otherwise. But I think he went out to meet someone,” she said.
“And still no guesses on who that would be?”
“No. That’s why you’re here,” she said.
“Right.”
She got up and asked if I wanted something to drink. I passed and she came back with a glass of iced tea and drank a bit.
“I also saw a copy of the suicide note.”
She put down her glass and didn’t say a word.
“It felt … generic,” I said.
She nodded. “It is,” she said.
“I can’t pretend to know what you would put in there, but this read like boilerplate language,” I said.
“I’m having the handwriting analyzed independently,” she said.
“I’m assuming you’ll let me know how that turns out.”
“As soon as I know, you’ll know,” she said.
I glanced at the last item on my list: drinking .
“Why was Jack seeing Dr. Webber in the first place?” I asked.
“I think you know,” she said.
“Webber is a substance-abuse specialist,” I said. “I know about Jack’s drinking. Is there another substance involved?”
She shook her head. “No. Not now at least. Way, way back, before we met, I knew he had a recreational drug problem.”
“Coke?” I asked.
She nodded. “But that was fifteen, probably twenty years ago.”
Steele was a well-known success story for his ability to keep his drinking mostly in check. But even now there were infrequent, but embarrassing, slips. The last one being back in December at the holidays. It involved an intoxicated Steele sucking face with a twenty-four-year-old Liberty News production assistant at the holiday party. The episode went from an office scandal to a video sensation when some fool posted the clip on YouTube.
“And the drinking hadn’t been a problem for a while, right?” I asked.
She looked straight at me and I could see the hurt in her eyes.
“If you’re asking if Jack had slipped since the night he made out with the little PA, the answer is no. And if you’re thinking the drinking maybe had something to do with his death, I doubt it very much,” she said.
“Why?”
She sat straight up and put a hand on her stomach and took a deep breath. “There is no way he would have done anything to miss being a father,” she said.
The problem with having decades of reporting experience is that sometimes your face is saying skeptical even when you don’t realize it.
“It’s fine if you don’t believe me,” she said.
“I didn’t say that I didn’t.”
“You didn’t have to.”
There was still a part of me that didn’t believe she was pregnant, and I knew at some point she was going to prove me wrong. She’d pull out a sonogram or something down the road and make me feel like a fool.
“I believe you enough to go around asking questions and getting people angry and jeopardizing my career,” I said.
“Have you told anyone about me being pregnant?” she asked.
“Liz Harrison.”
“And she would be?”
“My fabulous girlfriend.”
A small smile crossed her face and she looked entirely different.
“So, you’re single?”
“But very much attached.”
“And what does this Liz Harrison do?”
“Increases the level of beauty in the investment banking business.”
Another small smile.
“And you’re certain she hasn’t repeated it?”
“Yes.”
“Why’d you tell her?”
“I tell her everything. I bounce ideas off her, look for her input and opinion on things.”
“What was her opinion of me?”
“That you needed someone to help you piece this together.”
She nodded and relaxed.
“Sounds like a nice relationship,” she said.
“It is.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Freddie and I were sitting on one of the benches along the walkway in Union Square Park when he spotted him.
“That’s him right there,” he said, looking at a big guy with a tan complexion walking alongside a line of preschoolers on their way to one of the playgrounds.
The guy was dressed in a shirt with a splashy maroon pattern, kind of a dressy
“And still no guesses on who that would be?”
“No. That’s why you’re here,” she said.
“Right.”
She got up and asked if I wanted something to drink. I passed and she came back with a glass of iced tea and drank a bit.
“I also saw a copy of the suicide note.”
She put down her glass and didn’t say a word.
“It felt … generic,” I said.
She nodded. “It is,” she said.
“I can’t pretend to know what you would put in there, but this read like boilerplate language,” I said.
“I’m having the handwriting analyzed independently,” she said.
“I’m assuming you’ll let me know how that turns out.”
“As soon as I know, you’ll know,” she said.
I glanced at the last item on my list: drinking .
“Why was Jack seeing Dr. Webber in the first place?” I asked.
“I think you know,” she said.
“Webber is a substance-abuse specialist,” I said. “I know about Jack’s drinking. Is there another substance involved?”
She shook her head. “No. Not now at least. Way, way back, before we met, I knew he had a recreational drug problem.”
“Coke?” I asked.
She nodded. “But that was fifteen, probably twenty years ago.”
Steele was a well-known success story for his ability to keep his drinking mostly in check. But even now there were infrequent, but embarrassing, slips. The last one being back in December at the holidays. It involved an intoxicated Steele sucking face with a twenty-four-year-old Liberty News production assistant at the holiday party. The episode went from an office scandal to a video sensation when some fool posted the clip on YouTube.
“And the drinking hadn’t been a problem for a while, right?” I asked.
She looked straight at me and I could see the hurt in her eyes.
“If you’re asking if Jack had slipped since the night he made out with the little PA, the answer is no. And if you’re thinking the drinking maybe had something to do with his death, I doubt it very much,” she said.
“Why?”
She sat straight up and put a hand on her stomach and took a deep breath. “There is no way he would have done anything to miss being a father,” she said.
The problem with having decades of reporting experience is that sometimes your face is saying skeptical even when you don’t realize it.
“It’s fine if you don’t believe me,” she said.
“I didn’t say that I didn’t.”
“You didn’t have to.”
There was still a part of me that didn’t believe she was pregnant, and I knew at some point she was going to prove me wrong. She’d pull out a sonogram or something down the road and make me feel like a fool.
“I believe you enough to go around asking questions and getting people angry and jeopardizing my career,” I said.
“Have you told anyone about me being pregnant?” she asked.
“Liz Harrison.”
“And she would be?”
“My fabulous girlfriend.”
A small smile crossed her face and she looked entirely different.
“So, you’re single?”
“But very much attached.”
“And what does this Liz Harrison do?”
“Increases the level of beauty in the investment banking business.”
Another small smile.
“And you’re certain she hasn’t repeated it?”
“Yes.”
“Why’d you tell her?”
“I tell her everything. I bounce ideas off her, look for her input and opinion on things.”
“What was her opinion of me?”
“That you needed someone to help you piece this together.”
She nodded and relaxed.
“Sounds like a nice relationship,” she said.
“It is.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Freddie and I were sitting on one of the benches along the walkway in Union Square Park when he spotted him.
“That’s him right there,” he said, looking at a big guy with a tan complexion walking alongside a line of preschoolers on their way to one of the playgrounds.
The guy was dressed in a shirt with a splashy maroon pattern, kind of a dressy
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