“I fail to see how this is connected to what’s happened to Mrs. Harvey’s daughter,” I said again.
“Start with this. If you were at cross-purposes with the FBI,” Abby said, “and maybe even doing battle with them, how would you feel if your daughter disappeared and the FBI was working the case?”
It was not a pleasant thought. “Justified or not, I would feel very vulnerable and paranoid. I suppose it would be hard for me to trust.”
“You’ve just skimmed the surface of Pat Harvey’s feelings. I think she really believes that someone used her daughter to get to her, that Deborah’s not the victim of a random crime, but a hit. And she’s not sure that the FBI isn’t involved “Let me get this straight,” I said, stopping her. “Are: you implying that Pat Harvey is suspicious the FBI is behind the deaths of her daughter and Fred?”
“It’s entered her mind that the feds are involved.”
“Are you going to tell me that you’re entertaining this notion yourself?”
“I’m to the point of believing anything.”
“Good God,” I muttered under my breath.
“I know how off-the-wall it sounds. But if nothing else, I believe the FBI knows what’s going on and maybe even knows who’s doing it, and that’s why I’m a problem. The feds don’t want me snooping around. They’re worried I might turn over a rock and find out what’s really crawling underneath it.”
“If that’s the case,” I reminded her, “then it would seem to me the Post would be offering you a raise, not sending you over to features. It’s never been my impression that the Post is easily intimidated.”
“I’m not Bob Woodward,” she replied bitterly. “I haven’t been there very long, and the police beat is chicken shit, usually where rookies get their feet wet. If the Director of the FBI or someone in the White House wants to talk lawsuits or diplomacy with the powers to be at the Post, I’m not going to be invited in on the meeting or necessarily told what’s going on.”
She was probably right about that, I thought. If Abby’s demeanor in the newsroom was anything like it was now, it was unlikely anyone was eager to deal with her. In fact, I wasn’t sure I was surprised she had been relieved of her beat.
“I’m sorry, Abby,” I said. “Maybe I could understand politics being a factor in Deborah Harvey’s case, but the others? How do the other couples fit? The first couple disappeared two and a half years before Deborah and Fred did.”
“Kay,” she said fiercely, “I don’t know the answers.
But I swear to God something is being covered up. Something the FBI, the government, doesn’t want the public ever to find out. You mark my words, even if these killings stop, the cases will never be solved if the FBI has its way about it. That’s what I’m up against. And that’s what you’re up against.”
Finishing her drink, she added “And maybe that would be all right – as long as the killings stopped. But the problem is, when will they stop’ And could they have been stopped before now?”
“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked bluntly.
“We’re talking about innocent teenage kids who are turning up dead. Not to mention the obvious – I trust you. And maybe I need a friend.”
“You’re going to continue with the book?”
“Yes. I just hope there will be a final chapter to write.”
“Please be careful, Abby.”
“Believe me,” she said, “I know.”
When we left the bar it was dark out and very cold. My „ mind was in turmoil as we were jostled along crowded sidewalks, and 1 felt no better as I made the drive back ‘, to Richmond. I wanted to talk to Pat Harvey, but I did not dare. I wanted to talk to Wesley, but I knew he would not divulge his secrets to me, were there any, and more than ever I was unsure of our friendship. . The minute I was home, I called Marino.
“Where in South Carolina does Hilda Ozimek live?” I asked.
“Why? What did you find out at the Smithsonian?”