Shark River (16 page)

I answered, “There—that’s maybe not a polite way to begin a phone conversation, but it’s at least acceptable. Yes, my name is Ford. Thanks for asking. And you’re Hal Harrington.”

“Of course!”

“I wasn’t sure. Last night an FBI agent told me that you’re a diplomat. I guess I expected you to be diplomatic.”

Which caused him to stumble, interrupted his timing, and he became momentarily formal. “You’re right. You’re exactly right. Especially when the first point of business should be to thank you for saving my daughter yesterday. I mean it. Thank you very much, Doctor Ford.”

“No need.”

“As far as I’m concerned, there is. The people who tried to abduct her are of the very slimiest variety. Lowlife opportunists. Small-time drug people who hate my stand on a particular issue, and’re looking to make a big jump in the cartel community. No one else would have tried anything so risky. They’d love to have a major bargaining chip, and I don’t doubt for a moment that they’d have killed Lindsey if they’d succeeded. Bargaining wouldn’t have saved her. I’m very thankful you were there and decided to get involved.”

“Read the reports, Mister Harrington. I didn’t save your daughter. She saved herself.”

“Nonsense. You mentioned my occupation? In my line of work, an important job skill is . . . well, let’s put it this way. I deal with liars and equivocators on a daily basis. If I couldn’t get a little edge here and there by recognizing what’s true and what isn’t, I wouldn’t be very effective.”

I told him, “Okay, we’re both glad your daughter didn’t get hurt. Let’s leave it at that. But there’s nothing urgent about calling to say thanks. So something else is on your mind.”

“Yes, very true. You’re an insightful man. There
is
another subject I’d like to discuss. Actually, what I’d like to do is share some information, then ask a favor. You’ll find it interesting; probably find it informative. The subject has to do with your past, Doctor Ford. And your future.”

With the phone wedged between shoulder and ear, I moved out onto the veranda. Through the palms, the swimming pool was a Caribbean jade. There were four or five women in lounge chairs, baking themselves black. Overhead, circling in a pale winter sky, was a pair of osprey hawks, screaming their ascending whistling call as if outraged by the intrusion of these dozing women. I watched the osprey as I said, “My future? I thought the reason you called would have something to do with your daughter.”

Harrington’s tone became both amused and accusatory. “Oh, it does, it does. This has a lot to do with her—and I find it odd, by the way, that you should refer to her as ‘my daughter’ instead of ‘Lindsey.’ Maybe one of those Freudian things, huh? You two had yourselves quite a time last night. A girl nearly young enough to be your own daughter.”

“Mister Harrington, if you surprise loved ones by spying on them, shouldn’t you
expect
to be the one who’s surprised? The way you spend your nights, your private time, how’d you like her to know every detail?”

“I do whatever it takes to keep track of her, and I don’t apologize a damn minute for that! I stay informed. I’ve got to, her recovery requires it. Don’t try to turn it around, Ford. You two sitting around chatting away like adults, then on the couch. I’ve got the entire transcript on the desk in front of me. Playing astronauts, for Christ’s sake! Every word you two said, at least every word before you hauled her upstairs to the bedroom.”

I’m not always conversational, but I am seldom at a complete loss for words. I now was.

“Are you still there, Doctor Ford?”

I finally found voice. “Yes. I’m listening.”

“Know what I find most offensive? The way you manipulated her. That pious act of yours: ‘Lindsey, Go home because it’s the right thing to do.’ Here, let me read a sentence or two back—”

I said quickly, “Nope, we’re not going to do that. I choose not to listen to a review of our private conversations.”

“Oh, I don’t blame you for not wanting to hear it. The girl’s a drug addict, Doctor Ford. She’s emotionally unstable. She’s spoiled, immature, and, let’s face it, Lindsey’s not extremely bright either. Two generations ago, back in Houston, my grandfather would’ve shot you down like a dog for doing what you did.”

A father ridiculing his daughter—how do you react to something like that? True, I hadn’t been on my best behavior with Lindsey. True, it was understandable the man was furious. If Harrington wanted to vent, okay. I’d stand there and take it. But I was quickly becoming irritated by the man’s cruel characterizations of the girl.

“Doctor Ford, tell me something. Is it your normal course of habit to take advantage of young women who’ve been recently traumatized? The girl was nearly killed, for Christ’s sake! Then you hustle her off to bed and treat her like some damn floozy from a Caracas whorehouse. Unfortunately, I’ve got to admit, and it pains me to say it, Lindsey tends to
act
like a whore whenever she gets the chance—”

Which did it. All I was going to listen to. I raised my voice, interrupting him and said, “Harrington? Has anyone ever told you that you’re an ass? Because you are. You use a word like that to describe your own daughter? In my opinion, Lindsey’s the one with the brains in the family. And the maturity. You’ve got my number. Call back when you’re calmer. Or acquire a little class.”

And I hung up.

I waited for all of twenty seconds before the phone rang. I was still on the porch, looking at the pool. I noticed Tomlinson and Ransom approaching. They’d showered, were wearing fresh clothes, Ransom in a short black skirt and green blouse, Tomlinson in a tank top and a green sarong wrapped around his waist.

The happy couple in matching colors, immersed in conversation.

Sharing a joint, too, from the way it looked. Tomlinson holding fingers to his lips, head tilted as if in analysis, then exhaling slow smoke—all distinctive—then handing the cigarette to Ransom, who was using her hands to talk, right at home with the process.

When the phone rang, I punched the button to hear Harrington say, “Okay, so you passed the first test. Congratulations. I’m relieved. You should be relieved, too.”

I said, “Pardon me?”

“I apologize for doing it, but I needed to know. It was important. I had to find out how you really feel about Lindsey. Do you respect who she is?—a very gifted and complicated person. I had to find out before going any farther. A simple test of character. Would you defend her? Would you tolerate someone speaking badly of her—even her own father?”

I said, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Not at all. In the last eighteen hours, I’ve learned a great deal about you. But I have no idea what kind of man you are. I had to make a quick assessment, and there was no better way—”

I interrupted him again. “Harrington, I stopped taking tests years ago. Most of us do when we become adults. So call me when you want to have a mature conversation—”

“Don’t hang up on me again, damn it!”

I wanted to. I came close to putting the phone down and walking away. But there was something in the man’s tone, an edge of worry and desperation that made me pause. So, instead, I took a couple of breaths, controlled my anger, and said, “No more tricks, no more devices. If you want to talk, we’ll talk. But no more manipulating.”

He seemed relieved. “Okay, okay. You have my word. But you have to understand my thinking. Why I need to be careful. I don’t apologize for wanting to find out if you have genuine respect for my daughter. You could have used her very easily. Many men would have jumped at the chance. She was indebted to you. As much as I love her, I also know that she doesn’t always think before she acts. Plus there are times when she’ll do absolutely anything to make me angry, because she knows—”

I finished the sentence for him. “Because she knows it’s the only way to get your full attention. We discussed that—but then, you already know. You have the tape, don’t you?”

“I’ve known it for a while—and regret that it’s the truth. I mean, it
was
the truth. But not now. In the past, it wasn’t easy for her to get my full attention. I admit it. You’re exactly right. I also admit I haven’t been a very good father. I know that, too. Years ago, when Lindsey’s mother died, something went out of me. Some emotional component—but you don’t need to hear about that.”

I said, “You don’t want to tell me about how your little girl let you down? What was it? She either reminded you too much of your late wife, or maybe she didn’t come close enough.”

He gave a snort of self-deprecation. “Pew! Cocktail party psychology, but you’re a little too close for comfort. There’s a Mayan maxim that goes ‘Only through a stranger’s eyes is our vision perfect.’ Something like that, so maybe it really is that obvious to outsiders. From the time Lindsey was three, she was the mirror image of Linda—that was my wife’s name. I didn’t realize the truth. Or wouldn’t admit it. It hurt too much to be around my daughter, and we tend to avoid the things that hurt us, don’t we? I screwed up. I was inattentive, and maybe figured out the problem way too late. But I adore my daughter, Ford. Please do not question that. Don’t even insinuate it because I won’t tolerate the suggestion.”

Harrington’s tone was returning to normal. The forceful administrator, in charge once more.

“There’s a reason why I’m telling you this.”

“I’m sure there is, Mister Harrington.”

“Hal. Or just Harrington.”

“Okay.”

“I want you to help me. But I don’t want to discuss it on the phone. Not these phones, anyway. It’s personal and confidential. Do you understand my meaning?”

What he meant was that the phones might be tapped. With the FBI investigating an attempted kidnapping there was that possibility.

I said, “If you’re saying you want to meet in person, I don’t understand the point. I don’t see how I can possibly help you.”

“I worded it badly. I want you to help Lindsey.”

“Lindsey? I’m more than willing to help Lindsey in any way I can. But how?”

“You can start by granting me a small favor. Take the island ferry to the mainland. It leaves every half hour. Walk or drive to any pay phone you want and call me. I’ll expect to hear from you by . . . say, two P.M. Is that clear?”

I’ve met a handful of men in my life who had sufficient presence and confidence that when they issued an order, it was as if they were speaking in the past tense, as if the order had already been carried out. Harrington had that quality. On the other hand, I’ve taken enough orders in my life to know what’s required of me and what isn’t.

“I’ve got friends expecting me to join them for lunch. Sorry, Hal. You tell me a little more. Give a few more details so I know where all this is headed. Now. On this phone or not at all.”

I listened to several seconds of silence before Harrington said, “It’s a small thing to ask, Ford. Believe me, it’s much to your advantage if you do what I ask.”

“Oh?”

“Or do it for Lindsey. I love that little girl more than anything in the world. From some of the things she told you last night, it sounds like you maybe made a difference in her life. I approve of that, Ford. I wholeheartedly approve. Maybe you can continue to make a difference. She wants to change her behavior, I’m sure of it. I think you can help her, and I
know
I can help you, too. That’s what I need to discuss. How we can help each other. But privately.”

When I still demanded to hear more, his voice acquired an impatient edge as he said, “Let’s try another approach, then. Back when I was working in the White House, one of my tasks was to cross-reference old security files. Really top-secret stuff. The thing that struck me as funny was, in the most electronically advanced nation on earth, I had to dig through a couple of boxes of carbon paper that were found locked away in the hidden safe of a former President’s personal secretary.”

Harrington said the name of the President, then continued, “The secretary died about the time the President left office, and then the President died. In all the moving around, the safe was somehow overlooked. Three years ago, they were remodeling, ripped up the floors, and there it was. One of those floor safes that fits in flush. Because reviewing old documents for security designations was part of my job, the safe was brought to me. Inside were some very interesting documents, Ford. No . . . that’s an understatement. Explosive documents—that’s a word the media would use if they found out. Which they haven’t. But they could, if I choose to release the information. Care to hear more?”

No, I didn’t want to hear more. But I had to listen. Had Harrington really stumbled onto something? I said, “I don’t see what any of this has to do with me, but it’s interesting. Sure, I’m listening.”

“I thought you would. What I found in the safe were manila folders and envelopes sealed with thumbprinted wax—old-time security measures for stuff that was never, ever supposed to be opened. The President’s secretary, you may remember, was in her nineties when she died. She’d worked in the White House forever, way before World War II, and she still used the old ways to protect herself and her Presidents. In this case, the President she was protecting was the one I mentioned. He wasn’t the only one who needed protecting, though. There were other men involved, all of them highly trained and absolutely anonymous—until I opened those files.”