Roughly translated, mine read:
Hocus:
Contact:
Another name occurred to me, but Cassidy said it before I could write it down.
“Who’s Cecilia Parker?” he asked.
“I’ve never met her,” I said, not looking up from my notebook.
He waited a moment. I could hear the amusement in his voice when he said, “Okay. But you know who she is.”
I looked him right in the eye and said, “Frank’s exfiancee. She still lives around here, and, yes, we should probably try to talk to her.”
I half expected him to laugh, but he didn’t. If anything, he seemed to regret pressing me.
“I’m going to call Jack and Pete. They’ll be worried,” I said, and reached for my purse.
“Lunch is on me,” he said. “First time I ever bought a woman a teaspoon of soup.”
I made the call, did my best to reassure Pete. A hopeless task. Jack, on the other hand, did his best to encourage me, so I guess everything evened out. Cassidy used the pay phone to make a few reports, then let me drive to Bea Harriman’s place while he made other calls on his cell phone. Almost all of the calls were requests for current addresses and background information on the people I had on my own list.
“So why did Neukirk and Ryan let us know who they are?” I asked.
“If that’s who they are, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“They’ve been a little publicity mad all along, I’d say. They’re big on drama. They’re leading up to something. With luck, we’ll know soon.”
I hadn’t been to Bea Harriman’s home very often, but I remembered the way. I did the driving, while Cassidy tried to coach me in preparation for the call. He would play the role of the caller, I would try to respond in a way that kept him talking and would also gradually allow me to hand off the call to a hostage negotiator.
“Your work as a reporter will help you in one way,” he said. “You’re used to asking open-ended questions, ones that encourage longer responses. Same thing with silences; you know to let them stretch. But you won’t find it easy to stay calm if they start making threats against your husband — and that’s very common at first. That’s one reason we prefer not to let family members be involved. Your fear for Frank is likely to heighten the tension, which we are trying to lower. More than anything, you’ve got to try to stay calm, no matter what’s said or threatened. And remember — if you keep dwelling on the subject of Frank’s well-being, your concern for him may only make him seem more valuable as a hostage. We want to know his condition, but we don’t want to focus the conversation on him.”
I tried to set aside my fears, to imagine myself behaving just as I should when the time came. I tried not to contemplate the price of failure.
“I’ll be right there with you,” Cassidy said, watching me. “You won’t be alone.”
I made the turn onto Bea Harriman’s street. The house was a Craftsman, built in the late 1920s on a large lot. It was painted white, as if it intended to provide a canvas for the flowers blooming all around it in a wide spectrum of colors — blues, reds, oranges, yellows, purples, and lush green foliage. The big wooden swing on the front porch was still and empty.
Lots of cars were parked in front of the house, so I had to park a few houses down the street. Cassidy took the keys and opened the trunk of the car, which had a number of hard-shell and soft cases of varying sizes in it. He pulled one out; it was a silver-colored hard-shell case, about the size of a briefcase.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Cassette recorder for the call,” he said. “Not as fancy as the reel-to-reel Hank was using at your place, but easier to hook up. If we end up being here for a while, I’ll bring in the fax and computer and other equipment. But for now, this will do.”
Birds sang as we walked to the house, and I tried to listen to them rather than to the worst of my thoughts.
“Now, that swing makes me think of summer nights back home,” Cassidy said as we approached.
At that moment the front door opened, and Bea Harriman walked out. An attractive, dark-haired woman accompanied her. The woman had her arm around Bea’s shoulder, and their heads were bent together in a tete-a- tete. They looked up at us and straightened suddenly. As Cassidy and I came closer, the stranger didn’t spare more than a quick glance toward him — but her eyes raked over me. Sizing me up, I realized.
I knew in that instant who she was.
Somewhere in the mess of words that was Bea Harriman’s stumbling introduction, she confirmed that I could no longer say I had never met Cecilia Parker.
15
“ANY FURTHER WORD ON FRANK?” Cecilia asked without preamble, continuing to stare at me.
“Nothing new,” Cassidy said before I could answer. I had been dreading trying to come up with some social nicety if she had said, “So glad to meet you,” and now, oddly, I was miffed that she hadn’t.
“And you are?” Cecilia said to him, apparently irritated that she had to make eye contact with anyone else.
“Detective Tom Cassidy, Las Piernas Police Department,” he said easily. “Now, this has been an extremely difficult day for Mrs. Harriman,” he continued, and when Cecilia’s eyes slewed to Bea, he put a firm hand on my shoulder. “Oh, for everyone, but especially Mrs. Frank Harriman. So I’ll just take her on in while you two say your good-byes.”
