Chapter 32

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Tampa, Florida

Monday 4:30 a.m.

January 25, 1999

Why was my awakening so jarring? I’d tired of Carly’s quest long ago. Partly, I thought her unrelenting quest disrespectful to her mother. Now, I didn’t know what to think.

George said, “Are you planning to fill me in here?”

So I related the entire tale. What Kate had told me about Carly’s father, and what I had already known.

“It’s him. Michael Morgan. Carly’s sperm donor,” I said.

“That’s not possible.”

“It’s the only possible explanation, George. I’ve eliminated every other possibility. Look at the guy.”

I punched the remote, left the sound muted. George watched Morgan talk, move, gesture.

Distractedly, he said, “The resemblance is uncanny.”

No kidding.

Of course he was Carly’s father. Otherwise, why put Carly in his will?

He asked, “Does Carly know?”

“She must,” I said. “But if not, should we tell her?  Or should we confront Kate?”

That idea did not appeal to me. At all.

We hashed it around for a while before we punted. We’d watch the tapes, then decide.

Carly knew what Morgan looked like. She must know more. Interesting that she’d never mentioned the resemblance, if that’s all it was.

I picked up the phone. Dialed.

“Who are you calling at this hour?” George demanded, watching the video still.

He picked up on the third ring. “Frank. Willa Carson here. I need a favor.”

Maybe, if he hadn’t had that crush on me, he’d have refused. But I’d never called him before dawn. Once a news man, always a news man.

“Robin Jakes suggested I call you.”

Instantly alert he replied, “Oh?”

I explained what we had, what we needed.

He said, “I’ll meet you at the station in fifteen minutes.”

We left Carly asleep in the guest room. Where would she go, after all?

As promised, Frank had set up the editing booth with three chairs and minimum fuss. He knew when to accept a gift horse. Altruism had nothing to do with his decision.

“Start with this one,” I said, handing him the edited tape airing later in the week on national television.

“Dateline’s” familiar format featured guest journalist Robin Jake’s interviews with Morgan, interspersed with commentary and reportage about him and his theories, as well as history of the “breast implant crisis.”

George smirked. His oft repeated low opinion of the media was that nothing short of a “crisis” was deemed worth covering beyond a ten second sound bite.

Morgan’s voice was deep, resonant, commanding. I imagined him crooning in the ears of countless women. No doubt he displayed a certain charm. Good physical condition. If he suspected his killer, overpowering him would have required significant size and strength, as I’d suspected.

Due JusticeWaar verhalen tot leven komen. Ontdek het nu