Time to Kill (16 page)

‘Jack! What more can there possibly be between you and your lawyer that you haven't talked about and decided already?'

‘I've had an idea, from when we last talked.' Which wasn't a lie. It occurred to him at that very moment and he could string things out for as long as it took for Chambers to get out of prison. It was satisfying – very satisfying indeed – to think on his feet like this, as quickly as this, with the CCTV problem still unresolved.

‘What's the idea?'

‘I need to talk to my lawyer. Get his opinion. It's all got to be official.'

‘Jack, you're not just jerking my chain here, are you? Prolonging things just to be difficult?'

‘I'm considering suing the penitentiary, not you. How are you involved?'

Glynis Needham paused, her awareness of her mistake obvious. ‘I'm responsible for your complete rehabilitation. I've told you how that's likely to be affected by your decision.'

‘I'll see what my lawyer says.'

‘What have you been doing with yourself?' asked the woman, anxious to move on.

Mason easily avoided the instinctive retort that he'd just been driving around; as far as Glynis Needham knew he didn't possess a driving licence. ‘Breathing a lot of fresh air. Eating decent food.'

‘What about California?'

‘That's for us to talk about on Friday.'

‘I've already talked to someone there.'

I know, thought Mason. ‘That's good. I appreciate it.'

‘Until Friday then?'

‘I look forward to it,' said Mason, honestly.

When Mason called Patrick Bell the lawyer suggested a Friday meeting but agreed to bring it forward upon Mason's assurance it wouldn't take long. Although he was sure he'd memorized the code and passwords to get into his illegal Trojan Horses, Mason copied them all on a piece of paper before deleting them from his laptop. He zipped the
Frederick News-Post
and the collected brochures and flyers inside the laptop case and carried it with him to return the Ford to the Budget outlet on Wisconsin Avenue. He walked back into Georgetown, disposing of the newspaper and brochures in separate street garbage bins. He was tensed for a challenge, his story of taking a wrong turn already prepared, even though the waste ground near the canoe club appeared deserted. None came. He waited in the shadow of the Key Bridge for several minutes, assuring himself he really was alone, before hurling the computer beneath the bridge, grateful for the overhead rumble of traffic that drowned the sound of the splash. He remained where he was for several more minutes, checking everything around him, before hurrying back the way he had come. He stuffed the empty computer case into another bin just before regaining M Street. He took his time with another highball in a bar he hadn't yet used on Jefferson Drive before going back to the mall on M Street to buy another laptop identical to the one he'd bought there earlier and just thrown into the Potomac.

All he had to do now if he were questioned about his having been in Frederick was to lie and plead ignorance of his ever having been there and Mason knew himself to be an expert in doing both.

Daniel Slater was sure from his intelligence career psychology instruction that he was making a good impression. The breakfast meeting had very obviously been a filtering process, testing his technical expertise, which he knew he'd passed when it concluded with his being asked to attend a fuller, until then unannounced meeting that same afternoon. There he was introduced to the technical resources manager and two assistants and shown the provisional plans for developments under consideration during the next two years in San Diego, Dallas Fort Worth and Austin. The detailed discussions ran over two hours; Slater aware throughout that there was still an overnight flight he could get, but which he decided against when the department head invited him to dinner. Slater didn't want his assurances of regular on-site supervision at every intended expansion put into question by refusing because he wanted to return to Frederick as soon as possible.

Slater had called Ann before the breakfast meeting and knew from the tone of her voice then that she didn't feel herself under any pressure but he wasn't so sure when he telephoned that evening, before the dinner.

‘Is there a problem?' he demanded.

‘Of course not. Why should there be?'

‘Just thought you sounded a little different.'

‘It's been a long day,' said Ann, prepared if he pressed. ‘Don't forget the time it is here.'

‘Why a long day?'

‘The exhibition, of course!' She hadn't intended the sharpness and regretted it.

‘I'm sorry.' Was her explanation sufficient? ‘How's David?'

‘Good. I took him to basketball practice.'

‘How was it?'

‘OK, as far as I could tell. He's in bed, asleep already. All he can talk about is us seeing this guy from Maryland University.'

‘I want to talk it through with Spalding first. Call the school for me, will you? Set up a meeting.'

‘When for?'

‘Any time after tomorrow.'

‘I'll call first thing. How did it go there?'

‘Better than I could have hoped. I guess there are others being considered but we've gone pretty deeply into things: discussed plans and dates, stuff like that …' Slater hesitated before adding, ‘We've even talked of my doing some on-site supervision.'

‘Going away, you mean?'

‘Only for a day or two. This could be big for us.'

‘That's good.'

‘You and David could maybe come with me if it coincides with school vacations. Jean can handle things at the gallery by herself for a couple of days, can't she?'

‘I guess.'

‘I thought you'd be more excited. We're talking a comfortable future here.'

‘I'm pleased, really. Very pleased. I'm tired.'

‘I was thinking about vacations today, even before the meeting. We could easily afford somewhere.'

‘Where?'

‘Anywhere. Disney Land, Disney World, Yellowstone. Spread our wings a little. Tell David it was his reward for the basketball approach.'

‘We'll talk about it when you get back. It'll be tomorrow, won't it?'

‘First available flight. I'll be back by mid-afternoon.'

‘That's good.'

Slater wished she'd stop saying everything was good. ‘You sure you're OK? You're not upset about anything?'

‘I told you I'm fine.' Too sharp again, she thought, hearing her own voice.

‘I'll look in at the office on my way home. Mary Ellen says everything's quiet, which is good.' Now he was using the damned word!

‘Best of luck for tonight.'

‘I might even hear something.'

‘I look forward to your telling me all about it tomorrow.'

Ann had taken the call in Slater's den and stayed there, feeling safe because there weren't any outside windows, although she'd got over the fear during the day, hunched during most of it in her equally windowless gallery office after trying, unaccustomed to the system and how to operate it, to run back the CCTV loop. She was looking for excuses, saying she was unaccustomed to it, Ann forced herself to admit. She'd let the reel run too long by not checking it before taking the previous afternoon off, so a lot had been wiped off due to the automatic rewind and the first of the surviving images that had initially frozen her with fear had been partially lost, too indistinct for her to be positive.

But a lot of what she had seen reminded her of Jack.

At first sight – and during the several repeated playbacks – Ann had been totally convinced that it was her former husband and that he'd been there, directly outside the gallery. But then she'd imposed the control, that all too easily fluctuating control, and looked several times more and a lot closer and accepted that it couldn't be. The picture was of the back of a man walking past the gallery, nothing of his face visible at all. He'd been wearing jeans and a windbreaker and his head was slightly hunched forward, as if he were in a hurry. The shape was definitely wrong for it to have been Jack. The image on the film was of someone far thinner, more obviously fitter, than Jack had ever been and the man's shoulders were far broader. The hair was shorter, too, and lighter, although because the film was black and white she couldn't determine whether it was grey or blonde. What she had determined, during the course of an unsettled day, was that it was a remarkable resemblance, but nothing more – nothing to cause her the initial terror – than that.

It certainly wasn't anything to talk to Daniel about. She'd recovered her composure now – and the conviction that there was no way her former husband could ever find her – and she didn't want Daniel to think she could collapse as easily as she'd collapsed before the moment he was away on a trip. And he might go away again. She also didn't want him to know that after demanding all the security devices, she'd carelessly – stupidly – forgotten to check them.

She wouldn't forget again, though, neither here nor at the gallery. A lot of her newly recovered confidence came from having followed the resolution that evening. There'd been nothing whatsoever suspicious anywhere around the house; she'd only counted a total of ten cars going up and down Hill Avenue the entire day.

Ann decided to have just one more drink before going to bed. It would only be her third and she was still in complete control. She'd better buy a replacement bottle of gin to prevent Daniel noticing that the level of the one in the house for guests had gone down.

Thirteen

S
later spent a long time with Mary Ellen – wearing yet another home-knit sweater and making side notes to herself to avoid mistakes – dictating the first draft of his memorandum to the San Jose kitchen furnishing chain confirming all that had been agreed during his visit, correcting and rephrasing it before he was finally satisfied that nothing had been overlooked. On his way in from the airport the previous afternoon he'd picked up the two enquiries that had come in while he had been away and went through them overnight. Sure he could fulfil both without any conflict with those he'd already accepted, Slater quoted for those as well but was still able to cross town to meet Ann for lunch before their scheduled meeting with the school principal. David had become subdued at dinner the previous night when he'd realized the Maryland sports coach wasn't being included and after they had ordered their lunch Ann said, ‘He doesn't think we're going to go along with it.'

‘I told him that wasn't so, that we were working through it properly.' Slater had been very alert to Ann's mood the previous night, deciding that he'd misjudged her tone on the telephone from New Mexico, but had been surprised five minutes earlier when she'd ordered gin and tonic with her club sandwich and that her glass was already half empty. She'd only ever drunk hard booze with a meal when she was in a mess with Jack.

‘I know,' said Ann. ‘He wants to be a sports star. It's the only thing he's thinking about.'

‘What's he going to do when he's thirty-five and his legs have gone?'

‘He's just fourteen and can't imagine what it's going to be like to be thirty-five.' She sipped her drink.

‘I'll talk him through it.'

‘I think he expected to be included in this afternoon's meeting, too.'

‘He's just fourteen,' echoed Slater. ‘He'll be included if and when it's right for him to be, not before.'

‘We mustn't forget what happened. How he misunderstood and was stupid and could have got himself stabbed … killed even.'

‘I'm not forgetting anything,' insisted Slater. ‘Certainly nothing to do with the knife. Nor will I use it – will we use it – to provide excuses.'

‘I think we should be careful with him.'

Slater hadn't expected the conversation to be as intense. ‘We'll discuss it all,' he promised. ‘I won't do anything – make any decision – without talking it through with you first. We'll bring up David as we've always done, together.'

‘I don't want to tilt him off balance.'

When the waitress brought their sandwiches Ann ordered another drink. Slater stayed with his one glass of Chardonnay, which he'd scarcely touched. He said, ‘So there were no problems when I was away?'

‘None,' said Ann, shortly. She'd considered telling him about the sighting of the man with the similarity to Mason the previous evening but decided against it. She wished that she hadn't ordered the second drink but it was too late now.

Slater hesitated, undecided. Then he said, ‘You didn't have any problems with the CCTV?'

‘Why do you ask that?'

‘It's a system you're not familiar with.'

‘I got on OK,' said Ann, unable to remember the last time she'd consciously lied to him. The second gin tasted weaker than the first. It was an old bartender's trick to make the first one strong for the taste and strength to become assimilated and then short-measure after that.

‘So you felt comfortable with my being away?'

‘No,' denied Ann, positively. ‘I told you I was OK.'

Slater determinedly steered the conversation on to the forthcoming exhibition, listening to Ann's plans to employ caterers and a publicist for the opening night. ‘And I thought you could help with some physical security. Not personally, I don't mean. There must be a local firm that could supply guards.'

The remark reminded Slater that as soon as he got a response from San Jose he needed to set things up with the installers to whom he sub-contracted the actual fitting, to ensure they had people available when the work came on stream. One of the San Jose insistences had been stringent penalty clauses against delays. ‘You think that's necessary?'

‘Andre Worlack is a minimalist who paints under some magnification system to achieve postage stamp detail. That's what's attracted all the attention in New York and why his work is fetching up to a thousand and more for each canvas … each or any of which could be fitted into a coat pocket.'