Chapter
59: Toward Those Isles of Yours [72]
A/N: This is mythird fourth time reposting this chapter in an attempt to fix the
disappearing post glitch for my readers using IE. I wasn't able to
preserve the comments---I'm sorry.
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A/N: This is my
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The
eldritch light of the basement threshold cast Catherine’s features
in the palest silver. “I’ll be fine,” she said in response to
Vincent’s unvoiced words. Her hands toyed with the leather fringes
on his cloak, smoothed a non-existent wrinkle on a fraying patch.
Wanting
to stay, needing to go,
Vincent translated, the language of her gestures, the
voice of her eyes [73],
one he never tired of learning.
“I
know,” he replied. “I wish I could wait on the balcony to be
sure, though.”
She
smiled, though there was something a little pained about it. “I do,
too. But I don’t know if Greg has checked the apartment already and
with the snow we’ve been having, an extra set of footprints on the
balcony would be suspicious.”
He
nodded. “I will wait here, then, for your message that everything
is all right.”
Catherine
shook her head. “Don’t wait, love. There’s every chance Greg or
Joe will decide to plant themselves outside my door and I don’t
want you waiting up all night if I can’t return Below.”
“Very
well,” he said reluctantly.
“I’ll
send a message after my hearing---”
“You
won't be able to, not through Benny; he sent word he's down with the
flu,” Vincent said.
She
tugged lightly on his sweater collar. “Then I’ll be back home
tomorrow night when Laura brings Jerry below.” Her hands tightened
on his. “Go home. Get some rest.”
“I
will,” Vincent promised, and bent his head to kiss her goodbye.
***
Catherine
had been in her apartment about fifteen minutes before Joe arrived.
She’d been staring at the vacant pantry, wondering if she could get
take-out this late, when the doorbell rang. She unlatched the locks
and the deadbolt to find Joe on her front step, his arms full of
brown paper bags. “Hi Radcliffe, I bought you some groceries.
Thought you might need some. It's not a lot but it'll get you
through.”
She
took the bags from his arms and placed them on the table. “Oh, Joe.
Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
Joe
brushed the snow off his coat and pulled his gloves off. “No
problem, Radcliffe. With everything that’s gone on in the last
month, I figured groceries weren’t your top priority.” He studied
her. “You and Rita really worried me. You all right?”
She
nodded and took his coat from him, hanging it on the coat rack, and
began putting the groceries away. “Yeah. Anything I need to know?
Have there been any new developments in the Avery case?”
“Got
a motion for recusal the other day,” Joe said, “but I had one of
the law clerks write and file the response. Also Graham Sparks is
trying to quash a few of our subpoenas---”
“Whatever
for?” Catherine asked as she put the coffee onto brew. It was
decaf, in deference to the late hour, but at least it would be warm.
“Sparks
claims the bank records are for Avery’s wife’s corporations,
which are not something Avery has any interest or control in.”
She
raised her eyebrows. “Is he also selling a nice piece of oceanfront
property in Arizona?”
Joe
chuckled. “I wondered the same thing, Cathy.”
“David
Smith’s analysis was pretty clear: Max Avery was in sole control of
the corporations. We never even saw his wife's name on any of the
documents or bank accounts; therefore, the bank records aren’t
hers,” she replied, shaking her head. “It’s completely
ridiculous.”
“Yeah,
well, let’s hope the judge sees it that way,” Joe said. “Our
motion has been filed there too.”
She
sat down on the couch and handed him a cup of coffee. “Is the
motion to quash going to be heard tomorrow?”
“Yeah,
along with the recusal motion and the issue of Avery’s competency.”
Joe grinned. “Should be a fun time in court.”
The
doorbell rang again. “That’ll be Greg,” Joe said.
Catherine
nodded and rose to answer the door.
***
Monday
morning came bright and too
early,
Catherine thought, squinting against the brightness of a winter dawn.
Her bed seemed cold and lonely without Vincent’s presence and she
turned from it, padding her way into the kitchen. She made a light
breakfast---too much food before court always made her nauseous---and
went through her notes. Joe had brought copies of the various motions
and their responses and she skimmed those, making some quick
notations, refreshing her memory. There was little chance, she
thought, that the judge would decide Avery was incompetent, but the
motion to quash was a real concern. If they lost the ability to use
the bank records in court, a good chunk of their case---the parts of
it which were independent of the testimony of Elliot Burch and Herman
Mueller—would be gutted.
By
the time Catherine finished her toast, she was feeling on firm
footing once again. She reached through the threads of her connection
with Vincent in a way which was becoming second nature, sending him
reassurance that she was fine, that she loved him. A warm answering
current returned and she almost felt his presence near…so near to
her. She smiled. In a very real way, he would be, as he always was.
The
clock on her wall glared at her, reminding her it was time to get
ready for work. Catherine entertained herself with visions of
throwing the thing over her balcony, but contented herself with
ignoring it as she walked into the bathroom.
***
Vincent
looked up from the papers he was grading to see Mouse amble through
the open door. “Okay if I come in?” Mouse asked.
“Of
course,” Vincent said. “How are you doing?”
“Fine.
New gizmo planned. Tell Father later.”
Vincent
raised one eyebrow. “Perhaps we should think of Father’s blood
pressure,” he said gently. “What are you planning?”
“We
finished the canning, right?”
“For
now, yes.”
“Need
a bigger pressure cooker.”
Vincent
repressed a sigh. The thought of Mouse, a pressure cooker, bits of
twisted machinery, exploding food and glass jars all over the inside
of the canning room was not
a happy one. “Have you talked to William?”
Mouse
shook his head. “No. Surprise for him too.”
“Why
don’t we talk to William and find out what he needs first?”
Vincent asked. “Then we can work on a design and go from there.”
Mouse’s
eyes brightened. “You’d help?”
“I
will,” Vincent agreed. “But promise me you won’t start working
on it until we have a chance to talk to William.”
“Okay,
good,” Mouse said with a grin. “Okay, fine.”
***
The
first thing Catherine saw as she entered her office that morning was
Rita, rushing up to hug her. “Gosh, Cathy, it’s so good to see
you. You all right?”
Catherine
nodded. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her bodyguard---a
member of Joe’s protective detail---station himself unobtrusively
near her desk. Much as she’d predicted, the man—Darrell---had
indeed taken up a post outside her door all night. “I’m doing
fine,” she said. “It was a little scary, though.”
“No
lie,” Rita said with a smile. “Allen and I had to live with my
uncle in Queens; I haven’t slept in a room with bunk beds since my
sister and I shared a room.”
Catherine
chuckled while bracing herself for the expected questions: Where
did you go? Who did you stay with?
But Rita said neither of those things; instead, she went on, “I’ve
been reviewing the motion to quash. Do you think the judge will grant
it?”
“I
doubt it,” Catherine replied. “We had probable cause; another
judge signed off on the subpoenas for the bank records. But,” she
shrugged, “there’s no telling until we walk into court.”
Rita
smiled. “I think we need some coffee first.”
As
she stared at Rita’s retreating back, the footsteps of her own
bodyguard just a few feet behind her, Catherine thought: You
didn’t ask, Rita, though you surely wondered where I’ve been,
what I’ve been doing. Will I be making your case to Father too…one
day…?
***
The
morning wore on; an hour or so before lunch Vincent became aware of a
peculiar restiveness, a bunching knot of tension which experience had
taught him had nothing to do with danger, but Catherine’s own
nervousness. She
must be in court,
he realized, but there was something else: she was determined and
focused in spite of her nervousness. He pulled back a bit mentally,
not wishing to distract her.
“Did
you hear that message?” Cullen asked as their students in the
beginning woodworking class entered the workroom. “Sounds like
Matthew’s looking for you.”
“I’m
sorry,” Vincent replied. “I wasn’t…”
Cullen
grinned. “I know, man. Better find out what Matthew wants.”
“Are
you sure? I could---”
“Nah,”
Cullen replied. “The kids are fine and the most dangerous thing
they have in their hands right now is sandpaper. Go on, answer the
man.”
Vincent
nodded and banged out a message on the pipes: Vincent--Cullen’s
Workshop—Matthew, what’s going on?
Matthew--you-really-need-a-location-code-for-your
house—Vincent, can you and Catherine stop by tonight?
Why?
Vincent
asked.
Couple
of my guys found something in the basement you really need to see.
It’ll keep, but…you have got to see this.
Though
Vincent couldn’t see Matthew, he could almost see the contractor
bouncing up and down in his excitement. Laura’s
bringing her husband Below for the first time tonight. Is after
dinner too late for us to meet you?
He
could almost hear the other man smiling. No,
not at all. See you then. There
was the distinctive code for “signing off” and Vincent turned to
see Cullen sponging up a small varnish spill. “Wonder what Matthew
found?” he asked.
“Could
be anything,” Vincent murmured. “It’s not like Matthew to be so
mysterious.”
Cullen
clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, you’ll find out soon enough.
Let’s get these kids started on their projects.”
***
“What
happened?” Joe demanded as soon as she and Rita returned from
court.
“The
judge mentioned something about Avery ‘clearly malingering’ per
the psychiatrist’s report and…what else was it, Rita?”
Catherine said.
“ ‘Wasting
the court’s time with frivolous motions,’ ” Rita replied dryly.
“I thought Graham Sparks was going to have a stroke there for a
minute.”
Joe
grinned in satisfaction. “And the motions?”
“Both
denied,” Catherine replied. “Mind you, I’m sure it won’t stop
Avery’s attorney with coming up with newer and better ways to
complicate our lives, but we have a trial date, finally.”
Joe
excavated his calendar from under a leaning pile of legal pads, old
coffee cups and rubber bands. “When is it?”
“June
9th.”
“Early
summer. Not too bad,” Joe replied. He leaned back in his chair and
propped his feet on the desk. “Good job, you two.” He eyed them
closely. “About the bodyguards---”
Catherine
and Rita glanced at each other. “No,” Rita answered. “I want to
be back in my home. You said it's been checked and all, and I need my
life back. Allen and I can't live in fear for the next six months or
so.”
“What
about you, Radcliffe?” Joe asked.
“No,”
Catherine replied, the thought of spending the next months separated
from Vincent a steady ache in her heart. “I won't be a prisoner in
my home again.” She folded her hands, the wedding band a reminder
of all the promises made and kept, and the secret one she'd made in
the long nights after her stalker. “I
won't.”
I
won't put you through this again, Vincent.
Joe
spread his hands, obviously sensing he'd lost this particular battle.
“Will you let me have them come with you when you go to court, at
least?”
“Yes,”
Catherine replied and Rita nodded.
Joe
cracked a grin. “Two of the most stubborn women I ever met...what
was I thinking putting you on the same case?”
Catherine
rose with a smile of her own. “You knew we could put Max Avery
away. That's what you were thinking.”
***
Vincent
met Catherine at the threshold. After a brief kiss---which made her
weak in the knees as it always did---Vincent said, “Jerry's already
in the commons and William's done a small miracle with the meal
tonight.”
“Oh?”
Catherine asked, taking his hand as they walked.
“Yes,”
Vincent replied. “William said there was no time to prepare such a
large meal, that it couldn't be done, but somehow he managed.” A
corner of his mouth lifted in a wry quirk. “He usually does.” He
cast a sidelong glance at her. “How was court today?”
“Avery's
sane, the judge is annoyed with his attorney, and the other motions
were denied. And we have a trial date—-early June.”
“That's
good,” Vincent says. “Unless I'm off on my calculations, our
house should be done by then.”
“Really?”
Catherine asked. “You think it'll be so soon?”
“I
think...there is nothing which is impossible. And Matthew knows what
he's doing. He wants to see us after dinner.”
“He
does?”
“Workers
on his crew found...something in our basement. He wouldn't tell me
what but he was quite insistent.”
Catherine
chuckled. “I get the feeling that the River Matthew only runs in
one direction. I don't have court until tomorrow afternoon anyway,
so...why not?” She looked up at him. “Are you nervous about
tonight?”
She
couldn't quite see his eyes, shadowed as they were by torchlight and
the ruddy gold of his hair but she sensed through their bond nothing
of the uneasiness he'd felt when he'd first met Santos. “No,”
Vincent finally answered, “I know Laura. And I trust her judgment.
If there was the slightest doubt...”
Jerry
wouldn't ever find out about the world Below,
Catherine thought, remembering the story of Annie and Spencer. “It'll
be fine.”
***
The
party was already in full swing when they arrived; Laura was
introducing Jerry to her tunnel family, or being introduced by
Rebecca to people who might not have known her. At the entrance to
the commons, Catherine linked her arm through her husband's and
smiled brightly. “Shall we?”
Vincent
smiled down at her. “Yes.”
____
[72]
“If You Forget Me,” Pablo Neruda
[73]
“Somewhere I Have Never Travelled,” ee cummings
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