Flashpoint (15 page)

Some of the reporters started shouting questions again; Ben's hand didn't do much good this time. Other reporters shouted back to their peers, ‘Shut up!'

Ben stood in front of the police station this morning. Bright sunlight played off the front windows; a worker in jeans and a Bears sweatshirt had just stopped mowing the lawn so Ben could speak. ‘I've just finished meeting with Detective Hammell. Despite all the nonsense on TV and the Internet, Senator Logan has not been charged with anything. He is free to go about his business.'

‘Can he leave the city?' a woman reporter shouted.

‘That didn't come up in my discussion with the detective, who was very cooperative and friendly, I should note. But the senator came home to rest between sessions. This is where he enjoys being and this is where he'll stay for two more weeks. He has no plans to leave whatsoever.'

More questions but Ben said, ‘I mentioned that this would be brief. I want to stick to a few facts and not add to all the frenzy the press has created over this unfortunate situation. So let me get to my second point. The senator will make a live statement very soon.' He smiled. ‘I suppose a few of you are interested in that.'

A Saturday afternoon football cheer went up. Ben was good with reporters and they liked him even though he took shots at them.

‘So until then, my friends …'

The scramble. Approximately fifty people began squawking questions at him as he turned from the microphones and began his exit up the steps of the police station behind him.

I clicked the set dark. The same hand I'd used on the remote now hovered over my cell. Then I got to work.

‘Wasn't Mr Zuckerman wonderful today?' Mrs Weiderman said after I'd identified myself.

‘He certainly was.'

‘He made me feel much better. This is just so ridiculous. The senator involved in anything like this.'

‘I agree. But we've got to face it. And that's why I'm calling. I need to talk to the senator as soon as I can.'

‘Well, he's playing tennis right now.'

‘That's a good sign.'

‘It takes his mind off things. Even if James always beats him. It's the only thing that James is better at than his older brother.'

‘And Robert doesn't mind?'

‘No. He told me one time that it's good for James' frame of mind to have something he's better at than Robert. The senator is a very good man.'

‘He is; he really is.'

‘That's why this is all so stupid.'

‘I'm coming out there right now. How long have they been playing?'

‘Oh, I'd say maybe an hour. They usually play for ninety minutes or so.'

‘Great. I'll see you soon.'

A fawn crossing the road with its mother was the only hindrance to me setting a speed record on my way to the Logan estate. Whenever I see an animal this delicate and this lovely I wonder why you'd want to kill it. I've never understood the thrill that comes from death. For me it's easier to understand the thrill of killing another human being. There's often psychosis and madness involved and those elements make the act rewarding for the killer. But killing an innocent animal? The one time I'd been forced to kill in army intelligence I hadn't felt any thrill at all. Just a kind of disgust with the dead man for forcing me to kill him and disgust with myself for not having figured out a way to take him in without taking his life.

I ran the gauntlet as usual. By now a few small vans from town were out here serving various kinds of food. The number of reporters was half of what it had been last night. Many of them had been in town for Ben's press conference.

The
thwock
of the tennis ball brought me around to the side of the formidable house. The double court was located on the west side. And there they were in their whites. Two brothers – Cain and Abel, if you like biblical shorthand. They didn't see me at first both because I stood far enough away, and because they played furiously. Robert wasn't giving anything away today. And James knew it, as his loud curses revealed. The reds and greens and golds of the surrounding trees provided a pastoral setting, the same kind of setting the swells of Victorian England would have enjoyed when they played the game on the sides of their castles; the ladies in their finery, the men drinking sherry and smoking cigars and betting on the players.

Robert had nearly put me to sleep one night exulting about his new courts and explaining to me at great labored length about the differences between clay and courts of acrylic and courts of grass. Or some damned thing.

James spotted me first. The way his long body lurched into defensive mode told me that he was, as always, delighted to see me. Then Robert saw me and shouted hello and waved his racket over his head.
No problemo here; what murder are you talking about, amigo?

‘Your friend Conrad is here to spoil our fun, I see,' James said as I approached.

‘Give it a rest, James,' Robert said. Then, ‘Hey, Dev, I finally beat my younger brother.'

‘It'll be in all the papers,' James said. ‘Front page.' He was all sweat and tiny gasps. Years of carousing had begun to take their toll. The gym had kept his muscles in good shape for his age but alcohol takes your strength and your stamina.

Robert was sweaty, too, but his breathing was back to normal and, even with a small excess of belly and a fleshier face, his body signaled better health.

James touched his racket to his brother's arm and said, ‘I'm going up to the house to let you two ladies talk.' He glared at me then brushed on by, ever the asshole.

Robert laughed. ‘I have a feeling that sometime before this is all over you're going to flatten him.'

‘If Ben doesn't beat me to it again.'

‘Or even Maddy.'

‘Maddy?'

‘She couldn't, of course, but she wishes she could. She absolutely hates him.' He nodded to the house with a head full of graying wet hair. ‘C'mon, I'll buy you a cup of coffee.' His relaxed manner had started to bother me. I wondered if the family doc had given him some kind of nirvana injection. From hysteria to bliss; we needed him somewhere in the sane middle.

I decided the best way to test his connection to reality was to simply tell him why I was here, but before I could say anything he said, ‘How are you doing with Howie Ruskin? If we can find him we've got this whole thing resolved. We could even win the election if we can hang it on him fast enough. And we know he killed her.'

‘Maybe.'

We'd started to walk toward the house but my single word stopped him.

‘Maybe? You mean you can't find him or you aren't sure he killed her?' He was plugged back into reality now all right. He was implicitly accusing me of somehow betraying him.

‘Both. I may have a lead on him and a good one, but I still think you're keeping something from us and I want to know what it is.' I hesitated. Then I just dropped it on him. ‘I'm told everybody in the family has a key to the cabin.'

‘Sure. The cabin's for the whole family.' It took him maybe four or five seconds. ‘Man, you're not suggesting that somebody in my family—'

‘Everything has to be considered here, Robert.'

‘I can't believe that you think somebody in my family might have killed her. Do you know how insulting that is? You know who killed her. Just because Hammell won't consider anybody else except me is no reason for you to start looking at my family, Dev. For God's sake, we're your friends. You know how much Elise and Maddy love you. And I do mean love. You know that. So please keep that in mind.'

‘I do keep it in mind, Robert. But I don't want to make the same mistake Hammell is. Looking at just one person. Everybody in your family has a key to the cabin. Everybody in your family knows about your affair and is concerned about how Elise would respond to another one. What if one of them found out about Tracy Cabot being at the cabin?'

He took a different approach this time. No hurt feelings and anger again. Oh, no, this time he was going to evade any serious discussion by throwing a sweaty arm around my shoulder and saying, ‘Dev, we're buddies. Look at all the ups and downs we've been through together. I was coming apart yesterday and I apologize for that. I'm sure I scared the shit out of you.' The arm came down. ‘I'm ready for the battle now. Let's go have some of Mrs Weiderman's great coffee and talk about what we do next.'

‘In other words, you're not going to tell me what you're hiding.'

He was pretty damned good, I'll give him that. Following a whoop of a laugh, he said, ‘That's the Dev I love. One incorrigible sonofabitch!' Smiling as he said it.

I had not learned one thing.

T
he call came on my cell as I was nearing the city limits. When I heard the first ring I knew who it would be. Don't know how. I just knew.

‘Mr Conrad?'

‘Yes.'

‘I'm calling from a pay phone so don't try and have this traced. It won't do you any good.'

‘I appreciate the information.'

‘I'm Howard Ruskin's girlfriend. My name is Sarah Potter. I have some information for you.'

‘Information is always good.'

‘But I'm pretty scared and so is Howard.'

The bellman who'd described her had said that she looked like a hippie. I kept trying to picture her.

‘All right, Sarah.'

‘This is very delicate, what we have to do.'

‘Will Ruskin be joining us?'

‘Not this time, I'm afraid.'

‘Later?'

‘That depends on how this works out. You and I.'

‘So where do you and I meet?'

‘There's a neighborhood bar named “Rick's” at 3654 Fulmer Avenue. I'll be watching you from my car at eight thirty.' Then, ‘I mean, would that be OK?'

The last line reminded me of my daughter when she'd been ten or so. She'd come over and stand in front of me and make a very adult presentation of what she wanted to do, and then she'd break my heart with, ‘But I don't want you to be mad or anything.'

I liked this Sarah Potter a whole hell of a lot.

‘That'll be just fine, Sarah. I'm easy to talk to and easy to deal with.'

The way she exhaled I could tell how tightly wound she was.

‘Oh, God, that sounds so good. I looked you up on YouTube and saw a couple of your interviews. You have very kind eyes. So I was hoping you'd at least listen to me.'

‘It'll be my pleasure, Sarah.'

Rick's was three blocks east of a large shopping center. It was painted a dark green with an outsize electrical sign on its roof and another one on its northern side. Both depicted the glowing golden profiles of a man and woman about to kiss. I'm sure somewhere there was a full-size version where they were making electrical love.

Since part of my business is working with both demographics and psychographics, I judged the customer base to be white, thirty to fifty, blue collar. There was a big screen that showed some sporting event – when all else failed there was always the Peruvian marble championship – but Rick or whoever had the grace to keep it low so the customers could shout at each other over the jukebox that played pickup truck music with a vengeance.

I ordered Bud in a bottle and a glass.

When she came in a few of the men along the bar gave her a quick glance then went back to their conversations or the TV set. She was entombed in this heavy, black, winter long coat – ready for a Russian winter – leaving her sweet, small, homely face seeming very small indeed. It was all wrapped up in a blue headscarf. She moved quickly toward me, the blue eyes frightened and fixed on me as if I was the star guiding her through a room full of monsters.

She slid into the booth, leaned toward me and said, ‘I might have been followed.' Not till then did I realize she was out of breath.

‘Who'd be following you?'

‘That's just it. I can't be sure and neither can Howard.'

‘Most people call him “Howie.”'

‘He's sick of that name. He said it makes him sound like a little boy.'

‘Would you like something to drink?'

‘No, thanks.'

The bartender was watching me. Waiting for an order. I shook my head.

She took her scarf off and let her scruffy blonde hair fall free. She was a tiny thing, a miniature. But the wrinkles spoke of long and troubled years.

‘I know you probably hate Howard, Mr Conrad. I wouldn't blame you, either.'

‘Well, I wouldn't say that I like him a lot.'

She had a tiny laugh that seemed to touch her eyes more than her lips. ‘You're being kind.' Then, ‘He needs your help.'

‘Now that's a surprise. A hell of a surprise.'

She glanced around as if half-a-dozen men in fedoras had suddenly appeared. ‘He said he can't trust anybody in his party because it's changed so much. The people he used to work with are out of favor. The new people scare him. They're so far right they're off the charts.'

Howard ‘Howie' Ruskin afraid of his own people. Too good to be true. This could all be some kind of elaborate scam but I needed to follow wherever it led.

‘Why me?'

‘He said he's been aware of you for years. He says you're dirty but not dirty enough to be really bad. And that makes you clean enough for him to talk to.'

My laugh was loud enough to win the bartender's attention. ‘I guess there's a compliment in there somewhere.'

‘Well, if you knew Howard you'd know he talks like that all the time. So convoluted.'

‘What's he afraid of?'

I'd flipped a switch. The playfulness of our conversation ended then and there. She pushed her little face toward me and said, ‘I have no idea. But if he's this afraid – and I've never seen him this scared before – then I'm afraid, too, because whoever's after him will be after me as well. They'll think that I know something.'