A Fatal Frame of Mind

Chapter Thirty-eight

Lassiter was shocked at how easy it had been to get in to see Hugh Ralston, the museum’s executive director. He and Henry had spent twenty minutes talking about what to do if they were asked to produce a badge, and the closest they got to an answer was a mutual agreement to improvise.

But Ralston’s secretary didn’t ask for any identification. She took one look at the men standing across from her desk and hit the intercom to let her boss know that there were two police detectives to see him.

If only the next part of the interview had gone as well. Not that Ralston wasn’t cooperative. He seemed almost desperately eager to please.

It was just that he didn’t know anything. They’d started out by asking standard questions about Clay Filkins-friends, enemies, home life, financial troubles. All the things that Juliet O’Hara had undoubtedly already asked in the course of the official investigation. Ralston didn’t have any objections to answering them again; he just didn’t have any information to give the police. They’d worked together for a couple of years, and Ralston had held Filkins in the highest regard professionally, but they’d never spent any time together outside of work, and all their conversations in the office had been strictly business. Not that they objected to speaking personally; it was just that there was so much about the museum they both found fascinating that there was never a need to change subjects.

“What about the deal with the painting?” Henry asked. “That sure sounds funny to me.”

“It sounded funny to everyone here,” Ralston admitted. “But some things are too good to question too closely. Clay insisted it was legitimate, and his word was sacred around here. So we took the deal, even with the strict rules about anonymity.”

“I’m sure you can see how those rules can’t stand anymore,” Lassiter said. “Your donor’s instructions matter much less than a human life.”

“I agree entirely,” Ralston said. “I’d break the confidentiality in a second if I could.”

“If you could?” Henry said, his face reddening. “My son is being hunted by the police because he’s trying to clear Langston Kitteredge’s name. If you have information that can help him, I won’t leave you alone for a second until you hand it over.”

Ralston threw up his hands defensively. “I’m sorry; I said that badly,” he said. “I mean I would give you any information I had. I just don’t have any. I went into Clay’s office, I broke into his private files, and I dug out everything he had on this picture. This is it.”

Ralston picked up a file and handed it across his desk. Henry flipped it open. It was empty. “Somebody stole his files?”

“Or he never kept any paperwork at all,” Ralston said. “Or he hid it at his home. I have no answers. I have nothing.”

“Come on,” Henry said. “There must be some other way of tracking down this donor.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Ralston said, his voice close to cracking. “I have nothing. All I’ve ever wanted was for this museum to thrive. Because it’s so much bigger than I am. I couldn’t even make my ex-wife happy, but this institution can touch the lives of generations. And look what I’ve done for it. Thanks to my brilliant financial skills, we’ve lost two-thirds of our endowment in the markets. Now one of the best people who ever worked here has been murdered in one of our galleries, and the painting he spent his last months acquiring for us has been stolen. Could I have done a worse job?”

If there was one thing that Henry-and every cop Henry had ever known-hated, it was whining. When you saw as many terrible things as a rookie saw in his first year, it was just too hard to listen to anyone moaning about how tough he had it. Henry would never tolerate it from Shawn, and he hated when he heard it in an interview. He glanced over at Lassiter to confirm that the detective shared his disgust. But to his shock, Lassiter seemed to be listening sympathetically. And there was something bright and shiny in the corner of his eye, which-if Henry hadn’t known better-he would have sworn was a tear.

“It’s the hardest thing in the world,” Lassiter said, “to love a job, to love an institution, and to know you’ve let her down.”

“Yes!” Ralston said in a voice that was perilously close to sobs.

“When you’d do anything in the world for that place and those people, and all you bring them is shame,” Lassiter said.

“Oh, God, yes,” Ralston said.

“And you think there’s nothing you can ever do to wipe that stain away,” Lassiter said, his voice taking on a dreamy, distant quality. “Sure, for a while you want to crawl into a hole. You want to disappear and never show your face to the people whose trust you’ve violated. But you keep on going. Do you know why?”

“Why?” Ralston choked out.

“Yes, Carlton,” Henry said. “Tell us all.”

“Because that’s what a man does,” Lassiter said. “He takes the beating, he makes his mistakes, but then he gets up and keeps working. Because if he’s a real man, he knows it’s not about him. It’s about the institution he’s sworn to protect. And if he’s failed her once, then it’s up to him to work twice as hard to make sure he never lets her down again. And to be proud he’s been given a chance to serve.”

Ralston looked at him, tears streaming down his face. “Do you really think so?”

Lassiter reached across the desk and gave his hand a firm squeeze. “I know so,” he said. “It’s what we do.”

“Thank you,” Ralston said. “Thank you.”

For a moment, the three of them sat in silence. Then Henry got to his feet. “If you come across anything you think might be useful in the interrogation, you be sure to let the police know.”

Ralston nodded wordlessly. Henry walked to the door, Lassiter right behind him. Neither man spoke until they were out of the museum.

“That was a waste of time,” Henry said as they walked down the steps to the street.

“Really?” Lassiter said. “I thought it was tremendously useful.”

“He had no information,” Henry said incredulously. “We didn’t learn a thing.”

“I don’t know about you, but I feel like I’ve learned a lot from this experience,” Lassiter said. “And now if you’ll excuse me, we need to take up this investigation some other time.”

“Some other time?” Henry sputtered. “What about right now?”

“I can’t right now,” Lassiter said. “I have an appointment with a kindergarten teacher. And I think I just learned how to tie my shoes.”