Эд Горман - Riders on the Storm

“Guess I’d need some more evidence than that. The way Anders tells it, Carmichael almost ruined the company.”

“Then there’s a guy named Teddy Byrnes.”

“Donovan’s cousin?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why would Byrnes kill his meal ticket?”

“Because he’s insane. Maybe Donovan pissed him off. You don’t piss off Teddy Byrnes.”

Then it was his turn. He was so laid back he probably didn’t need Valium for his colonoscopy. No problem, man. Just shove it right in there. I’m fine.

Everything he’d learned pointed to Will being the killer. He’d interviewed Anders (“By the way, he told me that he’d like to set you on fire and then drown you; I have to admit that the boy has a temper.”) and Anders was home from seven o’clock to six thirty this morning when he woke up. His lady friend would testify to that. “That isn’t necessarily a great alibi but nobody seems to have seen him in or around the crime scene. And believe me, with that car of his just about everybody would’ve noticed him.”

“Maybe he drove a different car.”

“Maybe. But the difference between Anders and Cullen is that people can place Cullen at the crime scene. And then there’s the matter of motive. Donovan had humiliated him.”

“Cullen went looking for him to make things right. To apologize.”

The pipe came out again. He filled it, tamped it, lighted it. Some men look so damned comfortable with themselves when they smoke their pipes. Cigarettes are for nervous, uptight people. Like me most of the time.

“And there he sits, Sam. He can’t help me and he can’t help you. And he can’t help himself. He just sits there or lies there and he’s beyond reaching.”

The pipe smoke was almost exhilarating. I wanted to run right down to the tobacco shop and buy myself one. A good one. One that would make me look serious and contemplative. People whispering behind your back, “That little bastard is a genius.”

“So you’re fixated on Will.”

“Sam, give me somebody else to be fixated on and I’ll jump right across.”

I slapped a mosquito with so much force against my cheek that I could feel pain in my forehead. A mistake. I didn’t want one of those military hospital headaches.

“Bring me what I need and Will’s a free man.”

“You don’t really believe he’s guilty, do you?”

“Now you don’t really think I’d give you an honest opinion on that, do you? I’m not very bright but I’m not dumb enough to say that to his lawyer. We go to trial and you put me on the stand and make me say that I told you I didn’t think he was guilty—”

“Then you do think he’s innocent.”

“He could be but right now I’d have to say that he looks guilty. I keep telling you to look at the evidence. You keep denying any possibility that he’s guilty. But if you could be even a bit objective—”

“I think I can be. I think I am.”

“Well, I hope for your sake you’re right. Because otherwise I’m afraid you’re wasting your time.”

And with that he stood up with his pipe and his skeptical police eye and reached out and offered me his hand.

“If you come up with something new—”

“I’ll let you know.” I almost said “Paul” but I was not going to give in to that.

I watched him walk to his car and then we exchanged a wave and I went back inside to the civilizing effects of air conditioning.

Kate was the star. You couldn’t not watch her. She was four and dressed in a blue sweatshirt with a cartoon cat on it. Presumably the cat was from a Saturday morning show sponsored by one cereal or another. She was possessed of amused blue eyes and blond hair that looked so soft it would probably disintegrate if you touched it.

Nicole was five and intensely serious. Her dark hair and dark eyes were almost perfect matches for her mother’s. Every once in a while as we ate she would fix her eyes on the wonderfully childish Kate with a disdain befitting royalty.

Maybe it was because of the green linen tablecloth and all the darker green dishes and coffee cups and cloth napkins that I had second helpings of roast beef and mashed potatoes. It had been quite a while since I’d had a family meal.

Then as the sky in the dining room windows turned into violet night, Mary announced that it was time for the girls to take their baths and get ready for bed.

I got kisses from both the girls. Kate’s was earnest and a little sloppy. Nicole’s was dry and quick

And just then I realized that in her quiet and proper way there was something like sorrow in those dark eyes of hers. And then I thought — I catch on quick — of what she’d been through with her parents these past few years. The rancor and anger. Maybe Kate wasn’t old enough yet to completely understand what was happening. Certainly she would have understood the rage of both parents. That would have been terrifying. But Nicole was old enough — and certainly bright enough — to know the implications of all the torment. Her father would never live with them again. The people who had comprised her family would never be her family again. I gave her a hug.

Kate said she wanted to show me her cat drawing but Mary said some other time. “Kate’s a genius at thinking up reasons not to take her bath.”

Then she hustled them off with Kate throwing “’Night” over her shoulder.

After Mary came back, I said, “You remember that job I had in high school washing dishes over at Romano’s Pizza?”

“You’re going to tell me that you miss washing dishes.”

“Not washing them, drying them.”

“I see. Well, I’m certainly not going to stop you.”

For the first five minutes in the kitchen we made out. My hands were all over her and she was all over me.

Then Kate called out for her and we had to give up those ferocious high school sex moments.

When she came back she said, “Kate couldn’t find her walrus.”

“That sounds bad.”

“We were at the dime store one day and she saw this cheap little stuffed walrus and begged me to buy it for her. She was two. It’s like some kind of lucky charm or something. Somehow it had fallen behind her bed. I got it for her and she gave me one of those hugs you can never forget.”

“You’re a good mother.”

“I could be a lot better, believe me.”

“Oh, right, I forgot what a terrible woman you really are.”

“You’ve always kind of idealized me, Sam. I’ve always wanted to say that to you but the right time never came around. This is the right time. You boys in high school and college always said ‘She’s the kind of girl you marry’ or something like that. I think that’s how you’ve always thought of me. I don’t literally mean marrying me but that I was the ‘good’ girl or something like that and Pamela was the bad one. But Pamela wasn’t bad; she was just confused about her real feelings. And I wasn’t all good, either. I lost my virginity when I was sixteen. I lied because I knew you’d lose respect for me if I didn’t.”

Well, there you go. She’d told me that I was the first lover she’d ever had. And that was when we were out of high school.

This was the seventies. I indulged in liquor, grass and sex. I’d lost my religious faith, I’d lost most of my faith in the political system and I knew how corrupt our system of justice was. And if I had to sit down and count up the number of lies I’d told in my life, a fair share to women I’d cared about, I would be one hundred and thirty-four before I could stand up again.

But this hurt me, what she said.

“I’m sorry I lied to you, Sam.”

“Oh, that’s all right.”

“Sam, I’m standing right here and I can see that it’s not all right. I lied and I’m sorry. And it was only once and the next time I slept with anybody it was you.”