Damage

40

Waiting for Michael Durbin to get back to the Novios' after his day of work, Glitsky sat alone for the moment at the dining room table with a cup of tea that Kathy had brewed for him. Then she appeared in the doorway leading to the kitchen with a platter that held a plate of cookies and a china cup of coffee on a matching saucer. Glitsky watched her place the tray down on the table. Sitting across from him, she picked up her cup and saucer as though afraid that it would shatter.

"How are you holding up?" Glitsky asked her gently.

She gave him a weak smile. "Is it that obvious? Every minute I feel like I'm going to break. She wasn't only my sister, you know. She was my best friend."

"Have you thought about talking to somebody?"

"A grief counselor, you mean?" She shook her head. "I've had a couple of my other friends recommend that. Maybe I should look into it. Although something tells me that what it's going to take, mostly, is time. Which right now seems to have stopped moving, so it feels kind of hard to depend on."

"It can seem like that, I know."

She lifted her cup, put it back down. "That sounds like experience talking."

He nodded. "My first wife," he said. "Cancer."

"I'm sorry."

Glitsky shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

"It sounds like it still hurts."

"There are moments. Mostly, though, you remember the good times."

"The good times. Sometimes you feel like they're never going to come back. Like it's completely impossible."

"I know."

"I mean, when I think of how it was even so recently. Here we are, me and Chuck and the girls, sitting here around this table, no more than a month ago. Everybody getting along, everybody laughing and loving one another. And here I am, about to turn forty next week, and Chuck made up this song they were all going to sing at my big old monster birthday party we were going to have. 'Old, old, really old,' or something like that, the chorus, you know. 'Really, really, really old.' Then the girls each wrote their own verse, just cruel and witty and funny as hell. We were all cracking up. And now I see the girls all just so sad, and me and Chuck in this awful funk." She stared across at him. "The idea that we could ever have a time like that again, carefree and happy, it just doesn't seem possible." Suddenly she straightened up, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin. "I'm sorry," she said. "You don't need to hear this."

"It's fine," he said. "It's part of it."

"I don't know how you do it." She brought her coffee up and sipped at it. "All the victims and their families. They're all like us a little, aren't they?"

"A little. Everybody deals with it in their own way, but it's never easy."

"That must be good for your motivation. In your job, I mean. The pain of the victims."

Glitsky felt the impulse to smile and resisted it. "It's a factor," he said.

They both went to their drinks and sipped. "Can I ask you another question?" Kathy asked.

"I don't know that you've asked even one yet, but go ahead."

"What are you here to talk to Michael about? I thought it was pretty clear that this, that Janice, was Ro Curtlee."

Glitsky killed a couple of seconds with his tea. Then, "There are some unresolved issues."

"Like what?" She brought her hand up to her mouth. "You mean it might not have been Ro? You can't think it was Michael, do you?"

"Not necessarily. I've got some questions for him, that's all."

She put her arms out on the table. "He didn't do this, Inspector. You don't know him. He couldn't have. He loved Janice."

"All right."

"That's not really an answer."

"I'm sorry," Glitsky said. "I don't really have a better one." "She had chlamydia," Glitsky said.

They were in the library/office, the door closed to keep them out of earshot of the rest of the household. Glitsky half leaned, half sat against Chuck's desk while Michael sat at one end of the leather couch, his feet up on the coffee table.

"What?" And now he brought them down as he came forward to the edge of the couch. "What does that mean?"

"It's a sexually transmitted-"

"No, no. I know what chlamydia is. You're saying that Janice had it?"

"You didn't know this?"

"No. How would I-?"

"If we subpoena your medical records, we wouldn't find that you'd had yourself treated for chlamydia?"

"Absolutely not. How did you find this out?"

"The autopsy."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"At the time, we thought it might save you from some pain. That's when we thought Ro Curtlee had killed her."

"You don't still think that?"

"Not so much. His alibi stands up. He wasn't there."

"I wasn't, either."

"That's what you've said. Did Janice tell you she had an STD?"

"No. I've told you. We hadn't had sex for two months. Which is one reason why I thought she was having an affair. So now I know why the sex stopped, don't I? I would have gotten the chlamydia, and then would have known for sure, wouldn't I?"

"And knowing for sure about that, and knowing all about how Ro Curtlee set up his victims, and also knowing that he was out on bail… if you were going to make it look like him, you should have gotten in touch with Ro and made sure he didn't have a solid alibi. Maybe invited him to come by your house on some pretext, planted something to look like he'd been there…" Glitsky stared down at him, waiting.

Michael Durbin met his gaze. "You know, Lieutenant, I agreed to meet you voluntarily tonight, but I've got to tell you, I'm not going to listen to this. I'm trying to keep my family together and deal with the tragedy of my wife's death, and I just don't have the energy to argue with you anymore about it. If you're going to arrest me, find some evidence and take me downtown. Otherwise, get the hell out of my face so I can go back to trying to live my life and make it worth something." At dinner, all eight of the extended family about to start digging into the huge platter of spaghetti and meatballs at the big table, Michael clinked his wineglass and drew a shaky breath. "First," he said, "before we move out of here on Wednesday, all of us Durbins want to thank all of you Novios for your incredible generosity in letting us share your home these past ten days. It makes us realize that this is what family is all about. Hanging in there together when the times are hardest.

"Second," he went on, "here's to Jon for coming back to us." Michael looked at his oldest son. "I know you've still got reservations, but I'm confident they're all going to get resolved. I want to thank you for putting your trust back in me."

Michael held Jon's eye, knowing that this little speech was mostly for the benefit of Peter and the girls, to calm the waters. Jon didn't look exactly like he was sold on his father's story, but for the moment he was giving it the benefit of the doubt, and Michael felt that was good enough-in any event, it was all he was going to get. His glance went over to Peter. "And to both of you boys for burying the hatchet."

"And finally," Kathy put in, "can I just say? Here's to Janice. We will always love you and miss you."

"Hear, hear," Chuck intoned and tipped his glass.

"And now," Kathy said. "Let's start passing the food before it gets cold."

But the pasta platter hadn't even gone halfway around the table when Jon spoke up. "So, Dad, what did Glitsky want to talk to you about?"

Michael made a face. "He's frustrated that he can't seem to put Ro Curtlee at our house that morning."

"Why not?" Chuck asked.

"Well, evidently his housekeeper says he was at home and Glitsky believes her. So now he needs something he can point at and prove to shut up his critics. He's taking a lot of flak about Ro, that he blamed everything on him without any real evidence to back him up."

"And how are you going to make any difference about that?" Jon asked.

"I can't," Michael said. "He's got the same problem with me, but it seems to me like he's getting desperate. Like he's got to have a different story to tell pretty soon or he's in big trouble himself." He put his fork down. "In fact," he went on, "I was hoping to not get into this discussion, but I might as well say it. I don't think it's entirely out of the question that Glitsky might decide to arrest me."

"Daddy, no!" Allie cried. She jumped up out of her chair and came around to put her arms around her father. "How can he do that? You didn't do anything."

"That's right. I didn't do anything, so there's no way he can prove that I did, but we'll need to all stand together"-he looked from Jon to Peter-"especially you kids, if he does come after me."

"You don't really believe he'll do that, do you?" Kathy asked.

"I don't see how he can with no evidence. But he was planning on arresting Ro with just about as much. I don't know what he's going to do. I doubt even if he does. But it would be a good idea if we were a little prepared."

"The power of the police," Chuck said, "it's scary." Michael and Chuck sat at the kitchen counter with the remains of their wine while Kathy did the dishes. The kids had dispersed back into the house to start packing for the move on Wednesday and to start their homework. The talk about his possible, if improbable, arrest had seemed to grow weightier on Michael throughout dinner, and he was now on his sixth glass of wine, staring into the glass.

"I don't know what I'd do with the kids," he was saying.

"Don't be silly," Kathy replied. "You know we'd take them again."

A bitter laugh. "Just what you guys need. Five kids instead of two."

"We'd take them in a minute, Michael," Chuck said. "But it's not going to happen."

"I'm glad you're so sure."

"You said it yourself. He can't have any evidence against you since you didn't do anything. No evidence, no trial."

"Yeah, but even if I'm arrested, all that time before the trial I'm in jail."

Kathy jumped in at that. "We'd bail you out, Michael."

"Thank you, but only if you could."

"Well," Chuck said, "that's putting the cart way before the horse at this point. I don't believe Glitsky's anywhere near arresting you."

"I was with him today, Chuck. I heard him. He's closer than you think. And forget about me, what would that do to the kids? Jon already thinks it might have been me. If I lost all of them over this…" He picked up his glass and took a drink. "I don't know what I'd do. I couldn't let them see me go through it."

"Sure you could," Kathy said. "You'd fight it. We'd all fight it."

"I don't know if it would be worth it."

"Of course it would." Kathy came around the edge of the counter and picked up Michael's still half-full glass, then kissed him on the cheek, and went back around to the sink. She poured out the wine. "It's obvious that this red stuff isn't helping your state of mind at the moment. First, nobody's going to arrest you. And if they do, we're all on your side to get you back out. Okay? You hear me?"

"Okay." He let out a deep sigh. "I'm just so tired. Tired of the suspicion, tired of my son's doubts, tired of Glitsky and of living without Janice. Of living, period."

"Don't say that, Michael."

He looked up at her with an unfocused, bleary-eyed gaze. "Oh, okay, then," he said. "I won't." With a stifled cry, Glitsky jerked and sat up straight in bed, his hand over his heart. His breathing came in heavy gasps.

Beside him, Treya was immediately awake, one hand on his back, the other reaching around to rest over his heart. "Babe, what is it? Are you all right?"

He shook his head from side to side and kept taking heavy breaths.

"Abe! Answer me. Is it your heart again? Should I call nine-one-one?"

He finally got out some words. "No. No, I'm okay. I'm okay." He took another enormous breath and let it out completely. "I've just got to get up." Starting to rise.

"No, you don't. Just stay here. Lie back down."

"I can't."

"Yes, you darn well can. Calm down."

But he stayed in a seated position. Gradually he brought a hand up and covered where his wife still had her hand pressed against his heart. "Okay," he said again, as if to himself. "Okay."

Treya whispered. "So what was that if it wasn't a heart attack? A nightmare?"

"Not a nightmare," Glitsky said. "I wasn't asleep."

"So what is it?"

"Janice Durbin," he said. "Just another something I missed, but this one could be real." He turned back to her. "I've got to get up."

"Abe, it's the middle of the night. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know, but sleep's out of the question."