Susan sat at her computer. She had worn the L and the S off the keyboard and her palms had left permanent dirty prints on the laptop’s white hand rests. She had a PC desktop at the paper, but she didn’t use it. It was a Pentium II. Parker, who’d had as much seniority as anyone on the floor, had a Pentium III, and they were all just waiting for a tasteful moment to make a play for it.
The Herald had broken the story of Archie Sheridan’s disappearance on the Web site eight minutes before Charlene Wood had gone live in the alley. That was something at least. It was the longest Susan had gone without pestering Ian about the Castle story. Instead, she had written a longer personal account of the events in the alley. Ian liked to do that New York Times thing where the reporter always refers to himself in the third person, as in “According to this reporter the car in question was silver,” or “This reporter was outside smoking a cigarette and witnessed the event.”
Susan thought it made her sound like an asshole. So she ignored Ian and wrote the piece in the first person, but left out the smoking.
They had been able to control it. She had agreed with Henry to omit the part about Archie getting into the car on his own. For now. As it was, the public story implied that Gretchen had again taken him by force. Which was possible. She could have had a gun. Susan couldn’t see. It wasn’t lying. It just wasn’t fully exploring all the scenarios. And God knew the press did that all the time.
Ian came over and sat next to her on her desk. He sat too close to her. He’d done that when they were sleeping together and she’d liked it. It had felt naughty. She had thought it was their little secret. Now she wondered if everyone in the newsroom had known. Probably.
“There’s a press conference at six,” Ian said. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt he’d bought at the MoMA gift store. “You want it?”
“Yes,” Susan said. Was he just trying to keep her distracted?
“Then go home,” Ian said.
Susan didn’t want to go home. And she sure as hell didn’t want to go back to the Arlington. “I’m waiting on a source,” she said.
“Go home, Susan,” Ian said gently. “Get some rest. Take a shower. Put some clothes on. Be at the justice center at six.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “I know that Sheridan is important to you,” he said.
Susan’s back stiffened as she realized what he was thinking. “I’m not sleeping with him,” she said quickly.
Ian lifted his hands. “It’s none of my business.”
“No,” Susan said. She shook her head. “Don’t make it tawdry.” She didn’t like him thinking of Archie like that, like he was just another one of her inappropriate crushes. “He’s my friend.” She reached under her desk and pulled her laptop cord free from the power strip with a jerk of her hand. “It’s not like how it was with us.”
Derek appeared with a Herald mug in each hand. One had a plastic stir stick and so much milk it looked like Nesquik. The other coffee was black. He handed her the black one.
“Dark and bitter, right?” he said.
CHAPTER
45
Susan stood with her hand poised, ready to knock, an inch from the door to Debbie Sheridan’s room at the Arlington. Bennett was in his chair watching her encouragingly.
She had almost worked up the nerve to follow through with it—she wanted to see how Debbie was doing, but didn’t want to seem like a stalker—when the door fell away and there stood Henry Sobol. Susan caught a glimpse of Debbie, red-eyed, on the couch, with her children curled up on either side of her, before Henry closed the door behind him.
“It’s not a real good time,” he said, his tone leaving little room for argument.
Susan ran her raised hand through her turquoise hair. “What’s the latest?” she asked.
She could tell that Henry hadn’t slept, either. He was wearing the same clothes he’d had on the night before, and his shaved head had five-o’clock shadow. His voice was thick and flat. “There’s a press conference at six,” he said.
“It’s not your fault,” Susan said. She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, but continued awkwardly. “That you weren’t with him. He would have found a time to slip away if that’s what he wanted.”
Henry’s blue eyes darkened. He glanced back at the closed door and lowered his voice to a growl. “He didn’t slip away. She took him by force. Got it?”
Susan took a tiny step back. “Yes.”
Henry’s big eyebrows lifted and then he turned and started to walk away.
“I want in,” Susan said, surprising herself.
Henry stopped. “What?”
Susan set her shoulders back a little. “I want in on the investigation,” she said. “That’s my price.” The words spilled out before she could stop them. “I can help. I’ll stay out of the way. I just want to do something.”
Henry closed his eyes for a moment. “Don’t pull this bullshit right now.”