Joe could feel his eyes widen in surprise.
“Hey,” Phil said, “I found hospital records. I don’t actually have proof per se, but that’s why I danced around it. Eileen Brideswell wasn’t married back then. Her upcoming engagement party was the talk of the city. I went through a million pictures, too. O’Brien’s wife didn’t look pregnant, then all of a sudden she looked like she had a pillow under her blouse. Eileen Brideswell was supposedly in New England when Genevieve was born, but I couldn’t find a single piece of proof that she was actually there. And then all of a sudden she was home. And the O’Briens were all happy with their baby daughter and Eileen went on to marry a very rich man. You can come by and see my research, if you want. I’m in Midtown.”
Joe accepted the card the kid produced, then handed over one of his own.
“This can’t have anything to do with the fact that she’s…missing,” Phil said, but though he clearly meant it to be a statement, it came out as a question. A hopeful one.
“Honestly, I don’t think so. But…who knows?”
The kid hesitated again. “Do you care if I print the picture? I won’t write anything horrible about you and your friends, honestly. I just saw Miss MacIntyre at the table, and she’s been on television lately, so I took the shot. I’ll just say she had a nice night out with friends, including her partner and her deceased fiancé’s…brother?”
“Cousin,” Joe said flatly.
“Nothing bad, honest,” Phil insisted. “Hey, do you think I’d be working where I am if I didn’t have to get experience somewhere?”
“Print it. But I’d better like it. Let me put it this way—you’d better not say anything negative about Leslie MacIntyre, Brad or me—or Matt. I mean it.”
“We still have freedom of the press, you know,” Phil muttered a little resentfully. “Sorry, just kidding, I swear. I’m not out to hurt people.”
“Right.”
“Honestly. Come on, I have to write something titillating now and then. And I’d seen Genevieve O’Brien on the news, talking about society’s lack of concern for the down and out. There she was, a socialite, gorgeous, and she was so passionate about working with the poor. Next thing I knew, I was delving into her past and—”
“Were you ever overseas?” Joe cut in irritably.
“Well…I was over in Staten Island. Sounds better to say overseas. Sounds far more exciting—and it is over water.”
Joe shook his head in disgust, angry with himself for not having forced the issue with the man’s rag magazine office. “All right,” he said.
“All right?”
“You can go.”
“You know where to find me.”
“You bet.”
Phil grinned, then cradled his camera to his chest and started at a leisurely pace down the street. A few seconds later, he started running.
Joe watched him go, then reentered the bar.
“So?” Leslie said, when they’d left the bar. “Spill the details.”
He’d explained to her and Brad that he had seen an article the kid had written that interested him and assured Brad that his picture would make the paper, but he hadn’t explained any further.
They’d wound up eating supper with Brad and Ken, though she’d been surprised when Ken had come by to suggest it, having figured he was having fun at the bar and would probably be going home with one of the women surrounding him. But he had assured her that he had an image to maintain. “I keep my real women a secret,” he’d told her with a wink. She wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but she was glad she’d never fallen for the man. Not that there was anything really bad about him, but no way was she going to stand for being someone’s secret.
She was glad when they spent the dinner arguing about the next election—something different, for a change, she thought. Then Ken had talked about a new costume exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and she found herself fascinated and anxious to see it. Then, at last, they left, ostensibly heading home.
“Details?” Joe asked her as he showed her into his car. “There are no details.”
“Have it your way,” she said, not seeing any point in trying to force him to talk if he didn’t want to. “So we’re going to see your prostitute, right?”
His brow furrowed. “She’s not my prostitute,” he said lightly.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I think you’ll like her. There’s something about her…”
“Don’t worry. I have no intention of judging her,” Leslie said.
They drove slowly along the street.
“There she is,” Joe said. “I’m going to park.”
“Let me out first, will you? I want to get a feel for the street.”
He looked at her gravely. “Don’t get into any trouble. I’ll be right there.”
“What trouble can I get into?” she asked.