In moments I was heading down the snowy drive, south toward my home
(which had been hopefully put back together). I pushed the pace,
mesmerized by the snow, and tried to decide what to do next. The thug
Ramos had stolen some second-generation interview footage from me, but
now I had a tape of something a lot more interesting.
When I pulled into my street, the time was just past eleven and I was
thinking about calling Lou, or Steve, or both. But then I saw something
odd. A woman was walking down the steps from the lobby of my building,
a woman I recognized from somewhere.
Her hair was tangled and she was wearing black jeans and a black
sweater. It took a second before I finally processed the fact it was
Carly Grove. And she seemed frantic. I assumed she'd come in a cab, but
she had my home phone number, so why would she come over if I didn't
answer? New Yorkers don't just drop in. A social no-no.
Maybe the reason had something to do with how she looked. I felt like I
was seeing a specter.
"Thank God you're here," she blurted out, striding up. She was actually
shaking, and I could tell she'd been crying. Nothing like the gutsy
woman I'd seen a few days earlier. "I kept getting your machine, but I
thought maybe you were hiding."
I looked at her, and forgot all about my own issues. It was hard to
remember ever seeing a human being in such distress, except for Sarah.
"Why would I be hiding?" I was taking out the Betacam bag and closing
my car door, hoping to seem normal and professional.
"They called me about six o'clock tonight. Children of Light." She
could barely get the words out. "They'd seen my interview with you. How
did they get it?"
I looked down at the snowy--make that slushy--street and felt a chill
go through me, followed immediately by anger. Ramos, that bastard.
"They . . . Somebody took a copy this morning." Stated like that, it
sounded pretty lame. "I'm so sorry--"
"He threatened Kevin. He actually said if I signed a release to let you
use the film, my child would 'meet with an accident.' And then he said
something about you, that your own--"
"Who? Who called you? Did he tell you his--?"
"He wouldn't give a name. Just some man. He had a foreign accent." She
threw her arms around me, and I hugged her back as best I could.
"Where's Kevin now?" I was so concerned about Carly that I'd repressed
the information that he'd also mentioned me.
"Marcy was there, so I told her to take him with her. To her mother's
place in the Bronx, where she lives." Carly was still trembling as she
loosened her grip on me. "I called a car service to drive them up."
"Well, come on in. Let's talk." Truthfully, I wasn't sure how much I
wanted to tell her about what I'd just seen at Quetzal Manor. It would
probably just distress her more. Where had Kevin come from? Did I
really want to de-legitimize him in her eyes?
As I led her through the lobby, hoping to appear composed, Patrick
Mooney greeted us, announcing that his sister, Rosalyn, had been gone
for an hour and that she appreciated my memorable tip.
The place looked like nothing had happened, and Carly immediately
collapsed onto my "earth-tone" couch. I hadn't told her my apartment
had been tossed along with the robbery and, thanks to Rosalyn, I didn't
need to. In fact, it actually looked cleaner than it had in months.
Maybe, I thought, I should reprioritize my life and hire her more often.
Then I got a glass of water for Carly and sat down next to her.
"I'm really sorry," I began, deeply meaning it. "If I'd known all this
was going to happen, I'd never--"
"It's not your fault." She took a long drink. I hadn't bothered with
ice, and I immediately felt I'd been inhospitable. Kind of a vagrant,
minor concern, considering. Then she went on. "I guess I knew down deep
I shouldn't have given you that interview. But I wanted the world to
know about Kevin. Now, though . . . should I call the police or
something?"
The short answer to that was yes, but my mind was already skipping on
to a different topic.
"Carly, do you know where Kevin came from? Really came from? Did you
ever actually try to find out?"
She sighed and took another sip.
"I told you I don't care. When they brought him, all pink and helpless,
I just--"
"Who brought him?" I interrupted.
"Well, I'd been up there the day before, signing all the papers. I was
supposed to go up that day, but then somebody called and said one of
the girls who was staying in the clinic or whatever it is was bringing
him to me. So don't come."
"You're saying one of the girls--?"
"Yeah." She looked wistful for a moment, as though remembering. "Then
she just showed up, looked like some blond college dropout. I guess a
little more fanfare would've been nice, but Marcy was there to help me
and that was it. That's the last contact I ever had with Children of
Light." She shuddered involuntarily. "Till now."
Well, I thought, the last thing I'm going to do is tell her about what
I just saw. She's the ideal customer for Alex Goddard: She truly
doesn't want to know details.
"Carly, there's not much I can do about what's already happened, but I
can try to keep you from getting into any more trouble. Why don't you
call them in the morning and tell them you've yelled at me and
rescinded your permission for Applecore to use the film? And say I've
promised I won't. You've threatened to sue me or something. That should
get you off the hook."
"You really think so?" Her look brightened slightly.
"Yes, it's me they're worried about, not you. I represent some threat
to them, because of the film I'm making. Just bail out and you'll be
okay."
"Thanks. I did get the feeling that's all they really want." She took
another drink of water. "But if they wanted to scare me, they're doing
a hell of a good job."
"Well, then, why not take Kevin and go away for a couple of weeks? On a
vacation someplace? And while you're doing that, I'm going to have a
one-on-one with Alex Goddard. I've got a little leverage now."