Page 62 of The Midnight Lock (Lincoln Rhyme 14)

Please, hear me out, son. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve treated you badly. I didn’t listen to you. And I will be honest. I can’t plead ignorance. I understood at the time what I was doingand that my actions were transgressions. They were sins. I can’t plead ignorance. But I’m wiping the slate clean. I’m dissolving everything. Not much time to make amends but that’s what I fervently desire …

The missive went on and on.

It also went unanswered.

He recalled the last conversation they’d had: in the bar at Donelli’s, a posh place, filled with posh people—most of them media kings and queens and princes and celebs.

Whittaker was there often and to him it was simply a watering hole.

Given his son’s feeling about his father’s profession, it was also the absolutely wrong place to meet with Kitt. And, making matters worse, the boy had shown up in jeans and flannel. Even the help was dressed better.

I should have picked a different place, he’d thought.

The conversation had struggled and stalled, like the muddy Range Rover during that photo safari the family had taken years ago.

Idealist Kitt, activist Kitt, ever perplexed why his father refused to abandon the Whittaker Media Group brand of “journalism,” the quotation marks supplied by his son’s thin fingers.

Whittaker had, for an instant, nearly said that the company is what put him through a good school and bestowed upon him an ample trust fund.

Thank God he’d held his peace. Though apparently whatever had transpired during that uneasy meal was enough to create a deep, perhaps irreparable, rift.

They hadn’t spoken in eight months.

Finally Whittaker had worked up courage. And, just the other day, sent the email.

Kitt, please hear me out …

And, shamefully, he had included the line,I’m sorry to say the doctor isn’t hopeful.

Playingthatcard was a sign of his desperation.

Son, you’re largely the reason I’m dissolving the company. I realize I wasn’t the father I should have been. The husband or brother too. I was cruel to employees, I was cruel to the subjects we wrote about. I was cruel to my family, to you especially. Your absence finally let me see. Please, let’s sit down …

Where are you?

His mobile vibrated. Since he’d gotten sick—well, since the sickness decided to stop being coy and chose to blossom—he’d developed a sensitivity to loud and jarring sounds.

He glanced at the caller ID.

“Jo.”

His niece’s low, even voice said, “That policewoman’s here. The one Spencer called about.”

“All right. I’m coming out.”

A sigh. The police … About that man terrorizing people, leavingDaily Heralds …

The crows were coming home to roost. In droves.

No, thevultures…

Gripping the cane, he moved slowly across the rich Persian carpet, predominantly blue, a shade that reminded him of Mary’s eyes.

34

Awide door of rich mahogany opened slowly and a man stepped out of what seemed to be a home office.

He was using a brass-headed black cane for support. He was not old. Amelia Sachs guessed he was late sixties, maybe early seventies. He’d been a handsome man at one point but was now sunken and fragile. The skin was loose and gray. Cancer not cardio, she guessed. He was attentive to personal details, though. His hair was perfectly coiffed and he was smoothly shaven. She smelled floral cologne. His dark suit and white shirt were not baggy. Photos on the mantel and walls told her he’d lost much weight lately, which meant that the garments were recently tailored or purchased, despite his numbered days. We fight disease on many fronts.

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