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Kemal was waiting in the hallway.
‘Let’s go home,’ Dana said curtly.
‘Did they keep my knife?’
She did not bother to answer.
During the ride home, Kemal said, ‘I’m sorry I got you in trouble, Dana.’
‘Oh, no trouble. They’ve decided not to kick me out of school. Look, Kemal –’
‘Okay. No more knives.’
When they returned to the apartment, Dana said, ‘I have to get back to the studio. The sitter will be here any minute. Tonight you and I are going to have to have a long talk.’
When the evening broadcast was finished, Jeff turned to Dana. ‘You look worried, honey.’
‘I am. It’s Kemal. I don’t know what to do about him, Jeff. I had to go see his principal again today, and two more housekeepers have quit because of him.’
‘He’s a great kid,’ Jeff said. ‘He just needs warm-up time.’
‘Maybe. Jeff?’
‘Yes?’
‘I hope I didn’t make a terrible mistake bringing him here.’
When Dana returned to the apartment, Kemal was waiting.
Dana said, ‘Sit down. We have to talk. You must start obeying the rules, and these fights at school have to stop. I know the other boys are making it difficult for you, but you’ve got to come to some understanding with them. If you keep getting into fights, Mr Henry is going to throw you out of school.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘You have to care. I want you to have a wonderful future, and that can’t happen without an education. Mr Henry is giving you a break, but –’
‘Fuck him.’
‘Kemal!’ Without thinking, Dana slapped him across the face. She was instantly sorry. Kemal stared at her, a look of disbelief on his face, got up, ran into the study, and slammed the door shut.
The telephone rang. Dana picked it up. It was Jeff. ‘Dana –’
‘Darling, I – I can’t talk right now. I’m too upset.’
‘What happened?’
‘It’s Kemal. He’s impossible!’
‘Dana …’
‘Yes?’
‘Walk in his shoes.’
‘What?’
‘Think about it. Sorry, I’m on a deadline. Love you, and we’ll talk later.’
Walk in his shoes? That doesn’t make any sense, Dana thought. How can I know what Kemal is feeling? I’m not a twelve-year-old war orphan with one arm who’s gone through what he’s gone through. Dana sat there for a long time, thinking. Walk in his shoes. She rose, went into her bedroom, closed the door, and opened her closet door. Before Kemal had arrived, Jeff had spent several nights a week at the apartment and had left some of his clothes there. In the closet were pants, shirts and ties, a sweater, and a sports jacket.
Dana took out some of the clothes and placed them on the bed. She went to a bureau drawer and removed a pair of Jeff’s Jockey shorts and socks. Then Dana got completely undressed. She picked up Jeff’s Jockey shorts with her left hand and started putting them on. She lost her balance and fell. It took her two more attempts before she could get them on. Next, she picked up one of Jeff’s shirts. Using only her left hand, it took three frustrating minutes to slip into it and button it. She had to sit on the bed to don the trousers, and they were difficult to zip up. It took another two minutes to put on Jeff’s sweater.
When Dana was finally dressed, she sat down to catch her breath. This was what Kemal had to go through every morning. And that was only the beginning. He had to bathe and brush his teeth and comb his hair. And that was now. What about the past? Living in the horror of war, watching his mother, father, sister, and friends murdered.
Jeff’s right, she thought. I’m expecting too much too soon. He needs more time to adjust. I could never give up on him. My father abandoned my mother and me and I’ve never really forgiven him for that. There should be a thirteenth commandment: Thou shall not abandon those who love you.
Slowly, as Dana got dressed in her own clothes, she thought about the lyrics of the songs that Kemal listened to over and over again. The CDs of Britney Spears, the Backstreet Boys, Limp Bizkit. ‘Don’t want to lose you,’ ‘I need you tonight,’ ‘As long as you love me,’ ‘I just want to be with you,’ ‘I need love.’
All the lyrics were about loneliness and wanting.
Dana picked up Kemal’s report card. It was true that he was failing in most of his classes, but he had an A in math. It’s the A that’s important, Dana thought. That’s where he excels. That’s where he has a future. We’ll work on the other grades.
When Dana opened the door to the study, Kemal was in bed, with his eyes tightly closed and his pale face stained with tears. Dana looked at him a moment, then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I’m so sorry, Kemal,’ she whispered. ‘Forgive me.’
Tomorrow will be a better day.
Early the following morning Dana took Kemal to a prominent orthopedic surgeon, Dr William Wilcox. After the examination, Dr Wilcox talked to Dana alone.
‘Miss Evans, to fit him with a prosthesis would cost twenty thousand dollars and there’s a problem here. Kemal is only twelve years old. His body will keep growing until he’s seventeen or eighteen. He could outgrow the prosthesis every few months. I’m afraid financially it’s not practical.’
Dana had a sinking feeling. ‘I see. Thank you, Doctor.’
Outside, Dana said to Kemal, ‘Don’t worry, darling. We’ll find a way.’
Dana dropped Kemal off at school and then headed for the studio. Half a dozen blocks away, her cell phone rang. She picked it up. ‘Hello?’
‘It’s Matt. There’s going to be a press conference on the Winthrop murder at police headquarters at noon. I want you to cover it. I’m sending over a camera crew. The police have really got their asses in a sling. The story is getting bigger every minute, and the cops don’t have a clue.’
‘I’ll be there, Matt.’
Police Chief Dan Burnett was in his office on the telephone when his secretary said, ‘The mayor is on line two.’
Burnett snapped, ‘Tell him I’m talking to the governor on line one.’ He went back to the phone.
‘Yes, Governor. I know that … Yes, sir. I think … I’m sure we can … As soon as we … Right. Good-bye, sir.’ He slammed the phone down.
‘The White House press secretary is on line four.’
The whole morning went like that.
At noon, the conference room in the Municipal Center at 300 Indiana Avenue in downtown Washington was crowded with members of the media. Police Chief Burnett entered and walked to the front of the room.
‘Let’s have it quiet, please.’ He waited until there was silence. ‘Before I take your questions, I have a statement to make. The savage murder of Gary Winthrop is a great loss not only to this community, but to the world, and our investigation is going to continue until we apprehend the ones responsible for this terrible crime. I’ll take your questions.’
A reporter stood up. ‘Chief Burnett, do the police have any leads?’
‘At about three AM a witness saw two men loading up a white van in the driveway of Gary Winthrop’s house. Their actions looked suspicious, and he took down the license number. The plates were from a stolen truck.’
‘Do the police know what was taken from the house?’
‘A dozen valuable paintings are missing.’
‘Was anything stolen besides the paintings?’
‘No.’
‘What about cash and jewelry?’
‘The jewelry and cash in the house were untouched. The thieves were just after the paintings.’
‘Chief Burnett, didn’t the house have an alarm system, and if so, was it turned on?’
‘According to the butler, it was always turned on at night. The burglars found a way to circumvent it. We’re not sure yet how.’
‘How did the burglars gain entrance to the house?’
Chief Burnett hesitated. ‘That’s an interesting question. There were no signs of a break-in. We don’t have the answer to that yet.’
‘Could it have been an inside job?’
‘We don’t think so. Gary Winthrop’s staff has been with him for many years.’
‘Was Gary Winthrop alone in the house?’
‘As far as we know, yes. The staff was off.’
Dana called out, ‘Do you have a list of the stolen paintings?’
‘We do. They’re all well known. The list has been circulated to museums, art dealers, and collectors. The minute one of those paintings appears, the case will be solved.’
Dana sat down, puzzled. The killers must have been aware of that, so they wouldn’t dare try to sell the paintings. Then what was the point of stealing them? And committing a murder? And why didn’t they take the money and jewelry? Something doesn’t add up.
The funeral services for Gary Winthrop were held at the National Cathedral, the sixth largest in the world. Wisconsin and Massachusetts Avenues had been closed off to traffic. Secret Service men and Washington police were out in full force. Inside, waiting for the service to begin, were the vice president of the United States, a dozen senators and members of Congress, a Supreme Court Justice, two cabinet officers, and a host of dignitaries from around the world. The police and press helicopters beat a tattoo in the sky. On the street outside were hundreds of onlookers who had come either to pay their respects or to get a glimpse of the celebrities inside. People were paying tribute not just to Gary, but to the entire ill-fated Winthrop dynasty.
Dana covered the funeral with two camera crews. Inside, the cathedral was hushed.
‘God moves in mysterious ways,’ the minister was intoning. ‘The Winthrops spent their lives building hopes. They donated billions of dollars to schools and churches and to the homeless and the hungry. But just as important, they selflessly gave of their time and talent. Gary Winthrop carried on the great family tradition. Why this family, with all its achievements and generosity, has been taken from us so cruelly is beyond our knowledge. In one sense, they are not really gone, for their legacy will live on forever. What they have done for us will always make us proud.
God shouldn’t let people like that die those kinds of horrible deaths, Dana thought sadly.
Dana’s mother called. ‘My friends and I watched you cover the funeral, Dana. For a moment there, when you were talking about the Winthrop family, I thought you were going to cry.’
‘So did I, Mother. So did I.’
Dana had difficulty getting to sleep that night. When she finally did fall asleep, her dreams were a wild kaleidoscope of fires and automobile accidents and shootings. In the middle of the night, she awakened suddenly and sat up. Five members of the same family killed in less than a year? What are the odds?
Chapter Four (#ulink_ef7a425a-d7f1-5d11-9799-ae273bc21c1c)
‘What are you trying to tell me, Dana?’
‘Matt, I’m saying that five violent deaths in one family in less than a year is too much of a coincidence.’
‘Dana, if I didn’t know you better, I’d call a psychiatrist and tell him Chicken Little is in my office saying that the sky is falling. You think we’re dealing with some kind of conspiracy? Who’s behind it? Fidel Castro? The CIA? Oliver Stone? For God’s sake, don’t you know that every time someone prominent is killed, there are a hundred different conspiracy theories? A guy came in here last week and said he could prove that Lyndon Johnson killed Abraham Lincoln. Washington is always drowning in conspiracy theories.’
‘Matt, we’re getting ready to do Crime Line. You want to start with a grabber? Well, if I’m right, this could be it.’
Matt Baker sat there for a moment, studying her. ‘You’re wasting your time.’
‘Thanks, Matt.’
The Washington Tribune’s morgue was in the building’s basement, filled with thousands of tapes from earlier news shows, all neatly cataloged.
Laura Lee Hill, an attractive brunette in her forties, was seated behind her desk cataloging tapes. She looked up as Dana entered.
‘Hi, Dana. I saw your broadcast of the funeral. I thought you did a great job.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Wasn’t that a terrible tragedy?’
‘Terrible,’ Dana agreed.
‘You just never know,’ Laura Lee Hill said somberly. ‘Well – what can I do you for?’
‘I want to look at some tapes of the Winthrop family.’
‘Anything in particular?’
‘No. I just want to get a feel of what the family was like.’
‘I can tell you what they were like. They were saints.’
‘That’s what I keep hearing,’ Dana said.
Laura Lee Hill rose. ‘I hope you have plenty of time, honey. We have tons of coverage on them.’
‘Good. I’m in no hurry.’
Laura Lee led Dana to a desk with a television monitor on it. ‘I’ll be right back,’ she said. She returned five minutes later with a full armload of tapes. ‘You can start with these,’ she said. ‘There are more coming.’
