Hi,
I'm sorry this is a little later than I'd planned, but my consolation is that it is still Sunday in some parts of the world.
I had a kinda hectic afternoon. One of my neighbours delivered a Christmas card by hand when my dog, Gemma, was in the garden, and we didn't spot the little escape artiste sneaking out. My neighbour and I spent almost an hour looking for her in the rain and fog. We finally found her and returned home; Gemma was in the dog house and my friend and I were cold and very wet.
I went on to develop a sinus headache, which is why I'm now sitting up in the middle of the night posting the next part as promised.
The things we artists do for our craft!
Yours Jenni
*****
Previously on My Wife The Boss:
The woman nodded and even smiled as Clark counted out sixty of his dollars. He felt she deserved every cent, and was happy to hand them over.
“And you never spoke to me ... you never even saw me,” she said, as she grabbed the money and stuffed it inside her coat. “Remember!” She jabbed Clark in the chest with a grimy finger, which poked through a hole in her glove, before running back to the head of the alley. She sent Matt a disdainful look as she passed him at speed, then disappeared into the shadows.
At a much slower pace, Clark joined his son. He was smiling in relief, his bad thoughts of a few moments earlier buried away for another time, when he could pull them out and explore them ... perhaps Lois could help him get them into perspective.
For now, his persistence as a reporter had paid off. Now, he had a full name ... and a chance to find out who the bomber was, where he was, and why he was taking such deathly revenge on this city ... and stop him.
Continued ...
Chapter Thirteen,
What's In a Name?
Clark got out of the car at the foot of the drive, since it was clear the police were stopping any non-essential traffic from entering the gates. He strode closer and checked out the busy scene at the front of the building where police cars, fire trucks and ambulances vied for space.
Soon after talking to the woman in Bakerline, he and Matt had heard the blast on the other side of the city. Jor-El had left immediately, and Clark would have preferred to accompany him, but again there was the problem of coincidence -- he'd been the first reporter on the scene at the theater fire, having hitched a ride with his son. He couldn't let that happen again.
Instead, he'd asked Matt to drop him on the roof of The Planet where he could hurry down to the newsroom to write up his notes from the source, before legitimately learning through the wire about the explosion. From there, he could take one of The Planet's cars to Hyperion Vistas, and hopefully, he wouldn't be scooped by too many other reporters.
Close to an hour had elapsed since the explosion, and though the moon shone clear in the deep sapphire sky, scattered with thousands of tiny diamonds, the darkness made visibility difficult, even for Clark's improving super sight. The mansion was lit up like a Christmas tree, but these were not celebratory lights, they belonged to the emergency services. Under their glow, Clark could make out a number of uniformed personnel working outside the building, and he was certain there were just as many inside.
Now the big question was how to get closer?
The ringing of his cell phone sounded loud in his ears, startling him from his thoughts. He pulled it from his pocket, smiling as he recognized the caller.
“Hi, Lois,” he said quietly. “I just got here.” He'd already alerted Lois about his plans from the newsroom; in fact, he'd needed to persuade her to stay home with the girls since the incident was close to Hyperion Avenue.
“How bad is it?” Lois asked, her concern vying with her need to report the news.
Clark studied the scene before replying, in full reporter mode. “The building seems to be mainly intact, though there is some damage to one side, and I'm pretty sure there's been a fire which the emergency services have already extinguished. If this is another bombing, it's no where near the size of the hospital one.”
“Thank god for small mercies,” Lois added, then lowered her voice. “Is Jor-El still at the scene?”
“I can't see him, but I'm sensing that he's not too upset, so hopefully, that means the number of casualties is low. He knows what he's doing, honey.” There was a moment of silence as Clark trained his vision on the house again. “The paramedics are bringing out some people now, but from here, none of them looks to have serious injuries. Lois, I have to go. I have a job to do.”
“I know. Can you get in there, Clark?” Lois asked, now sounding totally professional.
“I have no idea. They've got this place ringed pretty tightly. I guess I'll just have to try my powers of persuasion.”
Lois was tempted to offer her assistance. Watching Clark at work had got her investigative juices flowing again, yet she was a little afraid that he would assume she didn't trust him to work alone. Instead, she gave a tiny laugh. “Find a policewoman and flash your mega-watt smile. I seem to remember that used to work quite well for you.”
There was a pause, before Clark joined in with a small chuckle. “Yeah, I guess it did sometimes, but I was a whole lot younger then. I'm not sure it would be so effective now.”
“You underestimate yourself, honey.” She lowered her voice. “You still have the power to make my legs go weak.”
This time, Clark's laugh was more enthusiastic. “Maybe, but you're biased.” There was the sound of traffic on the road behind him and he turned to see more media vans pulling up. “Lois, the press pack is arriving. I'd better go try those powers of persuasion right now, if I want to keep ahead of the game. See you later, sweetheart.”
Snapping his cellphone closed, he turned his attention to the gate. He was certain the officers had been given instructions to keep the press out, and though he did have a 'source' inside, Matt was there to help, and he wasn't a journalist. Clark had to rely on his own devices to get past the first line of security, and he might as well start with the honest and obvious one. With that in mind, he walked up to the line of police cars pulled up across the driveway.
“Hi, Kent, Daily Planet.” He hurried through the introduction he was now becoming comfortable with as he flashed his press card. “Any chance of getting closer to the house?”
The cop turned, and Clark found himself staring into the eyes of a very young and very pretty policewoman. Had Lois added clairvoyance to her skills? At that thought, he couldn't resist a smile crinkling the corner of his lips.
The policewoman gave him the quick once over, after checking out his card. She must have decided he was on the level, as she gave him a small smile in return, but that didn't mean she was about to break her orders.
“I'm sorry, sir, but that's a crime scene up there and we have instructions that no one, not even the media, is to be allowed through. You'll have to make your report from here.”
Clark glanced up at the house and said in his friendliest voice. “Then it is a crime scene? The house didn't just explode accidentally ... like a gas leak or something?”
The policewoman blushed, ducking her head at her mistake, but she recovered quickly and said with only the slightest stammer, “I ... Again, I'm sorry, but I'm not at liberty to give out any information. I'm sure someone will speak to the media soon. Now, I have my job to do, so if you'll excuse me.”
“I understand completely,” Clark interrupted quickly. He felt a little sorry for the cop, who looked like she was very new to the job, but he also had his work to do, and it wasn't just reporting on a story. Bending his head the tiniest bit to look over his glasses, he narrowed his special vision on the damaged area of the house where he saw a familiar figure. “Is Sergeant Peterson on the case?” he asked almost casually.
The woman halted in her tracks and replied. “I believe he is. Do you know him?”
“He and I have been helping each other with the case of the bomber, and I think I might have some new information for him.” Clark turned back to the policewoman and regarded her seriously. “I know it's not in your remit, but I've been trying to discover who is targeting Metropolis. It's really important that I speak to Sergeant Peterson. Do you think you could contact him for me? Tell him Clark Kent would like to talk to him urgently ... and not just for my story. Catching this bad guy is what's important.”
The policewoman narrowed her eyes as she checked him over more closely; seconds passed before she spoke again. “Wait a minute. You're Clark Kent ... of Lane and Kent?”
“That's me,” Clark acknowledged, his voice rising hesitantly. Wasn't this woman too young to remember him from the past?
“I remember you ... and Lois Lane. The Hottest Team in Town. I was working on my college newspaper when you and Superman disappeared. That was a bad time, and I tell you, I missed you more than the Big Blue. Not that Superman wasn't a sad loss to the world ... he was ... but when I think about all those crimes you and Lois Lane solved.” The young woman shook her head in awe, before rushing on almost without taking a breath. “Your record was impressive, and she was my role model when I was growing up. You know, I almost went into investigative journalism, but my father was a cop, so I chose the MPD instead. It's kinda like the family business. I think you might have known him ...”
Clark's gaze slid to the officer's badge and everything fell into place. “Officer Zymak. You're Sergeant Zymak's daughter?”
Now she was nodding her head and smiling broadly. “I am. Isn't it a small world!”
A friendly smile crossed Clark's face as he thought back. “We worked with your dad on a couple of cases back in the nineties. How is he doing these days?” Clark asked, though his smile faded. Perhaps that wasn't the best of questions. Being missing for four years, and not yet being up to speed on all the people he'd once known, put him at a disadvantage.
“He's good, but he took early retirement when the department downsized a couple of years back. He and Mom are living in Florida these days and they've both taken up golf.” Zymak Junior laughed at that. “Never saw my dad as a keen golfer, but my mom says it's a good way to keep fit. If you're ever down there, you should look them up.”
“Maybe,” Clark agreed, nodding. He and Lois hadn't had a vacation in years, and perhaps it was something that he and the whole family needed ... after he'd solved this case. “Officer Zymak, I don't want to get you in trouble, but I'd really appreciate you getting in touch with Peterson.”
Zymak took a quick look around her, then leaned closer, lowering her voice. “The name's Tracey, Mr Kent. Are you really working with Sergeant Peterson?”
“I am. Off the record, of course.”
Another tiny grin flashed over the policewoman's face. “Kinda like the way you used to do with Dad. OK, for old time's sake and because my father trusted you, I'll contact Peterson, but it's up to him whether he talks to you or not.”
“Understood,” Clark replied and watched her closely as she turned to walk a little distance away, talking quietly on her radio.
Within minutes she was back, leading Clark closer to the large ironwork gates. “Peterson will meet you up at the house, but I've to remind you that it's a crime scene ...”
Clark cut in, quickly, eager to get inside. “No problem. I'll be careful.”
Again Zymak laughed. “I know you will. I reminded Peterson you were checking out crime scenes while he was still in junior high.”
Clark's brows rose at her audacity, before enlightenment struck. “You don't know Sergeant Peterson, by any chance?”
The policewoman's smile spread across her face and her eyes twinkled as she answered. “You could say that ... but that's something else that's off the record, Mr Kent.”
“Completely off the record.” Clark bobbed a tiny bow, grinning in return. “For a newspaper man I can be the soul of discretion.”
“Thank you. Now you better hurry, Jed's waiting.” She pointed with her radio to the front of the house, before waving him through the gate.
Clark needed no further encouragement, and he silently offered thanks to the erstwhile Sergeant Zymak as he strode up the drive at a very fast pace to where he could see the tall detective appear in the doorway, highlighted by the beam of a spotlight.
*****
Although the large reception area of the nursing home was bursting at the seams with emergency personnel and their equipment, fortunately, it seemed undamaged, but as Clark followed Jed Peterson down a corridor and up the back staircase, there was increasing evidence of blast burns. They stopped at the head of a passageway that was littered with broken furniture and glass, while its walls and ceilings were coated with grime and smoke. An obnoxious smell hung in the air.
“What happened here?” Clark asked, sidestepping an upturned cabinet, which once had held a plant pot. He had to restrain his instinctive need to tidy up the mess.
Jed glanced down the corridor and back the way they had come, before replying in a hushed voice. “There was an explosion in the staff room at the end of this corridor.”
“A bomb?” Clark lowered his glasses ever so slightly and tried his x-ray vision. The shell of a blackened room with a gaping hole where the window should be came into focus, peopled by two men and one women dressed in white coveralls -- probably part of the forensic team.
Jed studied the reporter. He'd been told by his bosses to keep a lid on this incident for the present, but somehow he knew Kent wouldn't buy the normal 'that's still under investigation' line ... besides he trusted this particular reporter.
However, he dropped his voice to a murmur. “I think that's the one thing we can be sure of.”
“A letter bomb?”
“That's a possibility, but at the minute we can't say for sure,” Jed replied, pulling Clark aside as another white-clad figure appeared like an apparition in the gloom, and walked past them into the room. “But according to the matron, who happens to live in an apartment over the garages, the mail was opened as usual this morning. She told me that the staff seldom have their mail delivered here, and certainly none this morning, so it's doubtful the bomb got into the staff room through the mail. Doesn't rule out our bomber though.”
Clark gave up examining the scene through the wall and swung around to face the sergeant. “So, you agree that Tanner wasn't the bomber?”
If it were possible, Jed spoke more quietly. “I never totally bought into Tanner as the criminal either -- my bosses did! I was always open to any of your suggestions.” The sergeant beckoned Clark, clandestinely, back from the corridor into a recess next to the stairs. He cleared his throat. “Tracey said you had information for me?”
“I do, and we'll get to that in a minute, but are there any witnesses to what happened here?” Clark asked with as much assertion as he could muster. He was aware Peterson was going out on a limb by talking to him, but this situation was becoming evermore critical. Clark had no idea why, but he felt there wasn't time to tiptoe around worrying about the police chief's sensibilities.
“There was a member of staff in that room, though I doubt she'll be telling us anything soon.” Jed pulled a packet of kleenex from his pocket and blew his nose. “Excuse me, but I think I'm developing an allergy to explosive dust,” he explained, stuffing the tissues back in his coat, before heaving an angry sigh. “The woman's unconscious and her condition is critical. I'll be checking in with the hospital soon, but I doubt she'll be fit to tell us what happened for quite some time ... if ever.”
“I'm sorry to hear that,” Clark said sympathetically. “But are there other staff members here who might know something?”
“Yeah. Three night staff, including the victim. They take their breaks at different times, and Kath Price was first to go, though they'd all left their belongings in the room earlier without any incident. I asked them if they'd noticed anything different, or out of place, but neither could remember a thing.” Jed began walking back down the stairs. “Mind you, they were both in shock, which isn't surprising. We'll question them again later, but they're waiting in the front lounge for the moment. If you want to talk to them, I can instruct my team to turn a blind eye.”
“Thanks, Jed. I appreciate you going the extra mile for me,” Clark said, trailing a little way behind the sergeant while he tried to scan the rest of the home in his own unique way, but when his sight reached the bedrooms on the floor above, he felt like an intruder, particularly as many of the old folk left in their rooms were in varying stages of worry and shock. Quickly shutting his x-ray vision down, he turned back to Jed. “Has the building been secured, and what's going to happen to the people who live here?”
They had reached the reception area again, and Jed gazed up the staircase. “Jor-El looked over the building and the bomb-squad checked out the main area of the house with their sniffer dogs. I think they're still working in the basement and the attics.”
Clark barely stopped himself from blurting out that he could hear them. He had to relearn to be more careful. Instead he nodded, saying. “Good ... and the residents?”
“The matron is overseeing the evacuation of the residents. The paramedics and some of the men I can spare are trying to help her, but she asked if she can contact some of her day staff and the residents' families. She feels it will be less traumatic for the people under her care. God knows where these poor old folks are going to go, though.”
“Do they all have to move out?” Clark asked, gazing at the right wing of the mansion, which looked intact. “I mean, if there isn't anymore danger, surely some parts of the house are still structurally sound.”
Following Clark's eyes, Jed nodded in agreement. “I'm not an architect, but the house looks like it was built to withstand an earth quake. Maybe when Jor-El gets back from the hospital, he can look for cracks and the obvious stuff, but it will still need to be checked over by a structural engineer; it's procedure.”
“Jor-El's not here?” Clark's brows shot up. Since he'd been allowed past the police barrier, he'd been purposely trying not to track or contact his son. Matt was perfectly capable of dealing with these emergencies alone, and if not, he would get in touch with Clark.
“He was. In fact, he arrived before anyone else, and thankfully put the fire out before it had a chance to take hold.” The sergeant looked around the hallway and up to the gallery above. “If it weren't for him, our casualty count would be a lot higher than it is.” Jed pointed off to his left. “Some of the residents closest to the explosion have minor injuries, though who's to say what the shock might do to the elderly. But for the moment, we only have one critical victim.”
“The night aide?”
“I'm afraid so. Jor-El found her. He cleared the wreckage away, but realized he couldn't move her safely, so he brought in the paramedics and once they'd stabilized her, he flew them all to the ER.” Jed told his story in a rush, shaking his head in awe. “You should have seen it, Kent. Once they'd loaded her into the ambulance he lifted the whole thing off the ground and flew away. Granted, he couldn't fly as fast as I've seen in the past, but it was amazing.”
“Have you heard how she is?” Clark asked with a mixture of pride in his son and the stirrings of a longing that he couldn't do more himself.
“Not yet.” Peterson's cell phone chimed and he answered it quickly, backing away from Clark, his hand extended in something like an apology.
Clark didn't mean to listen in, but he hadn't quite got his hearing under complete control ... and the caller was talking loudly for emphasis.
Peterson's inspector was making sure that Jed was not talking to any member of the press. Clark took a quick look around him, wondering who had blown the whistle on Jed. None of the uniformed officers appeared to be paying them any attention, and Clark was sure Tracey Zymak wouldn't have reported his presence at the scene. Of course, there was a huge police presence at Hyperion Vistas: the bomb squad and a revived anti-terrorist unit. Or it could have been another of his fellow reporters jealous of his special privileges. But whoever was to blame, Jed was reassuring his boss that he was doing everything by the book.
When the call was over, Jed came back, his pale face flushed. “Kent, I'm sorry, I have a job to do. If it was up to me ... but it isn't. You've gotta leave ...”
Jed was already turning away, back toward the room where the bomb had exploded.
“Jed wait,” Clark called, hurrying after the detective, who stopped at the foot of the back stairway.
“Kent, I can't talk to you.” Jed put his hand on the banister, his white rubber glove stark against the smoky rail, and explained awkwardly. “It's more than my job is worth.”
“But you have to listen ...”
“No! No buts. My boss is breathing down my neck ...” Jed took a deep breath. “If you have information, Kent, find a uniform cop and give it to them.” He looked Clark directly in the eye as he spoke, trying to convey a private message. “They'll pass it along if they think it's relevant. Now I really gotta go. I'm sure you'll get a chance to talk to the witnesses later.”
Then he was gone, taking the stairs two at a time with his long stride, bordering on superspeed. Peterson had clearly gotten torn to shreds by his superior.
Clark was left alone in the eerie, echoing corridor, but at least he knew exactly who to give his message to. He began walking toward the exit to find Officer Zymak. He'd reached the doorway when a distraught young woman burst through the door, almost knocking him down ... and that was getting to be a difficult feat, though he had been distracted.
The woman stumbled, and Clark caught her, setting her back on her feet. “Are you all right?” he asked, noticing there were stress lines between her eyebrows and tears in her eyes.
“Yes ... yes, I'm fine.” The stranger halted, scanning every detail of the crowded lobby. “They said there was a bomb.”
Clark nodded, but still kept hold of the woman, who looked like she might faint at any moment. “I'm afraid there was ...”
“Like the one at the hospital?” she interrupted breathlessly.
“No. Thankfully, not so large as the explosion at Metro General. It went off in the staff room.” Clark said gently, but clearly, searching for a quiet spot in the busy reception room. He led the woman between the equipment to a large sofa by the window. “I'm not completely sure, but I think the rest of the home received only minor damage ... and mainly around the center of the explosion.”
Clark's new acquaintance sank into the sofa. “Was anyone hurt?”
Again Clark nodded, sitting beside the anxious woman who clung to his arm. “I believe one of the night staff was hurt, but I don't know the details, except that they've taken her to the hospital. Would you know her?”
“I'm not sure. I'm new here and I work days. I haven't met all the night aides yet.”
“Why don't you take a minute to get your breath back and then go talk to your matron. I was told she was somewhere around here, trying to evacuate some of the residents whose rooms have been affected by the blast.”
The woman was nodding her head, though she still looked very shaky, but Clark had somewhere to go. He had to find Zymak ... fast.
“I'm sorry, I have something important to do. I really need to leave,” he said, speaking distinctly as it seemed the young aide was still stunned. “Will you be OK on your own?”
“Yes ...”
But clearly the woman was in a world of her own, and Clark held back from leaving, deciding he had a few minutes to spare.
“I'm Clark Kent,” he said gently. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Liz ... I'm Liz, and I work here ... and it's all my fault!” she moaned, her voice almost cracking on a sob.
Clark was momentarily shocked. She couldn't mean the bomb! “I'm sure it's not. You couldn't know there was going to be a bomb.”
Slowly, she turned her head to him. “No. Of course I didn't know about the bomb ... but I got her to change her room ... and she could be hurt.”
Suddenly, she stood up and looked as if she were about to run down the corridor to the bombed area beyond, but Clark held her back, knowing Peterson and his team wouldn't be happy to have a member of the staff blundering about the crime scene.
“Who could be hurt?” Clark asked as the aide looked at the hand that was restraining her. “I've been told there is only one serious casualty ...”
“Miss Bowen-Timmons,” she answered, freeing herself from Clark's hand and backing away. “Miss Bowen-Timmons swapped rooms because the heating in her own room wasn't working ... and it was cold. She didn't want to leave her room ... but it was too cold, so I persuaded her to leave ... and she was moved to a room on the floor above ... the staff room.”
Clark stood frozen for some seconds, while the aide seemed to be on the verge of tears again. When he continued, it was almost distractedly, “I think some of the old people in that wing were taken to the hospital, but I was told they weren't injured badly.” At last, Clark shook himself into complete awareness. “Excuse me, but did you say Miss Bowen-Timmons?” he asked, emphasizing the second part of the name.
“Yes. She's a very important person around here. I think she owns this place, or something,” Liz explained, her voice rising worriedly. “And I sent her to a place where she's gone and gotten hurt. She'll hate me ...” Her voice died away as she stared at nowhere in particular.
Clark did feel sorry for poor Liz, but she'd just given him the connection he'd been looking for. “Liz, did Miss Bowen-Timmons have a relative ... like a cousin, or maybe a nephew?”
Liz's eyes almost jumped from her head. “How did you know that?” She took a couple of steps back toward Clark. “Do you know him too? He's her nephew, and his name's Thomas. They'd been estranged, but he sent her a card and a gift for Christmas. Wasn't that nice of him? He must want to get back together with his aunt before she dies ... because she is very old ... and now she's been bombed, and old people do die from shock ...”
Liz was almost whining, but Clark cut in quickly. “Her nephew is Thomas Timmons?”
“You do know him! Can you get in touch with him, tell him about his aunt?”
“I'd guess he already knows,” Clark replied with a grimace, taking hold of Liz's hand again. “Liz, do you know what was in the package Thomas sent?”
“A greetings card and a box of chocolates,” Liz almost whispered.
“What happened to the chocolates, Liz?” Clark tried to keep his voice even, but it was hard to control his urgency.
There was a silence that lasted only a few seconds, but to Clark it seemed like an eternity until Liz went on.
“They weren't the kind she liked, but I suppose he'd forgotten that, after all, he ran away years ago,” Liz said in a daze, her thoughts heading for a particular conclusion she didn't want to reach. “There weren't enough candies in the box to go around the whole home, so she gave them to me ... but I'm on a diet.” Liz patted her stomach with her free hand. “You eat too many sweet things at Christmas ...”
Clark wanted to rush her, but knew he should let her take her own time.
“So, before I left last night I put them in the staffroom ...” Liz's eyes widened even further, and if Clark hadn't been holding her up, she would have collapsed on the floor. “Oh, you don't think? No! It couldn't be. It was my fault.”
“No!” Clark cut in quickly, almost lifting Liz back to the sofa and sitting her down. “It was not your fault. You didn't know ... and we can't say for definite ...”
“Liz, there you are.” Another female voice sounded from the top of the stairs, and Clark looked up to see a formidable woman descending. “Thank you for coming at my call, and I'm so relieved you're here. Miss Bowen-Timmons was caught up in the explosion, but according to the medics who checked her over, she's suffering only minor bruises from when her bed collapsed, but they believe she has no broken bones,” the newcomer said as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “I'd say she was back to her usual self by they way she's complaining, but she insists on her doctor visiting her, and I agree it's better to be more safe than sorry ... but I don't want to leave her alone right now, so be a dear and go sit with her, Liz. She seems to accept you more than the rest of the staff.”
Liz looked at Clark anxiously, not quite sure what to do. “Mr Kent?”
“Don't worry, Liz. Do as your matron says.” Clark took a guess and was relieved to see the woman nod her head. “I have a friend in the police force who's upstairs. I'll tell him exactly what you've told me.”
“You're not a policeman?” Liz inquired, still sounding bewildered.
“No, I'm Clark Kent of The Daily Planet, but I've been investigating this case and Thomas Timmons. Believe me, Liz, you've just given me the chance to stop this madman,” Clark said, deciding he could leave Liz in the care of the matron. “Go sit with your old lady, and I'll let the police know where to find you. They'll want to talk to you soon, and can you repeat everything you've told me about the package from Thomas?”
Liz nodded. She wasn't sure why, but she had trusted this stranger from the moment he'd prevented her from falling. “It's the truth.”
“I don't doubt that for a minute,” Clark assured Liz, then turned back to the matron. “Are there any policemen on the floor above?”
The matron looked puzzled but she answered freely, instinctively recognizing Clark Kent's aura of authority, “Yes, there are policemen stationed all over the home.”
“Then tell them to put a guard on Liz and Miss Bowen-Timmons. I can't tell you why, but it is very important.”
“Don't worry. I'll make sure they are safe.” The matron had no idea what was going on, but she'd picked up on the seriousness of the situation immediately.
“Good!” Clark replied, giving both women a fleeting, yet somehow somber smile.
The two woman watched as Clark left the building at speed. It was imperative he find Zymak and she talk to Peterson on his behalf. Jed ought to be convinced of the connection now, even though his bosses might need some persuading.
*****
To be continued ...
