there’s a chance of saving him. I’ll try and get away as soon as I can. Love you.”
Nat put the phone down.
The reception area had been empty when the fax arrived. Juanita had gone out to buy sandwiches and he had heard the fax machine from the other room, but hadn’t thought anything of it. He wouldn’t even have bothered to check it if it wasn’t for the fact that he was restless. It was now the end of what would normally have been the working day and, although he often worked overtime when they had a big case coming up in the morning, this was normally the time that he would head home.
But he was wandering aimlessly into the reception area with his umpteenth cup of coffee of the day when he noticed that the paper tray of the fax machine was empty. Juanita must have been so busy that she had forgotten to refill it. He took some new paper out of a half-open packet, fanned it and put it into the tray.
When he slid the tray into place the fax machine came to life and started printing. He realized that there must have been a fax stacked up in the memory. It turned out to be just one page. He picked it up, glancing at it as he walked back across the reception area.
When he saw the letterhead he practically spilt his coffee. And when he started reading it he had to sit down and put the cup on the desk.
This was something that he had not expected — and he was not pleased. He quickly went over to the shredder.
18:05 PDT
Alex had initially been cool to David’s attempts to analyze the poem. But his interest perked up when David told him about the stylistic resemblance between Dorothy’s poem and the Sylvia Plath poem. In the absence of any other directions, David took this as a green light to continue searching for more verses. If possible, he wanted to find the whole thing.
It might not be of any further help, but there was nothing better to look for. They had found out about the flight to England and the medical center. Further hacking of the bank account was taboo. This was the only thing left.
By now he had the routine down pat. He set the computer to do another search for sequences with several instances of the word “you” in close proximity. In seconds the scanning tunneling microscope and computer combination had thrown up another result.
I knew his name was Jimmy
And he died when he was three
In a car accident, with you at the wheel
No wonder you felt guilty
You never spoke about him
Amazing!
18:06 PDT
“No, Mr. Sedaka, I wasn’t raped. But it
This caught Alex from left of field. Esther Olsen didn’t seem the type. Then again, was there such a thing as “the type?”
Besides, who was he to judge? His own youth had been equally reckless. He had got Melody pregnant while she was in the middle of her medical studies. They married in haste four months later. And like Esther Olsen, Melody had carried the pregnancy to term and had the baby. It had almost derailed Melody’s career. Only Melody’s tenacity and determination — together with a supportive mother of her own — had kept it on track.
“How did it happen?”
“It was at one of those drunken frat parties. You know the type.”
“I know the type,” Alex confirmed. “So what was it, you had unprotected sex with a stranger and you got pregnant by him?”
“That’s right.”
“And then when you got married you took precautions?”
It didn’t make sense.
“I don’t understand.”
“I mean, what makes you so sure that it was him? This stranger? How do you know it wasn’t your husband?”
“Trust me, I know.”
“What, you did a DNA test? Or just a blood group test?”
Esther Olsen’s voice rose for a moment.
“
“And you don’t know who the man was? His name, I mean.”
“No. Like I said, it was at a party. I didn’t know many of the people there. We’d both had too much to drink and he was one of the few people who didn’t become obnoxious when he drank. Most men do.”
A thought entered Alex’s head.
“You said you didn’t have an abortion when you had to make the choice?”
She was looking at him, silently. Alex pressed on.
“So the child was…”
“Dorothy,” she confirmed.
“Did she know?”
“It’s not important.”
“Did
“It’s
“Help me here … I need to understand.”
“Why does it matter? She was my daughter, even if she wasn’t Edgar’s. And I loved her, even if he didn’t.”
“Can you give me his contact details?”
“You’re a bit late for that.”
“He’s dead?”
“Suicide.”
Alex’s mind was reeling. Could this have something to do with the estrangement from her daughter?
“Did he do it at home?”
That would explain why Esther Olsen didn’t want to talk about it. Alex wondered how many secrets had come out in the Olsen household before he died.
“Not at my house. He’d moved out already.”
“Why?”
“We’d broken up by then. He moved out so he could enjoy his independence.”
“No, I mean, why did he kill himself?”
“He was a troubled man — even before the marriage. He’d lost a son from a previous marriage. He blamed himself for that and he never really recovered from it. It had always haunted him. I think it’s what led to the break- up of his first marriage. Finally the burden got too much.”
“How did he do it?”
Alex wondered if it was something violent, like slashing his wrists, or something more prosaic, like
