“Hello?” Her voice was shaky, one step from oblivion; her nerves completely spent.
“Kate. I need some help.”
Four hours later they sat in the front of the little deli at Founder’s Park, the site of their initial rendezvous after so many years apart. The weather had worsened into a hard, pelting snow that had made driving nearly impossible and walking only for the irrationally daring.
Jack looked across at her. The hooded parka was off, but a ski cap, a few days’ worth of beard and a pair of thick glasses obscured his features to such a degree that Kate had to look twice before she recognized him.
“You’re sure no one followed you?” He looked anxiously at her. A cup of steaming coffee partially clouded her line of vision, but she could see the strain on his face. It was clear he was near the breaking point.
“I did what you said. The subway, two cabs and a bus. If anyone kept up with me in this weather, they’re not human.”
Jack put his coffee down. “From what I’ve seen, they might not be.”
He had not specifically identified the meeting place on the phone. He now assumed that they were listening to everything, to anyone connected to him. He had only mentioned the “usual” place, confident that Kate would understand, and she had. He looked out the window. Every passing face was a threat. He slid a copy of the Post across to her. The front page was revealing. Jack had shaken with anger when he had first read it.
Seth Frank was in stable condition at George Washington University Hospital with a concussion. The homeless man, as yet unidentified, had not been so fortunate. And smack in the middle of the story was Jack Graham, a one-man crime wave. She looked up at him after reading the story.
“We need to keep moving.” He looked at her, drained his coffee and then got up.
The cab dropped them off at Jack’s motel on the outskirts of Alexandria’s Old Town. His eyes looking left and right and then behind, they made their way to his room. After locking and bolting the door, he took off the ski cap and glasses.
“God, Jack, I’m so sorry you’re involved in any of this.” She shook; he could actually see her trembling from across the room. It took a moment for him to wrap his arms around her until he felt her body calm, relax. He looked at her.
“I got myself involved. Now I just need to get myself uninvolved.” He attempted a smile, but it didn’t dent the fear she was feeling for him; the awful dread that he might soon join her father.
“I left a dozen messages for you on your machine.”
“I never thought to check, Kate.” He took the next half hour to tell her the events of the last few days. Her eyes reflected the growing horror with each new revelation.
“My God!”
They were silent for a moment.
“Jack, do you have any idea who’s behind all this?”
Jack shook his head, a small groan escaped his lips. “I’ve got a bunch of loose threads sliding around in my head but none of them have added up to spit so far. I’m hoping that status will change. Soon.”
The finality with which the last word was spoken hit her like a sudden slap. His eyes told her. The message was clear. Despite the disguises, the elaborate travel safeguards, despite whatever innate ability he could bring to the battlefield, they would find him. Either the cops or whoever wanted to kill him. It was only a matter of time.
“But at least if they got what they wanted back?” Her voice drifted off. She looked at him, almost pleadingly.
He lay back on the bed, stretched exhausted limbs that didn’t seem to belong to him any longer.
“That’s not something I can really hang my hat on forever, Kate, is it?” He sat up and looked across the room. At the cheap picture of Jesus hanging on the wall. He would take a dose of divine intervention right now. A small miracle would do.
“But you didn’t kill anyone, Jack. You told me Frank’s already figured that out. The D.C. cops will too.”
“Will they? Frank knows me, Kate. He knows me and I could still hear the doubt in his voice at first. He picked up on the glass, but there’s no evidence that anyone tampered with it or the gun. On the other hand there’s clear, take-it-to-the-bank proof, pointing to me killing two people. Three if you count last night. My lawyer would recommend my negotiating a plea and hoping for twenty to life with the possibility of parole. I’d recommend it myself. If I go to trial I’ve got no shot. Just a bunch of speculation trying to tie Luther and Walter Sullivan and all the rest into some landscape of conspiracy of, you have to admit, mind-boggling proportions. The judge’ll laugh my ass right out of court. The jury will never hear it. Really, there’s nothing to hear.”
He stood up and leaned against the wall, hands shoved in his pockets. He didn’t look at her. Both his short- and long-term prospects had doomsday written all over them.
“I’ll die an old man in prison, Kate. That is, if I make it to old age — which is a big question mark in itself.”
She sat down on the bed, her hands in her lap. A gasp caught midway in her throat as the sheer hopelessness sank in, like a boulder dropped in deep, dark waters.
Seth Frank opened his eyes. At first nothing came into focus. What his brain registered resembled a large white canvas on which a few hundred gallons of black, white and gray paint had been poured to form a cloggy, mind-altering quagmire. After a few anxious moments, he was able to discern the outline of the hospital room in all its stark white, chrome and sharp angles. As he tried to sit up, a hand planted itself firmly against his shoulder.
“Uh-uh, Lieutenant. Not so fast.”
Frank looked up into the face of Laura Simon. The smile did not entirely hide the worry lines around the eyes. Her sigh of relief was clearly audible.
“Your wife just left to check on the kids. She’s been here all night. I told her as soon as she left you’d wake up.”
“Where am I?”
“GW Hospital. I guess if you were gonna have your head pounded in, at least you picked a place close to a hospital.” Simon continued to lean over the bed so Frank wouldn’t have to turn his head. He stared up at her.
“Seth, do you remember what happened?”
Frank thought back to last night. Or was it last night?
“What day is it?”
“Thursday.”
“So it happened last night?”
“Around eleven or so. At least they found you about then. And the other guy.”
“Other guy?” Frank jerked his head around. Pain shot through his neck.
“Take it easy, Seth.” Laura took a moment to prop a pillow next to Frank’s head.
“There was another guy. Homeless. They haven’t identified him yet. Same kind of blow to the back of the head. Probably died instantly. You were lucky.”
Frank gingerly touched his throbbing temples. He didn’t feel so lucky.
“Anybody else?”
“What?”
“Did they find anybody else?”
“Oh. No, but you’re not going to believe this. You know the lawyer who watched the tape with us?”
Frank tensed. “Yeah, Jack Graham.”
“Right. The guy kills two people at his law firm and then he’s spotted running away from the Metro about the time you and the other guy get whacked. The guy’s a walking nightmare. And he looked like a Mr. All-American.”
“Have they found him yet? Jack? They’re sure he got away?”
Laura looked at him strangely. “He got out of the Metro station if that’s what you mean. But it’s only a matter of time.” She looked out the window, reached for her purse. “The D.C. cops want to talk with you as soon as you’re able.”