Elimination

Thirty-Four

Except for when my father died, I’d never been in a hospital this late at night. The front part, not the ER.

So quiet. And no medicinal smells whatsoever. Enormous photographs of medical giants down the centuries hung from the lobby walls, which had been refurbished. The expensive, comfortable furnishings were new, as was the large glassed-in office with ADMISSIONS on the door where a lone woman was busy working on her computer. She heard me approach and looked up with a smile. ‘Good evening.’

‘Hi. I’m just here checking up on a friend of mine.’

‘Oh?’

‘Karen Foster.’

‘Oh. Miss Foster.’ The smile remained but the voice bore a hint of concern. ‘She’s been in surgery for the past three hours. I’m afraid she still is.’

‘The radio said she was in critical condition.’

‘I’m afraid she is.’ She was an attractive woman, probably in her early fifties. The gray-streaked hair in a tight bun, the inexpensive gray suit still well chosen and well suited to her upper body.

‘I know she doesn’t have any relatives in town. Has anybody asked about her?’

‘Well, there’s an annoying reporter who calls every twenty minutes.’

‘Anybody else?’

‘Not “inquiring” about her as such. But the night supervisor told me that two police officers are standing outside the surgery room and were outside her room on the fourth floor.’

With absolutely no proof but well-grounded suspicion, I played out a quick scenario. A Showalter cop follows her up into the hills after she leaves the office. The dark. The rain. Slams into her hard enough to push her off the road. The descent was supposed to be violent enough to kill her. But she didn’t have the decency to die. Showalter had to be afraid now. If she could survive she could talk. And even if nobody believed her, she would be able — and willing now — to tell the story about Showalter and his bank-robbing patriotic cops.

Showalter was not going to let that happen.

‘Do you mind if I ask you a question, sir?’

‘No. Of course not.’

‘Did I see you on TV the other night talking about Congresswoman Bradshaw?’

‘Yes, you did. My name’s Dev Conrad. I’m her campaign manager.’

‘Both my daughter and I are volunteers. I do what I can with the hours I have but my daughter goes to her campaign headquarters right after school three or four days a week.’ Then, ‘I think she’s still going to win. My husband worked at a place that Dorsey owned. Terrible place. They held out for better wages and better working conditions and he pulled a lockout. Fired them all, across the board, even some of them who’d been there thirty years, long before he’d bought it.’

‘He’s a piece of work.’

‘He was behind that fake shooting attempt, wasn’t he?’

She answered my smile with her own.

‘You’re not going to say it out loud but I know you believe it, too.’

I was thinking about Karen’s car. Specifically the rear bumper. ‘Do you know where they take cars that have been pretty badly damaged after an accident like Karen’s?’

‘Well, the towing company’s name is Watson’s Garage. He gets all the police business because his uncle is a friend of Chief Showalter’s. I suppose that’s where it is. That’s three blocks east of the station.’

‘You’ve been very helpful, thanks.’

‘My pleasure.’

‘Would you mind if I called in a little while to check on Karen’s condition?’

‘I’ll be happy to help you but I’d give it another hour at least.’

‘Thanks again.’

I walked back out into the rain. I started my car but didn’t put it in gear. I just sat there continuing to go over the little information the radio story had divulged at some length.

Sometime just after dusk, Karen’s car had skidded off a narrow road up on top of one of those steep limestone cliffs in the eastern rural part of the town. A passerby had noticed a stray beam of light angling up from the creek far below the cliff. He’d gotten out of the car to see what had happened and inched his way down in the stinging downpour. He’d related all this to the reporter in excited tones. The car had been crushed in on itself from rolling over two or three times. He said he’d seen a woman trapped inside. There was no way he could extract her. He’d brought a flashlight with him. From what he could see of her bloody face, he’d assumed she was dead. He’d called 911. They’d needed the jaws of life to extract her. He’d been surprised to hear the ambulance tech say she was still alive.

I spent five minutes more thinking about my scenario. Unless it really had been an accident there weren’t many alternate ways Karen’s car could have been sent down the side of a steep cliff.

The tone of my cell phone brought me out of my speculating.

‘It’s Bromfield.’

‘You going to earn your two hundred?’

‘I just wanted to make sure you’d heard about Karen Foster.’

‘Yeah, I have. In fact, I’m in the hospital parking lot. She’s been in surgery for three hours.’

‘I’m doubting you think this was an accident.’

‘Do you?’

‘Hell, no, I don’t. And neither do a couple of the other officers I talked to tonight. One of them said that Showalter’s out at the casino pouring them down.’

‘What kind of car does Karen drive?’

‘Silver Camry, a couple years old.’

‘Is it hard to get into Watson’s?’

‘Not if you’re a cop.’

‘Think I could get sworn in right away?’

‘No, but I can meet you there in about twenty minutes. You know how to get there?’

‘Three blocks east of the station?’

‘Right. See you there.’

I’d paid him way too little. If Showalter ever found out he’d helped me to this extent, Bromfield would be out of a job. Or given what Showalter had probably done to Karen tonight, he could lose a lot more.

Thirty-Five

Watson’s Garage turned out to be part salvage yard, part repair shop, part gas station. Even this late at night mechanics were working in the bays and the open office door was noisy with rap music and yellow light.

I waited in my car just inside the drive. I assumed that before they let me examine the car Bromfield would have to introduce me.

Bromfield showed up about ten minutes after I arrived. He beeped and waved me on to follow him. We ended up parking directly across from the office.

As I got out of my car, the air was rich with the scents of gasoline, motor oil, welding and that accrued mixed aroma of dying and death peculiar to metal beings consigned to salvage yards.

Watson’s was prosperous enough to have two large, long trucks of the flatbed variety sitting side by side near the wall of cyclone fencing.

‘This is a big operation,’ I said.

‘You can grow fast when the city council gives you all its business.’

‘That’s what the woman at the hospital told me.’

‘If the state boys ever spent any time here seeing how this place is really run there’d be a whole lot of people doing a perp walk, believe me.’ Then, ‘This shouldn’t be any problem. Bobby Marie works the night shift. She’s the female equivalent of the good ol’ boy, right down to the chewing tobacco.’

‘Wow.’

He laughed. ‘Yeah. Wow. And she likes rap music.’

I was still trying to process all these warring personality elements when we stepped inside and I saw a peroxided thirty-something woman with an enormous bosom packed into a pink T-shirt with the photograph of a rapper on it. She was actually pretty, in a kind of fierce way. The makeup had been put on with a paint roller and the T-shirt was ready to burst, but if you just focused on the large blue eyes you saw intelligence and kindness, even if the cobra tat on her left arm said otherwise.

The rap music was deafening.

Bromfield had to half shout. ‘How’s your little girl, Bobby Marie?’

‘I’m thinkin’ of putting her in another one of those tiny tot beauty pageants.’

I’d once seen a documentary on those things. How the producers of the shows ripped off the parents and how the parents — especially the mothers — turned their innocent little daughters into frightened participants in a nightmare of exploitation. Mothers screaming at their daughters when they didn’t perform well; mothers even slapping already neurotic and scared little daughters.

I had my nice liberal speech all ready to go, but I decided that this probably wasn’t the best time to give it.

Then, ‘Just a sec.’ She turned the music way down. ‘Who’s he?’

‘A friend of mine.’

‘He got a name?’

‘Dev Conrad,’ I said.

‘You a cop, too?’

‘Afraid not.’

A true cackle. ‘Good, ’cause I can’t stand cops.’ To Bromfield, ‘So what can I do you for, Officer?’

‘Just wanted to check out a car that was brought here earlier tonight.’

‘That’d have to be that Foster gal’s. Only one we’ve had all day we had to tow.’

‘So I’d just like to look it over.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? You trying to bust my chops, Bobby Marie?’

‘No can do. Got orders that nobody sees it.’

‘Orders? From who?’

‘The boss. Gil called me even before they brought it in. Said Showalter called and said nobody was allowed to inspect it. And he meant nobody. Little Bobby Marie’s smart enough to know when the man who owns the place tells you nobody inspects it, I need to make sure that nobody inspects it.’

‘I’ve never heard of this before.’

‘Tell you the truth, neither have I. And I admit it’s kind of weird, but right now there isn’t a damned thing I can do about it.’

Bromfield shrugged and looked at me.

I shrugged right back.

Bromfield said, ‘Bobby Marie, you sure you couldn’t just give us a couple of minutes to look it over?’

‘Oh, I could. But the old man’s scared he’s gonna get laid off and my little daughter’s next pageant dress is gonna cost me a lot more than the last one, so I just can’t take a chance. If my old man gets laid off and Gil decides to fire my ass, my whole family’s in a world of hurt.’

I said, ‘Well, we appreciate your time. Sorry you can’t help us.’

Suspicion colored her voice for the first time. ‘Gil said somebody from Congresswoman Bradshaw’s campaign might stop by and try to see it. And right now I’m betting you’re that man.’

‘Yeah, I am.’

‘Well, mister, it’s nothing personal but you best scat out of here. Soon as you’re gone I have to call Gil and tell him you were here.’

We ended on that cackle of hers. ‘I’d say Showalter don’t like you too much, you know what I’m sayin’?’

When we were walking to our cars, Bromfield said, ‘Man, Showalter’s got this town sewed up tight. Bobby Marie isn’t usually scared of anybody.’

‘It’s time I talk with Showalter.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean I’m going out to the casino and calling him out on it. It’s way past time.’

He caught my elbow. ‘That’s a trip I can’t afford to take.’

‘I know.’ My smile was intended to make us both feel better. ‘But I’m sure you’ll hear all about it.’

Thirty-Six

Casinos always remind me of being on cruise ships.

They are self-contained and claustrophobic, filled with amusements that almost always disappoint. And if you’re not careful they can be dangerous.

Another point: they take as their icon Las Vegas, Nevada.

I’m occasionally dragged out there for a convention. There was even one would-be client who wanted to meet in Vegas. I backed out two days before the meeting. Vegas was bad vibes.

The Empire Casino was standard stuff. Just inside the four glass doors there was a long list of all the gaming machines (twelve hundred in total) and table and poker games (thirty total). There were, in addition, five hundred seats for bingo.

There was an area for eating, a food court, a café, a buffet and a steak and seafood joint.

The hotel boasted three hundred and seventy-four rooms and fifteen suites.

I followed a theater-like lobby into rows of slots clamorous with the various sounds of humans dealing with machines that wouldn’t obey.

The female employees, if not quite as leggy or pretty or poised as their Las Vegas sisters, were nonetheless attractive and appealing and, as always, I wondered how the hell they could keep smiling as long as they did and put up with all the inevitable drunken male bullshit that went with any gig like this. My daughter had been a waitress between her sophomore and junior years in college. A decent place. But man, the tales she told. I wanted to go down there with a bullwhip.

I wound my way along the blackjack tables, the roulette tables and the mini-baccarat setup, which was surprisingly busy.

If nothing else, casinos are democratic. Every race, creed and sex demonstrate their eagerness to lose their asses to the house.

There were four poker tables set in a small wing of the place. Five players at each. Showalter was at the nearest table. He could easily have seen me if he’d looked up from the card the dealer had just dealt. But he was too busy scowling. Apparently he was not having a good time.

He threw his cards down on the table and shook his head with real disgust. And then, as if we’d connected telepathically, his eyes raised and met mine.

He was a champion scowler, our police chief was; this one was his deepest yet.

He wasted no time. He shoved his chair back and stood up. I couldn’t hear what he said but obviously the other players didn’t want to see him go. Maybe because he was the chief and it was sort of cool playing with him, or maybe because he was such a shitty player he was giving them part of his kids’ college fund.

He came straight at me. He wore a tweed sport jacket, white shirt, no tie and gray trousers. He also wore a look of real menace, enough to make me wonder if coming here had been such a good idea. Mike Edelstein could bail me out in a few hours if Showalter decided to arrest me. But he couldn’t do much until it was too late to help me if Showalter decided to take me down to the station and see that I was beaten.

‘I don’t want you here, Conrad.’

‘You own the place?’

‘No. But I know the manager here and he doesn’t want any undesirables.’

‘Yeah, undesirables in a casino would really be a bad thing.’

The grip on my elbow made me grit my teeth. I didn’t want to show pain.

‘Now’s the time to leave, Conrad.’

‘I want to get a look at Karen Foster’s car. The one you ran off the road tonight.’

His hand fell away from my elbow and the scowl became one of his sneering smiles.

‘That’s what you came out here for?’

‘That and wanting to know what you did with Grimes.’

‘You know if I was a private citizen I’d be filing lawsuits against you every day of the week. Libel and slander.’

‘And for setting up that fake shooting with Congresswoman Bradshaw.’

He leaned back. I had the feeling that he’d never really assessed me before. The way a cop does, I mean. He was doing it now.

Sounds of the casino crowded in as he stood there in silence examining me.

‘You’re really trying to nail my ass, aren’t you?’

‘Karen Foster may not make it.’

‘You want me to act all worried and sad? She got the job under false pretenses. I started getting suspicious when a couple of my men saw her with you.’ So he had discovered her real identity and purpose in coming to Danton.

‘She’s been trying to nail my ass, too. Just like you. I’m not surprised you two got together. Hell, she may have brought you here, for all I know.’

He was coming undone. I hadn’t heard that in him until just now. Big bad Showalter was starting to feel the pressure. He was beginning to realize that badge and gun could protect you only so far.

‘She didn’t bring me here. She brought herself here. Because she knows who you really are and what you’ve done.’

A security guard strode into sight with the aplomb of a big, battered man who learned long ago that sight of him would put most men and women on alert. But then there was, as now, that almost demented smile. Maybe he was comic relief on this ship to nowhere.

Every casino has got at least three of them. Somebody gets unruly, somebody tries to cheat the house, somebody just really pisses off the managers... and out comes one of these guys. Showalter was royalty here.

Maybe somebody watching on the cameras on the second floor saw how upset I made Showalter and he contacts King Kong and tells him to run this guy’s ass out of here.

He stood next to Showalter and said, ‘I was watching you from across the way there. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say that you’re giving one of our preferred customers here a whole raft of shit.’

He jabbed a finger half the size of Henry’s ball bat into my chest.

‘In which case, I have to say that you don’t belong here. If you had any idea of how much this man has done for this town and for me personally, you’d be shaking his hand right now just because he’s—’

‘That’s enough, Billy. But thank you. Conrad here was not only accusing me of various things I had nothing to do with, he was also refusing to leave, even though I had told him politely that I’d appreciate it if he did.’

Quite an act they had here. Showalter had his old self-confidence back. He was the cool guy once again.

‘Is that true? The chief here asked you to leave and you wouldn’t?’

‘I want to see Karen Foster’s car, Showalter. Have a claims adjuster look it over.’ But I knew that was it.

Billy started moving in on me. ‘Oh, he’ll leave, all right. Or he’ll be sorry.’

This time when Billy jabbed me, he did so with enough power to push me back a couple of inches.

‘I’m givin’ you one more chance,’ Billy said. ‘You understand?’

And understand I did.

Thirty-Seven

At this time of night, the parking lot of the Skylight tavern had only three cars gracing its busted asphalt surface. I swung the rental into a slot and went inside.

There were three men along the bar, two at one of the wobbly tables. The bartender recognized me with no particular expression. He wore a blue short-sleeved shirt and a white smeared apron.

The Eugene O’Neill ambience was there even without a full contingent of lost souls. Generations of loss and failure and fear soaked the place physically and spiritually.

The men at the bar weren’t even talking. Just sitting there drinking and staring. The bartender continued watching me silently as I walked over to him.

‘Grimes been around?’

‘Haven’t seen him.’

He didn’t react but a pair of the older men sitting at the bar did. They seemed to be surprised that he’d said what he had.

‘Hell, tell him what happened,’ a hawk-faced, gray-haired man said. The hawk visage was enhanced by the eyes. In the worn, elderly face they shone with intelligence and cunning. He laughed through a spell of cigarette hacking. ‘Haven’t seen Grimes move that fast in a long time.’

‘Shut the hell up, Patton,’ the man next to him said. ‘There’s nothin’ wrong with Grimes. He’s in some kind of trouble and we shouldn’t be laughin’ about it.’

‘He say what kind of trouble he was in?’ I asked the small man with the charitable, sad eyes of a man who drank to buffer himself against the worst of the world.

Now the bartender spoke up. ‘He was looking for a gun. Said he needed one for protection.’

The man called Patton said, ‘I saw you walk back to the office with him. You were in there long enough to give him one.’

‘Shut the hell up,’ the bartender said.

‘Grimes was half nuts. I sure wouldn’t have given him a gun.’

‘That’s my business, not yours, Patton.’

To the bartender I said, ‘Grimes’s granddaughter is terrified because we can’t find him. Think we could step back in that office and talk a little?’

‘Cindy’s a sweetheart, Hal. You should talk to this guy.’

Patton started to say something but I clamped my hand on the back of his neck and squeezed hard. ‘Shut the fuck up. You understand?’

One of the men at the table said, ‘Kick his ass, man. He’s had it comin’ a long time.’

‘C’mon,’ Hal said.

The office was a collection of ancient girly calendars, two wooden filing cabinets, a desk with one leg propped up by a phone book and an adding machine you probably hadn’t been able to buy parts for in several decades. There were two chairs. Neither of us sat.

‘He was in Nam. With me.’

‘Grimes?’

‘Yeah. We were good buddies and still are. You go through a war with somebody, you don’t forget about them.’

‘So you gave Grimes a gun?’

‘Old Colt I got from my old man.’

‘Loaded?’

‘Yeah. He was so scared I figure he needed it.’

‘What did Patton mean about Grimes moving so fast?’

‘He was so scared he jumped at everything. He heard a siren and he just ran out of here. Knocked over his glass on the bar and broke it while he was at it. I felt sorry for him. A lot of people don’t like him. But like I say, we went through Nam together.’

‘Any idea where he went?’

‘No.’ He nodded to the door. ‘I don’t trust Patton. I better get out there.’

‘I appreciate the information.’

‘I just hope he’s all right.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Me, too.’

Thirty-Eight

The hotel bar stayed open until midnight.

Tonight I didn’t find any middle-aged female counterpart to comfort my roiled state of mind. The first thing I did was call the hospital to get an update on Karen. She was in a stable condition.

There were two calls on my cell pertaining to two other races.

One was good news, one bad.

The other man at the bar wanted to talk politics with the bartender, but she laughed and said that from what he’d been telling her last night he’d better be careful because sitting two stools away was none other than the dreaded congresswoman’s campaign manager.

The guy was two drinks shy of belligerence, so I shoved off and went up to my room, where I fell asleep much faster than I would have thought possible.

I dreamed about the shooting again, except this time it was for real. This time Jess’s head wrenched around and gaped at me. Then the bullets struck the back of her skull. But as blood and pieces of her brain bloomed in the air above her head, she started laughing. The laugh, unlike a sound I’d ever heard before, was more disturbing than the violence had been.

Why was she laughing? I was never to find out.

The call was from a man whose voice was the human equivalent of a dangerous bridge. Very old. Unsteady. ‘Is this Mr Conrad?’

The nightstand digital clock read six minutes after one a.m.

‘Yes.’

‘My name’s Skully. I run River Cabins.’

‘River Cabins?’

‘Yeah. Along the river out to the west side.’

‘I see.’

The nightmare had made more sense than this call. Skully? River Cabins? One in the morning? What the hell was this about?

‘I’ve got an envelope for you.’

‘What kind of envelope?’

‘Just a plain white business one with your name on it.’

‘Why do you have an envelope with my name on it?’

‘Because he gave it to me.’

The ‘he’ gave me focus. I knew not to lose patience now. I swung around in bed and put my feet on the floor. The old habit of fumbling around for my pack of cigarettes came back to me. All these years and I still wanted one.

‘You know a man named Grimes?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Well, that’s why I’m calling.’

I cleared my throat. This was now an official call. This was a man who could lead me to Grimes. At least, that was the feeling I had.

‘Is he with you right now?’

He might not have heard me. He didn’t answer my question. ‘Well, I don’t want to get mixed up in nothin’ so I thought I’d call you.’

‘Mixed up in what? Mr Skully, I really need you to be more specific about things.’

‘He left me this envelope with your name on it and the address of the hotel there. He said that if anything happened to him I was to get this to you.’

Whatever was going on, Cindy sure wasn’t going to be happy about it.

‘Is he there now in one of your cabins?’

‘I think so.’

‘You’re not sure?’

‘He was so jittery he might’ve taken off. He had a handgun. Soon as I seen it I knew I didn’t want no part of it. But I took the envelope ’cause I was scared not to.’

The bartender’s gun.

Worse and worse and worse. I’d been thinking that Grimes had just gotten scared and was hiding out. But the envelope made me wonder if he was up to something else only he could concoct.

‘Where exactly are you located, Mr Skully?’

He told me. I’d need to program the GPS. ‘Do you have phones in the cabins?’

‘No.’

‘I appreciate the call, Mr Skully.’

‘I don’t want any trouble. You have trouble and your name gets on TV and people don’t want to come out here no more.’

‘I understand. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

‘You don’t bring any guns, either, you hear me?’

‘I hear you, Mr Skully. I hear you.’

I realized that I’d be waking Cindy up, but she needed to be told.

She was more asleep than awake when she answered. ‘’Lo.’

‘It’s Dev. I may have located your grandfather.’

‘Oh, God. Is he all right?’

I explained to her about the bartender giving him the gun and the old man calling me about her grandfather renting a cabin.

‘Oh, God. They’re pits. They’ve been closed down several times over the years. They’re not even cabins. More like little garages. They were built during the Depression. Probably all he could afford.’ Then, ‘But why would he do this?’

‘My guess is he didn’t think it through. He got so excited about naming his price to Showalter that he didn’t realize that there was no way Showalter could leave him alive. Now he’s hiding from him.’

‘Oh, God, poor Granddad. I know he sounds terrible doing this, but I love him so much and I’m so afraid for him. I can’t help it, Dev.’

‘I know that. I’m going to do my best to find him and protect him.’

‘Just please call me and let me know what’s going on.’

‘I will, Cindy. As soon as I’ve got some news.’

I stuffed the Glock and the flashlight into the large interior pockets of my rain jacket. I also grabbed my thermos.

On my way out to Skully’s I stopped long enough at a Hardee’s to get my thermos filled.

Whatever the hell Grimes was up to, I was pretty sure he was going to make this a long and terrible night.

Thirty-Nine

A wooden sign standing next to the narrow two-lane highway announced River Cabins, and in the heavy growth of pines far down the slope to the river you could see the outlines of cabins no bigger than a small garage.

Depression times came to mind. Poor people dragging themselves across the land in search of work probably stayed in places like these. And back then they would probably have been glad to have gotten them. They were preferable to sleeping outside in the rain and snow. And if you did it right you could probably pack a family of five or six inside them. There were migrant workers today in this home of the free and the brave who still lived this way.

Grimes’s car was parked near the entrance behind a rusted dumpster.

A faded clapboard house sat just to the right of the sign. A lone light burned behind the dirty front window.

When I pulled in, a man in a red-and-white hunting jacket and a Cubs cap stepped out onto the porch. He had a handgun pointed straight at me. The welcoming committee.

‘No need for that,’ I said as I got out of my car.

‘I’ll be the judge of that.’

‘I’m Conrad.’

‘Makes no difference to me. I want you up here on the porch where I can see you. Grimes is so scared he’s got me scared.’

‘You hear from him?’

‘Nope. Figured I’d wait for you to check his cabin. I don’t like him havin’ a gun.’

‘Well, I’m not crazy about you having a gun, either.’

‘Well, tough shit. I’m old and you’re young. Figure the gun gives us some equality.’

When I walked up onto the porch the entire house shook. The recent rain had left the wood smelling of rot.

Skully’s face in the window light was as weathered and woebegone as his home. He had a pair of quarter-sized growths on his left cheek that were light-colored and hairy. I wondered if he’d had a doctor look at them.

‘You got some ID?’

‘Sure.’

I dug in my back pocket for my wallet. The handgun — which turned out to be an old-fashioned .38 snubby — was still unerringly pointed at my chest. I handed it over and he managed to snatch it without losing his grip on the pistol.

He leaned back in the light to get a better look at my driver’s license and that was when I saw that he had a third growth, just like the other two, on the right side of his neck. ‘Yeah, I guess it’s you all right.’

Who the hell else would it be?

‘You have the envelope he left for me?’

He tapped the front of his hunting jacket. ‘Right inside here.’

‘You mind handing it over? And while you’re at it, putting your gun away?’

A sigh. ‘I should be inside in my bed right now ’stead of up all night with this kinda bullshit. If I don’t get a good night’s sleep I catch a cold. Soon as he showed me the envelope I shoulda kicked his ass out.’

But he slipped the gun into the wide pocket of his jacket and then reached inside and pulled out a white number-ten business envelope.

‘It’s all yours.’

It was so light there couldn’t have been anything else besides a letter inside.

Then I felt the slight bump. Something maybe two inches long and a quarter inch thick, if that.

‘Mind if I step over to the window there to read it?’

He didn’t say anything, but he did step aside so I could move closer to the grimy light.

A single wooden stick match. Unburned. The significance of it was lost on me.

The letter itself was written on the back of some kind of supermarket flier. No fancy-pants stationery for Grimes. And it was written with a ballpoint pen that was running out of ink. Some words were imprinted more heavily than others. I could see and hear him shaking the pen impatiently and cursing it out as if it were a human being. Cindy had quite the granddad.

The message — written in a single paragraph — read as follows:

I folded up the letter, shoved it into my jacket pocket and dropped the stick match into my shirt pocket.

Skully said, ‘Now you’re gonna help me.’

‘I am?’

‘You’re damn right you are. He dragged me into this. I want you to help me kick him out.’

‘I guess that makes sense.’

‘Then he’s your problem, not mine.’

‘Let’s go get him then.’

‘You stayin’ at the Royale and all, I figured you’d be some big snooty asshole. I guess maybe I was wrong. At least a little bit.’

It’s all relative, isn’t it? You stay at the Four Seasons in Chicago, you might get known as a big snooty asshole. But in Danton, at least for folks like Skully, it’s the Royale.

He led the way.

The so-called cabins formed a semicircle in a clearing half-hidden by thick pines. The largest of them was four times the size of the others and bore a large sign that read: TOILETS & SHOWER. The closer we got, the clearer the odors from the building struck like poison gas.

There was no evidence of any guests actually residing in this luxury spa. I could hear highway sounds and nightbird sounds and the sounds we made tramping across downed tree branches from past storms, but none of the noises you associate with human beings bedding down for the night.

‘You don’t have many people staying here, huh?’

‘Technically, we’re closed. The old lady died a year ago and it took all the money I had to bury her. Don’t have the money to pay for the ’lectricity in the cabins — just the house — so people don’t want to stay here when they find that out. Plus the stools’re kinda backed up. Your buddy Grimes is the first guest we’ve had in quite a while. He remembered stayin’ here when he was a teenager. Brought his girlfriend out here. Only place he could afford. He’s hidin’ out tonight so he don’t mind not havin’ lights.’ The last remark warranted his old-man laugh.

We reached Cabin Six by following a curving path, and there situated between two smothering pines was another example of life lived large. Cabin Six managed to be more of a shambles than the others I’d seen. The sole window was taped together with a fashionable swipe of duct tape and the door hung on its hinges with a look of desperation.

‘He wanted this one. He said he always used it when he was a kid.’

Grimes would have been in high school in the sixties. Maybe the sex was even better back then with the so-called sexual revolution giving teenagers a freedom previous generations could only have fantasized about.

I stared at the cabin, apprehension starting to fill my chest.

Had somebody beaten me here and killed him? ‘Let me go in and check on him.’

‘No argument from me, Conrad. I got the gun here if you try anything.’

God alone knew what the hell that meant.

I clipped on my flashlight and moved forward.

I saw two small cots, both swaybacked; a three-drawer bureau, a washbasin and a pitcher on top of it; a single straight-backed chair. The metal bucket was presumably used to pee in. This was the best suite in the house.

Grimes lay on the leftward cot beneath a small pile of faded quilts. In the beam of my light his face was a deep red and his open eyes were also tinted red. He had vomited on himself. This stench was actually preferable to the cabin stench.

From the little I knew about medicine I was somewhat sure I was looking at the victim of a heart attack. Cindy would be free of worrying about him now, even if the worrying was the most profound expression of her love for the old man. I forgot about his greed — why the hell not, anyway; I couldn’t argue with his contention that he’d worked hard all his life, even fought for his country, and had little to show for it — and allowed myself to feel some compassion for all the good-bad people in the world. Hell, I was one of them.

‘Hey, what’s goin’ on in there?’

By now I was checking his neck, wrist and ankle for any sign of a pulse. I hadn’t expected any and there was none.

‘He’s dead.’

‘Aw, shit. That’ll be more bad publicity for this place.’

I had to restrain myself from laughing. It was exactly the right and wrong thing to say on a night like this when so much turmoil ruled.

I had an image of the River Cabins public-relations staff sitting around a conference table à la Mad Men, wondering how they were going to deal with this tragedy. The place had such a sterling reputation. Unless they acted quickly and wisely the public might start thinking the place was some kind of dive.

The next thing I did, ghoulish as it was, was search him for the recorder.

He had change, car keys and a rosary in his front pockets. In his back ones there was a billfold and a comb.

I searched the room.

I’m not sure how long it took but a few times I wondered why Skully hadn’t either come in or started talking to me again. Then I realized he was talking to somebody else. I kept on searching. There weren’t that many places to look but I wanted to get to all of them before Skully interrupted me.

I found nothing and Skully didn’t interrupt. Now I wanted to find out who he’d been talking to.

‘Called an ambulance and the police,’ he said.

‘I need to leave now.’

But Skully was good for a plot twist. He shoved the gun in my face and said, ‘Like hell you’ll leave.’

Forty

Skully was good at doing two things at once.

He not only kept his firearm on me, he yanked a stopwatch out of his pocket and clicked it on.

‘All the damn taxes I pay, let’s see how long it takes for them to get here.’

And with that he waved his gun at me and said, ‘Let’s go up front.’

Given my age and relative condition, it shouldn’t have been too much trouble to dive for him and grab his weapon while he was falling to the ground. But Skully was Skully, a crazy but wily bastard who would probably be lucky enough to put two bullets in my head while I was trying to knock him over.

He insisted that he follow me this time.

Now that I’d had a few minutes to consider the fact that Grimes was dead and that Showalter would no doubt attempt to put my name on the suspect list, I decided it would be better to stay here and let Showalter confront me.

Skully and I ended up leaning against my car.

He held the stopwatch high so he could see it in the faint moonlight. ‘Five minutes and they ain’t here yet.’

He’d been giving me updates, of course, starting at three minutes. Did he really expect the police and an ambulance to get here in three minutes?

Interspersed with the minute-by-minute excitement of waiting for the sirens to arrive, Skully went back through the mistakes he’d made by giving Grimes a cabin at all.

‘He looked shifty.’

Grimes did not look shifty.

‘And he talked like a hood.’

Grimes did not talk like a hood.

‘And as soon as I seen him, I knew I’d have trouble.’

Then why the hell did you give him a room? I thought.

Then it was back to the updates.

‘You know how long it’s been since I called?’

‘No, and I don’t really give a shit.’

‘You would if you paid the taxes I do.’

As irritating as he was, he at least distracted me from the strange sadness for Grimes that kept creeping back.

‘I need to make a phone call. I’m going to step over there.’

‘I’ll be watchin’ you. Don’t try anything funny.’

A hopeless son of a bitch.

Cindy answered on the second ring. ‘Did you find my granddad?’

‘I did, Cindy. He died of a heart attack. At least that’s what it looks like to me.’

‘Where did you find him?’

I went into the whole story. I waited for her to start crying.

‘I know he knew how much I loved him.’

‘I’m sure he did, Cindy.’

I’d referenced Grimes’s letter only once to her. Now I returned to it.

‘Why would he leave me a stick match?’

For the first time tears shook her words. ‘I don’t know, Dev. I—’

She couldn’t restrain herself. A few sobs, then more tears.

I glanced over at Skully. He was watching me like a prison guard. I wondered what the old bastard would do if I flipped him off.

Suddenly she’d snuffled up her tears. ‘The votive candles.’

‘What?’

‘I told you he went to Mass three times a week since my grandmother died. He always lit votive candles for her. That was a big thing for him. That’s the only tie I can think of to a stick match. St Paul’s is an old church. New churches don’t use matches anymore.’

‘He hid the recorder in the church?’

‘Possibly.’ Then, ‘I want him brought to the Reardon Mortuary. We all get buried out of there. I’ll call the morgue. I’m sure there’ll be an autopsy. I’ll insist on it.’

A police car pulled up. A minute or so after that an ambulance appeared, and a minute after that another police car.

Skully greeted them with a rant about what a bunch of lazy-ass, incompetent, big-government Nazis they were.

I was able to give one of the officers the basic reason they’d been summoned and where they would find the body. One of the officers hadn’t made it past Skully so he was still getting the fiery speech. He took it as long as he could and then snapped.

‘I got work to do, old man. Now shut the fuck up and help me.’

Skully stuttered and sputtered but then he actually stopped talking.

All but one of the cops went back to Cabin Six along with the ER team. He sat in his car having a conversation with somebody at the station.

I kept waiting for Showalter to appear. Instead I got Wade.

He’d driven out in a recent-vintage tan Chevrolet sedan. His own, I assumed. He was dressed in jeans, a white shirt and a red windbreaker. He walked right up to me.

‘I understand we’re having some trouble here tonight, Mr Conrad. Finding a body is a pretty miserable experience. I was in Iraq in ’05 and had that happen to me a few times. The worst was finding a little kid.’

His gray eyes scanned the area next to Skully’s house.

‘When I started out in uniform we were always getting complaints about this place. Skully had a few hookers out here. He was quite the boy back then.’ Then, ‘So if you wouldn’t mind, Mr Conrad, why don’t you go over everything for me and we’ll get that out of the way.’

Karen was certainly right about Wade’s style. He would try to ingratiate you into saying the wrong thing. The words would leave your mouth and you’d hear them and then curse yourself for the duration of the prison term you’d just sentenced yourself to.

So I told him.

He watched me carefully as I spoke. As a good detective he knew all the physical signs of lying. I’d learned them in my days as an army investigator. Trouble swallowing, forced smile, sweating, gestures that don’t match what’s being said, a voice that changes pitch — standard issue for people who have something to hide.

When I finished, he said, ‘And your relationship with Grimes was what exactly?’

‘I knew him through his granddaughter.’

‘I see. And your relationship to her is what, exactly?’

A white TV van lumbered onto the property, bouncing and jerking as it went through a large and deep hole.

Ever since I’d seen Wade step out of his car I’d been thinking about his relationship with Showalter. Wondering if we couldn’t strike a deal.

‘Detective Wade, I’m going to say something here that could get me in trouble if you didn’t go along with it.’

‘You could always call me “Matt.” And how would this get you in trouble?’

‘Because if you say no to it, it might look as if I’d tried to coerce you into something.’

He raised his head slightly. Rain clouds sped across the three-quarter moon. The smell of impending rain was a relief from the stench of River Cabins.

‘I don’t have any idea of what you’re talking about, but I guess all we can do is find out, right?’ He was watching me again as he spoke. He seemed as curious as I’d hoped he would be.

‘We don’t have a lot of time here, Detective Wade. So I’m going to lay it out.’

‘You’re stalling.’

‘You’re right. Karen Foster told me about you and Showalter. How you’d hoped to be chief instead of him.’

‘I guess that’s not any secret.’

‘I can hand him over to you if you’ll help me.’

‘The recorder?’

‘You know about the recorder?’

‘The chief doesn’t have the most discreet secretary in the city. She says he’s been muttering about a recorder the last few days. He’s had more than a few meetings with his little group and she hears the word “recorder” through his door constantly.’ Then, ‘By the way, he’s on his way here now. He was the one who called me at home. He’s coming from the casino.’

‘Do you have any idea what’s on this recorder, Detective Wade?’

‘No idea at all. But I’m sure as hell curious.’

‘Dave Fletcher made a recording before he died. He talked about the things he and Showalter’s group have done. I hope he admitted that he fired the shots at Congresswoman Bradshaw and I hope he named all of the men in that group.’

‘Well, now I know why you’re involved in this — Congresswoman Bradshaw. And I know why Showalter’s been going crazy. So do you know where the recorder is?’

‘No, I don’t. But I think I finally know where it might be.’

‘So why not get it?’

‘I need your help.’

He was interested. Definitely. He kept glancing at the highway.

‘What would I need to do?’

‘Figure out a way to get me to St Paul’s. He’ll have me followed for sure.’

‘And you’d turn the recorder over to me?’

‘After I’ve listened to it.’

‘You’re sure it’s there?’

‘There’s only one way to find out.’

‘I’ve waited a long time to get Showalter.’

‘So has Karen Foster.’

‘I don’t know her very well but she’s smart as hell and a real professional. I hope she makes it.’

‘I’m assuming Showalter had something to do with what happened to her.’

We both saw the new black Lincoln sweep onto the grounds.

He spoke quickly. ‘That’s Showalter. He’ll want somebody to tail you. I’ll tell him I’ll do it.’

Another unmarked car pulled up next to the Lincoln. A heavy man in a red turtleneck and a black leather coat.

‘What the hell’s going on here, Conrad?’

Showalter carried heavy scents of liquor and killer cologne. He was back in the Marines again. In charge. Chewing out a suspicious subordinate.

‘Skully called me and asked me to come out here.’

‘What’s he told you so far, Wade?’

‘That Grimes had a heart attack.’

‘You’re an MD now, are you, Conrad?’

‘There are certain signs. I could be wrong.’

‘No shit you could be wrong.’

I could see him holding court at a bar, meaner the drunker he got and more and more certain of his opinions.

‘Now you and I are going back to that cabin and you’re going to tell me what happened or I’m going to throw your ass in jail.’

Forty-One

By the time Showalter seemed about to wrap up his questions for me — more insults and threats than questions really — reporters had made Cabin Six a real crime scene. Two TV crews were allowed to videotape it from the path. Camera lights gave the time-deformed wood of it the aspect of a horror movie. Something hideous might emerge from it at any moment. Something from the grave, of course.

The smells didn’t miss them. A woman from one crew kept saying she was going to ‘upchuck’ and the man of the other said the whole place smelled like an ‘Afghan whorehouse.’

Showalter twice made me walk through everything I’d done when I arrived here. Skully was with us most of the time. I’d say something and Skully would comment as to its veracity. One time Showalter said to Skully, ‘Did Conrad have time enough to smother him when he was inside?’

‘Hell, yes. He was sure pissed off enough when he got here. Grimes was probably three-quarter dead anyway. Wouldn’ta taken much for Conrad to finish him. And when I took a peek inside I saw him goin’ through the dead guy’s pockets.’

Showalter’s body lurched. Between the booze and his urgency to find the recorder, restraint was difficult to come by. ‘Did he find anything?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Look, you stupid bastard. I want a yes or no answer.’

‘Well, I couldn’t see everything exactly but I’d have to say no.’

Hurt, not anger, was in Skully’s voice. He’d been cooperating with Showalter. He had to wonder why the man had turned on him.

Showalter’s breath came in a blast now. Despite the chill, he was sweating. He must have realized how undone he’d sounded.

‘I’m sorry, Skully. It’s been a long night.’

‘That’s all right.’

But Skully still sounded hurt.

To me, he said, ‘Your friend Edelstein still in town?’

‘Yeah, why?’

‘The ME said she could have an autopsy for us in twenty hours if we’re lucky.’

The medical examiner, a middle-aged woman who carried a black medical bag and a pink umbrella, had spent her time in Cabin Six. Even though she must have been accustomed to working with corpses in various stages of decomposition, apparently the combination of the body and the vile condition of the cabin forced her to duck outside every few minutes and take in deep and grateful lungs full of relatively fresh air. When she’d finished, she’d taken Showalter aside to talk to him. She spoke so softly I didn’t catch a single word.

But an autopsy in twenty hours was not going to be easy, and if she felt she needed a toxicology report (which in this case would be prudent, as one of our former presidents liked to say) we were talking weeks.

‘I should throw your ass in jail until we get that autopsy, but I don’t want to waste my time hassling with Edelstein about bail.’

And if you threw me in jail, you wouldn’t have any way to follow me.

‘I’m free to go?’

‘You shouldn’t be, but you are. I’m calling your hotel at seven in the morning and you’d damned well better be there.’

‘I’ll be sleeping.’

He waved me away with his right hand and with his left jerked a cell phone from his jacket pocket.

Skully not only sounded hurt, he looked hurt. Showalter moved away enough with his phone for me to be able to say, ‘Don’t worry, Skully. He treats everybody like shit.’

But the hurt remained in those time-worn eyes.

There was even more press up by the highway. In the paper this would be page four at best. If tomorrow’s six o’clock news was story-hungry enough it would be story three or four.

Wade sat in his car with the door open, facing me. He was a man who knew how to relax. He waggled his cell phone at me. ‘I got the job.’

All I did was nod and walk on past to my own car.

The burly detective who’d arrived just after Showalter was talking to a reporter. He watched me as I climbed inside and started the car. Then he went back to talking.

Forty-Two

Long, long ago, I’d been an altar boy.

The Stations of the Cross on both walls, the statues of the Virgin and Jesus on opposite sides of the altar, the altar itself where nothing less than the Body of Christ was said to reside in the form of small thin wafers of bread, the pulpit from which the teachings of the church were spoken to us every weekend... and the sensual aspects of the altar, the scents of wine and burning candles and on occasion the sweet, almost hallucinogenic, aroma of heavy incense... all this made me feel devout as I served in my pretend-priest costume of white surplice and black cassock...

As I entered St Paul’s now I felt a melancholy usually reserved for lost loves. I don’t recall exactly when I fell out of love with the man-made rules emanating from the Vatican... But I did. Maybe sometime in tenth grade or so.

St Paul’s was so old it smelled of dampness. As I put my hand on the back pew it wobbled. The rubber runner separating the nave was worn so thin there were holes in it. The Stations of the Cross were faded paintings, and even from here I could see how worn the carpeting around the communion rail was.

At one time this had probably been a prosperous working-class church. But five presidents and numerous Congresses had seen fit to ship the bulk of good working-class jobs abroad, so as the parishioners suffered, so did the church.

Many votive candles were now battery operated. You got the glow but you didn’t get the mess. I knew this because an uncle of mine complained every Thanksgiving about how the church had given in to the atheists. That may make sense to you. It never has to me.

St Paul’s votive candles were the real thing — six slanted rows of them flickering now in greens and yellows and reds on a gold-painted metal stand that was shedding its skin. Over the stand, at a slight distance, loomed a welcoming statue of Jesus.

Behind me I heard the heavy doors at the front of the church open. I turned to see Wade rushing up the aisle.

‘I got waylaid by a traffic accident. Had to take the long way around. So what do we do?’

I took the match from my shirt pocket and explained its significance. ‘I assume if he hid it, it’s somewhere around here. We may as well start looking under the candles themselves.’

I walked over to the faux-golden stand, dropped to one knee and began feeling the metal underneath the candles. I pictured a recorder you could put in your pocket. It had to be at least large enough to be prominent under the bottom of the stand. The metal was hot below the candles. Hot and flat.

‘Anything?’ Wade asked.

‘Nope.’

‘I’ll start looking around by the statue. Maybe he hid it behind it.’

‘Maybe.’

I should have stood up and joined Wade in searching the general area, but I decided to make one more pass on the underside again.

Hot and flat.

Then I felt something smooth I’d missed before because it was tucked up in a corner. I ripped it down and examined it.

‘Is that a piece of tape?’

‘Yeah. Grimes must have taped the recorder up there but the tape got warm and it fell down.’

‘Then where’s the recorder?’

A heavy door opened on the side of the large stone building. Footsteps. A person out of breath. Wade and I just watched each other.

This was the night for old men. Grimes, Skully and now a bald, hefty priest who had to be as old as Skully. He wore the black shirt and Roman collar of his calling. He also wore faded blue jeans.

‘Good evening, gentlemen. I’m Father Niles. My bedroom window is right above this side of the church in the rectory so I can hear people in here talking. I just came over to see if there was anything I could do to help. Are you men in any kind of trouble?’

All those years of hearing confessions. He would be practically psychic at reading faces and voices. I’m sure both our body language and our expressions indicated that we were troubled.

‘I’m Detective Wade, Father.’

‘A detective — Lord, I hope none of our people are in trouble.’

‘No, Father. Nothing like that.’

Father Niles’s eyes fixed on mine.

‘I’m Dev Conrad. I’m the campaign manager for Congresswoman Bradshaw.’

‘Oh, well, there are a lot of things I like about her, but I can’t vote for her because of abortion.’

He shook my hand anyway.

‘Father, we’re here because of Frank Grimes,’ I said.

‘Frank? He’s a good man. Especially since his wife died. His faith really returned to him. I hope everything’s all right.’

‘I’m afraid it isn’t, Father. Frank died earlier tonight of a heart attack.’

‘Oh, Lord. Poor Frank. He was so confused lately. I said a lot of prayers for him. I’ll miss him but I know he’s with his wife again now. He missed her so much.’

‘Father, you said he was confused lately. He sent me a letter about leaving something for me here at the church. I think the two things may be connected.’

The priest paused, then glanced away. He bit on his lower lip, thinking about things.

‘Do you know his granddaughter, Cindy, Mr Conrad?’

‘Yes, I do, Father.’

‘Well, before I say any more I think I’d better talk to her. And it’s too late now to call her. We’d better put this off until morning.’

‘No it’s not, Father. She’s one of the reasons we’re here. I can get her on the phone right now and she’ll talk to you.’

‘At this time of night?’

‘Yes, Father. At this time of night.’

I didn’t wait. I punched in my speed dial. Her line rang three times. My words came out in one long sentence.

‘Cindy, it’s Dev. We’re at the church here and Father Niles needs to talk to you so please tell him it’s all right to help us — here’s Father Niles.’

After some reluctance he took my cell phone and said, ‘Cindy, it’s Father Niles. I’m sorry about this late hour. I’ll say the six o’clock Mass for Frank. I’m so sorry about your loss, Cindy.’

I don’t suppose they talked much longer than two or three minutes but it seemed interminable. He wanted our identities verified — she couldn’t help him with Detective Wade — and our relationship to her grandfather clarified. And then he said, ‘Should I tell them everything?’

As he answered his gaze went from me to Wade and back to me again. ‘I’ll be praying for you and Frank both, Cindy. Good night.’ He handed the phone back to me.

‘Thanks, Cindy. I’ll talk to you later.’

‘I just want this to be over, Dev. It sounds as if Father Niles can help you.’

‘I sure hope so.’

When the phone was back in my pocket, I said, ‘Father, we think Frank taped something underneath the votive candles.’

For the first time, he smiled. He wore dentures.

‘Frank didn’t tell me where he was going to put it. If he had, I would have told him that the tape might get warm and not hold it. I found it earlier tonight. It’s one of those modern things. I wasn’t even sure what it was at first. I have a niece who likes to tell me her daughter knows more about this kind of thing than I do. Anyway, I was walking through the church tonight — we leave things open twenty-four hours because we have so many troubled parishioners now and I like to just walk through here in the evening hours — and I found it under the votive lights. As I said, at first I didn’t know what it was. I called Frank’s place but didn’t get any answer.’

‘Do you have it now?’

‘Yes, I do. It’s in a desk in my office at the rectory.’

‘Would you get it for us please, Father?’

The smile again. ‘You two look as excited as little boys.’

‘We’d really appreciate your help, Father.’

‘I’ll be right back, gentlemen. I just need a few minutes.’

We watched the priest make his slow way to the door and then disappear. Then he was only hollow footsteps on the bare concrete. The side door opened. That should have been followed by the thud of the heavy door closing.

But there was no thud.

Wade noticed it, too. ‘Did you hear the door close?’

‘No.’

Then came muffled voices. Two pairs of footsteps scraping on the concrete steps.

Showalter towered over Father Niles as he followed the old priest into the church. I wondered if the priest had noticed that Showalter held his Glock low against his leg.

‘This must be the night for visitors,’ Father Niles said in the tone he probably used when the parish had a party in the basement.

‘Father Niles has been nice enough to offer to get me the recorder,’ Showalter said. ‘But he wanted to make sure that it was all right with you two first. The Father here is a very careful man. But I told him you wouldn’t have any objections.’

‘I know you talked to Cindy, Mr Conrad. I just wanted to make sure you knew the chief was here.’ Again the party voice. ‘Can’t imagine why it wouldn’t be all right. Him being the chief and all.’

‘It’s fine, Father. Feel free to go get it.’

‘I’ll be right back then, Chief.’

Like most people, the priest was impressed with rank. Play to the one with the most stripes on his arm. Or the biggest badge.

The three of us stood about five feet apart, listening to Father Niles depart. Showalter showed no signs of drink now. He wore a comfortable, superior smile.

Wade said, ‘You followed me.’

‘You and Conrad looked too friendly when I pulled into River Cabins. I thought it was a good idea. And by the way, once I get the recorder, I’ll be expecting your resignation, Wade.’

‘Karen Foster resigned this afternoon. You going to take care of him the way you did her?’

‘You’re one aggravating son of a bitch, you know that, Conrad? You keep making accusations you can’t prove and I’m sick of it.’

‘If Karen regains consciousness you’re done, Showalter.’

‘A woman who created a fake identity for herself and then undermined the entire police force? That’ll be another tough sell.’

‘Real tough,’ Wade said. ‘You’ve got enemies who won’t believe anything you say.’

I was glad Wade had taken over the conversation because I needed to think through how I was going to attack Showalter if he gave me the chance. I knew better than to try to get to my Glock. He’d shoot me.

The only hope was to distract him. And right now there was only one way to do it that I knew of.

Wade said, ‘You’re smiling, Showalter, but you’re coming apart. You’ve got that stress tic in your right eye.’

The sociopathic smile. ‘It won’t work, Wade. I’m under stress and I can feel the tic but that hardly means I’m coming apart. I used to have a colonel who liked to play mind games like that. He always thought he was tougher than everybody else — superior — and he’d try and make you nervous by playing his games. You know what happened to him? He ate a .38 the night he caught his missus blowing a young lieutenant. I guess he wasn’t as tough as he thought. And you aren’t either, Wade, so you might as well knock off the bullshit.’

Then I heard the sound I’d been waiting for: Father Niles coming back into the church.

I shouted: ‘Don’t come in here, Father. Showalter’s going to kill both of us!’

‘What did you say?’ Father Niles tried to shout but his voice was weak.

‘Shut your fucking mouth!’

Now it was Wade’s turn. ‘He’s going to kill us, Father! Stay away! We don’t want you to get shot!’

His slow footsteps worked slowly up the concrete steps. ‘He’s going to kill you, you say?’

‘You bastard!’ Showalter lurched forward as he said this. We’d managed, as I’d hoped, to confuse him for a moment. Now he couldn’t afford to shoot us. We’d warned the priest. Showalter would have no way of defending our deaths with the priest as our witness.

‘I’m coming up there to see what’s going on,’ Father Niles said.

Showalter was close enough to try to slam his Glock into my skull, but I ducked under his move and brought my knee up between his legs.

There was a primordial shriek as the pain in his groin began to register. But even so he managed to twist the Glock back into the firing position. A shot fired in rage, it ripped into one of the Stations of the Cross across the nave.

That was when Wade ran three or four steps and launched himself onto Showalter’s back. He rode piggyback, using his hands to blind Showalter momentarily. I wrenched his gun hand until I simply slipped the Glock from his grasp. But then Showalter, carrying Wade, slammed into me and knocked the Glock I was carrying — Showalter’s Glock — to the floor.

Father Niles was in the doorway now. ‘Somebody fired a gun in church! This is terrible.’

That was when Showalter backed up and managed to ram Wade into me. It was an effective move. Both Wade and I staggered backward. I tried to stay on my feet but I stumbled as I moved forward, and took both of us to the floor.

That was when the shots came.

I can’t say that I actually saw it. The bullet probably entered the top of Showalter’s mouth just before I managed to put both my hands flat on the floor and start pushing myself up.

And then I heard moaning behind me. Wade was on the floor. He’d been shot in the shoulder.

Through gritted teeth, he said, ‘Check on Showalter. Get the recorder.’

Father Niles cried out, then began praying. They were just holy words and phrases. I think in that instant he was trying to exorcise all three of us who remained alive. And his church. After what had just happened the church itself needed to cast out its demons.

Showalter lay on his back, his right hand still holding the gun he’d used to take his own life. There was such a mixture of blood and bone and tissue on the floor behind him I wondered if it could ever be cleansed away.

The old priest knelt next to the body and prayed frantically, crossing himself numerous times as he did so.

I hoped he had a few prayers left over for the rest of us.

Forty-Three

If you’ve followed the career of one Richard M. Nixon, then the name Rose Mary Woods will be familiar to you. She was, of course, his secretary and she was, of course, the woman who ‘accidentally’ erased a section of tape. Conventional wisdom is that the tape contained things that would have damaged his presidency even more.

My father the political consultant loved telling Watergate tales. He told them right up to his death, several years after the fact. He especially loved the Rose Mary Woods story — how it was impossible to have ‘accidentally’ erased it the way she said she had and how she was loyal to the point of facing prison for the villainous Dick Nixon (who’d actually done a number of very good things for our country, damn his paranoid hide). I’m no different. I love Watergate stories. And no matter how old I get, Rose Mary Woods will always make me smile in that superior way.

Or I should say I found Rose Mary amusing until I got the digital recorder back to my office after Showalter took his own life and Detective Wade went into the hospital with a serious wound between his shoulder and his heart, leaving me with the recorder overnight.

I was still working in my office when the staff started trooping in with coffee and questions about the shootout at the church. Because I was exhausted I didn’t realize that their questions would be joined by dozens and dozens more when the press started questioning me during the next three days, right up to the night of the final debate.

I had transferred the recording to my computer and gone to work on it. A good deal of it was Dave’s rambling about the ‘New America’ he and his cohorts were going to found. It was only toward the end that he spent a drunken, rambling eight minutes talking about Showalter and his group. The chief had indeed run his old scam. His group — and Dave named all the men involved — had robbed four banks for him out of state and turned the funds over to him for safekeeping. There was plenty on the tape to convict the cops who’d been in the group. His remorse for being part of the staged shooting came at the very end. And then he revealed who’d helped him with the staged shooting. I just sat there, stunned. At first I tried to reject the name on the tape, but why would Dave have lied? This was a name that would destroy a number of people. It was there that I went all Rose Mary Woods. I edited it out entirely and permanently.

When Abby came in I told her about the recording and asked her to deliver the copy I’d made to Wade’s office. Then we devised between us how the contents of the recording, which had four references to the friendship between Showalter and Dorsey, would be leaked to the press in time for the debate tonight.

Before I left the office I checked on the condition of both Karen Foster, who was conscious now, and Matt Wade, who had just talked to the press from his hospital bed. The mayor had been there and had referred to him as ‘Police Chief Wade’ several times.

I hung out the DO NOT DISTURB sign and crashed for seven straight hours.

The press was up for a lynching that night.

They had tightened the noose but not dropped the trapdoor with Jess about the staged shooting. Frustrated that they hadn’t gotten a clean kill with her they were — God bless ’em — going to take out their fury on Dorsey.

In between questions about the economy, pay for teachers, prayer in school, foreign policy and economic recovery, the four press representatives pounded him with inquisitional queries about his relationship with Showalter. Abby had leaked just the right allegations so it would be easy to assume that Showalter had been behind the fake shooting. Among many, many other high crimes.

Dorsey stammered, sputtered, exploded and sweated. By the end of the debate he looked like he’d just run through a car wash. He would not shake hands with Jess afterward, at which time his handlers probably raced to the nearest bar. Not what you’d call a wise choice on Dorsey’s part.

I had to wonder if he’d provide the press with a second suicide.

The next night there were two stretch limos in front of Jess’s magnificent home.

One belonged to our governor and the other to our senator. When I say ‘our,’ I mean our party.

There was a six-piece band, bright, quick alcohol bearers to make sure your intake would set records, a male television personality from Chicago who had been famous when I was a kid, at least three unattached thirty-something women who took at least a vague shine to me because I, too, was unattached, and all our office staff.

I gave up counting the number of toasts that were made when we sat around a mahogany table long enough to land a jet fighter on. Even Cory Tucker, sitting next to his very attractive girlfriend, made a toast. This was the pre-victory victory party, but after our campaign had been absolved of all suspicion in the staged shooting incident, plus Dorsey’s psycho performance last night, the only thing that could stop us from winning was if either Jess or Ted admitted to keeping small children caged in the basement.

Just before the food came — catered seafood, chicken, pork and beef entrées, and damned good at that — Ted pinged his glass with his fork and stood up. Then he reached down and took Jess’s hand.

To the assembled, he said, ‘Some of you may have heard the dirty rumor that the love of my life and I are getting a divorce. Speaking for both of us, I can tell you that’s a filthy lie!’

There was applause, tears and more applause. They would return to their God-given right as a Washington power couple.

I drank with Katherine, then with one of the unescorted women, then decided that if I could sneak out of here sober enough I could go back to my hotel room and call my daughter. And then I could get up with no hangover in the morning and spend three or four hours in Karen’s hospital room since she was conscious now.

Mike Edelstein halted the band mid-tune to lead those sober enough to hoist their glasses in what had to be the hundredth toast. It was while I was supporting my glass in the air that I saw my person of interest slip out to the small patio. Hoping we’d be alone, I followed.

The big prairie moon lent the patio a proper mood of melancholy. Just right for what I was about to say.

‘Oh, Dev. I didn’t hear you come out here.’

‘I just needed to talk to you a little bit.’

He had good radar. That handsome Bradshaw face of his clenched and then he turned his back to me. Two hundred yards or so away from here you could see the river. It was moonlit and tranquil, and on the far shore you could see a few campfires despite the chill. ‘I guess you figured it out, huh?’

‘Yeah.’

He faced me again. ‘But the news makes it sound as if Showalter was behind it.’

‘That was my intention.’

‘But why? I’m the guilty one.’

‘I’m hoping you have a reason for doing it that’s so good I won’t feel guilty about covering for you.’

‘God, this is when I really need a drink.’

‘Don’t even joke about that, Joel.’ Given his history of alcoholism I was afraid he might be half-serious.

‘I wish I at least had a smoke.’ He folded his hands and stared down at them. He didn’t speak for a time.

Far downriver, I could hear motorboats.

‘What did it was how they treated Katherine when she was sick. They let the public know about it because it was good press — the poor congresswoman and all that bullshit — but if it hadn’t been for Nan and me, Katherine would’ve been alone most of the time.’ He took his hands apart, then raised his head. ‘They just got worse and worse and worse over the years. With her, I mean. There’s no room for anybody but them. For Katherine’s sake I decided to take away the only thing that mattered to them.’

‘Her Congressional seat.’

‘Yes.’

‘You hired Dave Fletcher to do the fake shooting, knowing that the press would know it was a fake almost immediately.’

‘And she’d lose. And both Jess and my dear brother wouldn’t be the superstars they think they are. God, what a word. “Superstars.” It almost gags me to say it. But that’s how they look at themselves.’

‘A lot of them do.’

‘“A lot of them?”’

‘Politicians. And it’s both sides of the aisle. They become megalomaniacs.’

The smile was bleak. ‘I guess you’d know. You’ve worked with enough of them.’

‘As long as they generally vote the right way. That’s all I ask for. As people — well, you can go into a factory or supermarket and pick twenty people at random and you’ll find twenty better people than you’ll find at random in Congress.’

‘Hey, there you are!’

Ted was drunk. His champagne glass was held at a sixty-degree angle.

‘We’re sort of talking here, Ted,’ I said.

‘Well, fucking excuse me. You’re such a fucking superior being you forget I write your check every month.’

‘Actually, Jess does, Ted,’ Joel said.

I could not have predicted his reaction. The arrogant, drunken, angry Ted Bradshaw said: ‘We’re supposed to be brothers. Why would you say something like that to me?’ He teetered as he said this and champagne ran from his tilted glass like a rich boy’s piss. I thought he was going to cry.

‘You say stuff like that all the time to me, Ted.’

But then Jess was in the doorway, saying, ‘C’mon Ted, the governor and his wife want to say goodbye to us.’

She wisely a) took his glass from his hand, b) pushed her arm through his and c) guided him into the still-going-strong party.

Joel offered a slight smile and shook his head. ‘What a couple.’

‘Thank God Katherine has always had you.’

‘She had me when I was sober, anyway.’ He was beating himself up. Then, ‘And speaking of sober, this is the kind of thing I never admitted to anybody even when I was drunk, but I’m going to tell you, Dev. And I’m going to trust that you’ll never tell anybody else.’

He hit somebody with his car when he was drunk. He had been embezzling campaign funds. He was gay. He’d taken a couple of drinks tonight despite telling me he was sober. What the hell was he going to tell me?

‘Katherine’s actually my daughter.’

I had to quickly survey all the words in the English language so I’d know what to say. I didn’t want to sound shocked because that might hurt his feelings. And I didn’t want to sound judgmental in any way because he’d been her real father all along.

‘I’m not quite sure why, but that doesn’t surprise me.’

‘Ted was having one of his flings and Jess was having particular problems with this one so she showed up at my apartment in Georgetown. She was very drunk. And I was pretty drunk myself. It was one of those periods when I was trying to convince myself that I could handle having a few drinks. Anyway, we made love several times that night. Maybe there was a little bit of revenge in it for her but I think that at the time we were both just desperately needy people.

‘And two months later she called and said she was pregnant and that it couldn’t be Ted’s because he hadn’t touched her in a while.’

‘Ted never suspected?’

‘No. He gets sort of crazy when he’s having his relationships. As far as I know, he’s never suspected. He just assumed that he and Jess slept together during his fling and Katherine was the result.’

‘You ever going to tell her?’

‘I’m not sure she could handle it.’

‘Maybe what you’re saying is that you’re not sure your brother could handle it.’

Then she was in the doorway — the fragile beauty and the elegant wan presence of her, his daughter, Katherine.

‘The band’s going to play a slow song, Uncle Joel. You still owe me a dance.’

‘You didn’t think I was going to forget, did you?’

‘No, but I know how much fun it is to talk to Dev. You never want to leave.’

‘Wow,’ I said. ‘I’m sending you a check for that one, Katherine.’

She laughed and held out her slender arm. ‘C’mon now, Uncle Joel. Before the song ends.’

‘I’m a lucky man,’ Joel said as he went to her.

‘And she,’ I said, ‘is a lucky woman.’

Forty-Four

We won the election by six points.

During the course of the real victory party two weeks later I found out that Katherine was going to work as Joel’s assistant, that Abby was on the verge of being engaged, that Mike Edelstein’s sudden biopsy for possible prostate cancer revealed that he was fine and that neither Jess nor Ted seemed dismayed in the slightest when I told them I was resigning.

Wade got one of Showalter’s dirty cops to admit that Showalter and his buddy Dorsey saw an easy opportunity to take down Jess so they planted the rifle in Cory’s trunk. As for Cory, he told me he needed to take a break from politics. I gave him a thousand dollars of Jess’s campaign money to enjoy his break.

‘Truth be told, Dev,’ Ted said as we sat in his den, him playing the hard-nosed politician he was in his dreams, ‘I’ve been talking to a couple of firms and they think Jess needs a redo on some things.’

‘But if we get any calls for recommendations, Dev, there’ll be nothing but praise for you,’ Jess said.

‘Hell, not just praise, Dev. Super praise.’

‘Wow. Just plain old praise is hard enough to come by. But super praise—’

‘That’s Dev for you, honey. You try to pay him a compliment and he comes back with a cynical remark. We’re gonna miss that, Dev.’

‘We’re going to miss it a lot,’ Jess said.

She’d made herself a stranger to me in the past few days. She was a clone that had programmed me out of her memory.

Ted stood up. ‘Well, I’d say it was time for more champagne.’

But it wasn’t, of course. Not with them anyway. Not with them.

I got to the hospital in time to spend a full hour with Karen.

She told me that the new Chief Wade had visited her and she’d explained how Showalter had chased her up into the hills and then piled into her car so she’d be driven into the ravine.

Then we talked about what she was going to do in the future. I told her Chicago was a good place to be, especially since this campaign manager she’d said a few nice things about happened to live there, too.

Then I showed her iPhone photos of some of the Chicago apartments I’d been looking at. I needed more space because you just couldn’t tell when somebody might want to move in with you.

She smiled that smile of hers and said no, you really never could predict when somebody just might move in with you.

I thought that it was awful nice of her to understand.