Flashpoint (12 page)

Ben answered each question forcefully but quickly. Yes and no were his favorite responses but when he had to go into detail, as in his answer to the query about the senator's rep as a chaser, he used his words to chide the press. ‘I've known Senator Logan for ten years, going back to the time he was in the state legislature. In all that time I never once heard anyone refer to him as being any kind of ladies' man – which he definitely is not. This charge surfaced last night on the network whose sole purpose is to destroy every single member of my party. And their weapon of choice is always character assassination. When you make a habit of cheating on your spouse – and this goes for men and women both – people eventually know about it. And talk about it. Ask anybody who's known Senator Logan for any length of time and they'll tell you that that charge is ludicrous and false.'

He'd needed to vent and by God he'd vented.

‘Now let's let the police do their work and I'm confident that they'll find that Senator Logan is innocent of all these suspicions. Thank you very much for your time.'

‘He's really good,' Jane Tyler said.

We were sitting in the small conference room of her small office building that had room for Jane and three other lawyers. The walls were covered with historical photos of the area at the turn of the last century and the walnut conference table itself also seemed to be historical. Only the chairs and the dark blue carpeting and the plasma TV mounted on the east wall were recent. She aimed the remote dagger-like at the screen and it died.

‘He's very good but he knows that what he said won't make any difference to most people. If you polled across the country now at least fifty percent of people would say he was guilty.'

‘Have you ever considered the possibility that he
is
guilty?'

‘Of course. But it's extremely unlikely.'

‘He was definitely involved with her.'

‘That we can't deny.'

‘I mean, maybe more than he's letting on.'

She wore a burnished-yellow silk blouse and a black skirt revealing fetching legs and ankles. Her dark hair was slightly mussed from the rush we'd made from the car into the Hardee's where we'd grabbed our breakfast and dragged it to her office. I'd called her from my hotel room and asked if we could have breakfast and watch Ben together.

Now, the Hardee's sacks in front of us, she said, ‘I called a friend of mine at the police department.'

‘Hammell will probably fire whoever it is if he finds out you've got a confidant inside.'

‘It's the one and only female patrol officer who's unhappy with how the boys' network treats her.'

‘And she says what?'

‘She says that when she signed in this morning the county attorney was just pulling into the lot and Hammell and his number one were standing outside to meet him. And then they all shook hands and hurried into the building. She said it was like watching a TV show. You know, everything so urgent and everything.'

‘But she doesn't know what it's all about?'

‘No. She says it always takes a while for news to filter down to her level. It doesn't sound good.'

‘No, it doesn't.'

She sat down, finally, across the table from me. ‘I need to get hold of Ben and tell him about this.'

A knock on the door. A middle-aged man peeked in and said, ‘I just saw Mrs Havers' car in the parking lot.'

‘Bob Raimi, this is Dev Conrad.'

‘Nice to meet you, Dev. Want me to cover it for you?'

‘No. She's eighty-two years old. She has her grandson drive her into town. That's a forty-mile trip one way. She's used to seeing me.'

‘All right, then. Nice to meet you, Dev.'

When the door closed, she said, ‘He's the first partner. A very nice guy.' Then, ‘I hate to chase you out, Dev, but I need to get ready for this client. She's an old sweetie and I'm really trying to help her.'

As I was getting out of my chair she said, ‘I'll call you as soon as I hear anything from my friend in the department. This has me worried.'

‘Me, too. I just wish that Robert had been honest with us.'

A wry smile. ‘You're trying to help them and they still lie. I've never understood that. Sometimes I feel that I'm the prosecutor when I talk to clients. I have to drag every bit of information out of them kicking and screaming. A few of them, anyway. Thank God most of them come in and lay everything out for you.'

I was on my feet and bagging up the debris from our breakfasts. ‘You mean I forgot to mention running over those three nuns that time? I guess I thought you already knew about that.'

‘God, you probably get it much worse than we do. All the lies.' She swooped up her papers, her glasses and her coffee cup. ‘I'm sure we'll talk sometime today. Thanks again for breakfast.'

She was gone before I got to the door.

The day was Midwestern gorgeous and cold as hell. Maybe high thirties. As I was climbing into my Jeep my cell phone rang and as I slid behind the wheel I punched in the call.

‘Dev, this is Jackie.'

Our office receptionist. She only called when it was important.

‘We watched Ben. Everybody in the office. He did a great job but that isn't why I'm calling. A woman who won't identify herself has called here twice this morning insisting that she needs to contact you right away.'

‘Did she say what she wants?'

‘She says she can put you in contact with Howard Ruskin.'

‘It could be some kind of a prank.'

‘I don't think so. And I don't think you would either if you heard her voice. She sounds terrified of something.'

‘Is she going to call back?'

‘No, the second time she called I asked for her number so you could call her.'

‘All right.'

‘But it isn't really her number.'

‘What?'

‘You're supposed to call this number and leave your number and whoever answers will call her with your number.'

‘This is crazy.'

‘She may be crazy, Dev, but I think she really believes she can put you in touch with Ruskin. That would be a pretty strange delusion for a crazy person to have.'

‘I guess. You may as well give me her number.'

‘I hope this amounts to something.'

‘So do I.'

I wrote down the number she gave me.

‘How is the senator holding up? It must be terrible for his family.'

‘It is.'

‘His wife is so … fragile.'

‘She is at that.' But I didn't have time to go on like this. ‘Thanks, Jackie.'

I sat in the parking lot staring at my cell phone as if it might explode and envelop me in a glow that would imbue me with peace of mind and ultimate truth and more youthful stamina when younger ladies allowed me into their boudoirs.

Then I punched in the number and began what turned out to be the complicated process of talking to Howie Ruskin's lover.

T
he call I made to the mystery number where I was to leave my number turned out to be an auto repair shop. The man who answered had one of those cigarette rasps that should have scared the hell out of him but probably didn't.

‘My name is Dev Conrad. I'm supposed to leave my cell phone number with a guy named Pop.'

‘Pop ain't here. He had to step out. I'm Pop, Junior. But he told me to take the number.'

‘I'd like to know something about who I'm dealing with.'

‘My real name's Verne Andrews, Junior at Andrews' Auto Repair.'

‘Sorry, I meant I'd like to know something about the woman who wants my number.'

‘Pop said I wasn't to answer any questions in case you asked some. I'm just supposed to take the number down. And look, we're really stacked up here. I gotta go.'

I'd been in enough auto repair shops to know that when they were busy – or just working at all – there was considerable noise. Except for a muffled conversation somewhere behind him the place was quiet.

The too-busy-to-talk always worked. You couldn't call him a liar because you couldn't prove he
wasn't
busy. I'd once seen a woman who was not unduly fond of me in a supermarket. When I approached her and started a conversation she said, ‘I hate to run, Dev, but I left a repairman at my house working on my sink. You know how it is with them. You can't trust them. Sorry I can't talk more.' Really stunning bullshit and completely successful. He wasn't in her league but he did get my number so he was the winner of our little game.

Twenty minutes later I was on the road leading to Robert's cabin. I hadn't spent any time scouting the area itself. Autumn was having its way with the woods, the colors vivid in the cold sunlight. In a few places you could even see morning frost still bearding the ground. Frantic squirrels were everywhere shopping for the winter that would be here all too soon.

I was doing what the police would normally have done if they hadn't already decided that Robert was their man. They would say otherwise, of course – that they were considering all the possibilities – but we all knew that was just a press release to satisfy the public.

A bungalow of the Craftsman style was partially hidden by pine trees. I pulled into the gravel drive. The house was wood and stone with a low-pitched roof and stone porch supports. Vines crawled over much of the house, lending it both a venerable aspect and to my eye a somewhat sinister one, as if the house itself held a terrible secret. It stood no more than thirty yards from the turn-off to Robert's cabin.

I stood outside the car listening to the natural sounds of the day: birds, dogs, a tan plump cat on the side of the house mewling at an escaping rabbit. The stuff of children's books I dimly recalled from ages three or four.

As I approached the house I saw, in the window to the right of the door, the face of what I guessed was a white-haired woman. I say guessed because she was only a flicker and then gone. I hadn't even reached the steps before she came out on to the porch, all five-two of her in a faded rose-patterned housedress. She'd been pretty a long time ago but age had not been kind; her head kept twitching and so did her arthritic right hand. What troubled me about the hand was that it held the kind of .45 used in World War Two.

And what surprised me, the closer I got, was that she wasn't as old as I'd first thought. Probably no more than late sixties.

‘No need for a gun.'

‘Don't tell me what I need and what I don't. And I've got a permit to carry this, don't worry. I inherited the gun and the permit when my husband Stan passed away seven years ago.'

I could have argued the point that while you might legally inherit a gun you could not legally inherit a permit to carry. But the way her hand jerked about so violently I decided it was best to let her have her fantasy.

‘Who are you, anyway?'

Just then a breeze redolent of fall and pumpkins and Halloween stirred both the heavy piles of tumbled leaves and my own memory as well. At age nine I would have known enough not to pester this old lady for treats.

‘My name is Dev Conrad. I work with Senator Logan.'

Her smile was so malicious it deserved scientific study. How could a smile convey this much hatred? ‘So he finally got it, huh?'

‘If you mean all the rumors—'

‘Rumors my eye. Him and all his taxes and his apologizing to other countries – and saying it's all right for two men to get married. Maybe he didn't believe in God until yesterday but you can bet he does today. He knows that the Good Lord takes care of those that don't take care of Him.'

With no warning at all she raised her fragile head the way some breeds of hunting dogs do and then began sniffing at the autumn winds. ‘She was back again last night.'

‘Who was?' The chill I felt had nothing to do with the temperature; she was playing out a mad scene.

‘Who? That harlot he married. I can still smell her perfume on him sometimes.' Then her blue eyes fixed on mine; she was terrifying. ‘She told him once she was afraid I'd kill her some night when she was asleep. She was right.'

He came around the west side of the house, a large, square, middle-aged man wearing a flannel shirt and jeans with a green John Deere cap stuck on his head. He limped so badly on his right leg that his entire body jerked when he moved. He didn't speak, just assessed me as he came close. I got the feeling he wasn't going to give me a very good review.

When he came even with the porch and glanced at the woman, he smiled. ‘Mom, you don't need that gun.'

‘What'll you do when the federal troops come to arrest us?'

He looked back at me. Embarrassment on his face.

After turning back to her, and in a gentle voice, he said, ‘I wish you wouldn't listen to those radio shows, Mom. They put all that stuff in your head.'

Even as he put his arm around her, she said, ‘I never thought my own son would be afraid to hear the truth. Your father wasn't afraid of it.'

‘He didn't believe any of that stuff, Mom. And you didn't either until—' The gentle tone had become a sad one. He stood aside and held the door for her. ‘You need to go lie down, Mom. You know what Doctor Williams said about getting too excited.'

‘I told Doctor Williams about President Bush being behind 9/11 and he just smiled at me. He's afraid of the truth, too.'

He was tall enough that he had to half bow to reach the top of her head. ‘Now you go lie down, Mom. I love you.'

She glanced all the way up at him. ‘Mark, if you'd sit down and listen to my shows with me you'd change your mind. I guarantee it.'

‘I'll give it a try, Mom. Sometime.'

I was surprised by how mollified she sounded. ‘Good. We'll have a nice lunch and I'll turn on the radio. Just don't try to take my gun from me.'

She shuffled her way inside and he closed the door quietly, then made his pained way across the porch to talk to me.