Russell Andrews - Hades

"Have you called Billy?" he asked. Billy DiPezio was the chief of the Providence police force. He'd been Justin's rabbi when Justin was a young cop. Billy was, in fact, the reason Justin became a cop. He'd watched Billy in action-a friend of Justin's had been murdered and he saw Billy hunt down the killer, refuse to give up until he'd brought the man to justice. It had been amazing to watch-someone who did exactly what he set out to do, who let nothing interfere with his ultimate goal. As Justin got to know him better over the years, he discovered that Billy DiPezio never let anything interfere with his goals. The complications came because Chief DiPezio's goals were often a tad hazy. "Hazy" being the nicest possible interpretation. Justin always described his mentor as either the most honest crook in the world or the most crooked honest man there was. Billy was a great cop. He just didn't see any reason why, whenever he did a good job, he shouldn't get something out of it, too. Which he almost always did.

"No," Jonathan Westwood said into the phone. "You're the first person I've called."

"Here's what I can do. Billy would laugh if you called him about this. But he won't laugh at me. Well, he wouldn't laugh at you either, come to think of it-you're too rich. But he wouldn't do anything after he hung up on you. I'll get him to do something."

"What?"

"Whatever he can. Talk to Vicky for one thing."

"I don't think Victoria will have anything to say."

"Well, it's going to be very difficult to find out anything if the only person who thinks there's something wrong won't talk about it."

Another moment of silence. Jonathan was not used to being chastised. But Justin's words had their desired effect. "I understand," Jonathan said. "I'll tell her to talk to Billy. Thank you."

"Dad," Justin said. And before his father could say a word, he finished with, "I'm glad you called me. I know it wasn't easy. I know what you think of what I do."

"I hate what you do."

"Yes, I know."

"But you're very good at it, aren't you?"

"Depends who you talk to," Justin said.

Father and son hung up the phone at almost precisely the same moment. Justin held the cordless receiver in his hand. He thought about the relationship he had with his father, the years they hadn't spoken to each other, the pain they'd caused each other, the pleasures they'd each received from their rapprochement. He thought about his mother, how thrilled she'd been when he showed up on their Providence doorstep three years ago, Deena and her young daughter in tow. He thought about how helpful his father had been the year before, when Justin had been in the midst of searching for the solution to the mystery of Midas. He thought about how strange families were, how tenuous their ties, how mutually destructive and supportive. Mostly Justin thought about Victoria LaSalle. His wife's younger sister. He closed his eyes and pictured the expression on Vicky's face at Alicia's funeral. He saw the look of scorn that burned in his direction. A look that, over the course of the service, turned to cold fury and then to deep hatred. It was a look that made it very clear the younger sister blamed Justin for the death of the older sister. Blamed him and would never forgive him.

Justin understood the look very well.

It was the same look he saw on his own face when he looked in the mirror.

He'd spent years running away from that look. He knew he would never truly forgive himself. But he'd learned to live with the guilt and the loneliness. To compartmentalize it so it no longer took up the biggest share of his emotions and his life.

He wanted to help Victoria. After all these years, he wanted to change the expression in her eyes and on her lips.

But Justin knew he couldn't help her. At least not right now.

He had a job to do first.

So he put the phone back in its base and prepared a pot of coffee. Then he went upstairs to wake up the woman in his bed, gently kiss her good morning, and begin to make his plans to find out who had murdered her husband.

Larry Silverbush, Mayor Leona Krill, Justin, and Abigail Harmon met in Justin's office at the East End Harbor police station. Silverbush went to the chair behind Justin's desk as if it were his own and waved at the others to sit down. Justin decided to let the slight go unmentioned. He also decided not to bring up the subject of the DA's comb-over. When it came to hairstyles, Justin had not seen too many even remotely in the same league. It looked as if Silverbush had been walking down the street and a dead squirrel had been dropped from a twelfth-floor window onto his head.

As oblivious as he was to Justin's displacement, that's how solicitous the DA was of Abby. He was a politician after all. And dead husband or no dead husband, she was still an important member of a rich political family, so she was going to see law enforcement at its absolute best. Or, at the very least, at its absolute politest. Silverbush began by thanking her for coming in and offering his condolences, which she accepted passively but graciously.

"I spoke to your father-in-law a little while ago," he said, after her quiet murmuring of thanks.

"I spoke to him this morning, too," Abby told him.

She had. She hadn't wanted to but Justin insisted. She did her best to explain that Herbert Harmon would not want to hear from her, had never in his life wanted to hear from her, but Justin said very quietly that Herbert Harmon had also never lost a son before. He said that it was her responsibility to call him. She was as close to a child as he had left. So she called, reached him at his apartment in the city. She spoke to him from Justin's bedroom while he remained downstairs to give her some privacy. When she came down the steps, she was crying. Justin had never seen Abby cry before. He'd seen her angry and peaceful and bitchy and happy, but he'd never seen anyone come close to wounding her the way H. R. Harmon had in a five-minute phone call.

"He's very concerned about you," Silverbush said. "I assured him we'd do everything we could to help you get through this… situation. And I assured him, as I will now assure you, we will find the person who did this to your husband. You have my word on that."

"Did my father-in-law tell you that he already knows who's responsible for my husband's murder?" Abby asked.

This threw Silverbush. Justin tucked away in his mind the fact that this man didn't have much of a poker face. The best the DA could come up with in response to Abby's information was, "Um… no, he… um… didn't say anything like that."

"I'm surprised. He's convinced I did it."

"I'm sure you're incorrect about that, Mrs. Harmon."

"That's what he told me this morning."

Silverbush was definitely rattled, although he now did his best to hide it. A little late for the poker face, but at least he recovered for the betting round. "I assure you," he said, "the senator never mentioned anything remotely like that."

"It's funny. Everyone calls him that-the senator. But my esteemed father-in-law only ran for the Senate. He never actually won, so it's not really the proper reference. Well, maybe it's not really so funny. More pathetic."

This seemed to push the DA into a deeper state of confusion. The newly widowed Mrs. Harmon was being neither difficult nor cooperative. Those were the only two types of behavior that Silverbush knew exactly how to deal with. So, not on firm footing, he fell back on what he knew best: legal officiousness.

"There was no discussion at all about your involvement." Silverbush spoke as if he were talking about a parking ticket.

"My father-in-law blames me for almost everything bad that has ever happened to the Harmon family," Abby said. "And this morning, he made it very clear that this was no exception."