Finding a room for the night was harder than they had expected, but neither Katia nor Jordan minded the fact that they had to try four inns before they found one that had space—even if Jordan did have to twist an arm to get the room in the end.
“Now this is style,” Katia announced after they had wound their way through the maze of narrow halls and creaking stairways to arrive finally at the attic room they had wangled from the reluctant clerk. The room had one shabby dresser, one rickety chair and one small and lumpy bed. “Ah. A mirror.” It was above the dresser and slightly dusty. “How nice.”
They laughed, undaunted by the less-than-deluxe accommodations. “See what I mean?” Jordan teased. “My hotel will be in demand.”
“That’s unfair. The better places were booked solid, and I assume this room is the runt of this litter, if the clerk’s hesitance was any indication.”
Jordan was emptying the brown paper bag he had carried in, placing toothbrushes, toothpaste and a bottle of wine on the dresser. “Any glasses here?”
Katia found one in the minuscule bathroom and held it out triumphantly. Fortunately, Jordan had had the foresight to have the liquor store attendant open the wine; the room didn’t come with a corkscrew. He repopped the cork and filled the glass. “To the Vineyard,” he offered, downed a healthy swallow, then passed the glass to Katia, who did the same.
It was the first of many toasts they made, one increasingly more absurd than the next. By the time they had finished the wine they were sitting hip to hip on the floor with their backs braced against the bed. Two hours had passed. They had laughed, reminisced about things they had done as kids, teased each other about things they were doing as adults, and in general had the best time Katia had had in years.
But now Katia groaned. “I think I’ve about had it, Jordan. My eyes don’t seem to want to stay open.”
“No problem.” He pushed himself somewhat laboriously from the floor until he was on his feet, but bent over with his hands flattened on the bed. He stared at it, then with an effort straightened. “You take the bed. I’ll take a blanket on the floor.”
“You take the bed. I’ll take a blanket on the floor.”
He shook his head slowly. “No, no, babe. Let me be chivalrous.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
As though to emphasize his point—or win another—he extended a hand to her and tugged her up. She sat down with a plop on the bed, then moaned and twisted to one side. “Oh, for a bath,” she whispered.
“Go ahead.”
“I’d fall asleep in it. Have to wait till morning.” Her sole thought was to stretch out on a set of cool sheets, put her head on a pillow and surrender the war with her eyelids. She actually did the latter first. With eyes closed and without thinking, she pulled free the knot of her shirt. She didn’t bother with the buttons, but whipped the cotton fabric over her head.
“Katia?”
Her eyelids flickered, then raised. Jordan was staring at the skimpy excuse for a bra she wore. Within seconds he had turned and snatched up the t-shirt he had bought for himself. “Here. Wear this.”
She reached for the shirt with a sleepy smile, but before she had a chance to take it he drew it back to his chest. In a single stride he was before her, then hunkering down. He met her gaze, then dropped his own to the tiny catch at the front of her bra. Shakily he released it, peeled the sheer fabric aside and slid the thin straps from her arms.
Even as fuzzy minded as she was, Katia could feel it happening. Her body was beginning to tingle, the sensation centering in her breasts as his eyes adored them.
“More beautiful than ever,” came his hoarse whisper. Leaning forward, he touched his lips first to one nipple, then the other.
She closed her fingers on his shoulders and moaned. Her nipples were taut, damp where he had kissed them. She swayed, but Jordan steadied her. With jerky movements he shook out the new t-shirt and rushed to get it over her head. Since it was his size it easily fell to cover her.
Again, however, he had second thoughts. Tugging the t-shirt he had worn all day over his head and tossing it aside, he moved to sit beside her on the bed, slid an arm around her waist beneath the shirt, and pushed it up even as he turned her toward him.
The feel of her bare breasts against his chest was like lightning for them both. Katia sucked in a breath while Jordan made a sound deep in his throat and held her tighter. His eyes were closed; he wore a look of pain. Her own expression was much the same.
“Jordan, I don’t think I can stand—”
The words caught in her throat as he roughly cupped her neck and pushed her face up with his fingertips. Then his mouth took hers in a kiss that was filled with fiery passion, and Katia couldn’t think, much less speak. His lips angled hungrily over hers, never still, ever searching for more. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, deeply and greedily. There was something about his rush for possession that suggested he would get caught any moment and be strung up by the heels, but Katia only knew that she had ached and ached for the possession too long to either analyze his frenzy or deny him.
With that same odd kind of panic he pushed her back on the bed and moved over her, undulating his fully aroused body against hers as he continued to kiss her. She was dizzy with too much wine and too great a need when he suddenly stiffened, moaned and rolled away.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart! God, I’m sorry!” He threw an arm across his eyes, making no attempt this time to hide the huge bulge at his fly. He was breathing heavily, his muscled chest roughly rising and falling. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’ll hurt you. I’ll hurt both of us.”
Had Katia been sober and well-rested, she probably would have demanded an explanation. But she was neither. The best she could do was too grasp the pillow and bury her head, which was spinning madly. Jordan knew what he was doing, some vague fragment of reason assured her. If he had stopped he was probably right. He knew … he was probably right.…
The next thing she knew it was morning. She came awake slowly, aware of having had a dream … or a nightmare … unable to decide which. Jordan was sprawled on a blanket on the floor. He wore nothing but his jeans.
Her knight in denim armor.
Aware of a heaviness behind her eyes, then spotting the empty wine bottle and realizing its cause, she carefully worked her way out of bed and crept into the bathroom, where she took the bath she had been too tired to take the night before.
A long time later she returned to the room, where she dried and dressed and realized she felt much, much better. Jordan was still asleep. Love swelled inside her as she looked at him; the frustration she felt was far more emotional than physical.
With a whisper-soft sigh, she walked to the door, closed it quietly behind her and went downstairs in search of coffee.
Jordan was awake when she returned. He stood in the center of the small room. With his hair mussed and the snap of his jeans undone he looked like he had just that minute awakened, except that his eyes held an expression akin to fear. She stopped on the threshold, confused.
“Jesus, Katia! I didn’t know where in the hell you were!”
Relieved, she smiled, closed the door and handed him a mug filled with hot coffee.
“I woke up and you weren’t here,” Jordan raved on. “I didn’t know what to think. I searched the room and couldn’t find you—”
“It’s a pretty small room. Not many places to hide.”
“You can take that silly grin off your face. I was worried.”
“Where could I have gone?” she asked innocently. “You’re my ticket out of here.”
“I didn’t know where you’d gone!” He thrust a hand through his hair, then took a drink of the coffee and burned his tongue. “Unh. Shit. This isn’t my day.”
“You got up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“I wasn’t on the bed.”
“Poor baby. Why don’t you take a long bath? I did. It helped.”
He gave her an annoyed glance before disappearing into the bathroom. But the remedy must have worked, for he was in a better mood by the time he returned from the bathroom. Better … but still not up to snuff.
Katia, who remembered—albeit in vague wisps that might well have been a dream but were just that little bit too real—what had happened before she had passed out the night before, wasn’t sure what to make of him. During her own long soak she had decided to avoid mention of their brief interlude together on the bed. But the more she thought about it, the more she felt that she was the one who had a right to be angry. He had done it to her again, turned her on, then pulled away. The only thing she could do by way of retaliation was to act as though she simply didn’t care.
They ate breakfast in the restaurant downstairs, which was a higher tribute to the inn than its woeful attic room. Katia hadn’t expected conversation from Jordan; she knew he wasn’t good for much in the morning until he had had two cups of coffee and something solid, but even then he seemed unusually preoccupied.
They left the inn and started to walk, aimlessly she thought, until he guided her onto a sidewalk bench. Then he said something that took her completely by surprise. “Have you heard from Robert Cavanaugh?”
“The detective?”
Jordan nodded.
“No, I haven’t heard from from him yet.” Her eyes were riveted on his grim expression. “What’s wrong?”
He stared out toward the harbor, hesitated, then spoke slowly. “There’s something you don’t know, Katia. Something I don’t think anyone in the family knows other than me.”
“About Mark and Deborah?”
“About Mark.” The muscle beneath his eye twitched. “He was messing around with child pornography.”
“Are you serious?”
“I wish I weren’t, and I sure as hell wish I didn’t have to tell you about it. But Cavanaugh has probably been to the coast by now, and if that’s the case he knows.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because the police there know. Mark told me so.”
“When was this?”
“Two months back. I was out there, so I dropped in to see him. He wasn’t thrilled that I showed up when I did.”
She shook her head, willing away the image. “Pornography. I don’t believe it.”
“Kiddie porn, and you can believe it. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“But why? Why would he get into something as sick as that?”
Jordan’s mouth twisted. “Why do you think?”
“He was that hard up for money? But I thought he was doing okay.”
“Okay isn’t good enough if you want to live in Beverly Hills. He put every cent he had into legitimate filmmaking, and then when he needed more to live on he resorted to … to that.”
“But why children? Why not plain old skin flicks?”
“Because fewer people were willing to do it with kids, so the demand was greater.”
Katia closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. “It’s sickening.”
“Think of what I felt seeing it.”
“You talked to him afterward?”
“Yeah, if you can call it that. It was more like a shouting match. I told him he was crazy, and he told me to mind my own business. So I told him that it was my business, because he was my brother—even if I wanted to deny it at the time.”
“What did he say to that?”
“He said it was already too late, because the cops knew what he was doing. God, Katia, I could have strangled him then and there, and I told him as much, but he didn’t care. He said that he had his life and I had mine, and that I should just keep my nose out of his affairs. I mean,” Jordan looked at her in bewilderment, “it was like he didn’t hear anything I’d said about hurting people, like he was oblivious to hurting even himself.”
Katia caught her breath. “Do you think it could have been suicide after all?”
Jordan shook his head firmly. “No. He seemed immuned to any and all worry. He was riding high on himself. He was convinced that the law would never turn on him because he was greasing palms right and left.” He ran an agitated hand through his hair. “Somewhere along the line the guy became amoral.”
Katia sat staring at Jordan for several long moments. Her heart ached for him because she knew he was suffering. His eyes were on the waterfront, but she could tell he saw nothing. His legs were extended limply, his shoulders slumped and his jaw was darkened by the beard he hadn’t bothered to shave.
“No one else in your family knows?”
“No one but you.”
“Why have you told me?”
“Because if I don’t Cavanaugh will, and I want you to be prepared. Better you should hear it from me than from him. You may just be able to convince him not to tell my parents right away. I’m going to try to do that, but I don’t know which one of us will get to him first.”
“Won’t your parents have to know eventually?”
“Not if Cavanaugh finds his killer. If the killer is somehow connected with the porno work, it’ll all come out anyway. But if there’s a totally different connection there’s a chance my mother can be spared all that. God, she’ll die if she learns what he was up to. She raised her children to respect certain things. You’d think that if he wasn’t bothered by the principle of child pornography, at least he’d have been concerned about its illegality.”
Katia didn’t know what to say. She agreed with every one of Jordan’s feelings, and she racked her brain in a futile search to find something to say by way of consolation. In the end she simply took Jordan’s cold hand in hers and warmed it between her palms.
“I’m sorry, Jordan. Sorry that you have to bear the weight of this on your shoulders.”
“My shoulders are broad enough. I just wonder if Cavanaugh’s are. If he’s as principled as he led me to believe he won’t go public with what he learns unless he has a good reason to do so. On the other hand, if he gets his jollies out of making people squirm he’s got the means. Boy has he got the means.”
* * *
Cavanaugh was more principled than even he himself had thought. When he learned about Mark Whyte’s involvement in child pornography he simply tucked the knowledge under his belt and went on with his investigation. Oh, he was excited; he had something concrete on the Whytes, at last, and the feeling of power that gave him was incredible. But he was also a cop, and a good one, and there was no way he was going to jeopardize his case by leaking something to the press that could later cause problems in a trial.
But where he thought John Ryan would be pleased with what he had done he returned to Boston to find the man disgruntled.
“So you know that Whyte was on the verge of indictment for child pornograpy. So what? And you know that he was living high off the hog out there. So what? And you know that he had a handful of pretty lousy associates. So what?”
“So there’s plenty more to investigate and plenty of reason why someone may have wanted to kill him. We have a motive.”
“What good is a motive without a suspect? And if the porno thing was what got the guy killed, how do you explain why someone killed his wife, too? She wasn’t involved in the filming. She was out of it. And if all that took place on the west coast, why the hell would someone fly east to do the dirty work?”
Cavanaugh could feel himself getting angry. He had asked himself the same questions many times; Ryan had to know that. He wasn’t sure why Ryan was so upset, but he sensed that it would be better to bide his time than confront the man.
“We interviewed over sixty people while we were out there,” he said calmly. “A dozen of them might have had cause to kill Mark. We’re looking into them further.”
Ryan’s pudgy hand hit the desk in annoyance. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that one of the Whytes or Warrens knew that there would be an indictment and decided to eliminate the source of the problem? No criminal, no indictment, no trial, no scandal. It’s as simple as that.”
“Oh, it’s occurred to me. But there are ways to do an investigation and there are ways to do an investigation. Personally, I’d like to rule out the possibility of an outside murder before I go pointing a finger at someone within the family.”
“What are you? Some kind of bleeding heart? You don’t have to protect them, for Christ’s sake!”
The more Ryan attacked, the firmer Cavanaugh stood. “I want this done right. I thought you did, too.”
“Of course I do.”
“Then trust me. There’s as much of a chance that one of his associates from the coast killed Mark and his wife as there is that one of the family members did it, and for exactly the same reason. No criminal, no indictment, no trial. It’s as simple as that.”
“Don’t throw my own words back at me, Cavanaugh,” Ryan warned, but the worst of his fury seemed to have been spent. “I don’t like it.”
“I’m just pointing out that you’re right.” The last thing Cavanaugh needed was Ryan’s thirst for blood to mess up the case. “I’ll be starting on the families soon enough, but I want to do more work on the coast before that. I left Annello and Webber out there to see what else they could dig up; they’ll be calling in every day. If necessary, I’ll go back myself.”
“Have you looked at the tapes?”
“The porno films? A couple. Buddy and Sharon will be going through the rest. Those films are pretty pathetic.”
“What about other tapes?”
“What about them?”
Ryan blew out an exasperated breath. Cavanaugh wondered if the man ate sour pickles for breakfast, too. “Whyte was a filmmaker. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to take a look at what he’s done? There must have been a cabinet in the house filled with his work. All those guys keep private collections.”
“He had one, but I didn’t exactly have time to sit around and watch movies. The reels in the cabinet had standard labels on them. I doubt we’ll find clues to a murder in edited and polished pieces.”
Ryan’s jaw was set. “All right, Cavanaugh. I put you in charge of this one, so it’s your baby. But if I were you I wouldn’t settle for standard labels. Anyone as rotten as Mark Whyte—anyone who could hire kids to do obscene things and then film them—is apt to be kinky in other ways. Think about it.”
Cavanaugh did, long and hard, and he came up with several new avenues to explore. But what nagged at him more than anything after that conversation was Ryan’s impatience with the way he was handling the case. He didn’t understand it.
Unable to leave his worries at the office, he broached them with Jodi over dinner. Strangely, he was in the mood to talk, and there was no one he felt was more insightful than she. Moreover, he reasoned, it wouldn’t hurt if he tried to mend a few fences. Jodi had welcomed him back from California with a smile, but it had been a cautious one. He knew that she liked it when he shared things with her. And he knew that he didn’t like this faint wall between them.
“I don’t know why Ryan’s displeased,” he concluded after he had filled her in on the rough details. “I’m going by the book on this one. I’d think he’d be grateful.”
“He’s looking at the case from the outside. Maybe he doesn’t understand or appreciate all the work you’ve been doing on the inside.”
“He should. He was in my shoes once, and it wasn’t so long ago that he could have forgotten. Then again, he’s always been a little strange.”
“Strange?”
“Private. He never opened up to anyone on the force, not about his inner thoughts or about his family. He never mixed socially, kept his home life totally separate. Rigidity in a nutshell. Only it’s gotten worse in the last few months. He hasn’t been the same since his daughter died.”
“They were very close?”
“I don’t know. Large family, devout Catholics, I suppose they were close, even though she didn’t live around here. I can grant him the right to mourn, but to take it out on everyone else?”
“Maybe he’s getting pressure from upstairs on this one.”
“Still, he’s never been as uptight before.”
“He’s never had as potentially explosive a case before.”
Cavanaugh’s eyes grew wide in emphasis. “You can say that again. I’m telling you, if it does turn out that Mark and Deborah were eliminated by someone inside the families to keep the kiddie porn stuff from coming to light, explosive will be a mild word to describe the results.”
“Do you think that was what happened? It is rather … incredible.”
“As in farfetched?” He tried not to be offended, but couldn’t help sounding a little defensive. “A jury would go for the motive, especially with families like those. They think they’re outside the law. It wouldn’t be so incredible to imagine that they assumed they’d get away with murder.”
“But to kill two of their own? What kind of people could do that?”
“People to whom power and status mean the world,” he said with a smug half smile.
It was that tiny smile that got to Jodi, who, given the circumstances surrounding Cavanaugh’s departure a week before, was less indulgent than usual. “They’re human, Bob. I saw those pictures you took at the funeral.” She held up a hand and raced on. “No, you didn’t show them to me, but you left them lying on the table and I looked. That was grief. Couldn’t you see it?”
“I’m sure it was grief. The whole situation has to be grievous for them. Can you imagine how your mother would feel if you set out to be a porno queen? That must be how the Whytes felt about Mark.”
“Okay. But even if Mark had gone to trial, even if he’d been convicted, the Whyte Estate wouldn’t have been ruined. It’s huge and powerful. Unless the company was somehow involved in Mark’s activities it wouldn’t have been threatened. And as far as Gil Warren is concerned, he’s been in the House … how many years?”
“Twenty-three. Nearly twenty-four.
“Well, the same thing would be true for him. He wouldn’t have been hurt by Mark’s misadventures unless they’d have incriminated him.”
Cavanaugh sighed. “Jodi, we’re not dealing with the average human mind here. Who are you and I to guess why they did what they did?”
“So you’ve already got them pegged? Cop, judge and jury rolled into one?”
“Goddamnit, that’s unfair! I thought we were talking hypothetically.”
“Could have fooled me, what with the words you used.”
“Just words. I’m trying my best to give them a chance.”
“Are you? You know, Bob, I think your problem is that you simply can’t conceive of family loyalty. You can’t conceive of the idea that people can love one another and still have differences. You can’t conceive of the idea that members of a family could stand behind one another even in the worst of times. And there’s good reason why you’re so blind,” she raced on. “Your mother left your father when his business went bust. You and your wife split when things got shaky. You don’t have any experience in fighting for those you love, so you can’t conceive of anyone else doing it!” She was breathing hard and her fists were clenched. “It’s called commitment, Bob, and there are many people who believe in it. So until you know otherwise, wouldn’t it be nice to give the Warrens and Whytes the benefit of the doubt?”
Without awaiting his answer, she turned and stalked from the room, which was just as well, because Cavanaugh was, at that moment, speechless.
* * *
By the time he had flown to New York two days later and taken a taxi to Katia’s office, however, Cavanaugh was fully in command. He had suspected that Jordan would have warned her that he would be coming, so he wasn’t surprised when she appeared in the reception area fully composed.
With a pleasant smile she extended her hand. “Detective Cavanaugh, I’m Katia Morell. I was wondering when you’d make it here.”
He returned the handshake, noting that she was even more striking close up than she had appeared through the lens of his camera on the day of the funeral, now over a month ago. “I was wondering if we could talk. I know you’re working, but if you could spare a few minutes, I’d appreciate it.”
“There’s a coffee shop downstairs. Let me just leave word that I’ll be gone.” She went over to the receptionist and spoke with her quietly for a minute, then returned and led the way to the elevator.
Cavanaugh admired her poise, just as he admired the fact that as soon as they were beyond hearing of the receptionist, she calmly asked to see his identification.
“You can never be sure,” she said by way of apology as she handed it back to him. Even with Jordan’s forewarning, Cavanaugh wasn’t what she had expected. He was young, fashionably dressed, and very good looking. Of course, Jordan wouldn’t have mentioned that, the rat.
They didn’t talk during the elevator’s descent. Katia, who was doing her best to hide the vague nervousness she felt, was determined to let Cavanaugh take the lead. Cavanaugh, meanwhile, was feeling slightly awed by Katia’s utterly natural elegance.
They took seats at a table near the rear of the coffee shop, and within minutes the waitress had delivered matching orders of coffee and danish. Katia raised the cup and slowly sipped her coffee, studying Cavanaugh all the while. When at last he spoke, it was with disarming gentleness.
“I understand you grew up with the Warrens and the Whytes.”
“That’s right. My mother has been with the Warrens since before I was born.”
“Were you close to Deborah and Mark?’
“We were all close.”
“Would you say that you were closer to Deborah than Mark?”
“In that we’re the same sex, I suppose so. Deborah was six years older than me, Mark thirteen.”
“But you felt you knew him, too?”
“We all played together as kids. Even the older ones, when they went off to college, came home often. I guess I knew Mark as well as most of the others, though he was very different.”
“Different is what ways?”
“More of a loner. Oh, he took part in everything we did, but he was still somehow … apart. His mind seemed to be elsewhere.”
“Did the others resent that?”
“No. Mark was Mark.”
“Were there any hard feelings as you all got older?”
“We’re all different in our own ways. We accept that.”
“I understand that Mark and Deborah were sweethearts from way back.”
“Uh-huh.”
“How did their families feel when they decided to marry?”
“They were pleased. Mark and Deborah were very much in love, and the thought of marriage between the families was welcomed.”
“Was their marriage a good one?”
“Yes. They were alike in many ways.” When he raised his brows, inviting her to explain, she did so. “Neither of them was conventional, which isn’t to say that they were rebellious or loud, just that they seemed to operate on a different wavelength. They were both artsy, if you know what I mean. They dressed differently, not quite bohemian, but leaning in that direction. It didn’t come as a surprise to us when Mark went into filmmaking.”
“What about Deborah? Did she ever want a career?”
“Mark was her career. She was happy to go along with what he did.”
“Then she had no objections to his lifestyle?”
Up to that point, Cavanaugh’s questions had been harmless. This latest, though—or perhaps it was the faintly critical tone in which it had been offered—was the first reference to something negative. Katia tempered the instinctive defensiveness she felt.
“Deborah loved Mark. She had faith in him.”
Cavanaugh cleared his throat. He had expected that Katia would feel a certain amount of loyalty. He wondered how strong it was. “Did you know anything about their lifestyle?”
“You mean in California?”
He nodded.
“I know that it was fast, and that the people they were involved with were even faster.”
“Did you ever meet any of those people?”
“No.”
“They never brought their friends home with them?”
“To Dover? No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Was it possible that they were afraid of the reaction from their families?”
She shifted in her seat. “It was possible, I suppose. I think it’s more likely that there was simply no call for them to bring their California friends east with them. Family gatherings are family gatherings. You must know what they’re like, Detective.”
“Actually, no,” he returned bluntly. “My parents divorced when I was a teenager, and I was an only child.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need. I’ve done fine.”
“You just don’t know what you’ve missed,” she argued gently, forgetting for the moment who Cavanaugh was and why he had sought her out. “Family gatherings with the Whytes and Warrens are warm, wonderful times. There’s lots of talk, lots of laughter, lots of solid camaraderie—even now, when we all lead separate lives.”
“You make everything sound very rosy, as though life with the Whytes and Warrens was a never-empty bowl of cherries.”
Katia didn’t quite understand the whisper of bitterness in his words. “No. Not a bowl of cherries. Not always. There were tense times, such as when Gil was up for reelection—”
“I thought he always knew he’d win,” Cavanaugh said with a teasing smile.
Katia couldn’t help but smile back. “Gil may have known that, but, let me tell you, the rest of us did our share of nail-biting. You’d never guess it, because we all knew that we had to project an image of confidence to the public. I’ve often wondered if that isn’t what the public looks for most—confidence, an air of competence, whether the competence is there or not.”
“Do you think Gil has it?”
“Competence? Look at his record.”
“Does the rest of the family agree with you?”
“Yes.”
“What about Peter Warren?”
“Peter?”
“I understand he’s been at odds with his father more than once.”
“They’re both strong willed. It would be only natural for them to lock horns from time to time.”
“I understood it to be more than that. Word has it that Peter’s been wooing his father’s supporters out from under his nose.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He wants to be a judge.”
“If that is so—and I’m not in a position to confirm or deny it—there would be no conflict in terms of backers. The same people who’ve supported Gil could as easily put forward Peter’s bid, but even then there’s only so much they can do. Spots on the Massachusetts bench are by appointment.”
“Political appointment.”
“But appointment nonetheless. In the end it’s the governor’s decision.” She shook her head. “Please believe me, Detective. There is no death wish between father and son.”
“What about between father and daughter?”
Katia’s heart skipped a beat, then began to hammer loudly enough to more than make up for the loss. “Excuse me?”
“Between Gil and Deborah. Was there ever any hard feeling?”
“I’m not sure I see the relevance of that to your investigation.”
Realizing both that Katia was very sharp and that he had come on too fast, Cavanaugh held up a hand. “I’m simply trying to understand Mark and Deborah and their families. That’s why I’ve come to you. Other than Jordan, I haven’t spoken with the rest yet, because I felt that, with the little bit of distance you have, you’d be able to help me see things more accurately. I’ve read the papers like everyone else over the years, and if I were to believe what I’ve read, I’d say that the families were either all good or rotten to the core. There has to be some middle ground. I was hoping you’d help me find it.”
Katia’s smile was a wry one. “Jordan was right. You are articulate.”
“I’m also sincere,” he said, and, surprisingly, he meant it. “My job is to ferret out the truth, and that isn’t easy when you’re trying to read between biased lines. I really do need your help, Ms. Morell.”
Katia wasn’t sure what it was about the man that appealed to her. She reminded herself that he was a cop, and tried to tell herself that she should keep a stiff upper lip and a certain distance. But Cavanaugh didn’t look like a cop, and he didn’t act like a cop. He seemed human and deeply concerned with learning the truth.
She inhaled deeply, then exhaled into a smile. “I may be the biggest sap in the world, but for some strange reason I trust you.” She arched a brow. “I’m telling you that because if it turns out that I’m wrong, you will have the burden of a guilty conscience on your own shoulders. Got that?”
Cavanaugh grinned. He liked Katia immensely. “Got it.”
She picked up a knife and cut her uneaten danish in half, then fourths. Lifting one small piece, she took a bite. When she had swallowed and still Cavanaugh hadn’t spoken, she set down the remainder of the piece. “Well? Should I pick up where we left off or would you like to start afresh?”
“I’d like to start afresh,” he said without hesitation, then extended his hand much as she had done back in the reception area of her office. “The name’s Bob. Can I call you Katia?”
Katia started to smile, but checked it halfway. Quickly wiping her hand on a paper napkin, she met his clasp. “Katia is fine.”
“Good.” He released her hand and propped his elbows on the edge of the table. For several moments he simply smiled, then he dropped his gaze to the danish she had cut. “Are you always so neat?”
“I always watch my weight. Good things last longer if you cut them up and eat them slowly.”
“You don’t need to watch your weight.”
She shrugged, but a smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth. “A woman can never be too thin or too rich.”
“Oh, Lord, where have I heard that before!”
“I don’t know. Where?”
“A friend of mine says it all the time, and in that same smug tone you just used. She’s as thin as you are.” He sat back in his chair, feeling unusually relaxed. “Actually, you’d like her. She’s a guidance counselor in the Boston school system.”
“I take it she’s not your wife.”
“I’m not married. I was once, but my job got in the way.”
“I hear it’s tough being married to a policeman.”
“You’ve been watching ‘Miami Vice,’” he accused, then took delight when she blushed.
“Once in awhile. But I heard it firsthand from a fellow Jack knew. This fellow loved having a wife, but his wife didn’t love having a policeman. In the end she couldn’t take the strain.” Katia paused. “You must love your work.”
“I do.”
“Do you have any children?”
He shook his head.
“I suppose it’s better that way. It’s tough on kids when their parents aren’t together.”
“God, you do sound like Jodi.”
His statement pleased her, as did the look of admiration in his eyes. She didn’t know why it should be so when Cavanaugh was a cop, here on official business investigating a murder that had hit her own home.
The reminder was sobering. She glanced at her watch. “I really have to get back to the office, but I’m sure there’s more you want to know.”
“Can we meet later?”
“Sure. How long will you be in the city?”
“I’d planned to fly back tonight, but it’s kind of nice being here. I haven’t been down in a long time. If I take a shuttle out in the morning, I could go to a show tonight. Any suggestions?”
“Sure. There’s Biloxi Blues, or Pinter’s The Caretaker, or you could always see Cats. Any of the three are great.”
“Anything you haven’t seen that I could take you to? I mean, hell, if I’m putting you through all this unpleasantness I’ll have to make it up to you somehow.”
Forget the fact that he was a cop. Forget the fact that she had been out on three of the four nights since she had returned from the Vineyard, all on the rebound from Jordan’s latest rejection of her. Robert Cavanaugh was pleasant and attractive. Why not? “I’ve been dying to see A Lie of the Mind,” she said through the side of her mouth. “If you can get tickets, you’re on.”
Cavanaugh got the tickets, though it took five phone calls and a forty-minute wait at the box office that afternoon. When he called Katia, they arranged to meet for something to eat beforehand. It was at a restaurant on Broadway, over shrimp and steak, that they returned to the matter that had brought Cavanaugh to the city to begin with.
“Tell me about your relationship with the Warrens and Whytes,” he asked gently. “I know that you grew up with them and that you’re fond of them.”
“I love them. They’re my family.”
“What about your father? I haven’t heard anything about him.”
“He died when I was nine.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, that’s all right. We weren’t ever close.”
“Still, it must have been hard.”
“What was hard was when my brother died. I was eleven then, barely old enough to understand war, much less the casualties of one.”
“Vietnam?”
She shook her head. “Israel. When my father died and my mother had to make funeral arrangements, we learned for the first time that she was Jewish. She doesn’t practice it or identify with it. But Kenny was at an introspective age; once he learned about it it haunted him. When the Arab-Israeli War broke out in ’67 he rushed over.”
“How did your mother feel about that?”
“Grief stricken. She’d lost her family to Hitler.”
Cavanaugh winced. “When you were old enough to understand, how did you feel?”
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I was really pretty proud of Kenny. He felt something and he acted on it. And I think I understood my mother much better once I’d learned about her past. She was trying to protect us, because there’s a little bit of that Hitler’s-followers-are-alive-and-well mentality in her, so I can understand why she did what she did. I’m not saying I would have done the same and totally denied my roots if I’d been in her shoes, but then, I’ve had a totally different life experience from hers. So had Kenny, which may be why he did what he did.”
Cavanaugh was shaking his head. “I had no idea. Things like this never make it into Whyte or Warren stories.”
For an instant Katia wondered if she had misjudged him after all. “I don’t want them to! What I’ve told you is off the record—”
“I know,” he said quietly, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “What you’ve told me goes no further than this table.” He withdrew his hand and picked up his fork. “If you lost your father and brother, I can understand why you grew so close to the others.”
Reassured that confidentiality would be observed, Katia relaxed again. She liked Cavanaugh. She wanted to talk, wanted him to understand. “Actually, the closeness was there all along. From the first Kenny and I were treated like members of the family. That’s one of the things that was so wonderful about the Whytes and Warrens. They always accepted us, and without condescension. Growing up, Kenny and I had many of the same benefits they did. I’ll always be grateful to them for that.”
“You were fortunate. I can see why you feel so positive about them.”
“Please don’t misunderstand me,” she cautioned. “It’s not all gratitude. I love them as family, but also legitimately like them. They’re individuals, each one of them interesting people. They have faults; we all do. But I have a tremendous respect for their strengths.”
Cavanaugh looked down at his food then and took several bites before raising eyes that were more sober. “Mark Whyte was in trouble in California.”
Her fork wavered before her mouth; she finally set it down. “I know.”
“Do you know what sort of trouble?”
“Yes … if you’re thinking the same thing I am.” She wasn’t about to say it first.
“Child pornography?”
She expelled a breath and nodded.
“How did that go across on the home front?”
“It didn’t. I mean, they don’t know.”
That took Cavanaugh by surprise. He wasn’t sure he believed it. “How come you do?”
Katia was in a momentary bind. She wanted to keep Jordan’s confidence, yet there was no way she could do that without lying. So, albeit with some trepidation, she went with the truth. “Jordan told me.”
Cavanaugh’s features were controlled, only his eyes darkened. “I didn’t know he knew. He didn’t mention anything about it when we talked.”
“I’m sure he was hoping that you’d find the murderer without having to go into that … mess. He’s worried about his parents, especially his mother, and what it will do to them if, or when, they find out.”
“When did he tell you?”
“Last weekend.”
“Did he tell you that Mark was about to be indicted?”
Katia sucked in a breath. “Was he?”
“Yes. Did Jordan know?”
“He said that the L.A. police knew what Mark was doing; Mark had told him that. Mark had also said that he wouldn’t be prosecuted.”
“But did Jordan know about the indictments?”
“No. At least not that I know of.” She read Cavanaugh’s face with ease. “If you’re thinking that he had an ulterior motive for withholding information from you—or me—you’re wrong, Bob. Jordan was sick about the whole thing. I think one of the reasons he told me was that he simply had to share it with someone. Jordan has never had cause to lie to me. He would have told me if he knew that Mark was about to be indicted.”
Cavanaugh wasn’t fully convinced of that, but he didn’t want to risk Katia’s confidence. Still, there was something he needed to know. “Are you in love with Jordan?”
Her hand twitched involuntarily. “Where did that come from?”
“From the look in your eyes from time to time.”
Regardless of the trust she had placed in Cavanaugh, Katia was not about to grant him total disclosure. “Jordan is family. He’s like a brother to me.”
“He’s not a brother. You’re not related by blood.”
“You know what I mean,” was the best she could do.
Mercifully, Cavanaugh seemed to accept it. He pressed his lips together and nodded.
But there was something she had promised Jordan, a plea she had to make. “Bob? Please don’t say anything about the pornography unless you absolutely have to. It’s going to kill Jack and Natalie, not to mention Gil and Lenore. They tried, really they did. Jack and Gil may have been absentee fathers for much of the time, but they always wanted the best for their children. And if Natalie finds out what Mark was doing she’ll blame herself. She’ll agonize over what she did wrong. She doesn’t deserve that—none of them do. People may think of them as being wealthy and powerful, but they are human beings. Deep down inside they’re not any different from other parents who love their children. They hurt at times. Believe me. They hurt.”