She had it, she told herself, breathing hard as she raced through the slush. She had forgotten about her situation, the murdered man, forgotten her own fear. She needed that cab.
The other man, sprinting down the street, had reached the front of the cab. When he saw her, he began to shout. “Hey, lady, this is mine!”
Jennifer opened the back door, slid inside, and slammed the door.
“Broadway and Fifty-eighth,” she told the driver, leaning forward so she’d be heard through the glass. She heard the man shouting at her through the side window. She reached out and locked the door, then sank back into the seat with relief as the taxi pulled into traffic. She never looked at the man as he slammed his fist on the side of the departing taxi.
The driver swore, glancing around.
“Don’t stop!” Jennifer asked. She was trembling.
“Animals!” the driver shouted. “Goddamn animals!” He accelerated his taxi, still swearing, complaining now about the traffic.
Jennifer glanced at the name and picture on his hack license. It was unpronounceable, full of consonants. Now she stared out the side window, as if by looking away she could avoid any more confrontations.
“Animals!” the driver exclaimed again.
“Yes,” Jennifer whispered. “I think I am.”
“Oh my God, what happened to you?” Joan exclaimed, seeing Jennifer’s bruised face.
“I’m okay. I’m okay,” Jennifer assured her secretary. “Joan, follow me. I need you to cancel an appointment.” Jennifer walked through the foundation’s outer rooms and into her own small office that looked north. The sun reflected brilliantly on the hard-packed frozen snow.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Joan asked, as she followed after her.
“Yes!” Jennifer called back, shedding her wool coat and dropping it on her office sofa. “And get Dale Forster on the phone. I’m going to have to break our squash date.” Jennifer slid into her chair. She didn’t look up, but she knew her secretary had followed her into the room with coffee. “I want you to call Father Merrill and tell him I’m sorry, but I can’t make this morning’s meeting. Also, I want you to clear my schedule for this afternoon.” She pulled her calendar across the wide desk and glanced down at Wednesday. “What do we have?”
“You have the eleven o’clock meeting with David Meyer on his film project. That’s set up in the conference room. He wants to show you his film on Sun Valley. And he’s already here. Then you have lunch with Evan Konechy upstairs in the dining room. Unless you want to have me make reservations elsewhere. This afternoon, there’s a slide presentation for the St. Louis project, remember?” The secretary carefully set down the coffee cup, then perched on the edge of a chair at the corner of the desk. She had her pad out, ready to take notes.
“Damnit! I forgot about St. Louis.” Jennifer fell back into her high-backed leather chair, the one David and Margit had bought for her when she started to work for the foundation.
“Jennifer, are you all right?” Joan asked. “Tell me what happened.”
“Yes, I’m all right now.” When she’d called in sick the day before, she’d said nothing about the assault. Now she was trying to make light of the incident. “I got mugged outside my apartment, that’s all.”
“Oh, you poor thing! You didn’t tell me! Are you okay? Did you have to go to the hospital?”
“No, I just have to go see the
police,” she lied, avoiding Joan’s eyes.
“And look at mug shots?” Joan asked. “Janet Chan— you know, the one who just took over the Woman’s World Foundation—was robbed last fall, and she had to look at mugshots. That was in Scarsdale.”
“Well, I don’t know about mugshots. I never saw the man.” Jennifer reached for the cup of coffee, thankful that her hands had stopped trembling.
“Was he a black person?” Joan whispered, still leaning across the desk.
“I don’t know. I told you, I never saw him.” Jennifer opened her leather briefcase and took out her files in an attempt to stave off other questions. “Any calls?”
“Yes, several
Tom called
twice.” Joan did not look up as she glanced through the yellow phone messages. “And the president’s office phoned. Dr. Handingham wants to speak with you about the talk he’s to give at the Silbersack luncheon on Monday.”
Jennifer suddenly felt overwhelmed by her work. On her desk were several bulky files, projects that needed attention. And there were all her meetings today. But she couldn’t concentrate. She couldn’t take her mind off what had happened.
“Jennifer, are you all right?” Joan asked again.
“Yes, I’m just tired, that’s all.” She gestured at the stack of files. “I’ve got to get some work done. Can you keep everyone away from me for a little while?” She smiled across at Joan, blinking away tears.
“Don’t worry about a thing, dear.” Joan Corboy stood.
“Drink your coffee, and I’ll close the door and let you have some peace and quiet.”
“Thank you, Joan, for taking care of me.” She smiled after her secretary, and when her office door closed, Jennifer reached for the telephone and dialed Tom at work.
“Is Tom Oliver available?” she asked his secretary.
“May I ask who is calling?”
“Ms. Winters.” Jennifer fingered the telephone cord as she waited, and spun her leather chair around to look out the window. She could see a long thin slice of the park from her windows and up Central Park West as far north as the museum. She focused on the massive Romanesque museum as she waited for Tom to come to the phone. She could not see Columbus Avenue, where she had killed the man.
It hadn’t happened, she told herself. It couldn’t have happened. But she knew now that was not true. She had gone over the murder a thousand times. In her mind, she had killed him a thousand times.
“Jennifer!”
“Tom, yes,” she whispered into the phone.
“Where have you been?”
“I need to see you.”
“I need to see you, darling.” He sighed into the phone. “God, I’ve been calling you. But your machine—”
“Tom,” she interrupted, “I have to talk to you.” She had cupped her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone.
“What? Honey, I can’t hear you.”
“I need to talk to you!”
“Okay! Okay! When? Where?”
“Can you meet me for lunch?”
“Sweetheart, I can’t. I’ve got to be downtown.”
“All right!” She spun around and studied her calendar. “Are you free later, after four?”
“I will be. Where do you want to meet?”
“Come to Brooklyn, please.”
There was silence for a moment, as he decided. “Okay, but don’t be late. I don’t want to have to hang around on the street.”
“You have a key.”
“Not with me.”
“I’ll be home early. Tom, I need your help. Something has happened.” She was crying, and she reached over to pluck a tissue from the box on her desk.
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s not what you think. I’m okay.” She knew he was constantly worried that she’d get pregnant. “Don’t say anything. I mean, don’t tell anyone in the office you’re meeting me.”
“I never do, honey, you know that.”
“I’m serious, Tom, this is important!”
“So’s my case.”
“What I need to talk to you about involves just me. Me alone.”
“Honey, I just don’t get you.”
“Did you see the Post this morning?”
“Of course not!”
“Take a look at the headline.”