buy film, dramatic or television rights to my books should contact Matthew Snyder, Creative Artists Agency, 9830 Wilshire Boulevard, Beverly Hills, CA 98212-1825.
Those who wish to make offers for rights of a literary nature should contact Anne Sibbald, Janklow & Nesbit, 445 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10022. (Note: This is not an invitation for you to send her your manuscript or to solicit her to be your agent.)
If you want to know if I will be signing books in your city, please visit my website,
www.stuartwoods.com
, where the tour schedule will be published a month or so in advance. If you wish me to do a book signing in your locality, ask your favorite bookseller to contact his Penguin representative or the Penguin publicity department with the request.
If you find typographical or editorial errors in my book and feel an irresistible urge to tell someone, please write to Rachel Kahan at Penguin’s address above. Do not e-mail your discoveries to me, as I will already have learned about them from others.
A list of my published works appears in the front of this book and on my website. All the novels are still in print in paperback and can be found at or ordered from any bookstore. If you wish to obtain hardcover copies of earlier novels or of the two nonfiction books, a good used-book store or one of the online bookstores can help you find them. Otherwise, you will have to go to a great many garage sales.