I'll Walk Alone - Mary Higgins Clark [66]
Larry Post knew what was going through Ted Carpenter’s mind. Ted was worried sick. It’s really a crime that he ever met that More-land woman who dumped him after he was so good to her and then didn’t even want him when she started to get better, he thought, even though she was pregnant with his kid.
Larry’s weathered skin and balding hair made him seem older than his thirty-eight years. His tightly muscled body was the result of rigorous daily exercise. That had started when he was twenty and serving a fifteen-year sentence for killing a drug dealer who had been trying to cheat him. When he got out he couldn’t find a job anywhere in Milwaukee and phoned Ted, his closest friend in high school, begging for help. Ted had told him to come to New York. Now Ted called him his right-hand man. Larry cooked for him when Ted wanted a night home, chauffeured him everywhere, and did general maintenance in the building Ted had so foolishly bought three years ago.
Ted’s cell phone rang. As he had expected, it was Melissa. When he answered, she said, “I didn’t like the fact that you claim you were too sick to go to the Club with me the other night. I notice that you were able to be at the police station bright and early today.”
Enraged, Ted waited a long moment, then forced a reasonable tone into his voice. “Melissa, sweetheart, I told you that the police needed to talk with me. I put them off yesterday and anyhow I didn’t want you to catch any kind of bug I may be carrying. I still feel absolutely lousy and much as I want to meet Jaime-boy, I’m not up to it today. I’ve got to just get home and sit by the phone. My ex is meeting with the detectives in less than an hour. With any luck they’ll arrest her and maybe get her to talk. I’m sure you can understand how I’m feeling right now.”
“Forget Jaime-boy. He made up with his publicist. But don’t worry. He’ll break up with him again before the week is over. Listen, I’ve figured out a great way to get publicity. Call the media and tell them to be in your office for a three o’clock news release. I’ll be with you, and I’ll announce that I’m offering a five-million-dollar reward for anyone who finds your kid alive.”
“Melissa, are you totally crazy?” Ted’s raised voice made Larry Post look quickly into the rearview mirror.
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that. I’m trying to help you.” Melissa made no attempt to hide her fury at Ted’s response. “Think about it. Suppose that Bartley Longe, that miserable snob who I hate — you know the remarks he made about my last album, when he told the paparazzi why he hadn’t invited me to that big party he threw. … Anyhow, you told me your ex keeps saying Longe took your kid. Maybe he did.”
“Melissa, think this through. You’re on record as saying, not once but many times, that you believe that Matthew was molested and killed by a predator the same day he was abducted. Why would anyone believe you would change your mind now? That kind of offer will only look like a cheap publicity stunt and will hurt your career. They’ll compare it with O. J. Simpson putting up a reward to find the person who killed his wife and her friend. Added to that, it will open the door to hundreds of people calling in claiming they saw a child who looks like Matthew. I put up a million-dollar reward myself when Matthew disappeared, and the police ended up wasting valuable time tracking down the bunch of lunatics who called.”
“Look,” Melissa insisted, “they’ve got those pictures of your ex taking the kid. Suppose she doesn’t break down? Suppose the kid is alive somewhere and someone is minding him? Don’t you think that person would jump at the chance to get five million bucks?”
“That same person would have a long time to wait in prison before being able to spend that money.”
“That’s