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that. Do it this time if you must, but tell them it's the last."
"When I can't face it any more, Antony, they'll be the first to know."
Makepeace had to be satisfied with that. The talk turned to mundane matters,
of replacement lecturers for one of the classes and the probable cancellation
of the other, arranging for Antony to take over her three graduate thesis
projects, the choice between leave-without-pay or trying for a last-minute
paid sabbatical. Finally, Anne made a move toward gathering her things.
"Come home for dinner," Makepeace offered suddenly. "Maria would love to see
you."
"I can't, Antony. I have to get home for the dogs."
"Another night, then. Before you go."
"I'd love to." She put on her coat and pulled a pair of gloves out of the
pocket, and then she looked up with a faint trace of mischief in her eyes.
"Oh, and I should warn you, rumors may start up when I fail to appear next
quarter. Glen and his policewoman made quite an impression on some of the
students. They'll probably work it up into an arrest for drug smuggling or
white slavery."
"Agent McCarthy is fairly unmistakable, isn't he? I can't imaginehim doing
undercover work."
She heard a clear note of rather catty pride that she should be better at the
wicked and dangerous job he so disapproved of than the hateful man who dragged
her into it, but she hid her amusement. "He's actually not bad at it, given
time to grow his hair out a bit."
Makepeace shot a glance at Anne's own thick hair, but did not say anything.
He let her go and prepared to leave himself.
It was only much later that evening, as he sat in front of a dying fire
brooding over their conversation, that it struck him there might be a second,
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darker meaning to Anne's not being able to face it any more.
For two days Agent McCarthy and Inspector Farmer cooled their heels, Farmer
impatiently, McCarthy with the resignation of a man who had done this before.
On Thursday afternoon, McCarthy was seated on a park bench, his arms spread
out along its back and his face lifted to the weak sun, while Gillian Farmer
paced up and down on the gravel pathways between rows of brutally pruned
roses. As chance would have it, she was at the farthest point in her circuit
when McCarthy's cellular phone chirped in his pocket, and she did not hear it.
She saw it in his hand, however, the moment she turned, and broke into a trot
in her eagerness to get back to him.
It was a very brief conversation; McCarthy was folding the telephone before
she reached the bench. He stood, putting the phone back in his pocket.
"Was that her?"
"It was."
"Christ. About time."
McCarthy glanced at her sharply, but he did not speak until they were in the
car and on the freeway out of town.
"Anne doesn't have to do this, you know. She's under no obligation; she
doesn't even take a salary beyond expenses."
"So why does she?" Farmer demanded, still impatient. Three days was far too
long, and her department had begun pressing for her return after the second.
"Eighteen years ago, Anne Waverly's seven-year-old daughter and
thirty-one-year-old husband died in a mass suicide in northern Texas. The
child drank a glass of cyanide-laced fruit juice, probably given to her by her
father. You may have heard about it they called it Ezekiel's Farm but it was
in the news for only a couple of days because there was a plane crash and then
some enormous political scandal just after they were found that knocked them
off the front pages. A lot of comparisons were made to the People's Temple
suicide in Guyana two years before, and I suppose their reasons were much the
same although there were only forty-seven people instead of nine hundred and
some. The bodies were not found for nearly a week. In early summer. You can
imagine what they looked like."
Gillian grimaced; she had been a cop long enough to know.
"Anne herself was a member of the group, but she had begun to question the
methods and beliefs of the community. Her doubts were serious enough for her
to take a leave of absence, as it were to go away and think about things for a
few days. She left the child, Abby, with her husband. Three days later the
leader Ezekiel had a final revelation, and broke out the cyanide."
"Christ."
He added in an unemotional voice, "Anne believes that her departure triggered
the suicides. It is quite possible that she is right."
They drove in silence for a long time, until Gillian stirred and asked, "So
this is, what, some kind of penance? Or revenge?"
"Neither, as far as I can tell. I believe it's her own form of suicide."
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"You mean she goes into these situations with a death wish? Jesus, McCarthy,
how could you possibly allow "
"Not a death wish, no. She's sensible and cautious, and she does her part
very, very well. She goes in, she looks around, she comes out and tells us
what the community looks like and gives us her opinion concerning its internal [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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