“You
see,
Lacey,
I
think
anyone
who
cares
about
Cassie
would want
to spare her the trauma of
remembering.”
“Especially someone who
knew
exactly
the kind of trauma she might
remember.”
“What are you saying?” Markham
stiffened
his back.
“You
mean the assailant?”
“Could it
have
been someone close to her? Usually is, you
know.”
“Are
you inferring that it
was
someone here? One of us at GOG?”
Lacey
gazed
at him.
“Maybe.
What do
you
think?”
“I
don’t
think so. No. Preposterous. Much more
likely
to be a politically
motivated
attack.”
He suddenly sounded
very
pro fessorial. He stared around the little
office
at random. She
won
dered if he might grab a pad of paper and
draw
a diagram to
show
her
exactly
where she had gone wrong. Or write a brief.
“Assaults
are not usually committed by
strangers.”
“I see what
you’re
saying,
but
it
couldn’t
have
been
anyone
as close as her friends, as close as,
say,
Wendy
and I are.
It’s
al
ways
been strong between Cassie and me. I suppose I’m feel ing guilty that I
wasn’t
there.”
“She has a habit of taking on
fights
with
people.”
“Her job, you mean? Is that
how
you see it? Cassie
feels
she has a mission. Lucky for us.
We
find her editorials
quite
valuable.”
“What
about
Sweatergate?”
He
shook
his
head.
“I
don’t
really
know
why
she
went
off
on
that.
It’s
not
like
her.
I had no idea she
was
going to write such a
trivial
thing.
We
hadn’t
discussed
it.”
Discussed
it?
Was
Garrison
of
Gaia
pulling
the
strings
behind
Wentworth’s
editorials?
And
did
that
simply
reflect
Cassandra’s
own
beliefs, or had she crossed some ethical
line?
Unbylined
editorials
were
supposed
to
reflect
the
“official”
view
of the
newspaper,
not that of an individual, or of
some
lobbying or political pressure group. It was, after all, the
“ed
itorial
we.”
“Do you
have
any
idea who
waylaid
her in the
alley?”
Lacey
said.
“Of course
not.”
He started to rearrange papers on his desk, a sure sign he
wanted
to cut this meeting short.
Lacey
often did the same thing, she realized, usually without
effect.
“Know
of
anyone
who
was
capable of attacking her?” “Sure. That Pickles
woman.
Cassie
was
obsessing
over
the whole sweater thing, the
way
people indulge in the holiday and
waste
money
and resources. It seems
like
a small thing,
but
it’s
emblematic of so much in our
consumerdriven
culture.”
“Just for the
record,”
Lacey
said. “I
don’t
believe
Felicity at
tacked
Cassandra.”
“She’s
your friend, then?”
“No. I
don’t
particularly
like
her.
But it
doesn’t
make
sense.
She’d
be
happy
to kill someone
slowly
with cholesterol,
but
I doubt
she’s
capable of attacking someone in an
alley.
And
leav
ing her
own
sweater,
as if to claim the credit?”
Lacey
took a breath and changed direction. “But I understand you and Cas sandra had a
relationship.”
“I still
have
a relationship with Cassie and
we’re
the best of friends. It
was
even
romantic
once.”
He paused and
removed
his glasses, putting them in his
pocket.
“A
while ago.
We
realized we made better friends than we
did—You
know.”
But
Wendy
said
Markham
was
still
carrying
a
torch
for
“Cassie.”
And what
was
the secret of
Cassandra’s
magnetic at traction for all these quintessentially
Washington
men?
Aha,
Lacey
thought.
That’s
the
secret.
“Quintessentially
Washington
men
.
”
She couldn
’
t imagine Cassandra
’
s elus
i
v
e allure
w
ould play
anywhere
but
in the
Nation’s
Capital.
The
woman
who had been
stuffing
envelopes
stuck her head through the
office
door.
“We’re
finished
for the night,
Alex.”
Markham
looked
up.
“That’s
fine,
Sylvie. Just lock up.
I’ll
let Ms. Smithsonian out when
she’s
ready.
Be sure to lock up both front and rear on the
way
out.”
“Will
do.”
Sylvie
gave
a
short
wave
and
was
gone,
leaving
his
office
door open.
Lacey
heard a switch. All the lights in the
office,
except
for a lamp in
Markham’s
office
went out. It star tled
her.
He smiled.
“We
try not to
waste
energy
here at Garrison of
Gaia.”
No,
they
just
waste
coffee,
and
the
heat
required
to
burn
it.
Lacey
hoped the
woman
remembered to unplug the
coffeepot.
“Who do you
know
who might
have
wanted
to attack Cassan dra?
Any
recent threats, conflicts, disagreements?”
“Cassie,”
he corrected
her.
“If it
wasn’t
that
loony
Pickles
woman,
it must
have
been because of her beliefs. Cassandra
was
always
on
the
attack
against
the
polluters
and
defilers
of
the planet. Must
have
been one of those reactionary
loonies
who write letters to your
paper.”
Same
song,
different
deejay.
“Did she get
any
letters
like
that at home?”
“Not that I’m
aware
of.”
“How
did
she
and
Wendy
get
along?”
Lacey
rubbed
her
hands together and reached in her
pockets
for her
gloves,
glad she
wasn’t
trying to write notes with her numb
fingers.
“They’re
friends. Old friends.
We’re
all
friends.”
“Old friends with a really big
dog.”
“Ah,
you met Bruno!
Bruno’s
a
sweetheart.”
“Bruno’s
a trained
killer.
Why do you
even
need a dog?”
Lacey
slipped her
gloves
on and wiggled her
fingers
to get the blood
flowing. Even
her nose
was
cold.
“The
women
wanted
him,
originally.
They
didn’t
think the neighborhood
was
safe.
We
got him from an
abused
dog rescue group.
Now
he’s
sort of the house mascot.
He’s
just an
over
grown
puppy,
really.”
Right.
And
King
Kong
was
just
a
monkey.
“Worried
about
anyone
in particular?”
“No, Mount Pleasant just used to be that kind of neighbor
hood. I
was
mugged once, when we
first
moved
in. Seems a lot safer
now.”
“So where were you Friday night?”
“Friday.
You
mean when Cassie was attacked in the
alley.”
Markham shifted
uneasily.
“Ruling me out as a suspect?
Or
in? I suppose you must ask these trite questions, mustn’t
you?
Nowhere near that
alley.
I was working on some papers.
Here.
And
for
the
record,
I’d
never
hurt
her. I
love
Cassie,
as
a
friend.”
“Where
was
Wendy?”
“I suppose she
was
in her
office,
down
the hall. When I get
involved
in something, I barely come up for
air.”
Markham stood up, stretched, and glanced at a
large
clock on the
wall.
It
was
only about
sixthirty,
but
it
was
dark and cold and it felt much
later.
“It’s
getting late. I
don’t
want
to
keep
you, I’m sure you
have
things to do. And I
have
to get to the hospi tal and check on
Cassie.”
He opened his
office
door.
“By the
way,
there
was
someone else at the hospital, a man from your
newspaper.
Who is he?”
“Peter Johnson. He
covers
the
Hill.”
She ordered herself not to
make
a
face.
“I
see.”
Markham pursed his lips. “His interest in
Cassie
seemed more than
professional.”
“Anything
is
possible.”
Lacey
shrugged. So Markham
didn’t
like
Johnson.
But
she
didn’t
like
Johnson
either.
Markham
might be
wary
of
any
man paying attention to Cassandra.
Lacey
stood up. “What about Henderson
Wilcox?”
“Ah,
yes.
Henderson.”
He flipped on a light switch so she could see her
way
to the front
door.
“Let me
show
you
out.”
“Yes.
Henderson.
Well?”
She
wasn’t
going to let him squirm out of the question.