Samuels rose, anger sparking from his eyes. "I seem to recall a conversation similar to this. We were in that matchbox office of yours in Vermont. I warned you not to marry that rootless hippie you were living with. I told you there was nothing to her. You stood before me then just as you are now and as much as threw me out of your office. Two years later your wife and daughter were gone, and you were crawling to me for help. Have you forgotten?"
"Dad, that was then. This is-"
"Have you forgotten?"
"No, I haven't."
"Have you forgotten the money and the time I spent trying to find that woman despite my own personal feelings about her?"
"Look, I don't want to fight."
"Get out, " Samuels said evenly. "When you come to your senses, when you discover once again that I was right, call me."
"Dad, I-"
"I said get out." Samuels turned his back and stared out the window. As Jared opened the door, he nearly collided with Jocelyn Trent, who was standing up and backing away at the same time. Quickly, he closed the door behind him. "What were you doing there? " he asked. "Jared, please, don't make me explain." She took him by the arm, led him to the hall closet, and began helping him on with his coat. "Meet me in ten minutes,
" she whispered in his ear. "The little variety store on the corner of Charles and Mount Vernon. I have something important for you, for Kate actually."
The study door opened just as she was letting Jared out. Winfield Samuels stood, arms folded tightly across his chest, and watched him go.
Even dressed down, in pants and a plain wool overcoat, Jocelyn Trent turned heads. Jared stood by the variety store and watched several drivers slow as they passed where she was waiting to cross Charles Street. He left the shelter of the recessed doorway and met her at the corner. Their relationship, while cordial, had never approached a friendship in any sense. His father had taken some pains to keep the interaction between them superficial, and neither had ever been inclined to push matters further. "Thank you for meeting me like this, " she said, guiding him back to the shadow of the doorway. "I don't have much time, so I'll say what I have to say and go."
"Fair enough."
"Jared, I'm leaving your father. I intend to tell him this afternoon."
"I'm sorry, " he said. "I know how much he cares for you."
"Does he? I think you know as well as I do that caring isn't one of Win Samuel's strong suits. It's too bad, too, because strange as it might sound, I think I might actually love him."
"Then why-"
"Please, Jared. I really don't have much time, and what I'm doing is very hard for me. Just know that I have my reasons-for leaving him and for giving you this." She handed him a sealed envelope. "Kate's a wonderful woman. She doesn't deserve the treatment he's giving her. I've been completely loyal to your father. That is until now. I know how hard it is to stand up to him. Lord knows I've wanted to enough. I think you did the right thing back there."
"Jocelyn, do you know if my father is lying or not? It's very important."
She smiled. "I'm aware of how important it is. I was listening at the door, remember? The answer is that I don't know, at least not for sure.
There's a phone number in that envelope, Jared. Go someplace quiet and dial it. If my suspicions about that number are correct, you should be able to decide for yourself which of the two, Kate or your father, is telling the truth."
"I don't understand, " he said. "What is this number? Where did you get it?"
"Please, I don't want to say any more because there's a small chance I might be wrong. Let's just leave it that the number is one your father has called from time to time since I've known him. I handle all of the household bills, including the phone bill, so I know. A year or two ago I accidentally overheard part of a conversation he was having. Some of what I heard disturbed me, so I noted down the exact time of the call.
That's how I learned this number. I don't want to say any more. Okay?"
"Okay, but-"
"I wish you well, Jared. Both of you. The things I overheard Kate say last night have really helped me make some decisions I should have made a long time ago. I hope that what I've done will help her."
She took his hand, squeezed it for a moment, and was gone. Jared watched her hurry up Mt. Vernon Street, then he tore open the plain envelope.
The phone number, printed on a three-by-five card, was in the 213 area.
Los Angeles. He drove to his office, trying to imagine what the number might be. Once at his desk, he sat for nearly a minute staring at the card before he finally dialed. A woman, clearly awakened by the call, answered on the third ring. Hello? " she said. Jared struggled for a breath and pressed the receiver so tightly against his ear that it hurt.
"Hello? " the woman said again. "Is anybody there?"
Even after so many years he knew. "Lisa? " He could barely say the word.
"Yes. Who is this? Who is this, please?"
Slowly, Jared set the receiver back in its cradle.
Friday 21 December
It was pressure pain from the pipe more than cold that tugged Kate free of a sleep that was deeper than sleep. In the twilight moment before she was fully conscious, she imagined herself buried alive, the victim of some twisted, vicious kidnapper. In just a few hours she would suffocate or freeze to death. Jared had that little time to raise her ransom, and the only one he could turn to, she knew, was his father. The sound of Win Samuels's laughter echoed in her tomb, growing louder and louder until with a scream she came fully awake. She was on her back. Her lips and cheeks were caked with dried and frozen blood. Dim light from the ends of the culvert barely defined the corroding metal, just a foot or so from her face. Lie still, she thought. Just don't move. Sleep until Jared comes. Close your eyes again and sleep. The thoughts were so comforting, so reassuring, that she had to struggle to remember that they were no more than the cold, lying to her, paralyzing her from within. For a time, all she could think about was sleep, sleep and Zimmermann's taunting warning that even if she survived, no one would believe her story. Sick, crazy, drugged up, that's what they all believed. It was hopeless for her. Zimmermann said it, and he was right.
Over and over again, in a voice as soothing as a warm tub, the cold spoke to her of hopelessness and sleep. Kate flexed her hands and her feet, struggling against the downy comfort of the lies and the inertia.
Remain still and you will die. Surrender to the cold and you will never see Jared again, never get the chance to tell him how much his letter and his decision mean to you. She tried pushing herself along with her feet, but could not bend her knees enough to get leverage. She had to see him. She had to tell him that she, too, was ready to make choices.
Aroused by the aching in her legs and the far deeper pain in her side, she twisted and wriggled onto her belly. She had been wrong to allow Willoughby to nominate her without trying harder to see things from Jared's perspective. She had been wrong. Now she could only admit that and hope Jared believed it had been he, and not the devastating events, who had helped her see the true order of her priorities. She was less than halfway from the far end of the pipe. The fog seemed to have lifted. She could now make out the silhouettes of trees against the white sky. A few more feet and there was enough light to read the numbers on her watch. Eleven fifteen. She had been entombed for over an hour. Was Zimmermann still out there? Could he possibly have stayed around in the snow and the cold for over an hour?
Driven by the need to see Jared again, to set matters straight, she worked herself arm over arm along the icy metal. A foot from the edge she stopped and listened. Beyond the soft wisp of her own breathing, there was nothing. Had an hour been long enough? Wouldn't Zimmermann have left, concerned about having his car attract attention?