“Oops,” I said. “I knew I forgot something at that gas station in West Virginia.”
“Seriously, where are they?” she said, and at that moment the bedroom door opened and Betsy stepped out, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt now. Her mother was right behind. Amy whispered, “Well, son ofa bitch. It is them,” and then walked inside.
“Mrs. Weston?” she said, offering her hand. “I’m Amy Ambrose.” She shook hands with Julie, then knelt on the floor beside Betsy and shook the girl’s hand as well. “You must be Betsy.”
Betsy looked at her shyly, but she didn’t duck behind Julie’s legs as she had with Joe. “Amy Ambrose,” the girl said, pronouncing it carefully. “You have a pretty name.”
“Love the alliteration, don’t ya, kid?” Amy said.
Betsy looked at me, confused. “Alitternation?”
“A litter nation,” I said. “It’s the dream of cat owners everywhere.”
“What?”
“Ignore him, honey,” Amy said. “He rarely makes any sense.”
“You have pretty hair, too,” Betsy said. “Can I . . .” She stopped talking, embarrassed to ask the question.
“Can you touch it?” Amy asked, and Betsy nodded and giggled. “Sure,” Amy said, lowering her head and letting the girl run her fingers through the soft blond curls.
Julie laughed. “A pretty name and pretty hair,” she said. “You’ve been met with approval, Miss Ambrose.”
Amy got back to her feet. “That’s reassuring. I spent a little extra time on the hair this morning to be sure it would stand up to heavy scrutiny.”
Joe cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt, ladies, but before we start working on our pigtails or putting on toenail polish, there are a few other things we have to attend to.”
Ah, Joe. Always on the blunt side.
“Yes,” Julie said, not offended by his remark, “there certainly are. But Betsy doesn’t need to be here while we attend to them.”
I was afraid Joe might suggest we lock the girl in a closet, but apparently he was in a tenderhearted mood, because he just shrugged, leaving the decision up to Julie.
“Speaking of nail polish,” Amy said, “I’ve got some in my purse.” She looked at Betsy. “Would you like to paint your nails, honey? You can pick the color.” Betsy nodded, and Amy took her into the bedroom and left her with enough nail polish to coat her entire body. It would keep the kid occupied for a while, though. Joe looked at me and sighed.
Amy came back out of the bedroom, and Julie pulled the door shut and sat on the couch. A little cloud of dust rose up from the old cushion. She took a deep breath, rubbed her temples lightly with her fingers, and then looked up and forced a smile.
“All right,” she said. “Where do we start?”
“We start by planning a course of action,” Joe said. “I understand you’re afraid, Mrs. Weston, and I understand the reasons you had for not contacting the police, but that has to stop now. You have testimony and a tape that can put several people in jail. Several people who need to be put in jail.”
She nodded. “I understand that. But I also understand what will happen to me if I go to the police, Mr. Pritchard. There will be trials, won’t there? There will be trials for the Russian murderers, and there will be a trial for Jeremiah Hubbard, and probably a trial for whoever killed Randy Hartwick. Trials that will likely last for months. And I’ll be expected to testify at them, right? At all of them. What happens to my daughter during that time? She won’t be allowed to go to school, because people may try to abduct her or kill her. We won’t be allowed to live in our home, for the same reasons. So she’s going to spend the next six months—the next year, maybe—hidden away someplace with bodyguards? In the summer, when she should be at the swimming pool or playing with her friends, she’s going to be tucked away out of sight? Oh, and of course I won’t be able to allow her to turn on the television or pick up a newspaper, because she’s going to see Daddy’s face staring back at her or hear the television newscasters talking about the trials. I will not let that happen to my daughter, Mr. Pritchard.”
“With all due respect, Mrs. Weston, I don’t care,” Joe said. “You have information about several serious crimes. You need to come forward with that information.”
“What information?” she said, spreading her hands. “I have a tape of a murder. I’ve never even seen it. So give them the tape. The only testimony I could provide would be about my husband’s work with Jeremiah Hubbard. I don’t know anything about these Russian men. He didn’t tell me anything, and I did not ask. But I have that tape, and if I give that to the police, people are going to want to kill me. If I don’t give it to the police, they’re going to want to kill me.” She smiled bitterly. “I’m not very well liked.”
“So what do you want to do?” Joe said, and I could tell he was fighting to keep the exasperation out of his voice.
“I want to tell people the truth,” she said, and there was something in her voice that made me think of the night in the whirlpool, of the press of her body against mine. “I want to make it clear that my daughter and I are alive and that my husband was not a killer, and then I want to leave. I can’t stay here, obviously. Wayne understood that, and that’s why he tried to run. He can’t leave anymore, but I can. And I can take my daughter with me.”
“Where are you going to go?” Joe asked.
She smiled. “Please don’t think I lack trust in any of you, but I’ll keep that information to myself.”
Joe shrugged. “Fine. But I have to say that might be the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re afraid people are going to come after you for revenge, right? Well, if that’s true, why not go into witness protection and let the professionals help you disappear? It’s a much safer bet than running on your own.”
“He has a point,” I said.
She shook her head. “Ifwe go into witness protection, there will be people who know where we are. Someone, somewhere, will have the paperwork. Do you think Jeremiah Hubbard can’t buy that information? Do you think some clerk is going to turn down five, ten, fifteen million dollars just to give him an address?”
Joe frowned. “I thought we were worried about the Russians coming after you. Now it’s Hubbard?”
“It’s everyone, Mr. Pritchard. My husband was very good at what he did. He made plans for our . . . our disappearance, I guess you’d say. I trust my husband’s ability much more than I trust any government agency.”
“She may not have to testify,” I said, and they all looked at me. “She could sit down and give an interview to the prosecutor’s office or the district attorney, sign an affidavit, and go on her way. They’ll want her to testify, but it’s better to give them something instead of nothing. This could be taken care of much quicker, and she and Betsy can be gone much quicker.”
Joe shot me a look that said if he wanted any of my input he’d beat it out of me, and then he turned back to Julie.
“Ignore my dim-witted partner,” he said. “I’m not interested in issues of testimony or affidavits anymore. I’m just telling you that this idea you have of disappearing on your own is not a good one. People can be found, Mrs. Weston. We already found you once, and that was basically an accident. Do you really think you can hide from people determined to locate you?”
She leaned forward, gazing directly into his unhappy face, meeting him head-on in a clash of will and determination, and it seemed as if there were only the two of them in the room.
“Either way, we’re going to have to leave this place behind,” she said. “The life we knew is gone now. My husband is dead. Betsy is the only thing I have left, and I am going to take care of her on my terms. End of story.” She pointed at Amy. “I will do an interview with her, and she will see that the truth is told. If you insist that I provide the police with an affidavit, I will do that. But then I will leave, and I will take my daughter with me. I have broken no laws, and no one can force me to stay here.”