Gwendy’s Final Task

Charlotte—I have reason to believe that my husband may have been murdered in an effort to get me to drop out of the Senate race in 2020. I also think it has to do with the item I am carrying. I suspect that Gareth Winston knows about the item, and he may have the code that opens the safety box containing the item. How that happened is a long story for another time. What I want from you is what’s known as a “black bag job,” and it has to happen immediately. The detective in the Derry PD who supposedly investigated Ryan’s death is named Ward Mitchell. I think he knows more than he’s telling. My friend Norris Ridgewick (ex-police, sharp as a knifeblade) concurs. I want you to send a team to collar Detective Mitchell, sequester him, and persuade him to talk by any means necessary. I believe someone is trying to stop me before I can dispose of the item under my care, and perhaps (likely!) take possession of it. I believe that someone is Gareth Winston, and if he has the code to the safe box, the only thing standing in his way is an electronic Mesa wall safe. It’s the kind hotels use, and a third-rate burglar could crack it. You know what the stakes are—remember the Pyramid? I understand that my chief suspect is a fabulously wealthy man, but he may not be in charge. Whoever is, they’re thinking years ahead, and that scares me. Don’t even consider that this is paranoia. It’s not. Grab Ward Mitchell and shake him til he rattles. Let me hear back from you immediately, Charlotte.

Gwendy

She pauses, then adds a P.S.: Does the word “sombra” mean anything to you?

Gwendy could check that for herself, but now that her two important emails have been sent, she finds herself looking at the closet again, and thinking about the button box. She wonders if she could concentrate on Gareth Winston having a heart attack and make it happen by pressing the red button. You wonder, Gwendolyn? Is that all? She voices a humorless bark of laughter. There’s no wondering about it, she knows she could. Only there might be collateral damage. What if the station’s electrical system shorted out? Or a high-pressure oxy line went blooey?

She comes out of these thoughts to realize she’s no longer at her desk. No, she’s at the closet. She’s opened it, she’s pushed aside the spare suit, and she’s reaching for the safe’s keypad. In fact she’s already pushed the first number of its simplistic four-digit combination. Gwendy puts one hand over her mouth. With the other she pushes the CANCEL button and closes the closet door.

She decides she’ll go for that run after all.

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