A Knight Of The Word

Wren managed to look put upon. “I wanted to see how you were, for one thing. No more episodes, I hope?”


The other man spread his hands. “I still don’t know what happened. One moment I was standing there on the stairs, talking with Carole and those workers from Union Gospel, and the next I was down on the floor. I just seemed to lose all my strength. I’m scheduled to see a doctor about it this afternoon, but I don’t think it’s anything more than stress and a lack of sleep.”

Wren nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Anyway, I also wanted to congratulate you on last night. It was a huge success, as you know. The gift of the land from the city, the. offer of additional funding, the pledges of support from virtually every quarter. You should be very pleased about that.”

Simon Lawrence sighed, arching one eyebrow. About that, yes, I’m very pleased. It helps take the edge off a few of the less pleasant aspects of the day’s events.”

“Hmmm,” Wren murmured solemnly. “Speaking of which, have you seen her today?”

Simon didn’t have to ask who he was referring to. “No, and I don’t think I’m going to. Not today or any other. I went by her apartment early this morning, thinking I might surprise her with the news, but she was gone. Her clothes, luggage, personal effects, everything. The door to the apartment was wide open, so I had no trouble getting in. At first I thought something might have happened to her. A chair had been thrown through the living room window. It was lying down in the park with pieces of glass all over the place. But nothing else in the apartment seemed disturbed. There was no sign of any kind of violence having occurred. I called the police anyway.”

Wren studied him thoughtfully. “Do you think she suspected we were onto her?”

Simon shook his head. “I don’t see how. You and I were the only ones who knew the lab results-and I didn’t know until after the dedication, when you told me. “He paused, reflecting. “I tell you, Andrew, Id never have guessed it was her. Not in a million years. Stefanie Winslow. I still can’t believe it.”

“Well, the handwriting analysis of the signatures on the deposit slips were pretty conclusive.” Wren paused. “Why do you think she did it, Simon?”

Simon Lawrence shrugged. “I can’t begin to answer that question. You’ll have to ask her, if she ever resurfaces from wherever she’s gone to ground.”

“Maybe John Ross can tell us something.”

Simon pursed his lips sourly. “He’s gone, too. He left this. It was on my desk when I came into work this morning, tucked into an envelope.”

He reached into his desk and produced a single sheet of white paper with a handwritten note. He handed it to Wren, who pushed up his glasses on the bridge of his nose and began to read.



Dear Simon.

I regret that I am unable to deliver this in person, but by the time you read it I will already be far away. Please do not think badly of me for not staying. I am not responsible for the thefts that occurred at Fresh Start Stefanie Winslow is. I wish I could tell you why. As it is. I feel that even though all the money will be returned, my continued involvement with your programs will simply complicate matters. I will not forget the cause you have championed so successfully and will endeavour in some small way to carry on your work wherever I go.

I am enclosing a letter authorising transfer back to Fresh Start of all funds improperly deposited to my accounts.

John



Wren looked up speculatively. “Well, well.”

The coffee arrived, delivered by a young volunteer, and the two men accepted the cups and sat sipping at the hot brew in the silence that followed the intern’s departure.

“I think he was as fooled as the rest of us,” the Wiz said finally.

Wren nodded. “Could be. Anyway, there’s no one left who can tell us now, is there?”

Simon put down his coffee cup and sighed. “If you want to have dinner tonight, I can try to fill you in on the details of this mess so you can keep your article for the Times as accurate as possible.”

Wren smiled, relinquished his own cup, and rose to his feet. “I can’t do that, Simon. I’m flying out this afternoon, back to the Big Apple. Besides, the article’s already written. I finished it at two this morning or something like that.”

The Wiz looked confused. “But what about…?”

Wren held up one chubby hand, assuming his most professional look. “Did you get all the money transferred back to Fresh Start out of Ross’s accounts?”

Simon nodded.

“And your own?”