Stitch in Snow

'About my doctorate? The subject of academic degrees never arose.'

'Hmmm. Yes. Of course. Might I have a look at your diaries? I see you have last year's with you as well.'

'I had a lecture tour then too and I brought it along for my notes.'

'I see.' He started with the current diary and I watched, a bit self-conscious but amused at the various expressions crossing his face as he turned the-pages. I kept wondering what I had written that would delight him under the circumstances.

'What does D or C mean?'

I hid my mouth in my hand. 'That's rather personal, Mr. Taggert.'

His expression invited me to confide.

' I have trouble switching water supplies… the D means diarrhoea, the C…'

'I get it.'

'Trivia, Mr. Taggert.'

'Hmmm, but in its own elementary…'

'Mr. Taggert!'

'Sorry about that. I do love to pun. In its way, however, Doctor Lovell, such trivia supports the relevant entries.' He flicked through the pages, noting that I kept more or less the same sort of annotations and abbreviations, nodding his head more and more vigorously.

'I underlined the names and references I'd need this year in green ink.'

'I had wondered about that.' He gave a deep, satisfied sigh. 'I'm not a diarist myself but I thank God you are. These entries are obviously made almost daily. Tim is your son?' I nodded. 'And who is Mairead?'

'My closest friend in Dublin.'

'And SK?'

'My agent.'

'PS?'

'One of my publishers.

'Desmond?'

'A personal friend.'

'Ah, then you always designate business or professional people by their initials and your personal friends by their first or full name?'

'Generally.'

'And I do not see a prior reference to either a DJL or a Jerry or a Dan in either. On this sort of trivia,' and he waggled the diaries at me, 'cases are made or broken. Mathews' contention that you knew Jerry prior to Denver is blown!' He swung back and forth in the gimbaled chair, very pleased.

'I have to be a bit personal. Doctor Lovell. What did you and Jerry talk about? Did he mention how worried he was about his son? Or why he was in Denver?'

'No, although I knew something was worrying him. Actually, we didn't talk very much… yes, I know, Mr. Taggert, we were otherwise occupied but only some of the time… I'd just had three weeks of lectures and discussions and I really wanted not to have to answer questions or talk about myself or my work or anything. Dan was of a like mind but I see now that his real worries were to come. We simply did not get involved in each other's personal lives. He did say he was divorced and he did mention a son. So did I but the comments were in passing. We did discuss the weather, our fellow passengers, swimming, hiking, how to cheat at card games, inconsequentialities. But no details given, or asked.'

'Unfortunately the dearth of detail about you went against him. He only knew that you were a lecturer, lived in Ireland, widowed and…'he paused, dropping his eyes to the floor where my knitting bag rested, 'never dropped stitches when you knit.'

'Have you spoken to Dan since my phone call?'

Mr. Taggert had a very engaging smile when he wasn't worried or cynical. 'He got the message about the water, Doctor Lovell, and you couldn't have said anything to revive him faster. He's been pretty depressed and hopeless, let me tell you.'

'He didn't think I'd deliberately let him down?'

Peter Taggert eyed me for a long moment. 'No. He didn't. He insisted that you probably hadn't got the message or understood it. I was to refer to him as Dan, not Jerry.'

'Why is he Jerry and not Dan, if his name is Daniel Jerome?'

'The Second. His father was known as Dan Lovell.'

'So the son is number three?'

There was a discreet knock at the door and his secretary re-entered, typed sheets floating in her hand.

'I've called the notary public, Mr. Taggert, and he'll wait for you.'

'Good.' Mr. Taggert only seemed to glance at the pages and he grinned openly at the last one, slipping it over to me first. I was clearly identified as Dana Jane Hartman Lovell, BA, MA, PhD.

'Read it through and see if you have anything to add. Or delete.'

I read slowly, every word. I meant, and reaffirmed every word of my testimony. And said so. He slipped it into a manilla folder.

'Thanks for staying over, Babs.'

'I was more than glad to, Mr. Taggert. Anything for Mr. Lowell and DJ.' She smiled broadly at me, not a bit efficient-secretary, and then left the room.

The lawyer helped me on with my cloak and suggested I bring my things with me but could he keep the diaries for the moment. I agreed.

The Notary Public was a scrawny little man who kept a sporting goods shop two blocks away from the office. He rattled through the statement under his breath, ohed a bit at my titles, and then had me swear that I'd told the truth. I signed the document in his presence, he stamped it all right and tight and handed the thing back to Peter Taggert, taking his fee in the other hand and palming the bill into his pocket in a fluid gesture. From practice, I guess.

'I've booked you into a central city hotel. Dr. Lovell.'

'How long will the wheels of justice take now?'

'That depends on what Jack Mathews, our keen sighted, charge sticking D.A. thinks of this affidavit. Which he will have on his desk in the morning. Good God, you don't have more lectures to give, have you?'

'No, Tulsa was the end of this year's round.'

'That's all to the good.'

Something in his tone brought me up sharp. 'Why?'

'Oh, something could be construed that you're doing this for publicity purposes.'

I stared at him, snapping my mouth shut when I realised that my jaw had dropped. 'For college lectures? Whose side are you on?'

'Jerry's. And yours. But I know the D.A. His situation with more crimes and fewer arrests, and pressure from the governor to keep Denver decent, makes him snatch on anything he can pin to a criminal. He's got a b'ar hunt in Jerry. And the two have never liked each other…'

'Personal vendetta? What is it the Mafia have, a contract?'

We had drawn up in front of a glass and brick hotel entrance. Peter Taggert leaned forward to peer past me through the entrance. With a muttered oath, he pressed down on the accelerator and we took off. I'd been in the process of opening my door; now I clung to the handle, hoping it wouldn't swing wide.

'Hey, my door.'

'Close it! Please.' He added the courtesy after the snapped order.

'What's wrong?'

'Reporters. I'd rather they didn't have a go at you.'

'Why? Wouldn't Doctor Lovell be sufficient?'

'I don't think you need the shit.'

'I think you're quite right,' I replied after a moment's reflection. I'd learned quite enough today to unsettle me and I was angry enough, seething inside, to be indiscreet out of simple complicated frustration.

I didn't ask him where he was taking me now. I was too depleted, deflated and depressed. Running to someone's rescue is stimulating; you're full of do-goodery, uprightness, moral rectitude and honest anger. When you've done your bit, the reaction is equally severe and devastating. I resolved never to tour again, or knit on board a plane, or converse with total strangers, male or female, however charming and whatever the circumstances.

'Having second thoughts. Doctor?'

'Thoughts, yes. But nothing to deflect me from my present course, Mr. Taggert. I don't renege on my given word. Or my sworn statement.'

'You were telling the truth?'

'The whole truth and nothing but the truth, unpalatable and somewhat unflattering.'

'Unflattering?'

'Sure, Gunga Din had more of his attention than I!'

I succeeded in making Peter Taggert chuckle.

'I like you, lady.'

'Get Daniel Jerome Lowell cleared of this ridiculous charge and I'll return the compliment.'