The Blade Itself

39

The two-way glass between them dimmed Danny’s features, but even so, he looked pretty calm to Nolan. Danny sat at the table, cuffs off, glancing around the room with just the right blend of interest and discomfort. Acting the citizen.

“How do you want to do this?” Matthews asked.

“I’ll start alone.” Nolan straightened his tie, fingers feeling as clumsy as usual. Every morning Mary-Louise tied him a perfect half-Windsor – it was part of her morning ritual, a domestic incantation to bring him home safe – but by day’s end, the knot had usually degenerated into a lumpy half-hitch.

“You know, the dude seems awfully cool. You sure he’s dirty?” Matthews asked.

Nolan smiled. “Your experience, how’s somebody done nothing wrong react when you put the cuffs on?”

“They start telling me I don’t need them.”

“Exactly.” Nolan made a final tug at his tie. “Danny, he just turned around and stuck out his wrists.” He shot his cuffs, stepped out of the observation room, and opened the door to the interview room.

Danny glanced up at him with a bland smile, but Nolan kept his own expression neutral as he took measured steps to the table. He stood for a moment sizing Danny up, letting the silence draw out a few seconds longer than was comfortable. Finally he pulled out a chair.

“So,” he said, “I’m obligated to remind you that you can have counsel here if you like.”

“Do I need it?”

Nolan shrugged. “I just want to ask you a few questions.”

“This is about Patrick?” Danny’s voice caught slightly, and the sadness that flickered across his face seemed real enough.

“Mostly.”

“I can’t believe what happened. We’re still shocked. If there’s anything I can do to help, I’d be glad to.”

The mask was back up, Nolan noticed. “Let’s start with you telling me how you knew him.”

“We grew up together.” Danny continued, talking about Bridgeport and Back of the Yards, their mutual old neighborhood. How they’d been friends in grade school, and how when Patrick’s parents died, he’d come to live with Danny. A very Irish, very old-school story, and one Nolan mostly already knew.

Still, Nolan let him talk, prompting here and there with questions to keep it flowing. Timing was crucial. He spent more than an hour establishing the basics, just letting Danny get used to talking. He asked about their friendship, about Danny’s past. Every time he spoke about Patrick’s death, he saw that same flash of sadness. Once, Nolan had thought that Danny might have had to dig deep to come up with someone still in the life, someone he could pay to get rid of Evan. But that obviously hadn’t been the case.

“You guys have been friends all along, right? So you knew what he did.” Nolan made it a statement, holding his gaze on Danny’s.

“Sure.” Danny didn’t flinch. “In general terms.”

“And you felt okay being friends with a felon? I mean,” he paused, readying the barb, “this guy was a real piece of shit.”

A vein in Danny’s forehead throbbed, but he kept his tone pleasant. “He was a good guy, Sean.”

“Yeah?” He paused, changed tacks, trying to keep Danny off-kilter. “Hey, who gave you the shiner? Looks nasty.”

“This?” Danny touched his cheek, where the skin was purpling. “Dumbest thing. I was working in the basement. Walked right into the cold water shut-off valve.”

“That scratch up your hands, too?”

Danny smiled. “Guess I should wear gloves when I work, huh?”

Nolan didn’t return the smile. “I was wondering if maybe it had to do with that thing you came to see me about.”

“Evan?” Danny shook his head. “Haven’t heard from him in a couple of weeks.”

Fifteen years as a cop gave you an eye for reactions. Danny was a good liar, Nolan could see that, but he was lying just the same. “Just went away, huh?”

“I guess he realized I wasn’t much of a target for a shakedown.” He shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe he got tired of the weather. Either way, I haven’t heard from him.”

Nolan nodded slowly. It was a good play. Any admitted contact with Evan would give Nolan something to hammer away at. He knew Danny was lying, knew that Evan was still in his life, that they were up to something. He’d been able to see it on Karen’s face, and in Danny’s actions. But knowing wasn’t the same as hard evidence.

Unfortunately, evidence was in short supply. Unless circumstances changed, the only way he was going to get somewhere was if Danny slipped. He had to keep the pressure up, keep him off guard. With a smile on his face, he attacked.

“So who killed Patrick?”

The sudden change of topic seemed to throw Danny. His hands fidgeted on the table. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do.” Sean stood up and leaned into the table, his hands on it, using the height advantage to bring more power to his gaze. Danny looked up at him. “I think you did it.”

“Huh?” His tone stunned.

“I think you hired him to get rid of Evan, and Evan took him down. Which means, basically, you killed him.”

Danny paused like he was fighting for composure, and Nolan knew he’d hit on something. Time to run his bluff.

“We’ve got you on tape, asking Patrick to call you about a job. Sounding desperate. This is a couple days after Patrick’s supposed to have finished Evan off, and you’re getting worried.”

“What tape?” Danny injected just a hint of scorn into the question, but Nolan knew he was upset.

“Come on, Danny, admit it. You were scared. You needed help. You paid your childhood friend to take care of it for you. But Patrick got killed, and that’s why you’ve been running from us.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Remember,” Nolan said, trying a different direction, “Evan is still out there. And I’m sure he figured out who sent Patrick after him. You’re going to need protection.” He could see that something was churning in Danny’s mind, could almost watch him calculating. “We can make a deal here, Danny. You’ll have to face some charges, but you can put Evan away for murder. Be able to stop looking over your shoulder.”

Danny stared at him.

“Help us out and this can all be over.”

He’d made his play, and knew he’d hit a nerve. Nolan kept his eyes hard, his body language aggressive, wanting Danny to feel the pressure of his presence. To feel leaned on. The two men locked glares, Nolan willing him to speak. Give me something, asshole. Just a tiny crack, anything, and he would hammer away till Danny shattered. All night, if that’s what it took.

Then Danny smiled. “Detective,” he said, his voice calm, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Forty minutes later, Nolan was still smoldering. Back in the observation room, that smug expression of Danny’s hung in the shadowed air in front of him. On the other side of the glass, Detective Jackson was talking to the man, getting the same stonewall answers. Danny had made his decision. He was hiding behind a pretense of normalcy.

And the part that burned was that no matter the fact that Nolan knew, just knew that the guy was dirty, all he had to connect the two was a phone call that wasn’t nearly as incriminating as he’d tried to make it sound. In fact, on the surface, the call was completely innocuous.

The door opened, and Matthews stepped in to join him. He was silent for a moment, then nodded toward the glass. “Willie taking a run at him?”

“I sent him to ask the same questions, see if anything changes.”

“Any luck?”

Nolan shook his head. “He’s sticking to it.”

“Maybe he’s got nothing to stick to.”

Nolan looked over at Matthews, then back through the glass. He could see his own reflection in it, very faint in the darkness. He paused, then spoke softly. “You ever know anybody in the Program?”

“AA?” Matthews hesitated. “Yeah. My daddy was in it.”

Nolan nodded. “Mine, too. He stick with it?”

“For a while. Till the Zenith plant moved to Mexico. He went on a three-day bender. Ended up cutting a man in a bar fight. Went on the run, never came back.” The detective’s eyes seemed distant, like he was grappling with the demons of long ago. Then he shook his head, looked over. “How ’bout yours?”

“He stuck with it. Did his twelve, went to commitments twice a week.” Nolan paused. “It worked for him. But you know the whole basis of the thing? You pledge not to drink today. That’s all. Tomorrow, you get up and do it again. You’re never really cured.”

“So?”

“It’s all about avoiding temptation. The thing about recovering alcoholics, you put a glass in front of them, sooner or later they drink it.” Nolan nodded through the glass. “Danny’s the same way.”

“You think someone put a job in front of him.”

“And he took it. Yeah.”

Matthews nodded, shrugged. “Okay. So what you want to do?”

Nolan shrugged. “Let him go.”

“We can keep him here, sweat him. Wake him in the middle of the night and go through it again. He might slip.”

“He might not. And if he doesn’t, we’d end up dealing with the state’s attorney before we could pick him up again.” He straightened, checked his watch. Almost five. “When Willie’s done, turn him loose.”

“You’re going to let him walk clean?” Matthews sounded incredulous.

“Hell no.” Nolan reached for the door handle. “I’m going to let him go and see where he leads me.”