“What about my mother?”
He heard the fear in her voice, low, masked, but still there. She was good, she really was.
“Would you like to have her address, Sydney?”
She reeled away from him as if he’d struck her.
“You’re lying!”
“Keep your voice down or I’ll drag you into the corridor.”
He didn’t have to drag her anywhere. She raced past him and was out of the room in an instant. Taylor followed. He wasn’t smiling, but it had to be done and he would be the one to do it. He would be the one to end it.
She was standing outside the room, leaning against the wall, her head back, her eyes closed. She didn’t open them, just said very quietly, “You’re lying.”
“Ask your precious father.”
“She’s dead. She died when I was six years old. He came and got me at school and told me she was in heaven. He cried and held me. She’s dead. I hated Jennifer when he brought her home. She proved what she was, didn’t she? A slut, and she had Lindsay, a bastard. She wasn’t married to my father for more than a year or so before she was screwing around on him. Damn you, my mother’s dead!”
“No she isn’t.” He wanted to tell her that most likely her mother had walked out on him for his infidelity, that she’d also walked out on her daughter, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to say the words.
Then, in the space of an instant, her eyes grew as cold as her voice. “So, what deal, Taylor? What you’re saying could be true, but who cares? There’s no real value to it, none.”
“Your father would probably care, for one. He lied to you. I doubt he’d appreciate being confronted not only with his lie but also with the woman herself. Who knows? Since you believed he loved her so much, maybe when he sees her again he can convince her to divorce her current husband and come back to him.”
“She’s dead!”
“Maybe she could even fly to New York and you could introduce her to all your hotshot friends. Maybe she’d really like to see her granddaughter in Milan. What do you think, Sydney?”
“You’re a lying bastard!”
“I wonder how many little stepbrothers and stepsisters you have now? Do you think they’re all as smart, beautiful, and charming as you are?”
She struck him hard, with the palm of her hand. His head snapped back. Very calmly Taylor grabbed both her hands in his and held them in front of her.
“I must say I’m delighted you’re not my sister-in-law. You probably have some good points, most folk do, maybe even the Son of Sam. However, enough of all this garbage. You won’t say a bloody word to Lindsay about her mother. You’ll fly home to daddy and tell him that if he opens his mouth, his dead ex-wife will be on his doorstep. If he wants scandal, he’ll get it. Do you understand, Sydney?”
“I hope she leaves you.”
He laughed. “We’re not even on our honeymoon yet. Do you intend to go right out and buy a voodoo doll?”
“She’s so screwed up, you’ll leave her!”
His laughter died, but his smile didn’t. “There is something I’m very grateful to your father for. He never told you about Lindsay. I can just imagine you tormenting both Lindsay and her mother for ten years. Now, go away, Sydney. Go away and keep away.”
He released her wrists. She rubbed them. Then, very slowly, she walked away. She never turned back.
Taylor sighed. Jesus, he hoped he’d done the right thing. Actually, it didn’t matter what Sydney or her father did. He would tell Lindsay about her mother and real father when the time was right. It seemed to him that taking Royce Foxe out of the father picture should, in the long run, make her feel quite good.
He wondered if Sydney’s mother was really still alive.
Thirty minutes later, Lindsay was awake and Barry and Taylor were seated by the bed.
“Okay, Lindsay,” Barry said, “we’ve pretty well knocked any and all of your family out of the running. What Taylor said seems the direction to go.”
“Somebody is after him.”
“Yeah. They’re getting at him through you. Revenge, most likely.”
Lindsay felt the dull thudding of her heart, felt the helplessness of ignorance. She looked at Taylor. “Please tell me you have some ideas.”
“Yes, several, in fact. Unfortunately—” He drew a deep breath, then forced it out. “Oswald is dead. But don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll figure this out, and very soon now.”
Lindsay wanted to cry. She wanted to howl. It wasn’t fair, dammit. She felt so vulnerable her skin crawled. Taylor understood how she felt, the helplessness of it. Very calmly he pulled his .38 from its holster, handed it to her, and said, “Keep it in the bedside drawer. The safety’s on, see? If a baddie comes near you, don’t hesitate. Flip the safety off, aim, and pull the trigger. Okay?”
Barry wanted to mention that there was a uniformed officer outside her door, but he didn’t. The uniformed officer hadn’t helped her last time. He patted Lindsay’s shoulder and said good night.
Taylor was sleeping here, on a cot. For convenience and for her protection. He went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and take a shower. He came out in a few minutes wearing a robe she’d never seen before. She raised an eyebrow at him.
“It’s new. I didn’t want to shock any nurses or doctors. I can’t very well wander around nude, the way you like to see me.”
“Can’t you sleep with me instead?”
Taylor sighed. He wanted to but he was afraid of hurting her.
“Why don’t I hold you until you go to sleep? That sleeping pill should be kicking in soon.”
He held her loosely, so carefully, and Lindsay sighed and said, “I can’t believe Oswald had the nerve to die.”
“Me either, the little worm.”
“What are you going to do?”
“It’s a matter of reviewing all the cases I was in charge of for, say, three years before I quit the force. It’ll take me a little time, but I’ll figure it out. You’re not to worry.” The admonition sounded hollow in his ears.
“No, I won’t,” she said, and nestled closer.
He was amazed that she was here and that she was his wife and that she loved him. He kissed her temple. “You are brave and tough and—”
“The best lay you’ve ever had?”
“Yeah. There’s a story I’d like to tell you, maybe I should have told you sooner, maybe not. It’s about this girl—”
“One of your old girlfriends?”
“No. Do you remember me telling you I was in Paris the same time you were?” She nodded, but he could feel her drawing back, trying to burrow back inside her armor, to hide, to defend herself. He quickened. “Yes, of course you do. I love France; I’ve told you that. In any case, I was riding my motorcycle in Paris and this damned Peugeot came roaring out of a side street and hit me. I was lucky. I got thrown into some bushes but my arm was broken, that was the main thing. The ambulance took me to St. Catherine’s Hospital, to the emergency room. I was waiting for treatment all alone in this curtained-off cubicle when they brought in this young girl who had been raped. She was in the curtained-off room right next to me.”
“Taylor, no, damn you, no—”
“Shush. I listened to her screams, her cries, heard what the doctors were saying and how they didn’t really give a shit because the girl was a foreigner. I heard how the nurse tried to protect her, but in France, back then most of the doctors were men and the bosses and they were hassled because there’d been a big auto pileup. And finally I saw her wheeled out. When I was at De Gaulle airport ready to come home, I bought a newspaper and read a bit about this girl. Practically none of it rang true and I should know because I’d been there, in the emergency room. And I never forgot her name or her. Her name was Lindsay Foxe. I remember thinking that no one should have to bear such humiliation, such lies as the media were telling, and it changed me. I couldn’t believe much of what I read because I knew firsthand what had happened.”