“Fine, Ray, fine,” Jill said to the telephone. Her blue eyes gleamed with intensity. “Yes, my father’s feeling well, too. Oh, that. Sure, we have disagreements from time to time. We always patch them up. We’re getting along fine.” Concentrating, she drew a hand through her long, straight blond hair. “As a matter of fact, I think I might drive up and see him this weekend.”
From one of the twin beds, Pittman watched her. She was wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the desk that supported the phone. A digital clock next to her showed 11:38 A.M. He and Jill had gotten four hours sleep, which wasn’t nearly enough, his sore body and raw eyes told him, but there wasn’t time to rest longer. The call had to be made. They had to keep moving.
“The reason I’m calling, Ray, is I’d appreciate it if you did me a favor,” Jill said to the telephone. “It’s easy, and it won’t cost you money.” She laughed. “Great. I knew you’d feel that way. I’ll be sure to tell my father that you helped me out. What I’d like you to do is check your computer files for an alumnus named Derrick Meecham. What class? I’m not sure. Some time in the thirties. Yes, that does go a way back. Is it a problem? One of my elderly patients is terminal. He wants to tie up some loose ends, and evidently there’s something he wants to tell this Derrick Meecham. I guess they haven’t seen each other in fifty years. Don’t ask me why it’s important to him, but I feel sorry for the old guy and I’d like to do him a favor. Yeah, I’m a softy. On the ward, they’re always kidding me about-What? You must have a hell of a computer system. Just a minute while I write down that address. The phone number. Wonderful. I’ve got it. Thanks, Ray. I really appreciate this. I’ll be sure to tell my father. You bet, and you take care of yourself, too.”
Jill set down the phone and looked at Pittman. “Boston.”
Pittman studied a map he’d found in the bedside table. “That’s only a hundred miles away. It looks like if we take Route Two, we can be there in a couple of hours.”
“Matt?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Suppose Meecham can’t help us.”
Pittman didn’t answer.
“Suppose he can’t,” Jill repeated.
“Don’t think like that,” Pittman said. “We need to believe that he will help us. Otherwise, we won’t be able to keep going.”
Jill studied him. “Your determination surprises me.”
“Why?”
“A man who’s planning to kill himself normally doesn’t worry about the future, about staying alive.”
“Survival? That’s not what this is about.”
“Oh? You sure as hell could have fooled me. What is it about?”
“A week ago, I was sitting in my bathtub with a gun in my mouth.”
Jill wasn’t prepared for the change of subject. The stark sentence shocked her.
“I had settled all of my affairs. Every debt I owed had been repaid, every favor returned. Everything was in order. I wasn’t beholden to anyone. I intended to leave this world with every loose end tied. Then my phone rang and a friend I thought I was even with asked me to do him a favor. He had done so much for my son that I couldn’t possibly refuse him. Now I have another debt.”
“To whom?” Jill asked.
“You.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s my fault that you’re involved in this. If I hadn’t gone to your apartment… I have to make sure you’re safe.”
Holding the blanket tightly around her, Jill walked over to him. She touched his shoulder. “Thank you.”
Pittman shrugged, self-conscious.
“And if you’re successful?” Jill asked.
Pittman didn’t know what to answer.
“Then what?” Jill asked. “Do you still plan to kill yourself?”
Pittman looked away.