Sure enough, minutes later Jeanette emerged. She crossed the street and joined the other two. The trio glided off toward Seventh Avenue.
"This is creepy," Gia said. Jack could feel her shiver as she clutched his arm and leaned against him. "Like some of those movies you make me watch. Where do you think they're going?"
"Looking for a cab to take them to the Bronx, I'll bet." But he didn't care about them. It was his sister who concerned him. "I've got to check on Kate."
He stepped back to the apartment house door and pressed the button labeled J. VEGA. Three times. Finally Kate answered.
"Yes?"
"Kate, it's Jack. I just saw Jeanette leave. Are you all right?"
"Of course." Even through the tinny little speaker Jack thought her voice sounded thick with emotion. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Can I come up, Kate?" He glanced at Gia for approval and she gave him a combination shrug-nod. "I'd like to talk to you."
"Not tonight, Jack. Maybe tomorrow. It's been a long day and I'm not feeling that great."
"You're sure you're all right, Kate?"
"I'm fine, Jack. Fine."
That last word, couched in a sob, tore his heart.
"Kate…"
But she'd broken the connection.
Jack turned to Gia and slipped his arms around her. "I can't stand this," he said, pulling her close and resting his cheek against hers.
She caressed his back and whispered, "I know. You're the fix-it man and you can't fix this."
"I don't even know where to start."
"Let's go home. Things may look different in the morning."
"Yeah."
But he doubted it.
FRIDAY
1
Sandy found Beth in the kitchen making fresh coffee when he burst into the apartment with the morning edition.
"Ta-daaaa!" he cried as he held up the front page.
Beth shrieked and ran to him. She'd moved some of her clothes into his apartment yesterday; she was barefoot in tight little shorts and a T-shirt and she looked so good Sandy wanted to grab her and hug her, but she snatched the paper from him and held the tabloid at arms length, staring at the three-word headline large enough to read from a block away.
THE
SAVIOR
SPEAKS!
"'An exclusive interview for The Light by Sandy Palmer'!" she said, reading the italic refer running along the bottom. "Sandy! Your name's on the front page!"
"I know, I know! Isn't it awesome!"
"Totally! I've so got to read this!" She opened to page three. " ' "Call me anything you want," the man known as The Savior said. "The one thing I'm not telling you is my name." ' " She looked up at him and smiled. "What a great opening line!"
While Beth stood there reading, Sandy wandered about the front room, unable to sit or even stand still. Every giddy nerve in his body was singing a joyful tune and his stomach tingled, almost to the point of nausea. Today was without a doubt the best day of his life, and the best moment of this day was when he'd stopped in front of the newsstand and gaped at that front page. For a full minute at least he'd stood frozen, couldn't even reach into his pocket for the change to buy a copy. And during that minute he'd seen one person after another pass up the Times and the News and the Post and go for The Light.
Mine. My Light.
He'd sure as hell earned it. Yesterday he'd thought he was home free after weathering an intense grilling by George Meschke and the other editors; then McCann showed up and put Sandy in the hot seat, firing questions from all angles, obviously hoping he'd contradict himself. He pushed Sandy almost to the breaking point.
"Am I on trial here?" he'd finally shouted. "All I did was answer the goddamn phone! Since when is that a crime?"
And that had brought Meschke to his rescue. He'd told McCann they were satisfied with the story's authenticity and were running it in the morning. McCann reluctantly backed off.
"Well, at least we know he was a SEAL," the big detective had said. "Or at least he says he was. That's a boost. Only so many guys make it all the way through SEAL training. We'll get the Navy on this."
He'd extracted a promise that the make and model of the Savior's pistol would not be mentioned, then stormed off.
But beyond the front page, beyond the interview, was the fact that The Light, for the first time in its fifty-year history, was putting out a second issue in the same week. They'd contacted their advertisers, pulled out all the backlogged restaurant and book and theater reviews and packed them into the back pages to fill out the count. Then they'd contacted their distributor for delivery of a Special Edition that would be four times their usual run.
All because of moi, he thought. I'm making this paper go.
"Awesome!" Beth said, lowering the paper and fixing those big brown eyes on him. " 'We're all alive today because of a criminal act.' Totally, totally awesome!"
"You like it? You think it was well written?"
Sandy hung on her answer. Beth admired him, she made love to him, but he wanted her respect, too.
"Absolutely! But it must have been so weird talking to him on the phone. I mean, he saved our lives. I wish 1 could remember what he looked like, don't you?"
The question put Sandy on alert, blunting his high. He'd been dying to tell Beth about his meeting with the Savior, and a couple of times last night he'd caught himself just as he'd been ready to blurt it out. He was afraid he'd explode if he didn't tell someone soon.
But he couldn't risk it. Not even with Beth. If she let it slip, he would come under relentless pressure. Maybe he could tell her later, after things cooled down a bit. Or maybe he'd save it for his book on the Savior; what a great hook to be able to reveal that he'd actually sat and talked face to face with the mystery man.
"What would you do if you could remember?" Sandy asked.
"You mean, like if someone hypnotized me and suddenly I could see his face?" Her eyes lit. "Hey! That might be something I could use in my film!"
She jumped to the cluttered table he used as a home desk and jotted a few lines on a pad.
"But if you could remember," he repeated, "what would you do?"
She looked at him. "Tell you the truth, I'm not sure. Yesterday I would have told the world. But just a few minutes ago, while you were out, I was channel surfing and came across To Kill A Mockingbird. I love black-and-white films and I've seen it at least two dozen times. It was the scene where Scout and Jem are attacked in the woods, and then someone they don't see kills their attacker. Turns out it's Boo Radley, but Atticus decides not to tell anyone because it would ruin Boo's life. And it hit me: maybe the Savior is like Boo Radley—an otherwise harmless recluse who jumped in when he was needed, but whose life would be ruined by publicity."
"This guy's not harmless," Sandy said. "And no way anybody's going to mistake him for a mockingbird."
"Maybe not, but…" Beth shrugged. "What's he sound like?"
"Like a regular guy. No real accent I could identify." No lie there. He glanced at his watch. "I'm expected at the office."
Sandy had decided to get down to The Light so he could bask in the buzz. He expected some of the other reporters, especially the older ones, to be jealous, but he hoped most everybody else would be happy for him. Another round of handshaking and backslapping would be in order. And this time, without an interview to write up, he could relax and enjoy it.