The Organization (26 page)

She sipped her tea.  “I hope Charlie is ready for it – for the scrutiny of it all.”

“Are you ready to see her again?” Erin asked.

Harriet wished she could express to Erin what a mix of emotions she was experiencing, how she was excited, afraid, nervous, and overjoyed all at the same time, and how she was worried about what Charlotte’s reaction would be to seeing her again.  Erin had seemed so guarded when asked about how Charlie was doing. 

Aloud, Harriet replied, “It’s been twelve years…” as if that were any kind of answer.  She thought about how Erin said Charlotte cried in her arms when they saw each other, and she added, “You need to tell her that I’ll be there.”

“I will,” Erin said.  “I have a meeting with her tomorrow to make sure she’s prepped for the hearing.”

“I wish I could help,” Harriet said.

“Are you kidding?  None of this would be happening if not for you.  There wouldn’t even be a hearing.”

“If not for me, Charlie wouldn’t be in prison,” Harriet replied.

Erin was quiet for a moment before saying, “Naomi James’s recommendation is key.  Do you have any doubts about her?  Is there a chance she’ll waver?”

Harriet frowned slightly then replied, “I’ll make sure she doesn’t change her mind.”

Erin looked sympathetic, perhaps almost like she felt sorry for Harriet.  She nodded and said, “All right.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

“He hasn’t been particularly active, but he occasionally comes to meetings.  Everything seems to check out with him,” Ethan said.  “Was there something in particular you want me to look into about Nick?”  Ethan was serious and no-nonsense all of the time.  These qualities had made him an excellent guard and, as time went on, Harriet had grown to rely on him.

Harriet shook her head and replied, “No.  That’s fine.”

Thomas sat with his arms folded across his chest in the seat next to Ethan, both of whom sat across the square table from Harriet.  There was room for two people on each side, but Harriet sat alone.  When she looked around the table at the five people who shared it with her, she saw faces she had known for many years.  But when she looked at her inner circle, as she did now, she felt the heartache of Daniel’s absence.

“And Joanna?  Is there any update about her?” Harriet asked, knowing how such questions were usually met with averted eyes. 

Even after twelve years, no one wanted to bring her up.  Harriet knew that Ethan and others around the table had been close to Daniel and felt his death had never been avenged.  And then there was Thomas, who apparently blamed both himself and Harriet.  He had warned her early on that something wasn’t right about Joanna – that she shouldn’t trust her – and later faulted Harriet for failing to take action to prevent her from damaging the organization.  Harriet knew, too, that he faulted himself for how he left for the countryside in those fateful months that led up to Daniel’s death and Joanna’s escape.

Ethan cleared his throat and answered, “We think it’s probably nothing, but…”

“Yes?” Harriet asked.

“There’s a rumor about people who meet in the East End.  It kind of sounds like, well, Joanna’s politics.  It could be that she’s finally surfacing again.”

Harriet felt a surge of anger and anticipation at the possibility that Joanna might be in London, and she took a moment before responding.  “Where did you get your information?”

“It was just a street kid.  He’s… probably not even reliable,” Ethan replied.

“It’s still worthwhile to investigate.  Who can we send?” Harriet asked, looking around the table for suggestions.  She could see that they were skeptical; they had had pursued other such rumors to no avail.

“I’ll go,” Zoe finally said.

Harriet looked at her and nodded, replying, “Good.  Work with Ethan to figure out a plan.”

Zoe was the member of her inner circle who she had known for the shortest amount of time.  Ethan had been one of her bodyguards for over a decade; Thomas was both her husband and bodyguard; and the two others – Rhys and Marta – had been part of the organization since its founding.  Shortly after Daniel’s death, when Joanna went underground and seemed to take about twenty percent of the organization’s membership with her, Zoe turned up. 

At first Harriet didn’t trust her – she didn’t trust anyone – and then it came out that she had been the supplier that Joanna had used for Charlie’s pickups.  Upon learning that, Harriet trusted Zoe even less, suspecting that she might be a plant of Joanna’s.  Over the years, though, she proved herself to be loyal and Harriet realized her mistrust had been unfounded.  Within the last year, Harriet had accepted her into her inner circle.

“That’s all I have for today,” Harriet told them.  “Thank you all for coming.”

Everyone except Thomas said goodnight and headed for the door. 

“Do you think Zoe is up for the task?” he asked once they were alone.

“I think she’ll do just fine,” Harriet replied.

“Let’s hope so,” Thomas said.

“Have a little faith, Thomas,” Harriet said.

“Try to be realistic, Harriet,” he replied with an edge to his voice.

They were headed for the door, and Harriet stopped in her tracks.  “You forget who you’re talking to.”

“Don’t worry, I never do,” Thomas said, leaving.

#

With the meeting still running through her mind, Harriet watched out the window as the buildings came into focus with the slowing of the train.  A pre-recorded voice announced over the loudspeakers that the train was approaching the Birmingham Moor Street station.

Naomi was waiting for her in the sweltering heat as she stepped off the train and onto the platform, her overnight bag slung over one shoulder.  Naomi rushed over and kissed her.  “I was so happy to hear from you,” Naomi said.  She took Harriet’s bag from her and looked her over, saying, “You look amazing.”

Harriet had learned long ago to choose clothes that would communicate the message she wanted to send.  Tonight, she had worn a fairly typical outfit of hers – a burgundy blouse that dipped into a low V, a pencil skirt, stockings, and heels.  She wanted Naomi to notice her body and the way her clothes clung to her curves, but she also wanted to communicate power and sophistication.  She needed to keep Naomi in a place where she wouldn’t feel like she could disagree with her and change her mind about Charlotte.  She had sacrificed too much for things to go pear shaped at the last minute.  Charlotte had sacrificed too much.

Harriet acknowledged Naomi’s compliment, saying, “Thank you.  And thanks for meeting me at the station.  That was sweet of you.”

Naomi blushed in response, her cheeks turning a deeper pink that they already were from the weather, and they headed to her flat, the clicking of Harriet’s heels on the pavement echoed by the much softer sound of Naomi’s loafers.  Harriet followed her upstairs and inside her flat, which was spotlessly clean and tidy.  The disarray of Naomi’s flat on that first night she had been over had yet to make even a whisper of a reappearance.  Harriet knew that Naomi was making an effort to impress her.  On Naomi’s small dining room table was a bottle, displayed so Harriet would see it when she entered the room.

“What’s this?” Harriet asked.

“It’s for you,” she said.  Naomi walked over and handed it to Harriet, looking for her approval.  “I wasn’t sure what kind you like, but I’ve noticed that scotch is your drink.  On the rocks, right?”

“Yes,” Harriet said, then remembered to smile.  “You’re very thoughtful.”

“I just thought you might like it.  And this way, we don’t even have to go to The Fox – unless you wanted to.”  She looked slightly uncomfortable, tentative, as though she were too concerned with pleasing Harriet and also afraid of overstepping.

“Fetch us a couple of glasses?” Harriet suggested.

“Sure, of course,” she said, returning a moment later with two etched-glass tumblers with a few cubes of ice in each. Harriet wondered if Naomi even liked scotch.

Harriet poured them each a drink and they sat on Naomi’s sofa.  She had noticed before that Naomi had strategically placed a quilt over the back of the sofa to cover a worn patch.  Harriet made sure not to disturb the quilt. 

“How was work this week?” Naomi asked.  As Naomi sipped the scotch, Harriet noticed that she appeared to be stifling a grimace.  No, she didn’t think Naomi liked scotch.

“Everything went really well, actually,” Harriet replied. 

She knew that she needed to fill some time with easy conversation – safe topics – before she broached the topic of Charlotte’s hearing, so she made herself talk for a while about the transportation committee meeting.  She described in detail who had been in attendance, what objections had been raised about the rail expansion, and eventually how her side had won out.  Everything she told Naomi was a matter of public record, but she tried to tell the story with even flourish that Naomi might even believe she thought it was an interesting story to share.

Harriet was on her second glass of scotch – Naomi declined a refill – when she noticed Naomi was settling into the sofa, her body language indicating that she looking for more than conversation. 
No
, Harriet thought,
not until I’ve said what I need to say.

“Oh, I had a visit this week from Charlotte Parker’s solicitor,” Harriet said as if she had just remembered.

“You did?” Naomi asked, looking caught off-guard.

Harriet nodded and said, “About Parker’s hearing.  She asked if I would be willing to make a statement – you know, about Charlie’s contribution to the EBC way back when, since it never came out at trial.”  Harriet knew to tread carefully, and she noted how Naomi looked increasingly apprehensive.  “I told her I would, but if you’d rather I didn’t.”

Naomi blinked a few times in rapid succession and looked away.  “No, of course.  You should do what you think is best.  I suppose I just never imagined you’d come to my place of work.  It’s just… throwing me a bit.”

Harriet reached out and touched Naomi’s hand.  “I can still tell the solicitor I’ve changed my mind.  I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Naomi looked momentarily torn.  “But you said yourself that you think Parker should be released.”

“I did say so, and I believe it,” Harriet replied, holding her gaze.

“Then you should make a statement.  You should be at the hearing.”

Harriet kissed the tip of her nose and said, “All right.  You’re always so level-headed.”  Harriet finished her drink and set the glass down on the end table.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Thomas refrained from commenting as Harriet left the house early, dressed in her sleeveless sapphire-colored sheath dress that fell conservatively to just above her knees.  Its square neckline accentuated her collarbone but was modest enough for the hearing.  She had also chosen to wear a simple pearl necklace, muted bronze heels, and a cream-colored scarf draped around her shoulders.  She carried her leather satchel that she usually took with her to work and which contained her basic necessities.

Harriet had told Erin that she would meet her at the prison – she knew it wouldn’t look right to Naomi if they arrived together.  Even with her MP identification, she still needed to go through security, where they examined the contents of her satchel and made sure she wasn’t hiding any weapons in her cleavage.  She tried not to let it faze her, and tried very hard not to think about the degradation that Charlotte must have suffered over the years.

After security, Harriet found herself ushered into a hallway where Naomi and Erin were standing at a stranger’s distance from one another and talking.  She recognized Erin’s outfit as the same one she wore when she first came to see her.  She next noticed Naomi, whom she hadn’t seen dressed for work before.  Naomi looked nicely put together in a pair of fitted black trousers, white blouse, and taupe blazer.

Harriet held her hand out to Erin and with a tone of practiced propriety said, “Ms. Reese, it’s nice to see you again.” 

Erin shook her hand wordlessly at first before finally saying, “And you as well, Ms. Spencer.”

Harriet gave Naomi a small smile and offered her hand.  “Good morning, Ms. James.”

Naomi also returned her handshake.  She seemed both surprised and relieved.

“I was just telling Ms. Reese that Parker will be down shortly so they can meet in private before the hearing,” Naomi said.  “We also have a separate room for witnesses where you’ll need to wait until the panel is ready to begin the hearing.”

A part of Harriet wanted to take off in the other direction.  An even more irrational part of her wanted to hit Naomi over the head with her satchel, steal her keys, and try to make an escape with Charlotte.  These thoughts ran through her mind as she realized she hadn’t acknowledged Naomi’s comment.  Both Naomi and Erin were waiting for her response, and she could see the wary look of concern in Erin’s eyes.

“Yes,” Harriet said finally.  “Yes, of course.” 
Keep it together
, she told herself.

Harriet was shown to a small room with a table, a few chairs, and a tray of light refreshments.  She realized she should have asked how long she might be waiting.  After about twenty minutes, according to the clock on the wall, a guard came to the room.

“The panel is almost ready to begin,” he told her.  “Please come with me.”

As Harriet followed the guard, she wished she had had the sense to drink that morning.  A bit of scotch would have offered a barrier between her and the rest of the world.  She willed herself to be calm, to look composed, to act poised.  She needed to hide her nerves.

Harriet kept her eyes focused straight ahead as she entered the room where the hearing would take place.  It was smaller than she expected it to be, and it contained a long table capable of seating nine or ten people.  Two pitchers of water had been set out on the table along with an assortment of mismatched glasses assembled on a tray.

The three-person panel and the Crown’s representative rose when Harriet entered, and each of them introduced themselves to her and shook her hand.  The chair of the panel was a judge, a shorter man by the name of Mr. Conroy.  Another panelist, Dr. Frank, was a psychologist.  The third panelist, Mr. Soller, didn’t mention his occupation.  The Crown’s representative was a statuesque woman, Ms. Finley, who appeared to be in her early- or mid-sixties.