Читать книгу Death in October - Lowell Inc. Green - Страница 21

Sandra Beale was having what she usually described as a “difficult day.” It was probably the weather. A late afternoon storm had blown in from the Caribbean. As frequently happens in the Bahamas, the skies, in a matter of minutes, had mutated from bright, hot sun to ominous, black clouds. A freshening wind pounded the ocean onto the broad expanse of beach, which lay a few yards away, at the foot of her lawn.

It was the kind of weather Tommy had loved. On days like this she could still see him, astride their violently pitching boat, racing joyfully out to sea to challenge an approaching hurricane. Thomas Beale, President of Beale Broadcasting Ltd., self-made millionaire, loving husband of Sandra, lord of the ocean, almost blinded by the wind, the spray and the rain, throwing his fist into the air and screaming at the top of his lungs:

“Fuck the hurricane!”

A year ago, as he lay dying, he had pulled Sandra’s face down to his, clenched a fist as best he could, and whispered.

“Remember love...remember what we do with hurricanes.”

Clara, moving almost silently despite her considerable bulk, intruded on her reveries.

“Telephone mum, they’s callin you from Canada.”

It was Dennis Lessing, Vice-president of Beale Broadcasting Ltd., trouble shooter and hatchet man for Thomas Beale when he was alive, and now for his attractive widow, who last week had toasted herself on her forty-fifth birthday. Many, when meeting Sandra Beale for the first time, were deceived by the smallness of her. The thin, almost anorexic body, the tiny gamine face. Only the eyes revealed the steel: Black, intense, intelligent and dancing with life.

Most of the world credited Thomas Beale solely with building the radio empire. Sandra had never resented that misconception. She knew the truth. So did Dennis Lessing.

“Mrs. Beale,” said Dennis, “we’ve got a major crisis on our hands, and very little time to make a decision.” Carefully, Dennis explained the situation and their options. “If we air the tape and it turns out to be some kind of hoax, we could look very bad, especially with a rating period coming up. Unquestionably, some people will think we’ve done it only to hype the listenership. If we don’t run it, and something happens to that little girl, God help us all!”

Sandra’s mind was racing.

“What about the CRTC?,” referring to the federal commission which controlled everything from the content of commercials to the amount and type of music every radio and TV station in Canada could broadcast.

“I’ve talked with the chief commissioner,” said Dennis, “and got the usual run around. You know ‘It’s too late to call the full commission into a meeting; I can’t make a decision on my own; it sounds like a matter for the federal cabinet.’ All the usual excuse-me-while-I-cover-my-ass stuff. The long and short of it is, they won’t give us any advice. What you can be sure of is that, if the shit hits the fan, they’ll be in there blowing it at us along with everyone else. The only break we’d get from that sleepy bunch is that it would probably take them a couple of years to find the fan.”

“What does David have to say about it?” asked Sandra, referring to David Parsons, general manager of their Ottawa station.

There was a grunt at the other end.

“You know good old Dave. ‘Anything you and Mrs. Beale decide is fine by me.’ He did remind me though, that this kind of thing would be great for ratings! Guy’s got a lot of class.”

Sandra ignored the sarcasm.

“What about Grant? How is he? He must be terribly broken up. What will his role be if we decide to air the tape?”

Dennis paused for several seconds.

“I only talked with him for a few moments. He sounded awful, as you can imagine, and absolutely desperate that we play the tape. He’s obviously convinced this is no hoax. I mean after all his daughter is still missing. If we go to air with the recording, my suggestion is we make a simple announcement, play it, then roll music. There’s no way Grant should do any kind of a program after that.”

There was another pause, a longer one.

“Mrs. Beale, I must tell you something else...I...I should have at the outset. Ahh...the tape contains a brief appeal from the little girl. From Lee Henry. In it, she says...ahh...that they have removed her clothes and are looking at her.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line.

“Oh my God, Dennis, we’ve got to play the tape. The bastards! Oh, those bastards! Can you imagine anyone doing a thing like that? They’re animals, nothing but bloody animals. Dennis I’m catching the first flight out of here. I’ll be there sometime tomorrow. I’ll call you when I know the arrival time. Meet me at the airport...in the meantime, the tape goes on tonight. Come hell or high water, don’t let anyone stop you.”

No even, she said to herself, a hurricane!