Mean Woman Blues (32 page)

But as the tape ran, she began to hear the voice and not the accent, began to see familiarity in the way the rodent moved and, without warning, felt nausea rising so fast she had to run to the bathroom.

After a discreet minute or two, Skip followed. Karen had left the door open. She was rinsing her mouth. “You okay?” the cop said.

Karen felt oddly violated. “Just give me a minute.” The cop left. This time she did close the door and she started over, washing her whole face, wanting to rip off her clothes and stand under a hot shower, but there was no shower, this was just a powder room, and so, for the moment, there was no escape.

She more or less staggered back into the little den, where, she was glad to note, it was blessedly silent. Skip had taken the tape out and was waiting quietly.

“Let’s go back in the living room. It’s too claustrophobic in here.” She needed as much air as she could get.

When they were once again seated in her aunt and uncle’s tranquil living room, sunlight streaming in, Skip spoke again. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

Karen said, “This is so weird,” and thought she sounded like some Valley girl on a television show. She sat up straight and made an effort to restart her mind. “I’m sorry. I’m a little disoriented.”

“You’ve had a bad shock.”

Several of them
, Karen thought.
Several of them.

“You’ve been living with an entirely different man from the person you thought was your husband. Do you believe that now?”

Karen nodded. She’d sort of more or less thought she had the hang of it, but viewing that tape was like watching science fiction, some awful end-of-the-world story in which aliens took over the minds and bodies of your loved ones. Except in this case it was the other way around: They wore people suits; they made you think they were human, and handsome, and loving…

But there was only one, and it was her own husband. She really had to get that through her head. “But… how can you do that?” she said, not meaning how could anyone be so sick and vicious and conniving but how was it possible to accomplish such a thing.

To her relief, the cop understood. “It would take a hell of a lot of money. Surgery; hair implants, maybe; speech lessons. He has sort of a British accent now— it could have been done in another country.”

“But the pictures…”

“Ah, yes. The ones you mentioned, of David with Rosemarie’s former husband. Photographs can be altered. But he’d have to get the photos first.”

She was speaking very carefully, and Karen was beginning to get her drift. She was beginning to have a small epiphany. “Rosemarie!”

Skip nodded.

Karen said, “She has the money, and she’d be the only one in the world— or almost— who had the pictures. And she must have hired him; the cable station belongs to her.” She stopped to work it out. “But why didn’t they just get remarried?”

“Educated guess? Way, way too close for comfort. It’s known that they know each other, also that he had recent contact with her— either he had her kidnapped and tried to make her help him once before, or they set it up to look like he did. No way could they be seen together. Let me ask you a question. You say he was in Rosemarie’s social set. How do you know that?”

“We’ve been to parties at her house, parties for the cable station, that sort of thing; he knew the same people she knew.”

“How many people?”

Karen thought about it. “Not very many. Two or three, maybe.”

“Uh-huh. She probably introduced him around at large gatherings, like the ones you went to, and by the time you met him, it seemed as if he was a close friend of her close friends.”

“We never socialized with those people.”

“There was probably a very good reason for that. Karen, listen. This man will do anything. If he tries to contact you, you’ve got to promise you won’t see him.”

She tilted her head at the car across the street. “How could I see him with my babysitter out there?”

“Don’t hedge. Your life could depend on it.”

“You honestly think I have anything at all to say to the man I just saw on that videotape?”

“I hope not.”

“But what if he calls?”

“Keep him talking. See if you can get him to agree to meet you. Then call the FBI and tell them when and where.”

“Fuck the FBI!”

“Okay. Call me then.” She wrote something on a card. “Call me if you hear from him. And whatever you do, don’t keep the appointment. Do I need to mention that?”

Karen stubbed out her butt in the ashtray. “You think I’m crazy? The only place I’m going is out for cigarettes.”

Skip pulled out another pack. “Brought you two. Just in case.”

Mr. Right was at his best in a crisis; as soon as the worst happened, it was like having a weight lifted from his shoulders. Right now, his mind was in high gear, juices flowing, thoughts coming so fast he could hardly process them. He felt alive. He should have seen it coming, the way the bitch had set him up. He toyed with the idea of killing her now, trying to make it look as if she and her mini-Tarzan had killed each other in a lover’s quarrel. But with Rosemarie dead, there was no chance in hell of getting his hands on any of his money— the blood money he’d earned by freeing her from husband number whatever-it-was.

His course of action was obvious. There was only one way out of this, and it was Karen. But he had to keep Rosemarie with him as a last resort. You always had to have a backup plan.

He said, “We don’t have time for anything fancy. Let’s just get out of here before the cops come and find Todd’s body. You game?”

Rosemarie said, “Where to, big fella?”

The way she talked made him nervous, way too cool for school. He didn’t know what else she had up her sleeve, but it was something. Now that she’d showed her ass, there was no question of that.

He said, “Got a nice plane we could gas up?”

She shook her head. “Fresh out of those.”

“Mexico, then. We’ll drive to Brownsville and find us a border to cross.” He was trying to match her cool.

She said lazily, “Jose Cuervo, you are a friend of mine.” She let it lie there a minute. “Only one problem. Do we steal a car or what?”

“Nope. We take one of yours.”

“No good. Plates.” Once again, she let it lie there, appeared to be thinking. He was ahead of her though.

He patted his briefcase. “Got an extra set. Right in here.”

She shrugged, as if they were going to the movies. “I’ll get my toothbrush.”

He put the gun back in the case, put the strap over his shoulder. “Uh-uh. No time. We’ll get one in Margaritaville.”

She got up lazily and started toward the door.

“Got your keys?” he said.

“I’ll get my purse.”
Not alone you won’t
, he thought, and dogged her footsteps.

They were already in the garage, he following with a show of meekness, when he slipped the gun out and cracked it over her skull. She gave a little sigh as she sank to the floor.

Okay
, he thought,
duct tape
. There had to be some; they were in a garage. There was a sort of workshop Todd or someone had set up in there. Of course there was tape. He found it quickly and bound her wrists and ankles, cutting the tape with his Swiss Army knife, and threw the rest of the roll into his briefcase. Then be made sure he had working keys and opened the trunk of her least noticeable car— a fairly late-model dark-colored sedan. There was nothing much in it but jumper cables and a can of gasoline. He left them both. Never knew when you might need a Molotov cocktail. And the cables were a big set with little teeth on them; they’d hurt like hell with an arm, say, pressed between them. Excellent for persuading purposes.

Working at top speed, he changed the plates and shoved Rosemarie in the trunk, first taping her lying mouth in case she regained consciousness.

Then he barreled out of there, reaching after a few blocks for his last unused cell phone, the one in which he’d programmed his emergency numbers, Rosemarie’s and the one for the phone he’d given Karen. Dialing, he had no doubt in the world that his wife would answer.

On the fourth ring, she said, “David! Dear God, David, what’s going on? I’ve spent the morning at the federal building. They arrested me, David. My uncle had to bail me out.”

They’d moved fast. Much faster than he would have thought.

“It’s okay, baby. Look, it’s okay. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“They stormed in with guns and everything. Jesus, David, it’s about you; that’s all I know. They said you’re dangerous and I shouldn’t even talk to you, but…”

“But what? You love me, don’t you?”

“Oh, hell, David, I’m so scared!”

“Honey, you’ve got to hang on. You’ve got to be really brave and really, really cool. It’s okay; it’s really okay. I’ll get us out of this. I had no idea they’d go this far. It’s all a setup. You know that, don’t you? You know I love you. I was getting too powerful, that’s all. They had to do something to stop me. But it’s too late, you understand? Look, I’ve got some very important people working with me. We’ll get out of this, you know that don’t you? Sweetheart?”

“What?”

“You love me?”

“David, they say you’re somebody else.”

Oh, Christ.
“Baby, am I your Mr. Right? How could I be somebody else?”

The line was quiet.

“Karen?”

“What?”

“Listen, I’m on my way home. Everything’s going to be fine. We’ll work it all out.” This was a test. Her reaction might tell him something.

“No! Oh, God, don’t! I’m at my uncle’s. They’ve probably got our house set up like a command post. You can’t go there.” That was a good sign.

“Karen, you’ve really got to be reasonable. I didn’t want to tell you this, but some very high-up people are backing me. It’s okay. I’ll just go home and…”

“They’ll shoot you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s our house. They can’t shoot a man in his own house.”

“David, you can’t go there.”

“Okay, okay. Why don’t we meet someplace else? We’ll just call the police from wherever it is, and, by then, everything will be all set up for the stupid feds to call off their dogs, and we can just put our feet up till our friends give us the word. And then we can go home. Together.”

“Look, David. You really have no idea of the scope of this thing.”

“And you really have no idea of the scope of my operation—
our
operation— sweetie pie. Remember what we talked about?” He made his voice turn to velvet. “It’s already in motion— has been for a long time. Just trust me, okay? How about your office? Why don’t you just go to the Right Woman office, and I’ll be there, and we’ll just ride this thing out together.”

“My office?” She sounded like a zombie.

“The storm troopers aren’t there, are they?”

“No. At least I don’t think so. But they’re here. I can’t get away.”

“Oh, yes you can. I’ve got an idea.”

She didn’t speak, was probably too numb to answer him.

“I know a place they won’t go.” He outlined his plan. “What do you think?”

“Omigod,” she said. “You’re a genius. I’d never in a million years have thought of something like that.”

“Just trust me, baby. Trust me, and do what I say, and we’ll be together real soon.”

* * *

Skip had left the McLeans’ house with a bad feeling. Exactly what was causing it she wasn’t sure, except the near-mythic way Jacomine loomed in her consciousness. He had no notion of his own limitations. He’d try to contact Karen, there was no question in her mind. But the question was this: Was Karen enough of a fool to believe the line of garbage he was bound to try to feed her?

She didn’t seem a fool. Skip liked her. But she did seem a victim. Skip wished to hell she knew more about that baby thing.

She went out and got in her rented car and sat there. The two feds watching Karen probably saw her, but she was betting they’d leave her alone.

Karen didn’t even bother to check the street when she came out some twenty minutes later, probably trying to put on a casual show for the feds. She was still in her jeans and tank top, carrying a huge straw tote, clearly meant for the beach.

She got in her car and started driving. The feds followed. Skip followed the feds. The caravan they made would have been comical seen from a satellite. On the ground, it probably wasn’t even noticeable. If the feds knew she was there, they evidently didn’t care.

Bigger fish to fry
, Skip thought.

Karen drove down Preston Road, past a huge, high-fenced area that looked like some oil man’s private estate. She took a right on Mockingbird Lane and in half a block, another right driving through a gate in the high fence she’d been following. A plaque on the wall said Dallas Country Club. The feds followed her in, past tennis courts on the left, a golf court on the right. On the other side of the tennis courts was a large parking lot for the clubhouse. Karen parked, unloaded her straw tote, which, Skip now saw was piled high with towels. She sauntered up to the clubhouse and sidestepped to the left where she looked down, called something to someone, and then entered the clubhouse. One of the feds got out of the car, ran to the place where she’d yelled to someone, and then followed Karen into the building. The other moved the car to a side entrance. If she came out there, the driver had her, but he could also see the front of the building.

Skip parked, got out, and approached the building. She saw that to the left was a stairway down to a pool. Evidently Karen had yelled to someone there, perhaps along the lines of “see you in a minute.”

Skip had three choices that she could see: watch Karen’s car, follow the fed following Karen, or try something else. Well, hell, if she waited here, she could see Karen’s car, the FBI car, and the pool area. If Karen came out for a swim, she could watch without being noticed.

Karen hadn’t even had time to change to her swimsuit before the pedestrian fed scooted out, looking around wildly for his buddy. Evidently, Karen had escaped— or had made him think she had.

To wait for her here or follow the feds? Maybe they knew something she didn’t. She opted for following.