'Is it school?' Another shake. 'A boy?' That produced a short, harsh laugh, muffled by the pillow. 'Girl stuff?'
She moved quickly, rolling over and grabbing him around the waist, her head in his lap. There were damp patches on her cheeks. Freeman felt totally helpless. She was his little girl and he was supposed to take care of her, to keep all the bad and hurtful things at bay, but until he knew what the problem was there was nothing he could do. 'It's all right, pumpkin,' he said. 'I'm here.' He smoothed her hair with the flat of his hand.
It was jet black with the exception of a small group of pure white hairs to the left of her parting. The few white hairs seemed to emphasise how black the rest were.
Freeman ate supper alone in front of the television. He ate mechanically, his thoughts divided between Mersiha and his forthcoming meeting with the union officials. When he'd finished he carried the plate and fork through into the kitchen and put them in the dishwasher. He'd put pasta and sauce in a bowl for Mersiha but as she hadn't come when he'd called he'd put it in the oven to keep warm. He took it out of the oven, picked up a clean fork, and took them upstairs to her bedroom. He knocked on the door but there was no answer. 'Feeding time,' he called, but she still didn't reply.
He opened the door and peered around it. Mersiha was asleep, her arms still hugging the pillow. Freeman put the pasta on her bedside table and covered her with the quilt. Her hair had fallen across her face like a black curtain and Freeman brushed it away, taking care not to wake her. She was fifteen, going on sixteen, and she was already becoming a woman, but she slept like a little girl.
He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. It was as soft as a baby's skin. Freeman leant over and planted a kiss on her forehead. 'Sleep well, pumpkin,' he whispered.
Her eyelids flickered and opened, but she was still asleep.
'Don't leave me, Daddy,' she murmured. 'Don't ever leave me.'
Before Freeman could reply her eyes had closed and she was snoring softly.
Freeman was in the study going over his financial spreadsheet for the thousandth time when he heard Katherine's key in the front door-lock. He looked at his watch. Nine thirty. He switched the computer off and went through into the hall where she was removing her coat. He looked around for the collection of shopping bags that usually followed a trip to the mall with the girls. 'So, what did you get?' he said. 'Or shall I wait for the credit card bills?'
'You got off lightly,' she laughed, putting the coat in a closet.
'You didn't buy anything?'
'I put a couple of things on hold. I'll sleep on it,' she said, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
He caught a whiff of a fragrance he hadn't noticed before.
It smelled more like aftershave than perfume, but that wasn't unusual. Katherine often preferred masculine fragrances and was for ever borrowing his aftershave. 'What's the scent?' he asked.
Katherine shrugged. 'We were trying samples in the perfume section,' she said. 'Don't ask me to name names, though.' She walked into the kitchen. 'How was supper?' she asked.
'Yeah, it was okay.'
'Just okay?'
'It was terrific. A gastronomic delight.'
'Hmmmm. Good old Scottish understatement.' She peered into the saucepan. It was still half full. 'I could make you something else.'
'It was fine.' He went up behind her and held her around the waist. 'Mersiha still seems unhappy.'
'Did she say what was wrong?'
Freeman slipped his hands up to her breasts and kissed her on the neck. 'No. Do you think we should increase her sessions with Art? Maybe have her see him twice a week?'
'I'll ask him next time I see him,' she said.
'Bed?' asked Freeman, kissing her neck.
'I want to read a little first,' said Katherine, pulling away. 'You go up first. I'll join you later.'
'Are you sure?' asked Freeman, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice.
Katherine gave him a sisterly peck on the cheek. 'I'm sorry.
You know how shopping with the girls always gives me a headache.' She patted his groin with her hand. 'I'll take a rain check. Okay?'
'Okay. I've got work to do anyway.' Freeman watched her walk into the sitting room before heading for the study and the unchanging spreadsheet.
Mersiha woke up with a jolt, covered in sweat, her whole body shaking. The nightmare had been so real, so vivid, that it was several seconds before she realised she was safe in bed and not back in Bosnia. She lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling. The dreams always came when she was insecure; she didn't have to be a psychiatrist to realise that. It was the one thing she dreaded most – losing her family and being sent back to the camp.
Her mind was a whirl, filled with images of her past. Her father, dead in the street. The pain her mother had endured until it became too much for her. The school. Always her thoughts went back to the school. She rolled over and hugged her pillow.
It was Art Brown who was to blame. Art Brown and his questions, always probing, always trying to get inside her head. Now the psychiatrist had discovered something, something so important that he'd had to see Katherine at short notice, something that was so secret that Katherine hadn't even told her husband where she was going. Tears welled up in Mersiha's eyes. 'I won't cry,' she promised herself, blinking them away. 'I won't cry.'
Anthony Freeman was helping himself to a coffee from the office machine when Maury Anderson came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder with a rolled-up copy of USA Today. 'I don't know how you can drink that stuff,' he said.
'If I don't get a caffeine injection I get headaches,' Freeman said. He poured a second cup and carried it through to his secretary's office. Anderson followed in his wake. 'Here's yours, Jo,' Freeman said, putting the cup on his secretary's desk.
Freeman and Anderson went into the inner office. Anderson back-kicked the door closed behind them and sat down on Tony's couch. He swung his feet up on the coffee table, knocking aside a pile of defence magazines. 'When are you gonna do something about this furniture, Tony?'
Freeman shrugged. 'If it was good enough for Katherine's father, it's good enough for me.' The cheap factory-made desk and filing cabinets were chipped teak veneer and the carpet was threadbare. The sofa on which Anderson was sprawling sagged from years of use and one of the legs of the coffee table had been replaced with wood that didn't quite match. The furniture, and the office with its view of the car park, had once belonged to Freeman's father-in-law and he'd inherited it along with the chairman's job. 'Besides, I figure that if we meet Nelson here, he's going to realise that we're not wasting our money on office furnishings. The same can't be said if we take him up to your place, right?'
Anderson smirked. 'Guess you're right. Did you see CNN?'
Freeman frowned. 'No, what's up?'
'There's been a new wave of arrests in Seoul. Six military officials. The government's serious about this clampdown on kickbacks for weapons procurement. Everyone's getting real jittery.'
'Yeah, but it's not as if we've done any business with the South Koreans,' Freeman said.
'Not because we didn't try,' Anderson said, stretching out.
'It just makes it harder everywhere else. Sort of makes you wish for the good old days when Iran was buying a billion dollars of military hardware every year from the United States, doesn't it?'
The intercom buzzed. It was Freeman's secretary, announcing that Lennie Nelson was in the outer office. Freeman sighed and asked her to shown him in.
'High noon,' Anderson said as he got to his feet. 'Say, what do you call a blind elk with no legs?'
'What?'
'Still no eye-deer,' Anderson said.
Freeman tried not to laugh as the door opened and Nelson strode in, his right arm outstretched, a predatory smile on his lips. 'Tony, good to see you again,' he said, shaking hands.
His grip was firm but once again Freeman couldn't help but notice how moist the man's hands were. Nelson shook hands with Anderson, then looked around the office. Freeman could tell from the look on the man's face that he wasn't impressed by the cheap furnishings, and when he sat down he pulled at the knees of his trousers as if trying to minimise the contact between the expensively cut material of his suit and the worn fabric of the sofa. Anderson was fighting to stop himself from grinning.