Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry(95)

Gina was astonished that Carlyle was defending the behavior that had led to settlements. This was the man who, it was rumored, would become the chair of REL a few years down the road? she asked herself. Time to confront him head on.

“Tell me, Mr. Carlyle, what happened to Cathy Ryan, who wouldn’t settle, or Paula Stephenson, who wanted to renegotiate her agreement? Explain to me how they were treated fairly.”

“Paula Stephenson was a drunken waste of a human being,” he said and scowled, clenching his hands into fists. “Complaining while she lived on other people’s money, demanding more money because she made bad decisions. What is it about women like that and their fondness for vodka?” he demanded, his head turning away from Gina, looking out the window.

Gina froze, recalling the picture of the half-empty vodka bottle on Paula’s kitchen table, the empty bottles on the counter, and Wes Rigler’s insistence that the police never release the crime scene photos to the public.

“Did you ever meet Stephenson when she was at REL?” Gina asked, trying to make her voice sound casual.

“No. I’m happy to say I never had the pleasure.”

That confirms it, Gina thought, while trying to control her nerves. The only way Carlyle could have known that vodka was Stephenson’s alcohol of choice was if he had been in her apartment!

Grateful that the console provided a small visual barrier, she leaned forward slightly and used her right hand to ease her cell phone out of her right back pocket. Noticing that Carlyle was beginning to turn toward her, she slipped it under her left thigh and clasped her hands together in front of her.

“So Gina, what do you think you’re going to get out of all this?”

It was imperative to keep him talking. “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

“Well let me put it in simpler terms that even a woman can understand.”

She turned away from him as if in disgust over his chauvinistic comment. She glanced down at the phone, tapped it, and in a quick glance watched the screen titled “Recents” light up. Who was the last one to call her? That number would be on top. Was it Charlie Maynard or Michael Carter? Using her memory to picture the screen she used her left index finger to touch what she hoped would be Charlie’s number.





107





Michael Carter was sitting alone in the living room of his apartment, grateful for the solitude. His wife had taken their son and one of his friends to see the latest Disney movie. The boys had probably prevailed on her to take them for ice cream afterward, he speculated.

As he waited for Junior to pick him up, he found himself envying ordinary people who were leading ordinary lives. They worried about cranky bosses, nagging wives, pushy in-laws, and their kids getting Cs in school. His concerns were more profound. No matter how this plays out, he thought, I’m almost certainly looking at jail time. Glancing around the living room, he tried to imagine how big a jail cell was and what it would be like to share it with someone he didn’t know. And the toilet with no privacy. He didn’t want to think about that.

His cell phone rang. He had put Gina Kane in his contacts. It was her number on the screen. He answered, “Hello,” but got no response. “Hello,” he said for a second time. He could clearly hear Junior and Kane talking in the background. You’d think a reporter would be more careful not to make a “butt call,” he thought, before deciding to listen. Maybe it would give him some advance intelligence about how to answer the journalist’s questions.





108





“What did you think was going to happen, Gina? You would publish an article in your magazine, ridicule my company, destroy me and any chance I had to be my father’s successor? And while REL was going down in flames, you would prance over to 60 Minutes and do another interview?”

“Mr. Carlyle, I’m not the one who will destroy your company. It was rotting from within. I became aware of the stench, and I will write the story. Isn’t it your own Brad Matthews who is fond of saying, ‘Sunlight is the best disinfectant’?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Gina, but in a sense I admire you. You’re courageous to the end. I don’t know if Cathy Ryan was that way. I was on another pier, watching through binoculars when she went for her last ride. I couldn’t see her face. Paula Stephenson was facing the other way when she went to that great distillery in the sky.” He turned and stared directly at her, his pale blue eyes cold and lifeless. “It’s fascinating to look at someone in the final moments of her life and try to imagine what she’s thinking.”

Forcing back her feelings of terror, Gina responded in a voice that was calm but deliberate. “I find it fascinating that you’re a big enough fool to think you can do something to me and get away with this. Empire Review knows what I’ve been working on, and they’ll pursue the story. They know I was meeting you tonight.”

Junior smiled condescendingly and said, “Gina, you’re right and you’re wrong. Your magazine will pursue the story. I’m counting on it. But there will be zero connection to me. The late Ed Myers can be counted on to remain quiet. All the evidence will point to Dick Sherman, who will make a pathetic, unsuccessful attempt to involve me. And remember, you arranged to meet Michael Carter tonight, not me.”