Russell Andrews - Aphrodite

"So, anyway…Ohhh, just a drop lower… ohhh yeahhhh… ohhhhhh…there's a mention about Louise getting pregnant." She looked down at her notes. "Here it is. There's a reference to it in Time magazine in 1974. She's eight months' pregnant. April, 'seventy-four."

"So?"

"There's no mention of a child anywhere else."

"Maybe they're protective parents, worried about the kid's privacy."

"No, no, no. No way. Too rich, too famous. Too visible. It would be like Donald Trump's kid, whether they wanted it to be or not. Page six, the whole deal. No way."

"Maybe Louise miscarried."

"She made it through eight months. Seems unlikely. There were no stories to indicate she was ill or having a tough time."

"Then maybe the kid died at birth."

"Maybe. Could be. But I don't think so," Deena said. "There's some reference-hold on-in an interview in Parade… here. In 'ninety-five. So, twenty years later. The reporter asks her about children and Louise says, 'Well, you know, our daughter died. And after that, we never felt up to having another child.'"

"The daughter still could have died in childbirth."

"I don't know. It's just a funny way of putting it. 'Our daughter.' It makes her sound like she was alive. More than that. Part of the family."

"That's it?" Justin asked.

Deena stiffened. "You told me to note anything that seemed odd. Well, that seems odd to me. If there's anything that can change or define a parent, it's losing a-" She saw his head snap back as if he'd been slapped. She reached out for him. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Jay. I didn't think. I wasn't thinking about you at all. I'm sorry."

He cleared his throat, let the tension in his shoulders relax. "No, no," he said. "It's fine. You're right, though. There isn't anything quite like it. And it's worth checking out." He reached for the phone.

"Who are you calling?" Deena asked.

"Billy DiPezio."

"It's two-fifteen."

"He's just getting started." She heard the phone ring, then someone pick up on the other end. "It's Jay," he said into the receiver. "Where are you?… Nice. Does your wife ever mind that you never come home?… I'd like you to check something else out. I want to know if there's a birth certificate for Douglas Kransten's and Louise Marshall's baby. Should have been born in April or May of 'seventy-four. Not sure. If I had to guess, I'd say New York. I also want to see if there's a record of the kid's death…Billy, let me ask you something. I'm stone-cold sober and I'm barely going to remember talking to you tomorrow. You're in a strip club, on what, your sixth scotch-okay, seventh: How the hell are you going to remember every detail of this conversation?… Yeah, I know you always do. I just want to know your secret…Oh, okay. Thanks. You know where I am." Justin hung up, turned to Deena.

"So what's his secret?" she asked.

"Dirty living, he said."

She nodded at the large bed. "Think the Rutherfords'll mind if we join him?"

Justin smiled. "You don't know the Rutherfords," he told her. "They're going to want pictures." The phone woke them up at seven o'clock.

"Jay?"

He coughed out a half-asleep response.

"It's Wanda. I…I didn't think I'd get you directly."

"Life's full of surprises. What's up?"

"I'm just calling to say that I haven't gotten any information yet."

"Oh," Justin said, managing to open his eyes. "Okay. Maybe next time you can call a little earlier to tell me that. Like around five."

"Have you found anything?"

"Nope. Haven't learned a thing. Until you get me what I asked for, I'm stuck."

"I'm working on it, but it's not easy. I don't know if there's a real cover-up, but if there is it's a good one. I can't seem to break through the system."

"I have confidence in you, Wanda."

"Thanks. Ummm…"

"What?"

"I guess that's it. I just wanted to know if you'd made any progress. And how you're doing."

"I'm doing as well as can be expected."

"Does anyone know where you are? In case I need to find you?"

"Not a soul. And that's the way it's going to stay."

"I'm sorry you don't trust me yet, Jay. You used to."

He yawned slowly and elaborately. "I'm going to hang up now, Wanda. I need to get some sleep."

"Be sure and say hello to your folks for me, okay?"

"Okay."

"Don't forget. I'll get in touch as soon as I have anything."

Justin hung up, poked Deena in the back. When she stirred, he gave her a gentle shake.

"So much for all my cleverness. We've got to get out of here," he told her. "Wanda didn't send Rollins after me, I'm pretty sure of that now. But he sure as hell went after her. That was her, and I'll bet anything he made her make that call, so they could trace it. She kept me on long enough so they'll have the call-forwarding gimmick and this location already." He motioned to the framed photograph of a middle-aged man with his arms around a middle-aged woman and a thirty-something woman. "Say good-bye to the Rutherfords."

"Why didn't you just hang up?" Deena asked. "Cut her off before the trace worked?"

"'Cause Wanda went out on a limb for me. As of this second, her career's over. I didn't want to screw her up any more than I had to. It's easier for us to move than it is for her to get by without a pension. Also, I think she tried to tip me off. She told me to say hello to my parents."

"She just saw them yesterday."

"I know. My guess is she gave them something for me, knowing that Rollins was going to be on her ass, and that was her way of hiding it from him. But I'll find out in a minute."

"Do I have time to shower?"

"If you can do it in the time it takes me to make one quick phone call, sure. If not-"

"Is it safe to make another call?"

"They can only trace us once." He picked up the phone by the side of the bed and dialed. On the second ring, his mother answered. Justin didn't bother with any of the usual niceties; he started in with, "Don't say who it's from or what it is, but did something arrive for me?"

"Yes. A little while ago. Why are you talking like this, Jay? What's-"

"Something you never thought would happen to a Westwood, Mother-your phone's probably being tapped by the FBI."

"Oh my God."

"Mom, listen to me, okay? This is important. Do you remember where we used to go sometimes, just you and me? The place you never told Dad about because you were embarrassed you liked it?"

"Yes, but why in the world would you bring that up? You know-"

"I want you to meet me there. And bring the thing that came for me."

"When?"

He thought for a moment. "You remember my high-school girlfriend? Not Portia, the one after her."

"The redhead?"

"Yeah." He looked at his watch. "Think how many letters in her last name."

"Oh God," Lizbeth said. "I can't remember her last name."

"Okay, okay. Count the number in her first name and add four. Got it?"

"Yes."

"That's the time. That's the o'clock. I'll meet you half an hour after that. Leave now, immediately, before anyone who's listening can get there. I'm sorry, but you'll have to kill some time somewhere. If you remotely think that anyone's following you, forget the whole thing. Just go back home. Okay?"

"I have to say-"

"I'm sure you do. But I have to hang up. Bye-bye."

Five minutes later Justin and Deena were in Mallone's Mercedes, heading out of town. They heard police sirens and they were still close enough that they could tell the cars were nearing the Rutherford house. Justin told her they would now have to get rid of the Mercedes as soon as they could.

"Things seem to be closing in, don't they?" Deena said. "Do you have a good lawyer?"

"I don't have any lawyer."

"Well," Justin said grimly, "it might be time to start thinking about getting one. Especially with what we're about to do now." The kid looked to be about eighteen. He was white, a little bit gawky, and, if Justin had to guess, he was probably driving his father's car. The car was some indeterminate make, a Subaru or a Toyota maybe.