Sweet Anger(15)

Once at home and safely inside, she forced herself to calm down. This kind of anxiety couldn’t be good for the baby. She mustn’t panic. She must remain composed and give this thing time to die down, as it surely would within a few days.

Another delusion. She had underestimated McKee’s diligence. The story continued to sprawl over the front pages of the daily newspapers. Every newscast on every television station seemed dedicated to fanning the fires of the scandal. McKee won an indictment for Parker and Haynes from the grand jury and a trial date was set.

McKee was highly visible. Kari watched or read every interview, hating him more by the day. Her eyes were blinded to him as an aggressive D.A. She saw him only as the adversary who would drag Thomas’s name through the mud, who would destroy her, who would threaten the future of her child.

During the day, she drove herself like a Trojan, burying her distress in work. At night, she tossed and turned restlessly, trying to think of something she could do to clear Thomas’s name.

She was convinced that if he were guilty at all, it was only by association. Did she have something in her possession that would exonerate him? A file, a letter, a memo? Was there something she should remember that would absolve him?

If such a thing did exist, or if she could recall something, she would have gladly swallowed her pride and taken it to McKee. Futilely she searched. But her efforts produced nothing. She felt helpless.

The pressure began to tell on her. She hoped she didn’t look as bad as she felt. There was no worry that her pregnancy might begin to show and give her away before she was ready to announce it. She was rail thin.

Pinkie found her in the small makeup room adjoining the studio where she taped her segments for the newscasts. She was dabbing cover-up as thick as putty on the dark circles under her eyes. Over her shoulder, he peered at her image in the theatrical mirror.

“Why don’t you let this be your final telecast for awhile? You’ve been put through hell these last three weeks since that story broke.”

“I’m fine.” She ran a brush through her hair and whisked more powdered blush across her gaunt cheeks.

“You’re not fine, Kari.” Pinkie’s patience snapped. “The situation’s far from fine. You look like death warmed over. I’ve seen pounded crap that looked better than you do. Take a few days off. Don’t be so damned brave about this.”

Unaffected by his tirade, she stood and picked up her script. “They’re waiting for me on the set.” Pinkie caught her arm as she went past him. Seeing his concern, she let down her guard and laid an affectionate hand on his cheek.

“Everyone’s hassling me, Pinkie. The D.A., the press. I’ve been hounded for weeks. Please don’t you hassle me, too.” She kissed his balding head and made her way into the studio.

Pinkie let out a string of colorful oaths. He admired her courage, but he questioned her common sense.


The telephone was ringing as Kari inserted the key in the lock of her front door. She hurried into the apartment and yanked it up. “Hello,” she said breathlessly.

“Ms. Stewart?”

She recognized his voice instantly. “Yes,” she said coldly.

“This is Hunter McKee.”

I know damned well who it is, she wanted to shout. Stubbornly she remained silent.

“How are you?”

She gritted her teeth. “Does it matter?”

“Believe it or not, it does.”

“Well I don’t believe it, Mr. McKee. If my well-being were your concern, you wouldn’t be carrying out this campaign to discredit my late husband.”

“It isn’t a campaign. It’s an execution of duty.”

“It’s an execution of reputation. Thomas’s.”

He ignored the interruption and went on. “The purpose behind the investigation was not to discredit anyone, especially your late husband.”

“That’s not the way I interpret the headlines.”

“Then your interpretation is wrong.”

She laughed shortly. “You’re making your name a household word. Do you deny you’re using this trial to gain the public’s attention? What better way to win voters than to produce thieving civil servants, robbers of hard-earned tax dollars? You’re making certain that the post of D.A. will be permanently yours, aren’t you?”

“I’ll admit I want to hold the position permanently, yes.”

“And you’ll condemn an innocent man in order to win it.” She was breathing hard. One fist was clenched around the telephone, the other hand was balled at her side.

“If you’re so certain of Wynne’s innocence, why won’t you help me? If you’ll recall, I gave you the opportunity weeks ago.”