A Motive For Murder Part 22

Perkins's face flushed. "That isn't true," he said. "I stopped him before he could do anything."

"Really?" Auntie Lil asked, forcing herself to smirk, though she hated the words coming out of her mouth. "Do you really believe that? Nikki Morgan told me that your daughter had been staying out all night. Who do you think she was staying with? What do you think she was doing? Do you really believe Bobby Morgan would leave her alone? She's a beautiful young woman. And your daughter. He was doing it to get back at you, you know. He was using your daughter just to show you he could."

"Bobby Morgan was a joke," Perkins yelled. "Julie was too smart not to see it. She would never have had anything to do with him." He darted toward Auntie Lil, but stopped abruptly. She would have to taunt him further until he gave chase. If he stayed at his end of the row, he'd be able to simply turn back toward the door and cut her off. She had to bait him further.

"Don't kid yourself," she said quietly. "Bobby Morgan loved young girls. He probably came back to New York City just to get his hands on Julie. Let me guess. You met him at the Los Angeles charity ball for the first time in years. You mentioned you had a daughter now, one dancing with the Metro. You were eager to let him know that he wasn't the only one who had a star for a child. But he had to one-up you again, didn't he? He had to go on and on about how much money he was making off his son's career. And then he had to take it one step further. Because he never could let well enough alone. He came here to start an affair with Lisette Martinez, but once here, he met Julie and Lisette was history. Julie may even have been the one to initiate their affair. He was famous and successful. Everything she wanted in a man." Auntie Lil did not really believe this, but she had to goad him.

"Shut up," Perkins said, taking another step forward. "Julie wouldn't have looked at him twice. He's the one who pursued her. I heard the phone ringing every evening while he begged her to see him. I could hear her tone of voice. I saw the flowers, read the unsigned notes. He did it all. He drew her into it. If I had known it was him, I would have killed him earlier. I thought it was Mikey instead. I thought it was cute." His voice faltered. "I would have killed him the first night if I'd known."

"If you'd known that he was going to take your little girl away from you forever, you mean?" Auntie Lil said. "If you'd known about him before he did all those things to Julie that you can't seem to forget? If you'd known enough to plan the murder better, to hide it from your daughter? Because now she will never forgive you for what you've done."

This time her taunts were enough.

"My daughter is glad he's dead and she will never tell anyone that I did it," Perkins shouted. "And once you're dead, no one else will ever know it was me." He darted toward her angrily, his arms outstretched. She turned on her heels, dropped her heavy purse in his way, and ran around the far end of her row of lockers, das.h.i.+ng back toward the front of the room. Perkins followed, his long legs quickly making up the s.p.a.ce between them. She could hear his footsteps against the tile floor, the sharp tap of his businessman's shoes as he drew closer. Her body was too old to sustain the chase, and she was tired and beat-up from the day before. She faltered, her will slipping, then forced herself to move faster. She pushed her body to the limit, reaching the doorway just as she heard several doors slam on the floor below. Three o'clock, she thought, it was three o'clock. Cla.s.ses were letting out now. Help was near.

"Help me!" she screamed, but the sounds of lingering music floating up from the first-floor s.p.a.ce masked her cry. The accompanists were still winding down and Jerry Vanderbilt was thumping away at his usual deafening level of sound. Could anyone hear her cries? She whirled around and jabbed at Perkins with the screwdriver, hoping to slow him down. It caught him on the wrist, sinking into the flesh no more than a quarter of an inch. It was enough to draw blood. He cursed and grabbed at his wrist, screaming. Auntie Lil turned toward the first-floor stairs, but he stepped forward and blocked her way, his wrist clamped to his mouth as he sucked on his wound.

"You must be kidding," he said almost calmly, droplets of blood trickling from his lips. "By the time anyone gets up here, you'll be dead. And I will be long gone."

He began to move toward her again. She had no choice but to flee toward the far end of the hall and the stairs to the third-floor storage s.p.a.ces. She threw the screwdriver at him, but it bounced harmlessly off his chest and clattered to the floor, rolling in front of him down the pa.s.sageway. In his haste, he stepped on the handle and the round barrel turned beneath one foot, sending him off balance. He scrambled to regain his footing. Auntie Lil took the time to dash down the hall and run up the stairs to the third floor. Surely someone would be there, a technical person perhaps. Someone who could intimidate Perkins into giving up.

The third floor was empty. "Help me!" Auntie Lil screamed as she moved down the hall, trying each doorway she pa.s.sed. She could hear Perkins's footsteps clattering up the stairs. He was angrier and moving faster now. "Someone help me!" she shouted, her voice echoing across the empty s.p.a.ce.

"What's going on?" she heard a deep voice yell from the far end of the hallway near the abandoned storage room. She fled toward the sound as if it were a beacon of light in the darkness.

"Help me," she shouted again as she ran. Perkins was running rapidly down the hall toward her, his b.l.o.o.d.y wrist forgotten as he sprinted to make up his lost time. She reached the end of the long hallway and turned the corner. No one was there. Where was the voice coming from? She tried the empty storage room. Perhaps she could lock herself inside. The door would not budge. Perkins rounded the corner and started toward her. She backed up, hands reaching out behind her. There was no place to go but through the smaller door at the end of the shorter hall and onto the catwalk. Flinging open the door, she ran out onto the swinging metal ramp, slamming the door behind her, yet knowing it would not stop him for long. The catwalk was heavy steel, but it swayed as she ran down the center of its length, searching for escape. Did the metal ladder she had climbed the night before reach up this high or was she trapped? The walls were bare except for thick stage ropes. She would never be able to climb down them without falling.

"Help me!" she screamed over the edge of the catwalk just as the door opened. Perkins spotted her and smiled.

Where was the man that belonged to the voice she had heard in the hall, she thought frantically. He had to be here somewhere. "Help me!" she screamed again.

Ricky Lee Harris poked his head out from a storage area built into the sidewall of the stage one story below. He peered up at the catwalk but was standing directly beneath it and could not get a clear view. "What's going on up there?" he shouted.

Perkins stopped at the other end of the walk when he heard the lighting director's voice. He froze, peering over the side to his right, wondering if he could be seen.

Auntie Lil had almost reached the far end of the catwalk. She ignored the swaying movement beneath her feet that her frantic scrambling produced. "It was Andrew Perkins!" she screamed. "He's the one who killed Bobby Morgan. He's got me trapped up here on the catwalk. He's trying to kill me!" If she was going to die, she decided, she was going to make sure everyone knew who had killed her.

"Now, Miss Hubbert," Perkins said loudly in a soothing voice, "You're overexcited. Don't be silly. You shouldn't be out here. It's dangerous. You might slip and fall. Let me help you off." He leaned over the edge of the catwalk and smiled down at a puzzled Ricky Lee Harris. "It's okay, Rick. She's just a little excited. I found her going through my daughter's locker, and when I got angry, she flipped out on me. I can handle it."

"Don't believe him!" Auntie Lil screamed angrily, alarmed when Perkins took several more steps toward her. She began to rock the catwalk, holding on to the metal sides as she s.h.i.+fted her weight from left to right. As it swung more wildly she caught glimpses of Ricky Lee's quizzical face staring up at the catwalk, his eyes unfocused and bleary. He was going to believe Perkins, she realized with despair. He was probably so drunk he didn't even know if what he was hearing was real. She would have to get help from someone else.

"Help me!" she screamed over the edge of the catwalk in the loudest voice she had ever summoned from her considerable lungs. "Help me! Help me! Please help me!" She took off her shoes and threw them to the stage below. There were people moving about on the stage. Someone had to notice. "Help me!" she screamed over and over.

Her cries had no effect on Perkins. He advanced on her faster, holding on to the metal railings, stumbling slightly from side to side as the catwalk rocked beneath her vigorous movements. It was harder for him to keep his balance because he was moving; if she kept rocking it, she might slow him down. She could hear voices beneath her. Someone shouted up at them.

"Help!" she screamed back, not hearing what had been said, unable to focus on anything but keeping Perkins off balance.

Perkins was only a few yards away when she threw herself against the sides of the catwalk, desperate to slow him down. He stumbled and lost his footing, teetered against the metal railings, cursed, and then regained his foothold.

"What the h.e.l.l?" Ricky Lee Harris shouted a story below. "What are you doing on that ladder? Get off. It's dangerous."

Who was he talking to? "Help me!" Auntie Lil screamed again. "He's trying to kill me! For G.o.d sakes, help me!"

"Get off of there!" Ricky Lee bellowed again. Why was he shouting at her? She began to panic. Not only wouldn't he help her, he was shouting at her and making it harder to think.

But Ricky Lee Harris wasn't shouting at Auntie Lil. He was yelling across the stage at the lithe figure of the young dancer climbing steadily up the metal ladder embedded into the back brick wall of the stage. Rudy Vladimir had heard Auntie Lil's cries from below and believed her. He climbed rapidly, his strong young body surmounting the rungs with the ease of a practiced sailor. He pa.s.sed the second-story level and shouted at Harris, "Get help! She's telling the truth."

But Auntie Lil was trapped on top of the catwalk without a view of below. She had no way of knowing Rudy was on his way to her. She rocked the catwalk furiously, feeling tears coming, angry at herself for not holding on to her calm. She would not die in this manner, tumbling to the stage below, disposed of by a man who thought only of himself.

"Stay away from me!" she screamed as Perkins moved even closer. Just a few feet of swaying catwalk now separated them.

Rudy scrambled up the remaining rungs. The ladder didn't reach all the way to the catwalk. He couldn't catch hold of the railing or reach the pathway. Besides, it was swaying too much to chance a jump. He spotted the clump of heavy ropes hanging down from the rafters. Grabbing the nearest cord, he s.h.i.+mmied up the remaining distance until he was above the catwalk, flush against the wall behind Auntie Lil. He leaped lightly onto its surface and stepped in front of her, pus.h.i.+ng her down on the floor to protect her from Perkins. He faced her a.s.sailant.

Andrew Perkins froze in surprise as, with one beautiful, soaring, and perfect leap, Rudy launched himself from the swaying surface of the catwalk. He flew through the air, his right foot held straight out in front of him as unyielding as a steel pillar. The weight of his entire body was focused on that single, muscled leg and it slammed into Andrew Perkins's groin with the force of a locomotive. Perkins crumpled to the ground, his face a mute mask of agony as he writhed on the narrow steel ramp. Rudy reached for Auntie Lil and helped her to her feet.

Perkins tried to sit up, his body rocking violently as the full impact of the blow sank in. He rolled to the right and attempted to scramble toward them in his rage. His body teetered and he rolled toward the edge of the catwalk, part of his upper body slipping between the two thick wire ropes that served as the railings. His torso disappeared over the edge and he arched desperately, trying to grab the lower railing to pull himself back up. But his sudden movement only tipped the catwalk even more steeply. The lower half of his body slid almost gracefully from the steel floor, slithering over the side until one foot caught on the lower railing. The catwalk danced under this uncertain weight and Rudy grabbed Auntie Lil to steady her.

They heard the scream as Andrew Perkins's foot pulled clear and he began to fall. It sounded as if it went on for moments: a deep, agonized scream that faded in sound as he tumbled three stories to the stage below. It rang in their ears, echoing and echoing in its madness. There was a thump-and the theater fell silent.

Rudy pulled Auntie Lil to him and patted her head. His arms were so strong and rea.s.suring that she began to cry, overcome at a single overwhelming thought: another boy had, too soon, been forced to become a man.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

The boardroom was packed. Calvin Swanson brought in two loads of folding chairs and still some members had to stand. Faces that hadn't been seen since the hula hoop was popular appeared to hear the inside dirt. Everyone knew this was one board meeting of the Metro Ballet that should not be missed.

"What will happen to the girl?" someone asked from among the crowd as Lane opened the floor for business. Andrew Perkins had died two days after his fall from the catwalk. A young girl was now fatherless. Finally, it seemed, people were catching on that this tragedy extended beyond the lurid headlines: many people had been hurt.

"Julie Perkins has accepted a position in the corps of the San Francis...o...b..llet," Raoul Martinez announced. "She intends to take a hiatus from dancing and join their company next fall."

"Her mother will be living with her," Lilah explained. "My private investigator tracked her down in Sacramento."

"Why didn't you just have her do it?" one of the socialites on the board asked, nodding at Auntie Lil.

The room burst into laughter and applause as Auntie Lil accepted their accolades with unconvincing modesty. Lane Rogers endured the scene, her lips clamped in an unhappy line. Ruth Beretsky rather defiantly took great pains to record the comment and subsequent outburst in her meeting notes.

When Auntie Lil did not offer any details, however, one of the many curious among the crowd finally broke protocol in favor of satisfying her curiosity. "How did he do it?" a thin woman with gold bracelets the size of handcuffs asked eagerly.

The room fell silent. This was why they had come.

"Andrew Perkins killed Bobby Morgan early in the first act," Auntie Lil explained. "We're not sure what happened because only Julie is left to tell us and she herself does not know everything. She thinks that her father found out about her and Bobby Morgan in this manner: the day before the premiere, she couldn't find the white toe shoes she wanted to wear for The Nutcracker dress rehearsal and complained to her father about losing them. Later she realized she had left them at Morgan's apartment earlier that afternoon. The next day, right after the performance started, Bobby Morgan walked past Perkins toward the locker room, holding Julie's shoes. Perkins may have been smoking a cigarette in a doorway, hidden from Morgan's view. Perkins confronted Morgan when he realized that the shoes belonged to his daughter-and that the flowers and phone calls she had been receiving were coming from Morgan and not his son, as he had thought. The two men went upstairs to argue in private to avoid being heard during the performance. They ended up in the storage room and there was a scuffle. Somehow Morgan went down. There were bruises on one side of his head, a fact the police kept from the papers but that Hans Glick inadvertently guessed-which is one reason why the police arrested him when he came to them. Either Morgan died from a blow or a fall, or he was knocked unconscious and suffocated later when Perkins wrapped the ribbons from his daughter's white toe shoes around his neck and strangled him, then stuffed the shoe down his throat for good measure."

An appreciative murmur ran through the crowd. This would make excellent c.o.c.ktail conversation indeed.

"So he was already dead when he came swinging across the stage?" a board member asked eagerly, sweeping an arm across the table for emphasis.

Auntie Lil nodded. "Perkins wanted to shame and mock Morgan. The length of the first act gave him time to plan just how. Perkins disguised himself in Drosselmeyer's cape and made a quick tour of the backstage area, finding out what he needed to know. Replacing the cape, he returned to the third-floor storage room and dragged Morgan's body out onto the catwalk. He then tied a noose around Morgan's neck using the spare end of the counter rope that anch.o.r.ed the huge Christmas tree. Morgan was left securely hanging against the bricks way up in the shadows of the rafters, where no one could possibly see him. Perkins planned to cut the rope holding the heavy weight on the other end of the noose when he was safely downstairs and could quickly leave the scene. He expected the body to plummet to center stage. It would have been the perfect gesture. Not only did it mimic in many ways a scene from a recent Mikey Morgan movie, it stripped Morgan of all dignity in front of as large an audience as possible. But Perkins had not accounted for the fact that the Christmas tree had unevenly distributed weight. Without the counterbalance, it tipped as it fell and Morgan's body was jerked about and got caught behind the scrim instead of dropping to center stage. Perkins needed to humiliate Morgan so badly that he took a chance and actually dashed to where the body hung and grabbed it. Repositioning the body, he sent it swinging to center stage. In the confusion afterward, it was easy for him to slip out an exit door. He ran around the back pathway and into the lobby. By the time the lights went up, he was standing at the back of the auditorium, blending in with the audience, looking just as confused as the rest of us. We know that because the Reverend Ben Hampton heard Perkins in his dress shoes running down the back path."

"How much do you think the girl knew?" someone asked, and a lively debate arose. It halted only when Lane Rogers thumped the table vigorously with her gavel.

"I will stop this discussion if it does not remain civilized," she announced, but she, too, was burning with curiosity. So long as her own embarra.s.sing fixation with Bobby Morgan did not come up, she wanted to hear the dirt as badly as the next person.

"Julie Perkins actually tried to break things off with Morgan the day of his death," Auntie Lil explained. "That is the irony of the situation. And it was also why Morgan was in such a bad mood that day. Julie was afraid her father knew or suspected and realized what it might do to him if he found out. He was the only parent she had left, in her eyes. That's why she never turned her father in, though she couldn't bear to live with him after she discovered what he had done. But more important, Julie had grown tired of Morgan. She thought he was 'old and boring.' For once, I believe Morgan was about to get the boot instead of the other way around."

A small blonde woman coughed discreetly in the crowd. Many eyes looked conspicuously away from Raoul Martinez.

Lilah Cheswick took charge. She believed discretion was the mark of a civilized society and was determined to reintroduce the concept to this crowd. "As some of you may be aware, I was never comfortable with Mr. Morgan's stated reasons for having his son dance in The Nutcracker," she said. "A desire to give Mikey more stage experience did not seem plausible to me. It turns out that Mr. Morgan devised the plan so that he would have a good reason to come back to New York City and frequent these premises as often as he needed to in order to conduct a romance with an unnamed but married member of the Metro company. A woman older than Julie, who was perfectly capable of making an informed decision on becoming involved with Mr. Morgan. I do not believe it is necessary to divulge her name."

Raoul Martinez stared stonily ahead as Lilah continued.

"The affair began a few weeks before auditions while Morgan was conducting preliminary negotiations with Hans Glick. However, during this period, Morgan met Julie Perkins in the hallway of the Metro. Eventually, this led to his last-minute demand that Fatima Jones be dropped from the role of Clara before Mikey would agree to join the company. He knew the role would pa.s.s to Julie Perkins and he wanted to surprise her with the lead. His scheme worked. He overlapped his affairs with the two women for several weeks, if it is fair to refer to a sixteen-year-old as a woman, before he called a halt to the affair with the older one. Through sheer exhaustion, I presume."

"You say the unnamed woman was a member of the dance company!" someone asked. Lane Rogers fidgeted in discomfort and ignored the slightly smug stares of her compatriots.

"In other words, this was a dancer, right?" a blonde dressed in a designer suit clarified. "Not a board member?"

"I believe we have discussed this topic long enough," Lane interrupted grimly, banging the gavel for emphasis. "Let's move on to new business."

"Do you think we look out of place?" T.S. asked Herbert. They were sitting on stools in a slightly seedy bar at Broadway and Seventy-second Street, dressed in tuxedos and waiting for the Metro meeting to adjourn.

"I prefer to think of it as raising the caliber of the establishment," Herbert replied. He could not bring himself to admit that what had really attracted him to the bar was the old-fas.h.i.+oned neon sign in the shape of a giant martini gla.s.s that blinked on and off outside. It had evoked the emotions of an earlier era within his soul. It seemed a fitting beginning for the evening they had planned.

The bartender planted himself between them and admired their finery. "Nice suits, gents," he said in a heavy Bronx accent. "How may I be of service tonight?" Just seconds earlier he had flung a mug of beer down the bar toward a toothless patron like a saloon keeper in a cheesy Western movie, but their tuxedos had called out the gentleman in him. If these two patrons could aspire to something better, then, by G.o.d, so could he.

"Dewar's and soda," T.S. said automatically, his eyes sliding to a bank of video machines arranged in a far corner. Two drunken construction workers were busy abusing the nearest one. The far-off pinging of electronic bells was calling to T.S. as surely as the singing of sirens, stirring deep desires within his immaculately clad bosom.

"I'll have a martini," Herbert decided with uncharacteristically reckless abandon. "Tonight we trip the light fantastic."

T.S. tore his eyes from the lure of the flas.h.i.+ng lights and back toward the bar. "I've changed my mind," he told the barkeep. "I'll have a martini, too." He had sworn to himself-as well as to Auntie lil-that he would give up video games cold turkey. This was not a task easily accomplished sober. A martini was most definitely in order.

"You made the reservations?" Herbert asked, his gla.s.s hovering on the edge of his lower lip as if he would not allow himself to drink until business had been taken care of.

"A table for four at The Rainbow Room," T.S. confirmed. "Fairly near the orchestra but with a truly spectacular view of the city skyline."

"Nervous?" Herbert asked.

T.S. sipped his martini and nodded. "But only about the fox trot," he lied. "I think I've got the rest down pretty well."

The man next to them got up with a belch and patted his enormous belly in satisfaction. A squadron of empty beer bottles had been neatly lined up in front of his seat beside the decimated remains of a double cheeseburger platter. He had efficiently polished off close to a six-pack while perusing the day's newspaper and enjoying his dinner. As he rumbled contentedly out the door T.S.'s gaze slid to the open paper.

"Is that Newsday?" he asked Herbert.

Herbert checked the front page. "Yes. Shall I?" he said.

T.S. closed his eyes and took a gulp of martini. "Yes," he decided. "May as well." All week long Margo McGregor had been uncovering every secret that the Metropolitan Ballet had ever concealed. Thus far, T.S. had managed to avoid mention in her column but was sure that one day soon some ugly and forgotten tidbit of his private life would be revealed.

"It's about Glick, mostly," Herbert announced after a quick scan of the column's contents.

T.S. relaxed. Thank G.o.d. This called for another drink.

He flagged down the bartender and ordered a new round, though his first martini still had a few healthy gulps to go. "Anything new?" he asked.

Herbert reread the information more slowly. "Glick's been transferred back to Zurich by his company and they have promised to make rest.i.tution."

"Does it say why he did it?" T.S. asked. "It was a most un-Swisslike thing to do. Imagine, embezzling money from the coffers of the poor." Whenever T.S. drank, he had a tendency to slip into jargon more worthy of the Scarlet Pimpernel than a lifelong resident of New York City.

Herbert absently sipped his martini and scrutinized the newspaper. "It seems he invested the Metro's cash in some risky ventures and lost almost everything. It would have disgraced him. Or showed that he didn't know what he was doing and that, apparently, was anathema to him. He was trying to make up for the loss by skimming cash off the Los Angeles benefit receipts. That way he could juggle a few numbers and fake a few entries and maybe no one would notice."

"Stealing from the Metro to pay the Metro?" T.S. mused, downing the last of his first martini and taking an inaugural gulp of the second. "A sort of reverse, postmodern, but not quite organized, Swiss Robin Hood."

He lifted his martini gla.s.s in homage as Herbert looked up at him sharply. What in the world was T.S. babbling about?

"Where is Glick?" a board member demanded. "Am I the only one to notice that he is at the root of this entire mess? Negotiating with Bobby Morgan and not telling us, changing our insurance and not telling us, cooking the books..." Her voice trailed off indignantly.

"Glick is in Switzerland. He's been 'promoted' to director of corporate car rentals for his bank," someone offered. "I read it in the paper today."

"There is no need to panic," Lilah explained. "Glick's company had insurance against malfeasance caused by his actions while an officer of the company. And that includes his serving on the Metro's board."

"So the insurance on the insurance pays our insurance?" one confused board member asked as Ruth Beretsky dutifully noted the comment for the record.

"Sort of," Lilah conceded, giving up on explaining the concept. "The point is this: Even if Nikki Morgan continues with her lawsuit and wins, we won't have to pay. Glick's insurance company pays because he failed to pay our premium on time, violating his fiduciary duty."

"But we don't think it will even get that far," Lane Rogers interrupted as if she personally had arranged to sweep the entire matter under the carpet. "Nikki has indicated that she will be too busy overseeing her son's new movie role on location in Vancouver to pursue legal matters. She will let the lawsuit drop. I intervened personally on behalf of the board."

"So now it was 'Nikki,'" Auntie Lil thought to herself. "If you can't land a famous person, then make a beeline for the warmest body who can claim to have known that person."

"Mikey Morgan is back to making movies?" Raoul Martinez asked. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Good thing. I always said he couldn't dance. I was against his ever taking part in The Nutcracker in the first place, if you will recall."

They all recalled, all right. Just not the way he did. But no one bothered to call him on it.

"He's making one more movie, the one for Gene Levitt," Auntie Lil explained. "Then retiring from show biz to finish high school and college."

"He must have a fortune," a short brunette commented.

"Look here!" Ruth Beretsky cried out suddenly. "Is money the only thing that any of you ever think about? I have asked twice now whether the board intends to send a representative to Andrew Perkins's funeral and everyone ignores me. I am tired of being ignored. I want to know what the board is going to do."

Most people in the room were shocked into silence by her unexpected outburst. The others stared at her blankly, wondering whether they had ever seen her before.

Lane recovered first and, bristling at her a.s.sistant's rather roundabout accusation, was the first to respond. "I hardly think it is appropriate for the Metro to send an official representative to a murderer's funeral," she said.

"He was a man," Ruth cried out angrily, her voice wavering as she fought to regain control. "He should never have murdered Bobby Morgan, but we can all lose control if we are pushed far enough." Her eyes blazed and Lane looked away. "Besides, Andrew Perkins helped the Metro for more than eight years-and he was a nice man once. Before... before things happened to him. And what about his daughter? We should go to support Julie, if nothing else. We're the only people she knows. She's spent her whole life here."

Lane's reb.u.t.tal was swift. "As I said before, I hardly think that this should be our concern."