Private Screening by Richard North Patterson

Author:Richard North Patterson
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781497679153
Publisher: Open Road Media

1

AT fifty thousand feet, Lord felt his life in suspension, the trial behind and ahead of him.

Boarding the 747 to Washington, he had noticed passengers turning to watch him. He sat alone in the darkened cabin, staring at the tops of heads and scattered reading lights.

There was no Glennon, the chief counsel of the CIA had told him, at least no record of such a person. But Lord had seen a blond-haired murderer, dying in Carson’s eyes.

There was no Glennon, he knew, because John Damone had killed him.

“Cocktail, sir?”

A pert flight attendant was smiling at him. He ordered a martini; swirling the plastic cup, he wondered if the warmth of her smile was imagined.

Why had Rachel happened, he asked himself.

Was it fatigue or loneliness or fear? Or memory, turned to anger that he might never feel that for a woman again, or a woman for him. That he would serve out his marriage to Marcia, pay the bills and be blamed for it, send Christopher to college.

As his father had done for him.

Fool, he thought. To hurt for Christopher now, filled with martini regret. Now, when Marcia knew that the one way she could hurt him was through their child. Why hadn’t he lied?

For what reason, he suddenly wondered, had Damone not wished to testify?

An ice cube splashed in his cup.

Startled, he looked up at the flight attendant. “Another cocktail?” she asked.

“Thank you.”

She poured it expertly. “You’re the lawyer, aren’t you? Anthony Lord.”

A gaunt man in the middle row turned to listen. Lord nodded, then remembered to smile.

“Good luck.” She glanced at his wedding ring, and went on. The man watched Lord drink.

It’s all changing, he thought. You don’t know what will happen, and you’re scared.

When he deplaned, TV cameras were waiting.

“Mr. Lord,” someone called, “do you expect to locate the film?”

Sluggish from gin, he stood blinking in the TV lights, obscuring the faces behind them. “I hope so,” he finally answered. “Harry Carson deserves at least that much luck.”

Angling through them, he took a taxi to his hotel, and dialed Christopher.

“Hello,” Lord’s own voice answered. “This is Tony Lord. Neither Marcia nor I can come to the phone.…”

“Christopher?” Lord said above the tape.

“But if you’ll just leave a message.…”

Damned machine. Lord’s voice rose. “Christopher, it’s Daddy.…” Please, be there.

“Daddy?”

Breaking in, his son’s voice was cautious. “How’s things?” Lord asked in relief.

“Fine.”

“Good.” Lord smiled into the telephone, trying to coax animation from the space between them. “I’ll bring something back,” he promised. “A surprise.”

“Okay.”

At seven, had he been so reticent on the phone? Or was Christopher starting to protect himself? “What are you doing, son?”

A pause. “Mommy’s letting me watch ‘Dawn Rider.’ ’Cause she knows I like it.”

Why didn’t he know that, Lord wondered. “Then I don’t want you to miss it, mugwump. I just called to say I love you.”

“Okay.” I love you, too, Lord silently added for him, and then Christopher finished, “’Bye.”

Hanging up, Lord stared at the telephone.

By calling Marcia, a stranger had done to him what threats could not.

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