Russell Andrews - Hades

As a result of his deference to his employer's whim, Martin did not hear the brief conversation that took place on his own cell phone. He did not hear H. R. Harmon say to the voice on the other end that he'd just left the Long Island district attorney behind. He did not hear Harmon say that the DA had identified the wounds on the body as having come from a stun gun. Nor did he hear Harmon say the words "The source is solid?" And then, "You're absolutely sure?" Glancing in the rearview mirror, the chauffeur did catch a glimpse of old man Harmon nodding his head. He did see the senator close his eyes for a moment before tapping on the glass and indicating that Martin could now open it back up. As he took his phone back, he saw the senator's eyes in the mirror. He thought he saw a deep sadness in those eyes, a sadness that was startling in its scope and strength.

Only natural, Martin thought. Only appropriate.

What could be sadder than outliving your own child?

The DA watched H. R. Harmon's limo disappear down the street, then he walked slowly over to his Lexus and got behind the wheel.

To absolutely nobody, he said, "Home, please, Roberto," and then he turned the key, listened as the ignition came on, and began to wend his way in and out of traffic on his way back to Riverhead. After twenty minutes of moving probably less than four hundred feet, Silverbush couldn't stand it anymore. He pulled his car onto the highway's shoulder and sat for a moment, staring straight ahead and sweeping his head clear of any thoughts whatsoever. The peace and quiet didn't last long-Silverbush was incapable of letting it last for very long-and when he came out of his brief reverie he reached for his briefcase and pulled out the report that the cop Justin Westwood had given him.

Larry Silverbush's reading experience lasted just slightly longer than his quick moment of nonthinking silence. Before he finished the second page of the police report, he was honking his horn furiously, maneuvering his car into the middle of the highway, driving across the grass divider so he could head in the opposite direction from which he started, and began speeding back toward East End Harbor.

Now there were no thoughts of Roberto or Matthew or any other fantasies about drivers and wealth and power. The only thought he had as he sped back was: I hope some damn fool cop decides to pull me over for speeding. Oh god, I hope someone tries because I really want to rip somebody a new one.

But no one pulled the district attorney over. No one interfered with his drive back to East End Town Hall. He didn't slow down until he reached the town limits, at which moment his cell phone rang. He eased his foot off the gas pedal, and he listened to the man on the other end of the phone. He said nothing until the man had finished, and then all he said was "Thank you, sir. Thank you very much, I can't tell you how important this is" before hanging up. And by the time he'd stormed into Leona Krill's office, he wasn't even thinking about ripping anyone a new one. He was way beyond that.

Way beyond.

Justin was on his way to midtown and the Ascension office when his cell phone rang. It was Leona Krill.

"Where are you?" she said. Her tone was brusque and formal. It was as if she was talking through clenched teeth. She wasn't really asking a question-it was more of a demand.

"I just left Rockworth and Williams. I'm on my way to Ascension."

"In the city?"

"Yes, in the city."

"Get back here immediately."

"Leona, let me just go to this meeting at Ascension, then-"

"That meeting's canceled. Get back here immediately, Jay. Be in my office in exactly three hours."

Justin hesitated. Leona rode roughshod over the brief silence.

"Did you hear me? And do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"Silverbush read my report, huh?"

"Three hours, Jay. Do you understand?"

Justin told her he understood. And unfortunately he did.

At 6 P.M., exactly three hours after speaking to Leona, Justin arrived at the East End Harbor Town Hall on Main Street. Reporters-maybe ten or twelve of them-crowded around the front of the building. Justin had driven past his house before coming into town but hadn't bothered to stop there. Inches outside his driveway-just off the official property line-was another group of reporters. Also two news vans parked across the street, one of them with a satellite dish perched on top of it. A helicopter hovered overhead, circling the house. So he just kept driving, found he couldn't park at the station because there were more reporters there, too, tucked his car in an illegal spot behind the old-fashioned five-and-dime, the one that had the 1960s mechanical horse ride in front of it-put in a quarter and it rocked back and forth, holding a small child on its back, for several minutes-and headed up Main Street on foot.

Justin pushed his way past the reporters at Town Hall and walked into the mayor's office. Leona was waiting for him, along with DA Silverbush and a uniformed police officer. No one looked very happy.

"You goddamn piece of shit" was how Larry Silverbush greeted him. "You were balling the victim's wife?! You were fucking one of our key suspects?!"

Justin kept his voice steady and low. "If you want to be technical," he said, "my relationship with Mrs. Harmon was prior to anyone being either a victim or a suspect."

"I don't want to be fucking technical," the DA screamed. "I want you to know that you are this close to being indicted!"

"On what charges?" Justin asked.

"Obstruction of justice, aiding and abetting a homicide, possible conspiracy to commit murder-how many fucking charges do you want?"

"I understand you're a little pissed off, but what the hell are you talking about? Who am I aiding and conspiring with?"

"Abigail Harmon."

"Don't be an asshole. I put the whole thing in my report. How can you turn that into a conspiracy?"

"I told you not to fuck with me, Westwood. I told you to play along. But no, you had to go on being a stupid cowboy. You let her spend the night in your own goddamn house last night?!"

"It's what I would have done for anyone in her position. She couldn't spend the night at home, so she stayed upstairs and I slept on the couch. There was nothing improper about it."

"Bullshit."

"There's nothing about our relationship that would hinder me from doing my job the way it should be done."

"You've already screwed up your job, you asshole."

"Since when is Abby a real suspect?" Justin asked. "What is it you think you know?"

"I don't think I know anything. While you were out screwin' around and pretending to be a cop, my men solved the whole goddamn thing already! And guess what, cowboy? You were played for a sucker. Big-time. At least you better hope that's all we find out was going."

"What are you talking about?"

The Long Island district attorney turned to the uniformed cop who, up until this moment, hadn't uttered a word or changed his expression. "This is Captain William Holden of the Riverhead PD. Captain Holden. If you don't mind…"

The captain turned to Justin. "We've ascertained that Mrs. Harmon was having an affair…" He didn't let a smirk cross his face, but the sense of satisfaction was unmistakable when he continued, "… another affair with a man named David Kelley. I believe you know him."

Justin's face was blank for a moment. Then he said, "Dave Kelley? The contractor?"

Holden said, "That's right. He operates here in East End."

Justin nodded. "I know who he is."

"You've never met?" This was Silverbush jumping back into the conversation. His tone made it clear that he felt he knew about every moment that Justin had ever been in Dave Kelley's presence.

"We've met."

"You spent time with Abigail Harmon and Kelley together. At Sylvester's Restaurant."