The Double

Ten

Tom Petersen sat behind his desk, reading the one-page report Lucas had typed and printed after his lunch at the Hitching Post. Lucas, seated before the desk in a wobbly chair, watched as Petersen dropped the sheet and folded his hands across his belly.

“I’m not sure what you’re saying here,” said Petersen. “Exactly.”

“I’m giving you a scenario,” said Lucas. “Edwina Christian was seeing a man named Brian Dodson at the same time she was seeing Calvin Bates. My source tells me that Dodson has been identified as a contract killer per Federal wiretaps.”

“That’s interesting.”

“When I interviewed Virginia Christian, she explained a quote I read in the discovery material, something to the effect of her daughter wanting to ‘take care’ of Bates. Virginia said that this meant Edwina wanted to help Bates. That she was on a mission from her pastor at church. But what if Edwina Christian wanted to take care of Bates in a different way? As in, take him out permanently. He wouldn’t leave her alone, and it had become a problem. She had a relationship with a low-rent hit man. Dodson would be the one she’d turn to.”

“I’m getting a warm feeling now.”

“What was the caliber of the slug found in Edwina’s brainpan?” said Lucas.

“Twenty-two.”

“Twenty-twos are used by professionals who like to work close-in.”

“Now the blood is flowing to my pecker.”

“And consider this: one of Dodson’s vehicles is a Ford Excursion.”

“I’m guessing it has a wide axle track.”

“Look up the specs online. It could be that Dodson’s Excursion is the vehicle that laid those tracks down near the woods in Southern Maryland.”

“Yes, it could be. But why?”

“Because it’s a heavy truck?”

“No, I’m asking, why would Brian Dodson murder Edwina Christian? What was the motive?”

“I don’t know,” said Lucas. “Maybe she paid him and he decided to do her instead of Bates. Maybe Dodson and Bates were in collusion.”

“Don’t stray too far into Candy Land.”

“Okay, but let’s stay with the theory that she paid Dodson to hit Bates. Go ahead and access her bank records. You might find a significant withdrawal before her murder.”

“Okay, I’m still with you. But there’s the matter of Bates’s presence near those woods, right around her time of death. The GPS records from his ankle bracelet don’t lie. What was he doing down there? And why would he torch his truck to cover up evidence if he was innocent?”

“Maybe someone else torched his truck and set him up.”

“Candy Land.”

“I’m only giving you some possibilities,” said Lucas. “You asked me to find something, and I did.”

Petersen stood. He paced the room, his cowboy boots clomping on the wood floor. “I’m going to trial in a couple of days.”

“Then subpoena Dodson and put him on the stand,” said Lucas. “At least you’ll put a, you know, seed of doubt into the jury’s mind.”

“And cut to commercial break,” said Petersen, with amusement.

Lucas got out of his chair. He stretched and picked up his notebook off the desk.

“You’re leaving?” said Petersen.

“I’ve got plans tonight.”

“A woman, I take it.”

“I’m like that.”

“‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.’”

“I intend to,” said Lucas. “By the way, I’m going to be out of commission for a while.”

“Side job?”

Lucas didn’t answer. He walked toward the door.

“Spero,” said Petersen, and Lucas stopped and turned. “Nice work on this one. Real nice.”

Lucas said, “I know.”

On the way to Petersen’s office, Lucas had gotten a call from Charlotte Rivers. She’d be at the hotel on 16th Street that evening, and was wondering if he wanted to stop by.

“I’ve been calling you,” said Lucas.

“I don’t leave that phone on much,” said Charlotte. “Do you want to come or not?”

“I can meet you in the bar.”

“Come straight up to my room,” she said, and gave him the number on the door.

At his place, he heated up some thick spaghetti with meat sauce, cut a salad, got some food inside him, then showered, dressed, and drove over to the hotel, where he left his Jeep with the valet. The doorman recognized him and damn near winked as he ushered him through the entrance. Maybe Lucas imagined it. His mind was fuzzy. He was thinking of Charlotte up in that room.

She let him into a suite, identically furnished as the one before, and closed the door behind him. She had already lit candles and extinguished the lights. Music was playing from her phone, which was connected to a portable speaker she had brought with her. It was the Lee “Scratch” Perry compilation Arkology, which she had downloaded especially for him. Lucas liked that she had remembered.

Charlotte was dressed in a black tank top and black jeans, with brown T-strap boots, as she had been at Boundary Road, though tonight beneath the shirt she was free. He embraced her and ran his hands down her bare arms.

“We should talk,” said Lucas.

“We will,” she said.

She put her mouth to his and held the back of his neck as they kissed. Her hair smelled of rainwater and her lips were butter. They kissed in the entranceway and against the wall, and soon found themselves lying on the thickly carpeted floor. An hour passed quickly, just like that, the two of them making out, sweating as if they had completed the act, though they’d not yet removed their clothes. They stopped so Lucas could uncork the bottle of Barolo that stood on the dresser. He poured it into two short glasses and they drank some, then put the glasses down and began to kiss some more. They made it to the bed and faced each other. She unbuttoned his jeans, released him, and stroked him lavishly.

“God,” said Lucas.

“What do you like?” she said.

“This.”

“Let me take my boots off.”

“Let me,” said Lucas.

He led her to the black velvet settee and sat her there. He put one of her boots up on his thigh and removed it, then the other. He lifted her tank top over her head, and she pushed her hips forward as he took off her jeans and peeled away her thong. Heat came off her.

“Lay down,” he said, and he stretched her out on the settee and got on his knees. He kissed her mouth and shoulders, licked and bit at her nipples, and raised them. He moved his face to between her legs and pushed aside her hood and found her spot engorged with blood, and flicked his tongue there. Her breath grew short. He rubbed his forefinger down the strip, buried his thumb inside her, and kissed her pearl, then sucked on it. She said, “Spero,” and grabbed his hair and came with abandon.

Afterward, she moved to put him in her mouth. But he shook his head, picked her up, and carried her to the bed, where he laid her down on her back atop the drawn sheets.

“Like this tonight,” said Lucas. Her legs opened like a flower and he went to her in the flickering light.

“How’d you know I was married?” said Charlotte.

“A man knows,” said Lucas. “That movie with the twist at the end, where Clooney finds out his girlfriend is married and it’s supposed to be a shocker? That was bullshit. Good movie and all that. But bullshit.”

They were finishing the wine in bed. Charlotte had a sip and said, “How do you feel about it? That I’m married.”

“I came back,” said Lucas. He knew what she was asking, but he was evading the question.

“I’m glad you did.”

“Am I a first for you?” He nearly winced when he said it. He sounded like a boy.

“I came close once before. Made a date at the bar downstairs, in the same way that I asked to meet you the other night. Five minutes in, I knew he wasn’t for me. He bragged about money. I had one drink and went home.” She kissed him. “Let’s not talk about that. Point is, I’m here with you.”

“But why did you reach out to me? Why’d you reach out to that other guy?”

“That’s pretty simple. There’s something missing in my marriage.”

“What?”

“This.” She drew him close to her and kissed him softly.

“Thanks for bringing that reggae,” said Lucas.

“It’s good music to make love to.”

“Yes.” He looked into her eyes. “You’re fucking amazing.”

“Thank you, Spero.”

“So how do you feel about it?” said Lucas. “Us, together like this.”

“It’s been incredible.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Am I torn up about the fact that I’m having an affair? No.” Charlotte turned and put her empty glass on the nightstand. She lay back down on her side and faced him, ran her hand along his forearm. “I’ve been married for ten years. My husband is a good guy, very successful, a hard worker. Focused. We don’t fight, and he’s not abusive in any way. He’s not even temperamental, really. But the passion isn’t there. We make love a couple of times a month, and it’s fine, but it’s by the numbers, you know? I guess it’s natural for it to be like that for two people after so many years. But it’s not enough for me. I’m still young. If I was older, I suppose I could live with it, but I’m not willing to live with it yet. That’s why I’m here.”

“At your service,” said Lucas. He didn’t smile.

“Don’t do that. You have no reason to be insecure. I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since the first time I saw you. It’s not just the physical part of this that moves me.”

“I feel the same way,” said Lucas, and it was true.

“I brought another bottle of that Italian,” said Charlotte. “Why don’t you open it?”

Lucas left the bed naked, returned with the open bottle, poured some for her, poured more for himself. They had some more to drink, lying beside each other, kissed and whispered, and let the time pass that way.

“Spero?”

“Yeah.”

“When you were in Iraq...”

He knew what was coming. The question was always the same.

“Yes?”

“Did you kill anyone?”

“Yes, I did.”

What was it like?

“What was it like?” she said.

“The first time?” said Lucas. “I hesitated, I guess, but only for a few seconds. It wasn’t a very tough decision to make. He would have killed me or my friends if he had the chance. That’s really what the war was about for me. I was protecting my brothers. I was there to take out the enemy. I killed people who were trying to kill me. Morality and philosophy didn’t enter into my thought process.”

Lucas was surprised that he had said so much. He turned onto his back and stared at a ceiling lit by candle flames.

“Are you all right?” said Charlotte.

“Getting sleepy, I guess.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I’m fine. Look, are we going to spend the night together this time?”

“I can’t,” said Charlotte. “I need to get home. My husband thinks I’m working a late dinner with Pakistani diplomats.”

“Okay, then,” said Lucas. He was annoyed, though he knew he had no right to be. “I gotta use the head.”

He picked up his glass of wine from the nightstand, took it with him to the bathroom, and swigged the rest of it down as he flicked on the bathroom light. He turned his head to say something to Charlotte and tripped on the floor molding that separated the carpeting from the marbled bathroom floor. He dropped the glass and watched it shatter on the marble, watched it as he was going down, put his left hand out to break his fall, watched in slow motion as he landed in the glass, his hand coming down on a large piece that was resting edge up, feeling the sting of pain. He sat back against the vanity cabinet. He said, “Stupid,” and he pulled the piece of glass out of his palm. A great flap of skin lay open below his thumb and it was white and quickly red with his blood.

“Oh, my God!” said Charlotte, who had come to the doorway and was staring with horror at his hand.

“Yeah, I know.”

He rinsed it off in the sink, but the blood would not stop coming. It was a deep cut in the shape of a crescent and he knew he’d need stitches. Charlotte gave him a washcloth. He wrapped his hand tightly, and the washcloth soon reddened.

“Get me my clothes, please,” said Lucas. “I don’t want to bleed all over this suite. At least they can mop it up in here.”

He dressed and gathered up the rest of the bathroom’s washcloths.

“You going to drive yourself?” said Charlotte.

“No sweat,” said Lucas.

“I’ll text you and see how you’re doing.”

“Yeah, okay. Hit me up.”

He kissed her deeply and left the suite, got his Jeep without too many questions from the doorman and the valet guy, and drove out to Holy Cross in Silver Spring using only his right hand. His left hand bled all over his jeans and the fabric of his seat.

He was in the waiting room of the ER for an hour or so, and he went through three more washcloths before they ushered him to a small room just inside the swinging doors, where an orderly took his vitals and applied a pressure bandage. He waited another hour, and finally a Dr. Eric Hernandez entered the room. The youngish bespectacled doctor had a look at his hand, and said, “Oh yeah, you did it,” and he had Lucas take X-rays in another room. Later still, the doctor returned and said, “I can’t guarantee that there’s not more glass in there, but I’m gonna go ahead and stitch you up.”

Lucas watched him prepare a needle of Novocain, or whatever they were using these days.

“I’m going to have to stick you in the center of your palm,” said Dr. Hernandez.

“Just put the head in, okay, Doc? And be gentle with me. It’s my first time.”

“I’ll wipe your tears away.”

“Thank you.”

“Now look, I’m not going to lie to you, this is going to hurt. If you jump, I’ll have to stick you again.”

Lucas turned his head and looked away.

It hurt like a motherfucker. But Lucas didn’t jump.

Driving back to his apartment in the middle of the night, his hand stitched, throbbing, and covered in an antibiotic ointment and a sterile pad, Lucas checked his phone. Charlotte had texted him and asked if he was okay. Also, Abraham Woldu, the real estate broker on North Capitol, had left him a long text about the men who frequently occupied the office he had leased to Serge Nikolai. There was Nikolai, of course, and the young man who he was still barely able to describe, and a blond-haired, deeply tanned man with a strong build.

Woldu had described Billy Hunter. Hunter and Nikolai were together. The two of them had targeted Grace Kinkaid. Hunter, Nikolai, and one more.

There were three.