“I see what you’re suggesting. If his was the only car in this lot, and it remained out here for hours late at night, chances are a trooper might have spotted it and called it in.”
“That’s a big chance to take if you’re in the process of committing a crime,” I added.
She thought for a moment. “You know, what bothers me is that the entire scenario is random but not random. Deborah and Fred’s stopping at the rest stop was random. If they happened to encounter someone bad here – or even inside the 7-Eleven, such as the guy buying coffee – that seems random. But there’s premeditation, too. Forethought. If someone abducted them, it seems like he knew what he was doing.”
I did not respond.
I was thinking about what Wesley had said. A political connection. Or an assailant who went through a lot of dry runs. Assuming that the couple had not chosen to disappear, then I did not see how the outcome could be anything but tragic.
Abby put the car in gear.
It wasn’t until we were on the Interstate and she was setting the cruise control that she spoke again. “You think they’re dead, don’t you?”
“Are you asking for a quote?”
“No, Kay. I’m not asking for a quote. You want to know the truth? Right now I don’t give a damn about this story. I just want to know what the hell’s going on.”
“Because you’re worried about yourself.”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“Yes. If I thought my phones were tapped, that I was being tailed, I would be worried, Abby. And speaking of worried, it’s late. You’re exhausted. It’s ridiculous for you to drive back to Washington tonight.”
She glanced over at me.
“I’ve got plenty of room. You can head out first thing in the morning.”
“Only if you’ve got an extra toothbrush, something 1 can sleep in, and don’t mind if I pillage your bar.”
Leaning back in the seat, I shut my eyes and muttered, “You can get drunk, if you want. In fact, I might just join you.”
When we walked into my house at midnight, the telephone started ringing, and I answered it before my machine could.
“Kay? ” At first, the voice did not register because I was not expecting it. Then my heart began to pound.
“Hello, Mark,” I said.
“I’m sorry to call so late – ” I could not keep the tension out of my voice as I interrupted. “I have company. I’m sure you remember my mentioning my friend Abby Turnbull, with the Post? She’s here staying the night. We’ve been having a wonderful time catching up.”
Mark did not respond. After a pause, he said, “Maybe it would be easier for you to call me, when it suits.”
When I hung up, Abby was staring at me, startled by my obvious distress.
“Who in God’s name was that, Kay?”
My first months at Georgetown I was so overwhelmed by law school and feelings of alienation that I kept my own counsel and distance from others. I was already an M.D., a middle-class Italian from Miami with very little exposure to the finer things in life. Suddenly I found myself cast among the brilliant and beautiful, and though I am not ashamed of my heritage, I felt socially common.
Mark James was one of the privileged, a tall, graceful figure, self-assured and self-contained. I was aware of him long before I knew his name. We first met in the law library between dimly lit shelves of books, and I will never forget his intense green eyes as we began to discus some tort I cannot recall. We ended up drinking coffee in a bar and talking until early in the morning. After that we saw each other almost every day. For a year we did not sleep, it seemed, for even when we slept together our lovemaking did not permit many, hours of rest. No matter how much we got of each other it was never enough, and foolishly, typically, I was convinced we would be together forever. I refused to accept the chill of disappointment that settled over the our relationship during our second year. When I graduated wearing someone else’s engagement ring, I had convinced myself that I had gotten over Mark, until he mysteriously reappeared not so long ago.