Katherine tapped her finger against his program, startling him out of his reverie. She stood beside him and said, “Looking for someone in particular?”
“No.” He added, “Want a drink?”
“No, thank you. Did I seem a bit abrupt when I left?”
“You seemed annoyed.”
She forced a smile. “Our conversations often end that way, don’t they?”
He seemed to hesitate and she sensed he was wavering between excusing himself and asking her to dance, so she said, “Let’s adjourn to the dance floor.”
The band was playing “As Time Goes By.” She fit easily into his arms, and he felt her body press against his, smelled her hair, her soap, her perfume. They danced somewhat self-consciously at first, then he relaxed and she relaxed, and in stages the proximity of their bodies was not so awkward.
She said, “You’ve never married?”
“No… engaged once.”
“May I ask what happened?”
Abrams was looking at Claudia dancing nearby with Grenville. He looked back at Katherine. “Happened…? Oh, there was a political difference of opinion. So we separated.”
“That’s odd.”
“She was a 1960s radical, flower child… whatever. An anti-war and civil rights activist. Then she was into whales, followed by American Indians and the environment, or the other way around. Then the ERA, then the antinuclear things. Whatever was going down, Marcy was right there with a picket sign and a T-shirt. Her life chronologically paralleled the evening news. Like artists who have blue periods, she had whale periods… Indian periods… you understand?”
“Activism and idealism don’t appeal to you?”
“No ‘ism’ appeals to me. I saw too much of it as a child. It ruins lives.”
“It sometimes helps mankind.”
“It stinks. Take it from me, it stinks.”
They danced in silence for a while, then she said, “So you left her? Because she was so committed—”
“She left me. Because I confessed that I was a lifelong Republican.” He smiled. “The idea of sleeping with a Republican made her, as she said, nauseous.” He gave a short laugh.
She thought a moment, then said, “But you loved her in spite of all that.”
Abrams never imagined that the subject of love and other people’s relationships could possibly interest Katherine Kimberly. “There was never a dull moment. Can you imagine coming home from work in a police uniform and finding the living room full of black revolutionaries?”
“No, not really.”
“It got tense.” He laughed again.
She smiled. “I’m glad you can find it amusing now.”
“You don’t know what amusing is until you’ve made love wrapped in a Cuban flag with the heat off in the dead of winter to protest oil prices, and wondering if she’s going to smell the hamburger on your breath because you’re supposed to be boycotting beef, and a picture of Che is staring down at you with those eyes like Christ, and two lesbian houseguests are sleeping in the living room…” He looked at Katherine quickly and saw a tight expression on her face. “I’m sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m trying to keep from laughing.”
They danced until the music ended. He took her arm and they walked back toward the bar. Abrams opened the guest list. “I see your sister is supposed to be the eighth person at our table.”
“She couldn’t make it. I was going to tell you that you could bring a guest, but it slipped my mind. If you’re not looking for someone in particular, perhaps you’re looking for suspects.”
“I’m just interested in these names. Impressed, to be honest.”
She ordered a white wine. “Anything you’d like to know?”
“Yes. Why is everyone here?”
She smiled. “It’s an annual dinner. Tonight we’re honoring James Allerton, Peter’s father, who is the recipient of the General Donovan Medal. And, of course, we’re honoring the memory of the dead and the memory of General Donovan, who is referred to in conversation simply as the General, as you may have noticed. Do you find this interesting?”
Abrams looked at her, her back against the bar, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other. Very unlike what he was used to in the office. He said, “The phrase ‘old-boys network’ keeps coming into my head.”
She exhaled a stream of cigarette smoke. “There is no network here — this is a very mixed group. The only common denominator is a shared period of comradeship some forty years ago. The OSS ran the gamut from prostitutes to princes, from criminals to cardinals.”
Abrams thought there wasn’t as much in between as she might suppose. He said, “It’s entertaining to think that someone here — perhaps more than one person — may be a Soviet agent.” He looked out over the hall.
“Eleanor Wingate did not actually say that… Why did you say ‘entertaining’?… You mean intriguing.”
“I’m entertained.”
She thought a moment. “You don’t like us much, do you? I suppose it would make you happy to expose someone highly placed. The police, I understand, get a good deal of satisfaction from laying low the mighty.”
“Only on television. In real life you wind up testifying in court and being cross-examined by somebody from O’Brien, Kimberly and Rose who rips you to shreds.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “If, as I understand it, the suspect or suspects fit a certain profile, why did you tell Mr. O’Brien?”
“I trust him.”
Abrams shook his head. He said, “And I assume you’ve shown Thorpe the letter?”
“Yes. He doesn’t qualify as a suspect, of course. Neither do you.”
“I’m glad Mr. Thorpe and I have so much in common. Have you told or are you going to tell anyone else?”
“There are more people in… our circle of friends who will be told this evening.”
“You’re making it difficult for yourself.”
“Internal investigations are always difficult. That’s why I’d like your help.”
“Why me?”
She leaned toward him. “You’re intelligent, resourceful, an exdetective, I trust you, and I like you.”
“Am I blushing?”
“No, you’re pale.”
“Same thing.”
She waved her hand. “I rest my case. Would you like to dance?”
“We’d look silly. The band has stopped playing.”
She looked around. “Oh…” She laughed.
He said, “Can I ask you an obvious question, Miss Kimberly? Why don’t you turn this over to professionals?”
“That’s complicated. Why don’t you ask Mr. O’Brien later?… And you can call me Katherine.” A half smile formed on her lips.
“Yes, we have danced. What should I call you on Tuesday in the office?”
“If we’re dancing, Katherine. Otherwise, Miss Kimberly.”
Abrams wasn’t certain he liked her brand of humor.
18
Abrams saw Thorpe sitting by himself. He walked to the table and sat down.
Thorpe stared openly at Abrams, then commented, “Only you and me, Tony.”
“You and I.”
“That’s what I said, only I can say it the way I want because I’m a Yale graduate, whereas you have to watch your English.”
“True.” Abrams began eating.
Thorpe pointed his knife in Abrams’ direction. “What did Kate tell you? And don’t say ‘About what?’”
“About what?”
Thorpe half stood. “Listen to me, Abrams—”