Demons

Chapter 11

Dean purchase was a big man physically as well as politically: a wide-body with beefy shoulders, thick waist, powerful legs and thighs, and not too much overlay of fat for a man of fifty-odd. Mane of silver-black hair that was more judicial than senatorial. He dressed conservatively except for his ties. Outlandish ties were his trademark; he’d been cultivating them so long that a local TV station had once done a feature on his collection and private citizens sent him the ugliest and most tasteless ones they could find. The one he had on today was a sort of robin’s-egg blue with bright red and yellow whorls and bright orange interlocking circles. Stare at it long enough and it might put you into a hypnotic trance. If it didn’t make you sick to your stomach first.

I walked into his offices at city hall at 3:40, and at exactly 3:45 he came out of his private sanctum, looked me over, smiled at me as if I were a campaign contributor, pumped my hand, and ushered me inside. I’d been wondering which of his public personas I’d get. He had several: Tammany Hall Jovial, Mr. Hard-Ass, Mr. Sincerity, Man-of-the-People, Hardline Liberal, It’s-a-Tough-Job-but-Somebody’s-Got-to-Do-It, The Humanitarian, The Fund-Raiser, The Comedian, The Confidant, The Bargainer. He could switch from one to another with the deceptive speed of a quick-change artist, as the situation called for; and watching him do it, you wondered if he had a real self left under all those public faces. Or if he — hell, most politicians these days — existed only as a public figure, in the eyes of his beholders. Was in effect just an animated hunk of clay in private, like a New Age state-of-the-art ventriloquist’s dummy waiting to be activated by the presence of an audience.

Purchase’s inner sanctum was big enough to have a cozy little sitting area at one end, complete with a couch and some leather chairs. He invited me to sit, offered me coffee “or something stronger,” and when I declined on both counts, poured himself a cup of coffee so dark it had the color of India ink. Then he plunked himself down companionably in the chair next to mine.

“New Orleans blend,” he said, indicating the cup. “Not too heavy on the chickory. Sure you won’t try it?”

“No, thanks.”

“Well,” he said, and sipped, and said, “Ah,” and smiled again. He did Tammany Hall Jovial well, but it was wearing thin on me; I hoped he would segue into one of the others pretty soon. Even Mr. Hard-Ass would be preferable.

I said, “You’re a busy man, Mr. Purchase, and so am I, so let’s get right to the point. I’m not here to do you any harm. If you’ve checked me out — and I’m sure you have — you know I have a long-standing reputation for discretion, honesty, and straightforward business practices. Your name came up in a case I’m working on. As far as I know, the case has nothing to do with you; but there’s a chance you may know something that will help me get to the bottom of it, so I’d like to ask you some questions. Whatever you say to me is strictly between us — it goes no farther than this office.”

“Well stated.” Purchase’s smile was gone now; he’d adopted a serious, attentive mien. The Confidant. He set his mug down, leaned closer. “You wrote Nedra Merchant’s name on your card. Is she your client?”

“No. She’s involved with a party connected with my client.”

“I see. Are you investigating her, then? Gathering evidence against her for some reason?”

“Not at all. I don’t intend her harm in any way. Nor does my client.”

“Then why are you interested in my relationship with her, such as it is?”

“I’m not. But I have reason to believe you know her fairly well, and I—”

“Who led you to believe that, may I ask?”

“Confidentiality, Mr. Purchase.”

“Yes, of course. But I’d like to know what your confidential source alleged was the nature of my relationship with Ms. Merchant.”

“That it was personal.”

“Sexual?”

“Personal. Was it sexual?”

“It was not. Nedra and I were friends, nothing more.”

“Were? You’re not any longer?”

“I haven’t seen her in quite some time,” Purchase said. “We no longer move in the same circles.”

“How long a time?”

“Nearly two years.”

“And how long did you know her before that?”

“A few months. We met at a political fund-raiser.”

“Did you spend much time together?”

“Not much, no. I took her to dinner twice, as I recall. And with my wife’s knowledge and consent, I might add.”

“Did you and Nedra discuss personal matters?”

“What sort of personal matters are you referring to?”

“Her private life. Did she confide in you?”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“For instance, the names of men she was intimate with—”

“No. That topic never came up.”

“Her plans for the future? Places she liked to visit, where she went when she wanted to get away for a while?”

“I don’t recall discussing those topics.”

“Has she ever sent you postcards?” I asked.

The question caught him off guard. “Postcards?”

“Picture postcards. When she was away on a trip.”

“Hardly. Nedra?” He frowned. “Why do you ask that?”

“I thought you might have heard from her recently.”

“Well, I haven’t. I told you, I’ve had no contact with the woman in nearly two years.”

“Does the abbreviation ‘Thorn.’ mean anything to you?”

“Thorn?”

“The first part of a word like ‘Thornbridge.’ ”

“No,” Purchase said. He tugged at his lower lip. “What does that have to do with Nedra?”

“It might help me find her.”

“Find her?”

“She’s been missing since early May.”

“I don’t... missing? My God, you mean something’s happened to her?”

“It’s a strong possibility.”

“She simply... vanished? Without a trace?”

“Minute traces, that’s all.”

“And you’re trying to find her after all this time?”

“Among other things, yes,” I said. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the circumstances of my investigation. Confidentiality, as I said before. But I am interested in knowing why she left the city so suddenly and where she is now.”

“The police? Have they been told?”

“Not yet.”

“But they will be?”

“Unless I can track her down myself, within a reasonably short period of time.”

He tugged at his lower lip again; I could almost hear his thoughts grinding together. “If they are called in,” he said at length, “I would be in your debt if you didn’t give them my name. If I could help in any way, of course I would; but I can’t. And you know how the media can distort the most innocent situation, make it into something sordid.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’d be very grateful. I mean that.”

Now he was Mr. Sincerity. And The Bargainer, covering his tail. If I balked even a little, and he perceived me as a threat, he’d become Mr. Hard-Ass in a twinkling.

I said, “If it’s not necessary to give the authorities your name, Mr. Purchase, then I won’t do it. Fair enough?”

I thought he might argue the point; he wanted a firm commitment. But he didn’t argue. Maybe his intelligence reports had stressed the fact that I wasn’t somebody who could be intimidated or bought off. Or maybe he was just being circumspect.

“Fair enough,” he said, and put an end to our little interview by getting to his feet and holding out his hand. I stood, too, shook the hand even though I didn’t much feel like touching him again. “I hope you find Nedra safe and sound. She’s a fine person; I was proud to have her as a friend.”

I nodded without speaking.

“If there’s anything I can do — privately, just between you and me — don’t hesitate to call on me. Will you do that?”

“Count on it, Mr. Purchase.”

I went out of there thinking that he was a slimy son of a bitch. And that he had yet another persona among his repertoire, one that he’d slipped in and out of the whole time we were talking — particularly where his relationship with Nedra Adams Merchant was concerned.

The Liar.

This time, when I took myself out to Castle Street in Daly City, Eddie Cahill was home. Or at least the white Ford van was there, parked in front of the third row house from the corner.

I pulled up across the way, next to the weed-clogged vacant lot. It was colder out here, windier, with low-riding clouds that worked with the sun to create a light-and-shadow show. I sat for a few seconds, watching the run-down neighborhood alternately turn from pale gold to dull gray, getting my mind clear on what I wanted to say to Cahill. Then I crossed the street and went along a cracked walk and banged on the door of his rented row house, the way authority knocks.

He opened up pretty quick. Not much reaction when he saw me; just a facial tightening along the jaw and under the cheekbones, until the skin in those places was tight as a drumhead. The blue eyes had malice in them. He was wearing Levi’s jeans and a white knit pullover that showed off muscle-knotted arms and well-developed pecs. Lifted weights in prison, I thought. The knuckles on his right hand were wrapped in a thin, crude bandage: badge of dishonor from last night’s attack on Victor Runyon.

“Well,” he said, “the private cop,” and came out to stand at a little distance from me on the walk, leaving the door open. I could read his mind plainly enough. If there was going to be trouble, he wanted room to maneuver.

“How’d you know I was a private investigator?”

Crooked yellow grin. “What do you want, slick?”

“It’s not what I want, Cahill, it’s what you want.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Not to go back to prison.”

No response. But the grin died fast.

“You’ve been in twice,” I said. “You go back again and it’ll be hard time — Quentin or Soledad instead of Lompoc. A second fall for felony assault and a third felony conviction ought to net you a minimum of five years, even with plea bargaining. You don’t want to do another nickel behind bars.”

“Bullshit,” Cahill said.

“I saw you bust up Victor Runyon, remember? I’ll testify that it was an unprovoked attack, if it comes to that. So will Runyon,” I lied. “He’s already agreed to press charges if you don’t leave him and his family alone.”

“He did something to Nedra. You think I’m gonna let him get away with it?”

“He didn’t do anything to her. You’re wrong about that.”

“The hell I am. Where is she, then?”

“Away on an extended vacation.”

“You think I buy that crap?”

“She sent postcards to people telling them so.”

“What people?”

“Friends, business associates.”

“Let’s see one of these cards.”

“Not even if I had one with me.”

“Then tell me where she’s been all this time.”

“You know I’m not going to do that.”

“Why’d she go off so sudden? Why’d she shut down her business without telling anybody? Huh? You think I don’t know about all that?”

“She had her reasons.”

Cahill blew air through his nose, a sharp, wet sound. “Jerking my chain so I’ll leave Runyon alone. Nice try, slick, but it won’t work. He did something to Nedra, damn right he did — that’s the truth.”

“Why? Why would he harm her?”

“She blew him off, that’s why. He told me so himself.”

“He wouldn’t hurt her for that. Or for any reason.”

“I say different. He’s so goddamn innocent, what’s he doing hanging around her house all the time?”

“Keeping her affairs in order until she gets back.”

“Bullshit. That don’t make any sense. He’s up to something.”

“He’s in love with her, can’t leave her or her life alone. Hell, Cahill, if anybody ought to be able to understand that, it’s you. Same reason you kept hassling her two years ago, why you started hanging around her place again as soon as you got out of Lompoc.”

His eyes bored into me. Anger had flared in them, fusing with the malice; the combination was like a critical mass heating up, beginning to glow. You could feel the violence radiating off him. Unpredictable as a critical mass, too — liable to go off at any second. I moved my feet apart a little, shifted my weight forward, lifted my hands above waist level. If he exploded at me he was going to set off a second volatile pile that might just knock him on his ass.

“She got a restraining order against you once,” I said. “She’ll do it again when she comes home from her trip. You’ve got to know that.”

Nothing from him.

“If Runyon doesn’t put you back in the slam, if I don’t, then Nedra will. Can’t you see that? Don’t you care whether or not they shut the door on you again?”

“I care,” he said.

“Okay, then. Leave the Runyons alone and leave Nedra alone. No more phone calls, no more confrontations, no more threats, no more hassles. Walk away and start clean.”

“Not if she’s dead. Not if he made her that way.”

“Then back off and let me handle it. I’ll find her, prove she’s alive, prove Runyon hasn’t done anything to her.”

“Why the hell should I?”

“I just told you why, for Christ’s sake.”

“You know what I say to that? I say fuck the Runyons. And fuck you, too, slick.”

“If that’s how you want to play it, fine. But hear this. You keep making trouble for them, you’re going to have me and the cops to contend with. I don’t push the way Runyon does. In fact I don’t push at all.”

“Big talk from an old fart.”

“I can back it up.”

“Sure you can. Break your neck with one little twist.”

“Show me,” I said.

He took a fast step toward me. It was a feint, to gauge my reaction; I didn’t move, didn’t flinch. I would have reacted the same way if it hadn’t been a feint. A little time went by while we played stare-down. I could hear the wind in the vacant lot behind me, hear it rattling something nearby. Feel it cold against my skin.

“Well, Cahill?”

“That ain’t gonna work with me either,” he said.

“What isn’t?”

“Push me into jumping you so you can hang another assault rap on me.”

“I don’t need to hang one on you. I told you, Runyon’s prepared to do that himself after last night.”

“You think I’m stupid? I’m not stupid. Runyon was gonna press charges, he’d already of done it and the cops’d be here rousting me, not you. He won’t do it because he’s afraid to, because of what he done to Nedra. I know that, even if you don’t. You tell him I know. You tell him I’ll find her one way or another, and when I do she better not be dead or hurt or he’ll be the sorriest son of a bitch who ever lived.”

“I’ll take that as a threat on his life.”

“Take it any damn way you want to.”

Cahill hawked deep in his throat, spat a glob of mucus at my feet. When I still didn’t move he gave me the meltdown stare again, then the crooked yellow grin like a door opening briefly under a furnace. Then he turned on his heel and stalked into the house and banged the door behind him.