Эд Горман - Stranglehold

“Body language. I make a study of it. You’re two strangers sitting side by side. Which makes me all the more curious.” She addressed her question to me. “Did you get Jim’s phone number from the Yellow Pages?”

“Men’s room wall,” Shapiro said. “You know, ‘For a good time call... ’ ” They both laughed at his joke. Then: “Look, Mr. Conrad and I really do need to talk. How about you drifting off somewhere for about ten minutes and letting us use your office?”

She pushed back from her desk and said, “Actually, there is something I need to check on. But I can’t give you more than ten minutes.”

“Perfect. I really appreciate this.”

As she came out from around her desk, the stylish cut of her skirt emphasizing the pleasing line of her long legs, she said, “Maybe in ten minutes you and Mr. Conrad can come up with a reasonable explanation for why Mr. Conrad is so interested in this case.”

She left us with another one of her unreadable smiles. She was careful to close the door tight.

Shapiro jumped up and parked himself on the edge of her desk. “We can talk here. I’ve used this room before. Priya assured me it’s not bugged.”

“And you trust her?”

“We used to date for a while. We both got divorces at the same time. But you know how those kinds of relationships go. We weren’t over our spouses. But anyway, she’s a cool lady. And yes, I trust her.” He rubbed his hands together as if savoring a hearty meal. “So what’s this got to do with Susan?”

He knew how to cut through the bullshit. “What makes you think she’s involved?”

“Dev, look, if we’re going to work together, remember one thing — I’ve been around the block more than a few times. Okay? You arrive in town yesterday, Monica Davies is murdered, and here you are getting a lawyer for this Flaherty kid. Have you even met him?”

“Once.”

“When and where?”

I described the motel scene. I didn’t mention Susan’s involvement.

“So you just happened to be cruising past this motel and you decided to pull in. And you just happened to find a room where this girl, Gwen, was crying. Two big coincidences there. Now, tell me how Susan plays into this.”

“Attorney-client privilege?”

“Just give me ten bucks.”

“In movies they only give the lawyer a dollar.”

His grin took ten years away from his face. “Fuck movies. This is real life. Movies never get anything right anyway.” Then he was serious again: “Now, where does Susan come into this?”

I told him what I knew, including the part about a witness seeing Bobby run away from Monica’s hotel room. Shapiro had a small notebook tucked into his back pocket. He dug it out and started scribbling with one of Priya’s carefully laid-out pencils.

“Wow,” he said when I finished. “None of this makes any sense yet, does it?”

“Not to me. Susan obviously knows the Flahertys somehow.”

“And yesterday morning she told you that everything is all right now?”

“That’s what she said. But I’ve learned that she can suck it up and play it real happy even when it’s all going to hell. That’s what makes her such a good candidate.”

“I want to talk to Gwen. See what she’ll tell me.”

The knock came. I yanked out my wallet. He saw a one peeking up and plucked it free. “This’ll do.” The grin again.

Detective Kapoor came back in and said, “I can take you back to where Mr. Flaherty is, if you’d like, Jim. And you don’t have to worry about him having said anything damaging. He won’t say anything at all.”

She stood aside while I walked out into the hallway. When Shapiro walked out I said, “You have my cell phone number. Call me right away when you’re finished.”

The detective’s dark eyes gleamed with amused suspicion. “Oh, yes, Mr. Conrad here is very interested in this case even though he can’t explain why exactly.”

Shapiro patted me on the back. “A good Samaritan if I’ve ever seen one.”

Her eyes rested on me briefly. Then she turned back to the lawyer and they began walking to the far end of the hall. I walked to the lobby, hoping that Gwen was back.

The married couple was gone. Gwen, appearing to be younger and frailer than ever, sat with her hands clutched tight together staring at the opposite wall. Today she wore a faded brown maternity top that looked as if she’d bought it used. She didn’t quit staring at the wall even when I sat down next to her. Her nose and eyes were a furious red. I took one of her hands and placed it in mine.

“I noticed a coffee shop about half a block from here. Why don’t I buy you something to eat?”

“I’d just throw it up.” Despite her appearance, her voice was strong, steady. “But I could use some tea.”

I hoped the autumn day soothed her as we walked. The temperature was in the high fifties and the sun made the painted colors of the trees bright as copper. She eased along with her burden: young, sweet, lost. More than once I’d wondered if my interest in her was a form of repentance for being such an absent father to my own daughter while she was growing up. The siren call of elections had kept me on the road, and not until the last few years with my daughter back East in college had I gotten to know her.

The coffee shop was small and of another era with its chrome-bottomed counter stools and its hand-painted pine booths. I noticed photos of the previous owners — faded black-and-white pictures of a deceptively simpler time.

When my Danish came I sawed off a third of it, placed the slice on a napkin, and pushed it over to her side of the booth. “Give it a try.”

“I don’t know if I can hold it down.”

“Up to you. It’s there if you get the urge.”

She sipped her tea. “This is what I need. It’s just been — we weren’t even awake when they came. The police, I mean. We were down to our last few dollars, so we were in this real dive of a motel. It was a lot worse than the one we were in yesterday even. Bobby registered under our real name. That’s how they found us.”

“Why did they come after Bobby?”

“The drawing they made.”

“A police composite?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s what they call it. It was only on TV for a short time. The night clerk at the motel recognized Bobby and called the police.” Her shoulders slumped and she was bound up in her misery. “He won’t tell me anything about it. No matter how hard I beg him. He just keeps saying that he’ll explain it to me someday. I’m having such a hard time with my pregnancy, and I’m so sick all the time that I haven’t really paid much attention.”

“Why was he at Monica Davies’s hotel room?”

She looked exasperated. “I already told you. He wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Monica Davies had a partner. Does the name Greg Larson mean anything to you?”

“Oh, yes. That’s the man who got into it with Bobby yesterday. The bloody towel you found.”

Circles within circles within circles. Larson and Bobby Flaherty.

“He really scared me. Bobby made me go for a walk when Larson came. When I got back I heard them fighting. I was afraid Bobby might be hurt, so I rushed into the room. They were wrestling. Larson looked over at me when I came in, and Bobby shoved him. Larson hit his head against the edge of the bathroom door. He started to faint, I think, but then he managed to stagger over to the desk. That was when he fell down against the chair. The back of his head bled on the desk. I was screaming for them to stop. Bobby was scared then, too. He ran into the bathroom and soaked a towel under the shower and brought it out to Larson. He made Larson sit down and see if he was all right. I could see Larson was real mad, but he was worried about his head, so he had to concentrate on that. Bobby even offered to drive him to the ER. That’s why it’s so crazy to say that Bobby killed anybody. He really freaked out when he saw that he’d hurt Larson.”