Parker 05 - The Darkness (28 page)

pertaining to an ongoing investigation. I clearly identified

myself, hoping one would cop to giving Chester the

photo.

At least four of them picked up their cell phone during

class. I could tell this because someone said quite audibly

that if the phone wasn't turned off posthaste, F would be

merely the first of four letters on that student's papers.

When I was in college, one of my dreams was to have

a beeper some day. As young as I was, sometimes I felt

pretty old.

Frustration began to seep in after I'd contacted nearly

thirty of Abigail's friends and made no headway. I wasn't

even sure how many of these people she was still close

to, or whether or not they were real friends or just random

friends-of-friends-of-friends.

There had to be an easier way to do this. And just

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when I was about to brainstorm what that was, Jack came

walking over.

He had a big smile on his face, the kind of smile that

you didn't often see on a man approaching seventy. This

was more along the lines of a young child who'd accidentally discovered a hidden Christmas present that they

didn't expect to be there. Jack almost looked embarrassed

to be happy.

"What's got you so toothy?" I said.

"I think I found it," he said.

"Found what?"

Jack took a chair from an empty cubicle and pulled it

over to my desk. He laid a series of printouts in front of me.

They looked to be from some sort of Web sites. They were

chock-full of random ruminations, thoughts and pictures.

"What is this?" I said.

"Well," Jack continued, the pride in his voice unmistakable, "I took the list of all of Abigail Cole's online

friends. I did every kind of search imaginable--Google,

Yahoo, LexisNexis, you name it--and cross-referenced

her name along with Web sites that contained photos. I

figured if somebody had access to personal photos, they

might have had access even earlier than when Paulina was

first taken."

"Why would you assume that?" I said.

"Whoever took Paulina wanted her to write that article

to help publicize the Darkness. Which means these plans

have been in the works for a lot longer than the little time

gone by since her abduction. This blond guy needed to

know how to get to Paulina well before he actually did

it, meaning he needed to be sure of who had access to her

daughter's photos ahead of time. So when I did all that...I

found something."

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231

"A Web site," I said.

"A blog," Jack continued. "Not active anymore, but get

this. It was deleted just three days after Paulina was

abducted. Coincidence, right?"

"Could be," I said. "What makes you think it has

anything to do with this story?"

"The blog was deleted, but a few cached pages were

still available to see. Other Web sites had links to it.

That's part of the reason I was able to find it."

"And?"

"And the blog's creator is a girl named Pamela

Ruffalo," Jack said. "I know you haven't had time to read

all of these pages I printed out yet, but I'll save you the

detective work. Pam Ruffalo either was, or, more likely,

still is Abigail Cole's girlfriend."

"You're kidding me. Her girlfriend posted pictures of

her on the blog?"

"No sir, Henry. Take a look for yourself."

I picked the half a dozen pages up, began to shuffle

through them.

There were about fifteen blog entries on the pages.

They were dated starting about three months ago, and

continued up until the last few days when the account

was deleted.

The posts were fairly specific about their relationship.

According to the second entry, Pamela had met Abigail in

college during a job recruitment fair. They'd both been

online to hear more about an environmental consulting firm,

got to talking, and had dinner at a campus eatery that night.

Their first official date was that weekend.
Weekend at

Bernie's,
which Pam had rented on Netflix. She marveled

at how they both had an appreciation for bad movies. And

since that first date had gone so well, Pam had ordered

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Showgirls, Battlefield Earth
and
Mother Dearest
for her

new romantic interest.

As the relationship progressed, Pam began to post

pictures of the couple on the page. Some of the pictures

were innocuous. The couple out at a party. Watching a

field hockey game together. Sitting under a tree reading.

Some of the pictures, though, were far more intimate.

The first one that caught my attention was the two girls

lying in bed, sheets up to their chins, bare shoulders

visible. The photo must have been a self-portrait taken by

one of the two girls, as a finger smudge obscured part of

the right side of the shot.

In another photo, the girls were dressed up in bustiers

and garter belts. It looked like they were about to go to

some sort of party.

And in another shot, the two girls were snapped kissing passionately. I'd say one thing, they were kind of

cute together.

"These all came off the blog?" I said.

"Every one."

"Were there any photos of Abigail Cole in a bikini? Or

on the beach at all?"

Jack squirmed. "Listen, I know she's a good-looking

girl but I'm not about to..."

"No, that's not why I'm asking. Paulina said when the

guy took her, he showed her a photo of her daughter

wearing a bikini on the beach. Paulina told me the photo

the guy used was private. She said Abigail never posted

it online, and she was clear about that. So where did the

photo come from?"

"I think I know," Jack said. "But I need two things to

confirm it."

"What are they?"

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233

"First off, I need you to find out one thing for me

online. I don't have access to it, but either you do or

know someone who does."

"What do I..."

"And the second thing," Jack said, looking me dead in

the eyes, "is that I need to talk to Paulina Cole."

31

I stood in the middle of Rockefeller Center with my

hands in my pockets, watching people go about their day.

The sun was bright and there was just a wisp of breeze.

A tour group passed us by, clinking and clanking as

the binoculars and cameras jangled about their necks.

There were lots of tour groups always walking about this

area, and they would often look at me in my work clothes

like I was some sort of alien species. These people didn't

seem to believe that anyone actually lived or worked in

Manhattan, that we all just bused in day after day and

wandered about starstruck, wondering when we might

run into Derek Jeter or Sarah Jessica Parker on the street.

I think they believed only celebrities and homeless people

lived in the city.

I watched the corner of Fifty-first Street, knowing

that's the direction she'd be coming from. Paulina wasn't

too keen on meeting me up by the
Gazette,
partly because

she didn't like to move for anybody and partly because

when she left the paper she was thought of just about as

fondly as Mussolini.

"Parker?" Paulina Cole said. She had just rounded the

corner and was staring at me like I'd just thrown a pie at

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235

her from across a crowded room. She was wearing black

leather boots and a knee-length skirt. Her hair was recently done, and I hated to admit it but she looked pretty

good. "You'd better have a damn good reason for calling

me up to the Hard Rock Cafe."

I'd heard Paulina refer to Rockefeller Center by that

moniker before. And she didn't mean it as a compliment.

To her, this neighborhood was a tourist mecca, drastically

overpriced, and as close to real New York as the Hard

Rock was to being the real Arnold Schwarzenegger. "I

expense my cell phone bill and cab rides, and if you keep

calling me I'll have some explaining to do when the

finance department reviews it."

"Nice to talk to you, too, Paulina," I said. "Thanks

for coming."

"Don't thank me. I came because you said you had

more information about my daughter."

"Yeah...you might want to sit down."

"What, you think whatever you have to tell me is going

to make me suddenly pass out in your arms or something?

Get over yourself, Henry. Nothing surprises me anymore."

"Well, I don't want to tell you what to do. But there is

news."

"Did you find the man?" Paulina said. She said it like

she'd expected us to do so all along. There was no appreciation in her voice. Whatever, that wasn't quite her style.

"No. But we know where the photo came from. The

one of your daughter at the beach."

"How did you find it? Where did it come from?"

"Well, I'll let the person who figured it out tell you all

about it. Hey, Jack."

Paulina whipped around to see Jack O'Donnell standing right behind her. He had a massive smile on his face,

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and he was standing close enough to her that he could

almost tickle her nose with his beard.

"Hey, Cole," Jack said. "Long time. How's the exhusband and your kid?"

"You've got to be kidding me."

The surprise in Paulina's voice proved that Jack

O'Donnell was the last person she expected--and

wanted--to see.

The reporter stood there, looking like she wanted to

kill Jack, kill me, then tear our bodies to pieces.

Instead she merely said, "You've got to be fucking

kidding me."

"I am neither kidding nor fucking you," Jack said.

"But I am going to help you."

Paulina's face contorted, as she sneered at Jack. I stood

there wondering if this was a good idea. But Jack insisted

that this meeting take place. He said it wasn't a vendetta,

and it wasn't because he needed to get even with the

woman who nearly ruined his career. He said it was

because it was the right thing to do.

"What the hell do you want, you dried-up old mummy?"

I wondered if Jack still felt like it was the right thing

to do.

"You know the old saying, people only call you names

if they really care about you? Well, between your sweet

nothings and that big kiss of an article you wrote about

me, I'm willing to bet most New York psychiatrists would

testify that you're head over heels in love with me."

"What the hell is this, O'Donnell? Parker, you'd better have a reason for this that goes well beyond morbid

curiosity."

"Jack asked me to set this up," I said. I didn't have to

worry about throwing Jack under the bus here; he told me

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237

he wanted it fully known that this was his decision. "But

I knew you'd want to hear what he has to say."

"I only want to hear one of two things come out of your

mouth," Paulina said. "One, that you know who threatened my daughter. Or two, you're leaving this business

and wanted to thank me for showing this city what a

washed-up, drunk old hack you really are."

I saw Jack flinch at that, but he stood his ground. Paulina

was staring daggers into Jack's eyes, but he didn't waver.

"I can't say either of those," Jack said.

"Then why the hell am I here? Serves me right for

trusting you, Parker."

"You trusted me for a reason," I said. "Now hear him

out."

Paulina looked at Jack, shook her head. "I'm surprised

you had the balls to poke your head out from whatever

rock you've been under the last few months."

"Balls have never been my problem," Jack said. "It's

knowing when to think with my head instead of my balls

that's gotten me into trouble."

Had Jack been thirty years younger, I could see these

two having the best enemy sex in history.

"Seems like that's a problem a lot of male journalists

have. Even Henry here. Right, Parker? No reporter's had

his life threatened more times in a few years than your

protege, Jack. These balls? How would you feel if one day

Henry gets too close to the fire and gets burned to a crisp?"

"Shut the hell up," I said. Paulina smiled.

"There are those balls I talked about," she said. "You're

a reporter, Henry, not a soldier. You're not supposed to

have emotion or take sides. And you're not supposed to

come this close to getting yourself killed on every story

you report."

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"I do what I need to in order to get to the truth," I said.

"You don't seem to care much about the truth in the

story I wrote about Jack," she said. "You might hate me

for it, but every word in that was true. And you don't

judge him the way you're judging me right now."

"You see, that's where you and I aren't alike," I said.

"I don't look at life as one big story to report. There's a