Greg Iles - Sleep No More

“Not exactly.”

He motioned her to the oxblood chair across from his desk. She folded her skirt over her knees and sat primly on the edge of the seat. Looking at her shapely calves, Waters knew his partner would not have been able to resist at least trying with her. But Sybil was no schoolgirl. She was twenty-eight and divorced, and Waters had seen her angry enough times to know she could handle herself.

“It’s actually a personal matter,” he said. “Do you mind if I ask you a few personal questions?”

Her cheeks pinked, but she shook her head.

“I’m worried about Cole,” he said, and waited for a reaction.

“I am too,” she said.

“May I ask why?”

“I think he’s in trouble. Bad trouble.”

“Do you have any idea what kind?”

“Money trouble.” Sybil looked suddenly self-conscious, or perhaps she was just being cautious. She might think her job was at stake. She was paid much better than most assistants in town, mostly for her discretion in business matters.

“What makes you say that?”

“I spend half my time telling his creditors he’s working lawsuits in Memphis or New Orleans.”

This shocked Waters. “I’m sorry, Sybil. I didn’t know you were having to cover for him to that extent.”

She shrugged. “I figured it went with the job.”

“It doesn’t. Though I’m sure Cole appreciates it.”

She closed up then, with a hard tightening of the skin around her lips and eyes.

“I didn’t mean to suggest-”

“I know,” she cut in. “But that’s what this is about, isn’t it? You want to know if I’m sleeping with him.”

Waters started to deny it, then gave up. “Sybil, if you’re having a relationship with Cole, it’s unprofessional and dangerous for the company. But you’re both adults, and that kind of danger is the least of our problems right now.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

She nodded, and something seemed to come loose inside her. “I’m really scared, John. I think he owes some Vegas loan sharks. I’m from South Louisiana, and I know what they do to you when you don’t pay your debts.”

“I can tell you really care about him. I care about him too. May I just ask you what I need to?”

“Go ahead.”

“Are you having sex with him?”

She averted her eyes for a moment. “Not now,” she said finally. “But I was. Until about a month ago.”

Until just before I saw Eve at the soccer field, Waters thought. “What ended it?”

“I’m not really sure. I think it may be the trouble he’s in. I don’t think he’s sleeping with anyone else.”

Penn’s theory came back to him like a knife in the belly. “Let’s change the subject for a second. Has my wife called up here for Cole lately? Or in the past few months? Or has he called her?”

Sybil looked as if something had suddenly occurred to her. “Do you think he’s having an affair with Mrs. Waters?”

“No, no. This has to do with money.”

“Oh.” She sniffed, then looked at the ceiling as she thought back. “No, I don’t think so. Wait-your wife did call for him once or twice in the past month. I just didn’t think anything of it at the time.”

“How many times did they talk, do you think?”

“Three, maybe? Four at the most.”

“Do you know what they talked about? Did you ever listen in?”

“No!”

“Did they have any other contact that you know of?”

“No.”

Waters made a mental note to request Lily’s cell phone records. “Sybil, what do you think about Cole?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Your bottom-line opinion, as a woman. Is he a good guy? A bad guy? What?”

She sighed and looked at the floor. Clearly she had spent a good deal of time pondering this question. “I’m really mad at him right now. Sometimes I think I hate him. But deep down, I think he’s a good man. I wouldn’t have slept with him if I didn’t think that. Will he ever leave his wife for me? I doubt it. But he has a good heart.”

Until this week, Waters would have agreed with her assessment. “Do you think he’d ever betray me, Sybil?”

“How? Like, do I think he’d sleep with your wife?”

“No. I mean over money. To save himself.”

“Never. He might sleep with your wife. Sex is an exception to every rule. But hurt you to save himself? No way. You have no idea how much your good opinion means to him. You’re sort of like a father to Cole, even though you’re the same age. He says you always do the right thing, and he never does. And he’s pretty close to right.”

“I don’t always do the right thing.”

“Well, nobody does, do they? But I’ve known a lot of men, and I’ve never known one like you. Your wife is really lucky. I hope she knows that.”

Waters could see how Cole could fall for this woman. The sincerity in her eyes made you want to please her, to make her feel all the happiness she could.

“Cole hasn’t come back in, has he?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t think he will today.”

“Okay. Look, I appreciate your being so forthcoming. Why don’t you go home? There’s nothing going on. Take a long nap, and then get yourself a good dinner tonight. Go to the Castle, and bring me the receipt.”

Sybil gave him an ironic smile. “Wendy’s tonight. I’m too bummed out for anything else.”

He laughed with her, then motioned for her to go. “Don’t worry, Sybil. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to Cole.”

She paused by the door and nodded gravely. “I just hope it’s not too late.”

“I do too,” he said softly, after she’d gone out.

At 1:50 P.M., Waters stood on top of Jewish Hill, looking out over the Mississippi River. After Sybil left, he’d called St. Stephens to verify that Annelise was in class. Then he’d shut down the office and driven straight to the cemetery. He needed time to think before he faced Lily again, and this was the place that drew him. He hadn’t much time. Ana would be dismissed from school at 2:30, and he wanted to be there to pick her up. He didn’t want her alone with Lily until he knew exactly what was going on.

As he watched a large sailing vessel make its way beneath the twin bridges over the river, a funeral cortege pulled up to the first gate of the cemetery and turned into its new section. The new section looked like any cemetery in any town in America. The gravestones were low and the ground flat, and there were few trees to break up the view. Waters was glad he’d managed to purchase a family plot in one of the older sections, shaded by oak trees and bordered by walls and wrought iron. It probably didn’t matter to the dead where they came to rest, but for those left behind, atmosphere made a difference. He’d spent enough time at his father’s grave to know that.

About five hundred yards from Jewish Hill, a green burial tent faded by the sun awaited the funeral procession. He hadn’t noticed it when he drove up. The tent kept the sun or rain from the open grave, the coffin, and the immediate family and close relations. The cars in the procession parked bumper-to-bumper in a long line, thirty or forty of them blocking the narrow lane. The headlights were extinguished, and then dark-suited mourners emerged from the vehicles and gathered in a somber circle around the tent. Waters had been to a hundred burials exactly like this one: the same tent, the same hearse, virtually the same crowd. That was how it was in small towns.

As he watched, a late arrival turned in through the wrong gate and began looking for a lane that would lead to the burial service. A sign on the car’s door read, SUMNER SELECT PROPERTIES. It took a moment for the significance of this to register, but as the latecomer turned and drove toward the green tent, Waters’s face felt cold.