MIRROR IMAGE

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

The bellyache Irish had when he went to bed the night before was mild in comparison to the raging one he had by seven o'clock Election Day morning.

It had dawned clear and cool. Heavy voter turnout was predicted statewide because of the perfect autumn weather. The climate in the KTEX news department wasn’t so clement. Its chief was on the warpath.

"Sorry, worthless son of a bitch," Irish mouthed as he slammed down the telephone receiver. When Van failed to show up in the newsroom at six-thirty as scheduled, Irish had started telephoning his apartment. There was still no answer. "Where could he be?"

"Maybe he's on his way," another photographer volunteered, trying to be helpful.

"Maybe," Irish grumbled as he lit a cigarette, which he'd only planned to hold between his lips. "In the meantime, I'm sending you. If you hurry, you can catch the Rutledges as they leave the hotel. If not, drive like hell to catch up with them in Kerrville. And report in every few minutes,'' he yelled after the cameraman who scrambled out with the reporter. Both were grateful to escape with their scalps intact.

Irish snatched up the telephone and punched out a number he had memorized by now. "Good morning," a pleasant voice answered, "Palacio Del Rio."

"I need to speak to Mrs. Rutledge."

''I'm sorry, sir. I can't put your call—"

"Yeah, I know, I know, but this is important."

"If you'll leave your name and num—"

He hung up on her saccharine spiel and immediately called Van's number. It rang incessantly while Irish paced as far as the telephone cord would reach. ''When I get my hands on him, I'm gonna hammer his balls to mush."

He collared a gofer who had the misfortune to collide with him. "Hey, you, drive over there and haul his skinny ass out of bed."

"Who, sir?"

"Van Lovejoy. Who the fuck do you think?" Irish bellowed impatiently. Why had everybody chosen today to turn up either missing or stupid? He scrawled Van's address on a sheet of paper, shoved it at the terror-stricken kid, and ordered ominously, "Don't come back without him."

# # #

Avery emerged from the hotel, holding Mandy by one sweating hand. The other was tucked into the crook of Tate's elbow. She smiled for the myriad cameras, wishing her facial muscles would stop cramping and quivering.

Tate gave the cameras his most engaging smile and a thumbs-up sign as they moved toward the waiting limousine parked in the brick paved porte cochére. Microphones were aimed toward them. Bleakly, Avery thought they resembled gun barrels. Tate's voice carried confidently across the city racket and general confusion. "Great Election Day weather. Good for the voters and for the candidates in each race."

He was bombarded with questions regarding more serious topics than the weather, but Eddy ushered them into the backseat of the limo. Avery was distressed to learn that he was riding with them to Kerrville. She wouldn't have Tate to herself, as she had hoped. They hadn't been alone all morning. He was already up and dressed by the time she woke up. He breakfasted in the dining room on the river level of the hotel while she got Mandy and herself dressed. As the limo pulled away from the curb,  she glanced through the rear window, trying to locate Van. She spotted a two-man crew from KTEX, but Van wasn't the photographer behind the camera. Why not? she wondered. Where is he?

He wasn't among the media waiting for them at their polling place in Kerrville, either. Her anxiety mounted, so much so that at one point, Tate leaned down at her and whispered, "Smile, for God's sake. You look like I've already lost.''