“If the letters were from Beryl Madison, why would Miss Harper burn them?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, and I knew Ethridge was thinking about his nemesis Sparacino again.
Sparacino had moved quickly. I had seen the lawsuit, all thirty-three pages of it. Sparacino was suing me, the police, the governor. The last time I had checked in with Rose, she had informed me that People magazine had called, and one of its photographers was out front taking pictures of my building the other day after being refused entrance beyond the lobby. I was becoming notorious. I was also becoming expert at refusing comment and making myself scarce.
“You think we’re dealing with a psycho, don’t you?” Ethridge asked me point-blank.
Orange acrylic fiber connected with hijackers or not, that was what I thought, and I told him so.
He looked down at his half-eaten food and when he lifted his eyes I was undone by what I saw in them. Sadness, disappointment. A terrible reluctance.
“Kay,” he began, “there’s no easy way to say this to you.”
I reached for a biscuit.
“You need to know. No matter what is really going on or why, no matter your beliefs and private opinions, you need to hear this.”
I decided I would rather smoke than eat, and got out my cigarettes.
“I have a contact. Suffice it to say he is privy to Justice Department activities–”
“This is about Sparacino,” I interrupted.
“It’s about Mark James,” he said.
I couldn’t have been more unnerved had the attorney general just sworn at me.
I asked, “What about Mark?”
“I’m wondering if I should ask you that, Kay.”
“What do you mean, exactly?”
“The two of you were seen together in New York several weeks ago. At Gallagher’s.”
An awkward pause as he coughed and added inanely, “I haven’t been there in years.”
I stared at the smoke drifting up from my cigarette.
“As I remember it, the steaks are pretty good….”
“Stop it, Tom,” I said quietly.
“A lot of good-hearted Irishmen in that place who don’t hold back on the booze or the banter–”
“Stop it, goddamn it,” I said a little too loudly.
Senator Partin stared straight at our table, his eyes mildly curious as they briefly alighted on Ethridge, then me. Our waiter was suddenly pouring more coffee and inquiring if we needed anything. I was uncomfortably warm.
“Don’t bullshit me, Tom,” I said. “Who saw me?”
He waved it off. “What matters is how you know him.”
“I’ve known him for a very long time.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Since law school.”
“You were close?”
“Yes.”
“Lovers?”
“Jesus, Tom.”
“I’m sorry, Kay. It’s important.”
Dabbing his lips with his napkin, he reached for his coffee, his eyes drifting around the dining room. Ethridge was very ill at ease. “Let’s just say that the two of you were together most of the night in New York. At the Omni.”
My cheeks were burning.
“I don’t give a damn about your personal life, Kay. I doubt anybody else does, either. Except in this one instance. You see, I’m very sorry.”
He cleared his throat, finally giving me his eyes again. “Dammit. Mark’s pal, Sparacino, is being investigated by the Justice Department–”
“His pal?”
“It’s very serious, Kay,” Ethridge went on. “I don’t know what Mark James was like when you knew him in law school, but I do know what’s become of him since. I know his record. After you were spotted with him, I did some investigating. He got in serious trouble in Tallahassee seven years ago. Racketeering. Fraud. Crimes for which he was convicted and for which he actually spent time in prison. It was after all this that he ended up with Sparacino, who is suspected of being tied in with organized crime.”
I felt as if a vise were rapidly squeezing the blood from my heart, and I must have become pale because Ethridge quickly handed me my glass of water and waited patiently until I composed myself. But when I met his eyes again, he picked up where he had interrupted his damaging testimony.
“Mark has never worked for Orndorff & Berger, Kay. The firm has never even heard of him. Which doesn’t surprise me. Mark James couldn’t possibly practice law. He was disbarred. It appears he is simply Sparacino’s personal aide.”