Simple (23 page)

He was back in Oakland, looking up Iris Mender. He brightened when she answered the door. “Me again,” he said.

“Not a problem. Where's your partner?”

“Other work.”

“So it's just us?”

“Just us. You want to land on the glider again?”

“Sure, that's good.” She half-opened the door to slide out, but paused. Was she afraid of him? He didn't think he was scary, nor did she seem easily frightened.

“I can bring you a beer or a Coke or whatever.”

“Nothing for me.” He brandished a bottle of water. “I come prepared.” He saw then through the screen that there were papers on every surface of the living room.

“The house is a mess. I'm trying to put my life in order.”

“That would be a big task for anybody.”

“People keep sending me bills. I know I paid them. Why do they do that?”

He wondered if she had paid them or paid them twice. He explained, “There's a big gap between
when
you pay a bill and when they credit it. Statements are often outdated. Also computers are a problem. I mean, when the companies use computers instead of people, you can't ask questions.”

“That's what I think,” she said soberly.

“Do you have kids who could help you?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

She opened the door and came out and gestured him to a seat. “I wish I knew something about your business,” she said. “I wish I could bring the poor girl back.”

The glider creaked as they sat on it and got their rocking rhythm going.

“That last isn't possible, but I hope you can help. It's a terrible thing when a young person dies.” She acknowledged it with a nod. “What I really need to learn is what men were in her life. I'll bet you've seen something. Some visitors.”

“No.” She looked thoughtful. “No, I never did.”

“Do you think Cal was a boyfriend?”

“I never thought so.”

“Why?”

“They didn't act like a couple.” She appeared to think about it. “They dressed real different from each other.”

He nodded. “Just a couple more things. Did you ever notice her car being gone some nights?”

“Oh, weekends, yes, she went away.”

“What? Friday to Sunday?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Car gone any other times?”

“No, well, Thursdays was her night out. She'd come home late most Thursdays.”

“How late?”

“Oh, midnight. One
A.M.
”

“Know where she went?”

“I always assumed either she had a guy or maybe had a girls' night out, that kind of thing. Young people can drink and get up the next day for work. That's youth.”

“But maybe with a guy.”

“I don't know, but I hope so. I always think it's a shame to miss out on that when you're young.”

“Sure you never saw a tall handsome fellow coming and going?”

“Sorry to say, no.”

“Do you happen to know if Cal Hathaway ever worked evenings? I know this is a lot to remember, but would he continue working after suppertime, say?”

“The couple of times he worked for me, he did.” She dipped her head down. He saw that she had colored her hair since the last time, roots all taken care of.

“Interesting. Hard worker?”

“I'd say so.” She narrowed her eyes. “You don't think he did it, do you?”

“I can't say at this point. We're putting all the facts together to see what we have.”

“Hmpf.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Just thinking. I don't know what happened. Here I am, up all night, and no help at all.”

“That's not true. I think you're a big help. I'm going to show you a picture. I want you to tell me if you think the person you saw in the alley looked at all like this.” He pulled out of the slight portfolio case he carried a photograph of a polypropylene suit used for construction jobs and painting. He'd chosen the super model with a hood and booties—total coverage. He would have bought one and brought it to her, but the ones on the local shelves were the lesser models, just jumpsuits without the full coverage.

She stared at it. “Yes. I'd say yes. Like that.”

“Thank you. When Cal worked for you, did he ever wear one of these?”

“Never did. No, he wore blue jeans and a T-shirt and if was colder weather a flannel shirt.”

“Okay.” He looked around at her street view. “You like it here?”

“I love it. I know my neighbors. It's not dangerous, no matter what people say. This killing was an isolated thing.”

“I hope so. Just driving down here, though, I've seen a couple of porches with the mattresses and old couches and beer bottles—you know—a pretty sure sign that there are either deadbeat owners living there or college students renting.”

“They're just kids. That's what they do.”

“What's what they do?”

“Drinking, sex, sleeping late.” She smiled. “Most of them grow up eventually.”

You go, girl, he thought as he stood to take his leave. He said, “We appreciate your cooperation. You have my card. If you think of anything, give me a call.”

“Okay.” She rapped her head. “I wish there was more in here.”

*   *   *

HE GOT TO CENTRE
County just as Rita was leaving work. He came up behind her and put an arm around her shoulder. “So you see, I didn't interrupt your workday. Though I wanted to.”

Her wavy hair, clumped unevenly at her collar line, was not exactly tousled on purpose—more in need of a cut. She was not into earrings and makeup. She wore dark pants with a brown and black patterned top that came down to her hips. Her shoes were brown with a small heel, sensible. He thought tenderly of her dressing for work, finding things that were presentable.

“I have to walk my dog.”

“We'll do it together. Then I'm going to take you to dinner.”

“I have a ton of leftovers. Half a chicken, corn on the cob, other vegetables I grilled. We might as well eat that.”

“All right. I could appreciate eating in.”

“You're awfully agreeable today.”

“It's how I prefer to be. Things sometimes get in the way.”

“Work?”

“Exciting job. Shitty job. Both.”

She opened the door to her car, a white Toyota. “You remember where I live?”

“Absolutely.”

He followed her home. What was it he liked about her—the dour way she had of believing in little, expecting little? Her grumpiness gave him a small tickle of enjoyment.

Her dog was leaping at her, ready to go as soon as she opened the door to her house. Todd, not even out of his car yet, watched the scene inside, this woman grunting at her dog, a tricolored corgi, big-eared and nervous. Rita quickly fastened a leash and let the dog lead her outdoors, where he went straight to Todd Simon, not fully out of his car, and commenced an immediate inspection of him. “He remembers you,” she said. “Probably better than I do.”

He found that funny. They walked for a long time. While they walked, he let her be the party worker he knew her to be. She reported clearly on each person in her district. “Roberts doesn't like it. Says Connolly is a pretty boy. He's pushing for Granger. Mundy is okay with it if it looks good for Centre County. I didn't know what to promise him.”

“Businesses. Roadwork. Not casinos,” he jokes.

“That's okay for Mundy. Roberts needs more than promises.”

“Can you set up a meeting with me and Roberts? Breakfast. Something very eggy and greasy.”

“Sure. When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I'll try.”

He watched expressions come and go on her face. “What?” he asked.

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Because I genuinely like you and you know it.”

“Maybe.”

They came back to her place after about an hour of walking. This woman really gave her dog a workout. Then she took her time feeding the dog, but he wasn't put off by that. He came behind her and put an arm around her waist and felt her relax into him. He kissed her neck, her ear. When she didn't fight it, he began touching her breasts. “You're being nicer,” he said.

“I like to know what's on the agenda.”

“Dinner first or later? Your choice.”

“Later.”

“Way to go.”

It was when they were lying there the second time, after the chicken, corn, grilled vegetables, and several beers, that he spoke slowly of the stress of the investigation that took police up to Connolly's offices. “You know how police are. Crude. It's terrible. And nobody has alibis. For God's sake, it was the middle of the night when it happened. We were all in our beds. If it drags on, I'm worried it will tarnish our boy.”

“Does he have an alibi?”

“Sort of. He was at Haigh's place. You know how they think—did he drive away in the middle of the night and drive back?”

“Connolly was seeing her?”

“I don't know for sure, but it's how the police think. He's a good-looking guy. They worked together. Things happen. But look at the facts. Just look. They have a confession from that kid who worked on her house. So why are they bothering us up at the firm? I'm beginning to wonder if some Dem is paying them to smear us.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No. I'm
not
kidding. It gets ugly about now. When people are announcing their candidacy.”

“What can you do?”

“Nothing. Connolly and I will go to the funeral because we have to and then we hope it goes away.” She had gotten him his breakfast date early tomorrow before the funeral.

She turned and adjusted her body, trying to find a good position in order to sleep. “It's worrisome,” she murmured.

“If it comes down to it, if they doubt my alibi, what if I say I lied at first about being home alone and that I was here, with you? Would you perjure yourself for me? I can't have them at me.”

“What would I have to say?”

“Just that I came up Thursday night and spent the night. That we're pretty private about seeing each other so I didn't give your name when they first asked, but I was here.”

After a while she said, “I'll say it.”

“Did you watch the Steelers?”

“Of course.”

“We can say we watched the Steelers together. We can look up a schedule and see what was on after and say we watched that. In case they're nuts enough to ask. Maybe they won't. We'll be ready, though, no surprises.”

He felt her tense up for a few minutes. But even he found the silence at her house, the ticking of the bedroom clock, peaceful. Soon he felt her relaxing into sleep.

SEVEN

TUESDAY–FRIDAY, AUGUST 18, 19, 20, 21

FOR THE POLICE, THE
funeral was a virtual repeat of the Sunday at the funeral home. The same cast of characters appeared, including the television crews. Connolly gave another sound bite, saying little more than that the death was a tragedy and that he wanted to give his time to comforting the Price family—all other questions about his candidacy off the table. Weeping boys and girls—well, young men and young women, but they seemed in their grief like children, stunned by the impossibility of death—followed the family and gave context to the funeral proceedings. No unexpected people showed up. Nobody looked suspicious. Cassie's beauty and promise went down under piles of rich soil. The sisters clung to each other.

Colleen could hardly get a moment alone with Carrie. Finally she caught up to her in the ladies' room at the church where there was a meager sandwich lunch Colleen didn't plan to stay for. “I'm so sorry,” she said. “For you, for your family.”

“Thank you,” the girl said through the thickness of tears.

“If you think of anything else—”

“I'm sorry I told you.”

“Why?”

“What good will it do? You'll just think little of her.”

“The opposite. I feel all the more for her and what she was going through.”

Carrie registered the comment with a sob. Colleen left her alone.

On Wednesday and Thursday the whole police force got stuck in a rut they got to know as the G-20. The world conference was coming to town, and everyone would be on call. The preparation was insane. From the top down—and that meant Washington, D.C.—there were orders about coordinating city, county, state, and visiting police as well as Secret Service. The city would be hosting tens of thousands of officers of various stripes.

“Man, why did we think we wanted the G-20 here?” Christie asked. Nobody could remember why. The whole next month was going to be a terrific time for criminals. The police could hardly do homicide investigation what with planning for unruly protesters, terrorists, and the large numbers of misdemeanor felonies to be accommodated in the local jails.

It wasn't until Friday of that week that Colleen was able to get the old man at the garage to give her surveillance DVDs for the Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday of last week and for the Thursday and Friday of the week before that. The disks would show only the entry and exit lanes. Nothing else was recorded at the garage.

First the man said she would have to watch in the parking office. Then he tried to tell her he didn't have them, that they'd been erased. She stared him down. Finally he handed over a set of DVDs. “Those cost me a few dollars,” he said.

“I may need more,” she answered. She waved the disks and left the place.

For a while she sat up at Headquarters, watching. She saw the blue Focus come in at a little before nine on Thursday of the week before the murder. Mike Connolly's Town Car came in at a bit after ten. She found herself watching for black cars, gray cars. At almost noon, a silver car caught her attention. It was that handler's—Todd Simon's. She watched that car leave at one that day. She saw Connolly leave at one thirty. Short workday—but no, he was going to Harrisburg, right? The blue Ford Focus left work at five. The young woman driving was alert, alive, listening to music it seemed, adjusting her belt to reach for the ticket machine, watching the gate go up, moving ahead. Cassie Price.