Bright Young Women(65)

“What time is it?” Carl asked in a froggy voice, his throat sounding ragged and dried out from the whiskey. He put a fist to his mouth, coughing, and went into the bathroom for water.

“I realized something important,” I said, reddening, rather than answer that it was three a.m., “and I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

The tap went off and Carl appeared in the bathroom doorway, gulping from a glass. He drew a forearm across his mouth and motioned for me to go on.

“Gerald said he was the wrong guy to ask for information, and that we had to talk to the right one. It was like he was toying with us, giving us a riddle to solve. But maybe that’s because he had to, because he’s not free to say what he knows. And then I remembered—the sheriff’s plaque on his door. His name is Sheriff Dennis Wright.”

“The Wright guy,” Carl said, instantly revived and alert.

“I think the police in Colorado know something about where The Defendant was headed,” I said. “What if they saw what happened down in Florida and are purposely staying out of it? It’s bad enough that they let him get away again, but if he went and committed another horrible crime and it comes back to them? God”—I realized something truly upsetting—“they probably don’t even want him caught. This is blood on their hands.”

Carl leaned against the bathroom doorframe, arms strapped across his bare chest and a distant kind of excitement on his face. “If it’s true, it’s a career-making story.”

“How do we prove it, though?”

Carl brought a hand to his jawline, mottled with scruff, and thought a moment. “Tina has money, doesn’t she?”

“She does,” I said, and felt a stab of something, not quite anger, thinking about the adversarial conversation we’d had at dinner.

“I can’t be a part of anything like that,” Carl said. “But I’m speaking to the waitress tomorrow. Maybe you can drop me off, head back over to the jail…” He raised an eyebrow at me.

“And what?” I laughed. “Bribe the sheriff?”

“No. Stay away from the sheriff. But maybe a guard or someone would be willing to talk to you.”

I furrowed my brow, trying to picture myself doing something like that. “I don’t know that I have it in me to bribe someone.”

“Stop saying bribe, Pamela,” Carl said in a passionate way that made my toes curl in my ugly white sneakers. “It’s reward money for the truth.”

I felt an unexpected thrill rise up in me—reward money, I could see myself offering that to someone. “And whatever we bring you,” I said, “you’ll write about it?”

“I’d have to corroborate it myself,” Carl said. “But I could guarantee anonymity to anyone who spoke to me on the record.”

I nodded, working it through. “So, best-case scenario. We find out tomorrow that Colorado does know something about what happened in Florida. How long does it take to corroborate it with other sources, then actually write the piece?” I chewed on my thumbnail, knowing whatever the answer might be, it would not be soon enough to solve my predicament.

“A few weeks, probably.”

My stomach was twisting painfully, just thinking about the impossibility of the position I was in with Roger. Press charges against him and risk people thinking they were safe, that the coed killer was behind bars where he belonged, or let Roger off the hook so he would be free to hurt someone else.

“Pamela,” Carl said, eyes soft with concern, “what is it? You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

“That’s because I do,” I said, my chin abruptly puckering. I steepled my hands over my nose so Carl wouldn’t see. My mother was always telling me that not even Mia Farrow looked beautiful when she cried.

I felt Carl come nearer. “I want to help.”

I shook my head hopelessly. “You can’t.”

“Try me, Pamela.” He pulled my hands away from my face and crouched at the knees so that we were eye to eye. I stared at him, horrified, our faces inches apart. I was completely infatuated with him and completely unprepared to act on it. I blurted it out because I was afraid he was going to kiss me. “Roger did something to my sister Bernadette,” I said. “He forced her to do things…” I looked away, embarrassed and unsure of how to put it. “To him. And she couldn’t breathe. She thought she was going to die. Do you understand what I’m saying?” I glanced back at him to find him nodding, this heartbroken look on his face.

“And now,” I rambled on, tearfully, “the police need to know if I plan on pressing charges for what he did to me. If I don’t, I’m scared of what might happen, what he might do next. And if I do…”

“It’s only further proof that he’s capable of murder, and they’re even less inclined to look at anybody else,” Carl said with a heavy sigh, as though he felt every last leaden ounce of my dilemma.

I nodded wretchedly.

Carl pressed my palms together, prayer-like, and said to me: “I will do everything in my power to make sure this guy doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

“That’s why I asked you to come,” I said, a half-truth.

Carl clutched my hands to his chest. His skin was warm and slightly damp, like he’d exerted himself in making me this promise, and some long-coiled tail of desire unfurled from my throat to my inner thighs. “We should really get some sleep,” I said before I acted on it.