She said it sternly, but her lips were smiling and her eyes were warm. He touched her cheek with his knuckle, and whispered, “Watch yourself.”
She tilted her head to one side and looked at him with puzzlement.
The woman EMT leaned out. “Mr. Bowie?”
He held Beth’s gaze a second longer before climbing into the ambulance. The doors were shut and the vehicle pulled away. He hadn’t had time to finish what he’d been about to say to her.
He told himself that it was just as well.
“As I’ve said, Ms. Collins, Mr. Brady is in a meeting.” His lofty assistant had lost her patience with Beth. “As soon as it concludes, I’ll give him a message.”
“Which he will ignore.”
“He can’t just up and walk out of the boardroom in order to talk to you. He’s heading the meeting.”
“If he airs that episode tonight, his head will roll. And probably yours, too.”
So it had gone for the hour and a half that Beth had been in the ER waiting room, calling Brady’s office at fifteen-minute intervals and being given the same spiel. She’d also called Richard’s cell number repeatedly, but it had gone directly to voice mail each time, and he hadn’t responded to her appeals for him to call her back.
She hadn’t seen John since he’d been driven away in the ambulance. The ER staff courteously but firmly declined to answer her inquiries about Molly’s condition since she wasn’t family.
Family had shown up in the form of a tall, slender, attractive brunette. Appearing high-strung and harried, she’d strutted up to the desk and introduced herself as Roslyn Bowie. She’d been immediately admitted through a pair of double doors operated from the other side.
Now Beth’s agitation level was at its peak over both Brady’s assistant’s condescension and anxiety over John’s daughter. What was taking so long? She’d worried herself into believing that Molly’s injury was more serious than originally thought.
Continuing with the assistant where she’d left off, she said, “If I don’t speak to your boss because of your refusal to put me through, he won’t thank you later. In fact, you’ll probably be fired within the hour.”
During a lengthy pause, the woman reconsidered. “I’ll connect you.”
Beth’s chest expanded with relief, but she thanked the assistant with cool curtness.
After a fifteen-second interval, Brady came on and began by saying, “Stop calling me. You no longer work here.”
“You won’t either if you air that show tonight.”
“It’ll be broadcast at ten o’clock eastern time.”
“It falls short of telling the whole story, Winston. The police here have a suspect in custody who could be tied to Crissy Mellin’s disappearance.”
Rather than react with the astonishment Beth had expected, he chuckled. “After all this time, this suspect appeared out of the blue?”
“It may seem that way, but he’s been waiting for another blood moon.”
“Oh, please.”
“He was arrested about two hours ago. He had an adolescent girl in an isolated, corrugated tin shed. She was bound. He was preparing for some kind of sick ritual involving surgical instruments and a home tattoo kit. It was to have been conducted tonight during the lunar eclipse.”
“Isn’t the timing of his arrest awfully convenient for you and your blood moon theory?”
“You think I’m making this up?”
“It did occur to me.”
“In the interest of time, I’ll overlook the insult to my integrity. I did, however, anticipate your skepticism. You can speak to a sheriff’s office detective named Glen Derby. I’ve obtained his cell phone number for you. He’ll verify everything I’ve told you.”
He thought it over. “Why do you think this guy has any connection to Mellin’s abduction?”
“He fits the profile.”
“So do hundreds of other whack jobs. You don’t know it’s the same guy, do you?”
“No, not yet, but—”
“Is there evidence that links him to the Mellin case?”
“There hasn’t been time to gather evidence. Give it a few days, a week. Withhold the episode while this suspect is being investigated.”
“And miss the blood moon angle tonight? No way.”
“Would it make a difference if I told you that the victim this time was John Bowie’s daughter? There’s a connection for you. Doesn’t it sound as though—”
“Sounds like this guy is a copycat, who saw the fabulous irony in taking that burnout detective’s kid. There may be a story there worth exploring for a future episode, but nothing you’ve told me changes my mind about the Mellin story. It only makes me question your objectivity and validates having fired you.”
“Crisis Point is supposed to be a documentary. As is, this episode doesn’t include the police malfeasances that prompted Billy Oliver to take his own life. Now you want to also omit that police have in custody an individual who, at the very least, is a person of interest.”
“Hello?” he said, mocking. “None of that has been proven. You still haven’t convinced me that our story is wrong. It airs tonight at ten,” he said brusquely. “That’s final. Now stop bugging my assistant. Go away.”