David Jackson - Pariah

She adds, ‘He’s driving up later, but he won’t get in till after ten. Believe it or not, he’s actually taking a day’s leave tomorrow. I think he really needs it. He’s looking pretty tired lately.’

She escorts him into a spacious living room. Its centerpiece is a colossal stone fireplace. A log fire crackles and pops and throws out its cozy glow. She gestures for him to take a seat in one of two massive armchairs angled toward the fire, a lace-covered oak coffee table between them. As Doyle sits, she gets onto the other chair and curls her bare legs beneath her. Dwarfed by the chair, and with the sleeves of an oversized woolen sweater hiding her hands, she looks like a child waiting to be read a bedtime story.

‘So,’ she says, ‘how did you know I was up here?’

‘I didn’t. I went to your Manhattan apartment first. Your neighbor said you’d traveled up here.’

‘You should have phoned me. I could have told you where we were. Saved you all the trouble.’

He doesn’t answer. He looks around at the antique furniture, the sepia photographs on the walls. ‘Last time I was up here, it was summer. The barbecue, remember?’

She laughs girlishly. ‘I do. You pushed Schneider into the swimming pool and then claimed it was an accident.’

Doyle shrugs. ‘I’d had too much to drink. Joe Parlatti and Tony Alvarez were up here too. Remember that?’

Her smile fades in an instant. ‘Listen, Cal. It’s always a pleasure to see you — don’t get me wrong, I think we’ve become real good friends, but. . should you be here? I mean. .’

‘It’s okay, Nadine. I wasn’t followed. Nobody knows I’m here. You’re safe.’

He remembers giving a similar guarantee to Spinner, and look how that turned out.

‘I’m sorry, Cal. I didn’t mean to sound rude. It’s just that. .’

‘Yeah, I know. A lot’s been happening. You’ve every right to be concerned. I just. . needed to see you.’

She glances at the mahogany-cased clock on the mantle. ‘Well, like I say, I think it could be some time before Mo gets here. .’

‘Actually, Nadine, I think maybe I need to talk with you first.’

She stares at him with those ice-blue eyes of hers. Christmas is all wrapped up in those eyes.

‘You must be freezing,’ she says finally. ‘Let me get you something. I make a mean hot chocolate. Marshmallows and everything.’

She starts to get up, but Doyle stops her with a raised hand.

‘No, please. Not for me. Can we just talk for a while?’

She sinks slowly back into the cushions. ‘Now you’ve got me worried. What’s going on, Cal?’

Doyle tries to find the words. He’s been trying to assemble them all the way up the Parkway.

‘I’ve been through a lot these past few days. I’m tired. Maybe I got this all wrong, but some things are bugging me.’

‘What kind of things?’

‘This guy. The one who’s been following me around, picking off my partners and my friends, threatening to hurt my family, doing everything he can to cut me off from people because of some crazy idea he has that I wronged him in the past. .’

‘What about him? Have they caught him? Do they know who he is?’

‘No. See, that’s the problem. They haven’t caught him. They haven’t got a name for him. They can’t find a shred of evidence that pins anything on any of the people I’ve collared or had beefs with in the past. For a while now, I’ve been thinking that the job doesn’t really care about me. The shit I’m carrying around, there are some cops who don’t care if I live or die. The longer I’m off the squad the better, far as they’re concerned.’

‘Cal, that’s nonsense. Sure, there are a couple of cops who won’t be sending you Christmas cards this year, but they’re not all like that. I know. I’ve talked to them. Mo’s talked to them too.’

Doyle nods. ‘Yeah, I’m beginning to believe that. I’m beginning to believe that they really are doing their damnedest to catch this guy, or at least work out who might hold such a grudge against me. Me too. I’ve been going through lists of perps in my mind over and over again. The most likely suspects are either dead or locked up or have ironclad alibis. The rest. . well, to be honest, I just don’t see it. I don’t want to sound like I got no modesty or anything, but I just can’t see any of these people hating me enough to do this.’

‘Yeah, but Cal, you’re forgetting how people can change. The guy you locked up ten years ago is probably not the same guy today. He’s had time to brood. Maybe things happened to him in prison that he blames on you. And then there’re the lunatics. The people who see you through their crazy eyes as someone who was responsible for a lot more than you did. They could blame you for 9/11 — who knows with these people? Or maybe it’s a relative of a perp you put away — someone who sees himself as a victim of yours even though you’ve never met him. There are a lot of possibilities, Cal. Maybe you just need to give it more time.’

‘Yeah. Mo said similar things to me.’

‘And he’s right.’

‘Yeah, maybe,’ Doyle says, but the doubt is evident in his voice.

‘You don’t buy it, do you? So what’s the alternative?’

Doyle looks at her. Her logic seems so impeccable, it almost seems ridiculous to suggest anything else.

‘The alternative is, the reason nobody can identify this guy, me included, is that. . is that he doesn’t exist.’

He watches her face for the reaction. She looks as though she hasn’t heard him. As if she’s still waiting for him to say something. Or at least something intelligible. Finally, she blinks several times as if coming out of a hypnotic trance.

‘Cal, what are you talking about?’

He has to look away from her, so as not to let her expression of incredulity prevent him from voicing his train of thought.

‘I met a guy last night. He knew the name of the person doing this to me, but he was killed before he could tell me. The very last thing he told me was that I could stop digging into my past. At the time, I thought he meant there was no need to keep looking through the files because I was about to discover the name. But now I think what he was telling me was that I was looking in the wrong place. That it had nothing to do with my past. That maybe it didn’t even have anything to do with me .’

There’s a silence, and he has to slide his eyes to her again to try to discern her thoughts. He decides that she still assumes he’s gone ga-ga.

‘Cal, I seriously think you need to get some rest. How can one ambiguous statement from a guy who’s now dead make you start to think that none of this is real? Look at what’s happened. To

your partners, to your wife, to your friend Spinner, to this guy you were speaking to last night. That’s not imaginary, Cal. Horrible though it all is, you have to start accepting that you’re the common factor in this or you’ll lose your mind.’

‘Yeah, I admit that’s how it looks. .’

‘That’s how it looks ?’

‘. . but when you break it down I’m not so sure. The guy last night was killed to shut him up. Spinner was also killed because he knew too much, not because he was close to me. Rachel wasn’t even hurt; I was just tricked into thinking she was. Take all of them out of the equation, and that just leaves Joe and Tony.’

‘Aren’t they enough? And anyway, it’s not true. What about the two hookers who died, and that pimp?’

‘Cavell. Yeah, I been thinking about them too. You know what the funny thing is? All along, people kept asking me, “You got the cop killer yet? You got the guy who whacked your partners?” It would get me so pissed off, I would say to them, “Don’t forget the hookers and the pimp; they died too, you know. They were human. They mattered.” And you know what? I was wrong and they were right. To most people, the killer included, they didn’t matter. They didn’t count. Their only use was as bait to set traps. The problem was, I couldn’t see that I was wrong. I kidded myself that I was on some kind of moral high ground. Hell, I never even bothered to find out that second hooker’s name, that’s how much I cared about her.’