Fair Game (32 page)

For the moment, she would have to be satisfied with that.

* * * *

Ransom sat in the airport lounge, waiting for his flight. It was the middle of the night, and the other travelers were scattered about the waiting area, napping or reading. He consulted the schedule monitor again, and it showed that his plane to Switzerland was still on time.

There were several hideouts he used after a hit; he changed them frequently for variety as well as safety. This time he was going to Lucerne, to ski in the mountains where there was snow year round and to check personally on his bank account in town.

He wanted to make certain that his clients had paid promptly and in full.

He propped his feet on his overnight case and unzipped his jacket restlessly. He had ditched the clothes he’d worn in Millvale and changed after his unsatisfactory motel shower, but he still felt grimy and unsettled. He was waiting for the letdown, the sense of peace and relief that usually followed a successful hit, but it would not come.

Meg weighed heavily on his mind.

He couldn’t dismiss her, as he had all the others. Several times he’d found himself thinking that in six months or a year, after the furor had died down, he could find her again. He would invent some explanation for his disappearance and pick up where they had left off, try to become what she thought he was.

Ransom shifted in the stiff-backed chair and took out his cigarettes, shaking one loose from the pack. He knew, of course, that such an idea was insane. He could never reenter the lives of those he had used for a hit and left behind; to them he had to be dead. But he kept teasing himself with the possibility, even though he was aware that the issue was academic: Meg wouldn’t love him if she knew the truth.

Ransom registered the No Smoking sign over his head and dropped his unused cigarette into a standing ashtray next to him in disgust. He didn’t want to attract attention, so he wasn’t going to violate any rules.

He looked around the lounge in boredom.

The lone ticket agent behind the airlines desk was watching a black-and-white portable television. The airwaves were filled with stories about the assassination, and Ransom had heard the same facts parroted over and over again during the trip to the airport on the cab radio. Now an announcer concluded a recap of the Senator’s life and accomplishments by saying, “This exemplary public servant will be sorely missed. And of course the hunt is still on for Fair’s assassin, and that search has taken a turn for the better in recent hours. It has been reported that the Senator’s daughter, Ashley Fair, is an eyewitness with a complete description of the man who so brutally ended her father’s life. The authorities are pursuing all avenues...”

Ransom straightened, his feet dropping from the bag to the floor. He picked up the satchel and stood in one smooth movement. His expression had not changed, but his mind was racing.

So the daughter had seen him; the cops must have let that slip. He had known that he was in view too long, but thought that for once in his solitary, friendless life, luck had been with him.

He wasn’t going to Switzerland or anywhere else. The first rule of his business was to leave no witnesses to identify him in court. The police might have a description or a sketch, but if they didn’t have a warm body to sit in the big chair and tell a jury he was the killer, the whole picture changed.

He had to silence Ashley Fair. Her father’s murder was a capital crime with a prominent, wealthy, and politically connected victim. The case would receive priority attention; the FBI would never stop looking for him.

Ransom shoved his unused boarding pass into his pocket and strode toward the terminal door.

* * * *

When Ashley awoke in the morning and found Martin gone, she was disappointed but not surprised.

He had left no note, and she hadn’t expected one.

She went back to her own room to shower and dress. She was contemplating going downstairs to face her stepmother over the breakfast table when the telephone rang.

It was Meg.

“How are you?” Ashley asked quickly. She felt a sudden stab of remorse about spending the night in her lover’s arms. Meg had spent it doing her job, certainly a better memorial to the Senator than his daughter’s behavior.

Martin made Ashley forget everything.

“All right,” Meg said. She sounded tired.

“How’s Tony?”

“Better. They’ve taken him off the critical list, and he’s been moved from intensive care to a private room. His wife called me just a few minutes ago.”

“What does his doctor say?”

“His doctor is so afraid of a malpractice suit that he won’t say grass is green. I don’t know who to dismember first, that closemouthed quack or the people who colorized Casablanca.”

“But if they took him off the critical list, that should be good news, shouldn’t it?”

“I’m sure it is, but you wouldn’t know it from the medical staff. When I was there, they were all creeping around like moles from the Pentagon. But Lorraine was reassured; she’s gone home to see the kids. Her mother stayed with them while she was at the hospital.”

“Meg, please send out the word to make sure Tony has everything he needs. Bill it all to me.”

“I will. Don’t give it a second thought,” Meg said. “I’ll take care of everything.”
 

“Do you think if I called Tony I would get through? These gorillas here won’t let me move, but I’d like to talk to him. Is he up to a phone conversation?”

“Maybe a short one. It’s worth a try.”

“Okay, I’ll call.” Ashley sighed. “How are things with the staff there?”

“You can imagine,” Meg replied shortly. “Everybody’s just stunned or crying, staring into space.”

“I can’t cry,” Ashley said dully. “I don’t know why, but I can’t.”

“Shock,” Meg said.

“Is the press giving you a hard time?” Ashley asked.

“Roger’s trying to handle them, but you wouldn’t believe how boorish they can be. The biggest request is for pictures and old bios. It’s gruesome.”

Ashley swallowed, unable to reply.

There was a silence before Meg said in a controlled voice, “Have they set the funeral arrangements yet?”

“They’ll be finalized today,” Ashley said. “I was just about to go down and get the details from Sylvia.”

“I guess you’re letting her run the show, huh?” Meg said sympathetically, aware of the situation.

“I don’t care what kind of a service they plan,” Ashley said wearily. “The man is dead. What does it matter?” She bit her lip hard, fighting tears.

“I know how you feel,” Meg murmured.

“Do you think you could come out to the house soon?” Ashley inquired, feeling childish for asking. “I could certainly use the moral support.”

“I’ll get there as soon as I can,” Meg promised. “I want to wait until I’m sure everything is under control here.”
 

“Are you really okay, Meg?” Ashley asked. “You’ve been a rock through all of this.”

“I guess I’m numb,” Meg replied. “It hasn’t really sunk in yet. The loss, I mean.”

“No, it hasn’t,” Ashley agreed quietly.

“Have you heard from Tim?” Meg asked.

“I talked to him,” Ashley replied briefly. Somehow it was too soon to share the details of the previous night with anyone. She wanted some time to keep them to herself, as if she were hoarding a secret treasure.

“How is he?”

“All right. You know... he never talks much.”

“I heard they took him off the case,” Meg said.

“He wants to fight that.”

“I kind of figured he would.”

“Did Peter get back from his trip?” Ashley asked. “He must have been frantic when he heard the news.”

There was a pause at the other end of the line. “I haven’t been able to get in touch with him,” Meg finally said.

“What do you mean?”

“I tried his office and his apartment and, oh, it’s a long story, but I’m certain I’ll hear from him soon.”

“I’m sure he’s concerned about you,” Ashley observed, wondering why Meg sounded so bewildered about it. After all, how many places could the man be?

There was a knock at Ashley’s door. She said “Hang on a minute” to Meg and covered the mouthpiece of the phone with her hand.

“Come in,” she called to the person in the hall.

Elsie opened the door and, seeing that Ashley was on the phone, retreated.

“Elsie, wait,” Ashley called after her. Into the phone she said, “Meg, I have to go. I’ll be in touch. And thanks for everything.”

Meg said good-bye and Ashley hung up. She looked inquiringly at Elsie.

“Mrs. Fair would like to see you, ma’am,” Elsie said politely. “She’s waiting downstairs in the dining room.”

“All right, Elsie, tell her I’ll be right there.”

“She sent all the Senator’s people away. She said she wanted to talk to you privately.”

Ashley nodded.

“There are four federal marshals downstairs in the library, and a bunch of FBI people outside all around the grounds,” Elsie added in a lower tone.

Ashley sighed. That was to be expected.

“Shall I have the cook prepare your breakfast now?” Elsie asked, folding her hands.

“You can tell Mary I’ll stay, but not to make anything special. I’ll have whatever is already out on the buffet for the others.”

Elsie nodded.

“And please straighten up the green suite also, change the bed linen, clear away the dishes,” Ashley added.

“Yes, ma’am.” Elsie stood in the same spot, watching her.

“What is it, Elsie?” Ashley asked impatiently.

“Miss Fair, I was wondering... and well, some of the other staff people were too....”

“Yes?” Ashley prompted her.

“What’s going to happen to our jobs now?” Elsie finished in a rush. “I mean, with the Senator gone, and Mrs. Fair in charge...”

Ashley waited.

Elsie hesitated, obviously distressed.

“Mrs. Fair is not in charge of this house,” Ashley said firmly. “It was left to me in my father’s will, to be run perpetually from a trust set aside for that purpose. You can tell everyone from me that you will all be kept on in your present positions. No one need worry. Please reassure anyone who is concerned that nothing will change.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will,” Elsie said gratefully, obviously relieved. She left, and Ashley stood slowly, her mind racing with thoughts of her father and the changes his death would bring to her life and the lives of everyone who had surrounded him during the campaign.

His death. She could hardly bear to consider it. The nightmarish vision of his shooting had replayed itself in her dreams until she thought she would never be able to close her eyes without seeing it.

Ashley put her hands to her temples and squared her shoulders resolutely.

She would think about it later, when she could stand it. One thing at a time, she recited to herself. First she would deal with Sylvia, then with the household, and then she would relive every moment of her night with Martin, savoring every detail.

That would sustain her through this difficult period until she saw him again.

Chapter 9

ASHLEY DESCENDED the main staircase and crossed the entry hall into the formal dining room at the front of the house. She preferred the smaller breakfast room off the kitchen, but Sylvia always dined in state, even at eight in the morning.

Her stepmother was seated at the head of the table, and Ashley was not surprised to see that she had company. There was no sign of Charles, but Sylvia’s other children, Cynthia and little Joe, were there.

“Good morning, Sylvia, kids,” Ashley said levelly, going to the buffet and helping herself to a cup of coffee.

Sylvia eyed her without responding. The older woman looked no better than she had the day before; her eyes were ringed with deeper circles and her lack of color was alarming.

“Where’s Charles?” Ashley asked.

“I sent him to the townhouse,” Sylvia replied crisply. “You made it clear that we were no longer welcome here, so I wanted him to get everything ready. Elsie is packing for me right now.” Sylvia raised her cup to her lips. Her hand was trembling badly.

Cynthia, a sensitive twelve-year-old, was staring at Ashley, her expression confused and sad.

“Sylvia,” Ashley said gently, “I admit I was annoyed yesterday and spoke sharply, but I never meant to imply that you should leave. Of course, you may stay as long as you like, you and the children. I was merely saying that Lieutenant Martin was my guest and should be treated as such, with respect, that’s all.”

“Is he still here?” Sylvia asked.

“No. He left early this morning.”

“So. You spent the night following your father’s death with him. That’s in questionable taste, you must agree.”

“Sylvia, it’s a situation you could not possibly understand, so don’t try.”

“I understand a daughter who is too busy cavorting with her new lover to take an interest in her father’s funeral arrangements,” Sylvia snapped, casting a glance at Cynthia. She was obviously wondering if this conversation should take place in front of her daughter, but was too angry to restrain herself.