J. Bertrand - Nothing to Hide

Cavallo’s husband may be a bit of a blowhard, but I figure he’s earned the right. And it’s not like he doesn’t have a point.

“Don’t get me started on conspiracy theorists,” I say.

Dean perks up. “Oh yeah?”

“I’ve got this cousin who thinks her brother was murdered by Dean Corll-you remember him? He was a serial killer here in the Heights back when we were kids. The Candy Man, they called him. Anyway, she devoted a website to all this, convinced all these other fruit loops that she was right-”

Charlotte brings out a bowl of tossed salad from the kitchen, her sundress fluttering in the breeze. “Who are you talking about?”

“Nothing, dear.” I smile ironically and Dean starts to laugh.

“Don’t talk bad about people behind their backs.” With a wink she rejoins the women inside. A moment later, they all emerge, their arms laden with plates, glasses, pitchers-Cavallo in white shorts and oversized sunglasses, Gina Robb pink-skinned and waddling, looking ready to pop, but still as radiant as she was in front of the camera.

Carter rises to make room around the patio table, probably relieved for the deliverance.

Over lunch, Dean fades a little, not having much to contribute to a discussion of baby names and due dates. The Robbs have settled into their new place, but they’ve had to suspend their planned repainting because the fumes are giving Gina headaches. She lights up as she describes the nursery’s two perfect marigold walls and the two untouched sides that still sport the hideous original flocked velvet wallpaper, dating back to before either one of them was born. “When I’m at the hospital in labor,” she says, “I told Carter he has to run home and finish painting the room.”

Cavallo gives Dean a few meaningful looks during the baby talk, which he either doesn’t pick up on or chooses to ignore. According to Charlotte, Theresa’s gone a little baby crazy: “She’s tired of snoozing the biological alarm clock.” A hard image for me to square with her flinty work persona. It would be strange if she rode Wanda’s coattails into Homicide only to take a time-out for maternity leave.

“So how are you settling in at the new job?” I ask.

Charlotte makes a threatening motion with her steak knife. “No work at the table!”

“I’m just asking.”

“It’s fine,” Cavallo says. “They think you’re some kind of legend, the other detectives. They ask a lot of questions about. .” She pauses, glancing over at the Robbs. They actually knew Hannah Mayhew, the subject of my recent comeback case, whereas for us she was just another victim, albeit an all-important one. “About the task force,” she finishes.

Dean jumps in. “I’ll bet you’re a legend now, the way you put that shooter down. Terry told me all about that, man. That was righteous.”

Cavallo gives him an elbow. The rest of them ignore the remark.

Yet I find his approbation strangely satisfying. Dean strikes me as the type who’s a boor on principle, the kind of guy who tramples social conventions like he wouldn’t know what else to do with them, but would carry a wounded buddy out of enemy territory, humping fifty miles if he had to. When he met Cavallo, he was a cop and an Army reservist, and he’ll probably end up working on one of the city or county tactical response teams once he’s considered all the options. I like him, but I’ve never quite figured out the attraction between the two of them. I have a theory it was mainly physical, intensified by Dean’s long absences, and now that they’re together things aren’t going particularly smooth.

Trying to segue, Cavallo produces her new business cards and starts showing them off. I take one, turning it over in my hand, remembering the first time I’d seen my own name and the word HOMICIDE on the same card. I gave those cards out to everyone.

“So you’re keeping your maiden name?” Robb asks.

Next to me, Charlotte deflates. Doesn’t anyone besides her know anymore what questions are appropriate to ask? I try not to smile. Dean makes a show of turning in his chair to face his wife, like it’s a question he’s wondered himself and he can’t wait to hear the answer.

“We haven’t really talked about it,” Cavallo says, not looking at Dean. “For me, it’s sort of like how celebrities, once people know them by a certain name-”

“But it’s not like you’re famous or anything,” Dean says.

“I know that.”

“Is it maybe a feminist thing?” He grins at the dig. “Now, Charlotte, you’re a professional woman. Did you change your name when you two got married?”

Charlotte sputters, caught on the horns of a dilemma. She doesn’t want to side with Dean against Theresa, but on the other hand she’s about as traditional as they come. Her father was a conservative kingmaker in Texas politics back in the day, and as the elder daughter, Charlotte took after him, leaving her wayward sister to drift toward the other extreme.

“I did,” she finally admits, “but I can understand what Terry’s saying. Anyway, what’s in a name? The important thing is that this girl right here waited for you a long, long time, and now that she’s got you, I’ve never seen her happier.”

“And that’s the truth,” Cavallo says, raising her glass.

Satisfied, Dean puts his arm over her shoulder, squeezing her tight.

Dean and Theresa leave midafternoon with thanks and promises to do it again soon. Charlotte walks them out with Carter in tow, leaving Gina to rest in her chair. I scoot around to the one beside her, asking how she’s been.

“I was really sorry,” she says, “hearing about your partner. That must have been terrible.”

I nod without replying.

“I just kept thinking about the last time I saw you, and all that stuff I said about Roland and chivalry and Francis Drake or whoever. That was stupid of me. It’s just an abstraction for people like us-the danger, I mean-but you live it, don’t you? I’m very sorry.”

“You weren’t being stupid at all,” I say, patting her hand, which is warm to the touch and swollen. “That Roland guy really was an idiot. Besides, I thought you’d moved on from him to Dante now.”

“I finished him, too.”

“What did you think?”

“Well, this wasn’t my first time, you know. I was surprised by some of the things I never picked up on before.”

“Like what?”

“It turns out that to exit hell, you actually have to climb over the devil’s back.”

“For real?”

She nods.

“That sounds about right.”

Charlotte returns, decides the sun is too warm and takes Gina into the air-conditioned house to show her sightseeing photos from England, having just discovered that the data card from her camera will plug straight into the flat-screen television. Left to ourselves, Carter and I start cleaning up.

“What’s your take on Dean?” he asks. “One-on-one I find him kind of aggressive.”

“I guess you shouldn’t have said anything about Cavallo’s name.”

“Before that even. Did you hear some of the stuff he was saying?”

“Honestly? I think he was sizing you up. He wanted to get the pecking order out of the way, trying to get a rise out of you. Don’t you get a lot of that in your line of work?”

“A little, I guess.”

“Don’t take it personally. I’m sure Cavallo’s talked you up a lot. He was probably jealous.”

“Do they seem. . happy to you?”

I shrug. “You gotta remember, they were engaged all that time long-distance; then after the wedding he went back to Afghanistan. They’ve been together a long time, but they’ve really only been living together since he got back. It’s a different dynamic.”