Deceived (9 page)

Nick leaned
toward her for his reply. "Just made it? I'd say we were two blocks
short."

"It'll let
up soon."

Nick poked his
head out from the doorway for a quick glance upward. Welcomed with a face full
of water for his trouble, he looked to Meg and sputtered in mock annoyance.

"I said
soon," she chuckled.

He wiped his
face with his hand. "You remember the party for my promotion? We shared a
taxi home."

"Uh-huh."

"It rained
that night too, didn't it?"

She nodded.

"Think
somebody is trying to tell us something?" Nick asked.

"Like wear
a rain coat?"

"Something
like that." He laughed again; it felt good.

Meg inhaled
deeply. "Doesn't it smell great."

Nick nodded. "I
love rain storms. Always have."

Lightning cut
the sky, and Nick began counting out loud. "
…
Two, three, four,
five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten," then the thunder rolled overhead.

"A little
more than two miles away," Meg announced.

Nick stared at
her, surprised
.

"Sound
travels at a bit more than one-fifth of a mile per second
…
that's the
rule of thumb, isn't it?" Meg asked. "Ten seconds since the lightning,
times one-fifth, equals two miles."

Nick rolled his
eyes. "Don't ever try to impress an accountant with trivia."

A stream of
water, thin but steady, started suddenly from above the doorway, falling on
Meg's left shoulder. She squeezed against Nick to avoid it. Feeling the length
of her, he froze, as if to move might send her into retreat. Another stream
started a second later, this one falling squarely on her head. Over Meg's
complaints, Nick switched places with her.

 He looked
again to the sky. "All right, I see three choices. One: we stay here. Since
we're starting to spring leaks, I don't see much advantage to that. Two: we try
and grab a cab. Problem is, I've been watching
—
they've all been full. Besides,
we'd have to leave this doorway to flag one down. That leaves three. My
apartment's two blocks up the street. I run for an umbrella, come back and get
you."

"You'd get
soaked."

Nick smiled. "Just
a moment ago you were bemoaning the end of chivalry."

"Not
chivalry. Romance. There's a different. I'm just as capable of getting wet as
you."

Nick pointed at
Meg's dress. "You'd ruin your outfit."

"Cotton. It'll
be fine."

Nick shook his
head, then pointed down the street. "Look, you can see the awning to my
building. I'll be back in
—
"

"Nick,"
Meg said, interrupting him.

"Hmm?"

"
Watch
out for toads.
"

Meg jumped from
the doorway and took off down the street, melding with the rain after only a
few yards. Nick started after her.

Two blocks or
ten miles, it wouldn't have made any difference, because after twenty yards
Nick's clothes were soaked through. He started with his hands protecting his
tie, but as the water streamed from his head and shoulders to his chest, he
soon abandoned the effort
.

He caught up
with Meg after a half block. They ran side by side, first avoiding, then
purposefully splashing through puddles.

Meg reached the
awning to Nick's apartment first, a half-step ahead of him. Laughing
uncontrollably, she clutched an awning pole for support as he bent at the
waist, hands on knees.

"I'm the
winner," she choked out, and raised one hand triumphantly.

"Unfair
head start," he retorted.

Their laughs
died out, eventually, and he looked at her then, and his face went blank. The
blue dress clung to her, showing off the lines of her body. Her legs. Her waist.
Her breasts. Suddenly embarrassed, he averted his eyes and dug into his front
pocket for the lobby door key
.

"You
cold?" he asked, as he busied himself with the lock.

Meg shook her
head. "I'm fine."

He held the
door to the lobby open. "Come in. But no way am I letting you up to my
apartment
—
it's way too much of a mess. I'll run up, grab an umbrella,
and get you home. Okay?"

She did not
argue. "Okay."

Too excited and
full of energy to wait on the elevator, he took the stairs, two at a time, to
the fifth floor. Once in his apartment he went immediately to the closet and
grabbed the umbrella that hung there. As an afterthought he made for the
bathroom, deciding to strip his tie and suit jacket and leave them to dry from
the shower curtain rod.

As Nick passed
through the kitchen, he noticed his answering machine, the numeral
"two" by its message button glowing red. He pressed the button, then
continued on to the bathroom as the tape rewound.

"Mr.
Ford," the tape played after a moment, "this is Inspector Madison of
the D.C. police department. Could you give me a call as soon as possible."
The inspector went on to leave his number; the answering machine clocked the
call at eleven-eighteen.

Drawn from the
bathroom by the message, Nick started slowly back toward the kitchen as the
second message began.

"Nick
…
it's
Judy. I
…
Call me, just as soon as you get in. It's important." Then
the metallic voice of the machine took over. "Eleven thirty-four," it
said.

Nick looked to
his watch. Only a few minutes ago. He didn't like the sound of her voice
—
angst
displaced the joy he had felt only a moment earlier.He lifted the phone and
punched in Judy's number from memory.

"Judy,
it's Nick," he said, recognizing her hello.

"Oh,
Nick," she said, her voice flat.

"What's
wrong?"

"
…
Judy?"
Nick tried again, after a long couple of seconds.

"You
haven't heard?"

"Heard
what? Has something happened?"

Something had.

Nick's vision
blurred as Judy gave him the news. He placed a hand against the wall to steady
himself.

A few minutes
later he let the receiver fall to its cradle, saying almost nothing in the
interim.
What was there to say?

Nick slumped to
a chair, dazed.
Christ, it couldn't be true.
Tears welled in his eyes. He
clamped his eyelids fiercely shut.

Why?
he
asked himself, and tears eventually came, even through the clamped lids. They
mixed with the rain water on his face and diffused.

It was another
minute, or maybe five, before Nick looked to the umbrella in his hand and
remembered Meg. He forced himself to the front door then, shuffling, each step
an effort, his suit and tie still on, the idea of leaving them to dry
forgotten.

The elevator
ride down took forever. Eyes closed, hands clenched, he repeated a mantra to
himself, over and over.
Keep it together, Nick. Keep it together.

Meg stood in
the lobby; her face turned down when she saw his expression. "Is
everything okay?"

"No,"
he managed. He handed her the umbrella. "I've got to get you home but I've
got to call the police, and
…
"

"What is
it Nick?"

"Judy left
a message
…
" His voice wandered off.

"And?"

"They
found Scott, in an alleyway
…
" In halting words Nick repeated Judy's
words as Meg, eyes full, whispered "oh my God," over and over. Finally
Nick handed her the umbrella. "I have to get you home."

"I'll be
fine. It's just a few blocks."

"No. No. I've
got to
—
" Nick pointed out the lobby window. "There's a cab
coming." He flew out of the lobby, his hand up in the air. The yellow cab
pulled to the curb.

Meg followed
him to the street; she didn't bother to open the umbrella.

Nick opened the
cab door for her. "Meg, I'm sorry. I've got to get upstairs
…
call
the police."

Nick turned his
back on Meg and raced back to his apartment building, blind to her desire to
comfort him, blind to her own suffering, knowing only that the demons had
returned and he would not be able to keep it together for very much longer.

Dressed in a
charcoal-gray suit and burgundy tie, Nick sat motionless on his couch. The
apartment was dark, a dim glow from the closed window blinds and a single slice
of light which fell across Nick's left leg from an ill-fitting blind provided
the only illumination. With time, the stripe of light on Nick's leg advanced
from his knee to his thigh and finally to the fingers of his left hand. He
jerked his hand back as if burned, buffeting the dust flakes floating in the
sun's rays.

Nick looked to
the clock. Barely able to make out its face, he squinted. 1:21 p.m. If he left
immediately, he would still have time to make the funeral. If traffic ran
smoothly, that is.

Nick didn't move.

Turning his
gaze from the clock to the bare wall, he rubbed his palms together. His breath
came shallow.

They would
expect him to be there. Associates from the office, Scott's parents. As Scott's
best friend, they would look for him and wonder why he didn't show. Is he sick?
Caught in traffic? Is he all right? Nick could hear the questions.

His eyes
wandered back to the clock; he watched the minute hand fall toward the six. So
slowly, it seemed.

Come Monday, he
would have no explanation, certainly none he wished to share. He would have to
lie: his car would not start, a flat, something. Time enough to think of that
later. Now he wanted only for his mind to remain blank, to keep the images and
memories locked behind the walls he had so carefully erected over the years.

Since Scott's
death
—
two days now
—
he had managed only a few hours of fitful
sleep. Last night he had not slept at all. Still, until a short time ago, he
had coped and accepted Scott's death, accepted the loss of a friend. But to see
Scott's body laid out, face white, eyes closed and lifeless, that was something
else entirely. Would the walls hold then?

The minute hand
passed six and inched upwards.

Inaction was
action. In a few more minutes, Nick would not be able to make Scott's funeral
if he tried. What anybody thought, he didn't care. He sat motionless because he
no longer could command his body to do otherwise
.

Scott was dead,
and there was nothing but a deep and growing pain. Again.

See what
happens when you get close to someone, when you let someone get close to you?
See how much safer life is alone?

He had thought
he would be okay. Through the morning, during his shower, as he got dressed. Then
it had hit him. Memories. A flood of images from more than a quarter century
earlier: the knock on the door. His aunt standing there. And her words,
"Are you ready, Nickie? It's time to say good-bye."

He retreated
behind his walls as the minutes slipped by.

"Nick
…
"

Meg stood at
his office doorway, eyes puffy and darkly lined. Instantly Nick's mind flashed
back to the two of them under his apartment building's awning, drenched and laughing.
Before his face could warm, before he could rise and put an arm on her
shoulder, he pushed the image from his mind.
And if he seemed cold to her as
a result, maybe that was for the best.

He labored to
strip emotion from his voice. "Meg," he answered evenly
.

Whatever Meg
had been expecting, it was clearly not this controlled response. She stammered
through a response: "I left a message
…
with Judy
…
earlier."

Nick indicated
a stack of yellow notepaper by his phone. "Sorry, Meg." He grimaced. "I
haven't felt like going through them."

A lie. He'd
been through every one, but had no desire to return most of the calls. Why
should he? He knew what they'd say: isn't it terrible
…
he was such a good
guy
…
I'm so sorry. And then the inevitable question: we missed you at the
funeral, where were you?

He would pass
on his lies soon enough.

Meg's message
sat on the top of the stack. Twice that morning he had picked up the phone to
call her and twice had set the receiver back on its cradle.
The other night,
in the rain, was a mistake—an error that must not be compounded. That had to be
made plain to her.

"Did you
need something?" Nick continued, affecting indifference.

Meg picked at
the eraser of the pencil she held. "If you have a moment
…
"

"Right now
I've got a lot
—
" Nick paused as Meg's face fell. He saw her again,
huddled against him in the doorway, smiling wildly, and tempered his tone. "Of
course, Meg, I've got a moment." He pushed aside the pile of documents he
was working on. "Come in." And when she hesitated: "
…
Really,
come in."

She took a seat
across from him, but hesitated before speaking. "I'm so sorry about
Scott," she said softly after a few seconds.

Nick shut his
eyes and nodded shortly. "I am too." His hands started trembling, and
he hid them behind his desk, out of her view.

"I
…
We knew each other for only a short time, but
…
I don't know, I was
comfortable around him. He made work
…
interesting
…
fun."

Did it really
make things better to dwell on all that had been lost? To raise memories that
burned and haunted? From necessity, he had spent a lifetime doing just the
opposite, and he offered Meg no words of empathy.

Understand,
Meg, it's not you, it's me. It's the way I am. The only way I can survive.

Meg shifted
uneasily in her chair. "There's something you should know. I wanted to
tell you before, at the funeral, but
…
"

But you
weren't there…
Nick pushed beyond the inevitable question. "What is
it?"

"
…
Scott's
vacation."

Nick's eyes
arched at the reply
—
not what he expected. "What about it?"

"He told
me
…
" Meg started, but took a deep breath before continuing. "Told
me it wasn't a vacation at all, Nick. He was working on something."

"Working
on something? What?"

Meg didn't
answer immediately; she resumed picking at the pencil's eraser
.

"Meg?"
Nick prompted as the pause lingered.

"The
Yünnan Project audit."

Nick's mouth
dropped slightly. "I don't understand. Why would Scott say he was on
vacation if he was working on an audit?"

Meg sat mute
until Nick reached for the phone, then said, "If you're calling Dennis, he
didn't know."

Nick lowered
the receiver. "Dennis is heading the audit. He'd have to know."

Meg shook her
head. "Scott was investigating on his own."

Investigating
on his own?
"Why would Scott do that? Keep it from Dennis?"

"Because. He
was looking into things Dennis instructed him not to."

Nick's brow
furrowed as he considered the information. Knowing Scott, it wasn't all that
hard to believe. How often had Scott disregarded Nick's own orders? Nick stood,
went to the door, and shut it. He then sat on the edge of the desk and
encouraged Meg to go on.

"After you
dropped off the audit, we started reporting to Dennis. He had his own ideas
about the investigation: what we should focus on, what he considered a waste of
time. He reassigned us accordingly. Scott
…
well, he wasn't too
complementary of Dennis or his decisions."

Nick could
guess the rest. "So he ignored him?"

Meg nodded. "He
covered himself by taking a vacation. No one knew what he was doing."

Nick's eyes
narrowed. "Except you?"

Meg wouldn't
meet Nick's gaze.

"Meg?"

"
…
I
didn't know anything until last Wednesday. He called me. Said he tried to reach
you first, but you were busy."

Nick exhaled
slowly, remembering. He had been in a settlement conference. Judy had
interrupted, said Scott was on the phone, but Nick had brushed her off. Brushed
Scott off too. "Why didn't you come to me earlier?" Nick asked.

"Scott
asked me not to. Made me promise. He said he'd be in the office to tell you
himself in a few days, and
…
" Meg hung her head. "I don't have
a good excuse."

And what was
Nick's excuse, for ignoring a friend?
He lowered his voice. "Meg."

She raised her
eyes.

"Don't
beat yourself up
—
I know what dealing with Scott could be like. Did he
tell you what he was investigating, specifically?"

"No. But
he said he'd found something, said he was going to
…
I think he said
'light off some fireworks.'"

Scott
investigated on his own, found something explosive, and then was killed?
More
than a coincidence?
His gut tightened at the thought.

Evidently
reading his mind, Meg said, "Nick, Scott's death, the police
…
everyone
…
assumes
it was a mugger, but
…
Could it have been something else?"

"Don't
know." He swung his head slowly from side to side.

"I can't
get the thought out of my mind.
…
Maybe if I would have told you about
Scott's call immediately
…
"

Or maybe,
Nick
thought
, if I would have taken Scott's call last week…

Nick chewed the
nail of his index finger, lost in thought. When he finally looked up, he said,
"Tell me
exactly
what Scott said. As much as you can remember. Word
for word."