Russell Andrews - Hades

She exhaled deeply, as if frustrated that, now that it was too late, she knew so little about her husband. "His assistant would have that, I'm sure. Or one of the analysts who worked for him. There were a few social occasions where we'd go out with clients-Ron would entertain them-but I never had much contact with them."

"Did he have his own firm?"

"Yes," Victoria said. "For the last year. Maybe a little more."

"All right. I'll get the client information from the people at the company, if that's all right."

"I'll call them, tell them to cooperate with you. Is there anything else?"

"Not right now. If I think of something, is it all right if I call you?"

She nodded and he stood up. As he took his first step toward the entryway, she said, "It's come full circle, hasn't it?"

His foot stopped in midair and he turned back toward her. "What has?"

"Your wife was murdered because of something you did. Now you murder someone's husband-he dies because of something she did. Full circle." When he didn't answer, she said, "Yes, I cry while I'm grieving. But I can also read the paper."

Justin stood there frozen, agonizing for what seemed like hours but was merely seconds. He said, "I'll call you if I need anything." Then he found his own way to the front door, leaving her on the couch, back straight, legs crossed, unbending and not moving. When he stepped outside, for a moment he thought he was going to be sick, and he doubled over. But he wasn't sick. Not physically. So he stood back up, rubbed off the beads of sweat that were soaking his forehead, got in his car, and drove away.

He didn't think he'd be back for quite some time.

In keeping with the rest of his day, Justin's conversation with Billy DiPezio did not start out as a raging success.

Billy was not much on exchanging pleasantries-Billy was not much on pleasantries in general-so the first thing he said to Justin was, "You look like shit."

"I can't imagine why," Justin said. "The last few days have been so pleasant and stress free."

"What do you want?" Billy said. Then, "No, never mind. You want whatever the hell I know about Ronnie LaSalle's murder."

"I want a couple of things. But that's a good place to start."

"No problem," Billy said. "Here's every single thing I know." He held up his index finger so it touched his thumb, forming a circle. "Zero. Zilch. Nada. You beginning to understand what I'm saying?"

"Not such a good start then," Justin said.

"I've had better."

"You got a theory?"

"You've known me a long time, Jay," Billy said. "I got theories on everything. On life, on Ronnie LaSalle… you want my theory on why you came up here?"

"No," Justin said.

"'Cause you think if you solve this little crime, then the colder-than-fuckin'-ice Vicky LaSalle is gonna forgive you for something you don't need to be forgiven for."

"What part of 'no' don't you understand?"

"I'm just givin' you some free advice, my friend. Whatever you do, you aren't gonna change the look in Vicky's eyes. You don't deserve that look, and the sooner you accept that, the better. But you ain't gettin' rid of it."

"Victoria."

"What?"

"She calls herself Victoria now. Not Vicky. She's a grown-up."

"But she still thinks like a kid when it comes to you and Alicia."

"Shut up, Billy. I'm not kidding. End of conversation."

"You want to talk about somethin' else, name your subject."

"Let's try to stick to Ron LaSalle. You got any of your famous theories on what happened?"

"Yeah. He was screwin' around and someone thought they could take him for big bucks. His girlfriend, his girlfriend's boyfriend, somebody. Somethin' went wrong somewhere and Ronnie winds up in Drogan's lot."

"Who leaves his house before dawn, with his wife still in bed, to go see a girlfriend? Or a blackmailer?"

"Shit, Jay, who leaves his house before dawn for any reason?"

"That's my point. You don't. Unless you have to. And unless you don't care if your wife finds out you're doing something screwy."

"So maybe he didn't care. Maybe he was leaving her."

"Billy, it's not the way people like that work. Somebody like Ronald leaves like that because he has no choice. Because he doesn't see any other way. The alternative-say something or just stay-is worse."

"You know rich people better than I do, Jay, I'll grant you that."

"With all the graft you've taken, I'll bet your bank account's bigger than most of the people paying you off."

"I resent that." Billy grinned his best wolfish smile. "But I wouldn't take the bet."

"So you gonna stick with your borderline-insane theory or are you going to follow this up and see what really happened?"

"You ever know me to let a murderer get away with something in my town?"

"No," Justin said. "Never. Unless he paid you enough."

"They couldn't pay me enough on this one."

Justin cocked his head. Billy sounded serious. "And why's that?"

"'Cause this one's nasty."

"How nasty?"

"The ME said most of LaSalle's organs were crushed." When Justin winced involuntarily, Billy said, "Yeah, I know. It had to be excruciating. And slow."

"Beaten to death?"

"Except hardly any marks on him."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Tell me somethin' about murder and death that makes sense," Billy said.

Justin took a sip from the small glass of single malt scotch that Billy had put in front of him when they'd sat down. Most conversations in Billy's office were conducted over a glass of single malt. Didn't matter whether it was morning, afternoon, or night. "Were you this philosophical when you were young?" Justin asked.

"I was never young," Billy DiPezio said. "You and me, we were born old. We're just gonna die young."

They sat in silence for a moment, pondering the truth of Billy's statement. Justin finally said, "You do talk a lot of bullshit."

"Yes, I do," Billy said. "And why are you carryin' around a Rhode Island guidebook? Doing some sightseeing while you're up here?"

Justin held up the book, still partially wrapped in the white and red cloth napkin from Dolce. "Can you run this for fingerprints?"

"I can do anything I want. What's it about?"

"Nothing connected to Ron LaSalle. Just something to help me out."

"Always happy to help you out, Jay. But am I missing something? Don't you have a little police station of your own with, you know, all those modern accoutrements?"

"I've been suspended."

"What a bunch of assholes."

"No argument there. Will you run the prints?"

"If you tell me you're not bein' an asshole, too. We don't lie to our friends, do we?"

"No, we don't. This has nothing to do with Ron LaSalle."

"All right. I'll run 'em."

"And, Billy…"

The Providence police chief shook his head. "What else do you want?"

"Are you kind of shorthanded these days?"

"I'm always shorthanded. Why?"

"You interested in a pretty good cop who needs a job?"

"Talk to the goddamn politicians. They control the budget."

"Luckily, I don't need the money," Justin said.

"You? You want to come back here?"

"In a way," Justin said.

"What the hell kind of way?"

Justin told him. It was what he'd come up here to say, why he'd come back home. When he was done explaining, Billy had the biggest smile on his face that Justin had seen in a long time.

Justin was feeling extremely clever. He'd gotten Billy to agree to pay him the princely sum of one whole dollar a week. For that sum, he was now a consultant to the Providence PD and, as such, had an official way in to the murder of Evan Harmon. And, as a side benefit, of Ron LaSalle as well. Larry Silverbush could go to hell. Justin was going to get to H. R. Harmon and Lincoln Berdon, the head of Rockworth and Williams, and anyone else he wanted to reach. And Silverbush couldn't stop him now. The only thing Justin was feeling a little bad about was that he hadn't planted a big kiss on the top of Billy DiPizio's silver-haired head. He'd just gone ahead and shaken his hand and said thanks.