Intimate Betrayal (29 page)

Paolina was silent. There were circles under her eyes and she appeared very weary.

Barbara Rae stepped forward. “I think you’re going to have to leave any further questions until another time. Paolina has
had a very difficult day. She needs to rest.”

Matt nodded, but repeated his question. “Think, Paolina. Does Vico refer to the killer as a male?”

“I think so,” she said slowly. “I’m not certain, but I think he does.”

Barbara Rae stepped between Matt and the bed. She touched his arm gently. “That’s enough now. Please.”

“There’s one other thing you should know,” Paolina said softly.

Barbara Rae frowned, but stepped back. “Quickly then, child. I want you to sleep.”

“Vico told me that his uncle was worried about two things, and that he thought they might somehow be connected. One was something
to do with the stained glass panels that he was installing. But the other didn’t have anything to do with the construction
site at all.” She glanced uneasily at Matt. “Giuseppe told Vico that he was going to speak to the police
because he had some new information about Francesca Car-lyle’s death. That’s why Vico is so afraid. He says it’s all connected,
like a great giant conspiracy, like who killed JFK.”

Matt’s expression turned to stone. He stepped forward and leaned over the girl. “Dammit. Where is Vico?” he demanded.

The girl stared right at him and solemnly shook her head. “I can’t help you.”

“Won’t
help us, you mean.”

Her gaze was clear and unyielding. “I will not betray him any more than I already have.”

“She’ll go back to him,” Matt said as they left the room.

“I’m sure she will. But not tonight. Barbara Rae said she was going to give her a sedative.”

“As soon as it wears off and she feels safe, she’ll go.” He looked at his watch. “It’s early. Not even eight-thirty. Even
with a pill, how long will she sleep—six, maybe eight hours? At two, three, four
A.M
. she could be awake and on the move.”

“Well, I hope she sleeps longer than that!”

“We can’t count on it, though. We’re going to have to watch her. That’s the only way we’ll find that kid. I propose we stake
out this place and follow her when she leaves. Ten to one she’ll lead us straight to him.”

Annie sighed. Matt seemed so positive about the right way to do things. She wished she felt as sure.

“It seems like such a violation of trust….”

“I’m sorry about that. But it has to be done.”

He had that ruthless, implacable look on his face again, and Annie knew that there was no resisting him when he was in this
kind of mood. It was the same mood he assumed when
conquering other companies… and on the first night when he had so explosively made love to her.

“A great giant conspiracy, like who killed JFK.”

An exaggeration, of course. But Annie knew that Matt, even more so now than before, wasn’t going to let it go.

“Before we leave, let me just say a few words to Barbara Rae alone, okay?”

Matt nodded. He looked very tired, and he still hadn’t been home. If he insisted on staking out the youth center tonight,
he would have to sleep first. God knew, they both could use some rest.

She went into Barbara Rae’s office and closed the door. Quickly, without going into all the details, Annie filled her in on
the latest developments—Sidney’s accusations, Sam’s wavering support for Darcy, and now Darcy’s firm denial of the charges.

When she was done, Barbara Rae gazed at her for a moment in silence. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

Annie took a deep breath. “I told Matt to wait outside because I don’t want to say this in front of him.” She quickly explained
what Sam had told her about having seen Francesca and Giuseppe in each other’s arms. “If it’s true, it’s one more strike against
Matt. And I’m not sure about Sam—he says he’s not going to the police with this, but he seems a little uncertain. Barbara
Rae, Sam is Matt’s oldest friend. He’s been betrayed by so many of his other friends that maybe there’s nothing more that
can hurt him, but I think this will. I really do.”

Barbara Rae rose from her desk and went to the window. She stared out into the darkness, saying nothing.

“I don’t understand what’s going on around here, Barbara
Rae, but suddenly I feel as if I’m wandering in a fog. A man is dead, and the chief suspect passionately denies that he had
anything to do with it. For some reason, I’m feeling more likely to trust and believe him—a teenage drug dealer—than I am
to trust and believe my own co-workers and friends. But one thing I do
not
believe. I don’t believe that Matt had anything to do with Giuseppe’s death.”

Still Barbara Rae said nothing.

“I think Sam lied to me,” Annie said. She surprised herself by the words. But they were out there now, and she knew that she
didn’t want to take them back. “I think he tried to mislead me. I can’t explain it exactly. It’s as if I’m following the threads
of a hopelessly tangled web. All I know for sure is that Matt still trusts Sam, whereas I suddenly don’t.”

Barbara Rae turned at last from the window. Her face was drawn and her eyes looked very tired.

“Are you okay?” Annie asked.

“I guess so. There are some things I have to think about, that’s all.”

After Matt and Annie left, Barbara Rae finished up a few tasks at the youth center. She checked on Paolina, who was sleeping,
and she wondered if she would still be here in the morning. Her bleeding had stopped, and she had refused to take the sedative
Barbara Rae had offered. The girl was anxious to get back to her lover; when she woke, she would go.

Barbara Rae whispered a prayer for her. There was nothing more she could do. Paolina was stubborn and she was in love.

Barbara Rae went upstairs to her small, makeshift bedroom. She was alone on the second floor of the building, but not completely,
never completely. She could feel and sense the powerful presence of God. He alone could see the secrets she held in her heart.

She went down on her knees at the side of her bed and put her face against the cold iron frame, feeling the rough rungs bite
into her cheek. There she prayed, unmindful of the discomfort to her knees, her shoulders, her face.

“Dear Lord,” she whispered. “Help me to choose the right path.”

When at last she rose, long minutes later, she knew what she had to do.

Once again the temptation had been irresistible. It was nine o’clock at night, and Darcy had gone out to the convenience store
near her house to get bread for tomorrow’s lunch. But she’d ended up cruising Sam’s neighborhood, and now she saw a precious
parking spot only two blocks from his home.

As she stepped out of the car she felt the familiar rush of adrenaline. But it was something besides passionate obsession
that was driving her tonight. She was angry. And the anger felt good.

She was outraged that Sam had told Annie about their affair. She might not have minded if he hadn’t been so insistent that
she
tell nobody. God, what a hypocrite!

But she was even more furious to think that he would stoop so low as to suspect her of some kind of fraud on the cathedral
project. Fraud, hell. He suspected her of murder!

She was going to confront him. She was going to tell him exactly what she thought of him. Not only for the way he’d betrayed
her confidence but for the way he’d played with her emotions and then cut her off, leaving her yearning, hungry, starved for
more.

She marched down the sidewalk toward his house imagining what she would say to him and how he would respond. What would he
say to her charges? Would he deny them? Would he embrace them? Would he embrace
her?
Was there still a chance?

Maybe once she confronted him they would yell at each other for a while, then fall into each other’s arms. Maybe—

Stop thinking about it, dammit!

There was a stiff wind blowing up off the Bay, and as she walked, Darcy felt cold.

This is so stupid. Why am I doing this? Why can’t I stop?

She was within sight of Sam’s house when she suddenly stopped walking. She realized that tears were pouring down her face
and that she was about to break down.

Only you can stop yourself, said a voice inside her. Only you. And you
can
do it. But you have to try.

You have to set your mind upon reason and sanity. You have to say to yourself, Okay, this is it, this is enough, it’s over.
You have to say, I have a problem and I need help. Then you have to
get
help, Darcy. Therapy if that’s what you need. You’re not the only one who has these feelings. You are not alone.

Darcy leaned against a tree and let herself sob. “God, I sound just like Barbara Rae,” she muttered.

She had no sooner thought this than she saw Barbara Rae herself walk down the street from the other direction, then head up
the walkway to Sam Brody’s house.

Jesus! At first Darcy thought she was hallucinating. But everything else around her felt firm and real. It was Barbara Rae,
the physical Barbara Rae, going into Sam’s house at nine o’clock at night.

Why?

The pounding in her head was the sound of her blood singing through her veins. Something was up here, something that had nothing
to do with her own obsession. And it gave Darcy the courage to do what she had never dared to do
before. As Barbara Rae entered the house, Darcy darted up the steps behind her and onto the porch. Crouching down to the side
of the front door, she reached out and caught it just before it clicked shut.

“Sam, there’s something I’ve wanted to talk to you about for a long time.”

Genial as always, Sam offered her a drink, coffee, a cup of tea. But Barbara Rae wanted nothing. She just wanted to get this
over with as quickly as possible.

“If it’s a problem with your funding, you know I’ll do what I can,” Sam said.

“I know. You’re a very generous man, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. But it’s not about funding, not this time.”

Sam took the chair opposite her in the living room. He looked comfortable and casual, wearing a blue short-sleeved shirt and
a pair of brown Levi’s.

“Sam, because of my work, people talk to me about many different things. Sometimes these people just want an empathetic ear,
sometimes they want advice. I try to listen and be supportive. I try to give them whatever it is they need.”

Sam nodded and smiled. “And from what I hear, you’re exceptionally good at it, too.”

“Sometimes I hear things that are of a sensitive nature. Although I am not a priest, there are those among my congregation
who regard me as one. They come to me as they would to a Roman Catholic priest, to make their confession and to seek absolution
of their sins.”

“Which is said to be very good for the soul,” Sam said.
He leaned forward slightly. “What are you getting at, Barbara Rae?”

“Like a priest or a psychiatrist or a medical doctor, I feel that many of these conversations are privileged. What I hear
is subject to the silence of my own personal confessional. It is my sacred duty to keep confidential discussions private,
even when revealing them might seem to serve some higher ethical purpose.”

Sam appeared puzzled. He looked at her steadily but said nothing.

“The problem is that, unlike a Catholic priest, I am not sworn to the seal of the confessional, nor am I guided by church
doctrine. In a way, this makes it more difficult for me to decide which way my moral responsibilities lie. I must also consider
that whatever I am told may be only one side of a complex story. A person could, for example, reveal something to me that
is not actually true. Perhaps they believe it to be true, perhaps they only fantasize it to be true. Perhaps it
is
true. But I cannot swear the truth of what I’m told. The best I can do is make my own judgments, based on what I know about
the character of the people who talk to me.”

“I’m with you so far,” Sam said. “But I’m not sure what point you’re trying to make.”

“My point is that someone once confessed to me something concerning you, Sam. I don’t know if it was true—in fact, I found
it hard to believe at the time. Still, it was important, and it later became even more so. I’ve tormented myself for many
months, wondering if it would have been better, in this instance, to break my rule of silence, and wondering if I should break
it now.”

Sam stood, he turned his back to her, and walked to the
window. When he turned around again a few seconds later, his expression was perfectly calm. “You’d better be more specific,
Barbara Rae, because I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

Spit it out,
she ordered herself.

“Before her death, Francesca Carlyle told me that she was involved in an extramarital relationship that was causing her both
anguish and guilt. And she identified her lover as you, Sam.”

His eyes narrowed. “Me?” he said incredulously.

Barbara Rae noted his direct gaze, his steady hands, and his flush of surprise. Either he was conveying his true emotions
or he was a very convincing actor.

“That’s what she told me. She felt particularly guilty because you were her husband’s oldest friend.”

“I should think so.” He sounded slightly defensive now, but Barbara Rae had to acknowledge that that would be the case even
if the charge was a lie. “Matt and I have known each other since college. I knew Francesca even longer. For me to sleep with
her would have been a betrayal of friendship of the vilest kind.”

Barbara Rae nodded. “But we do have reason to believe that she was having an affair with somebody. And it’s curious that the
police were never able to identify her lover. One can understand why he chose not to come forward. Perhaps if he had, he would
have been put on the list of suspects. But it is surprising that despite an extensive investigation, not only by the police
but by Matthew’s private detectives, no trace of her lover was ever found.”