“Even so, that must have been pretty scary,” Erin said.
“Yes, it was,” Clare confirmed. Scary and painful and heartbreaking, she thought. “But as Nina said, it was just an accident. It isn’t likely that it could have anything to do with this.”
“Probably not,” Erin conceded.
“It was good that your friend here called us,” Dusty added, nodding in Nina’s direction. “There are some pretty deranged people around these days, and there are a lot of friends who wouldn’t have stuck their necks out to try and help.”
“Look, I’d really prefer if you didn’t have to involve my husband in any of this,” Clare said, as the two detectives turn to leave. “It’s an especially busy time for him at work right now, and I don’t want him having to worry about me. In the overall scheme of things, what’s going on here isn’t very important, and there’s no reason why we would have to bother him with it, is there?” It wasn’t a question. “I’d rather you keep him out of it.”
It had been a horrible summer. Clare in leg and arm casts and shoulder sling, unable to do much but stay at home, with too much time to think. And Richard, hovering, controlling conversation, telling everyone who would listen that he was to blame, that it was his fault for not being able to prevent her accident.
“Well, for the time being, it can stay just between us,” Dusty said. “We’ll talk again when we know more.”
***
“What do you think?” Erin asked, as they made their way out of the maze and back toward the elevator.
“I think the friend is right,” Dusty replied. “I think she’s one scared lady.”
“Hmmm,” Erin murmured thoughtfully.
“What?”
“I don’t know, there was a moment there,” she said. “I guess it made me wonder if she might be more afraid of our telling the husband than she is of the caller.”
“You think there could be some reason she doesn’t want him to know?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Is that your woman’s intuition talking? Or do you happen to have prior knowledge?”
Erin looked at her partner in surprise. “Don’t you know who she is?”
Dusty looked blank. “Clare Durant?”
“Nicolaidis Industries.”
“Of course,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I didn’t make the connection.”
“You mean you don’t read the society pages.”
“That, too.”
“Not that it makes any difference,” Erin said. “Whether we involve the husband or not, we have to find this guy. Because I have a feeling this isn’t just about phone calls.”
“No,” Dusty agreed. “And he didn’t call her by mistake that first time, either. He knew what number he was dialing. And more important, I think he’s close.”
Erin nodded. “That’s what I think, too. So where do you want to start?”
“She’ll get us her list, but I think we should start with everyone in the building,” Dusty said. “She seems sure it’s a guy’s voice, but I wouldn’t be too quick to eliminate anyone just yet. And then, she’s an editor, so we should get a list of all her authors, both past and present. And if it’s possible, we should take a look at the wannabes she’s turned down over the years, just to see if any of them might be holding a grudge.”
They stopped at the reception desk on the first floor.
“Excuse me,” Dusty said, showing his badge to the same woman who had directed them to the elevator. “We’re going to need a complete list of all your employees, as well as some of your past and present clients. How would we go about getting that information?”
The receptionist blinked. No one had ever asked for that before. “I don’t know,” she replied. “You’d have to ask Human Resources, I guess.”
“Will you call someone for us, please?” Dusty requested politely.
An hour later, after the human resources manager, the corporate counsel, and Glenn Thornburgh, the head of the firm, himself, had all weighed in on the propriety and the legality of releasing private information, the two detectives were on their way, armed with the names, addresses, and telephone and social security numbers of the one hundred and twelve employees of Thornburgh House, as well as a list of all of Clare Durant’s present and past authors. A list of those whose manuscripts she has rejected over the last four years was going to take a little longer to come by.
***
Clare sat at her desk, trying to work, but she was barely able to make out the words on the pages in front of her. She was, she thought, understandably upset. This whole thing had gone too far already and now threatened to spiral out of control. What had been a private matter had become a matter of public record.
It was one thing for Nina and Anne-Marie to know about the caller. But now the police were going to involve everyone she knew or had ever known, her friends and associates . . . her coworkers . . . her clients. And that was decidedly unnerving.
She knew enough to know that things like this had a way of growing wings. And usually did. To prove her point, a reporter from the Seattle Times who covered the police beat, telephoned just after lunch. It was a short conversation, and on the whole, not a particularly polite one. In fact, it was the first time in her life that she had ever been rude to a member of the media.
Already, she regretted speaking to the police.
While Clare Durant went to great pains to keep her personal life private, to a great extent, she and her husband lived in the limelight. As a result, her reputation in the community was important. Her present situation was not something she wanted strangers to paw over, or gossips to whisper about. No, this was definitely not the way she wanted things to be handled. Not at all.
***
“If you were having a problem, I wish you’d come to me,” Glenn Thornburgh told her. “We’re family here. We help each
