“What a way to ruin a perfectly good holiday,” Traynor said to his wife. “I hate these picnics.”
“Fiddlesticks!” Jacqueline snorted. “You don’t fool me for a second.” She was a petite woman, mildly overweight, who dressed inordinately conservatively. She was wearing a white hat, white gloves, and heels even though the outing was a cookout with corn, steamed clams, and Maine lobster.
“What are you talking about?” Traynor asked as he pulled to a stop and turned off the ignition.
“I know how much you love these hospital affairs, so don’t play martyr with me. You love basking in the limelight. You play your part of Mr. Chairman of the Board to the hilt.”
Traynor eyed his wife indignantly. Their marriage was filled with antagonism, and it was his routine to lash back, but he held his tongue. Jacqueline was right about the picnic, and it irritated him that over their twenty-one years of marriage, she’d come to know him so well.
“What’s the story?” Jacqueline asked. “Are we going to the affair or not?”
Traynor grunted and got out of the car.
As they trudged back along the line of parked cars, Traynor saw Beaton who waved and started to come to meet them. She was with Wayne Robertson, the chief of police, and Traynor immediately suspected something was wrong.
“How convenient,” Jacqueline said, seeing Beaton approach. “Here comes one of your biggest sycophants.”
“Shut up, Jacqueline!” Traynor snarled under his breath.
“I’ve got some bad news,” Beaton said without preamble.
“Why don’t you head over to the tent and get some refreshments,” Traynor told Jacqueline. He gave her a nudge. After she tossed Beaton a disparaging look, she left.
“She seems less than happy to be here this morning,” Beaton commented.
Traynor gave a short laugh of dismissal. “What’s the bad news?”
“I’m afraid there was another assault on a nurse last night,” Beaton said. “Or rather, this morning. The woman was raped.”
“Damn it all!” Traynor snarled. “Was it the same guy?”
“We believe so,” Robertson said. “Same description. Also the same ski mask. This time the weapon was a gun rather than a knife, but he still had the handcuffs. He also forced her into the trees which is what he’s done in the past.”
“I’d hoped the lighting would have prevented it,” Traynor said.
“It might have,” Beaton said hesitantly.
“What do you mean?” Traynor demanded.
“The assault occurred in the upper lot, where there are no lights. As you remember, we illuminated only the lower lot to save money.”
“Who knows about this rape?” Traynor asked.
“Not very many people,” Beaton said. “I took it upon myself to contact George O’Donald at the Bartlet Sun, and he’s agreed to keep it out of the paper. So we might get a break. I know the victim’s not about to tell many people.”
“I’d like to keep it away from CMV if it’s at all possible,” Traynor said.
“I think this underlines how much we need that new garage,” Beaton said.
“We need it, but we might not get it,” Traynor said. “That’s my bad news for tonight’s executive meeting. My old nemesis, Jeb Wiggins, has changed his mind. Worse still, he’s convinced the Board of Selectmen that the new garage is a bad idea. He’s got them all convinced it would be an eyesore.”
“Is that the end of the project?” Beaton asked.
“It’s not the end, but it’s a blow,” Traynor admitted. “I’ll be able to get it on the ballot again, but once something like this gets turned down, it’s hard to resurrect it. Maybe this rape, as bad as it is, could be the catalyst we need to get it to pass.”
Traynor turned to Robertson. Traynor could see two bloated images of himself in Robertson’s mirrored sunglasses. “Can’t the police do anything?” he asked.
“Short of putting a deputy up there on a nightly basis,” Robertson said, “there’s not much we can do. I already have my men sweep the lots with their lights whenever they’re in the area.”
“Where’s the hospital security man, Patrick Swegler?” Traynor asked.
“I’ll get him,” Robertson said. He jogged off toward the pond.
“Are you ready for tonight?” Traynor asked once Robertson was out of earshot.