Five O’Clock Shadow (9 page)

“You wouldn't have if you'd known?”

“Maybe not…no, I've always wanted to have children.”

Steve touched her arm again but this time left his hand there.

“There were even wills that I'd never seen before and a pre-nuptial agreement, and an affair with a woman at work who's now my secretary.”

“The guy was a real winner.”

Pauly nodded and then, after a moment's thought, decided not to tell him about the money, the almost million of unknown origin. More than anything else she'd shared, the money made Randy look guilty of something, some bribe, maybe connected with work. It was an area that she didn't allow herself to dwell on.

“Want to know something else strange? There was a child in the gondola.”

“When?”

“When it crashed, a young boy tumbled out almost at my feet. He couldn't have been more than that far in front of me.” She gestured from where she was sitting to the wall. “Talk about strange. Poor thing was scared to death.”

“Can you describe this child?”

“Hispanic. Probably seven to ten years of age. I remember him as young but wise somehow, worldly.” Pauly leaned forward. “I'd never put it into words before but he had one of those old faces for a child. Knowing, like he'd been around.”

“You're sure about male?”

“I think so. A pretty child, could have been female—but he ran like a boy. The detectives think he may have caught a ride, been stranded on a sandbar, and the pilot picked him up. He was lucky.”

“Had you ever seen Randy with this boy before?”

“He wasn't ‘with' this one. There's no connection with Randy. The pilot landed momentarily, taking the child on board…you make it sound…I don't know…like it was planned.”

“Do you think it could have been?” Steve was sitting forward now, watching her.

“That Randy set up a time to meet this kid on a sandbar in the middle of the Rio Grande on a Sunday morning, the last day of his honeymoon? And…oh yes…told him not to bother to wear clothing in freezing weather? What do you think?”

She sounded snide, exasperated. She felt exasperated. She was getting tired of twenty questions and her watch said two o'clock. It hadn't been in her plans to take a long lunch the first day at work.

Steve seemed preoccupied on the way back, but dropped her off at her car to change shoes and said he'd see her later back at Grams. She ran up the front steps hoping the stick of spearmint masked any beer-breath. It'd probably be best not to breathe on anyone just as a precaution, wouldn't want to fuel any ‘new partner as souse' rumors.

She pushed open the door to her office. If anything, the boxes had multiplied. It was almost defeating before she even got started. She put her coat in the cloak closet and told Noralee she didn't want to be disturbed in her best authoritative voice, and closed the door behind her.

Then she settled cross-legged on the floor, took a deep breath, and scooted the first box of folders closer. The going was slow. For some reason there was duplication of materials. She sorted through, stacking papers by topic in like piles before putting one set in the file cabinet. When the first drawer was full, she made tabs before going on. Three boxes contained legal descriptions and maps. She pulled out the ones she thought might be of real help to her and filed the others. The maps filled another drawer and a half.

Somewhere in one of the boxes marked “things from desk” Pauly found a packet of tracing paper. Old-fashioned, almost see-through, tissue flimsy—but just perfect for lifting a signature. Had he used this very paper for her will and the prenuptial agreement? He hadn't thrown it away. But why would he? There was every possibility that he didn't expect to be dead when it was found. Still, a packet of paper didn't really make him guilty—-strong implication, but not a conviction.

If this were the movies, she could have a dialogue with the deceased. Yell a few obscenities, stomp around, get her anger out. She missed that. She was beginning to wonder if “just plain pissed” was one of the longest stages that she'd have to work through. And was there a short cut? If one party was missing, did the dissolution of a relationship go faster or slower?
Lots slower
was her guess.

“Will you be here for awhile? Should I leave the coffee pot on?” Noralee leaned in the door.

Pauly looked up from her barricade of papers on the floor. Was it five already?

“Yeah. I'll empty it later after I dig into all this. I'm going to make up a little time for having had a long lunch.”

“Would you mind switching off the copier when you go?”

“No problem. Noralee, just out of curiosity, why do you think Randy kept tracing paper in his desk?”

“Beats me. Something to do with the project probably, reproducing a part of a map. Don't work too late.” And she was gone. Pauly could hear the staccato click of her heels on the tile, then nothing as the carpeted area around the reception desk muffled her steps.

She got up to adjust the long green glass shade of the desk lamp so that its light was cast directly onto the floor and the stacks of papers in front of her. It was almost dark; going off daylight savings time did that—turned a nice sunny afternoon into dusk far too early. She wanted to go through five more boxes, at least five, before she quit. The more she did now the less she'd have to face in the morning.

It wasn't going as quickly as she'd hoped, but she had to be thorough, check every file, every folder. It would save her time later. And she was getting acquainted with the project. So when she came to the five by seven envelope addressed to a South Valley congressman, she set it aside. The correct postage had already been metered on. The machine-date on the envelope was the day before the wedding—Randy's last full day in the office. It was odd that Randy hadn't just left it in the mail room to go out with that day's business correspondence. Why would he run it through the meter and then not mail it? Could he have been a little muddled by the excitement and rush of those last couple days before he got married? It would have been easy to forget something.

And she could just drop the envelope in the mail now. But wasn't that stupid? She had no idea whether the envelope contained finished or unfinished business. Whether a month later it was still pertinent. She carried the envelope to the desk and picked up a letter opener. She was the partner acting on Randy's behalf, it wasn't like she was snooping. It would be a simple matter to check the contents and make a new envelope, if necessary. The letter opener made a clean cut across the flap. She pulled out the contents and stared. Then she let the photos drop onto the desk and reminded herself to breathe.

There were three photos. No note. No markings of any kind. She checked the envelope. The address label had been produced on a laser printer. Here at the office? There was no way of knowing. There was no return, nothing to link it to the corporation.

But the photos. Her mind was refusing to acknowledge what was in front of her. Two children. Males about eight or ten. Dark skin, dark eyes. Lithe frames. Frontal view. Both nude. The second photo, same children, both engaged in…what would she call it? Not sexual acts exactly. But highly suggestive, provocative posturing…and an older man in the background lying on a chaise, his face obscured in the shadows of an oriental screen. But older? Yes. There was no mistaking the thin ankles, mound of a pot belly, slack skin across the hairless chest, his full nakedness blocked by his companions.

Her hands shook. She gingerly aligned the pictures side by side and picked up the third photo, the photo of a dark, curly-haired child, nude, looking into the camera, coy, lips parted, tongue resting on small white bottom teeth. He was playing up to the photographer, giving the camera a come-on look, sultry far beyond his years. A worldly look. Certainly the sex of the apparition in the balloon was no longer in doubt because here he was, fondling his genitals and hugging his teddy bear. The teddy bear that now sat on her dresser at home.

What was it Steve had asked her? “Had you ever seen Randy with this child before?” And she'd dismissed it. Couldn't even think of a connection. Now this. It was pretty obvious that Randy had known this child. Maybe he'd known him in a little more complete sense of the word.

No. She stopped herself from thinking that. She couldn't have been so stupid, so blindly in love that she didn't see the signs. Randy simply could not have been a pedophile. But weren't there hints? His low-key sex drive, almost a lack of libido sometimes…not wanting children of his own unless he could adopt, not marrying until later….

But why had he married at all? She'd teased him about saying he'd “had to get married.” Had she been the cover-up, something to divert attention from his real sexual preference? It was all here in front of her. What other signs had she missed—or ignored—in the name of love?

For a moment she was paralyzed. Then in a frenzy, she pushed the pictures together in a pile with the envelope and stuffed everything into her purse. Only after she had let the black shoulder bag drop to the floor did she take a breath, trying to slow her heartbeat. Relax. Breathe in. Breathe out.

She worked at keeping the questions, the whats and whys, from pushing to the forefront. Then finally gave up as they tumbled over one another for her attention. What if Randy was involved in child porn? Could he have been selling these pictures? What if he had a string of victims? The children in the other pictures, were they part of some porn ring?

The money. The million sitting in the bank. Her knees buckled and she clutched the edge of the desk. Could it have come from this? This perversion? Was this man involved?

The one who was supposed to receive this envelope, Congressman Sosimo Garcia, one of the state's political leaders?

Suddenly, a tiny, darting, pricking point of fear became insistent, pushing other thoughts aside. What were the consequences of her discovery? Would she be safe as long as people thought she didn't know? She rubbed her temples. Couldn't Randy have been killed because of this? Maybe because of what he was?

She'd have to be careful. There was little doubt that her life depended upon that. This was the stuff that ruined careers. And she could quickly become expendable. Of that, she was certain. She switched off the desk lamp and grabbed her bag. She needed to leave…the office suddenly seemed to be closing in on her.

“You're still here. I thought we'd missed you. I didn't see any lights.”

Pauly wished she hadn't cried out when Archer opened the door.

“We didn't mean to startle you. I expected to find an empty office.”

The light from the secretary's area pushed into the room and made the stacks of boxes and litter of papers cast elongated shadows up the walls. Didn't Grams use this same principle of lighting objects from behind in her haunted houses? The effect made everything loom up and appear ominous.

“Just leaving. I need a break. Wouldn't want you to think I'll work till six every day.” She hoped she sounded light and chatty. She moved from behind the desk and didn't offer to turn a light on.

“Well, glad we caught you. Pauly, this is Congressman Sosimo Garcia.”

Her heart seemed to stop. A small Hispanic man stepped into the room and bowed slightly. A bow—how provincial—but it didn't erase the feeling of panic. This was the man. The man who was supposed to receive pictures of nude boys. But more than that. This was the man in the photo, the man on the chaise. She'd swear to it. She smiled. Without thinking her hand moved to zip the top of her bag, her sweaty palm slipping across the leather. She had to protect the pictures, but for the moment she fought to keep the terror from making her nauseous. She set her purse behind her on the desk and stepped forward.

“Congressman Garcia. How nice to meet you.” Was her hand moist? Shaking? Did her voice really sound tinny and forced?

“My pleasure.” He was studying her. With small dark eyes that raked over her features. What did he expect to find? Somewhat boldly, she stared back. Intuition told her that this was a test of survival.

Archer seemed flustered. Nervous. He walked to the switch on the wall and squinted as a shock of fluorescent light glared down from the ceiling.

“Congressman Garcia was expecting a package. Results of a test on the community well south of Parjarito. Randy had promised that it would be in the mail. I don't suppose you've found anything addressed to the congressman?”

There it was. Out in the open. The congressman's eyes didn't waver, just continued to bore into her looking for one slip-up, one cause for suspicion. Pauly forced a laugh. “I apologize for the mess, but I've just gotten started looking through all this. It's my first day back.” She paused to smile apologetically and prayed that she sounded sincere. “I haven't come across an envelope so far. When I find it, should I drop it in the mail or call?”

“Just leave it with me,” Archer said quickly. “Sosimo and I have lunch every once in awhile.”

“I can see why Randall was so bewitched. His widow is a very beautiful woman.” Sosimo's voice was soft, caressing. Just the tiny hint of a lilt to go with his very Spanish features, the probably dyed, too-black hair and matching pencil-thin mustache. “I regarded your husband very highly. Truly a man cut down in his prime. You have my promise that I will do everything in my power to see his murderer brought to justice.”

A lie. A lie from unblinking eyes and mask of kindness. Pauly wanted to scream, lash out, but she simply swallowed, looked down and murmured her thank you. She feigned collecting herself before glancing up and added sweetly, “It's important to me that justice is done.”

“Have the police been helpful?” Suddenly all business, the congressman's voice had a clipped no-nonsense edge. “If not, I have some modest amount of influence. I could help, have my office look into the matter.” He was watching her intently again.