Moment Of Truth

Jack remained standing. The press is all over my daughter because of you. She can't go anywhere. I came here to

tell you that you're ruining my kid's life. You keep this up, I'll file suit against you and the police. You don't have any evidence for what you're saying. It's not true, none of it.'

'You know, you are a bad guy, Newlin. Even though you didn't kill your wife, you're a bad guy.' Brinkley uncapped the beer with a church key that was already on the table. 'You filed a false confession. You played my department for fools. You took public resources for your own personal use. Got everybody running in the wrong direction. And got me suspended, for doing my job.'

'You didn't answer my question. You have any evidence for what you're saying?' Jack demanded. He knew what Brinkley was saying was true, but he couldn't admit it. The detective could report him to get his job back.

'You took the rap for your kid and her boyfriend, but that wasn't right. It was easy but it wasn't right. The right thing woulda been to let these kids answer for what they did.' Brinkley took a sip of one of the Michelobs and slid the other one toward Newlin. 'And you're a bad liar, pal. I'm thinkin' you're just about the worst liar I've ever seen, and I've seen some real morons. I picked up a guy, long time ago. He's standing on the street, talkin' to his buddies, holding a TV.' Brinkley spread his arms wide, the brown bottle in one hand. 'Like this big. I mean, holding the friggin' TV, right on the street. So me and my old partner, we're beat cops, we come walkin' around the corner just by chance, the worst luck of this guy's life.' Brinkley started to laugh. 'And we say, "Hey, what are you doin' with that TV?' And the dude says, "What TV?" I mean, "What TV?"' Brinkley burst into laughter.

Standing there, Jack didn't know what to do. He was trying to talk tough, but the detective was in hysterics. He felt like a complete idiot in his I LOVE PHILADELPHIA jacket, with a face that a truck hit, and he knew that Brinkley was right. Jack wasn't a good lair; he'd worried about that from the beginning. And he was so tired, and

so worried, and so sick at heart, that he could do only one thing. What TV? He started to laugh. He laughed so hard that he had to sit down behind his untouched beer and glass. And when he finally stopped and wiped his eyes, Brinkley was wiping his, too, with a napkin from a stack on the table.

'Well, Newlin,' the detective said, still smiling. 'Let's get down to it. You got your tit in a wringer and you came to me for help. You're worried I'm gonna turn you in, but I won't. Anything we say is off the record.'

'How do I know that?'

'You have my word.'

Jack considered it. If he told the truth, Paige was on the hook for murder. If he didn't, she could be killed by Trevor. Momentarily stalled, he reached for his beer and took a swig.

'Let me make this easy, as my partner would say. We'll skip over how we got here and go straight to what happens next. I agree with you, your daughter is in deep shit. She's at least an accessory to murder, but I think the boyfriend is the doer.'

Jack's gut tightened at hearing his suspicion confirmed. Trevor had killed Honor, not Paige. All this time. 'If that's true, then Paige is in danger, from Trevor.'

'Not yet. He's been in custody all day, on a drug charge.'

'Drug charge? Jack said, astounded. Paige's boyfriend? How had this happened? Had he been blind?

The feds should be letting him go about now.' Brinkley checked his watch. 'Where's your daughter?'

'I don't know.' Jack stood up in alarm. 'I called but she's not home.'

'She was at the FBI today with the lawyer, DiNunzio,' Brinkley said, rising.

'Paige, at the FBI with Mary? That's not possible. How do you know that?'

'Friends in high places.'

'Oh, no.' Jack pieced it together in a flash. Paige must have decided to tell the truth, gone to Mary, and then to the police and the FBI. 'We've got to get going,' he said, but Brinkley was already reaching for his coat.

47

Cold air blasted Mary and Paige the moment they pushed through the revolving door of the office building and hit Locust Street. Mary felt her nose turn instantly red and her cheeks chap on impact. She finger combed her hair into place, knowing it was useless. She shouldn't have been worrying about how she looked anyway. Here she was, going to visit a client. Well, not a client anymore. Did that make it okay to have a crush on him? 'Let's get a cab,' she said anyway. 'It's too cold to walk.'

The hotel is only ten blocks or so. Dad left the name of it on my machine.' Paige flipped up the collar of her black jacket and squinted against the harsh wind. 'We can walk.'

'Of course we can, but we don't have to.' Mary squinted up and down the street but there were no cabs. The street was dark, and traffic heading toward Broad Street was sparse. A man walked by in a wool topcoat and a knit cap, his muffler flying at his neck. At this time of night he'd be heading toward Suburban Station. Not a cab in sight. 'Why are there more lawyers than cabs in the world? Cabs are more useful and often smell better.'

'Come on, Mary,' Paige said, buttoning a latch at the top of her coat. 'Walking is good exercise.'

'All right.' Mary turned reluctantly toward Market and the hotel. Tm not the type who cares if my hair looks like shit.'

'Me neither.' Paige fell into step beside Mary. 'I've wasted too much time worrying about my hair. And my weight. And my eyes. And my hips.'

Mary caught a faceful of city wind that would drive soot

into her contacts and redden her eyes, for that Cujo look. 'I never worry about what I look like.'

'Kind of weird to think you've spent your whole life on all the wrong things. With the wrong people.'

'You're only sixteen.' Mary put her head down against the wind. If this kept up, she'd have bugs on her teeth. 'Your whole life hasn't started yet.'

'And I've screwed it up already,' Paige said, her tone quiet, and Mary looked over, since it sounded strangely like something she would say. Paige's head was down, and her hair blew back in a silky sheet of red, as if she were standing in front of a photographer's fan. But she didn't look like a model anymore, with her hand carried protectively in front of her tummy. Behind her was a dark, closed-up store, and Paige seemed so alone that Mary took her arm impulsively.

'You know, I don't agree with you.'

'No?' Paige didn't remove her arm.

'Not in the least.' Mary kept walking with Paige's arm in hers, enjoying the chumminess of it. She missed working with Judy on this case, but this was almost as good, and for once, Mary was the smart one. 'I think you have made a rather large mistake and are trying like hell to correct it. You walked into a police station today and begged them to arrest you for a murder that it turns out you didn't commit. That takes guts.'

'Like father, like daughter/ Paige said, and Mary laughed.

'You think it's genetic? You Newlins run around confessing to major felonies? Have excessive guilt complexes?' Mary's teeth chattered against the cold, and a crumpled newspaper blew down the sidewalk like urban tumbleweed. Another man hurried by on the street, his tartan scarf wrapped up to his nose. The cold and wind seemed suddenly hostile to Mary. She decided she didn't like the city in winter after all, and squeezed Paige's arm protectively. 'You sure you're not Catholic?'

Paige smiled. 'Can I ask you a question? It's kind of personal.'

'That's the only kind I answer. The rest is all small talk, and who cares about that?'

'It's about abortion.'

'Okay, I'm all ears.' So much for feeling smart. Mary had her own views, but it was so personal. The wind blew harder on the other side of the street, making it rough going, or maybe it was the conversation. They reached the corner and crossed against the traffic light, since there were no cars. Tire away.'