Head Shot

47

'Hello love,' he said quietly. 'Welcome home.'

She crossed the room in three strides and threw herself into his arms; the tears came then, sudden and uncontrol able, taking her by surprise.

He held her to him until they were spent, feeling his collar dampen, stroking her soft shining hair, feeling for her in her explosion of pent-up grief, yet perversely and guiltily happy that it had brought them back together.

'Oh, Bob,' she murmured, eventual y, 'I've needed you ; I wish now I had asked you to come home.'

'Well, you've got me now,' he answered? smiling as she looked up at him, stroking the wetness of her face with his fingers. 'And for the avoidance of doubt, I've needed you too.'

'Have you been bored, waiting here alone for me?'

'I haven't had time, my darling,' he told her, honestly. 'I've been chumming Joe Doherty around America, talking to people who might have been able to tell us something about Leo and Susannah's murder. In the last few days, I've been upstate, I've been to Helena, Montana, and I've been to Washington, DC.'

'And did you learn anything?' Sarah asked, urgently.

'We learned that they still haven't found all of the Was that the Democrats swiped off the computer keyboards, and that the new people still don't see the funny side of it. But did we learn anything positive?

No, love, I'm sorry, but we didn't.'

'Bob, why's Joe involved? He's back with the Bureau now, isn't he?

And homicide's State business. What have you been stirring up? Have you been upsetting Sheriff Dekker?'

He looked at her, innocently. The? No… well, not much, anyway.

Brad laid on this room for us, so he's okay. The State cops got a bit precious, at least their boss did, but Joe sorted her.'

'Look,' she demanded, 'let's cut to the chase. Do you have any idea who did it?'

Bob frowned. 'No, but… Sarah love, I have a lot to tel you, but not here, okay. Your luggage should have been picked off the carousel by now, so let's grab it and get going.'

'Where are we going, exactly?'

'Home, like you asked. But if you've changed your mind, and you feel it would be too much to go straight back into the house, we can check in to a hotel.'

'No, let's not do that. It would be worse for me to be anywhere else in Buffalo, I promise you.'

'That's fine, then. I should warn you, the place is stil in a bit of a mess, after the FBI technicians dusted every imaginable surface looking for a usable print, but I've booked a cleaning service to come in this morning. Come on, we'd better get going or they'll be there before us.'

The airport staff member who had brought Sarah to the VIP room was waiting outside the door with the single large Samsonite suitcase that held the clothes she had brought with her. Bob thanked her, took it from her and wheeled it behind him as he led the way to the staff car park, in which he had been al ocated a space.

'I brought Leo's Jag from the garage,' he told her. 'I wiped the powder off that though.'

'They printed that?'

'Honey, this is the Bureau we're talking about. They even printed al the toilet roll holders, in case the guy took a dump while he was searching the place.'

'My God! But Bob, what were the Bureau doing at the house in the first place? Dad and Mum were kil ed up at the cabin.'

'Later, love; I'll tell you all about it later.' He loaded the case into the boot of the dark blue Jaguar and walked round to the passenger door, to open it for his wife. He settled into the cream calfskin driver's seat, switched on, and pul ed smoothly out into the exit roadway. As they drove out on to the highway, heading south, Sarah stroked the smooth leather of the console between them. 'Dad always liked to have a good car,' she mused. 'I remember the smell of newness coming off them, from when I was a little girl. It was the only way he spoiled himself, really.' She flipped up the lid of the compartment and looked inside, then took out a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses, in their case. 'Do you need these?' she asked.

'Not right now.' She replaced them and closed the central console.

'Do we have a date for the funeral?' It was as if she had been avoiding the question, but final y had plucked up the courage to raise it, to make herself part of the process.

'Friday,' he told her. 'It's fixed for Friday morning; there's a memorial service in the Lutheran church, and a burial after that. I left all the arrangements with the undertaker, once release of the bodies was confirmed. He's fixed the time to suit the Secret Service.'

'The what!'

'You heard. The new senator wants to be there, and she's bringing her husband.'

'You mean that?'

'I'd hardly kid you about your parents' funeral now, would I?'

She whistled. 'You know. Bob, al my life I sort of knew that my dad was an important man, beyond Buffalo. But I never real y understood how important.'

'Did he ever talk about his interest in politics?'

'No.'

'Or about his time in Washington?'

'He used to say that Teddy Kennedy was the best of the brothers, and that he'd have made the best president, but that was about it. There was a time, in my late teens, when I kept trying to get him to talk about it, but he always shut me down.'

'What did he think of JFK?'

'I once heard him say that he was shot at the right time, to ensure that he would be sanctified rather than vilified after his death. I think he approved of him. I recall once hearing him say to Jack Wylie that if adultery in office was a ground for impeachment. Congress would have been too busy with that to do any legislating. Make of that what you will.'

She paused. 'Have you seen Jack since you've been in town?'

'I was supposed to see him on Saturday, only…' Bob hesitated, then decided to economise with the truth. 'He had an accident, on his boat.'

'Oh no. Poor Jack, was he badly hurt?'

'That was something I was going to tell you when we got home. He was killed.'

She seemed to sag into her seat, as she buried her face in her hands. 'Oh no,' she moaned. 'What next?

I've known Jack all my life. He was like an uncle to me; and he was as close to my father as Andy is to you.

What happened?'

'The gas tank blew up. He was barbecuing on deck.'

She sighed. 'That was Jack al right. He was at his happiest when he was wearing an apron, or playing around on that boat of his.'

'Or both.'

'Yeah, or both.' Suddenly she reached out for the radio controls.

'Goddamn it, let's have some music in this car; anything to lighten the atmosphere.' She pressed the button, and a heavy classical piece boomed out through the speaker system. 'I don't think so,' she murmured, and changed channel; Wagner was replaced by a nasal Country voice. 'Not you either, Emmy Lou.' She switched again, to hear Jon Bon Jovi going down in a blaze of glory. 'This is a conspiracy,' she shouted. 'Hold on; maybe Dad had some CDs here.'

She opened the console again, took out the Ray-Bans, laid them on her lap and began to rummage in the deep compartment. She felt around for a few seconds until, in an instant, her expression changed, her frown of irritation replaced by something much deeper. From within the box she withdrew a gun; a dark, metallic, well-oiled automatic pistol.

'What the hell is this?' she gasped, holding it up for Bob to see.

He stared at it, oblivious for that moment of the straight road ahead.

'Jesus,' he murmured. He took it from her, slowing his speed as he did, and looked at it for a few seconds, before handing it back. 'That's no replica, and it is loaded. Now just do what I say. The safety catch should be on the side, at the top of the grip. Check that it's on, then put that thing back where you found it.'

She did as he had told her, then closed the console lid, slowly and careful y. She looked up at him, at his grim profile as he drove along.

'Bob, you know my father hated firearms; he wouldn't even watch a Charlton Heston movie, because of his NRA connection. So what was he doing with a loaded automatic in his car? What the hell was he into?'

He shook his head, slowly. 'I wish I knew, love, I wish I knew; for I'm damn certain that it got him kil ed.'