The 8th Circle (15 page)

L
ights exploded in Danny’s skull just after five. He rolled out of bed, fumbled for his tuxedo jacket in the dark, and staggered into the bathroom, Imitrex in hand. Lights popped around him like fireworks. Orange. Red. White. They pulsed and ran together as the ominous tightening in his right eye socket began.

His hands shook when he jabbed the needle into his thigh. He slumped down on the toilet and pressed his palms against his forehead. When the light show in his head began to diminish, he filled the basin with water and plunged his face into it.

Danny could almost feel hands on his back the moment his face hit the icy water, and he jerked his head from the basin with a shudder and combed his fingers through his hair.

Once just for fun, Kevin and Junior had pissed in the toilet and held his head in it just to see how long he could stand it. The brawl had been life as usual with the Ryan boys, until they had broken his mother’s Waterford rose bowl. Even Junior had been scared that night when the old man had come home stinking drunk. Already furious.

Funny the things he remembered: the darkness of the closet where he had hidden, his father’s footsteps in the hall, his fear that reeked of mothballs.

Danny walked back into the bedroom where Kate still slept. Last night, after Kate asked to stay with Danny, Novell had escorted them to this suite. She’d removed her gown, wrapped herself in the complimentary terry cloth robe, and curled into a white ball beneath the covers. Danny had offered to sleep on the sofa, but she’d said, “Don’t leave.”

He didn’t know what comfort she took from his presence twenty-some inches away in that king-size bed. In the darkness, they might as well have been twenty miles apart.

Kate slept with her hands balled into fists, as if sleep itself was a battle. Danny wanted to slip in beside her and take her in his arms, but he figured he’d get a fist in the eye. He smoothed the covers around her and kissed the top of her head.

He wandered to the outer room of the suite. A gift basket sat on the coffee table, and he fingered the cellophane. The gift card read, “From Linda and Andy, Welcome back.” Danny crushed the card in his hand when the grief swept over him.

The first time he’d met Linda, she wore a black satin gown and had been searching for Andy. Danny had fallen asleep at his computer terminal after completing his last obit, his cheek resting in a small puddle of drool.

“I’m thinking of cheating on my husband tonight.” At the sound of her voice so close to his ear, he’d snapped up, almost connecting with her chin. She’d surveyed him with a knowing smile and then reached into her evening bag to offer him a tissue. “I hope you finished whatever you were writing.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He’d scrubbed at his cheek.

“Does my husband keep you chained here at night?”

“No, ma’am. I—”

“That’s good to know. And you find your employment here satisfactory?”

Danny had nodded, trying to think of something to say. He’d realized this was Andy’s wife because Andy kept a picture of her on his desk and spoke of her with great affection.

“Perhaps you’d like to help me cheat on my husband. If I’m not mistaken, he’s hiding out somewhere around here with
Miss Philly Cheesesteak or something like that. So here we are, you and I. Are you the kind of man who’s willing to help a lady in need?”

Danny had felt like a train was bearing down on him. No matter what he’d said, he’d be flattened, but he’d croaked, “I think you’d be way out of my league, but I’d be happy to see you home.”

She’d said nothing for a moment, then leaned close and touched his cheek. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

He hadn’t helped her cheat on Andy, though she did give him a ride back to his dorm in her limo. And she’d begun checking in on him, the first time with a box of cookies from Termini’s. Later she sent more substantive food: corned beef sandwiches and chicken soup. Then came the clothes: cashmere sweaters, a leather jacket because she’d thought he looked cold, a Burberry scarf. He’d try to refuse; she wouldn’t hear of it.

“My son won’t let me be a good mother,” she’d said once. “Indulge me.”

He’d always thought Michael would resent him, but Michael had been philosophic. He’d knocked back a double shot of tequila and said, “They didn’t like the son they got, so they got themselves a new one. You should change your name to Jacob. What the hell, it gets them off my back. Just wait ’til Mother Wonderful is telling you how to live your life.”

Linda had never told him how to live his life, though she’d stood by him through enough disasters. But something had been wrong with Linda last night. Linda and Andy. Something had been wrong since Michael died. It was like Michael’s death opened the door to some alternate universe where everything looked the same but wasn’t.

How could Beth and Conor’s crash have been anything but an accident? Danny tried to remember the accident report. Beth had lost control of the Jeep. Black ice, the state troopers had said.

Not all accidents are accidents
.

That voice came back to him, low and hoarse and evil. And along with it came the senator.

This was quite deliberate, wasn’t it?

So many accidents. Beth and Conor. Michael. Teddy Powell. Too many. It didn’t make sense. Maybe nothing made sense anymore.

And why did Andy have to talk to him about Beth? Why did he even care about her? Danny’s head sunk toward his chest. It felt so heavy. Too heavy to hold up. If he could just sleep for an hour or two more, he’d be able to function. The hangover didn’t help.

Something he needed to remember. It seemed important, but his mind was too unfocused. Where had he seen those eyes?

*

“Hey.”

A hand brushed down Danny’s cheek to linger on his neck. He opened his eyes. Kate leaned over him, rested her hands on his shoulders. Her hair hung in a damp tangle, and she still wore the terry cloth robe. She smelled of lavender and vanilla.

“You look like hell,” she said.

“You look beautiful.”

She bowed her head, but not before he saw tears fill her eyes.

“What’s the matter, Kate?”

“I had a bad dream.”

He drew her into his lap and tried to ignore the way the robe slipped off her shoulder, the way she fit against him. He put his face against her hair.

“Don’t say anything.” She inched closer until their mouths almost touched. “I want you to make the ghosts disappear for me, Danny. And I can do that for you. We can do that much, can’t we?”

He wanted to tell her that ghosts never went away, that you could never close the door to them and keep it closed. Even soft spirits like Conor haunted you forever. Instead, he let his fingers slide under the fabric of her robe.

“We can try, Kate.” He heard the lie in his voice and hoped she didn’t. “We can try.”

N
ovell felt like an old shoe—worn out and broken down. He trudged through the elegant lobby of the Four Seasons and punched the elevator button.

He’d already started the day with a fight over his lack of regard for proper police procedure. The captain didn’t appreciate the shark sense that had made him tail Ryan. The Philly PD brass didn’t find his impersonation of an FBI agent amusing either, though Novell knew he did a damn good job of it.

Everything was fucked up.

Linda Cohen remained in intensive care, and Novell suspected Ryan was next on the hit list.

No doubt Ryan would still want to keep digging, and Novell wanted him in protective custody today. The trick was to get Ryan to agree. The brother would help. Novell was sure of that, if he could get them together. But it was not a promising way to start Sunday morning.

His phone vibrated. The Philly PD. Again. Novell slid it back into his pocket. He’d deal with them later.

He reached the door and gave a quick knock. No answer. Fuck ’em. It was almost eleven. They need to get moving.

Novell slid the plastic key down the slot and opened Ryan’s room door. A white robe and a trail of clothes led to the bedroom, but it was quiet. Thank Christ. At least he wasn’t walking in on a show.

Novell opened the minibar, pulled out a bottle of water, and strolled through the sitting area to peer through the doorway. Kate would pick him, of course. He was young. Good looking. He had something to offer.

Stupid old jackass
. Novell’s fist tightened on the water bottle.

Kate lay with her head on Ryan’s chest, the picture of innocence, but he knew better. Kate’s heart had turned to stone long ago. He stalked over to the side of the bed, opened the bottle of water, and poured it on them, just like a fountain.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Ryan leaped up when the cold water hit him. Kate shrieked. Ryan wiped his face with the back of his arm. “You goddamn prick, Novell.”

“Wakey wakey.” Novell noted the old scars that crisscrossed Ryan’s forearms. Defensive wounds.

Ryan pushed Kate behind him. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m the man who’s telling you to get up.”

Novell assessed the anger burning like blue flame in Ryan’s eyes. Damned if there wasn’t something of his old man in him after all. Ryan’s hands balled into fists, and he tensed like he was looking for his best shot. He’d be mean in a fight. Novell sensed it, and he took a step back. Could it be the wife had reason to be afraid? Or did Ryan have that temper under ironclad control? Novell watched the control assert itself. Interesting. Ryan’s hands relaxed, but his face drew tight, ashen. The effort cost him.

“You aren’t paying for this room, Novell.” Ryan’s voice was soft now but threaded with fury.

“Neither are you.” Novell tried to make his tone conciliatory. “Look, it’s eleven o’clock. Check out is eleven thirty. Get up and get dressed.”

That half smile curved Ryan’s mouth, though no humor lit his eyes. He glanced at Kate and then back at Novell. “Did you plan to stand here and watch? It doesn’t matter to me, but I don’t think the lady wants an audience.”

Novell’s face heated up. “We’ll talk on the way,” he said and shuffled to the door.

T
he morning seemed surreal, like maybe he’d taken too many drugs and was caught in a dream, though Danny was pretty sure he now stood in front of the Four Seasons turning into a human Popsicle.

“What’s going on, Detective?”

Novell ignored him. Danny asked for his ticket for the Mercedes, but Novell shook his head. “We’ll take my car,” he said. “I’m just around the corner.”

Kate folded her arms against her chest, and Danny put his arm around her shoulders. He could feel her shaking and wished she’d say something, but she stood rigid and unyielding. She hadn’t spoken since Novell had appeared.

Novell nodded toward the Crown Vic illegally parked at the corner. “Your car isn’t there. I had it towed last night.”

“What do you mean you had it towed?” Danny stared at Novell. Who did this asshole think he was?

“Right after I saw someone fucked with your wheels.”

*

They rode in silence. Novell kept the front window half-open and cold air blasted through the car.

Andy Williams sang “The Most Wonderful Time of the Year” on the radio, and Danny wondered whether someone really messed with his wheels or Novell was jerking his chain. He wished Kate would look at him.

“Your boss wants to know where we’re hiding you,” Novell said to Kate. They parked in front of her apartment. Danny tried to take her hand, but she pulled away. She stared at the floor.

“Make up a story. Tell him the police had you looking through mug books all night, do you understand? You don’t tell him where you were.” She didn’t answer. “Kate?”

“I got it.”

“Get moving then.” When Danny started to get out with her, Novell caught his arm and jerked him back. “Not you.”

“Fuck you, Novell.”

“Christ almighty!” Novell pinned him against the seat. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m fine. What’s your problem?”

“You’re a goddamn idiot. Didn’t it occur to you that someone might be watching you? And if they are, the minute you get out of the car, you put Kate in danger?” Novell glared at Danny.

“Jesus.” The sick realization churned through his stomach. If someone was watching—he knew damn well someone was watching. “How could you just leave her like that?”

“Kate can look after herself. It’s you I’m worried about.” Novell pulled away from the curb and headed up Walnut. They hung a right on Twenty-Second Street and waited at the light on Chestnut. Flakes of powdery snow drifted down from the leaden sky and blew across the windshield.

“Look, Ryan, the people who killed Michael Cohen want you dead.”

Danny closed his eyes. There was nothing like stating the obvious, or maybe Novell thought he found hearts and bodies regularly. “I’ve gotten death threats before.”

“These aren’t threats, pal. If you drove home last night, you’d have ended up like your wife and kid.”

“That’s my problem.”

“No, it’s mine, so I guess there’s only one thing to do.”

“And that is?”

“Protective custody.”

“No way.”

“The way I see it, you don’t have a choice.”

Novell was starting to sound like Kevin with his I’m-a-cop-and-I-know-best attitude. If he didn’t take it from Kevin, Danny sure as shit wasn’t going to take it from Novell. As for protective custody . . .

The light turned green, and Novell inched toward the intersection. Danny grabbed the door handle, jerked it up, and hurled himself out of the car.

D
anny heard Novell curse, but he kept moving. When he rocketed out of the car, his palm hit the pavement, and his knee slammed against the curb. A shot of agony tore through his body, but he ducked behind a taxi and took off down Twenty-Second Street.

He cut through an alley and ran with a shuffling limp until he reached Walnut Street. Despite the icy wind, sweat ran down his back. At least there would be stores here. He ducked inside some kind of unisex shop to buy a coat, gloves, jeans, and a sweater.

Where to go? Not Kate’s. Novell would look there first. Not home. He lingered in the doorway and searched the street for the black Crown Vic. Snow fell thicker and faster. It already coated the pavement. A police cruiser drove past, and Danny pulled back. His heart started to race.

He wasn’t a criminal. Novell couldn’t put out an APB on him, and he couldn’t force him into protective custody. Could he? Danny had a feeling Novell could do whatever the hell he wanted.

Danny pushed out the door into the street. He could call Kevin, but he didn’t want Kevin to give him a ration of shit. He wanted more substantial shoes but didn’t see any place where he could grab a simple pair of snow boots. He settled for sneakers.

He trudged toward Broad Street, his head bowed against the wind and snow. Pausing on the corner of Fifteenth, Danny stared up at the traffic light that swayed in the wind. The answer came to him, and he prayed the Broad Street subway was still running.