Jack nodded. “I won’t.”
“I’ll always be here for you. You’re a stubborn bastard, but you’re my brother. We’re family, right?”
“Right.”
“So, I’ve got your back. No matter what.”
Twelve
It was just past midnight and McNeal sat in his living room alone, gun by his side. His brother and father were both sound asleep upstairs. He picked up the Glock 17. A torrent of thoughts and ideas raged around his head. He ran his thumb along the barrel of the gun. Suddenly, his cell phone vibrated on the wooden coffee table.
He put down the gun and picked up the phone.
“Yeah, who’s this?” he said.
“I’m sorry to call so late.” A woman’s voice. “Is this Jack McNeal?”
McNeal was wary, assuming it was a journalist sniffing around for a story. An interview. “Who’s this?”
“My name is Anna Seligman.”
“Who are you?”
“First, I just wanted to express my sincere condolences. I knew your wife.”
McNeal sat upright. He wondered if she was a college friend of Caroline’s. Maybe she had even worked with her at the Post. “How did you know Caroline?”
“I was her psychologist.”
“I didn’t know she was seeing a psychologist.”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you but never managed to get around to it.”
“How did you get this number?”
“This is the emergency number Caroline listed when she became my patient. I’ve been going through her file all day.”
McNeal cleared his throat. “It’s very late, Dr. Seligman . . .”
“I can call you tomorrow morning if it’s easier.”
Jack stifled a yawn. “What do you want?”
“Well, your wife had been seeing me for nearly two years. She had signed a release form in case of her death so that what she had discussed with me could be passed on to you, her husband.”
“We were estranged.”
“I know that, Mr. McNeal. But as it stands, my files on what we talked about can be shared with you. She was adamant that this information be passed on.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t really see the point in my knowing her personal feelings about me, herself, or us. No disrespect.”
“That’s perfectly understandable, Mr. McNeal. However, I believe some concerns she had might be of interest.”
McNeal slowly got to his feet and began to pace the room. “What sort of concerns?”
“Personal safety concerns. Can I speak frankly?”
“Of course.”
“Caroline was frightened. She was becoming more paranoid. It concerned me.”
“Paranoid? That doesn’t sound like my wife.”
“I agree. It wasn’t like Caroline. She talked mostly about the loss of your son. But also the disintegration of your marriage, which she regretted.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“She regretted it very much. Thought she had been hasty. And she was greatly bothered by the hurt she had caused.”
McNeal closed his eyes. “I didn’t know that.”
“I know it’s not easy to hear in light of what happened.”
“You mentioned that she was becoming paranoid. Did she say what she feared? What exactly was making her paranoid?”
“Over the last few months, before her death, she talked about people following her.”
McNeal’s mind flashed back to the conversation with Finks of the Secret Service. Caroline had mentioned a prowler around her home. “Following her?”
“One man. Always the same man. That’s what she said. Numerous times. I have notes, all typed up, which give more details about the times and places it occurred.”
“I’d like to see those.”
“Of course. She also talked about her work as a journalist. She told me, and this is what I wanted to tell you, that she had unearthed some highly sensitive information.”
“What kind of information?”
“I’d rather not speak over the phone. But I can get that information to you. It was regarding a story she had been working on for the last year. She grew obsessed with it. It meant a lot to her. She said she wasn’t sleeping. It was causing her anxiety. I have all the notes in my office.”
McNeal’s senses were on high alert. “Could you send them to me?”
“I could courier them. I’ll try and send them to you by the end of the week.”