Nowhere to Run (30 page)

“Would you feel comfortable knowing that every e-mail you’ve ever written could wind up on the front page of
The New York Times
?” Yelena barked as she paced angrily across the office carpet. “That’s what you should keep in the back of your mind, Gavin, when you put things in writing and send them over the Internet.”

“
The New York Times
isn’t monitoring my e-mails, Yelena.” Gavin tried to remain calm as he sat in the hot seat.

“No, but KEY News has that right. It’s printed in black and white in the policy on company computer use. How stupid could you be, Gavin, writing those interns like that?”

“I haven’t done anything wrong, haven’t written anything objectionable,” he defended himself.

“You’re right on the cusp, Gavin. I’m warning you. Lay off the interns. The last thing we need around here right now is a sexual harassment suit.”

Maybe that baby-sitter didn’t want to come forward herself, but as long as Annabelle didn’t reveal anything that could be used to trace the au pair’s identity, there was nothing stopping Annabelle from telling Joe Connelly about the sighting of a person wearing an Olympics cap putting something in Jerome Henning’s mailbox on the Friday night before he fell sick. Joe could let the police know. Annabelle didn’t want to call them if she could help it.

As Lauren worked on her script, Annabelle walked down to Security, but Connelly was not in his office. She left him a note, saying that she needed to speak with him, and then went right back upstairs. The van was leaving in forty-five minutes, and she wanted to be on it.

If Lauren would just finish that script, Annabelle could polish it a bit, send it off for approval, and have Lauren record her track. Annabelle would leave all the videotapes with an editor to assemble tonight and come in extra early in the morning to look the package over.

She was running too fast, trying to do too much, and she knew it. That’s when your family life suffered because your husband and children were neglected. That’s when your professional life became unhinged. That’s when you made mistakes.

Annabelle took the elevator to go back upstairs. One floor up, the car stopped and Gavin Winston got on beside her.

“Watch out, Annabelle. Big Brother’s watching,” the gray-haired correspondent grumbled. “Yelena is scouring our e-mails.”

“No way,” Annabelle gasped, unbelieving. The invasion of privacy was too disgusting to digest. “What are you talking about, Gavin?”

“I don’t want to get into the specifics,” he said shortly, “but be forewarned. Your e-mails aren’t private.”

If Gavin was right, KEY News wasn’t the place she hoped it was. As she got off the elevator, Annabelle tried to remember if she had sent any e-mails that she wouldn’t want others to read. She must have.

As she scanned the inside of the blue van, Annabelle was disappointed but not surprised. While most of the seats were occupied, the riders were almost all people she recognized as cafeteria or maintenance workers. The only other news staffers who were bothering to attend Edgar’s service were Constance and Yelena. The three of them sat together in seats at the front.

The van turned from Fifty-seventh Street onto the ramp for the West Side Highway and inched along in the rush-hour traffic going north toward the George Washington Bridge. While their destination was only ten miles away, as the crow flies, they’d need most of the allotted hour for travel time.

The conversation turned to the latest anthrax developments. Annabelle recounted her visit to Maplewood and confided the information she had gotten from the baby-sitter.

“Well, that’s something that really might help the police,” Yelena said, her eyebrow arching.

Annabelle nodded. “I went down to tell Joe Connelly, but I missed him. Don’t worry, though. I’ll make sure I get the information to him.”

The velvet-padded pews of Calvary Baptist Church were packed for Edgar Rivers’s Going Home Celebration, a testimony to the life and faith of a hardworking, hard-praying man.

Women dressed in white uniforms and caps, looking more like nurses than ushers, stood at the back of the church and escorted mourners up the right aisle to view the open casket, which was positioned directly below the pulpit. Annabelle said a silent prayer as she gazed down at Edgar, his face serene now, his still hands folded across his chest. As she turned and walked past the front pew, Annabelle recognized the woman and the two little boys who had come to visit Edgar in the cafeteria the morning that turned out to be the last day of Edgar Rivers’s life. Was that only Friday? It seemed like such a long time ago. The woman looked up and smiled with sadness as her red-rimmed eyes met Annabelle’s.

“Please be seated. The service is about to begin,” whispered one of the ushers. Annabelle, Constance, and Yelena were directed down the left aisle to a half-full pew near the back of the church. As she took her seat, Annabelle heard a disturbing cranking sound; the pillow that propped up Edgar’s head was being lowered and the coffin being closed.

The organist began to play. Annabelle counted the twenty-six choir members, dressed in blue-and-white robes, who stood in three tiers at the right front of the church, their beautiful voices raised in song. Readings from scripture were interspersed with spirited choral salutes. The black-robed minister mounted the pulpit, high above the congregation at the center of attention.

“Edgar Rivers was a good man, a kind man, a giving man, devoted to his sister, Ruby, and her boys, Freddie and Willie. Let me hear an Amen,” the preacher encouraged.

“Amen,” came the shouts from the pews.

“Brother Edgar was a hardworking man, a churchgoing man, a God-loving man.”

“That’s right,” one of the choristers agreed. “Alleluia.”

Perspiring in November, the minister wiped his brow with a black terry washcloth as he poured his heart and soul into the sermon. The eulogy continued in a rising synergy, the minister and the congregation each energized by the other.

As the service concluded, Annabelle listened to the soloist who stepped forward to sing the verse of a song she’d never heard before. The chorus and the congregation, their bodies swaying left and right, and hands clapping to the beat, answered with the uplifting, promising response of “
He’s an On Time God
.”

Annabelle couldn’t help but wonder where God had been when Edgar met his end. He must have been running behind schedule. Come to think of it, where had God been lately? Jerome’s death, anthrax, September 11, Mike’s depression. Annabelle wanted to believe that God would be there “right on time,” but that was a tough sell right now.

Edgar’s sister and her sons were standing in the church vestibule, greeting people and accepting condolences. Annabelle introduced herself.

“Yes, I remember you. You’re the nice lady from the cafeteria. Edgar told me that morning that you were one of the few people who gave him the time of day.”

Feeling embarrassed and wanting to put a better face on her colleagues, Annabelle hastily continued with introductions. “This is Constance Young,” she said, as Ruby extended her hand to the
KTA
host.

“Oh yes. I recognize you.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Constance answered. “We’ll miss Edgar. He was a very nice person to have around every day.”

Ruby’s dark eyes glistened. “Don’t I know that. I don’t know what my boys and I are going to do without him.”

There was an uneasy pause.

Annabelle stepped in to fill the gap. “And this is Yelena Gregory, the president of KEY News. She had a van chartered to bring the people up here from the Broadcast Center today.”

“Thank you for coming. That was very nice of you,” Ruby responded, turning to Yelena. “With all those budget cuts Edgar was always talking about, it was very nice of you to do that. And thank you for sending the flowers.”

“It was the least we could do,” said Yelena.

As the KEY newswomen began to move away, Ruby turned to Annabelle. “Will you be able to come to the graveside service tomorrow morning?” she asked.

Annabelle hadn’t been planning on it. “At what time?” she asked politely.

“Nine o’clock, right here in the cemetery behind the church.”

“I’m so sorry, but I don’t think so. I have to be at work then. I hope you understand. It’s hard to get away in the mornings.”

“Sure, I understand,” said Ruby, looking disappointed. “It’s hard to get away.”