“Well I don’t want to tell you what to do—”
“Really?”
Rose smiled in acknowledgment.
“Okay, I do want to tell you what you should do. The problem is I have no idea what that is. All I know is, you don’t want to spend the rest of your life wondering if things might have turned out differently if you had only tried harder.”
Lesley spread her hands, palms up.
“Tried harder to do what?”
“To make things work out the way you want.”
“Okay …” Lesley said slowly. “I want everything to go back the way it was, to find out this was all a big mistake, that Rob didn’t do anything wrong and we can start planning the wedding.”
Rose pursed her lips and looked skeptical.
“Too much to ask for?” Lesley said.
Her mother shrugged.
Lesley looked down at her lap and sighed again. What was the point of wishing? There didn’t seem to be any way out. She looked up at her mother and gave her a weak smile.
“Or maybe for today we could shoot for something easier,” Lesley said. “Stan and Sheila have a piano in their living room. When we get back we could try to remember one of those duets we used to play.”
Rose returned the smile.
“I’d like that.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Rob stared incredulously across the wooden table at Special Agent Steeves. Pettigrew, seated to Rob’s right, registered a more subdued look of surprise.
“You can’t be serious,” Rob said.
“No one named Labadie works out of this office,” Steeves said. “And the only way any agent would visit your old girlfriend was if I sent them, which I couldn’t have done. I didn’t even know she existed until you mentioned her just now.”
“But she wouldn’t make up something like that.”
Steeves just stared impassively back at Rob.
“The guy who kidnapped me,” Rob said. “He pretended to be an FBI agent at first. That’s why I went with him. Maybe it’s the same guy.”
Steeves rubbed his chin. “Let me get this straight. Some guy drags you off to an abandoned garage last night and beats on you. You get away from him but you don’t bother to report it. Instead you spend the night with an old girlfriend you claim you haven’t seen in years.”
“I didn’t say I hadn’t seen her in—”
“Who by the way,” Steeves went on, “just happens to be visited by some mysterious stranger this morning. That what you want me to believe?”
“It’s the truth.”
“Why didn’t you call the police last night?”
Rob opened his mouth to answer but Pettigrew beat him to it.
“My client was severely traumatized last night. People don’t necessarily think straight in those kinds of circumstances.”
“Your client,” Steeves said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “has a proven track record of lying to me, so you’ll excuse me if I explore what he says from every angle.”
Rob felt the fury and futility bubble up inside him once more.
“He was assaulted,” Pettigrew said, “and is now coming to you for help. I expect you to do your job and provide it.”
Steeves looked at Rob.
“How about another possible scenario,” Steeves said. “You get out of jail yesterday and you’re all bent out of shape. So you go out on the town, have a few too many and pick a fight — which it looks like you lost big time, by the way. You end up at the old flame’s place for a little slap and tickle, and this morning the two of you cook up this story about some guy who’s after you. You figure we’ll be all impressed by your bruises and run off looking for this guy.”
Rob’s face was a dark mask.
“Why would I do that?”
“Smoke and mirrors, Rob. You don’t like all the attention you’ve been getting so you get us searching for some nonexistent stranger. That way we have less time to focus on you.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Really?” Steeves said. “Well here’s the part of your story that I can’t get by. You said this guy beat you for quite a while, trying to get the keyword out of you.”
“That’s right.”
“Same one you wouldn’t tell me.”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”
“So here’s the thing,” Steeves said. “I can see you holding out on me. I mean, it’s a stupid move, but some people just can’t admit when they’ve done something wrong.”
“That has yet to be proven,” Pettigrew said.
“But what I can’t see,” Steeves said, still skewering Rob with a cold scowl, “is how you could possibly keep that up through the beating you described. You would have told him, simple as that.”
Rob clenched his hands into fists under the table. His entire body throbbed with aches and pains. The searing headache made it difficult to contain his frustration. He looked at his lawyer.
“I told you this would be a waste of time.”
“It probably is,” Steeves said before Pettigrew could respond, “but I’m stuck. The Bureau takes a rather dim view of people running around pretending to be us. So here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to show us this garage. After that I want you to sit down with one of our artists and work up a sketch of your kidnapper.”
“With or without the wig and mustache?” Rob said.
“Both. Meanwhile I’ll go have a chat with Kirsten, see if your stories match.”
Rob could feel a vein throb in his forehead. He leaned close to Pettigrew and murmured so Steeves couldn’t hear.
“You sure we shouldn’t mention anything about Tim?”
Pettigrew shook his head. “Not until we actually know something.”
“But Kirsten is likely to tell him anyway.”
“We’ve been over this. It’s not the time.”
Rob leaned back in his chair and tried to contain his frustration. He had been right; he would be tied up for hours. His talk with Tim would have to wait.
Lesley lifted her suitcase onto the guest bed, flipped it open and rooted around in the cloth flap that lined the inside of the lid. Her hand closed on what she was after and she hauled it out. She hadn’t really known why she had packed it when she was getting ready to escape to Stan and Sheila’s place, but now she was glad to have it.
The photograph was old and tattered. It showed Lesley standing on the fairgrounds of a carnival with a pale blue teddy bear clutched in both arms and a huge grin on her face. Bruce McGrath stood beside her with one arm around her shoulders, the arm that had so recently toppled the milk bottles and won the bear. His smile matched Lesley’s.
Happier times.
The bear still sat on Lesley’s bed back at her apartment. The photo normally resided on her dresser, under her jewelry box. At times she went months without pulling it out for a visit with her father.
Lesley sat on the edge of the bed and entered the world of the picture. She could almost feel his arms around her. The Daddy-smell wafted at the edges of her memory, tantalizingly close, half aftershave, half him.
“I understand better now, I think,” she said aloud to her father’s image. “You made mistakes. Everyone does.”
She ran one finger lightly down the edge of the photo.
“I think I’m finally ready to forgive you.”
Lesley was silent for a bit. Her father didn’t have anything to say.
“Sure wish you were here to talk to, though. Maybe you’d be able to tell me if what I’m about to do is a mistake.”
She put the picture back in her suitcase and reached for her cell phone.
Tim answered on the first ring
“Oh hi,” he said in a surprised voice. “What’s up?”
Lesley bit her lip and then plunged in.