Richard Patterson - The Lasko Tangent

Mary was wearing white slacks, a green blouse, and a real smile. “I’m taking a chance-seeing you. You’re nicer on the telephone.”

“I know. It’s terminal smart-ass. Someday I’ll probably die from it.”

She looked amused. “I wouldn’t doubt it. Anyhow, dinner’s a good enough apology. I was a little officious myself.”

“Then let’s call it even and start over.”

We got in the car and headed for the deck at the Washington again. The city had few outdoor bars, and the night was cooled by a pleasant breeze. We ordered the same two gin and tonics and looked out at the city.

Mary smiled. “Here we are again,” she said, picking up her drink. But she was leaning back easily in the wicker chair. Her body had declared amnesty. She looked across at me. “You’re rather quiet tonight. Is this what happens when you run out of smart things to say?”

I grinned. “I spend my life concealing that I’m duller than hell. You’re sharp to catch it so soon.”

She gave me a glancing smile. “The commission seems to be filled with people who don’t know anything more about you than what they see.”

Her voice had a dash of challenge. I seemed to spend a lot of time explaining to women why I didn’t talk about the things that they thought were important. I didn’t enjoy it. So I threw back the ball. “Have you been checking up on me?” I tried to register genteel shock at the notion.

“A little. Between college and law school you were a reporter for two years, supposedly a good one. Why did you quit?”

“It was just a holding action. Anyhow, I did crime stuff-started out with muggings and ended up with murders. Pretty soon everyone I met was a corpse. I began to feel like a pathologist, and I wasn’t doing anyone any good.”

“Is that why you’re such a cynic?”

“Look around you,” I shrugged. “So what else did you learn?”

“That a lot of people think you’re the best lawyer McGuire has. That you’ve put some people in jail, though not enough to suit you. And that you go your own way. Nobody seems to know a lot about you-personally, that is.”

I had been listening to her talk. Her voice had a buried Mediterranean intensity, as if she had once lived with people who talked with feeling and then had trained her voice into upper-class politeness. The thought was interesting. So was she.

“What was your husband like?” I asked.

“Frank?”

“Your husband’s name was Frank?”

She sipped again, nodding with her drink. She looked up to see my eyes. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry, Mary. I have this thing about names. I can’t see you married to someone named Frank.”

She gave a small smile. “It looks as if I couldn’t either.”

“What happened?”

She pulled the black hair from her face, then tossed it around her shoulders. “Don’t subjects like this just get us into trouble?”

I grinned. “We’ve been in trouble from the time you forgot my name.”

“You’re an arrogant bastard, aren’t you?” The flat voice was matter of fact, as if she were committed to finding out.

“A little. Sometimes a lot.” I tried to head her off. “But I’m not my own favorite subject.”

“Why not?”

How many reasons would you like, I thought. “Because self-analysis is a bore. Because most of what people tell you about themselves is bullshit, intentionally or otherwise. And because if someone really interests you, you’ll learn about them yourself.” I softened my voice. “So what was Frank like?”

Her forehead furrowed as if she were organizing a summary. “Frank was a good Catholic boy. We were classmates in law school. He was very smart and very serious. I thought we would do well together. But when we got married, he reverted to type. I was going to stay home and have children.” Her tone turned dry around the edges. “He told me that I could ‘use my education in the home.’ I guess he thought that I was going to sit around with beet stains on my blouse and pablum in my hair, lecturing infants on Constitutional law. I told him that idea had gone out with hula hoops. And that’s where it started.”

“I take it you never got around to mothering Frank, Jr.?”

She shook her head. “I never even got around to mothering Frank.”

“Where did it finish?”

“When we started to hassle, everything else seemed to go bad. I couldn’t talk to him about my career, so I stopped talking to him about a lot of things. I developed a very rich interior life,” her voice was ironic, “which didn’t include Frank. And every time he wanted me, I could hear imaginary children scampering under the bed.” She paused. “You know that you’re a sort of voyeur, only the listening kind. Is that why you like your job?”

“Who said I like my job?”

“You did. By hassling with me about it.”

We ordered a second round and looked out at the fading light. I turned back to Mary. “Let’s put it this way. I like some parts of my job.”

She shot me an amused look. “You and McGuire seem to have a nice relationship.”

“Yes, it’s very warm. He thinks of me as the son he never had.” I saw my chance. “Which reminds me. I was talking to Joe this afternoon about sending out a subpoena for Lasko Devices’ financial records. I thought it should be cleared by Chairman Woods first.” More like revived. I didn’t bother to mention that McGuire would sooner have me keelhauled than send the subpoena.

“Why don’t you talk with him about it tomorrow?”

It was a subject I’d hoped to avoid. “I can’t. I’ll be in Boston tomorrow.”

“On this case?”

I tried to throw my brain into overdrive. “Yes, I’m meeting a lawyer there tomorrow who says he has information about the case. A man named Gubner.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice suddenly cooled.

“I just did. Gubner only called today. I don’t know what he knows, but I’ll tell you when I do.” Maybe.

“Where are you going to meet him?”

“Our Boston office seems like the logical place.” I decided to keep the conversation moving. “I’m really a little mystified by the whole thing.”

“Why do you want to subpoena Lasko’s books?”

“It’s a hunch, really. I think we should clear up all these areas at once and move on, if there’s nothing there.”

She nodded. “I’ll talk to Jack Woods in the morning.”

We finished the drinks and left for dinner. On the way to the car, I felt a light touch on my elbow-Mary’s fingertips. She turned to me as we got into the car.

“You’ve asked me about Frank. Were you ever married?”

“No.” It was true, as far as it went.

“Ever close?”

“I suppose everyone’s been close.”

“Do you conceal your height and weight, too?”

I smiled. “I should just send you my resume. Actually, the Army told me that I’m about six feet, one-seventy.” I pulled the car out onto Pennsylvania.

“You were in the Army?” She sounded surprised.

“Yeah. I was an infantry lieutenant. I had a low lottery number and had to hop into ROTC in law school to beat the draft. Fortunately, when I got out I was a trained killer with no one to kill. So they kept me at Fort Benning three months and let me go.”

“What was it like?”

“I’ve repressed most of it. My only clear memory is of one poor bastard dying of heatstroke in the chow line at noon, waiting for some stew that looked like strained dog-shit. I always wanted to see the letter they sent his parents.”

“Are you serious?”

“About the heatstroke? Absolutely.”

“I’ve never been able to cope with death.” Her voice had an odd, cold tenor, as if she coped by not thinking about it.