“I’m not accusing you of anything. But I do need answers. Are you aware of what happened in the church today?”
Robert replaced the receiver. Soberly he nodded. “I…I heard there was some sort of explosion. It was on the news. That’s why I came back early. I was worried someone might’ve been hurt.”
“Luckily, no one was. The church was empty at the time it happened.”
Robert gave a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” he said softly. He stood with his hand still on the phone, as though debating whether to pick it up again. “Do the police—do you—know what caused it?”
“Yes. It was a bomb.”
Robert’s chin jerked up. He stared at Sam. Slowly he sank into the nearest chair. “All I’d heard was—the radio said—it was an explosion. There was nothing about a bomb.”
“We haven’t made a public statement yet.”
Robert looked up at him. “Why the hell would anyone bomb a church?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. If the wedding had taken place, dozens of people might be dead right now. Nina told me you’re the one who called it off. Why did you?”
“I just couldn’t go through with it.” Robert dropped his head in his hands. “I wasn’t ready to get married.”
“So your reason was entirely personal?”
“What else would it be?” Robert suddenly looked up with an expression of stunned comprehension. “Oh, my God. You didn’t think the bomb had something to do with me?”
“It did cross my mind. Consider the circumstances. You cancelled the wedding without warning. And then you skipped town. Of course we wondered about your motives. Whether you’d received some kind of threat and decided to run.”
“No, that’s not at all what happened. I called it off because I didn’t want to get married.”
“Mind telling me why?”
Robert’s face tightened. “Yes, as a matter of fact,” he answered. Abruptly he rose from the chair and strode over to the liquor cabinet. There he poured himself a shot of Scotch and stood gulping it, not looking at Sam.
“I’ve met your fiancé,” stated Sam. “She seems like a nice woman. Bright, attractive.” I’m sure as hell attracted to her, he couldn’t help adding to himself.
“You’re asking why I left her at the altar, aren’t you?” said Robert.
“Why did you?”
Robert finished off his drink and poured himself another.
“Did you two have an argument?”
“No.”
“What was it, Dr. Bledsoe? Cold feet? Boredom?” Sam paused. “Another woman?”
Robert turned and glared at him. “This is none of your damn business. Get out of my house.”
“If you insist. But I’ll be talking to you again.” Sam crossed to the front door, then stopped and turned back. “Do you know anyone who’d want to hurt your fiancé?”
“No.”
“Anyone who’d want her dead?”
“What a ridiculous question.”
“Someone tried to run her car off the road this afternoon.”
Robert jerked around and stared at him. He looked genuinely startled. “Nina? Who did?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. It may or may not be connected to the bombing. Do you have any idea at all what’s going on? Who might try to hurt her?”
There was a split second’s hesitation before Robert answered. “No. No one I can think of. Where is she?”
“She’s in a safe place for tonight. But she can’t stay in hiding forever. So if you think of anything, give me a call. If you still care about her.”
Robert didn’t say anything.
Sam turned and left the house.
Driving home, he used his car phone to dial Gillis. His partner, predictably, was still at his desk. “The bridegroom’s back in town,” Sam told him. “He claims he has no idea why the church was bombed.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Gillis drawled.
“Anything new turn up?”
“Yeah. We’re missing a janitor.”
“What?”
“The church janitor. The one who unlocked the building this morning. We’ve been trying to track him down all evening. He never got home tonight.”
Sam felt his pulse give a little gallop of excitement. “Interesting.”
“We’ve already got an APB out. The man’s name is Jimmy Brogan. And he has a record. Petty theft four years ago and two OUI’s, that kind of stuff. Nothing major. I sent Cooley out to talk to the wife and check the house.”
“Does Brogan have any explosives experience?”
“Not that we can determine. The wife swears up and down that he’s clean. And he’s always home for dinner.”
“Give me more, Gillis. Give me more.”
“That’s all I have to give, unless you want me to slit open a vein. Right now I’m bushed and I’m going home.”
“Okay, call it a day. I’ll see you in the morning.”
All the way home, Sam’s mind was churning with facts. A cancelled wedding. A missing church janitor. An assassin in a black Ford.
And a bomb.
Where did Nina Cormier fit in this crazy thicket of events?
It was eleven-thirty when he finally arrived home. He let himself in the front door, stepped into the house and turned on the lights. The familiar clutter greeted him. What a god-awful mess. One of these days he’d have to clean up the place. Or maybe he should just move; that’d be easier.
He walked through the living room, picking up dirty laundry and dishes as he went. He left the dishes in the kitchen sink, threw the laundry in the washing machine and started the wash cycle. A Saturday night, and the swinging bachelor does his laundry. Wow. He stood in his kitchen, listening to the machine rumble, thinking about all the things he could do to make this house more of a home. Furniture, maybe? It was a good, sound little house, but he kept comparing it to Robert Bledsoe’s house with its Steinway piano, the sort of house any woman would be delighted to call home.
Hell, Sam wouldn’t know what to do with a woman even if one was crazy enough to move in with him. He’d been a bachelor too long, alone too long. There’d been the occasional woman, of course, but none of them had ever lasted. Too often, he had to admit, the fault lay with him. Or with his work. They couldn’t understand why any man in his right mind would actually choose to stay with this insane job of bombs and bombers. They took it as a personal affront that he wouldn’t quit the job and choose them instead.
Maybe he’d just never found a woman who made him want to quit.
And this is the result, he thought, gazing wearily at the basket of unfolded clothes. The swinging bachelor life.
He left the washing machine to finish its cycle and headed off to bed.
As usual, alone.
THE LIGHTS WERE ON at 318 Ocean View Drive. Someone was home. The Cormier woman? Robert Bledsoe? Or both of them?
Driving slowly past the house in his green Jeep Cherokee, he took a good long look at the house. He noted the dense shrubbery near the windows, the shadow of pine and birch trees ringing both edges of the property. Plenty of cover. Plenty of concealment.
Then he noticed the unmarked car parked a block away. It was backlit by a streetlamp, and he could see the silhouettes of two men sitting inside. Police, he thought. They were watching the house.
Tonight was not the time to do it.
He rounded the corner and drove on.
This matter could wait. It was only a bit of cleanup, a loose end that he could attend to in his spare time.
He had other, more important work to complete, and only a week in which to do it.
He drove on, toward the city.
* * *
AT 9:00 A.M., the guards came to escort Billy “The Snowman” Binford from his jail cell.
His attorney, Albert Darien, was waiting for him. Through the Plexiglas partition separating the two men, Billy could see Darien’s grim expression and he knew that the news was not good. Billy sat down
opposite his attorney. The guard wasn’t standing close enough to catch their conversation, but Billy knew better than to speak freely. That stuff about attorney-client confidentiality was a bunch of bull. If the feds or the D.A. wanted you bad enough, they’d plant a bug on anyone, even your priest. It was outrageous, how they’d violate a citizen’s rights.
“Hello, Billy,” said Darien through the speaker phone. “How’re they treating you?”
“Like a sultan. How the hell d’you think they’re treating me? You gotta get me a few favors, Darien. A private TV. I’d like a private TV.”
“Billy, we got problems.”
Billy didn’t like the tone of Darien’s voice. “What problems?” he asked.
“Liddell’s not even going to discuss a plea bargain. He’s set on taking this to trial. Any other D.A.’d save himself the trouble, but I think Liddell’s using you as a stepping stone to Blaine House.”
“Liddell’s running for governor?”
“He hasn’t announced it. But if he puts you away, he’ll be golden. And Billy, to be honest, he’s got more than enough to put you away.”
Billy leaned forward and glared through the Plexiglas at his attorney. “That’s what I pay you for. So what the hell’re you doing about the situation?”
“They’ve got too much. Hobart’s turned state’s witness.”
“Hobart’s a sleazeball. It’ll be a piece of cake to discredit him.”
“They’ve got your shipping records. It’s all on paper, Billy.”
“Okay, then let’s try again with a plea bargain. Anything. Just keep my time in here short.”
“I told you, Liddell’s nixed a plea bargain.”
Billy paused. Softly he said, “Liddell can be taken care of.”
Darien stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“You just get me a deal. Don’t worry about Liddell. I’m taking care of—”
“I don’t want to know about it.” Darien sat back, his hands suddenly shaking. “I don’t want to know a damn thing, okay?”
“You don’t have to. I got it covered.”
“Just don’t get me involved.”
“All I want from you, Darien, is to keep this from going to trial. And get me out of here soon. You got that?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Darien glanced nervously at the guard, who wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to their conversation. “I’ll try.”
“Just watch,” said Billy. A cocky grin spread on his lips. “Next week, things’ll be different. D.A.’s office will be happy to talk plea bargain.”
“Why? What happens next week?”
“You don’t want to know.”
Darien exhaled a deep sigh and nodded. “You’re right,” he muttered. “I don’t want to know.”
* * *
NINA AWAKENED TO the bass thump of aerobics dance music. Downstairs, she found Daniella stretched out on the polished oak floor of the exercise room. This morning Daniella was garbed in a shiny pink leotard, and her sleek legs knifed effortlessly through the air with every beat of the music. Nina stood watching in fascination for a moment, mesmerized by that display of taut muscles. Daniella worked hard at her body. In fact, she did little else. Since her marriage to George Cormier, Daniella’s only goal in life seemed to be physical perfection.
The music ended. Daniella sprang to her feet with an easy grace. As she turned to reach for a towel, she noticed Nina standing in the doorway. “Oh. Good morning.”
“Morning,” said Nina. “I guess I overslept. Has Dad already left for work?”
“You know how he is. Likes to get started at the crack of dawn.” With the towel, Daniella whisked away a delicate sheen of perspiration. A discomforting silence stretched between them. It always did. It was more than just the awkwardness of their relationship, the bizarre reality that this golden goddess was technically Nina’s stepmother. It was also the fact that, except for their connection through George Cormier, the two women had absolutely nothing in common.
And never had that seemed more apparent to Nina than at this moment, as she stood gazing at the perfect face of this perfect blonde.
Daniella climbed onto an exercise bike and began pedaling away. Over the whir of the wheel, she said, “George had some board meeting. He’ll be home for dinner. Oh, and you got two phone calls this morning. One was from that policeman. You know, the cute one.”
“Detective Navarro?”
“Yeah. He was checking up on you.”
So he’s worried about me, thought Nina, feeling an unexpected lifting of her spirits. He’d cared enough to make sure she was alive and well. Then again, maybe he was just checking to make sure he didn’t have a new corpse on his hands.
Yes, that was the likely reason he’d called.
Feeling suddenly glum, Nina turned to leave the room, then stopped. “What about the second call?” she asked. “You said there were two.”
“Oh, right.” Daniella, still pumping away, looked serenely over the handlebars. “The other call was from Robert.”
Nina stared at her in shocked silence. “Robert called?”
“He wanted to know if you were here.”
“Where is he?”
“At home.”
Nina shook her head in disbelief. “You might have told me earlier.”
“You were sound asleep. I didn’t see the point of waking you.” Daniella leaned into the handlebars and began to pedal with singleminded concentration. “Besides, he’ll call back later.”
I’m not waiting till later, thought Nina. I want answers now. And I want them face-to-face.
Heart thudding, she left the house. She borrowed her father’s Mercedes to drive to Ocean View Drive. He’d never miss it; after all, he kept a spare Jaguar and a BMW in the garage.
By the time she pulled into Robert’s driveway, she was shaking from both anger and dread. What on earth was she going to say to him?
What was he going to say to her?
She climbed the porch steps and rang the doorbell. She didn’t have her house keys. Sam Navarro did. Anyway, this wasn’t her house any longer. It never had been.
The door swung open and Robert stood looking at her in surprise. He was wearing running shorts and a T-shirt, and his face had the healthy flush of recent exercise. Not exactly the picture of a man pining for his fiancée.
“Uh, Nina,” he said. “I—I was worried about you.”
“Somehow I have a hard time believing that.”
“I even called your father’s house—”
“What happened, Robert?” Her breath rushed out in a bewildered sigh. “Why did you walk out on me?”
He looked away. That alone told her how far apart they’d drifted. “It’s not easy to explain.”
“It wasn’t easy for me, either. Telling everyone to go home. Not knowing why it fell apart. You could have told me. A week before. A day before. Instead you leave me there, holding the damn bouquet! Wondering if it was all my fault. Something I did wrong.”
“It wasn’t you, Nina.”
“What was it, then?”
He didn’t answer. He just kept looking away, unwilling to face her. Maybe afraid to face her.
“I lived with you for a whole year,” she said with sad wonder. “And I don’t have the faintest idea who you are.” With a stifled sob, she pushed past him, into the house, and headed straight for the bedroom.
“What are you doing?” he yelled.
“Packing the rest of my things. And getting the hell out of your life.”
“Nina, there’s no need to be uncivilized about this. We tried to make it. It just didn’t work out. Why can’t we still be friends?”
“Is that what we are? Friends?”
“I like to think so. I don’t see why we can’t be.”
She shook her head and laughed. A bitter sound. “Friends don’t twist the knife after they stab you.” She stalked into the bedroom and began yanking open drawers. She pulled out clothes and tossed them on the bed. She wa
s beyond caring about neatness; all she wanted was to get out of this house and never see it again. Or him again. Up until a moment ago, she’d thought it still possible to salvage their relationship, to pick up the pieces and work toward some sort of life together. Now she knew there wasn’t a chance of it. She didn’t want him. She couldn’t even recall what it was about Robert Bledsoe that had attracted her. His looks, his medical degree—those were things she’d considered nice but not that important. No, what she’d seen in Robert—or imagined she’d seen—was intelligence and wit and caring. He’d shown her all those things.
What an act.
Robert was watching her with a look of wounded nobility. As if this was all her fault. She ignored him and went to the closet, raked out an armful of dresses, and dumped them on the bed. The pile was so high it was starting to topple.
“Does it all have to be done right now?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“There aren’t enough suitcases.”
“Then I’ll use trash bags. And I need to take my books, too.”
“Today? But you’ve got tons of them!”
“This week I’ve got tons of time. Since I skipped the honeymoon.”
“You’re being unreasonable. Look, I know you’re angry. You have a right to be. But don’t go flying off the damn handle.”
“I’ll fly off the handle if I want to!” she yelled.
The sound of a throat being cleared made them both turn in surprise. Sam Navarro stood in the bedroom doorway, looking at them with an expression of quiet bemusement.
“Don’t you cops ever bother to knock?” snapped Robert.
“I did knock,” said Sam. “No one answered. And you left the front door wide open.”
“You’re trespassing,” said Robert. “Again without a warrant.”
“He doesn’t need a warrant,” said Nina.
“The law says he does.”
“Not if I invite him in!”
“You didn’t invite him in. He walked in.”
“The door was open,” said Sam. “I was concerned.” He looked at Nina. “That wasn’t smart, Miss Cormier, driving here alone. You should have told me you were leaving your father’s house.”
“What am I, your prisoner?” she muttered and crossed back to the closet for another armload of clothes. “How did you track me down, anyway?”