He studied each one at length. “You could have made these yourself just in case I caught on and you needed a scapegoat.”
“I didn’t,” she cried. “This was Carole’s partner’s way of ”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” He tossed the notes aside and held up both hands. “This is getting better all the time. Carole and this would-be assassin
were in it together, right?”
“Absolutely. From the time she met you. Maybe before.”
“Why would Carole want me dead? She had no political leanings whatsoever.”
“This isn’t political, Tate. It’s personal. Carole set her sights on becoming your wife. She became exactly what you wanted, and once they teamed up she
was coached on how to behave so you’d have to fall in love with her. Who introduced you?”
“Jack,” he said with a small shrug. “When she came to apply for a job at the firm.”
“It might not have been an accident that she sought employment in your law office.”
“She had impeccable credentials.”
“I’m sure she did. She would have seen to it.”
“She could type,” he added drolly, “which shoots your theory all to hell.”
“I know I’m right.”
“I guess you can prove it,” he said, implying the opposite. He even folded his arms complacently across his chest.
“I don’t have to. Zee can.”
He reacted with visible shock. His arms dropped to his sides. “My mother?”
“She has a whole portfolio on Carole Navarro. I’ve seen it. Believing me to be Carole, she threatened me with exposure if I made you unhappy.”
“Why would she do that?”
“She seemed to think you were falling in love with your wife again.” Avery looked at him meaningfully. ‘After last night, I have good reason to think that,
too.”
“Forget last night. As you well know, it was all a hoax.” Angrily, he turned away.
Avery quietly gave first aid to the puncture wound in her heart. It would have to be thoroughly nursed later. For now, she had to deal with more critical
matters.
“Even if you didn’t originally see Carole for what she was, Zee did. She hired a private investigator to delve into her past.”
“And what did he find?”
“I’d rather not discuss ”
“What did he find?” he asked tightly, spinning around to confront her again. “For God’s sake, don’t get squeamish now.”
“She was a topless dancer. She’d been arrested for prostitution, among other things.” At his stricken expression, she reached for his hand. He jerked it
beyond her reach. “You don’t have to believe me about this,” she said, raising her voice in anger over his stupid, stubborn, masculine pride.
“Ask your mother to show you the data. She was saving it to use against Carole if she ever felt it was warranted. And you can’t be all that surprised, Tate,
because you have scorned me, as Carole, for having affairs, aborting your child, and using drugs. For months I’ve borne the brunt of your antipathy for this
woman.”
He considered her for a moment, gnawing his inner cheek. “Okay, let’s say for the sake of argument that you’re right about this cock-and-bull
assassination plot. Do you expect me to believe that you placed yourself in harm’s way out of the goodness of your heart? Why didn’t you alert me to it
months ago, the first chance you got?”
“Would you have believed me then, any more than you believe me now?” He had no answer, so she answered for him. “No, you wouldn’t have, Tate. I was
helpless. I didn’t have the strength to protect myself, much less you. Besides, I couldn’t afford the risk. When the person, whoever it was is found out that
he’d whispered his plans to Avery Daniels, television news reporter, how long do you think I would have lived?”
His eyes narrowed. Slowly, his head began to nod up and down. “I think I see now why Avery Daniels, television news reporter, pulled this charade. You
did it for the story, didn’t you?”
She wet her lips, a signal of guilt and nervousness as good as a signed confession. “Not entirely. I’ll admit that my career factored into it initially.” She
reached for his arm again and held on this time. “But not now, Tate. Not since I’ve come to love… Mandy. Once I got in, I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t just
walk away and leave things unresolved.”
“So how long were you going to pretend to be my wife? Were we going to fuck with the lights out for the rest of our days? Was I never going to see you
naked? How long were you going to live a lie? Forever?”
“No.” Her hand slid off his arm and she slumped with despair. “I don’t know. I was going to tell you, only ”
“When?”
“When I knew Mandy was okay and that you were safe.”
“So we’re back to the assassination plot.”
“Stop saying that so blithely,” she exclaimed. “The threat is real.” She glanced at the poster. “And imperative.”
“Then tell me who you suspect. You’ve been living with the same people I have been ever since you came out of the hospital.” He shook his head again
and laughed bitterly at his own stupidity. “Jesus, this explains so much. The memory lapses. Shep. The riding horse.” He looked over her body. “It explains
so many things,” he said gruffly. After clearing his throat, he said, “Why didn’t I see it?”
“You weren’t looking. You and Carole hadn’t been intimate for a long time.”
He seemed disinclined to address that. He picked up his previous train of thought. “Who do you suspect of wanting to kill me? My parents? My brother?
My best friend? Dorothy Rae? No, wait- Fancy! That’s it.” He snapped his fingers. “She got pissed off at me a couple years ago when I wouldn’t loan her
my car, so she wants me dead.”
“Don’t joke about it.” Avery shook with frustration.
“This whole thing’s a joke,” he said, lowering his face close to hers. “A dirty rotten joke played on all of us by a conniving bitch with big ambitions. Granted,
I’ve been a blind, deaf idiot, but now I’m seeing it all crystal clear.
“Didn’t you commit a journalistic faux pas a year or so back something about making allegations before all the facts were checked out? Yeah, I think you
were the one. You devised this scheme to rectify that mistake and reinstate yourself among your colleagues. You’re a reporter who needed a hot story, so,
when the opportunity presented itself, you cooked this one up.”
She shook her head and whispered mournfully, but without much conviction, “No.”
“I’ll give you credit, Avery Daniels. You go after your story no matter what it takes, don’t you? This time you were even willing to whore for it. Probably not
for the first time. Do you go down on all your interviewees? Is that their reward for giving you their secrets?”
She wrapped the robe around her tighter, but it did little to protect her from his chilling rebuke. “I wasn’t whoring, Tate. Everything that happened between
us was honest.”
“Like hell.”
“It was!”
“I’ve been fucking an impostor.” “And loving it!”
“Obviously, because you’re as good at that as you are at playacting!”
Her anger had been spent with that one verbal volley. Now tears filled her imploring eyes. “You’re wrong. Please believe me, Tate. You must be careful.”
She pointed down at the poster. “He’s going to do it on Election Day. Tomorrow.”
He was shaking his head adamantly. “You’ll never convince me that somebody in my family is going to put a bullet through my head.”
“Wait!” she cried, suddenly remembering something she had forgotten to mention. “There’s a tall, gray-haired man who’s been following you from city to
city.” She quickly enumerated the times and places she had seen Gray Hair in the crowds. “Van’s got the tapes to prove it.”
“Ah, the cameraman from KTEX,” he said, smiling ruefully. “So that explains him. Who else is in on your little game?”
“Irish McCabe.”
“Who’s he?”
She explained their relationship and how Irish had mistakenly identified Carole’s body. “He has her jewelry, if you want it back.”
“What about the locket?” he asked, nodding at her chest.
“A gift from my father.”
“Very clever,” he remarked with grudging respect. “You think on your feet and cover tracks well.”
“Listen to me, Tate. If I get the tapes from Van, will you look at them to see if you recognize this man?” She told him how they had deduced that a
professional assassin had been hired.
“You form quite a trio, all figuring to make big bucks at the expense of the Rutledge family.”
“It’s not like that.”
“No?”
“No!”
The sudden knock on the door brought them both around. “Who is it?” Tate called out.
It was Eddy. “We’ll meet downstairs in twenty minutes for a last-minute briefing over breakfast before leaving for the airport.” Tate glanced at Avery and
held her anxious gaze for several moments. “Is everything okay?” Eddy asked.
She placed her clenched hands beneath her chin and silently beseeched Tate not to say anything. “Please, Tate,” she whispered. “You have no reason to,
but you’ve got to trust me.”
“Everything’s fine,” he reluctantly called through the door. “See you in the dining room. Twenty minutes.”
Avery collapsed with relief on the nearest sofa. “You mustn’t say anything, Tate. Swear to me you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Anyone.”
“Why should I trust you above my own family and confidants?”
She answered carefully. “If what I’ve told you is true, then your silence could save you from assassination. If it’sall a wild scheme, then your silence could
save you from public ridicule. Either way, you’ve nothing to gain right now by revealing me as an impostor. So, I’m begging you not to tell anyone.”
He gave her a long, cold stare. “You’re as devious as Carole was.”
“I hate that you see it that way.”
“I should have read the signs. I should have known the changes in you, in her, were too good to be true. Like the way you took to Mandy when you came
home.”
“She’s come so far, Tate. Don’t I get credit for loving her?”
“You’ll get credit for breaking her heart when you leave.”
“It will break my heart, too.”
He ignored her. “Now I know why you suddenly took an interest in the election, why your opinions were more eloquently expressed, and why …” He looked
at her mouth. “Why so many things were different.” For several moments, he seemed to be struggling against the pull of a powerful magnet that would
draw him to her. Then, with a vicious curse, he turned away.
Avery charged after him, catching him before he could lock her out of the bathroom. “What are you going to do?”
“For the time being, not a damn thing. I’ve come this far. You and your nefarious scheme aren’t going to deter me from winning the election for myself, and
for my family, and for all the people who’ve placed their trust in me.”
“What about me?”
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “If I expose you, I would expose myself and my family as fools.” He grabbed a handful of hair at the back of her head
and pulled it back. “And if you expose us, I’ll kill you.”
She believed him. “I’m not lying, Tate. Everything I’ve told you is the truth.”
He released her abruptly. “I’ll probably divorce you, as I’d planned to divorce Carole. Your punishment will be having to remain the former Mrs. Tate
Rutledge for the rest of your life.”
“You must be careful. Someone is going to try to kill you.”
“Avery Daniels has been dead and buried for months. She’ll remain dead and buried.”
“Watch for a tall, gray-haired man in the crowds. Stay away from him.”
“There’ll be no career in TV, no smashing story to make you an overnight sensation.” His eyes raked over her contemptuously. “You did it all for nothing.
Ms. Daniels.”
“I did it because I love you.”
He shut the door in her face.
FORTY-SIX
Van’s search came to an end on the eve of Election Day. For several seconds, he stared at the color monitor screen, not believing that he’d finally found
what he had been looking for all this time.
He had taken a catnap at daybreak, realizing when he saw light leaking around the tattered shades in his apartment windows that he had been up all
night, viewing one videotape after another. After he had slept for about an hour, he’d drunk a pot of strong, caffeine-rich coffee and returned to his
console. The desk area was littered with junk food wrappers, empty soda cans, empty cigarette packs, and rank, overflowing ashtrays.
Van hadn’t noticed the untidiness. He didn’t care. Nor did it matter to him that he hadn’t eaten a square meal or showered in over forty-eight hours. His
compulsion to watch videotapes had become his obsession. His passion had grown into a mission.
He accomplished it at nine-thirty p.m. as he sat looking at a tape he had shot three years earlier while working at an NBC affiliate station in Washington
state. He didn’t even remember the station’s call letters, but he remembered the assignment. He had used four tapes in all, each containing twenty
minutes of unedited video. The reporter had compressed those eighty minutes into a five-minute special feature for the evening news during a ratings
sweep week. It was the kind of piece people shuddered over and woefully shook their heads at, but consumed like popcorn.
Van watched all eighty minutes several times to make certain there was no mistake. When he was positive he was right, he flipped the necessary
switches, inserted a blank tape, and began to make a duplicate of the most important, and most incriminating, one of the four.
Since it had to be duplicated at real time, that left him with twenty minutes to kill. He searched through the crumpled packets littering the console and
finally produced a lone, bent cigarette, lit it, then picked up the phone and called the Palacio Del Rio.
“Yeah, I need to talk to Mrs. Rutledge. Mrs. Tate Rutledge.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the switchboard operator said pleasantly, “I can’t put that call through, but if you leave your name and number ”
“No, you don’t understand. This is a personal message for Av… uh, Carole Rutledge.”
“I’ll give your message to their staff, who is screening ”
“Look, bitch, this is important, got that? An emergency.”
“Regarding what, sir?”
“I can’t tell you. I’ve got to speak to Mrs. Rutledge personally.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the unflappable operator repeated. “I can’t put that call through. If you leave your ”
“Shit!”
He slammed down the receiver and dialed Irish’s number. He let it ring thirty times before giving up. “Where the hell is he?”
While the tape was still duplicating, Van paced, trying to figure out the best way to inform Irish and Avery of what he’d found. It was essential that he get
this tape into Avery’s hands, but how? If he couldn’t even get the hotel operator to ring her suite, he couldn’t possibly get close enough tonight to place the
tape into her hands. She had to see it before tomorrow.
By the time the duplication was completed, Van still hadn’t thought of a solution to his dilemma. The only possible course of action was to try to locate
Irish. He would advise him what to do.
But after keeping the phone lines hot for half an hour between his apartment, KTEX’s newsroom, and Irish’s house, he still hadn’t spoken to his boss. He
decided to take the damn tape to Irish’s house. He could wait for him there. It would mean driving clear across town, but what the hell? This was important.
It wasn’t until he reached the parking lot of his apartment complex that he remembered his van was in the shop. His companion reporter had had to drive
him home after they’d covered Rutledge’s return to the San Antonio airport earlier that evening.
“Shit. Now what?”
The post office box. If contact couldn’t be made any other way, that was the conveyance he’d been told to use. He went back inside. Among a heap of
scrap papers, he found the one he’d scribbled the post office box number on. He sealed the videotape into an addressed, padded envelope, slipped on a
jacket, and struck out on foot, taking his package with him.
It was only two blocks to the nearest convenience store, where there was also a mailbox, but even that represented more exercise than Van liked.
He purchased cigarettes, a six-pack of beer, and enough stamps to cover the postage if not, Irish could make up the difference and dropped the package
into the mailbox. The schedule posted on the outside said that there was a pickup at midnight. The tape could feasibly be in Irish’s hands by tomorrow
morning.
In the meantime, though, Van planned to keep calling Irish every five minutes until he contacted him. Mailing the duplicate tape was only insurance.
Where could the old coot be at this hour, if not at home or the TV station? He had to show up sooner or later. Then the two of them would decide how to
warn Avery of just how real the threat on Rutledge’s life was.
Sipping one of the beers en route, Van sauntered back to his apartment, went in, shrugged off his jacket, and resumed his seat at the video console. He
reloaded one of the tapes that had solved the mystery for him and began replaying it.
Midway through, he reached for the phone and dialed Irish’s number. It rang five times before he heard the click severing the connection. He glanced
quickly at his phone and saw that a gloved hand had depressed the button. His eyes followed an arm up to a pleasantly smiling face.
“Very interesting, Mr. Lovejoy,” his visitor said softly, nodding at the flickering monitor. “I couldn’t quite remember where I’d seen you before.”
Then a pistol was raised and fired at point blank range into Van’s forehead.
Irish rushed through his front door and caught his telephone on the sixth ring, just as the caller hung up. “Dammit!” He had stayed late in the newsroom in
preparation for the hellish day the news team would have tomorrow.
He had checked and rechecked schedules, reviewed assignments, and consulted with the anchors to make certain everybody knew where to go and
what to do when. It was this kind of news day that Irish loved. But it was also the kind that gave him heartburn as hot as smoldering brimstone in his gut.
He shouldn’t have stopped to wolf down that plate of enchiladas on his way home.
He drank a glass of antacid and returned to his telephone. He called Van, but hung up after the phone rang a couple dozen times. If Van was out
carousing, getting hopped up on a controlled substance, he’d kill him. He needed him up bright and early in the morning.
He would dispatch Van with a reporter to record the Rutledges voting in Kerrville, then install him at the Palacio Del Rio for the rest of the day and long
evening while they waited for the returns to come in.
Irish wasn’t convinced that anybody would be so stupid as to attempt an assassination on Election Day, but Avery seemed to believe that’s when it would
happen. If seeing Van in the crowd alleviated her anxiety, then Irish wanted him there, visible and within easy reach should she need him.
Contacting her by telephone was impossible. He had already tried to call her earlier today, but he had been told that Mrs. Rutledge wasn’t feeling well. At
least that’s the story that had come out of the Rutledge camp when she failed to accompany Tate on his final campaign swing through North Texas.
In a later effort to speak with her, he had been told that the family was out to dinner. Still uneasy, he’d stopped by the post office on the way home and
checked his box. There’d been nothing in it, which allayed his concerns somewhat. He supposed that no news was good news. If Avery needed him, she
knew where to find him.
He prepared for bed. After his prayers, he tried calling Van once more. There was still no answer.
Avery spent Election Eve in tormenting worry. Tate told her peremptorily that she would not be going with him on his last campaign trip, and he stuck to it,
heedless of her pleas.
When he returned safely, her relief was so profound that she was weak with it. As they convened for dinner, Jack sidled up to her and asked, “Do you still
have the cramps?”
“What?”
“Tate said you weren’t up to making the trip today because you got your period.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, backing his lie. “I didn’t feel well this morning, but I’m fine now, thanks.”
“Just make sure you’re well in the morning.” Jack wasn’t the least bit interested in her health, only in how her presence or absence might effect the
outcome of the election. “You’ve got to be at your peak tomorrow.”
“I’ll try.”
Jack was then claimed by Dorothy Rae, who hadn’t touched a drink in weeks. The changes in her were obvious. She no longer looked frightened and frail,
but took pains with her appearance. More self-assertive, she rarely let Jack out of her sight, and never when Avery was around. Apparently she still
considered Carole a threat, but one she was prepared to combat for her husband’s affections.
Thanks to Tate’s ingrained charm, Avery didn’t think anyone noticed the schism in their relationship. The family traveled en masse to a restaurant for
dinner, where they were seated and served in a private dining room.
For the duration of the meal, Tate treated her with utmost politeness. She plagued him with questions about his day and how he was received in each city.
He answered courteously, but without elaboration. The steely coldness from his eyes chilled her to the marrow.
He played with Mandy. He related anecdotes of the trip to his attentive mother and father. He gently teased Fancy and engaged her in conversation. He
listened to Jack’s last few words of counsel. He argued with Eddy over his Election Day attire.
“I’m not dressing up to go vote no more than the average guy and I’ll change into a suit and tie only if I have to make an acceptance speech.”
“Then I’d better arrange to have the hotel valet press your suit overnight,” Avery said with conviction.
“Hear, hear!” Nelson heartily thumped his fist on the table.
Tate looked at her sharply, as though wanting to strip away her duplicity. If he suspected treachery of anyone in this convivial inner circle, it was she. If he
harbored any doubts as to where his family’s loyalty and devotion lay, he masked it well. For a man whose life could be radically altered the following day,
he appeared ludicrously calm.
However, Avery guessed that his composure was a facade. He exuded confidence because he wanted everyone else to remain at ease. That would be
typical of Tate.
She longed for a private moment with him upon their return to the hotel, and was glad when his conference with Jack and Eddy concluded quickly.
“I’m going out for a stroll along the Riverwalk,” Jack told them as he pulled on his jacket. “Dorothy Rae and Fancy are watching a movie on the TV in our
room. It’s the kind of sentimental crap I can’t stomach, so until it’s over I’m going to make myself scarce.”
“I’ll ride the elevator down with you,” Eddy said. “I want to check the lobby newsstand for papers we might have missed.”
They left. Mandy was already asleep in her room. Now, Avery thought, she would have time to plead her case before Tate. Maybe his judgment wouldn’t
be so harsh this time. To her dismay, however, he picked up his room key and moved toward the door.
“I’m going to visit with Mom and Dad for a while.”
“Tate, did you notice Van at the airport? I tried calling him at home, but he wasn’t back yet. I wanted him to bring the tapes over so ”
“You look tired. Don’t wait up.”
He left the suite and stayed gone a long time. Finally, because it had been such a long, dreary day, which she’d spent largely confined to the suite, she
went to bed.
Tate never joined her. She woke up during the night. Missing his warmth, panicked because she didn’t hear him breathing beside her, she quickly
crossed the bedroom and flung open the door.
He was sleeping on the sofa in the parlor.
It broke her heart.
For months he had been lost to her because of Carole’s deceit. Now he was lost to her because of her own.
FORTY-SEVEN
The bellyache Irish had when he went to bed the night before was mild in comparison to the raging one he had by seven o’clock Election Day morning.
It had dawned clear and cool. Heavy voter turnout was predicted statewide because of the perfect autumn weather.
The climate in the KTEX news department wasn’t so clement. Its chief was on the warpath. “Sorry, worthless son of a bitch,” Irish mouthed as he slammed
down the telephone receiver. When Van failed to show up in the newsroom at six-thirty as scheduled, Irish had started telephoning his apartment. There
was still no answer. “Where could he be?”
“Maybe he’s on his way,” another photographer volunteered, trying to be helpful.
“Maybe,” Irish grumbled as he lit a cigarette, which he’d only planned to hold between his lips. “In the meantime, I’m sending you. If you hurry, you can
catch the Rutledges as they leave the hotel. If not, drive like hell to catch up with them in Kerrville. And report in every few minutes,” he yelled after the
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