Silent Treatment

Chapter13

The apartment was totally dark. Harry usedthe glow from the corridor lights to locate a lamp, turned it on and quicklyclosed the hallway door behind him.

The small, sparsely furnished living roomwas a stark contrast to their immaculate, impeccably decorated coop uptown. Itwas clearly a busy writer's retreat. Cardboard folders and small stacks ofmanuscript pages were set out on the threadbare carpet. Each was labeled, thetitles suggesting to Harry that more than one project was going on. There wasan electric typewriter on a folding table, and next to it a discount-housecomputer desk with a PC and laser printer. Off to one side, on the floor, werea TV, a VCR and seven or eight videos, a half-filled wine rack, a cassetteplayer and two dozen tapes. There was also a telephone. Harry listened to thedial tone for a moment and then set the receiver back down. There was no numberon it. It seemed likely that some people had access to the line. But that groupclearly did not include Evie's best friend, Julia.

Harry checked the front closet, which wasempty, and then the kitchen. There was a supply of diet soda, a Brauncoffee-maker, and a microwave. The cupboards were stocked with snack foods andcanned goods, and the freezer had a supply of frozen dinners and half a dozendifferent flavors of Ben amp; Jerry's ice cream, Evie's favorite.

Next to the kitchen was a small bathroomwith a shower stall, but no tub. The shampoo was Evie's brand, and the mixedscent of powders and soaps reminded him of her. There was a mirrored medicinecabinet over the sink. Harry watched himself reach for it. He looked like hell — tired, drawn, and in need of a shave. He wondered if Gene Hackman ever lookedthis bad. Inside the cabinet were a number of unmarked bottles of pills. Harryrecognized Valium, Seconol, and some type of amphetamine. He suspected theothers contained various sorts of painkillers. The prescription labels had beentorn off all of them. There was also a small bottle of white powder. Harry tooksome on a moistened finger and rubbed it over a spot on his gums. The immediatenumbness it produced meant it almost certainly was cocaine. Evie had nevershown even the slightest interest in drugs, and Harry could not remember heraccepting so much as a hit of marijuana if it was offered to her at a party.

Desiree's drug use had to have beenrecreational, or at most intermittent. Double identity or not, if she wasstrung out on drugs, Harry would have noticed.

He opened the single drawer in the vanityand stared down in utter dismay at its contents. There was nothing in the smalldrawer but condoms — perhaps fifteen different styles and brands in boxes andindividual packets — some common and storebought, some from exotic specialtyhouses. Harry picked up one of the packets. It was labeled Thai Tickler onone side, and had a lewd drawing printed on the other beneath the promise GuaranteedPleasure for Him and Her. Harry threw it back angrily and slammed thedrawer shut. Part of him wanted to leave — simply to get out of there andforget the whole goddamn thing. He had already learned more about his wife andher alter ego than he ever would have wanted to know. And he dreaded having toface the revelations awaiting him in the pages and computer files in the livingroom. But he knew he couldn't back off. He had been dropped into the middle ofa nightmare and the only way out for him was through it.

There was barely space in the singlebedroom for a narrow dresser and a neatly made queen-size bed. Double, louveredclosets filled all of one wall. Harry checked beneath the bed and then pulledapart one set of the closet doors. The evening dresses — fourteen of them — were elegant, sexy, and far from inexpensive. On the floor beneath them were anumber of pairs of dress shoes, all from the upscale shops Evie frequented.Behind the other set of doors was a collection of nightgowns, peignoirs, teddies,and other extremely provocative bedroom apparel. The hardly subtle collectionwas not very appealing to Harry. He was much more aroused by the feel of Evie'sbody beneath a flannel nightshirt, or even a plain cotton T. Perhaps his tastewas the reason she rarely wore the few lacy garments she had at home. Orperhaps Evie's ways were simply different from Desiree's. Bewildered and moresaddened now than angry, Harry returned to the living room and the writingsthat had very likely cost Evie her life.

Betweenthe Sheets

ThePower and Extraordinary Influence of the SexualUnderground in America

Men call me beautiful. Women,too, for that matter. For as long as I have been aware of that reaction, I havebeen able to use it to my advantage. I am intelligent, well-educated, andinterested in many things. But what I am most interested in is sex. Sex andpower. Throughout the pages of this book you will learn how I — and the many,many women with whom I have worked and whom I have interviewed — use their looksand sex appeal to attract and control others, both men and women. You willlearn of business decisions that earned or lost millions, which were made forno other reason than to please one of us. You will learn of major politicalappointees who were fired and others who were hired simply because one of usdemanded it. Sometimes there is money paid to us to exert our influence — vastsums of money. Sometimes we exercise our control over judges, politicians,businessmen and the like simply to prove that we can.

Are we worth it? Read thisbook, and then decide for yourself. .

Harry set the folder down and openedanother marked Correspondence. It contained letters from senior editorsat several of the big-name publishing houses expressing great interest in thesample chapters of Between the Sheets, by Desiree. The correspondencewas sent to the post office box of an agent in Manhattan named Norman Quimby.Harry had never heard Evie mention the man and wondered if he existed at all. Anumber of the other letters were from the producers of syndicated televisiontabloid shows. Those letters were written to Evie in care of a different postoffice box. They suggested that if she could deliver Desiree and all thematerial she claimed to have on tape and film, there could be seriousdiscussion of a long-term, on-camera deal. The producers also promised toinvestigate how to implement a number of high-tech safeguards Evie had insistedupon to protect Desiree's identity and enhance the mystique surrounding her.One producer wrote:

I think it's a marvelous idea to makeDesiree's identity the best-kept secret since Pearl Harbor. By the time theseries airs, the book will be out, and the hype we'll generate should create aphenomenon — Madame X, Sydney Barrows, Christine Keeler, and HeidiFleiss all rolled into one, with a dash of Marilyn and the Kennedys thrown infor good measure. I can't give you hard figures yet, but let me just say hereand now that if you can deliver what you claim you can, we will be able to dobusiness.

Harry picked up one of the videos. It waslabeled simply #1. He scanned the folders on the floor. One was marked Vids.Inside were six narratives, each two or more pages long, and each titled bya single number. He kept the one headed #2 and set the rest down. Thenhe slipped the video into the VCR.

This tape features a woman whocalls herself Briana, he read.

She is thirty-one and a formerhomecoming queen at a large Southern university. By day she is a physical therapistat a clinic just outside of Washington, D.C. At night she works for an escortservice. The fee for her services is $2000 a night. She has only a few clients,and she works only when she wants to. The split with her agency is fifty-fifty.Recently, she became pregnant by her boyfriend and decided to retire from theescort service. The video — something of a retirement present from Briana to herself- wasmade by a camera hidden behind a mirror in her apartment. The owner of herescort service knew nothing about it. Briana was operating on her own. But shehad already contracted her services out to a powerful tobacco lobby. Her payfor influencing the vote of the senator shown with her in this video was$50,000. And for the video itself another $50,000. Her face and voice, as wellas the senator's, have been electronically obscured. .

Harry watched in morbid fascination as awoman with large, youthful breasts and the perfect, muscled body of a teenagerallowed herself to be undressed by a man whose body was not nearly so wellmaintained. Calling him 'Senator,' she teased, rubbed, dared, cajoled, andfinally loved him into the promise to drop his support of another stiff tax ontobacco products. The woman was incredibly sexy, alluring and skilled — so muchso that the senator did not last more than two minutes once their actuallovemaking commenced.

The electronic blurring of faces andvoices made it impossible to identify the man, and Harry wondered if, in fact,the tape was the genuine article or something Desiree had staged. WasDesiree herself in one or more of the videos? Unfortunately, the likelihoodof that seemed quite high. Harry decided to put off viewing the rest of themuntil he had gone through all the other material.

He checked the time. It was nearly two.Silently, he thanked his profession for providing him with the hour-to-hour oreven minute-to-minute self-control necessary to make it through an all-nighterfollowed by a full day of work. He would stay here until dawn, then stop by theapartment to shower and change before heading to the hospital for rounds. Assoon as he could clear out his office schedule, he would return.

He scanned the folders and loose papers,trying to decide how best to get organized. One small pile caught his eye. Itwas, perhaps, five or ten pages, bound by a single rubber band. The labeltucked beneath the elastic was written in Evie's hand on a yellow Post-it. Itread Business Execs. (preliminary notes) See also Desiree's Diary.

They meet every two weeks atthe Camelot Hotel. Young, handsome, and powerful. I was chosen by Page to joinsix other women — each among the most beautiful and desirable in the city. The payoff for oneevening's work: a thousand in cash. One of us was assigned to each of them. Myfirst night, a Tuesday, I was sent to the room of-

Harry froze. There was a sound in thehallway outside the door. He was certain of it. Someone was pressed up againstthe door, listening. He set the papers down where they had been, tiptoed to oneof the windows, and carefully raised the shade. There was a fire escape, andbelow that an alley. But the window and the one next to it were protected by agrate of iron bars secured with a padlock. Harry returned to the table where hehad set down Evie's keys and was soundlessly picking through them when therewere two gentle taps on the door. He moved a few steps forward, then stopped.There was a second pair of raps, this time more insistent. He looked about himat Desiree's papers. There was no way he could hide everything.

'Who is it?' he heard himself rasp. Hemoved closer to hear the reply.

'It's Thorvald. Paladin Thorvald,' the mansaid in a forced whisper. 'I got to speak to you.'

'How did you get in here?'

'Please, it's very important.'

Harry glanced about him again. Then, witha shrug, he undid the dead bolt. As soon as he turned the knob, two men in darkwindbreakers barged in. One was tall and built like a professional wrestler.The other was much shorter but cinder-block chunky. Both had nylon stockingspulled over their faces.

'I lied,' the taller one growled, shovingHarry back into the apartment.

Harry's reaction was pure reflex. Heslammed his fist into the center of the taller man's face, sending him reelingback heavily against the wall by the door. Then he lashed out with his foot atthe other one, connecting solidly with the side of his knee. The man dropped onto his side, cursing. Harry charged past him toward the open doorway, but thetaller man whipped his leg across, sending him sprawling into the hall.

'Help!' Harry cried, scrambling to hisfeet.

Before he could push off, the huge mantackled him by the ankles. Harry cried out again as he struggled to freehimself. He was a hundred and eighty pounds, but the gargantuan man handled himlike a puppet. His face, beneath the stocking mask, was smeared with blood.

'Get the stuff out, for chrissakes!' hesnapped, dragging Harry back into the apartment. 'This guy's fucking crazy!'

Harry freed one foot and snapped it upagainst the man's jaw. His grip loosened just enough for Harry to break freeonce again. The stockier man, unsteady but on his feet, tried pinning Harry'sarms to his sides. But Harry was possessed. He drove his elbow viciously intothe man's throat, following through in a dervishlike three-sixty turn thatwould have made Baryshnikov proud. Once again the blocky man went down.

Harry stumbled as he headed toward thedoor. The hesitation was just enough for the giant to get hold of him again.But Harry's arms were still free. As he braced himself and twisted to take aroundhouse swing, excruciating pain shot through his chest and around to hisback. It was the same electroshock sensation he had experienced on the track atthe hospital, but magnitudes more severe. He felt his knees buckle. His visionblurred. And in an instant, both men were on him, pinning him to the carpet.

'The stuff,' one snapped.

'Okay, okay, I've got it. I've got it.'

Through the sweaty, dull haze ofintolerable pain, Harry smelled the sickly sweet aroma of chloroform. A momentlater, a cloth soaked with the rapidly acting anesthetic was pressed tightlyover his nose and mouth. The dreadful ache in his chest kept him from all buttoken resistance. And in fact, as his consciousness began to fade, he sensedsome relief that the pain was fading as well. He fought for a time the only wayhe could, by refusing to inhale. But with several hundred pounds pressing downon him, his tenacity was short lived.

I wonder what it feels like tobe dead, wasthe last thing he thought before he took a single, deep breath.

'What are the names of thefiles you read?. .

'What names do you remember?..

'Did you listen to any of thecassettes?. .

'What did they say?'. .

The questions floated through the pitchblackness like feathers, brushing against Harry's consciousness, then driftingaway.

'Has your wife ever spoken toyou of her work?. .

'How did you learn of thisapartment?. .

'Have you known about it forlong. .

'Who else knows?'. .

The voice, a man's, was soft, patient, andnot at all demanding. But Harry felt powerless to resist answering. Thequestions, droning over and over, were interspersed with slow, thick answers ina voice that was his, and yet was not a human voice at all.

'Let us begin again, Harry. Tell me everything you read here tonight. .

'Tell me every name youremember. .

every name. .

every name…'

Harry was flat on his back, somehow tiedto a bed. Cotton batting had been taped tightly over each eye. He could movehis hands, but not his arms; his feet, but not his legs; his head, but not hisshoulders.

'Let me up,' he heard himself growl.

'When I am convinced you have told meeverything that you have to tell me, you will be freed. May I please have somemore Pentothal?'

Harry's brain had begun to clear. Thehorrible pain in his chest was gone, and he hadn't died — at least he didn'tthink so.

'Just hold still, Harry. Stop trying tomove your arm. You'll feel much better in a moment.'

The voice of his inquisitor was culturedand intelligent — not that of either of the men who had assaulted him. Theother two were there, though. Harry could hear them breathing. He tried topicture the three of them standing by the bed, staring down at him.

'I'll need even more than that,' thecultured voice said, 'and fill half of that syringe with that ketamine overthere. I don't believe he has anything more to tell us, but we shall see.'

Harry sensed the movement by his left arm,and suddenly knew there was an intravenous line there. You're him, aren'tyou, his mind screamed. You're the doctor on Alexander 9!

A pleasant warmth washed over thedarkness. Harry felt himself beginning to drift. And once again, the questionsand his own answers began to float past him.

'What else do you remember?..

'What names?. .

'What places?. .

'What tapes?. .

'What else?. .

'What else?…

'What else?'. .

From the depths of a warm, impenetrably dark sea, Harrysensed himself rise. His head felt swollen, his chest was a balloon. Bubblesswirled about him as bit by bit, word by word, his encounter with the two thugsand subsequent inquisition by the man with the soft voice drew into focus inhis mind. He was tied to a bed and. . Wait! Gingerly, he lifted firstone arm, then the other. The bonds were gone. His legs, too, were free. Hereached up and touched the adhesive tape over his eyes. Slowly, uncomfortably,he pulled the thick patches off. The room was pitch-black. Fighting a suddenwave of nausea, he pushed off the side of the bed and raised the window shade.Midmorning sun exploded into his eyes. He buried his face in his arm andwaited.

Finally, he was able to look around. Hewas in Desiree's bedroom. He was fully clothed, although his shoes were on thefloor by the bed. His watch was gone. There was a small, closed puncture woundon the skin inside his left elbow — almost certainly an intravenous site.Except for the furniture, the room was empty. No clothes in the closet. Noperfume on the bureau. Nothing. The bathroom and living room had been similarlyswept of Evie's belongings. The computer was gone, the bathroom vanity draweremptied of its depressing contents. The medicine cabinet was bare. Evie's keyshad been taken, although his own keys and wallet were on the table.

Harry sank on to the couch, aware now of apounding headache that he suspected would not be gone soon. He picked up thetelephone and called his office. Mary Tobin was immensely relieved to hear fromhim.

'Dr. Corbett, I've called everywhere,' shesaid. 'Even the police.'

'What time is it?'

'Pardon?'

'The time, Mary.'

'Noon. Almost noon. Where on earth areyou?'

'I'll explain when I see you. I need to gohome. I won't be in until three. Can you juggle people? I'll make up the timeSaturday.'

'Are you okay?'

'Let's just say I've been better. I'llspeak to you later.' Harry retrieved his shoes, made one final, fruitless checkof the apartment, and headed home. The answers had been right there in hishands. By not being more careful, he had blown the chance to save himself. Buthe did have much more insight into just who Evie DellaRosa really was. And healso had a voice … a gentle, cultured voice with just the hint of a Britishaccent.