“You don’t seem to care much about the truth in the story I wrote about Jack,” she said. “You might hate me for it, but every word in that was true. And you don’t judge him the way you’re judging me right now.”
“You see, that’s where you and I aren’t alike,” I said.
“I don’t look at life as one big story to report. There’s a big difference between blood and ink. It’s a shame you never learned that.”
“Enough of this crap,” Jack said. “Do you want to hear what we found or not?”
“Fine,” Paulina said, folding her arms across her chest.
I could tell this was a practiced look, sternness crossed with just a hint of pouty sexuality. She was used to pressing just hard enough to elicit a reaction, but not hard enough to drive people away. Jack had information she needed, but she wouldn’t stay quiet without letting him know what she thought. And it was then that I realized
Paulina didn’t write that article just to get publicity, she did it because she truly loathed Jack.
“Does a girl named Pamela Ruffalo ring a bell?” Jack said.
Paulina didn’t give any indication that she recognized the name. “No. Who the hell is that?”
“She’s a student at Smith College,” Jack said. “A junior, I believe, according to her Facebook page.”
As Jack spoke, I could see the blank look on Paulina’s face changing. She recognized the name from somewhere.
“What does Pam have to do with any of this?” she said in an argumentative tone, hoping Jack would answer her in a way that would vindicate Pam. Not only did Paulina know Pam Ruffalo, but for some reason whatever Jack was going to say was going to hit her-hard.
“A few months ago, Pam Ruffalo began posting to a personal blog. She talked about a lot of things on the site, one of which was her relationship with her new girlfriend. A girl named Abigail Cole.”
Paulina watched, and I could have sworn she didn’t blink for a minute straight.
“Keep talking,” she said.
“She posted a lot of photos on the site. But she never posted any photos like the one you described the blond man having that night.”
“So if she didn’t post those photos,” Paulina said, “why do you think she was involved?”
“Pam shut the blog down, according to records, just a few days after you were abducted. In the days leading up to the cancellation, there was nothing to suggest that there was anything wrong in her life. Did you ever tell your daughter what happened to you?” Jack said.
I was surprised, looking at Jack, to see a hint of sympathy in his face. He had no love for Paulina Cole as a reporter, but considering her as a human and a mother outweighed that.
“Yes,” she said. “A few days after it happened. I went up to Smith and told her about it. Only to keep her safe.”
“Do you think it’s fair to assume,” Jack said, “that Abigail told her girlfriend what you told her? That she told Pam?”
Paulina stood there, then wiped at her eyes which were reddening. For some reason I felt ashamed watching this.
“It’s possible,” Paulina said. Jack nodded slowly.
“Henry was able to log on to Facebook and contact a few of Abigail’s friends. Through them, he found the photos you referred to, the beach shots. They were taken by a girl named Samantha Isringhausen, who then uploaded them to her account.”
“I called Samantha,” I said, “in her dorm room. When
I asked her about the photos, specifically the one of
Abigail in front of the hole, she told me that when Pam saw it she immediately asked for the only copy. She loved that picture so much that she never wanted it to be seen by anyone other than her. Samantha agreed, and said after sending the file to Pamela and uploading the rest, she deleted them from her digital camera.”
“So the only person who had that photo,” Jack said,
“was your daughter’s girlfriend.”
“Wait,” Paulina said, tears starting to run freely now.
“Are you saying…”
“I’m saying that the man who attacked you that night,”
Jack said, “got the photo from Pamela Ruffalo, your daughter’s girlfriend. She sold your daughter out.”
32
Paulina didn’t move. Her entire upper body trembled as she looked from Jack to me and back again. Then she stared at me long and hard, without taking her eyes away.
I couldn’t understand why at first, but then I realized that she trusted me more than she trusted Jack.
Paulina was hoping I would tell her that none of this was true.
Instead I walked up to Paulina, and I’ll be damned if
I know why I did this, but I took the woman’s hand in mine and held it.
“It’s true,” I said. “We haven’t spoken to Pam or Abigail yet.”
“Why not?” she said.
Jack replied, “Because you’re Abigail’s mother. And you’re a reporter, too. Because this part of the story needs to be reported by you.”
“How can I…” Paulina said, trailing off. “My daughter, she’ll be…”
“She’ll hate you,” I said, “for a while. But eventually she’ll know the truth. And she’ll respect you for it.”
Paulina laughed bitterly. “My daughter hasn’t respected me in a long time.”
“Well, if she doesn’t respect you,” I said, “she’ll sure as hell love you for it.”
“What about you two? What happens next?”
Jack said, “We’ll be waiting for your call. Your promise to Henry still stands. We did our part and will continue to.”
Paulina nodded. Then she looked at her watch.
“I can be there in a few hours,” she said.
“So go,” I said.
“Yeah. Right.” She looked at her hand, still held in mine, and pulled it back. Then she ran it through her hair, and straightened her jacket. “I’ll call you once it’s done.”
As Paulina turned to walk away, Jack called, “Don’t we get a thank-you?”
She turned back, glared at Jack. “I’ll thank you once that blond bastard is either behind bars or in the ground.”
Then Paulina Cole walked away.
“I think that’s the closest she’s ever come to a real thank-you,” Jack said. “I had a wager with myself, fiftyfifty odds that she slapped me before she left.”
“You might have just saved her daughter’s life,” I said.
“I think that’s at least enough to avoid a slap.”
“Eh, women like Paulina don’t always need a reason.
Especially when they feel like they’ve lost some sense of power or authority, they get it back by lashing out. It’s a gimmick for sure. In a way, I respect her more for that.
She’s so confident, she didn’t even feel the need to slap me.”
“If you’re disappointed, I can take her place. I have a mean right hook.”
“I think I’ll pass,” Jack said, “though at least you wouldn’t have nails. Those things leave scars.”
As we watched Paulina leave, my cell phone began to vibrate. Jack heard it, too, said, “Your lady friend?”
I checked the ID, recognized it as Curt Sheffield.
“Hey, Curt,” I said. “How’s my favorite boy in blue?”
“Been better,” he said.
“Dunkin’ decided to discontinue their donuts?”
“That’s a terrible stereotype perpetuated by the media, just like you.”
“My bad, man. What’s up?”
“It’s been a hell of a day,” he said. “I’ll give you the heads-up because I didn’t know about Paulina’s story until too late…but it’s true.”
“What’s true?” I asked, feeling my heart begin to beat a little faster. It was a strange sensation. The excitement of another thread unspooling mixed with the dread that came with Curt’s apprehension.
“Homicide down in Chelsea,” Curt said. “Gruesome stuff. I just left the scene, and…it’s bad, man. Real bad.”
“What happened?”
Jack’s composure from talking to Paulina was gone, as he watched the conversation, trying to decipher my reaction. I tried to keep a straight face, but when Curt told me the details I felt my whole body drain of blood.
“We got the call about an hour ago,” he said. “A tenant on the floor above. A girl comes home to find her husband passed out on the floor. He’d been laid off a month ago, and took every spare cent they had and spent it on drugs.