“About the Kitty Hawk?” Zach wanted a model ofthe carrier.
“No, the other thing.”
“Oh, yeah. Dad, can I sit at your computer.”
“Sure, come with me.”
“All right!”
***
Bending over his terminal, Teed typed a quick commandon his keyboard, clearing his screen. Zach plopped into his father’s chair andwatched.
“Yo, yo, handsome.” Molly Wilson glided around thecubicle and crouched beside Zach. “Haven’t seen you in awhile. You’re gettingto be a big guy. How’s school?”
“Okay.” Zach liked Wilson. She smelled good.
“Molly, Zach wants to hack around on the machine,”Reed said. “Could you please watch him so he doesn’t crash the newsroom?”
“That’s a pretty big assignment, but I think I canhandle it, Dad.” She offered her perfect-teeth smile, then stood and, whileglancing toward Ann alone in the interview room, whispered, “You’re lookingdominated, Tom.”
How dare she say that with his son present? She lovedto rile him, loved to tease. “I’m going to the FBI in a few minutes,” she said.
“We’ll be done before the. Behave yourself and havefun, son.”
“Okay.”
Wilson bent over Zach, her nails clicking on thecomputer keyboard. “Want to surf the Internet?”
Reed returned to Ann, shutting the door behind him.
“Molly’s very pretty.”
“She’s a flirt, Ann. And I’m a married man.”
“You’ve lost weight.”
“Well, wallowing in self-pity has its benefits.”
“How’s work going here?”
“I’m getting by, but they’ve got me on a short leashthese days. How’s the business?”
“We’re getting more orders. My loan is almost paidoff. I think I’m going to have to hire another part-time clerk.”
“I brag about you to the people here who’ll still talkto me.”
Ann blushed a little. “Why?”
“I don’t know, it’s something I should have told you.I just…I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Ann.”
“Have you?”
“I realize what a jerk I’ve been. I was wrong about alot of things. I can’t explain it, but I know I’m not the same guy.”
“How do I know that, Tom?”
“You don’t.” Reed stared at his hands, debating withhimself as he twisted his gold wedding band. Ann still wore her diamond.
“I took a walk at the Golden Gate one night, a fewweeks after you left. Let me tell you, when you’re on the threshold of losingeverything, when your feet are dangling over the abyss, life’s prioritiesbecome clear.”
“You were going to kill yourself if we didn’t get backtogether, is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
“No, I was speaking metaphorically.”
“Were you?”
“I am not that much of a coward. I am telling you thatyou did the right thing, forcing me to live alone with the bad guy. Now, I…Iwant to, I am hoping we can try again.”
She regarded him for a long time. “I don’t know if Ishould believe you.” She pressed her hands flat on the table.
“You damn near destroyed me. The way you treated us.It was as if we were nothing to you, like this place was the universe and youwere its self-righteous self-centered king. Never wrong. I loathed you for it.I am so confused and scared. You’re telling me things, but it could be yourself-pity talking. Are you still drinking?”
“Alone in my room at night. It fills the void, helpsme sleep.”
She wanted to believe him, he could read it in hereyes.
“We can’t go on like it was before. I refuse to acceptyou back if nothing’s changed.”
“I’ve never stopped loving you. And this job”-Reednodded at the newsroom-“it’s no longer my life.”
Ann said nothing.
“I’ve given a lot of thought to something you wantedme to do.”
“I’ve wanted you to do a lot of things.”
“I’ve been thinking that maybe I would take a leavefrom the paper, stay home and work on a novel.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
They watched Zach playing on the computer.
“He misses you,” she said.
“I miss both of you.”
Reed looked at his wife.
“I have to think, Tom. I have to think abouteverything.”
Reed squeezed her hand and nodded.
SIXTEEN
Dr. Kate Martin sat in the reception area of The San Francisco Star,twisting her briefcase strap. She looked at her watch again.
Relax. Relax. Relax.
She expected to see Mandy Carmel, the Star’stop feature writer. Her articles on SIDS babies and Bay Area children with AIDSwere so well written, so compassionate.
Still, waiting here, it was difficult to put herselfat ease.
Twice before coming she had picked up the phone tocancel. She didn’t do it. Despite all the risks, her blatant violation ofuniversity policy and the potential harm a story could have on the volunteers,she was determined to see this through. She had tried in vain to find thefunding needed to extend her research. The university, thanks to Levine, hadrejected her. The state denied grant money. Corporations politely refused her.And national victims’ support and lobby groups, which applauded her work, werecash strapped. Press attention was her last hope.
A sensitive article by Mandy Carmel would either savethe program or bury it.
She took in the crisp current edition of the Staron the table before her. The latest on the kidnapping screamed from the frontpage: WHERE IS DANNY? She thought of his parents, of his abduction, and thequestions it raised about Tanita’s murder. It underscored how imperative herresearch was. She had to do this.
“Dr. Martin?”
She looked up. “Yes?”
“Tom Reed.” He held out his hand to greet her as shestood.
Tom Reed!
She recognized him from the face-slapping footagewhich TV news stations had recently replayed. Her skin prickled withapprehension.
He was about six foot. His khaki pants, pinstripe,button down shirt, and tie complimented his medium, firm-looking build.Mid-thirties. His tan set off his smile. His short brown hair was a littleunruly. Behind wire-rimmed glasses were intense, blue eyes.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“I assumed I was to meet with Mandy Carmel?”
“Mandy’s been on a leave to Europe and won’t be backfor six weeks. Your letter was passed to me.”
“To you? But why? I thought-“
“We can talk in there.” He nodded to the boardroomnearby.
The room barely contained the mammoth table andleather executive chairs. The walls featured the Star’s three Pulitzersand framed news pictures. The earthquakes, the Oakland Hills firestorm. Amother giving birth. A weeping cop cradling his dead partner.
Reed slapped his notebook on the table. Martindeclined coffee.
“Be blunt, Doctor. You’re upset that I’ve beenassigned to this?”
“To be blunt, yes.”
“Why?”
“Your part in the Donner case and the suicide concernsme. An article about my research might be best suited for a reporter accustomedto handling sensitive issues. It involves parents who’ve lost childrentragically. You’re just a crime reporter.”
“Just a crime reporter? Sensitivity is a quality aliento people like me, is that what you mean?”
“No, I mean, I-“ This was not going well. “I thinkI’ve made a mistake coming here.” She stood to leave.
“Your work deals with victims of tragedy, itssurvivors. Right?”
“It’s somewhat more complex than that, but yes.”
“I deal with victims, too, and probably in greaternumbers than you’ve ever experienced. So I resent having to prove to you that Iam qualified to write about your work.”
“I am protective of the sensitive nature of myresearch.”
“But the bottom line here, Doctor, is you want tomanipulate us.”
“Excuse me?”
“Set aside your work. You need us to keep your programafloat. That’s why you’re here. It’s obvious from your letter. It dictates thetype of story you want us to write, in accordance to the conditions you’velisted.” He withdrew the letter from his breast pocket, unfolded it, and read:“You may interview only the subjects I’ve selected and I have editorialapproval.” Reed stared at her. “What do you think this is, the churchbulletin?”