Head Wounds

TWENTY-SIX

THE NEXT DAY I was in Jackie’s office going over my plan. She fell in love with her part right away. Especially when I wouldn’t share all the other parts.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she said from between the stacks of paper on top of her desk.

I stopped her before she had a chance to launch the usual barrage.

“Jackie, I need you to do this for me.”

“What if he won’t play along?” she asked.

“I think he’ll have to. But I won’t know till I try.”

“Dammit, Sam. I told you not to hide things from me.”

“I have to for a little while. Not just for my sake. Other people could be affected. And if it all blows up, you’ve got deniability. Come on, Jackie. I’ve been a pain in the ass, but I’ve never let you down.”

She wasn’t used to personal appeals. It shut her up more effectively than I would have thought. I didn’t sell past the close, getting out of there as fast as I could. I made it down to the sidewalk before she called from her second-story window.

“Catch,” she yelled.

It was a cell phone with a twelve-volt charger trailing behind like the tail of a kite. It’s a good thing I have quick reflexes or I’d have been sweeping microcircuits up off the concrete.

“It’s an extra,” she said, giving me the number. “If anything screws up during the day and you want to abort, call me immediately. I’ll do the same.”

The cell phone was such a good idea my first call was to Amanda with similar instructions. It was fun talking to people while I was driving the Grand Prix. I hadn’t done that since I lost the company car somewhere in Bridgeport, with the phone still in it. A bonus for the car thieves.

The first big hole in the plan was slipping out of town, technically jumping bail, in a 1967 Grand Prix. I held to the back roads as far as I could before hopping on Route 27 heading west. After passing Quogue and clearing Southampton jurisdiction, I breathed a little easier, even though I was now officially in serious trouble with the law.

Timing was important. My object was to be sitting in the parking lot of the regional DEC office in Stony Brook at four in the afternoon. This was another big hole in the plan, another uncontrollable variable. I’d considered calling Dan or Ned to see if Zack Horowitz would be in the office that day, but that seemed even riskier. So instead I kept the cell phone charged and at the ready.

At four-thirty the place started emptying out. I tucked into a parking spot where I was shielded, but could still see the faces of people coming down the front path. I didn’t see Dan or Ned, to my relief. But I did see Zack at about quarter to five. He had a briefcase and a sports coat draped over his arm. I waited as long as I dared, then got out of the car and walked up to him. He stopped cold.

“You know who I am now, don’t you,” I said to him.

Zack was a trim, good-looking guy. He was maybe a few years older than me, but staying out of the ring had done a lot to preserve his face. He had light eyes, thinning but adequate dark gray hair and angular features. I liked his voice. It was a soft tenor, articulate, though graced with Long Island inflections.

“I knew then,” he said. “I have a good memory for names.”

“So you knew I’d be back.”

“I hoped you wouldn’t,” he said.

“I need you to come with me,” I said, which caused the first look of alarm to cross his face. “Right now.”

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“I don’t have everything, but I’ve got enough to send your life into hell starting from the moment you walk away from me,” I told him, holding up Jackie’s cell phone.

“How do I know that?”

I handed him a copy of the phone records. As he studied them, little pink clouds formed on his cheeks.

“This will effectively destroy my life,” he said calmly.

“It has to happen eventually. I can do it with you or without you. The latter could be worse, but I have no guarantees. If you come with me now I promise to do what I can to help you through it.” I looked at my watch. “You can take the next thirty seconds to decide.”

“You’re asking an awful lot of a person who doesn’t know you.”

“Okay,” I said. “Think about the ones you do know. How’s that been going for you? Do you think helping me is gonna be worse?”

He studied me.

“My wife will wonder where I am,” he said.

“Call her and tell her you’ll be late. Very late.”

I pointed to the Grand Prix and told him to lead the way. All the way he looked poised to make a run for it. But he got in the car and let me drive him out of there. I told Eddie to leave him alone, but Zack said it was okay, that Eddie probably smelled his golden retriever. Then he called his wife and gave her what sounded like a believable excuse for not coming home right away. I didn’t know if it was or not, but now that this plane was off the ground there was no going back.

“Should I be afraid for my life?” he asked quietly.

“Not from me,” I said. “This isn’t a kidnapping.”

“More of an extortion,” he said.

“Okay, I guess, technically. I’d like to think of it as leveraged persuasion.”

He seemed to relax a little at that. He was obviously alarmed, but he did a good job of containing it. Zack was a very controlled guy. I wondered if it was a skill acquired over years of staring into menacing shadows.

“Whose idea was the bank scam? Yours or Roy’s?” I asked him.

He still had his jacket draped over his arm. He slid it off and put it in his lap.

“Wonder Boy’s,” he said. “Though I planted the seed by showing him how to make decent returns on extremely short-term investments, even with puny interest rates. All you needed was a wad of stagnant cash, which was ever-present in the institutional accounts. We used to go out to lunch and talk about it. I liked being this guy’s mentor. He was so anxious to learn. And in those days I liked showing off. Like a jackass.

“I got him involved in the routine sweeps we had going with a few companies, the teacher’s union, some other stuff. All pretty small potatoes. And then he comes to me and asks that question you can never even think about when you’re a banker. ‘What if we borrow some of the Town’s money and do our own little twelve-hour sweep? You’re the Town Treasurer. Who’s going to stop you?’ I thought he was kidding, but he was serious. I don’t know, bravado, boredom, who knows. I thought, yeah. Just once. So we did it. It was exhilarating. We didn’t take any of the money. The Town was the sole beneficiary. It was just to do it. So we did it again, until it became routine. We set up a small ledger account to take in the proceeds. I was actually thinking I’d spring it on the Board of Trustees some day, hand them a nice hunk of dough, smooth over the fact that we were sending the municipality’s entire working capital to God knows where every night.”

“Enter Jeff Milhouser.”

“He’d gone to Roy first, thinking a junior loan officer would be an easier touch. He thought I’d be the stone wall, if I’d even talk to him. He was already skating on thin ice with the board after some goofy deal with road salt. The guy was always working some angle, but he had friends all over town, including on the board, and frankly things weren’t very well monitored in those days.”

“Roy cooked up the scheme.”

“Sure. He was ready to go to another level, way beyond anything I ever thought of. For me it was just a game. Roy had much greater ambition than that.”

“So I hear,” I said.

“I didn’t know they were doing it until it was underway. Roy swept one of the big Town accounts, but instead of sending it out to the investment houses it went right into Milhouser’s account and from there into a six-month CD. Just long enough to produce the paperwork that would satisfy the underwriters that he was good for a big loan. I know this because my signature was on Milhouser’s loan application. Roy stuck it under my nose, told me what they’d been doing, and essentially said either I sign it or he’d blow the whistle on the sweeps game. I couldn’t believe my ears. I told him he’d go down with me, but he pointed out that I was the head of lending. He was just a junior guy following instructions. And by the way, he’d kept meticulous accounting of every unauthorized transaction, none of which carried his name, all of which carried mine.

“For the next few months I did everything I could to cover the Town’s reduced working capital, but it was impossible. I hardly said another word to Roy Battiston, or Milhouser. The fools assumed I’d be able to keep a lid on everything, that I’d have to because my career and reputation were at stake. But I couldn’t.”

“So you cut a deal,” I said.

“It wasn’t easy. Milhouser was furious. But I got him to understand that while he had hooks in me, I had hooks in him. If we cooperated we’d get through it with minimum damage. If we fought, it’d be mutually assured destruction.”

“So,” I said, “the deal was you’d guarantee the bank wouldn’t press charges. You’d take the hit with the Town for sweeping the Town accounts, but he’d have to cop to borrowing the funds to collateralize his loan. Since they were stuck in a CD there was no way around that. You’d also threatened the bank’s board with a public relations nightmare if they made too big a deal over it. It was in everyone’s interest that the whole matter die out quickly and quietly. That included, of course, both you and Milhouser leaving Town government.”

“Very good, Sam,” said Zack. “You must know something about small-town politics.”

“Nah. But I’m a quick learner. Speaking of which, I think I also know what Roy got out of the deal.”

“My job,” said Zack, with a bitter laugh. “That was his goal all along. All he wanted was to trap me in something he could use to pry me out of there. I’d already put my neck in the noose the first time I made an unauthorized investment. Milhouser, a skunk of the same stripe, just facilitated the execution. I had to leave anyway. The bank manager worked out a resolution, which he agreed to do for the same PR reasons as the Town. But he needed my head as part of the bargain. I was happy to give it to him and get the hell away from Southampton. And Roy Battiston.”

“Not far enough, apparently,” I said.

“The second stupidest thing I ever did was not moving to Montana or Costa Rica. I tried, but my wife wouldn’t leave Long Island, and I couldn’t tell her why we should. As long as I was nearby, and in government, that noose was wrapped around my neck. I knew one day I’d feel the tug.”

He would have probably told me more, but Jackie’s cell phone rang. Or rather, played the first few bars of “I Wanna Be Sedated” by the Ramones. It took me a few minutes to figure out what was going on and once I did, how to answer the phone. It was Jackie.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Fine here. Why?”

“How close are you?”

“Half hour, give or take,” I said.

“Are you sure about the timing?”

“Do whatever you want to do, Jackie. I trust you.”

“Oh great. More pressure.”

Zack looked interested in my side of the conversation. When I ended the call he asked me, “So, are you going to tell me where we’re going? It’s only fair. I’ve told you a lot.”

“You have,” I said. “I appreciate it. We’re going to North Sea.”

As we drove he caressed his sports coat where it draped across his lap, his long slender fingers absentmindedly picking at the fabric and folding it along the seams.

“It was a good day when I heard Roy was going to jail for some real-estate scam,” he said. “I thought, there’s karma for you.”

“It must have been a big disappointment to hear from him again.”

Zack looked up from his sports coat.

“It was devastating. It was just an envelope with an old blueprint and a note telling me to hold on to it and wait for further instruction. I felt like those fellas in the movies who ask the Mob for a favor, and then twenty years later get the call. Payback time. It’s Faustian.”

It was getting close to dusk by the time we reached the outskirts of Southampton, marked by the narrowing of Route 27 from four lanes to two. Zack Horowitz had been quiet during the last leg of the trip, and I hadn’t pushed him to do any more talking. I needed to concentrate on the plan, if so grand a name could be applied to what I had in mind.

I turned left off Route 27 and after that merged onto North Sea Road. I wanted to feel more confidence, but couldn’t muster it. Too many variables. Too little leverage. But it was all I had.

Zack withstood the fun-house ride over Bay Edge Drive with less complaint than Jackie. When we got to Robbie’s project there were two pickups parked out front.

“Look familiar?” I asked him.

He nodded.

I had him walk in front of me as we went around to the back of the house, carefully stepping over the last of the construction debris, some of which I scooped up and tossed to the side as we approached the French doors.

They were open to the bay, letting a soft breeze into the room, along with me and Zack.

“Look, guys,” I said to Patrick and Milhouser. “I brought a friend.”

Patrick had a big smirk on his face and shook his head in disbelief. Confusion and anger competed for possession of Jeff Milhouser.

“Where’s the Battiston woman?” he demanded.

“Her name’s Anselma,” I said. “She’s anything but a Battiston woman.”

“Hello, Jeff,” said Zack, stepping out from behind me.

“She called and said to meet her here,” said Milhouser, looking at Zack.

Patrick moved closer, staring at me. Milhouser touched his arm and he stopped.

“We’ve changed the agenda for the meeting,” I said. “But hang tight. We don’t have a quorum yet.”

“That mean she’s coming? And what’s he doing here?” Milhouser asked, pointing at Zack.

“Consulting on environmental issues,” I said.

Milhouser’s confusion deepened.

“You want some answers from this asshole, let me beat it out of him,” said Patrick, looking at me.

I pulled Zack across the room and planted him next to Milhouser.

“Do me a favor, and keep Jeff company while I take care of this,” I said, gesturing to Patrick to follow me outside.

The only light out there came from the room behind us. I turned and walked backwards, being very careful to keep my footing as I watched Patrick come at me, backlit. Before he got too close I rotated to the left, and I was glad to see him rotate with me, so that in a few steps I had my back to the house and he was in the pale light.

I reached down and picked up a three-foot-long piece of two-by-four that I’d tossed there on the way in. Patrick looked surprised.

“You got to be kidding me,” he said.

I showed him I wasn’t by cracking him across the top of the head. He went down on his knees with his hands covering his head.

“Fuck,” he yelled.

I’d used a similar approach one time before on a thug named Buddy Florin, the last guy who thought being bigger, younger and stronger were the only deciding factors.

When Patrick tried to stand up I hit him on the right shoulder as hard as I could, knocking him into the mud where he rolled over and tried again to get back on his feet. I hit him again on the other arm, and as he fell back down, I kicked him in the face.

He pitched backwards, holding his face with his left hand, his right hanging uselessly at his side. I dropped down and stuck my knee in his chest. I gripped his shirt with one hand and held the two-by-four above his head with the other.

“Like I told you before, it only gets worse.”

“Some fucking boxer,” he said.

“Not allowed to box anymore, sorry. Doctor’s orders.”

I dragged him to his feet and held him by the back of his shirt. I shoved him through the French doors and told him to lie face down on the floor.

“You broke my fucking arm,” he said. “I need a doctor.”

“Good Lord,” said Zack.

Milhouser just snorted.

“We’ll take care of that after we have a little chat,” I said, checking my watch. “If Jackie’s on time for once in her life, it won’t take that long.”

Milhouser had been holding his white golf jacket in his hand. He put it on and zipped up, looking ready to bolt.

“I don’t know what the hell this is about, Acquillo, but it’s not what I came here to do, so if you’d kindly …”

He was interrupted by the sound of Jackie calling from the front of the house. To my everlasting wonderment, she was actually ahead of schedule.

“Hi, fellas,” she said, as she walked in the sunroom. “What’s up?”

I introduced her to Zack Horowitz, while keeping an eye on Milhouser, whose confusion had moved through anger and now looked more like indecision. Patrick mumbled something into the floor.

“Zack,” I said, like I was kicking off a weekly staff meeting, “why don’t you outline for Jackie the statement you’re planning to give the Assistant District Attorney. Just the highlights for now.”

“I’m here to act as your attorney until you can pick one of your own,” she said to Zack, holding up a steno pad. “I’ll be taking notes.”

Zack nodded.

“I’ve been aware of a campaign by Mr. Milhouser to gain control through extortion of a large real-estate development in this area,” he said to Jackie in his softly modulated voice.

“You idiot,” said Milhouser.

Jackie looked up from her pad.

“If you don’t mind, sir. I don’t want to miss anything,” she said.

Zack started talking.

“A little over two years ago I received a document in the mail from Roy Battiston. It was an old drawing of a series of storage cellars located on the site of a factory sitting at the center of this planned development. With it was a note from Battiston saying the cellars were full of toxic waste, heretofore undetected. With the drawing was a note from Battiston telling me to keep this information confidential until notified.”

Jackie held up her hand to stop him while she caught up. Then she nodded.

“One might ask,” Zack went on, “why the Assistant Regional Director of the New York State DEC would meekly comply with such an outrageous demand. One that would put him in direct violation of the duties of his office. As I said in the beginning, Mr. Milhouser was engaged in a campaign of extortion, and I was one of those on the receiving end.”

“Jesus, mercy in heaven, what a load of bull,” said Milhouser.

“So you sat on this thing like you were told,” I said.

“Yes. Until this gentleman paid me a visit,” he said, pointing down at Patrick.

“The gentleman Sam Acquillo is currently standing over with a two-by-four,” said Jackie. “Got it.”

“He said he was there to deliver a message from Roy Battiston. That I was to give the drawing of the cellars to Robbie and Jeff Milhouser. That the Milhousers would know what to do with it. He was clear that my personal safety, as well as my professional career, relied on following these directions to the letter.”

Patrick chimed in from the floor.

“More bullshit,” he said.

“After taking a day to recover from fear and self-loathing, I tried to reach Roy at the state penitentiary. I called several times, working my way through their system, and finally got him on the phone. The first thing he did was warn me that the line wasn’t secure. But by this time I was so emotionally overwrought, I spoke freely. He said, ‘Just do what I asked you to do, then get out of the way. Or go eat a gun or something. I could care less.’ And then he hung up on me.”

Jackie was writing furiously in her steno book.

“So you did what he asked you to do?” she asked.

“Almost. I called Robbie, the thought of speaking to his father being unbearable. As I talked, it became clear the whole thing was news to him. So I explained, again quite freely, the situation. He cursed a little, and told me to come see him right away and bring the drawing.” Zack looked around the room. “He said to come here, so that’s what I did.”

“I’m not listening to any more of this garbage,” said Jeff Milhouser, unzipping then re-zipping his jacket to emphasize the point.

Jackie walked over to him.

“He wants you to stay put, Mr. Milhouser,” she said, jerking her head in my direction. “I would. Go ahead, Mr. Horowitz.”

Zack moved to the center of the room, closer to where Jackie now stood.

“I guess I was encouraged by Robbie’s confusion. I realized the drawing was the only leverage I had, so I didn’t dare bring it. I left it where it was, locked in a drawer in my office. When I got here it was well after dark. Robbie was here, and so was he.”

He pointed at Patrick again.

“They didn’t look happy with each other,” said Zack. “Robbie was very agitated. I think he’d been drinking. You could smell it. Robbie asked me what would happen if there really was toxic waste on the site. I said it could be anything from a simple disposal, to a massive cleanup, to a permanent condemnation of the property. While we were talking Getty was on a cell phone in the corner. I didn’t think much about it until this one shows up.”

He pointed at Milhouser.

“I think it dawned on me and Robbie at the same time that Getty had called him. Robbie started yelling at both of them, saying things like, ‘What the fuck is going on here?’ and ‘Who’re you working for?’ directed at Getty, who didn’t say much. But Jeff Milhouser was talking plenty. He spoke with this belittling, condescending tone, telling Robbie to grow up and stop being a big dope. That they had a golden opportunity to take Battiston’s old project away from his wife, and if she resisted, they just had to wave the drawing at her. One whiff of ‘toxic waste’ and the whole deal would go down the tubes, he told his son. That just made Robbie angrier. He said they didn’t need to do anything that mean, that he was going to win her over honestly, that they were old friends. Jeff just sneered at him. He was pretty angry now himself. I admit, I was terrified. For some reason I picked that moment to blurt out that I hadn’t brought the drawing.”

Jeff Milhouser sat down on a pair of stacked sawhorses, his hands resting on his knees. His face was intent, calculations running freely behind his eyes.

“Robbie starting yelling at me, ‘You destroy that thing,’” said Zack. “And Getty walked over and grabbed me by the throat.” Zack’s hand involuntarily mimicked the attack. “He said we were going back to Stony Brook to get it. Jeff Milhouser stood next to him and called me a variety of names, though none as cruel and demeaning as what he called his son. That’s when Robbie grabbed Getty by the hair and pulled him off of me. I’d never seen two grown men, big men, actually fight before. I never imagined.”

“You better think about what you’re doing, Horowitz,” said Milhouser.

“It’s all I can think about.”

“Then you’re stupid.”

Zack ignored him.

“They were punching at each other and trying to grab each other’s clothing. Getty was also kicking at Robbie’s legs. Robbie was trying to wrestle him. He was bigger, but Getty was hitting him very hard. I’m making it sound like a long drawn-out thing, but I think it only lasted a few seconds. Almost before I knew it, Robbie was on the floor. Dead.”

Patrick picked his head off the floor and tried to twist around to look at Zack.

“Wait a minute. Uh-uh,” he said.

Milhouser stood up again.

“Shut up,” he said to Patrick.

“No, you shut the fuck up,” he said back.

Patrick looked like he was trying to stand. I put my foot on his back and shoved him back down, but kept my eyes glued on Zack, trying to keep him and the universe motionless for just another moment.

“Tell him,” Patrick yelled at Zack.

Zack looked at me. I shook my head.

“Tell him,” Patrick yelled at Milhouser. Milhouser also shook his head and looked down at the floor.

“You fuck,” Patrick said into the floor. “I had the situation under control. But this fuck,” he strained to look at Milhouser, “has to get in the act. With a fucking hammer stapler. Hits the guy right on the head. I can still hear it.”

I nodded to Zack.

“That’s correct,” he said to Jackie. “I witnessed it. Jeff Milhouser came up behind Robbie and struck hard once. Robbie leaned down and tried to cover his head, and Jeff hit him again. And again, and even after he’d fallen to the floor, he hit him again. His own son. His own flesh and blood.”

Milhouser still stared at the floor.

“No flesh and blood of mine,” he said. “Just a big, stupid greaseball. I should have known he’d get stuck on another greaseball. Must be the inferior genes.”

Then as if suddenly alert to the situation, he looked at Jackie.

“I’m not admitting a thing.”

He pointed at me.

“It was his stapler,” he yelled.

“But you didn’t know that at the time,” I said to him. “It was in a box Getty took from the insulation subs. Amanda used the same guys. She borrowed my stapler and they walked off with it. Just happened to be the first thing that came to hand. Jeff here had the sense to wipe down the handle. Dumb luck for both of us, my prints were on the rest of it.

“By the way,” I added, “the box is now in the trunk of my car. I’m guessing Jeff had to paw through it to get at that stapler.”

Jackie asked me to toss her the cell phone.

“Can I call him now?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said.

“Who’s ‘him’?” Milhouser demanded.

“Joe Sullivan. Southampton Town detective,” said Jackie, punching in the number. “He’ll want to get these statements while they’re nice and fresh.”

“Aw, Christ,” said Milhouser, like he’d just spilled a cup of coffee in his lap.

We all listened to Jackie talk to Sullivan. Milhouser made a few attempts to stride out of there, but Jackie just snapped her fingers at him without looking up from the phone and he went back to sitting on the sawhorses.

In the subsequent silence, I remembered one more thing to ask Zack.

“How’d you get the drawing to the DEC?”

He smiled a tired smile.

“While the two of them were yelling at each other over Robbie’s body. I ran like hell. Getty even chased after me, but I have a sports car and he has a big pickup truck. Milhouser had a threatening message at my office waiting for me. But that was unnecessary. We were back where we were at East End Savings. Everybody had hooks in everybody else. Mutually assured destruction.”

Of course I knew about the BMW. Zack had roared by me on Bay Edge Drive that night while I was jogging. He was on his way to Robbie’s house. When I got there his car was in the driveway parked next to a pair of pickups. I’d gone that way on a hunch that somebody’d be there. Maybe I could prove they’d torched Amanda’s house while the act was still fresh. But seeing all the cars, I didn’t like the odds. I was afraid to get into it. Afraid for my head. So I ran on by, and headed south up to Noyac Road.

If I’d stopped maybe I’d be the one dead and Robbie would have had the murder charge. Or maybe I could have saved him and myself in the bargain. I’m not big on that kind of speculation, but it was something I thought I’d have to live with for a while before I’d know how I felt about it.

I felt a little bad about lying to everybody about being there, and worse about the old lady who ID’d me, but I hadn’t seen any good in admitting the truth, and probably never would.

“So as soon as I could, I drove the drawing up to Albany,” said Zack, “and after extracting a promise of anonymity, ostensibly to protect my ‘source,’ I handed it over to the State’s Attorney. At least I got one thing off my conscience. I’m glad they didn’t find anything. It makes it that much better.”

I wanted to say his conscience seemed okay with letting me hang for something I didn’t do, but I had to keep him on my side. There was still a long legal road ahead.

——

While we waited for Sullivan, Jackie advised them all on what she’d do if she were them, free of charge. By the time the big cop walked into the sunroom with Will Ervin and another uniform, Patrick was on his feet and the incriminating two-by-four back outside.

Milhouser still looked indignant, even bewildered. I wondered if he’d convinced himself of his own innocence, the same brain that had reacted with murderous rage now settling into a soothing state of denial.

I’d have to ask Rosaline.

Sullivan decided the best thing was to bring everybody to the hospital so they could check out Patrick’s arm, then take statements there or head over to the HQ in Hampton Bays. He called ahead to Ross while Ervin and the other cops led Zack, Patrick and Milhouser out to their cruisers.

Jackie said we’d be right behind. But when I got outside I plopped down on the muddy ground, then lay back, spread my arms and legs, and looked up at the starry sky through the spring leaves. Jackie squatted next to me.

“You all right?”

“I think so,” I said. I took a deep gulp of air into my lungs and closed my eyes.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” said Jackie.

“What?”

“Put me in a state of abject terror for weeks, thinking I’m going to make a mistake that puts my friend in jail for the rest of his life, then hide information from me, which I explicitly asked you not to do, goddammit.”

“I wasn’t sure. Honestly. There was another thread I had to tie off.”

“How long have you known it was Milhouser?”

“About fifteen minutes,” I said.

“Get out of here.”

I sat up and looked at her.

“It was obvious one of them had burned down Amanda’s project. But I never believed it was Robbie. Not given the way he was looking at Amanda that night at the restaurant. Despite all the bluster, there was something different in his eyes. The hope of forgiveness.”

“For what?”

“Robbie had a lot of natural bully in him, but his stepfather’s ridicule and brutality fueled the flames. The only parent he had and all he ever got was contempt. I knew that old bastard was the pivot point the day we went to see him. He said all the right things about his boy, but his eyes, like Robbie’s, said something different. It wasn’t grief, it was triumph. That and the booties.”

“Huh?”

“He has a floor-finishing business. Between coats of urethane floor guys’ll wear booties so they don’t mar the fresh finish. Same thing the arsonists wore when they torched Amanda’s house. A job in every way intended to send a signal. That takes the mind of a planner, a schemer, and someone unburdened by conscience. People have written Jeff Milhouser off as a basic screw-up, but he’s worse than that. He’s a basic sociopath. I thought his history might give up something I could use to trace back to Robbie’s death. And it did, in the form of Zack Horowitz.”

“How the hell did Roy get in the act?”

“I never understood why he put the brakes on developing Amanda’s property after the Town ordered an extensive environmental study. He said it was because of the notification requirements, which was legitimate enough, since all that attention could have blown the scam. But those cellars made the study itself the real worry. He didn’t even share the information with his partner Bob Sobol, who was an engineer. He’d have known they could be filled with hazardous waste. Roy’s another all-star schemer. He had the presence of mind to keep that drawing to himself, and then put it someplace safe—with Zack Horowitz—where it could be deployed at some future date.”

“I still don’t get it.”

I leaned up on my elbow.

“That’s because you’re a good person. You don’t think like they do. Roy has had plenty of time to nurse his bitterness. Jeff Milhouser was the perfect outside partner. Roy’s natural ally. And Patrick the ideal go-between. Roy thought he could manipulate his way back into Amanda’s project, sort of a silent partner, pick up a piece of the action. Wouldn’t that be a kick. But if all he managed was to wreak a little havoc and revenge on me and Amanda, that’d be fine.”

Jackie was quiet for a moment.

“Don’t get mad at me,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“When I ask you something.”

“Okay,” I said, lying flat on the ground again.

“You don’t ever wonder about Amanda?”

“All the time.”

“And?”

“A priest once told me faith was believing in something even when—especially when—all the evidence pointed in the opposite direction.”

“You know what that makes you?”

“A recovering empiricist?”

“I could list a few more things,” she said, standing and holding out her hand so she could pull me to my feet. Then we put Robbie’s monument at our backs and followed Sullivan over to the hospital, where Markham determined Patrick’s arm was just badly bruised. But he wanted to keep him there overnight for observation.

“Anyt’ing of yours you want to get X-rayed while you’re here?” Markham asked me and Sullivan.

A desk sergeant Ross sent over from headquarters was there to record everybody’s statements, helped along by Jackie’s notes and testimony. I was glad to hear all the stories come out like I wanted them to.

After that they let me head back to the tip of Oak Point where I had a case of wine, a bottle of vodka and a dog waiting for me, along with a life filled with equal measures of hope, faith and exasperation.