Time to Kill (17 page)

‘Sounds like you could do with some more internal camera security as well?'

‘I think I could. I'm seeing an insurance assessor soon, to discuss temporarily increasing my cover. Extra cameras might be an insistence.'

Was that what she really meant? Or a need she'd felt while he'd been away that had hardened in her mind when he'd told her he'd have to make other trips? ‘I'll have the assessor's meeting with you, to sort it all out at the time,' Slater suggested.

Ann had finished eating but was looking at her empty glass and Slater was sure she was debating whether to order a third.

‘I'd hoped you would,' she replied.

Why hadn't she simply asked him? ‘You want some coffee? We've got time.'

Ann looked away from her glass. ‘Sure.'

As Slater gestured for their waitress Ann said, ‘I think we might have a problem.'

At last, thought Slater. ‘What?'

‘I had a call from Worlack's publicist, asking if I'd sent invites to New York, to internationally based critics and media there. When I said no, that I didn't imagine any of them would come out into the boondocks, he said Worlack was going to try out a lot of new work, like an out of town run that would attract attention and that he'd already spread the word around, not just in Manhattan but in Washington, too. He thought
The New York Times
as well as the
Washington Post
might come. Television maybe.'

Slater thought at last he understood Ann's need for the two gins. Tentatively he said, ‘So what's the problem?'

She snorted a disbelieving laugh at the question, her coffee cup between both hands. ‘You don't think there's still a Russian intelligence set-up in the Washington embassy that wouldn't recognize your photograph! That Jack wouldn't, now that he's out?'

‘I think the chance is remote,' said Slater, which was an exaggeration. Why hadn't she told him last night; while he was still in San Jose even?

‘Do you want to take that chance?'

‘I'll stay away from the opening. The whole exhibition, if that would make you feel more comfortable.'

‘I can't,' reminded Ann. ‘I'm hosting the whole thing.'

It all came back to her former husband and the damned release letter, Slater decided. ‘You think Jack reads art columns and magazines?'

‘I don't know what the fuck Jack reads … what he does. I never did, remember?'

Slater was undecided what to say. He didn't want to frighten her any more than she already was; as he was and always had been of Jack Mason, a secret he'd never admitted to anyone, scarcely even to himself. ‘They're going to want to photograph and talk to Worlack. You're going to have to stay out of the pictures.'

‘Mine is the first provincial gallery for his first out-of-town exhibition and I'm supposed to refuse to be photographed with the most exciting, up-and-coming artist who's chosen me for that honour!' Ann realized she was talking too loudly and looked around the restaurant, embarrassed.

‘I won't be there, not at all. You weren't photographed a lot during the trial; nothing will remain on any embassy intelligence file after all this time, believe me. I was the guy who ran it, knows the system. And I know there's no cross-referencing system. Why should there be? And I handled Jack, don't forget. The pictures he likes looking at don't qualify as modern art, more like gynaecological textbook illustrations.' Slater regretted the sneer as soon as he uttered it. He'd never ever taken cheap shots at her former husband's sexual abandonment of Ann.

‘If that's meant to reassure me, it doesn't.'

‘It's the reality of the situation.'

‘It's a danger – a risk – I don't want.'

Slater decided he didn't want Ann's up-and-down uncertainties taking her back into a gin bottle, either.

They drove unspeaking to the school and this time weren't kept waiting. Victor Spalding greeted them effusively and didn't sit formally behind his desk, as he had before, but perched himself on its edge fronting them. He said, ‘I think this is very exciting, don't you?'

‘David does,' said Slater. ‘There's a lot more we need to know.'

‘I thought I explained it in my letter,' said the principal, frowning. ‘As had Jeb Stout in his that I sent with mine.'

‘What affect would it have on David's schooling?' demanded Ann.

The man's frown remained. ‘By which you obviously mean bad affect. I don't see why it should have any: he's virtually being offered a place at the university.'

‘To play basketball and then most likely go on to become a professional,' said Ann. ‘What proper academic teaching is going to be fitted in with all the training and travelling there's going to be? We don't want a son washed up at age forty mumbling that he could have been a contender.'

Slater wished Ann hadn't been so vehement, knowing the remark was an unconnected overhang from their lunchtime confrontation, and was relieved when Spalding smiled, unoffended. ‘We're talking about basketball, not boxing, Mrs Slater. And I don't think David's going to end up punch-drunk. You'll need to talk in much more detail with Jeb Stout about the academic structure, but I know there is one and that it's strictly adhered to. As well as I know – as you do because I've told you every time we've met to talk about David's schooling – that academically he's very bright. He could very easily –
will
very easily, if you agree to the Maryland approach – be able to handle a full academic schedule in conjunction with whatever additional sports training and competition play there might be.'

‘Is the approach known about here in the school?' asked Slater.

‘There's been no official announcement,' said Spalding. ‘You haven't told me yet that you want to go ahead with it. But it's not a secret. I guess David's talked about it to his friends.'

‘What about the previous situation that brought us together last time?' persisted Slater. ‘He's got a long way to go educationally before he'll even get to the university, if we do agree. What sort of jealousy pressure is he likely to come under?'

‘None,' insisted the other man, adamantly. ‘When we were last together I set out everything we'd put in place to prevent any reoccurrence of gangs or bullying or pressure. Unless David's told you something he hasn't told any of the counsellors or his teachers, I believe it's working. Has he complained to you about anything he hasn't told anyone here?'

‘Not as far as I am aware,' admitted Slater, feeling inadequate.

Spalding smiled again. ‘I think you're right to be as careful as you are being: wanting to know everything. And that it's important to get everything right from the beginning.'

‘That's what we're going to do,' insisted Ann. ‘Get everything right from the start.'

‘To ensure which I think you should speak to the Maryland coach,' said Spalding. ‘He's called me already. Wanted to know if I'd got any reaction from you yet. Told me he's very willing to come here again.'

‘I think we should meet him, too,' said Slater. ‘But without any commitment.'

On their way back to the gallery Ann said, ‘There's too much happening. Everything's too busy. Too uncertain. I want it to be quiet again.'

Mason accessed the websites periodically every day – always from his memorized codes and passwords, never his back-up copies – and remained alert to everything and everyone around him during his daily fitness schedule, switching routes and directions more than usual to defeat any vehicle surveillance. He consequently became increasingly sure no alert had been raised from his being picked up on the CCTV cameras outside Ann's art gallery. He still decided against returning to Frederick, though, until after doing all that he planned in California.

With an intervening day before his appointment with the lawyer, Mason arranged his bill settlement at Guest Quarters, which had been extremely convenient but to which he didn't think he could return, made his travel arrangements and indulged himself by buying another Brooks Brothers suit, which he wore for his meeting with Patrick Bell.

‘So you've decided?' greeted the lawyer.

‘If you think it's a good idea,' countered Mason. Nowhere on any of his email interception had there been a single approach to the lawyer from Glynis Needham – which would probably have constituted illegal interference, he supposed – so he didn't think there was a possible risk but it still might be a sensible precaution to put up a ghost server barrier on Bell's system. It was something to think about.

‘What is it?'

‘I've got a case, right?'

Bell made a rocking motion with his hand. ‘Fifty-fifty.'

‘I think it's better than that, in my favour,' insisted Mason. ‘So do you.'

‘With all the caveats,' warned the other man.

‘Which is what I've taken into consideration,' came back Mason. ‘OK, I've got a lot to lose by a full court hearing: too much, maybe. So why don't you approach the appropriate authority? Invite a compensation offer with the clear and obvious implication that if it's not made we'll go on with a full claim?'

‘They'll never go for it; recognize it as a bluff,' dismissed the attorney.

‘Then we'll call it if they turn us down,' said Mason. ‘We'll issue a writ and see what balls they've got. Throw in a little pressure by talking about prison overcrowding that makes it necessary to share cells, which I believe to be against the penitentiary code.' Mason thought it could delay things almost until Chambers' release.

‘You got this much money?'

‘You settled my mother's estate,' reminded Mason. He offered the already prepared card. ‘I'm going to open a PO box in California for mail.' He spoke as the idea came to him, recognizing both the alibi and potential disappearing advantage.

‘You really going to go ahead?'

‘Let's see what their reaction is.'

‘You're determined to make this guy sweat, aren't you?'

‘You bet your ass,' said Mason. Other guys, too, he thought. What the hell had happened about that CCTV? Could it be that there wasn't a protective back-up, no one to whom Slater and Ann could go for help, and just be huddled there in Frederick, too shit-scared to move, to do anything? The balloon of satisfaction popped before it inflated; he'd never imagined Sobell – Slater, he corrected himself – sitting around frightened, waiting for the inevitable. That's why he had always to be so careful until he decided that they should know he'd found them. And then even more careful afterwards.

‘They might go for it,' conceded Bell, reluctantly.

‘That's what I think,' said Mason, with the benefit of having read Glynis Needham's email.

‘I'll give it a shot,' accepted the lawyer. ‘But if they reject it you want me to go ahead with the claim?'

‘Absolutely,' said Mason. ‘Then they'll know we're serious.'

‘And still might settle?' smiled Bell.

‘And
will
settle,' insisted Mason. It felt good to be in total control, ahead of everyone else's thinking.

‘You've decided upon California?' said Glynis Needham. As usual she was wearing a mannishly cut trouser suit

‘I've decided to take the trip and see what it's like,' qualified Mason.

‘When?'

‘Tonight, arriving tomorrow,' said Mason. ‘San Francisco. That's where the computer industry is, in Silicon Valley.'

The woman shook her head. ‘There are reporting restrictions governing your parole and I'm responsible for them. I can't have you wandering about the country, not knowing where you are.'

Mason felt a lurch of uncertainty. ‘I just told you where I'm going to be. And you told me you've already been in touch with people out there. You know my record, for Christ's sake! You know I'm not going to risk anything by going AWOL … do anything stupid.'

‘Don't get spiky,' the woman warned at once.

‘I'm not getting spiky,' refuted Mason. ‘I've told you all along, from the day you picked me up outside the prison, what I was thinking of doing. Suddenly you're objecting.'

‘I'm not objecting. I'm reminding you of your parole conditions.'

‘I'll make contact with whoever I've got to connect with as soon as I get there. All I need is a name and a contact number.'

‘You're asking for a lot of trust.'

‘I earned a lot of trust, over fifteen years. And even more when I was given the chance to run by that asshole guard Howitt.'

‘We should have worked it out together. I need an address, to know where you're going to be. Beverley needs to know.'

‘Beverley?' queried Mason, almost too late.

‘Beverley Littlejohn. She's the parole officer I've spoken to, who's going to look after you.'

‘So speak to her again, now. She gets me somewhere to stay, that's where I'll be while I look around. From where I'll make contact, the moment I get there.'

‘We should have worked it out before now,' persisted the woman.

‘Why didn't you tell me before now?' She'd been lax and she knew it, Mason guessed. As long as he judged it carefully he could go on playing hardball, pressuring her.

‘I thought you were dealing with the compensation.'

‘Which I am and which is quite separate from anything between you and I. We discussed that already.' He hoped the pinpricks of colour that came to her face were embarrassment, not anger. To ease it, if it were – as well as maintaining the pressure – he said, ‘My lawyer is writing to the penitentiary, maybe the Pennsylvania prison authorities, too. I don't need to be here while that's going on. What I need to do is get myself settled. Which is what I am trying to do. All I need is somewhere to stay, if you need to know before I leave.'